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Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  145«0 

(yi6)  872-4503 


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CmiVI/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibiiographiques 


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L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Las  details 
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une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  m^thode  normaie  de  filmage 
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Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 

Covers  damaged/ 
Couverture  endommag^e 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pelliculde 

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0 


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10X  14X  18X  22X 


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premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'Impresslon  ou  d'illustratlon  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  —*-  signlfie  "A  SUIVRE  ",  le 
symbole  V  signlfie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
film6s  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cllch6,  11  est  filmd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
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IMrORTANT  EVENTS  IN  XIIE   IHSTOBY  of  THE   WORLD.   BIOGHAPHIOAl. 
8KSTCUEK  0?.  MANY  OF  THB  OllEAT 

STATESMEN,  ORATOT^S   AND   POETS,       ' 

i'HE  r-'  .TEST    .RMS    Of   LiiKit* 


HiiiCt: 


t  V»,   AXl,  INTEKIrWlSO  ANP  IMPOKTAT.T  l)ISSBBTATIOa«  BPOK 
ril'^  UoKF(;t  AETii  ASIl  8CIS.>«CKS,  SI."".a  AS 


AQTROSiOMY,  C  UEMIbTR  Y  AND   L'). liLOSOPHY, 


muor  .)f    ■  itlantrat^a  Description  of  the  Ilussixu  Kmpiro armie,  »nH  m^r.<.i.„    i» 


Family  Bible ;  "  " HiRtorf  of  iha  Holy  iimo,"  &«  ,  '&o 


ILLUL^TiUTui'.  Wmi  UVi'R  TWO  IIUNDRFI.)  ENGRAVINGS. 


TWO   VOLUMl.:S   IN    (.)N''E. 


OOTVr   MBX7S,  O.        ^n    ■ 

ERT   &   LxJ.  LEY,   PUBLfSIlEH*^ 
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1 


THE 


HISTORICAL  AND  SCIENTIFIC 

AMEKICAIf  MISCELLANY; 

A 


couPFisixa 


IMPORTANT  EVENTS  IN  THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  WORLD,  BIOQBAPHICAL 
SKETCHES  or   MANY  OP   THE  GREAT 

STATESMEJf,  ORATORS  AND  POETS, 

OF  DIFPBUHT  A0R9  AND  Dn-KBBKHT  COUHTBIBS. 

THE  CHOICEST   GEMS   OF  LITERATURE. 

DBWRIMIVI  MgATS,  AKD  INTKBE8T.NO  AND  IMPOBTANT  DI88KBTATI0N8  UPOK 
THB  DBBFOL  AUTg  AND  SCIBNCM,  SDCH  AS 

ASTRONOMY,  CHEMISTRY  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 
BY  KOBERT  SE^RS, 

ILLUSTRATED  WITH  OVER  TWO  HUNDRED  ENGRAVINGS. 
TWO   VOLUMES  IN   ONE. 


COLUMBUS,  O. 

SIEBERT  &  LILLEY,  PUBLISHERS. 

1867. 


Entered,  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  i860, 

bt  henry  miller  &  CO., 

I  Ue  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  Statei,  in  and  for  the  Southern 

Diatriot  of  OUo. 


nsHN  •  budi, 
ramut. 


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PREFACE. 


T  is  a  trite  and  oft-repeated  observation,  that  "knowledge  is 
power."  It  was  this  that  raised  Franklin  from  the  humble 
station  of  a  printer's  boy  to  the  first  honors  of  his  country ; 
that  took  Sherman  from  his  shoemaker's  bench,  gave  him 
a  seat  in  Congress,  and  there  made  his  voice  to  be  heard 
among  the  wisest  and  best  of  his  compeers !  It  raised 
Simpson  from  the  weaver's  loom  to  a  place  among  the  first 
of  mathematicians,  and  Herschel,  from  being  a  poor  fifer's 
boy  in  the  army,  to  a  station  among  the  first  of  astronomers.  It  is  the  philoso- 
pher's stone  —  the  true  alchymy  that  turns  everything  it  touches  into  gold. 
It  is  the  sceptre  that  gives  us  dominion  over  nature  ;  the  key  that  unlocks  the 
storehouse  of  creation,  and  opens  the  treasures  of  the  universe! 

The  prime  object  of  this  Work  is  to  disseminate  this  knowledge,  combining 
useful  information,  fitted  alike  to  the  capacity  of  the  child  and  the  adult.  It  is 
intended  also  as  a  depository  of  valuable  stores,  garnered  up  from  sources 
which,  fiom  their  magnitude,  rarity,  and  costliness,  are  as  sealed  fountains  to 
the  great  mass  of  the  reading  community.  In  this  volume,  the  choicest  read- 
ing is  presented  in  a  condensed  form,  illustrative  of  History,  Geography, 
the  Fine  Arts,  Natural  History,  Agriculture  and  Rural  Economy, 
Arts  and  Sciences,  Biography,  Travels,  &c.  ;  all  of  which  are  illus- 
trated by  engravings,  several  hundred  in  number — some  of  which  are  from 
original  drawings,  made  expressly  l,.  'ha  Work  \  thus  adding  to  the  interest 
of  the  text,  by  a  direct  appeal  to  the  eje,  conveying  a  more  vivid  and  accurate 
impression  of  the  subject  than  could  otherwise  be  given.  Thus  the  title, 
"  The  American  Miscellany,  "  it  has  been  the  aim  of  the  editor  to  sus- 
tain by  the  nature  of  its  contents,  comprising  the  several  branches  of  general 
knowledge,  fitted  to  supply  the  means  of  mental  improvement  and  self-education. 
"  For,"  says  an  eminent  writer,  '•  of  all  the  amusements  that  can  possibly  be 
imagined  for  a  hard-working  man  after  his  daily  toil,  or  in  its  intervals,  there 
is  nothing  like  reading.  It  calls  for  no  bodily  exertion,  of  which  he  has  already 
had  enough,  or  perhaps  too  much.  It  relieves  his  home  of  its  dulness  and 
sameness.     It  transports  him  into  a  livelier  and  gayer,  and  more  diversified 


■•«"»■■■'■*(■ 


I 


PRBfACB. 


and  interesting  scene  ;  and,  while  he  enjoys  himself  there,  he  may  forget  the 
evils  of  the  present  moment,  with  the  great  advantage  of  finding  himself  iIh 
next  day  with  the  money  in  his  pocket,  or  at  least  laid  out  in  real  necessuiies 
and  comforlfl  for  himself  and  family,  and  without  a  headache.  Nay,  it  accom- 
panies him  to  his  next  day's  work,  and,  if  what  he  had  been  reading  be  any- 
thing  above  the  idlest  and  lightest,  gives  him  something  to  thi;;k  of,  besides  the 
mere  mechanical  drudgery  of  his  every-day  occupation  — something  he  can 
enjoy  while  absent,  and  look  forward  to  with  pleasure.  If  I  were  to  pray  for  a 
taste  which  should  stand  me  instead,  under  every  variety  of  circumstances,  and 
be  a  source  of  happiness  and  cheerfulness  to  me  through  life,  and  a  shield 
against  its  ills,  however  things  might  go  amiss  and  the  world  frown  upon  me,  it 
would  be  a  taste  for  reading."  « 

The  cordial  welcome  with  which  his  former  Works  have  been  received,  and 
their  widely-extended  popularity,  induce  the  editor  to  cherish  the  hope  that  the 
present  volume  will  be  favored  with  a  reception  no  less  fluttering  to  his  efforts. 
In  the  sincere  aim  to  present  a  volume  of  solid,  instructive,  and  entertaining 
reading,  fraught  with  a  direct  moral  and  religious  tendency,  and  thus  adapted 
to  improve  the  heart  while  it  instructs  the  head  — a  volume  especially  suited  to 
the  domestic  circle,  ho  can  not  but  fnel  conscious  that  his  labors  have  in  some 
fort  deserved  this  compliment 


ii 


ti- 


HI 


f,  he  may  forget  the 

finding  hiinMcIf  tin 

in  real  ncccssariefi 

e.     Nay,  it  nccom- 

!0n  reading  bo  aiiy- 

hii.'lc  of,  bcaides  tlie 

■something  he  can 

^  were  to  pray  for  a 

circumstances,  and 

life,  ond  a  shield 

frown  upon  me,  it 

been  received,  and 
h  the  hope  that  the 
jring  to  his;efforls. 
e,  and  entertaininff 
,  and  thus  adapted 
sspecially  suited  to 
ibors  have  in  some 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


AgrlcultnrsI  Soienc* paoi  140 

Allittons'  AphorUtuM 415 

Amtirica i3g 

American  Continent 174 

American  Scenerjr 270 

Amhoret  College,  with  new  Cabinet  and  Ob- 

lerratory 488 

Anclunt  Um  of  Klephanti  in  War 116 

Amient  Wine-Preis 131 

Aitronomy,  Lecture*  on. ..72, 119, 185,  209. 

232,  316 1 1 ; 

D«auty  of  a  Benerolent  Life .'.V.'.!l59 

Belem  or  Para 260 

biography  of  John  Wlnthrop,  Fiwt  Oct- 

'     ernor  of  Magflachoiietts 178 

Biography  of  Hon.  Robert  C.  Wlnthrop.... 425 

Biography  of  Rev  Spencer  H.  Cone 499 

Blankets 32 

Bonks— their  Publioatlon  and  Circulation..  78 

Bo-Peep 80 

Boston  Common 52 

Boston  Custom  Houie 396 

Boston  Water- Works 494 

Boundlessness  of  the  Material  UniTe««....108 

Bounties  of  Nature 85 

Bounties  of  Providence ~ 329 

Bowling  Green .','496 

Burial  Places  and  Foneral  Rights 23 

Burying  a  Priest  In  Slam 386 

Burying  Beetle 446 

Catacombs  of  Paris 478 

Christmas  in  Germany 33 

Christopher  Columbus,  and  the  DiscoTery 

of  America 342 

Church  of  St.  Qudule,  firussala .218 

Cincinnati 418 

Cod-Fishery '. 1 1] 

Commerce  and  Intellectual  Eminence 328 

Consolations gg 

Cotton-Bleaching 240 

Courtship 202 

Croton  Aqueduct,  New  York '.'.!!411 

Cultivation  of  the  Mind 157 

Cu Mous  Clock 288 

Curiosities  of  Arithmetic 256 

Curiosities  of  Art 398 

Curiosities  of  Science 80 

Customhouse  at  Philadelphia 35 

^Dead  Sea 77 

/Diamonds !!..'.'.".!l26 

Divisions  of  the  Globe „..."!278 

Duties  of  Sisters  and  Brothers 102 

Early  Pleasure 442 

England  to  America,  Address  of  Rev.  Thos. 

Timpson 258 

English  Language... ., 287 

Esquimaux  Indians ^214 

Exercise  for  the  Eyes 368 

Expulsion  of  the  Aoadians 138 


Extent  of  the  Uaited  Statu rAOi  39 

Fall  of  Babylon 279 

Frankness  and  Reserve 294 

Genius  superior  to  the  Sword 647 

Girard  Colloge  for  Orphans 471 

Gold  and  Silver  Mines  of  Mexloo 94 

Government  of  the  Temper 336 

OuHrdian  Angel 124 

Gutta  Percha 239 

Habits  of  the  Roman  Ladi»s 879 

Heat' stone 289 

Hindoo  Scholar I44 

Hotel  de  Vllle,  Paris 476 

Hoi^e  of  Rothschild 388 

How  to  Live 247 

How  to  make  Steel Qg 

Importance  of  Self-Knowledge 243 

Independence  end  Accumulation 870 

Independence  Hall,  Philadelphia 4M 

Indian  Child's  Grave 482 

Indian  Look 247 

Indians  in  Oregon 288 

Infant  Education 382 

John  Hampden 601, 

John  Hancock Ifl 

John  Wlnthrop,  Pirf,i;  Governor  of  Conneo- 

ticut SSQ 

Kindness  and  Censoriouiness 113 

Landing  of  Wlnthrop,  and  Settlement  of 

Boston 462 

Law  of  Kindness....! 308 

Llndley  Murray 300 

Literature  of  China 260 

Literature  of  the  Jews 246 

London  Gin  Palace 135 

Lycurgus,  the  Spari-n  Lawgiver 144 

Mammon  and  Mankind 15 

Marriage , 255 

Massachusetts  State  House 330 

Memoir  of  Loui*  Philippe 226 

Memory 407 

Mercantile  Biography 450 

Merchants'  Exchange,  New  York 474 

Mexico 205 

Migrations  of  Birds 285 

Moral  Character  of  the  Monkey 183 

Mutual  Dependonoe 14 

Mutual  Instruction  Classes 93 

Natural  Theology 291 

Neapolitans  on  the  Seashore 106 

Nests  of  Fishes 148 

Now  England  Liberality,  Schools,  and  In- 
stitutions  , 20 

New  Houses  of  Parliament 492 

New  Year's  Day 11 

New  Zealand 163 

Niagara  Falls 64,  72 

Noah  Worcester,  the  American  Apostle  of 
Peace 88 


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EMBELLISHMENTS. 


Night 


Old  City  Hall  in  New  York 298 

Oregon 338 

Our  Country , 7 

Our  Parents 415 

Peace  Societies 321 

Philosophy  of  a  Tear 92 

Pilgrim  Fathers 419 

Pittsburgh 447 

Plan  for  Emancipation 47 

Popular  Taste 424 

Power  of  Music 193 

Progress 306 

Public  Libraries  in  Constantinople ,..292 

Rambling  Essay  upon  Rooms 372 

Remedies  against  Moths 95 

Reserches  on  Food 14] 

Russia 198,"206,"406 

Saint  Pauls  Church,  New  York 312 

Saint  Petersburg 354 

Saint  Thomas,  West  Indies !!240 

Scenery  in  England 480 

Secret  of  Success 296 

Self-Qovernment 266 

Shakers  cf  New  Lebanon 132 

Ship-Anchorage  at  Whampoa,  China 304 

Sierra  Leone,  Western  Africa 172 

Smithsonian  Institute 442 

Snow,  its  Nature,  Formation,  and  Uses 455 

Social  Influence 134 

Solar  System 130 

Sons  of  the  Ocean „ .....!..332 

Sovereigns  of  £urop« 183 


PAOK  130 |S.  P.  Q.  R.— the  Roman  Standard paob  324 


Steubenville,  Ohio (57 

Switzerland igg 

Tears "391 

The  Head  and  the  Heart 3g 

The  Lama 149 

The  Malays 394 

The  Niger '.2(i9 

The  Publication  and  Circulation  of  Books..  78 

The  Seen  and  the  Unseen 334 

The  Self- Tormentors 2")0 

Trajan  and  Robert  Fulton 267 

Travels  in  the  Holy  Land.... 40,  58,  98, 150, 185 

Tye 203 

Vegetable  Curiosities , 223 

Viaduct  over  the  Patuxent  River 86 

Visitations  of  Pestilence 441 

Visit  to  Venice 218 

Washington  National  Monument 431 

Oration  of  Hon.  R.  C.  Winthrop 433 

Washington's  Residence  at  New  York 69 

Wasp  Family igQ 

Western  Emigrant 138 

Westeni  Scenery 324 

West  Point...., 37^ 

Whitfield  and  Wesley 8£ 

Window  Gardening „  83 

Winslow  House,  Marshfleld 472 

Winter  Not  Monotonous 105 

Winthrop  Monument 457 

Woman 66,  454 

Youth  and  Age.... 409 

Zoophites,  or  Plant  Animala 249 


EMBELLISHMENTS. 


DMlp  for  a  Honament  to  the  Memory  of  Governor 

WInthrop..j. rRONTUPUCE 

Wew-Ysar't  Day.—"  The  Compllmonta  of  the  Bea- 

»on  " ,^(,j    13 

Portrait  of  John  Hancock,  with  a  Fac-Himlls  of  his 
Bienature,  copied  from  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence   _ ____     ](( 

The  Hancork  House.  Boston .*..'.'.'.'.".".'."."'.".'."!!!!    17 

Ejrj'ptian  Funeral  Procesaiin 24 

Mummy-Caoeg  and  Marble  Sarcophagi SO 

Tombs  of  the  Kinps  of  Golconda.T....;. 27 

Embal  mill);.— The  Proccites  of  Bandiginr  and  an- 
cient Egj'ptian    Monument* 28 

Painting  an  embalmed  Body  :  designed  from  the 

Tomb  of  Hyder  All 7. 20 

Horuii  of  Owhyee ,1 31 

Lather  and  his  Family,  with  their  Chrlii'masVree!"    34 
Custom  House,  Philadelphia-(formerly  the  United 

Matf  8  Bank) ,^  ,     37 

OrientJil  mode  of  Truveling "!!.!!!".!!!".!.".""!'..  ""    40 

Camels  loading  prepuratory  to  etartinc .....'.'.'.".    41 

Anbncsmpment 40 

Hebron  '.......!'.'..'.".'.' 43 

Bethlehem  !!",".".". 44 

Jerusalem,  with  iU  WalU-a"north'<re»i''view!!!!!,    45 
Convent  erected  on  what  Tradition  affirms  to  be  the 

Cnve  of  the  Nativity in 

Tomb  of  Rachel ["\,^\\ ;    Jg 

The  Boston  Common,  with  tho'stat'eHouie  in  the 


tlisianc'c. 


53 


View  of  Niujtnra  Fulls  below  Table  Rock 55 

The  Mosque  of  O-^iar,  Jerusalem— on  Mount  Mori- 

ah,  where  -he  Temple  of  Solomon  stood 57 

The  Moiiiitnf  dllyes „ 59 

A  ."^treel  in  Jerusalem „ no 

Jl-ws'  Place   of  Wailing— Temple  Wall."..".".'.""."!!!'  61 


View  of  Steubenville,  Ohio eg 

Niagara  Fallj  viewed  from  the  Clifton  House 73 

The  Uead  Sea 77 

Bo-Peep .".'!'.!!.".'.'.'.'.'.■.!.'.".".".'.'!!   81 

Viaduct  over  the  Patuxent,  on  the  Baltimore  and 

Washington   Railroad 87 

Jerusalem  from  the  Mount  of  Olives !       97 

Pool  of  .'^iloam gg 

Part  of  the  Valley  of  Jehosaphat,  and  Entiiiiice  to 

Jerusalem gg 

Garden  of  Geth^emnne !!!!!!.!!!!!!  100 

Neapolitans  on  the  Seashore 107 

Ancient  Use  of  Elephants  in  War !!  115 

Elephants  destroying  Captives  Uken  In  War 117 

Army  on  a  March,  with  Elephants 118 

The  Guardian  Angel JJ5 

lUustralion  of  Diamonds '    186 

Ancient  Wine-Press 131 

The  Pioneer  of  the  Western  Forest !..'!.!!!!!  137 

The  Hindoo  Scholar „,  ]« 

DeAle  between  Jerusalem  and  Jericho ..!.!!.".!!1'  ISl 

Ruins  of  Jericho 154 

The  Plain  of  Jericho !!.!!...!!!  153 

The  River  Jordan '..'.!!!!!  154 

A  party  of  Missionaries  crossing  a  Swamp  "i'n  New 

Zealand .„._ 154 

Part  of  Regent's  Town,  a  Settlement  of  libe'rated 

Negroes  in  the  Colony  of  Sierra  Leone 173 

Regent's  Town,  from  the  Governor's  House 175 

Portrait  of  John  Winthrop,  Pounder  of  the  City  of 

Boston,  and  first  Governor  of  Massachusetts 177 

The  Ueuth-Bed  of  Winthrop 181 

Present  aiipearance  of  Jerusalem 185 

Terrace  Cultivation .\, isfi 

Mounts  Eljiil  and  Gerliim 187 

Mount  Carmol igo 


}  Roman  Standard paob  324 

hio (;7 


.199 
.391 


the  Heart 38 

149 

394 

2«9 

1  and  Circulation  of  Books..  78 

he  Unseen 334 

ntors 2."i0 

ert  Fulton 267 

loly  Land. ...40,  58,  98, 150, 185 

203 

Dsities 223 

10  Patuxent  River 86 

'estilence 441 

•-. 218 

tional  Monument 431 

Hon.  R.  C.  Winthrop 433 

lesidenco  at  New  York 69 

160 

mt 138 

y 324 

378 

Lesley 82 

ling 83 

,  Marshfield 472 

lotouous 106 

iment 457 

66,454 

409 

ant  Animals 249 


rs. 


le,  Ohio 68 

3d  from  the  CUflon  Hoase 73 

77 

., 81 

'atuxent,  on  ths  Baltimore  aad 

Iroud 87 

I  Mount  of  Oltrea 97 


t  Jehoisphat,  and  Entrance  to 

ine !'.".'.""!".!!!!! 

Soaihore 

phaiitsin  War 

g  Captiret  taken  in  War., 
with  Elephant* 


M 


ondg 

8 

Weatern  Foreat 

r 

salem  and  Jericho.. 


'lea  croaaing  a  Swamp  in  New 

wn,  a  Bettlemont  of'Viberate*! 

lonyof  Sierra  Leone 1 

m  the  Governor's  House 1 

nihrop.  Founder  of  tho  City  of 

rovernnr  of  Massachuaetia 1 

I'iDlhrop 1 

of  Jeruaalem 1 

.w 1 

iriiim 1 


1S4 


View  of  Kaiareth „ 

Promonlory  of  Mount  Carmel., 
Vlaw  of  Zurich,  Jwltierland 


..VAaa  iniTheTomborReactnako.atW  .,;  Point pa«i  r7 

^rVr^?A'^:ri'^''r"?'"'-r-r- ":""••::  Jo1?rsft'L.''2s:i:iSru?e'r.''^ion ^ 

?^^^,  ^  '  r^?^r!     ,^,T«S"l'»,  CO"'" am  Cr,n.t.dt,..U..Town  of  the  clISw"  "•r^^.":::::  3^ 


PuljillofHt  Giiilule,  Broaaala M7 

The  Bridge  Hot,.|,  Newhaven  (Bnfland) '.  9U 

Louis  Philippe  landing  at  NewhaTen...... sag 

Louis  I'bllippe  and  hi*  Party  at  Breakfaat  at  tho 

Bridfro  luOi  Newhaven „ ^  931 

8t.  Thoinus,  West  Indlea,  from  WrIMit'a  Wliarf!~  Ml 

Indian  (Hindoo)  Lock,  In  the  Form  of  a  Bird 247 

Viaw  of  Beleni,  or  Para,  on  the  Amaion  River...  S5I 

Portrait  of  Rbv.  Thoma*  TImpton,  of  London 8S7 

Portrait  of  a  Chi  neie  Bookaeller 9(3 

'  Hountaina  and  Market-Canoea,  naar  Bokweta.  on 

tho  Niger,  West  Africa 871 

Bdlshazzar'a  Feast— Daniel  Interpretlnc  the  Hand' 

writing  on  the  Wall 

The  Fall  of  Babylon ...■.'".."; 

Clock  conrtructed  by  laaao  Habracht,  A.  D.'issii!.'. 
Interior  of  the  Public  Library  i\  OonttanUnooIe.., 
View  of  the  old  City  Hall,  '^all  St.,  New  York...  „, 

Ship-.Anchorngeat  Whampoa,  China 305 

St.  PauPa  Church,  and  Aator  Houae,  New  York...  S13 

The  Roman  i<tau(<ards,  "  S.  p.  O.  H." au 

Vlaw  of  tho  State  House.  Boaton Si 

Oregon  City,  on  the  Willamette  River !."  3?7 

Portrait  of  Christopher  Columba* 344 

Columbus  before  the  Council  of  Salamanca 347 

Columbus  quelling  the  Mntlny  on  board  the  Santa 


t«0 
983 


Maria.. 


349 


Columbus  Uking  PoaieaslonoftheNewWorld!".'."  351 
Portrait  of  John  Winthrop,  Brat  aovernor  of  Con- 
necticut   . 


VI.      .  «i    i      -..-  i:-  —  —  Crown,"  Russia m 

View  of  ClBClnoati,  from  the  Ohio..... 417 

V?.l5'i5°/K!'w'"I:,'''-J*''"^''''P'  "'  Ma^achuaetU  4W 

VIxw  of  the  Waahlngton  National   Monument 43] 

Vltw  of  the  Smithaonian  Institute,  Waahlnrton...  443 

View  of  Pittaburgh.  from  the  Northwest " 149 

Flrat  Settlement  of  Boston JJi 

Undlng  ofOorernor  Winthrop  at  Salem'iiijio!!!!;'.  403 
•m  oarly  Settler*  of  Boston  tr  valine  through  the 

wiidemes* 4M 

View  of  Trimountaln,  0,  BMton,  in  "iiwJ.'.'.'.".'.".'.'.'.';.'  408 

Map  of  Boston  and  Vicinity,  In  1W7 457 

View  of  Boaton,  In  1776,  Uken  from  the  Road  to 

Doreheater 499 

S'^i^'Si^V  c»i'««e.  phiiadeiphii;:.;;;:.";;.;.';.;;  471 

The  old  WInalow  House,  Marahfleld,  Maas 473 

ne  Merchant*' Bxehange,  Wall  St.,  New  York...  47S 
View  of  the  Hotel  di  Vifle,  Paris  ....!. .  477 

Indian  Parent*  at  their  Chlldren'a  Oravi".  .'.'...■.■.■.'.■.■.■.'.'  483 

'^A.n'l  ^"i"  "?£•?'  *"  "»"  of  Independence,  at 

Philadelphia— Walnut  Street  Front. 484 

Front  view  ot  the  old  StateHouae,  Cheanut  street...  4U 
'•^^^'*'"''*'»' *'""•«•'  *'*•>  "lo  new  Cabinet 

and  Obtervatory,  from  the  Southwest 480 

View  of  the  New  Houses  of  Parliament 403 

View  of  the  ilew  York  Bowling-Green 497 

View  of  .John  Hampden'a  Residence 5i)l 

View  oT  Hampden'a  HonnmenI 503 


Hindoo  "td  Krijhna,  on  an  Kiephanu'composed 
of  h          mala  Attendanta..    .  «w 

39Bllfe«  B  »y «....^.....^ „^ „ jio 


OONTEN"TS. 


VOLUHB  II. 


Adams'  Peak,  Ceylon 929 

Advantages  of  a  Book „ 631 

Alexander  the  Great 767 

Algiers , 726 

Alphabetical  Writingi 931 

American  Aborigines 610 

Anecdotes  of  Washington  and  Morris 790 

Animal  /lamanity 1022 

Animal  Language 901 

Appearances  of  Design  in  Creation. 938 

April  ..  .„ 696 

Articles  of  Dress 700 

Auscultation 597 

Autobiography 656 

August 882 

Ararioe 786 

Bargain-Hunters 1013 

Bay-Tree,  the '. 589 

Bass-Rock 670 

Before  and  after  Dinner 863 

Benjamin  West 618 

Be  Industrious 755 

Bible,  concise  History  of  the 1018 

Birds  of  Paradise 760 

Birds,  Utility  of. 735 

Bison,  tho 740 

Black  .ind  Grey  Squirrels , 544 

Borrieaux loil 

Bottle  Tit  and  Nest '.'.*.'.'.,.   528 

Botanic  ffardens  at  Brussels 662 

Boa  Coii.strictor,  the..., 969 


Bright  Side  of  Humanity 953lDutieB 


Burrowing  Owl  and  Prairie  Dog 623 

Carnival  at  Rome.. , 636 

Castle  Howard,  England 766 

Cataract  in  Iceland... , 751 

Cathedral  of  Florence 64V 

Causes  of  the  American  Revolution 891 

Causes  of  the  French  Revolution 794 

Cereopsia  of  New  Holland 696 

Chamois-Hunting 660 

Chatham,  Lord 965 

Chetah,  or  Hunting  Leopard 1006 

China  and  the  Chineae 691 

t^ioero 835 

Classification  of  Rooks 830 

City  of  York 917 

Colonization  of  Greenland.. < 733 

Cologne,  City  of. 866 

Commerce 738 

Commonplace,  the 1002 

Constancy  of  Nature 980 

Courtesy 950 

Cromwell,  Oliver 886 

Cross  Folks 626 

Curious  Facts  about  the  Spider 894 

Death  of  General  Wolfe 954 

Death  of  Little  Children 994 

Deoember 1005 

Description  of  Texas 669 

Disipline  of  the  Eyes 576 

Dress,  Articles  of. 700 

Dripping  Well  at  Ku.aresborough 601 


to  Society,  &c 1019 


irfidf  0 


fr#**f''*!tte 


CONTENTS. 


il; 


:\     I 


DjBpepsia FAOB  644 

Ei^rthquakes 821 

Echoes 701 

Emulation 956 

Eud  of  Four  Great  Men 1024 

Evaporation,  Facts  in S46 

Eye,  the 860 

Pair  of  Reykiarik 854 

Fallacy  of  Proverbs 587 

Falls  of  Tocooa,  Georgia 515 

Falsehood 811 

February 688 

Fireplace,  History  of 808 

Fireside  Musings 739 

Firmness  of  Character 883 

Food  of  Man 974 

Form  and  structure  of  the  Earth 778 

Franklin,  Character  of. 663 

Freedom  of  the  Mind 1011 

Friendship 884 

Gathering  Olives 913 

Gems  of  Thought 971 

Genoa 787 

Geology,  its  Objects,  &o 743 

Geology,  Organic  Remains,  &o 868 

Gibraltar 583 

Gigantic  Birds  of  Old 749 

Gleaners  of  the  Pontine  Marshes 895 

Glengariff 797 

Grandeur  of  God 570 

Greenland,  Colonization  of 733 

Greenwich  Observatory 655 

Grotto  of  Neptune,  at  Tivoli 619 

Grotto  at  Adelsburg 640 

Grouse  of  Europe 709 

Gnu,  the 954 

Habit  of  Observation 1015 

Halls  of  the  Moutezumas 905 

Heart,  the 936 

History  of  the  Fireplace 808 

History .562,  935 

Home 854 

Honor  and  Truth „ 896 

Hope 756 

Horology 1024 

Horses 928 

How  to  get  Rich 679 

Human  Body,  the 763 

Humorous  People 632 

Improvisatore,  the 809 

Incidents  in  the  Life  of  Washington 672 

Intolerance 877 

Iron  Age,  the 627 

Island  of  Capri 571 

January 551 

Jugglers  of  India 606 

June 777 

Kara  Hissar 778 

Kinkajou,  the 667 

Lago  Maggiore..... 861 

Lammcrgeyer,  or  Bearded  Vulture 991 

Landing  of  Julius  Caesar,  &o 624 

Last  Look,  the 594 

Leeds  Castle 684 

Length  of  Days ..„,  964 

Life-Boat,  the 652 


Life  without  an  Aim.. 
Light  from  Flowers... 

Longevity 

Love  of  Life 

Love  of  Nature 

Luxor  Obelisk 

Lynx,  the 

Maccaroni  Eaters 

Manis,  the.. 

March. 

Marseilles. 

Massacre  of  the  Mamelukes. 

Mastodon  Race,  the. 

May., 

Memory 

Mental  Discipline 

Metaphysics  of  Bnsiness 

Mexico,  City  of 

Mind,  the,  Beyond  the  Grave.... 

Milage,  the 

Mississippi  and  the  Nile 

Mocking-Bird,  the 

Mohammedan  Devotions 

Moment  of  Success 

Motives 

Mountains 

Mourning  Woman  of  the  East... 

Muscular  Strength 

Music 

Mysteries  of  Creation,  the < 

Narwal,  the 

National  Gallery  of  England 

Nauplia 

Neapolitan  Peasants 

Nelson,  Monument  to 

Newfoundland  Dog,  the 

New  Zealand 

No  Person  Unimportant 

November 

Number  Seven,  the 

Oak-Bark  Feelers 

Obelisk  of  Luxor. 

Oberhasli ■ 

Ocelot,  the 

October 

Old  BiUop  House 

Oporto,  Portugal 

Orange-Tree,  the 

Origin  of  American  Aborigines... 

Ottor,  the 

Palisades,  the , 

Pampas,  the 

Paris  at  the  Present  Day 

Parks  of  England 

Pathway  of  Science 

Pericles 

Peravians,  the 

Persistency  of  Family  Features., 
Perspiratory  Tubes  of  the  Skin. , 

Petrified  Cascade,  &o 

Philosophy  of  Mystery 

Phosphorus 

Piasan  Rook 

Plato  

Pleasure  after  Pain 

Polar  Bear,  the 


.PAOi  1004 

634 

641 

713 

880 

983 

, 938 

693 

692 
649 
.1016 
604 
825 
739 

799 

844 

988 

983 

, 633 

791 

650 

634 

878 

638 

601 

986 

948 

696 

.693,  727 

789 

783 

1020 

629 

693 

830 

926 

747 

1031 

993 

842 

898 

983 

631 

923 

926 

613 

769 

558 

610 

774 

539 

851 

686 

906 

645 

960 

822 

679 

663 

996 

946 

581 

665 

802 

915 

873 


FAail004 

634 

B41 

7ia 

, 880 

983 

938 

693 

B92 

649 

1016 

IS 604 

825 

739 

799 

, 844 

988 

, 983 

ve 633 

791 

650 

634 

878 

, 638 

601 

, 986 

Sast 948 

, 696 

693,  727 

789 

783 

id 1020 

629 

693 

830 

926 

747 

„ 1031 

993 

842 

898 

983 

531 

923 

925 

613 

769 

558 

nes 610 

774 

639 

861 

686 

906 

646 

960 

822 

xires 679 

Skin 663 

996 

946 

581 

665 

, 802 

916 

873 


^'ttBELLISHMENTS. 


1 


Pompeii  and  H«roalu>eiim rxoi  620 

Pope's  Tree 682 

Porpoise,  the v 526 

Power  of  Kindness 867 

Power  of  tbe  Voice 646 

Progress  of  African  Discovery 816 

Prospects  of  tlie  United  States 755 

Protection  from  Lightning 764 

Presence  of  Mind 690 

Pride,  Offensive  and  Defensive 564 

Pulse,  the 699 

Rational  Keligion 983 

Real  Oreatness 953 

Recreations  in  Np.tural  History 617 

Regalia  of  the  British  Crown 646 

Reign  of  Terror 703 

Reindeer,  the 891 

Reproduction  of  Plants 667 

Resuscitation 662 

Retrospection 682 

Rotterdam 933 

Rules  aboatthe  Weather 725 

Sabbath  Thoughts 763 

Salt-Minesof  Cardona. 697 

Science  of  the  Scriptures 1008 

Scraps  of  Curious  Information 1023 

Scriptural  Allusions  to  Dew 972 

Sebastian  Cabot 661 

Servitude 621 

September 898 

Shaddock-Tree,  the 581 

Shaking  Hands 603 

Sorrow  for  the  Dead 844 


Spectacles faob  1033 

Spider,  Carious  Fac^s  about 894 

Springer  Antelope 688 

Squirrels,  Black  and  Grey 544 

Star  Worship 534 

Stray  Thoughts  on  the  Beautiful 998 

Study  a  Child's  Capacities 773 

Swordflsh,  the 840 

Tenacity  of  Life 538 

Texas,  Description  of 669 

Thoughts  and  Things 776 

Thoughts  on  Winter 1000 

Traveling  in  the  East 845 

Truth 615 

United  States,   Prospects  of 755 

Upright,  Downright,  and  Straightforward.  516 

Uses  of  Things 599 

Utility  of  Birds 735 

Vegetable  Kingdom 908 

Venice 714 

Visions  of  Good  Men 660 

Walrus,  the 608 

Washington,  Oeorge 967 

Weather,  Rules  about 725 

West,  Benjamin 518 

Whale  and  Whale-Fishery 672 

White  or  Barn  Owl 868 

Weisbaden 736 

Wife  of  Lafayette 876 

Wild-Turkey,  the 666 

Wolsthorpe  Manor-Honse 805 

World,  the 703 

York,  City  of. 917 


EMBELLISHMENTS 


The  Falli  of  Toccoa 513 

Tbe  Family  of  Benjamin  Weat 519 

Harrowing  Ovrls  and  Prairie  Dog* 933 

The   Porpolae 527 

Male  and  Female  Bottle  Tit  and  Neat 539 

Paaaof  Oberhasll 532 

Camlvalat  Rome 537 

The  Paliiadea,  Hudaon  River 540 

Black  and  Gray  Squirrel) 545 

The  Cathedral  of  Florence 549 

Preparing  to  launch  the  Life- Boat 553 

The  Life-Boat  in  a  Storm 555 

gevlUe  Orange  Tree 561 

Portrait  of  Benjamin  Franklin 563 

Wild  Turkeys 5«7 

Island  o(  Capri 5T2 

Carerna  Ayurra,  In  the  Island  of  CnprI 575 

Shaddock  Tree 580 

The  Rock  of  Oibraltsr 584 

Interior  of  the  Hock  ofGlbralUr 5iJ0 

Bay  Tree S'W 

Long  and  Short-Tailed  Mania 593 

Cercopsis  and  Young 596 

Dropping  Well  at  'tnaresborough 600 

Mohammond  All,  witnessing  the  Massacre  of  the 

Mamelukes 605 

Walruses 609 

View  of  the  Old  Blllop  House,  at  Bentley,  Staten 

Island 619 

The  Aye-Aye,  Cluiromy^t  3Iadag<ucariei>iu 610 

View  of  Fulls  of  the  Anio,  at  TlToli 640 

Landing  of  Julius  Cccsur  in  England 625 

Nupolo  dl  Romania 631 

The  Mockine-Bird 635 

View  of  the  Hntrnnce  to  the  Cavern  of  Adelsberg...  641 
Qrolto  of  the  Maddalena,  at  Adelaberg 643' 


The  Regalia  of  England,  nsed  at  Coronations S41 

Hunting  the  Chamois 651 

View  of  the  Observatory  at  Greenwich,  England...  654 

Portrait  of  Sebastian  Cabot 661 

Jardin  Botanique,  Brussels W8 

The  KInkaJou 666 

View  of  the  Baas-Rock 674 

Harpooning  the  Whale  In  the  Arctic  Seas 077 

Oangersofthe  Whale-Fishery 877 

Pope's  Tree  at  Biofleld,  Berks 683 

Leeds  Castle,  Kent 685 

Hunting  the  Springbok,  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  689 

The  Maccaroni  Sellers  ofNaplea 694 

The  Salt-HiUs  of  Cardona,  In  Catalonia 696 

Capercailiie,  orCookof  the  Wood 709 

Ptarmigan  Oroaae 711 

Venice ~ 715 

The  Rialto i 719 

Gondola,  with  single  Rower 722 

The  Ocelot 724 

City  of  Alglera 7S7 

Interior  oi  an  Esquimaux  House,  at  Frederibshaab, 

Greenland 734 

Public  Rooms  at  Wiesbaden 737 

The  American  Bison 741 

Canoe  and  Natives,  off  Cape  Wargari,  New  Zea- 
land  .:...... 748 

Cataract  at  FiBSToUum,  Iceland 752 

Portraitof  A.cxander  the  Great 757 

Birds  of  Paradise— 1.  Tbe  Emerald ;  2.  The  Sifllef, 
3.  The  Incomparable;   4.  ITie  Cloudy;   5.  The 

Superb 761 

South  Front  of  Castle  Howard,  Yorkshire,  England  767 

Oporto,  Portugal 771 

The  Otter 775 

Afloum  Kara  His*ar,crtbe  Black  Castle  of  Opium  779 


J 


Spearing  the  Norwnl p^gg  794 

City  and  Harbor  or  Oeooe 788 

Mirage  In  the  Plsina  of  Mezteo 792 

Bajr  of  Olonguriff,  In  Ireland na 

Plato  (ft'oin  an  antlqaeboit) 803 

Portrait  of  .Sir  Isaac  Newton ".  8uS 

Sir  liaac  Newton'i  Birthplace "."„'."  goT 

The  Neapoliuu  ImproTTliatore 810 

Janctlon  of  ihe  Rirera  Tcbadda  and  Qnorra 817 

Interior  ofibe  Temple  of  the  Son,  at  Cuioo 8S3 

Cretan  or  WallachUn  Sheep 837 

Monument  to  Nolion,  Yarmouth .'.'"*.'.'.!!!  831 

Oleero  (from  an  antique  Bait) "  gas 

The  Swordnah 841 

Orleatal  Women  on  Oameli ".',.,'."!!!!  845 

AnEncampment  of  Pllgrlmj , 846 

Ancient  City  of  Antloch '.','.".'.'.','.  848 

March  of  a  Caravan ."!!,'.'."!  850 

Icelanders  arrlTlng  rrom  the  Interior  at  the  Fair'iit 

Reyklarlk 055 

■White  or  Bum  Owl """"  ^ 

View  on  the  Lago  MaMlore,  (h>m  the  Inn  BaTeno  869 

Church  of  St.  Martin,  Cologne 8«7 

Polar  Bears  and  Seals , "  gj4 

An  Oratory  or  Place  of  Prayer 87B 

Portrait  of  Oliver  Cromwell .■.■■.;|;;;  885 

Cromwell  dissolving  the  Long  Parliament " "  889 

Milking  the  Reindeer '  893 

piaaners  of  the  Pontine  Harshaa... ,"".'""  897 

i'eeUng  the  Buk  tnm  tb*  Oak. — „ „..  goo 


St.  James's  Park,  London rioi  907 

Hyde  Park— Bntrance  from  Piccadilly too 

Gathering  OIlTes ;..    ...  ml 

View  of  tlie  City  of  York ,■.■.■■■".;  918 

View  of  the  West  Front  of  York  MIngter 920 

Interior  ■>f  the  Choir  of  York  Minster , gn 

Newfor  .land  Dog 937 

View  0     idam's  rtak ".;;;.  ggo 

Kotterdam— ehowlng  the  Church  of  St.  Lawrence  »34 

Lynxes _ 43^ 

Herd  of  6nns "," 945 

Mourning  Women  of  the  East ."..'."."...  94t 

Death  ofOeneral  Wolfe 95s 

Bust  of  Pericles '  Jn 

Portral  of  WUlUm  Pitt— Lord  Chatham '.  «A 

Attaektofa  Boa  Constrictor  on  a  Sleeping  Lascar  970 
Olasgo  w,  with  Stockwell  Bridge  from  the  South 

Cask 975 

New  Broomlelaw  Bridge,  Glasgow '.'....'..  977 

Glasgow  Exchange 979 

Obelisk  of  Luxor,  Place  Louis  XVI.,  Paris 985 

ne  Ummergeyer,  or  Bearded  Vulture 999 

Ine  PetrUled  Cueade  of  Pambouk  Kalosl 997 

TheChetah,or  Hunting  Leopard 1007 

Bordeaux,  and  Bridge  overtne  Garonne „ 10I8 

Port  of  Marselllet 1017 

View  of  the  National  Oaltery  In  London losi 

Sun  Dials  (Six  Ulostratlons) 1085, 1088 

Clepsydrw ;.io87 

Me«huUa  «f  a  eommsn  WatGh...„...„ -,.,..1089 


( 


.....rAoc  907 

eadilljr WB 

»M 

918 

rk  Minster , 

liiuter gn 

987 

9J0 

h  of  St.  Lswrence  934 

43t 

9«t 

94t 

as* 

991 

:%8tbam 959 

a  Sleeping  Lucar  070 
[6  from  the  South 

975 

>w 977 

vi.,p«rii ;;  98$ 

l^ulture 999 

uk  Kalotl.... 997 

1007 

iaroDDS ,. 1019 

1017 

jondoD lOSl 

loss,  1089 

1097 


INTRODUCTION. 


Thfm  are  few  enjoyments  more  rational,  more  congenial  to  an  unvitiated  taste  or  mnn 
subservient  to  the  moral  faculties  of  human  intelligenoe,  tha^tC  praeSe  of  iudiS 
reading     By  It  we  may  sit  by  our  fire«IJe,  and  i.oVj  converse  with  tC'Sarch^s.^^a^^^^^^ 

sentiments  of  the  fathers  ot  science,  philosophy,  and  religion;  for  Mie  page  of  history  holds 
a  secret  but  powerful  language,  full  of  meaning,  full  of  knowledge  and  wise  precentl Tr- 

devdJ  n"f  a  b  'i"  ^'T''  "^  r-""^  "'  '^'  deformities  of  vL.  While  L  &Zl 
devoid  of  a  taste  for  reading,  wanders  on  amid  the  glowing  beauties  of  the  mental  creation 

;i;^Sp^"r'''*'VP'''Pu""u"^  r'y  ^y'^^  pronl„sities%f  his  animal  nature?  IrSbg 
m,!fSn  r^!;t'''"^"^''''^^'''"*'''»PP''«'='''*««  '^^  «^««t  perfumes  exhaled  by  thf 
whni  hl^t'"'^^^^  ""*{! ''[  '■""^"1?  """^  'e'lection.  taught  by  the  wisdom  of  that  Creator 
TroZn  W^M- '■°"^''  i^"-  •»«'''""'  «f  W"  intellectual  cultivation,  see.  in  everything 
l^^fJt^'  *""ething  to  admire,  something  to  charm  him.  and  something  to  adore.  hI 
beiut  es  Z,i?h'Kl .  h^'  "'r*  '^'  Pl'^'^'y  "/  ^''  "*'«'^"'=e.  innumerable  flowers,  whSe 
^n  fr^™?^  •    '^'^e/nacle,  and  whose  perfume  will  ascend  as  grateful  incense  to  Heav- 

™«n  «T  .t'  ™"^"k  °[  ''}\?"r-  ^*»"^  '^^  ^'ews.  meditations,  tnd  hopes  of  the  unread 
man  are  circnmscnbed  within  the  narrow  limits  of  his  own  existence,  and  he  looks  back,  in 
the  volume  of  the  past,  no  farther  than  the  few  brief  chapters  that  have  been  recorded  since 
Ills  mtancy,  and  in  the  future  his  vision  terminates  at  that  point  where  the  soul  puts  off'  its 

Z^pTr?''"''^''''"''*'^''^^''*^'''''^^*^"'^  '*"'  knowl'edge  which  books  and  concomi! 
tant  meditation  impart,  views  his  own  life  as  merely  a  faint  speck  within  the  urea  of  his 

^h»l  ./r°"'  ""^  "P°"  ""^  "^"'^  °[  imagination  he  travels  back  to  the  matin  of  creation, 
wheh  "  the  morning  stars  sang  together,  and  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  jov."  He  sits 
iKwn  the  apex  of  a  great  eminence,  whence  he  beholds  a  panoramic  view  of  the  world,  from 
nh!n,  '".f  °"V-  '\  f '■'^'"  "^  ¥'"  ^  *«  P'e^e"'  '"<""«"»•  In  the  political  horizon,  h" 
^nd  «t™Xf/  ""*'u  power  and  petty  sovereignties  disappear  at  the  approach  of  abso  ute 
and  extended  monarchy,  and  the  whole  earth  governed  by  four  great  rulers.  Again  he  sees 
n»f «,"°{!f'  i" '  yeakened  by  luxury  and  grown  unwieldy  by  conquest,  falling  by  their 
own  weight,  and  out  of  their  rums  smaller  monarchies  appearing.  These,  in  their  turn,  fire 
seen  to  give  way  to  a  mightier,  a  more  liberal  and  enlightened,  and.  we  trust,  a  more  endu- 
nng  pnnciple  in  political  government— that  of  the  republic  !  Thus  he  sees  power  after 
power  alternately  destroying  and  destroyed,  and  watches,  with  intense  interest,  the  progress 
01  events,  which,  operating  upon  each  other  in  accordance  with  a  great  design,  have  produ- 
cea  the  eminently-promising  political,  social,  and  religious  condition  of  the  worid  at  this 
eventful  penod  of  its  history.  Thus  may  the  student  also  watch  the  successive  re  volutions 
in  the  great  empire  of  mmd ;  and  while  he  reads  the  history  of  men  and  nations,  he  may 
treasure  up  lessons  of  wisdom,  upon  which  his  country  may  make  large  draughts  in  the  hour 

This  country  is  pre-eminently  distinguished  for  the  facilities  afTorded  for  the  tlifTusion  of 
know  edge  among  all  classes  of  the  people.  In  addition  to  the  admirable  system  of  free 
schools  which  universally  prevails,  and  the  instruction  in  the  higher  seminaries  of  learning 
to  be  everywhere  had  at  a  mere  nominal  cost,  there  are  more  books,  reviews,  magazines 
and  newspapers,  published  here,  than,  it  might  almost  he  said,  in  the  whole  world  besides! 
1  here  being  no  onerous  duties  imposed  upon  them,  no  laws  restricting  or  limiting  their  circu- 
lation, and  they  being  consequently  furnished  at  comparatively  low  prices,  there  is  scarcely 


«*" 


KJ 


12 


INTRODUCTION. 


a  family  in  the  land,  however  humble  its  circumstances,  but  may  have  its  library,  opon 
which  Its  members  can  draw  for  instruction  or  recreation  during  tneir  leisure  hours.  The 
benefits  resulting  from  this  are  seen  in  the  superior  intelligence  of  people  in  the  common 
walks  of  life  here,  in  comparison  with  the  humbler  classes  in  other  lands. 

But,  however  flattering  to  the  national  pride  this  may  be,  we  are  compelled  in  truth  to 
admit,  these  inestimable  privileges,  in  both  publishing  and  reading,  are,  t<)  by  for  too  great 
an  extent,  lamentably  abused.  Any  person  who  takes  a  comprehensive  view  of  the  quan- 
tities of  worse  than  worthless  matter,  under  the  name  of  "  light  literature,"  daily  thrown  be- 
fore the  public,  and  which  forms  the  intellectual  foml  of  so  great  a  proi)ortion  of  the  com- 
munity at  the  present  day,  will  inevitably  arrive  at  this  conclusion.  The  prolific  press  so 
overflows  with  romances,  .lovels,  and  magazines  and  newspapers,  filled  with  visionary 
scenes,  that  the  public  taste  in  reading  has  been  seriously  vitiated.  The  imagination,  ever 
susceptible  to  high-wrought  pictures  of  romantic  adventure,  when  improperly  indulged, 
"  grows  by  what  it  feeds  on,"  till  it  outstrips  every  other  mental  power.  To  this  may  be  at- 
tributed, in  a  great  degree,  the  credulity  too  often  exhibited,  and  the  tendency  to  be  drawn 
into  impracticable  schemes  and  romantic  speculations.  An  instance  may  perhaps  be  found  in 
the  eagerness  with  which,  at  the  present  time,  thousands,  excited  by  the  glowing  descrip- 
tions and  extravagant  stories  almost  daily  published,  of  immense  treasures  to  be  found  in 
the  new  El  Dorado  of  the  Pacific,  are  leaving  friends,  family,  all  the  comforts  and  endear- 
ments of  home — many  relinquishing  a  safe  and  profitable  business — and  embarking  on  a 
long  and  perilous  voyage,  bound  for  the  "  gold  regions,"  with  hopes  buoyant,  but  which  we 
fear  will  result,  with  very  many — not  in  disappointment  merely  (the  moral  taught  might 
compensate  for  that)— but  in  the  loss  of  health  and  perhaps  of  life  itself.  Facts,  the  naked 
realities  of  life,  are  too  tame  to  arrest  the  attention.  They  must  be  clothed  or  distorted  in 
fiction,  before  they  will  possess  sufficient  interest  for  perusal.  Many  a  magazine  and  news- 
paper, which  has  dealt  principally  with  matters  of  science  and  fact,  has  failed  of  adequate 
support ;  while  others,  which  are  filled  with  fictitious  and  unnatural  tales,  romantic  inci- 
dents, and  sickly  poetry,  riot  in  abundance. 

To  lend  the  aid  of  our  humble  endeavors  in  turning  this  current  of  taste  in  reading,  thus 
tending  to  the  broad  waste  of  mental  licentiousness,  into  a  healthier  channel,  has  been  our 
controlling  motive  in  putting  forth  this  volume,  as  it  has  been  of  the  entire  series  of  publi- 
cations which  have  from  time  to  time  been  issued  by  us.  In  the  preparation  of  this  work, 
everything  which  might  have  an  improper  tendency  has  been  carefully  excluded.  Nor  has 
the  desim  been  a  negative  one  merely  ;  care  has  also  been  taken  that  every  article  which 
found  admission  to  its  pages  should  possess  a  positive  value — should  impart  some  useful  in- 
formation, or  "  point  a  moral."  The  illustrations  have  been  selected  with  the  same  design. 
Many  of  them  are  from  original  sketches,  procured  with  considerable  trouble  and  expense. 
To  avoid  prolixity,  and  to  give  as  great  a  variety  as  possible,  the  articles  have  generally 
been  of  as  limited  length  as  was  compatible  with  justice  to  the  subjects  upon  which  they 
treated.  There  were  a  few  exceptions,  however,  where  the  importance  of  the  matters  treat- 
ed, warranted  and  required  more  scope.  Among  these  we  would  instance,  "  Ciiristofher 
CotuMBUS,  AND  THE  DiscovERT  OF  AMERICA."  When  itis  taken  into  consideration,  that, 
without  the  omission  of  a  single  important  fact,  we  have  here,  condensed  into  twenty-six 
pages,  the  substance  of  several  octavo  volumes,  by  one  of  the  most  eminent  writers  of  the 
present  day— a  scholar  of  whom  our  country  may  justly  be  proud— we  are  confident  that 
It  will  not  be  deemed  as  absorbing  too  great  a  space.  We  feel  assured,  also,  that  no  one  can 
rise  from  the  perusal  of  this  description  of  the  labors  and  trials  of  Columbus  without  a  feel- 
ing—not simply  of  admiration  of  the  hardy  adventurer,  who,  with  desperate  resolution, 
launched  forth  on  the  Atlantic,  hoping  against  hope,  to  discover  he  knew  not  whot— but,  of 
reverence  for  the  philosophic  truth-seeker,  who,  from  the  accumulated  testimony  of  ages,  in 
the  proud  independence  of  conscious  genius,  moulded  a  most  refined  yet  demonstrable  theor' 
of  geographical  facts ;— and  whose  mind,  when  he  set  sail  from  Europe,  was  so  deeply 
impressed  with  the  weight  of  historical  evidence,  that  he  proceeded  with  confidence  and 
certainty  on  the  voyage  which  resulted  in  the  discovery  of  a  New  World. 

There  are  many  other  subjects  treated  on,  which  will  be  found  of  more  than  ordinary 
interest,  but  our  limits  will  not  permit  a  reference  to  them  in  detail.  Jt  is  hoped  that  this 
volume  may  be  found  in  a  measure  worthy  of  that  approval  by  che  public  which  has  been 
so  f/enerously  accorded  to  our  previous  works.  And  should  its  publication  tend,  even  in 
a  slight  degree,  to  encourage  a  more  judicious  and  salutary  taste  in  reading,  we  shall  feel 
that  we  have  not  labored  in  vain. 


ve  its  library,  opon 
leisure  hours.  The 
)I)le  in  the  common 

m  polled  in  truth  to 
'•,  f>)  by  fnr  too  p-eat 
!  view  of  the  qnan- 
e,"  daily  thrown  be- 
>j)ortion  of  the  com- 
rhe  prolific  press  so 
lied  with  visionary 
he  imagination,  ever 
nproperly  indulged, 
To  this  niuy  be  at- 
'ndency  to  be  drawn 
perhaps  be  found  in 
be  glowing  descrip- 
ires  to  be  found  in 
omforta  and  endear- 
nd  embarking  on  a 
lyant,  but  which  we 
moral  taught  might 
.  Facts,  the  naked 
>thed  or  distorted  in 
magazine  and  news- 
i  failed  of  adequate 
:ale8,  romantic  inci- 

iste  in  reading,  thus 
mnel,  has  been  our 
itire  series  of  publi- 
ration  of  this  work, 
Jxcluded.  Nor  has 
every  article  which 
part  some  useful  in- 
ith  the  same  design, 
rouble  and  expense, 
cles  have  generally 
8  upon  which  they 
of  the  matters  treat- 
ce,  "Christopher 
» consideration,  that, 
sed  into  twenty-six 
inent  writers  of  the 
'e  are  confident  that 
dso,  that  no  one  can 
ibus  without  a  feel- 
esperate  resolution, 
V  not  what — but,  of 
istiraony  of  ages,  in 
lemonstrable  theorv 
jpe,  was  so  deeply 
'ith  confidence  and 
d, 

more  than  ordinary 
t  is  hoped  that  this 
lie  which  has  been 
ation  tend,  even  in 
iding,  we  shall  feel 


17< 


AMERICAN  MISCELLANY. 


OUR  COUNTRY. 


The  pilgnm  fathers  were  conducted  to 
these  shores  by  an  Almighty  Hand.  They 
might  have  passed  to  other  lands,  far  from  the 
aggressors,  and  been  safe.  There  were  coun- 
tries nearer  home  that  would  have  gladly  wel- 
corned  them  to  their  shelters.     But  a  mts- 

TERIODS    INFLUKNCE     RESTED     UPON     THEIR 

minds;  and,  althodoh  it  was  a  hazard- 
ous ENTERPRISE,  TEEMING  WITH  DANGER, 
THET  RALLIED  THEIR  BROKEN  SPIRITS. 
BRAVED  THE  WINDS  OP  HEAVEN,  THE  STORMS 
OF  THE  ANGRY  DEEP,  AND,  IN  HOPE  AOMNST 
HOPE,  m  THE  VERT  DEPTH  OF  WINTER 
SPRANG  OPON  THE  RUGGED  ROCK  OF  PlTJI- 
OUTH,  BEARING  WITH  THEM  THE  SEEDS  OF 
A  HOLT  RELIGION  AND  A  VAST  EMPIRE. 

Iheir  ongm  and  national  character  form  a 
striking  circumstance  in  the  history  of  the 
country.  They  were  of  no  plebeian  race, 
neither  were  they  all  of  high  patrician  birth 
but  generally  selected  from  that  class,  which 
in  jfc-ngland  especially,  constitutes  the  very  best 
and  most  enterprising  of  her  citizens.  ^They 
were  inflexible,  brave,  and  true.     Indepen- 

tlTv  f  """'''  "^  f«"je»8  spirit,  with  an  un- 
paralleled strength  of  puqiose,  were  charac- 
tenstics  by  which  they  were  distinguished. 
Another  and  a  far  different  race  might  have 
been  our  fathers;  but  God  had  high  and  im- 
portant  purposes  in  view,  and  he  therefore  se- 
lected men  ^yho  possessed  the  power  and  were 
tuniished  with  the  materials  to  lay  the  deep 
and  broad  foundations  of  a  nation,  destined 
to  ^e  unexampled  and  glorious. 

The  nature  of  the  constitutions  and  laws 
they  framed  and  adopted,  their  moral  tenden- 
cy, the  stnctness  of  their  religious  sentiments, 
all  give  evidence  of  an  overruling  Providence. 
Mad  the  laws  by  which  they  were  governed 
been  less  ngid  and  severe,  tlieir  morals  more 
pliable,  and  their  faith  cast  in  a  more  polished 
mould,  It  is  a  question  whether  their  children 
would  have  retained,  for  so  many  years,  cus- 
toms ana  manner«,  which,  though  antiquated. 
and  ridiculed  by  the  refined  and  skeptical 


have  contributed  in  a  great  measure  to  per- 
serve  the  American  citizen,  as  yet,  from  Piany 
ot  the  glaring  absurdities  and  extravagant  ni 
tions  of  his  trans-atlantic  brethren.  On  the 
I  p!}"'?'  we  may  consider  the  character  of  the 
[  i^ilgnms,  their  conduct  and  views,  as  not  only 
benehcial,  but  absolutely  necessary,  in  a  re- 
ligious, nioral,  and  political  point  of  light,  in 
torming  the  basis  of  a  great  and  highly  intel- 
ligent community.  '' 

Their  preservation  from  the  srr>lping.knife 
ot  the  savage  and  from  the  sworl  of  France 
18  another  mark  of  Divine  favor.     No  per- 
sonal  bravery,  no  tower  of  strength,  could 
have  secured  them  from  the  accumulated  dan- 
gers  that  beset  them.     The  country  was  then 
covered  with  thousands  of  the  red  warriors 
armed  and  on  the  watch  for  their  prey,  ureed 
on  by  Frenchmen  who  thirsted  for  blc^. 
iiarly  in  their  history  we  also  mark  a  gracious 
interposition  of  Divine  Providence,  in  the  dis- 
comfiture and  defeat  of  a  powerful  airoament. 
i!-re  It  had  reached  these  shores,  the  Lord 
commissioned  the  elements  to  fight  against  it, 
and  the  proud  fleet  was  scattered,  dismasted, 
and  broken  by  the  four  winds. 

And  when  the  seeds  of  war  sprang  up  in 
the  breasts  of  the  revolutionary  heroes,  were 
not  the  counsels  of  Great  Bntain  strangely 
perplexed?  The  voice  of  wisdom  forso-i 
the  senate  and  council-chamber,  and  the  spirit 
ot  her  king,  her  nobles,  and  her  people,  cow- 
ered  to  a  palpably  ignorant  policy. 

At  this  period,  big  with  the  destinies  of  mil- 
lions, when  all  that  is  dear  and  valuable  to 
man  was  at  stake,  and  the  hopes  of  America 
were  on  the  point  of  being  blasted  for  ever, 
the  IMMORTAL  Washington  appeared  en  the 
arena  of  battle.  A  mysterious  and  all- wise 
i-rovidence  seemed  to  designate  him  as  the 
ANGEL  that  was  to  lead  the  American  armies 
to  vie  ory  and  conquest.  He  soon  redeemed 
tne  pledge  his  opening  campaign  gave  to  a 
deeiSy  anxious  and  troubled  people.  His 
course  was  brilliant  and  successful.  He  met 
the  veterans  of  a  hundred  hard-fought  fields 
wearing  the  laurels  of  victory,  and  they  were 


il 


"*^<* 

i!«!'»l!») 


8 


OUa  COUNTRY. 


signally  bpat^n ;  the  country  rnscued  from 
the  invader's  sworti,  and  its  rif^hts  and  privi- 
leens  confirmed  and  acknowledged  by  the 
irOice  of  nations  and  the  wisdom  of  our  fathers. 

The  framing  of  the  constitution,  that  great 
pillar  of  «i»r  country's  glory,  is  not  among  the 
least  of  the  blessings  by  which  these  United 
States  are  di»tinguishe(l. 

But  who  can  read  the  page  that  opens  upoti 
the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  our  independence, 
and  not  be  struck  with  astonishment  at  the 
death  of  the  two  venerable  patriots,  Jeflcrson 
and  Adams,  who  wore  both,  on  the  morning 
of  that  aus])icious  day,  basking  in  the  sun- 
shine of  a  nation's  smile;  but,  ere  the  sun 
had  set,  were  gathered  with  their  fathers  ? — 
who  can  pass  over  this  imperishable  mark  of 
Divine  interference,  and  not  feel  the  full  force 
of  our  observations  7 

The  prosperity  which  has  always  crowned 
this  country — more  especially  since  her  inde- 
pendence was  established,  is  further  proof 
that  G(xl  is  with  us.  She  has  increased  in 
territory  and  in  population,  in  riches,  in  enter- 
prise, and  renown.  Her  religious,  literary, 
and  political  institutions  will  bear  a  proud 
comparison  even  with  those  of  Great  Britain, 
France,  and  Germany. 

From  what  has  been  said,  we  may  fairly 
infer  that  America  is  destined,  at  no  distant 
period,  to  take  a  more  elevated  and  important 
station  in  controlling  the  destinies  of  the  earth. 
If  she  is  but  true  to  herself,  she  can  never 
retrogade.  She  must  ever  prosper,  gathering 
strength  and  stability  aa  she  advances.  The 
Almighty  seems  to  have  determined  in  her 
favor.  As  long  as  the  religion  of  Jesus  is 
permitted  to  lie  deeply-rooted  in  her  institu- 
tions, she  can  not  fall.  The  Rock  of  Ages  is 
as  yet  her  abiding-place.  She  is  supported 
by  pillars  of  strength  and  beauty,  that  suffer 
no  decay,  and  that  bid  defiance  to  the  hand 
of  the  oppressor,  and  the  tooth  of  time. 
Stupendous  are  the  purposes,  to  accomplish 
which,  she  is  to  be  the  honored  instrument. 
In  the  youth  and  vigor  of  her  days,  untram- 
melled and  unconfined,  bearing  in  her  bosom 
the  elements  that  have  already  given  omens 
of  great  ,iror,iise,  what  may  she  not  perform ! 

Her  voice  is  swelling  to  a  louder  note  in 
other  lands,  and  wherever  the  star-gemmed 
banner  sweeps  the  free  air  of  heaven,  there 
will  her  influence  be  felt,  and  the  fame  of  her 
doings  create  a  flame  and  arouse  a  spirit  which 
rivers  can  not  quench,  nor  armed  multitudes 
subdue.  The  beacon  of  freedom  to  both 
hemispheres,  its  light  will  soon  blaze  on  every 
island,  sea,  and  mountain,  on  the  globe,  until 
myriads,  guided  by  its  mellow  radiance,  shall 
proclaim  universal  emancipation  from  chains 
and  slavery,  and  man  assume  his  legitimate 
place  in  the  great  scale  of  being. 


V  yet  more  glorious  contemplation  ;b 
afliirded  by  this  animating  subject.  For 
achievements  of  moral  sublimity,  never  em- 
ulated nor  surpassed  sr'.iie  the  commence- 
ment of  time,  America  statids  eminently  con- 
spicuous. Emanations  that  bear  the  royal 
signature  of  Heaven,  cluster  around  us  on 
every  hand.  Movements  of  a  high  and  lofty 
import,  which  cast  far  into  the  shade  all  that 
has  ever  taken  place  on  the  earth  since  the 
hour  of  man's  redemption,  seem  to  be  shaking 
the  universe,  and  strongly  intimate  the  near 
approach  of  wonderful  events.  Christians  in 
fonner  times  waged  war  on  the  borders  of  the 
enemy's  dominions  only :  their  battles  were 
but  skirmishes.  But  their  sons  have  resolved 
to  penetrate  the  thickest  ranks,  and  to  attack 
the  strongest  fortresses;  and  they  aim  at 
nothing  short  of  the  complete  overthrow  and 
dovrnfall  of  the  empire  of  sin. 

The  resources  of  this  country  are  vast,  her 
spirit  bold  and  daring,  not  easily  subdued,  and 
capable  of  great  and  brilliant  enterprise.  It 
is  but  natural  then  for  us  to  place  her  in  the 
front  rank  of  the  Sacramental  Host — her  stars 
pouring  light  on  the  millennial  morning,  while 
her  spirit-waking  trumpet  shall  break  upou 
the  ears  of  slumbering  millions. 

While  we  contemplate  this  magnificent 
scene,  and  behold  the  glorious  prospect  which 
the  torch  of  inspiration  reveals  to  our  won- 
dering eyes,  let  us  fear  and  tremble,  lest  we 
interrupt  the  high  purposes  of  the  Almighty, 
and,  by  our  rebellion  and  obstmacy,  turn  away 
the  streams  of  his  munificence.  We  may 
contribute  to  the  downfall  of  these  high  and 
towering  hopes,  by  becoming  forgetful  of  liis 
mercy,  and  uetdng  at  naught  his  counsel. 
Are  there  not  already  monitory  voices  iu  the 
land  ? — Do  they  not  appeal  to  our  hearts  in 
the  touching  and  emphatic  language  of  na- 
ture, and  of  truth  ? 

Wliat  says  the  history  of  the  world,  in  re- 
gard to  the  evil  to  which  we  here  allude? 
The  national  debt  of  England  is  at  present 
about  three  thousand  millions  of  dollars — a 
debt  produced  by  war ;  the  interest  of  that 
debt,'  and  the  parts  of  it  already  liquidated, 
amount  to  about  ten  times  as  much  more. 
And  what  has  England  obtained  for  all  this 
mighty  outlay  of  capital  7  Where  shall  we 
look  for  the  benefit  which  she  has  derived 
from  this  incalculable  expense  ?  Ask  the 
depths  of  the  ocean,  and  the  sunken  fleets  of 
the  Nile  and  Trafalgar  will  answer.  She  has 
gained  the  fame  of  making  her  I'on  roar  on 
the  vanquished  Armada ;  of  "  letting  slip  her 
dogs  of  war"  upon  the  palmy  shores  of  Hin- 
dostan;  of  giving  Wellington  immortality 
upon  the  plains  of  Waterloo :  and  is  this  all  ? 
No!  she  has  erected  monuments  in  West- 
minster Abbey  to  the  greatest  butchers  of  our 


J 


gfflmiwi 


If)  cniitctnplatlon  'b 
mting  subjoct.  For 
»ublhiiity,  never  om- 
■..<:e  tlie  coinmence- 
tniids  emiiH-ntly  cnn- 
Ihot  bear  thn  rnyol 
luster  arouiul  ns  on 
8  of  a  high  and  lofty 
ito  the  shade  all  that 
the  earth  since  the 
1,  seem  to  be  shaking 
ly  intimate  the  near 
irents.  Christians  in 
m  the  borders  of  the 
:  their  battles  were 
ir  sons  have  resolved 
ranks,  and  to  attack 
;  and  they  aim  at 
iplete  overthrow  and 
1  sin. 

country  are  vast,  her 
t:  easily  subdned,  and 
lliant  enter])rise.     It 

I  to  place  her  in  the 
mtal  Host — her  stars 
nnial  morning,  while 
et  shall  break  npou 
lillions. 

to  this  magnificent 
rions  prospect  which 
reveals  to  our  won- 
nd  tremble,  lest  we 
es  of  the  Almighty, 
obstinacy,  turn  away 
ificence.     We  may 

II  of  these  high  and 
ning  forgetful  of  his 
laught  his  conusel. 
)nitory  voices  in  the 
eal  to  our  hearts  in 
itic  language  of  na- 

of  the  world,  in  re- 
ch  we  here  allude? 
ngland  is  at  present 
lillions  of  dollars'^a 
the  interest  of  that 
t  already  liquidated, 
nes  as  much  more, 
obtained  for  all  this 
1  Where  shall  we 
ich  she  has  derived 
sxpense  ?  Ask  the 
the  sunken  fleets  of 
ill  answer.  She  has 
Lin"  her  I'on  roar  on 

of  "  letting  slip  her 
almy  shores  of  Hin- 
llington  immortality 
rloo :  and  is  this  all  ? 
onuments  in  West- 
latest  butchers  of  our 


OUB  COUNTRY. 


^  * 


race  that  ever  lived ;  it  has  written  poverty 
ujHni  the  foreheads  of  the  majority  of  her  la- 
borers ;  it  has  crushed  the  many  with  burdens 
and  tnxes  to  honor  the  destroyers  of  our  race 
with  a  name — a  name  which,  if  society  un- 
der8t<x)d  its  interests  as  it  ought,  would  only 
render  its  possessor  detestable  and  contempti- 
ble.   This  is  only  the  influence  of  war  on 
national  prosperity.     Infinitely  more  disas- 
trous is  it  in  its  consequences  upon  private, 
than  upon    public  property;   and  infinitely 
more  extensive.     Whole  navies  can  better  be 
sunk  in  the  ocean,  than  the  poor  man's  house 
be  burned  over  his  head  by  an  invading  army. 
Wars  add  to  national  wealth !     Wars  increase 
national  prosperity  !     Give  us  the  money  that 
has  been  spent  in  war,  and  we  will  purchase 
every  foot  of  land  upon  the  globe :  we  will 
clothe  every  man,  woman,  and  child,  in  an 
attire  that  kings  and  queens  might  be  proud 
of;  we  will  build  a  schoolhouse  upon  every 
hillside,  and  upon  every  valley  upon  the  hab- 
itable earth  ;  we  will  supply  that  schoolhouse 
with  a  competent  teacher ;  we  will  build  an 
academy  in  every  town,  and  endow  it ;  a  col- 
lege in  every  state,  and  fill  it  with  able  pro- 
fessors; we  will  crown  every  hill  with  a 
church,  consecrated  to  the  promulgation  of 
the  gospel  cf  peace ;  we  will  support  in  its 
pulpit  an  able  teacher  of  righteousness;  so 
that  on  every  sabbath  morning,  the  chime  on 
one  hill  should  answer  to  the  chime  on  another, 
round  the  earth's  broad  circumference,  and 
the  voice  of  prayer,  and  the  song  of  praise 
should  ascend,  fike  a  universal  halo,  from 
earth  to  heaven ;  the  darkness  of  ignorance 
should  flee  before  the  bright  light  of  the  sun 
of  science :  Paganism  would  be  crushed  by 
the  fall  of  her  temples — shaken  to  their  deep 
foundations,  by  the  voice  of  Truth;  War 
would  no  more  stalk  over  the  eanh,  trampling 
under  his  giant  foot  all  that  is  beautiful  and 
lovely  beneath  the  sky !     This  is  not  fancy ; 
we  wish  it  were :  it  reflects  on  men.    It  is 
the  darkest  chapter  in  human  depravity,  to 
squander  God's  richest  blessings  on  passion 
and  lust. 

Who  that  has  attentively  viewed  the  rela- 
tion of  parties  for  the  past  few  years,  can  but 
feel  loathing  and  disgust  for  the  conduct  of 
the  partisan  press  of  the  country  T  We  ad- 
mit, for  the  honor  of  humau  nature,  that  there 
are  exceptions,  and  we  take  pleasure  in  record- 
ing the  fact.  But  it  is  of  the  spirit  of  parties 
that  we  would  especially  ^peak— it  is  that 
state  of  things  by  which  one  man  is  favorably 
or  unfavorably  affected  toward  another,  ac- 
cording to  the  degree  of  his  supposed  or  known 
adherance  to  partj ,  As  a  consequence,  it  has 
led  to  deep-seated  personal  animosity ;  it  has 
rfiven  rise  to  clans  or  cliaues,  whose  conduct 
has  frequently  caused  the  abandonment  of 


correct  and  sound  principles ;  has  caused  the 
nomination  of  irresponsible  men  for  responsible 
stations,  whose  only  qualifications  for  ofTicial 
distinction  were  wholly  based  upon  a  blind  ad- 
hesion to  the  mandates  of  party,  thereby  ex- 
cluding from  office  the  most  worthy  and  best- 
educated  men  in  our  country.    L(wk,  for  ex- 
ample, at  any  of  the  convassings  before  any 
of  our  general  elections— see  how  low  in  the 
scale  of  intellectual  being  those  who  have  the 
nianagement   of   parties  descend — they  ex- 
hibit very  little  disposition  to  reason.     The 
leading  editorials  evince  intensity  of  feeling, 
and  are  frequently  characterized  by  such  vir- 
ulence of  manner,  such  heated  temper,  such 
deep-seated  personal  animosity,  involving  a 
total  loss  of  self-respect,  that  the  high  con- 
siderations of  truth,  justice,  ond  patriotism, 
become  merged  in  the  tornado  of  passion  and 
excitement.     Many  forget  the  dignity  of  their 
calling,  and  descend  to  write  calumnies  by  the 
wholesale.    No  place— no  time — no  condition 
of  any  candidate  for  any  considerable  popular 
favor,  is  beyond  their  malevolent  attacks.— 
Even  the  domestic  circle  is  frequently  invaded, 
and  things  stated  for  truths  which  the  authors 
at  the  time  well  know  to  be  wholly  false. 
How  many  columns  of  private  scandal  have 
been  printed  to  serve  party  purposes  /     How 
often  has  the  doctrine  been  acted  U]x)n,  that 
the  end  justifies  the  means  1    Is  this  mere 
imagination,  or  is  it  sober  truth  7     Let  every 
disinterested  reader  answer  for  himself.    How 
many  pure,  upright,  and  honorable  men,  have 
been  excluded  from  political  favor,  by  the  ca- 
bals of  the  day  7     Men  of  intelligence,  of  ac- 
knowledged worth  and  abilities,  have  been 
thrust  ruthlessly  aside,  to  give  place  to  the 
brawling  demagogue.     They  were  unwilling 
to  enter  a  contest  where  known  merit,  talent, 
and  strict  adherence  to  principle,  were  made 
subservient  to  the  blustering  officiousness  of 
the  porter-house  cliques  of  the  times.    We 
firmly  believe  our  country  has  been  cursed 
quite  long  enough  by  the  trammels  of  party. 
Let  men Team  to  act  and  speak  for  themselves, 
unawed  by  the  frowns  or  threats  of  the  mere 
partisan,  and  in  our  opinion  a  healthier  state 
of  things  would  immediately  ensue.    Let  ns, 
then,  individually,  and  as  a  people,  respect 
real  worth  and  sterling  integrity,  whenever 
and  wherever  it  is  found.    It  was  rnon  these 
principles  our  forefathers — the  heroes  of  the 
revolution— acted.      They  invariably  made 
merit  the  test  of  favor.    Let  us,  in  this  respect 
at  least,  imitate  their  example,  and  thus  prove 
ourselves  worthy  sons  of  such  noble  sires. 

If  there  be  one  practical  precept  which  we 
could  wish  to  be  pruited  in  starry  characters 
on  the  dark  face  of  our  mighty  sky,  written 
in  sunbeams  on  the  tablet  of  the  earth,  and 
uttered  both  night  and  day  in  voices  bom 


I 


1^ 
Win*! 


10 


OUR  COUNXaV. 


the  heavens,  that  the  ■ttention  of  men  might 
be  irresistibly  turned  U)  it,  and  their  hearta 
unavoidably  impressed  by  it,  this  is  the  one, 

— '«  rORBEAHINO    onE    ANOTHER    IN    LOVE." 

This  one  short  precept,  universally  obeyed, 
would  set  all  right,  anu  produce  all  order.  It 
would  not  at  once  reconcile  all  minds,  but  it 
would  harmonize  all  hearts.  It  would  not 
amalgamate  all  churches  into  an  external  uni- 
formity, but  it  would  combine  them  all  in  the 
unity  of  the  spirit,  and  the  bond  of  peace.  It 
might  not  hush  the  voice  of  controversy,  but 
it  would  take  from  it  the  harsh  dissonance 
of  human  passion,  and  cause  it  to  speak  in  the 
inellifluous  tones  of  Divine  charity. 

The  souls  of  our  countrymen,  slain  by  in- 
fidelity and  intemperance,  with  their  asso- 
ciates in  profligacy,  error,  and  vice,  lifteth 
another  cry,  high  up  into  the  heovens.  It 
calls  sternly  for  vengeance  on  these  offspring 
of  a  most  cruel  and  relentless  fiend.  Such 
enemies  as  these  should  find  no  favor,  no  har- 
borage among  the  children  of  the  Pilgrims. 
For  these  sins  the  land  mourns.  While  these 
are  countenanced,  nay,  even  sometimes  passed 
by  without  reproof,  and,  what  is  still  worse, 
applauded,  there  is  great  cause  to  fear ;  and 
altnough  as  yet  no  very  alarming  consequen- 
ces may  have  been  the  result,  such  departures 
from  the  living  God  must  sooner  or  later,  ter- 
minate unfavorably,  leaving  our  country  a 
prey  to  the  tempest,  that  bus  overwhelmed  in 
Its  resistless  course  the  mightiest  empires  of 
the  old  world, — that  rolled  upon  lU-fated 
France  an  avalanche  of  guilt  and  crime, 
and  whose  destructive  influence,  if  not  boldly 
and  successfully  encountered,  may,  ere  long, 
bury  deep  in  its  own  ruins  the  noble  fabric, 
reared  by  the  toils  and  virtues,  the  blood  and 
prayers  of  the  illustrious  fathers  of  our  coun- 
try." 

Eloquent  voices  come  down  oat  of  heaven 
to  reprove  us.  They  warn  us  of  approach- 
ing evils,  and  call ! judly  upon  us  to  repent  in 
dust  and  ashes.  Let  us,  then,  as  individuals, 
each  one  contribute  his  part  to  stem  the  tor- 
rent of  corruption.    The  enemy  is  at  the 

•  Natiosal  Morality. — Clatmiog fall  exemption 
from  all  Hoperstttion,  we  firmly  believe,  and  lake  plea- 
rare  in  announcing  it,  that  do  utate  can  prwper  in  a 
long  career  of  true  glory,  in  the  disregard  of  the 
claims  of  justice,  and  the  injanctiona  of  the  Chriitian 
religion.  A  floodtide  of  apparent  proiperity  may 
oome,  filling  for  the  time  the  avenues  of  trade,  and 
•atiating  the  cravings  of  taste  and  curionity,  yet, 
•ooner  or  later,  it  ha*  it*  ebb,  and  either  cloy*  with 
its  abundance,  or  leaves  the  void  greater  than  before. 
History  is  a  silent  but  eloquent  witness  of  iti>  truth, 
and  from  her  undying  lamp  sheds  a  streani  of  on- 
ceasing  light  along  our  pathway.  The  fabrics  of  an- 
cient greatnese,  built  by  injustice  and  consecrated  to 
ambition,  arc  now  flitting  shadows  before  ns,  s'arting 
op  from  behind  the  broken  pillars  and  falling  colurnna 
(hat  were  reared  to  perpetuate  the  geoiai  by  which 
tbey  were  wrought. 


door.  He  is  forcing  an  entrance  into  our  most 
sacred  places.  The  temples  of  religion  and 
the  scats  of  learning  are  tainted  with  the  mon- 
ster's foul  breath,  and  the  promise  and  strength 
of  our  young  men  are  bowing  down  under  the 
weight  of  his  relentless  and  withering  arm. 
Beneath  his  iron  heel  the  loveliest  flowers  of 
earth  are  crushed,  and  the  beautiful  buddings 
of  virtue  for  ever  blasted.  There  is  no  time 
to  be  lost.  And  while  each  for  himself  mokes 
secure  the  foundation  of  his  ovm  hopes,  let 
our  prayers  ascend  for  our  country,  that  amid 
all  tlio  flashings  of  its  brightness,  it  may  be 
irradiated  by  the  light  of  religion,  blessed  by 
the  prayers  of  its  citizens,  worshipped  with 
the  gratitude  of  every  patriot  heart ;  and  then 
the  return  of  each  year  .shall  be  hallowed  by 
increasing  associations  of  moral  sublimity,  till 
every  beam  shall  have  met  in  one  common 
focus,  even  the  salvation  and  happiness  of  ev- 
ery individual  who  forms  a  part  and  lives 
within  the  boundaries  of  the  great  repub'-: 
of  the  western  world. 

One  of  the  noblest  moral  pictures  of  an- 
tiquity is  that  of  Curtius  leaping  into  the 
gulf  thot  had  yawned  in  the  Roman  Forum 
—and  the  patriot  poet  could  not  have  found, 
in  the  rainbow  regions  of  fancy,  a  more  glori- 
ous picture  than  that  drawn  by  Robert  Treat 
Paine,  which  represents  Washington  stand- 
ing at  the  portals  of  our  national  temple, 
eatching,  on  the  point  of  his  sword,  the  light- 
nings of  faction,  and  guiding  them  harmlessly 
to  the  deep.  But  higher  honors  await  the 
American  patriot  who  walks  around  the  bul- 
warks of  our  empire,  lifts  the  voice  of  warn- 
ing ot  every  suspicious  appearance,  and  moulds 
its  highest  towers  to  the  transcendent  model 
of  republican  beauty  and  Christian  simplicity. 
Bombastic,  inflated  forms  of  speech,  although 
used  to  surfeiting  on  the  subject  of  our  na- 
tional independence,  do  not  belong  to  it  any 
more  than  gaudy  coverings  and  silken  frippery 
belong  to  the  perfect  forms  of  ancient  statua- 
ry. The  sublimity  of  circumstance  and  of 
fact  is  enough  to  chain  the  tongue  to  its  most 
chastened  simplicity,  while  the  ordor  of  the 
grateful  distended  heart  bums  in  the  eyes,  and 
lends  eloquence  to  language. 

We  have  alluded  to  infidelity,  as  a  serpent 
foe  in  the  midst  of  us — ^but  althijugh  we  warn, 
we  do  not  fear.  This  serpent  sholl  trail  the 
dust  beneath  the  chariot  wheels  of  pure  re- 
publicanism— and  a  little  further  onward, 
chained  to  the  millenial  car,  the  monster's 
blood  and  the  torn  fragments  of  nis  sinuous 
body  shall  be  scattered  in  the  whirlwind  revo- 
lutions of  angry  wheels.  There  is  a  natural 
land  where  there  is  no  serpent.  There  shall 
be  an  entire  world  where  no  moral  serpent's 
hisa  shall  startle  innocence,  or  interrupt  the 
singing  of  the  turtle-dove. 

't 


WHi 


itranco  into  our  most 
ple«  of  religion  and 
linted  with  tne  tnon- 
promise  ami  strength 
tfin^  down  under  the 
and  withering  arm. 

loveliest  flowers  of 
B  beautiful  buddings 
I.  There  in  no  time 
ch  for  himself  makes 

his  own  hopes,  let 
r  country,  that  amid 
ightness,  it  may  be 

religion,  blessed  by 
IS,  worshipped  with 
riot  heart ;  and  then 
hall  be  hallowed  by 
moral  sublimity,  till 
net  in  one  common 
and  happiness  of  ev- 
ts  a  part  and  lives 

the  great  repub'": 

irnl  pictures  of  an- 
la  leaping  into  the 

the  Roman  Forum 
uld  not  have  found, 
fancy,  a  more  glori- 
(vn  by  Robert  Treat 

Washington  Rtand- 
ur  national  temple, 
bis  sword,  the  light- 
ing them  harmlessly 
sr  honors  await  the 
ttlks  around  the  bul- 
}  the  voice  of  wam- 
)earance,  and  moulds 

transcendent  model 
Christian  simplicity. 

of  speech,  although 
!  subject  of  our  na- 
not  belong  to  it  any 
9  and  silken  frippery 
M  of  ancient  statua- 
ircumstance  and  of 
le  tongue  to  its  most 
ile  the  ardor  of  the 
urns  in  the  eyos,  and 
ige. 

fidelity,  as  a  serpent 
It  although  we  warn, 
rpent  shall  trail  the 

wheels  of  pure  re- 
le   further    onward, 

car,  the  monster's 
nents  of  nis  sinuous 

the  whirlwind  revo- 

There  is  a  natural 

srpent.    There  shall 

e  no  moral  serpent's 

ice,  or  interrupt  the 


NEW-YBXa'S  DAY. 


11 


Oo  read  the  history  of  the  pant,  on  pages 
written  wiiii  bliK)d  !  Count,  if  you  can,  the 
sluugiitercd  victims  that  have  found  their  hint 
resting-place  on  ihe  gory  battle-plains  which 
ore  fill  thiiikly  interspersed  tl^roughout  our 
rar.tli,  making  it,  us  it  wire,  one  vast  Potter's 
fieliL  Watch  those  drops  of  anguish  and 
sorrow,  that  have  gushed  from  ati'cctionate 
hearts,  broken  by  the  fierce  carnage  of  war, 
iind  see  them,  as  a  mighty  river,  swelling  to 
an  (Wean  of  grief  sulHcicnt  to  drown  all  the 
warring  hostii  of  every  age.  Htmrken  to  the 
wail  of  widows  anil  orjilmns,  deep-toned  and 
terrible  enough  even  to  startle  the  myriads  of 
hell,  and  inuke  them  cower  before  tne  stonn 
of  anguish  !  But  that  stonn  Hhall  pass  away ; 
and  mountains  that  have  interposed  to  make 
enemies  of  nations,  shall  be  levelled  before 
the  advancing  triumphs  of  him  who  came 
heralded  as  the  "  Prince  of  Peace."  The 
instrument  of  death,  under  the  skill  of  the 
ingenious  mechanic,  shall  turn  the  sod  and 
prepare  it  for  the  seed,  which  shall  i)resent 
her  "  full  com  in  the  ear"  to  the  hand  of  man. 
Hapjnr !  glf)rious  epoch  in  the  world's  history  ! 
The  Lord  hasten  its  consummation !  Then, 
Christian  patriot,  is  your  triumph !  The  bat- 
winged  miuiona  of  darkness  sholl  retreat  be- 
fore this  morning  of  moral  independence,  and 
one  wide  generous  glow  of  radiance  diflusc 
itself  above,  around  the  lovely  and  loung  dis- 
ciples of  the  ever-blessed  Jesus.  Then  shall 
earth  be  like  heaven.  Then  rejoicings  shall 
break  out  in  every  desert  und  barren  land, 
while  the  ancient  fertility  hastens  back  to 
earth,  as  when  Adam  first  sung  his  morning 
hymn  in  Eden.  Then  the  sons  of  God  will 
shout  for  joy,  as  in  the  morning  of  the  young 
creation.  Then  a  more  heavenly  song  than 
the  hoarse  trumpets  breathe,  or  the  dec))- 
mouthed  cannon  utter,  shall  roll  its  harmonics 
through  the  vocal  creation,  swelling  its  solemn 
sweetness  to  every  ear — "  Peace  on  earth, 

A^D   GOOD    WILL   TO   HAN." 

"  O  KeoM  Borpassing  fable,  and  yet  trae  i 
Scenes  uf  accomplished  bliu !  which  who  caa  see, 
Tboagh  bat  in  distant  prospect,  and  not  feel 
His  soul  refreshel  with  foretaste  of  the  Joy  1 
One  gong  employs  all  nations ;  and  all  cry, 
■  Worthy  the  Lamb,  for  be  was  slain  for  as !' 
The  dwellers  in  the  vales  anJ  on  the  rocka 
Bhout  to  each  other,  and  the  moantain  tops 
From  distant  moontains  catch  ihe  flying  joy ; 
Till  nation  after  nation  taught  the  strain, 
Earth  rolls  the  rapturoas  hosannah  roand. 
See  Salem  built,  the  labor  of  a  Qod ! 
Bright  a*  a  sun  the  sacred  city  shines ; 
All  kingdoms  and  all  princes  of  the  earth 
Flock  to  that  light ;  the  glory  of  all  lands 
Flows  into  her ;  unbounded  is  her  joy. 
And  endless  her  increase." 


NEW-YEAR'S  DAY. 

"A  HAPPT  NKW  TF^n!"  has  been  the 
repetition  of  a  thou^fatu!  merry  voiees  this 
morning.  This  is  a  dny  on  which  old  feuds 
fhould  be  broken  down,  warm  friendships  be 
strengthened,  and  new  acquaintances  formed. 
New  York,  of  all  the  stat':>s,  keeps  new- 
year's  day  with  the  greatest  s])irit.  It  is  one 
of  the  bequeathments  of  our  Dutch  forefa- 
thers. While  in  N«w  Knglnnd  the  austerity 
of  the  puriton  breathed  the  denunciation  of 
the  iconoclast  on  all  festivols,  the  homely  set- 
tler of  New  Amsterdam  encouraged  them. 
The  savants  of  the  eastienocted  lows  to  make 
the  people  sober,  and  to  render  illegal  all  sup- 
port of  such  festivities.  When  bleak  and 
cheerless  winter  set  in  on  the  little  inland  of 
Manhattan,  the  severity  of  the  season  was 
utterly  disnnnrd  by  the  social  (pialities  of  its 
plain  g(K)d-natured  inhabitants.  There  was  a 
regular  interchange  of  visits  among  the  neigh- 
bors, and  all  parties  laid  in  a  large  supply 
of  cookies,  os  was  called  their  koek,  or  cake, 
on  which  to  regale  themselves.  Probably 
from  this  circumstance  has  come  down  to  us 
the  present  ogreeable  custom  of  the  gentle- 
men making  their  calls  on  the  ladies  of  the 
household.  The  first  day  of  the  year  has  in 
it  something  peculiar,  and  which  at  once  rec- 
ommends it  to  the  observance  of  every  heart : 
the  customary  division  of  time  of  the  world's 
age,  of  the  different  phases  of  history,  and 
what  endears  it  more  j)articularly,  of  the  life 
of  man.  The  birthday  remembrance  is  but 
an  individual  consideration,  but  on  this  day 
the  nations,  as  with  n  simultaneous  thought, 
add  one  to  the  years  of  their  being,  while  old 
mother  Earth  dots  another  year  of  her  ex- 
istence on  the  calendar  of  time.  This  is  a 
day  of  gifts,  a  day  for  the  expression  of  af- 
fection by  little  mementoes,  which  become  the 
household  representatives  of  love  and  kind 
regard.  Man  in  many  traits  is  the  same  now 
that  he  was  some  thousands  of  yeors  ago.  We 
now  give  new-year's  presents — so  did  the  an- 
cient Romans.  On  the  first  of  January,  long 
before  the  advent  of  the  Messiah,  the  Etemiu 
City  was  kept  in  a  yearly  hum  with  the  pas- 
sing feet  of^  the  bearers  of  the  strenee,  or 
presents :  the  patron  received  them  from  his 
client,  the  citizen  gave  them  to  the  magistrate, 
and  friends  gave  them  t«  each  other.  The 
visiter  brought  his  xenium,  or  guest-gift,  and 
received  his  strenx,  or  return-gift.  These 
were  new-year's  presents.  The  gifts  con- 
sisted chiefly  of  rare  coins,  gilt  dates,  plumbs 
dried  and  gilt,  figs,  and  other  small  household 
matters,  ornamented  with  the  head  of  Janus, 
to  which  god  the  festivities  of  the  day  were 
dedicated.  Persons  visiting  had  their  com- 
pliments, which  have  come  down  to  us.    An- 


1 


I 


^ 


12 


NEW  YEAU8  DAY. 


Hum  fitir  ''"ih'  MictnqiU  llhi,  said  the 
•ncii'iii  I  :  frii'tni.     A  prunpinms 

0nil  hiir,  _  /,-,  you !  grcM  #tr'**  Ixi- 

It.  I'  (  '  iilnii  tUe  Wimi  oroipiCTOus,  {^^T  n<\'  «4  In 
•44.^   rtW'tT 'W  MPXV-yc    if's  (llliy,    tlllgUri'd    well 

fe»  the  wliolc  yirir.  Th<!  Uniids  hod  thuii 
Inkpmn  days  fur  cut  tin:;  tho  sacivd  misrlrtfie 
with  ft  c<>lili'n  knifn,  from  Kontie  ajjod  tri-o  iu 
theii  foi.  if.  dfilicntrd  to  tin  ii  tikIs,  This, 
uHlliimuch  ecrnn'iriy,  wax  drii-d  ii,  i  braiirhi'K, 
,,  fl  di«tril)Htcd  (tii  new-year's  day  iit  ^t'ls  ti» 
til,/  ji)f.  '^«rSiiA'>nanco9tor»,  in  comrnun 
Willi  ijie   'i  lin  nations  or   trilirs,   made 

mrrry  on  thw  d  y,  obscrvinn  it  with  ^^ifti  mid 
miUKUul  tc^iivity.  Indf'ed,  it  wn«  Qi>».ason  of 
^rcat  inijHirtmico  witii  lliem,  in  froi/i  it  they 
numlnircd  their  nj;i! ;  nnd  t\w  hoiiry-hcndcd 
liHiii  of  sinciity  wiia  cnllcd  the  irinii  of  sev- 
enty ini'rry-iimkiiitjs,  Kni;land  dors  not  ccl- 
ehratc  the  day  with  mncli  festivity,  tlie  onlv 
observance  lieinu;  that  l)e2innini»  on  tho  last 
night  of  the  old  year  ;  the  hells  of  the  various 
churclies  rin!»  out  their  merry  |)eals  initil  pa-it 
midnight — ns  is  said,  they  rinj;  tho  old  year  out 
mid  tho  new  year  in.  fliit  the  greatest  rdat 
is  given  to  this  festival  in  France,  where  all 
other  nations  arc  far  oufstripited  in  tlie  lavish 
nature  of  the  gifts.  The  expenditures  for 
sweetmeats,  dkc,  in  Paris,  cxer'cd  $100,000, 
while  the  sales  of  jewelry  and  fancy  articles 
for  Konu'  five  days  about  this  time,  eipial  one 
fodrlh  the  sales  of  the  whole  year.  A.  Paris- 
ian of  10,000  francs  a  year,  will  spend  one 
fifteenth  of  it  in  new-year's  presents.  In  the 
visits  of  the  day,  the  French  have  an  ntiipiette 
which  is  quite  becoming.  The  nearest  rela- 
tions ore  first  visited,  and  so  on,  until  they 
have  all  been  called  on ;  then  tlie  friends  are 
visited.  This  is  all  done  in  the  morning.  A 
dinner  is  given,  and  the  evening  winds  uj) 
with  social  amusements.  Still,  although  we 
do  not  make  such  lavish  expenditures,  we  are 
not  a  whit  behind  any  people  in  the  social 
enjoyment  of  the  ♦ime.  The  kind  congratu- 
lations between  the  sexes,  make  it  a  happy 
day,  and  a  fitting  dehut  of  the  coming  year. 
Enjoy  it,  then.  Be  social,  forgiving,  nnd 
kind-h.'i.r*ed,  nnd  in  the  midst  of  this  glad 
festivu_  let  gratituile  have  a  place  in  every 
heart.  Remember  those  who  are  in  ndversi-  i 
ty,  and  see  that  the  poor  have  the  means  of  i 
uniting  in  thi;  f(!slival.  TemiJerancc!  is  a  vir-  I 
tue,  which  confers  on  her  faithful  votaries,  on 
festis'alj  like  to-day,  blessings  in  rich  profu-  j 
8i(ni ;  while  Hacchus  overwhelms  his  follow-  1 
ers  in  drunkenness,  disgrace,  j)ain,  despair,  j 
and  sorrow.  \ 

We  ca'i  not  better  close  our  remarks  on  i 
the  new  yi  ■•  r  'nan  by  giving  the  ruminations 
of    Washk     -on  Ihvino  from  his    "elbow 
chair :" — 

"  In  this  en  v    •  '  i    tivit",  when  tho  gate 


of  time  swinut*  ofi^n  tm  it*  hingi-n,  nnd  an  h<  n- 
e»t,  rosy-faced,  ni'W  year  rorius  waddling  in, 
like  u  jolly,  fat-»ide(f  alderinuM,   loaded  with 
gy>f)d  wishes,  good  hui-   ir,  and  minced  jties  j 
'  iiiyous  era,  it  lias  been  the  I'usiom,  from 
'lemorial,  in  this  ancient  and  n  spect- 
ui'     •     i .  (or  periodical  writers,  from  n'verend, 
grave,  uud  nnimt   essayists,   like  ourselves! 
clown  to  tlu!  hiiiiible  but  iiidiiBtrioiis  editors  ui 
mHga/.ine»,  reviews,  and  iiewsiiapers,  to  ten- 
r  their  subscribers  the  cumpliments  of  tho 
-      -'>ii  ;    and  when    they  have  slily    tliawe<l 
th,       hearts  with  a  little  of  the  sunshine  of 
(lattery,   to  c(nRlude  by   delicatdy   dunning 
thein  for  their  arrears  of  suiiscriptuui-money. 
In  like  manner,  the  carriers  of  newspapers, 
who  uiiiloulitedly  belong  to  the  ancient  unj 
honorable  order  of  literati,  do  regularly,   at 
the  coinniencement  of  the  year,  saluti;  their 
patrons  with  abundance  of"^  excellent  advice, 
conveyed  in  exceeding  good  poetry,  for  which 
the  aforesaid  good-natured  patrons  are  well 
(ileased  to    pay    them    exactly    twenty-live 
cents.     This  honest,   grny-beard   custom  of 
setting  ajiart  a  certain  jiortion  of  this  good- 
for-nothing  existence  for  the  purjioses  of  cor- 
diality, social  merriment,  anil  good  cheer,  is 
one  of  the  inestimable  relics  handed  down  to 
us  from  our  Dutch  ancestors.     In  addition  to 
this  divine  origin  of  new-year  festivity  there 
is  something  ex(piisitely  grateful  to  a  g(Hid- 
nutured  mind,  in  seeing  every  face  dressed  in 
smiles  ;  in  hearing  the  oft-repeated  salutations 
that  flow  spontoneously  from  tho  heart  to  the 
lips  ;  in  behoMhig  the  i)oor,  for  <nicc  enjoying 
the  smiles  of  iilcnty,  nnd  forgetting  the  cares 
whi(  h  press  hard  \ipon  them,   in  the  jovial 
revelry  of  the  feelings  ;  tho  young  children, 
decked  out  in  their  Sunday  clothes,  and  freed 
from  their  only  cares,  the  cares  of  the  school, 
trijiping  through   the   streets  on   errands  of 
pleasure;  and  even  the  very  negroes,  those 
holyday-loving  rogues,  gorgeously  arrayed  in 
cast-off  finery,  <'olIected  in  junts,  at  corners, 
disolaying  their  white  teeth,  nnd  making  the 
welkin   ring  with   bursts   of  laughter,   loud 
enough  to  crack  even  the  icy  cheek  of  old 
winter.     There  is  something  so  pleasing  in  all 
this,  that  I  confess  it  would  give  me  real  \>n\n.   { 
to  behold  the  frigid  influence  of  modem  style 
cheating  us  of  this  jubilee  of  Ike  hrart,  nnd 
converting  it,  as  it  does  evf.iy  !ii:i( ,'  ■  i>f '  jcial 
iiitT-i'rourse,  into  an  idle  and  umjaaii  ig  .ere- 
mony.     'Tis  the  annual  f'  /•'••}  of  Tct.i  hu- 
mor;— it  comes  in  the  de.. .  ..    .  ;nter,  when 

nature  is  without  a  charm,  when  our  jdeasuros 
are  contracted  to  the  fireside,  and  when  every- 
thing that  unlocks  tho  icy  fetters  of  the  heart, 
and  sets  the  genial  current  flowing,  shoidd  be 
cherished,  as  a  stray  lamb,  found  in  the  wil- 
derness, or  a  flower  blooming  among  thorns 
and  briers." 


\ 


m. 


KIMMMatMMB 


h«  Wniypx,  nml  nii  h(  n- 

iir  comiM  wuililliii!;  in, 
lUlcriiiiiii,  liiiidt'il  with 
iiir,  anil  itiiiu-i'il  piog  ; 
hicri  tin;  ciiMttiiii,  from 
it  iiiirii'iit  oiiil  n  M|ii'rt- 
.vritrrs,  from  rcvcri'ml, 
iyi"*l''i  like  iiiirsrlvot! 
'  indiiKtriims  cilitorH  ot 
il  rii'WH[m|iriH,  to  tcti- 
10  (•(im|)liiii''iilt  lit'  tlio 
•y  Iiiivf!  wliiy  llmwi'd 
:1(!  (if  tli(>  NUiiNliiiio  of 
y  drlinitcly  ilumiiii;} 
if  .siili!(cri]itioii-inoii('y. 
irriers  of  iii'WMimpers, 
i;'  to  ihu  iiiiiiriit  uiiJ 
rati,  do  ri'Kuliirly,  at 
tllr  vciir,  milutc  tlu-ir 
(i  of  (;xcill('lit  iidvicc, 
;ood  poftry,  for  which 
iri'd  pntroiis  aro  well 
exactly  twenty-live 
riiy-l)(!ftnl  cu.stom  of 
Iiortion  of  tliis  good- 
r  till'  piir|»isr)s  of  cor- 
it,  luid  ^(lod  clu'f'r,  is 
relics  liaiidcd  dowa  to 
?stors.  In  udditlon  to 
w-ycnr  festivity  there 
y  grateful  to  a  good- 
every  face  dri'sspi]  in 
ft-repeated  Haliitations 
from  the  heart  to  the 
MKir,  for  oiieo  enjoying 
id  forgetting  the  cares 
1  them,  in  the  jovial 
;  the  young  cliildren, 
day  clothes,  and  freed 
10  cares  of  the  school, 
itreets  on  errands  of 
)  very  negroes,  those 
gorgeou'jly  arrayed  in 
1  injunts,  at  corners, 
ecth,  and  making  the 
Its  of  laughter,  loud 
the  icy  cheek  of  old 
thing  so  pleasing  in  all 
mill  give  me  real  pain  '. 
lence  of  modem  style  ' 
ike  of  the  hrart,  and  i 
evf  y  null  ,';•  iif  -  jcial 
i  and  rnui'  ni  i  j,;  .;ere- 
1  f'  ■•  ■■]  lit  "c  I  hu- 
dec.>,  I  .■  ,.  :nfer,  when 
m,  when  our  jileasures 
■side,  and  when  every- 
'V  fetters  of  the  heart, 
'ut  flowing,  should  be 
mb,  found  in  the  wil- 
joming  among  thorns 


14 


MUTUAL  DEPENDENCE. 


isi'f 


t  MUTUAL  DEPENDENCE. 

The  mutual  relationship  and  dependence 
of  those  who  constitute  the  body  politic,  and 
who,  when  regarded  in  this  point  of  view, 
may  be  resolved  into  the  two  general  classes 
of  governors  and  governed,  is  easily  demon- 
strable by  such  a  plwn  and  simple  process  of 
reasoning  as  that  which  follows.  The  body 
of  man,  from  its  liability  to  be  affected  by 
hunger  and  cold,  stands  m  need  of  food  and 
raiment.  With  these,  the  Indian  or  the  sav- 
age, who  is  content  to  eat  the  flesh,  and  wear 
the  skins  of  the  animals  he  shoots  or  spears  in 
the  thicket  or  forest,  can  supply  himself.  But 
the  inhabitants  of  civilized  countries,  like  our 
own,  commonly  obtain  their  food  and  clothing 
by  purchase.  There  is  no  purchasing  either 
the  necessaries  or  the  comforts  of  life  without 
money :  and  unless  this  be  possessed,  as  in 
the  case  of  those  who  are  usually  denominated 
rich,  by  right  of  inheritance,  it  must  be  ac- 
quired, as  in  the  case  of  the  poor,  by  indi- 
vidual or  relative  exertion.  Both  rich  and 
poor,  however,  need  protection,  more  than 
themselves  can  furnish,  from  the  attacks  of 
ruthless  violence :  the  rich,  that  they  may 
keep  possession  of  what  they  have  inherited, 
or  honestly  accumulated ;  and  the  poor,  that 
their  persons  may  be  unmolested  while  they 
are  engaged  in  earning  a  subsistence  for  them- 
selves and  their  families.  This  protection  of 
property  and  person,  from  the  robber  or  plun- 
derer, and  the  mischievously-disposed,  is  af- 
fordjd  to  rich  and  poor  alike,  by  the  laws  of 
their  country,  which,  for  this  purpose,  impose 
restraints,  and  threaten  penalties.  But  tk? 
laws  of  a  country,  in  order  to  become  efficient 
as  the  means  of^  yielding  protection  must  be 
duly  administered  and  enforced.  The  admin- 
istration of  law  devolves  upon  the  executive 
government.  And  in  return  for  the  protection 
afforded  both  to  rich  and  poor  by  a  due  ad- 
ministration of  the  laws,  such  a  government 
is  justly  entitled  to  support  from  those  under 
its  superintendence. 

As  the  circumstances  of  the  case  thus  es- 
tablish a  mutual  relationship  between  the  gov- 
erned and  their  governors,  so  likewise  do  they 
render  them  dependent  upon  each  other ;  and 
as  the  governed  can  not  say  to  their  govern- 
ors, "  We  have  no  need  of  your  protection ;" 
so  neither  con  rulers  say  to  those  under  their 
jurisdiction,  "  We  have  no  need  of  your  at- 
tachment and  support." 

And  since  a  similar  relationship  exists 
among  the  members  of  the  social  body,  there 
is  also  a  similar  state  of  dependence  observa- 
ble. The  mechanic  and  the  laborer  are  de- 
pendent upon  their  employers  for  the  means 
of  earning  a  li/elihood  ;  and  their  employers 
aie  dependent  upon  the  mechanic  and  the  la- 


borer for  the  manufacture  of  their  goods,  and 
the  cultivation  of  their  lands.  The  manufac- 
turer is  dependent  ujx)n  the  merchant  for  the 
vending  of  his  wares;  and  the  merchant  is 
dependent  upon  the  manufacturer  for  a  proper 
quantity  of  merchandise.  The  agriculturist  is 
dependent  upon  the  public  at  large  for  the 
consumption  of  his  grain ;  and  the  consuming 
public  are  dependent  upon  the  agriculturist 
for  a  plentiful  supply  of  produce.  The  poor 
are  dependent  upon  the  rich  for  the  distribu- 
tion of  their  wealth,  that  they  may  have 
whf-rewith  to  purchase  food  and  clothing ;  and 
the  rich  are  dependent  upon  the  poor  for  the 
comforts  and  conveniences  they  derive  from 
the  skill  of  artisans  and  servants.  Trades- 
men and  workpeople,  and,  indeed,  all  ranks 
in  society,  the  higher  as  well  as  the  lower,  are 
dependent  upon  those  belonging  to  the  learned 
and  scientific  professions  for  the  valuable  and 
beneficial  exercise  of  their  varied  talents ; 
and  the  members  of  these  professions  are  de- 
pendent I'.pon  those  who  employ  them,  for 
the  emolument  by  which  they  are  enabled  to 
support  themselves,  and  maintain  theii   re- 


Nor  is  this  social  dependence  merely  recip- 
rocal. It  extends  throughout  the  whole  com- 
munity ;  so  that  those  of  one  class  can  not 
say  to  any  of  the  other  classes  around  them, 
"  We  have  no  need  of  you."  The  correct- 
ness of  this  statement  may  be  shown  by  the 
familiar  illustration  which  the  materials  and 
making  of  a  pair  of  shoes  will  furnish.  Sup- 
posing the  leather  to  be  a  home  production, 
not  imported  from  abroad,  it  is  stripped  in  the 
form  of  skin  from  the  carcase  of  an  animal, 
bred  by  a  farmer  or  grazier,  and  slaughtered 
by  a  butcher ;  and  this  skin  is  prepared  by 
the  tanner,  and  dressed  by  the  currier,  pre- 
vious to  its  being  cut,  shaped,  and  put  togeth- 
er, by  the  shoemaker  and  his  assistants.  In 
putting  the  different  parts  of  a  shoe  together, 
waxed  thread  is  used ;  the  wax  being  a  com- 
position of  substances  usually  imported ;  and 
the  thread  spun  by  a  twine-spinner  of  hemp 
which  he  obtains  from  the  flax-dresser,  who 
either  imports  the  article,  or  purchases  it  f^f 
the  grower.  And  before  a  single  nail  cxa  be 
driven  into  the  heel  of  a  shoe,  the  miner  must 
be  at  work  in  getting  iron  ore ;  the  smelter  in 
separating  the  metal  from  the  dross  with  his 
furnace  ;  the  forger  in  beating  out  the  pig-iron 
into  bars  or  rods;  and  the  iiailsmith  m  re- 
ducing the  iron  rods  to  the  size  and  length  re- 
quired. But  the  nailsmith,  the  forger,  the 
smelter,  and  the  nriner ;  the  twine-spinner  and 
flax-dresser,  the  shoemaker,  the  currier,  and 
the  tanner — all  use  a  variety  of  tools  in  their 
respective  operations,  which  tools  are  made 
by  other  artificers.  A  nd  the  ^commodities  im- 
ported from  abroad  are  brought  across  the  sea 


facture  of  their  goods,  and 
leir  lands.  The  manufac- 
uj)on  tho  merchant  for  the 
res;  and  the  merchant  is 
I  manufacturer  for  a  proper 
idise.  The  agriculturist  is 
e  public  at  large  for  the 
grain ;  and  the  consuming 
Bnt  upon  the  agriculturist 
)ly  of  produce.  The  poor 
1  the  rich  for  the  distribn- 
th,  that  they  may  have 
lase  food  and  clothing ;  and 
lent  upon  the  poor  for  the 
cniences  they  derive  from 
IS  and  servants.  Trades- 
ile,  and,  indeed,  all  ranks 
sr  as  well  as  the  lower,  are 
se  belonging  to  the  learned 
jsions  for  the  valuable  and 
of  their  varied  talents ; 
f  these  professions  are  de- 
e  who  employ  them,  for 
which  they  are  enabled  to 
I,  and  maintain  theii   re- 

1  dependence  merely  recip- 
hroughout  the  whole  com- 
lose  of  one  class  can  not 
ther  classes  around  them, 
d  of  you."  The  correct- 
ent  may  be  shown  by  the 
1  which  the  materials  and 

shoes  will  furnish.  Sup- 
to  be  a  home  production, 
ibroad,  it  is  stripped  in  the 
the  carcase  of  an  animal, 
r  grazier,  and  slaughtered 

this  skin  is  prepared  by 
essed  by  the  currier,  pre- 
»t,  shaped,  and  put  togeth- 
ler  and  his  assistants.  In 
It  parts  of  a  shoe  together, 
ed ;  the  wax  being  a  com- 
ces  usually  imported ;  and 
'  a  twine-spinner  of  hemp 
rom  the  flax-dresser,  who 
article,  or  purchases  it  f  f 
before  a  single  nail  cxa.  he 
1  of  a  shoe,  the  miner  must 
as  iron  ore  ;  the  smelter  in 
;al  from  the  dross  with  his 
•  in  beating  out  the  pig-iron 

and  the  aailsmith  in  ro- 
s  to  the  size  and  length  re- 
nailsmith,  the  forger,  the 
iner ;  the  twine-spinner  and 
hoemaker,  the  currier,  and 
3  a  variety  of  tools  in  their 
jns,  which  tools  are  made 
And  the  .commodities  im- 
l  are  brought  across  the  sea 


MAMMON  AND  MANHOOD. 


15 


in  sliips,   which  mir'?*;  be  constructed,  fitted 

out,  iiid  navigated,  by  ship-carpeuters,  riggers, 
storekeepers,  and  sailors.  Consequently,  those 
who  wear  pegged  shoes  (which  workiug  and 
country  people  geaertUy  prefer),  are  dei«en- 
dent,  directly  or  indirectly,  upon  the  shoe- 
Hiakef  with  Lis  lor.g  list  of  co-ojierators  ;•  and 
these  again  are  all  dependent  upon  the  wear- 
ers <if  shoes  for  tlw)  8hart3  they  contribute 
towarJ  providing  them  with  employment; 
nor  can  either  party  say  to  the  other,  "  We 
have  no  ueed  of  yoa." 

It  is  fully  e\"Aettt,  therefore,  that  man  is 
not  au  icdependeut,  but  a  dependent  being. 
His  life,  his  comforts,  his  enjoyments,  are  all 
derived.  Aud  in  himself  considered  as  a  sol- 
itary individual,  he  possesses  no  resources  out 
of  which  his  wauts  cuu  be  supnlied.  On  God, 
as  the  Father  of  mercies,  he  depends  for  the 
bestowmeut  of  providential  favors;  and  oa 
his  felldw-ereatures,  as  members  of  society, 
f(W  the  means  of  their  attainment.  *»  Every 
good  gift  and  every  perfect  gft  is  from  above, 
and  Cometh  down  from  the  Father  of  lights," 
Jas.  i.  17  ;  yet  the  blessings  he  befitcrws  ujkwi 
his  creatures  are  conveyed  through  the  medi- 
um of  their  fellow-men ;  that  by  perceiviug 
their  fraternal  relatiouship,  tjey  may  act 
toward  each  other  as  members  of  the  same 
vast  family ;  and  by  rendering  each  other 
mutual  assistance,  may  confinu  and  strengtheu 
the  natural  bonds  of  social  life., 


MAMMON  AND  MANHOOD, 

The  Scripture  speaketh  not  in  vain  in  say- 
ing that  "  the  love  of  money  is  the  root  of  all 
evil,"  for  there  is  U(jt  an  evil  under  the  sun, 
to  the    commission  of  which   men  are  not 

•  It  may  aoi  bo  fmpropor  to  observe  here,  that  thi« 
exteBHwe  dependence  i»  productive  of  frrett  aJvnn- 
tagus,  since  it  enables  individuals  to  parchase  at  a 
cheat*  rate,  wliat  otiierwiso  it  wouid  l>e  in]yo«8ible  fur 
many  et'  thena  to  procure.  If  one  person  had  to  pro- 
vide and  prepare  all  tlio  roqaisTtoe  for  a  pair  of  sixies, 
as  well  as  to  put  tbein  toiietlior,  tlie  price  demanded 
as  a  fair  renaticratiaii  for  time  ooeuftied,  and  lab4r 
bestowed,  must  of  necessity  be  incalculably  great, 
lu  a  book  entitled,  "  The  Hesults  <jf  MaHiliwry,"  it 
isieoiarked:  "There  are  thousands  of  fflniilies,  on 
the  face «f  the  eartb,  thiK  would  be  f^lad  tn«Bcli«ng« 
all  tliey  hav«  for  a  tin  kettle,  or  an  iron  p<it,  which 
can  be  bouglit  almost  anywliene  for  twenty  «r 
thirty  oents.  And  could  the  jitnor  rann  in  this  coun- 
try, but  once  see  Imw  even  the  rkih  man  in  «ome 
other  plaoes  must  toil,  diijr  after  day,  before  he  cRa 
scra(>e  «r  griad  a  stune.  so  as  to  be  alJe  to  boil  ■  lit- 
tle water  in  k,  or  nake  k  serve  for  a  lamp,  he  wonM 
account  liiuascif  a  poor  man  nit  inore.  A  gipoy  car- 
ri<»a  about  witli  hiu  more  ef  tl)e  conveniences  of  iiCe, 
than  are  eujo\-ed  by  tite  diiefs  or  rulers  in  countries 
which  naturafly  have  nuch  finer  cliaates  iitu*  mary 
{narts  of  ODT  owu." 


prompted  by  the  love  of  money;  and  yet, 
notwithstanding  all  the  light  on  this  subject 
given  in  the  Scriptures,  and  confirmed  by  gen- 
eral exijerience,  men  everywhere  are  occupied 
ia  the  constant  and  keen  pursuit  of  wealth, 
and  the  prime  object  with  the  many  is  to  ol)- 
taiii  it,  and  to  push  their  families  foiward  in 
the  unhappy  race  of  avarice  and  aggrandize- 
ment. For  money,  men  sacrifice  domestic 
comfort,  health,  character,  and  even  hazard 
life  itself;  for  it,  they  are  guilty  of  fraud, 
deceirtion,  and  robbery. 

For  money  they  sacrifice  friendship,  grati- 
tude, natural  affection,  and  every  holy  and  di- 
vine feeling.  For  money,  man  becomes  a 
creeping,  crawling,  obsequious,  despicable 
creature,  instead  of  walking  erect  as  the  olF- 
spring  of  God.  Mammon  and  Manhood  are 
incompatible. 

Why  all  this  anxiety  about  money  ?  why 
this  constant  fever,  this  pu.shing  and  driving 
in  order  to  obtain  it  ?  even  because  men  form 
a  false  estimate  of  life  and  its  elements.  "  A 
man'«  life  consisteth  not  in  the  abundance  of 
the  things  which  he  pos.sesseth."  He  who 
would  LIVE  must  stir  up  the  divine  fire  that  is 
in  him,  to  consume  selfishness,  and  to  dispense 
light  aud  heat  to  all  around.  Money  he  may 
seek  in  moderation,  as  a  means,  not  as  an  end ; 
aud  in  order  to  preserve  his  manhood,  he  must 
learn  to  practise  self-denial  and  economy,  and 
to  be  contented  with  small  things :  above  all, 
he  must  remember  that  God  has  set  honor 
upon  labor,  by  ajipoiuting  man  to  live  by  la- 
bor; labor  is  truly  honorable,  and  however 
mcoB  the  occupatiou  may  be.  if  honest,  it  is 
never  disgracefuL 

Instead,  therefore,  of  sinking  Manhood  in 
the  pursuit  of  Mammon,  by  creeping,  crawl- 
ing, aud  bending  to  every  one  whom  you  may 
imagine  can  help  you  forward  in  the  race  of 
worldly  advancement,  stand  erect,  detennine 
in  the  strength  of  God  to  be  a  man,  to  buy 
the  truth,  at  whatever  cost,  aud  never  to  sell 
it  for  auy  price  ;  to  labor  at  any  work  if  need- 
ful, to  spetik  what  is  in  thy  heart,  and  never 
to  creep,  and  crawl,  and  mutter.  God  helps 
those  who  help  themselves. 

Stand  uptm  thy  Manhood  in  the  world,  not 
uptm  thy  Mammon;  stand  upon  thy  own 
character  and  upoii  thj'  own  estimate  of  thy- 
self trade  in  all  honesty,  not  ujion  the  opiji- 
ion  of  others.  Be  afraid  of  siu,  but  never 
shrink  at  misrepresentation,  or  at  contunK-ly, 
or  contemirt,  or  poverty.  Why  should  you 
be  afraid  ?  Life  is  in  thyself,  and  thy  enioy- 
ment  should  be  unapproached  and  unapproach- 
able.   

It  once  was,  when  men  were  worthy  of 
office  the  people  knew  it  first,  but  now  the 
office-seeker  first  finds  it  out. 


-  ^"'^'••mmmtm 


i~5j 


Portr.it  ef  J.h»  Haneoek.  with  fccrimita  «f  hi,  signairre,  e»pied  from  tl.e  Declararion  of  iidependcBoe. 


^     JOHN  HANCOCK. 


Thy  Bpint,  Independrnce,  let  me  nhare, 
Lord  of  the  lion  heart  and  oaglo  eye, 
Thy  stepa  I  follow  ^*-itli  my  boaom  bare, 
Nor  heed  llie  etorm  that  howte  atone  the  sfey 
Iinmortnl  liberty,  whose  look  Bttblinie 
Hath  blanched  Uie  tyranf»  cheek  in  every  varying 

We  have  much  pleasure  m  presenting  to 
our  reatlers  a  corrert  jiortrait  of  the  alwve- 
named  celebrated  imtriot,  whose  l)old  awi 
inanly  wgnatuire  is  sf»  miich  admired,  on  tho 
charter  of  our  liberties,  togeiher  with  a  vie^v 
of  tlM!  old  mansioii-house,  still  standing  in 
Boston.  ^ 

Jolui  Hancock  was  bom  at  Qui'wv,  near 
Boston,  whence  have  emanated  the  two  presi- 
dents Adams.  He  was  the  son  and  granilson 
of  ennnrnt  clergymen,  but  having  early  lost 
his  father,  was  iiKlebted  for  a  liberal  edoca- 
tion  to  his  uncle,  a  merchant  of  great  wealth, 


whose  counting-liousR  he  afterward  entered, 
b«t  sixm  sailed  for  England,  where  lie  was 
present  at  the  coronation  of  George  III.  His 
uncle  dying  in  1774,  he  succeeded  to  his  ?arge 
fortune  asid  bttsiness.  He  was  active  as  a 
member  of  the  provincial  legislature  uLiiinst 
the  royal  governor,  and  became  so  obnnxions 
to  him,  that  after  the  battle  of  Lexington,  he 
and  Samuel  Adams  were  excepted  l)y  name 
in  a  proclamation  offering  panlon  to  the  rehels 
who  should  8Ave«r  fealty  to  Britain.  They 
escaped  fmm  one  door  of  a  house  as  the  Brit- 
ish soldiers  entered  it  at  anotTn^r,  and  thus 
their  valuable  petsoss  were  preserved  to  aid 
the  good  cause  of  the  Revohition. 

Hancock  was  presiitent  of  the  prwincial 
csongress  of  Massachusetts,  until  seirt  a  dole 
|»ate  to  the  general  congress  at  Philadelphia, 
m  1775,  -where  he  was  soon  chosen  to  suc- 
ceed Peyton  Randolph  as  president  of  that 
august  assembly.    H©  was  the  first  to  alEx 


11 


MMi 


riWhMMH 


:Iararion  of  IiidepeodcnRc. 

he  aftorwanl  entered-, 
liilaml,  vrhere  lie  was 
m  of  Gcorjjo  III.  His 
I  succecdipil  to  his  farge 

He  was  active  as  a 
^al  lej[jislature  utjnin.st 
J  became  so  olmoxions 
inttle  of  Lexfn^ton,  Tie 
ere  excepted  by  name 
nsi  Jianlon  to  tbe  rehe.ls 
Ity  to  Britarn.  Thev 
of  a  house  as  the  Brit- 

at  anntlKT,  and  thus 
were  preserved  to  aid 
Revohition. 

fent  of  the  prmnticial 
etts,  until  seirt  a  dele 
gross  at  Philadelphia, 
s  soon  chosen  to  stic- 
1  as  president  of  that 

was  the  first  to  affix 


-it; 


fi 


W^' 


18 


JOHN  HANCOCK. 


his  signature  to  the  Declaration  of  Intlei)en. 
dance,  which  was  first  published  \vith  no  other 
name  attached.  He  filled  this  important  chaii 
^11  1779,  when  gout  compelled  him  to  retire 
from  congress.  He  was  then  elected  govern- 
or of  Massachusetts,  and  was  annually  chosen 
from  1780  to  1785,  and  after  an  interval  of 
two  years  was  re-elected,  and  continued  to  fill 
the  office  until  his  death,  October  8th,  1793, 
at  the  age  of  fifty-six  years.  He  acted  also 
as  president  of  the  convention  of  the  state  for 
the  adoption  of  the  federal  constitution,  for 
which  he  voted. 

His  talents  were  rather  useful  than  brilliant. 
He  seldom  sjwke,  but  his  knowledge  of  busi- 
ness, and  facility  in  despatching  it,  together 
with  his  keen  insight  into  the  characters  of 
men,  rendered  him  peculiarly  fit  for  public 
life.     Being  well  acquainted  with  parliament- 
ary foiTns,  he  inspired  respect  by  his  atten- 
tion, impartiality,  and  dignity.     In  private  life 
he  was  remarkable  for  his  hospitality  and  be- 
neficence.    He  was  a  complete  gentleman  of 
the  old  school,  both  in  appearance  and  man- 
ners,  and  was  a  magnificent  liver,   lavishly 
bountiful,  keejping  a  coach  and  six  horses,  and 
distinguished  for  his  politeness  and  affability. 
When  Washington  consulted  the  legislature 
of  Massachusetts  upon  the  propriety  of  bom- 
barding Boston,  Hancock  advised  its  beinw 
done  immediately,   if  it  would  benefit  the 
cause,   although  neariy  his  whole  property 
consisted  in  houses  and  other  real  estate  in 
that  town.     Carroll,  of  Carrollton,  and  Han- 
cock, probobly  risked  more  property  on  the 
event  of  the  struggle  than  any  other  two  in- 
dividuals.    The  estate  at  Quincy,  which  was 
his  inheritance,  is  now  the  property  of  our  dis- 
tinguished countryman,  the  venerable  ex-pres- 
ident,  John  Quincy  Adams. 

The  first  provocation  of  the  British  gov- 
ernment which  created  a  spirit  of  civil  discord 
among  her  provinces,  was  the  imposition  of 
duties  ui)on  the  importation  of  foreign  mer- 
chandise, and  other  injuries  impairing  the  pros- 
perity of  the  colonial  commerce.  Upon  this 
occasion,  oil  the  address  and  diligence  of  Mr. 
Hancock  was  exerted  in  opposition  to  a  sys- 
tem of  legislation  so  rapacious  uiul  tyrannical. 
It  W03  by  his  agency,  and  that  of  a  few  other 
citizens  of  Boston,  that  for  the  purpose  of 
procuring  a  revocation  of  these  duties,  asso- 
ciations were  instituted  to  prohibit  the  impor- 
tation of  British  goods ;  a  j-iolicy  which  soon 
afterward  being  imitated  by  the  other  colonies, 
first  served  to  awaken  the  apprehensions  of 
the  people,  and  to  kindle  those  passions  that 
were  essential  to  the  success  of  the  war  and 
the  preservation  of  their  liberties.  The  agi- 
tation of  this  subject  produced  no  common 
animosity,  and  in  some  instances  acts  of  atro- 
city and  outrage,  of  which  we  may  mention  ps 


among  the  most  consjjicuous,  the  case  of  Mr. 
Otis,  who  at  the  instigation  of  a  British  offi- 
cer, was  assailed  by  a  band  of  ruffians,  with 
a  violence  which  impaired  his  reason,  and 
hastened  his  death. 

About  the  same  time,  a  vessel  belonging  to 
Mr.  Hancock,  being  loaded,  it  was  said,  in  con- 
travention of  the  revenue  laws,   was  seized 
by  the  customhouse  officers,  and  carried  under 
the  guns  of  an  armed  vessel  at  the  time  in  the 
harbor,   for  security;   but  the  people,  exas- 
perated by  this  offensive  exertion  of  authority, 
assembled,   and  pursuing  the  officers,   beat 
them  with  clubs,  and  drove  them  on  board 
their  vessels  for  protection.    The  boat  of  the 
collector  was  then  burnt  in  triumph  by  the 
mob,  and  the  he  uses  of  some  of  his  most  ob- 
noxious adherents  were,  in  the  first  trans])orts 
of  popular  fury,  razed  to  the  ground.     Thus 
Mr.  Hancock,  in  more  ways  than  one  con- 
tributed to  set  the  great  wheel  of  the  Revolu- 
tion m  motion,  though  he  could  not  hiniself 
have  approved  of  such  acts,  which  were  dis- 
approved by  the  legal  authorities.     Yet  Han- 
cock derived  from  his  connexion  with  the  af- 
fair an  increased  popularity.    At  an  assem- 
bly of  the  citizens,  Mr.  Hancock  and  others 
were  appointed  to  request  of  the  governor  a 
removal  of  the  British  troops  from  the  town, 
which  the  governor  ottempted  to  evade.     A 
second  committee  being  selected,  of  which 
Mr.  Hancock  was  chairman,  voted  the  ex- 
cuses made  inadmissible,  and  by  a  more  per- 
eniptory  tone  of  expostulation,  urged  and  ob- 
tained their   removal.     This   governor   had 
complimented  Hancock  in  1767,  with  a  lieu- 
tenancy.   But  declaring  his  determination  to 
hold  no  office  under  a  man  whose  vices  and 
principles  he  considered  hostile  to  the  liberties 
of  his  country,  he  tore  up  the  commission  in 
presence  of  many  citizens;  for  which  bold 
act  he  received  the  severe  reprehension  and 
threats  of  the  royal  government. 

Of  the  modesty  of  Hancock  there  is  a  very 
beautiful  anecdote  related  by  his  biograjihers. 
That  there  were  members  of  the  first  Con- 
gress of  superior  age  to  his,  and  men  at  the 
same  time  of  pre-eminent  virtues  and  talents, 
vrill  not  be  denied.  The  occasion  was  one 
upon  which  calnnr.css  was  essential,  for  rarely 
in  the  vicissitudes  of  nations,  has  it  hapjiened 
that  interests  more  sacred  have  been  confided 
to  the  infirmity  of  human  wisdom  and  integ- 
rity, or  that  a  spectacle  more  imposing  has 
been  exhibited  to  human  observation.  Mr. 
Hancock's  timidity  at  being  called  to  fill  the 
chair  was  relieved,  it  is  said,  by  a  strong- 
nerved  member  from  the  south,  who  led  or 
jjore  him  to  the  speaker's  seat ;  when  placed 
in  thit  conspicuous  position,  he  presided  with 
a  dignity  and  capacity  that  extorted  the  re- 
spect and  approbotion  of  even  his  enemies. 


■MKn 


icuous,  the  case  of  Mr. 
gation  of  a  British  offi- 
i  band  of  ruffians,  with 
paired  bis  reason,   and 

e,  a  vessel  belonj^ng  to 
aded,  it  was  said,  in  con- 
;nue  laws,  was  seized 
icers,  and  carried  under 
essel  at  the  time  in  the 

but  the  people,  exas- 
e  exertion  of  authority, 
ling  the   officers,   beat 

drove  them  on  board 
tion.  The  boat  of  the 
mt  in  triumph  by  the 
F  some  of  his  most  ob- 
(,  in  the  first  transports 

to  the  ground.  Thus 
e  ways  than  one  con- 
t  wheel  of  the  Revohi- 
he  could  not  himself 

acts,  which  werij  dis- 
uthorities.  Yet  Han- 
connexion  with  the  af- 
larity.  At  an  assem- 
■.  Hancock  and  others 
lest  of  the  governor  a 

troops  from  the  town, 
empted  to  evade.  A 
g  selected,  of  which 
irman,  voted  the  ex- 
e,  ajid  by  a  more  i)er- 
ilation,  urged  and  ob- 

This    governor   had 

in  1767,  with  a  lieu- 
a:  his  determination  to 
man  whose  vices  and 
hostile  to  the  liberties 
up  the  commission  in 
ens;  for  which  bold 
ere  reprehension  and 
emment. 

mcock  there  is  a  very 
;d  by  his  biogra])hers. 
ers  of  the  first  Con- 

his,  and  men  at  the 
It  virtues  and  talents, 
he  occasion  was  one 
s  essential,  for  rarely 
ions,  has  it  happened 
d  have  been  confided 
m  wisdom  and  integ- 
(  more  imposing  has 
m  observation.  Mr. 
eing  called  to  fill  the 
s  said,  by  a  strong- 
e  south,  who  led  or 
s  seat;  when  placed 
ion,  he  presided  with 
hat  extorted  the  re- 
even  his  enemies. 


JOHN  HANCOCK. 


19 


After  his  death,  his  body  lay  in  state  at  his 
mansion,  where  great  multitudes  thronged  to 
pay  th(!  last  offices  of  their  grief  and  atfec- 
riou.  His  obsequies  were  attended  with  great 
pomp  Qiid  solemnity,  and  amid  the  tears  of 
his  countrymen,  he  was  committed  to  the 
dust. 

His  ■wife  was  a  Miss  Quincy,  whom  he 
married  about  twenty  years  before  his  death. 
Shi:  was  the  daughter  of  an  eminent  magis- 
trate of  Boston,  and  one  of  the  most  distin- 
guished families  in  New  England.  No  chil- 
dren of  this  connexion  were  left  to  inherit  his 
fortune  or  perpetuate  his  name ;  his  only  son 
having  died  during  his  youth. 

In  staiure  Mr.  Hancock  was  above  the 
middle  size,  of  excellent  proportion  of  limbs, 
of  extreme  benignity  of  countenance,  posses- 
sing a  flexible  and  harmonious  voice,  a  manly 
and  dignified  aspect.  By  the  imjjrovjment 
of  these  natural  qualities  from  observation  and 
extensive  'ntercourse  with  the  world,  he  had 
acquired  a  jjleasing  elocution,  with  the  most 
graceful  and  conciliating  manners.  Of  his 
talents  it  is  a  sufficient  evidence,  that  in  the 
various  stations  he  filled,  he  acquitted  himself 
with  an  honorable  distiiiction  and  capacity. 
His  conununications  to  the  general  assembly, 
and  his  correspondence  as  president  of  con- 
gress, are  enduring  proofs  of  his  putting  his 
shoulder  eflectively  to  the  wheel  of  puolic 
affairs.  His  knowledge  was  practical  and  fa- 
miliar. He  neither  penetrated  the  intricacies 
of  profound  research,  nor  did  he  mount  to  in- 
accessible elevations. 

Hancock  first  put  his  name  to  the  immortal 
Declaration  of  Independence ;  had  his  life 
been  marked  by  no  other  event,  it  would  have 
entitled  him  to  ever-enduring  renown — ^but  in 
connexion  with  that  act,  he  combined  great 
and  useful  wisdom  in  the  councils  of  our  in- 
fant nation,  and  his  name  ■will  descend  to  pos- 
terity with  untjualified  lusti*. 

The  old  mansion  in  which  Hancock  lived, 
is  situated  upon  the  elevated  ground  in  Bea- 
con-street, fronting  toward  the  south,  and  com- 
manding a  fine  view  of  the  "  Common."  The 
principal  building  is  of  hewn  stone,  "  finished, 
not  altogether  in  the  modem  style,  nor  yet  in 
the  ancient  Gothic  taste."  It  is  raised  twelve 
or  thirteen  feet  above  the  street ;  and  the  as- 
cent is  throngh  a  garden,  bordered  with  flowers 
and  small  trees.  Fifty-six  feet  in  breadth,  the 
front  terminates  in  two  lofty  stories.  While 
occujiied  by  Governor  Hancock,  the  east  wing 
formed  a  s])aciou8  heU ;  and  the  west  wing 
was  appropriated  to  domestic  purposes :  the 
whole  embracing,  •with  the  stables,  coach- 
house, and  other  offices,  an  extent  of  two 
hundred  and  twenty  feet.  In  those  days, 
there  was  a  delightful  garden  behind  the  man- 
sion, ascending  gradually  to  the  high  lands  in 


the  rear.  This  spot  was  also  handsomely  em- 
bellished with  glacis,  and  a  variety  of  excol- 
lent  fruit-trees.  From  the  summer-house 
might  be  seen  West  Boston,  Charlesttnvn, 
and  the  north  part  of  the  town  ;  the  colleges, 
the  bridges  of  the  Charles  and  Mystic  rivers 
— the  ferry  of  Winnisimet,  and  "  fine  coun- 
try of  that  vicinity,  to  a  great  extent."  The 
south  and  west  views  took  in  Roxbury,  the 
highlands  of  Dorchester  and  Brookline,  the 
blue  hills  of  Milton  and  Braintree,  together 
with  numerous  farmhouses,  verdant  fields,  and 
laughing  valleys.  Upon  the  east,  the  islands 
of  the  harbor,  "  from  Castle  William  to  the 
lighthouse,  engaged  the  sight  by  turns, 
which  at  last  was  lost  in  the  ocean,  or  only 
bounded  by  the  horizon." 

Governor  Hancock  inherited  this  estate 
from  his  uncle,  Thomas  Hancock,  Esq.,  who 
erected  the  building  in  1737.  At  that  period, 
the  "court  part  of  the  to'wn"  was  at  the 
"  north  end,"  and  his  fellow-citizens  marvel- 
led not  a  little  that  he  should  have  selected, 
for  a  residence,  such  au  unimproved  spot  as 
this  then  was. 

In  the  lifetime  of  that  venerable  gentleman, 
the  doors  of  hospitality  were  opened  to  the 
stranger,  the  poor,  and  distressed ;  and  annu- 
ally, on  the  anniversary  of  the  Ancient  and 
Honorable  Artillery  Company,  he  entertained 
the  governor  and  council,  and  most  respecta- 
ble personages,  at  his  house.  The  like  atten- 
tions were  shown  to  the  same  military  body 
by  Governor  Hancock,  who  inherited  all  the 
urbanity,  generous  spirit,  and  virtues  of  his 
uncle. 

It  is  now',  we  believe,  the  property  of  some 
of  the  descendants  of  Governor  Hancock,  and 
rented  as  a  jirivate  dwelling.  But  since  the 
demise  of  that  eminent  man,  the  hand  of  time 
and  improvement  has  been  constantly  con- 
tending, around  and  against  it.  It  can  not 
long  resist  such  attacks;  and,  before  many 
years  elapse,  this  famous  mansion  will  proba- 
ily  be  razed  to  the  ground,  "  and  its  place 
supplied  by  others." 


Government  or  Temper. — Every  human 
creature  is  sensible  of  the  propensities  to  some 
infirmity  of  temper,  which  it  should  be  his 
care  to  correct  and  subdue,  particularly  in  the 
early  period  of  life ;  else,  when  arrived  at  a 
state  of  maturity,  he  may  relapse  into  those 
faults  which  were  originally  in  his  nature,  and 
which  will  require  to  be  diligently  watched 
and  kept  unde-,  through  the  whole  course  of 
life  ;  since  nothing  leads  more  directly  to  the 
breach  of  charity,  and  to  the  injury  and  mo- 
lestation of  our  fellow-creatures,  than  the  in- 
dulgence of  an  ill-temper. 


■n 


20 


NEW  ENGLAND  LinEEALITY.  SCHOOLS,  AND  INSTITUTIONS. 


NEW  ENGLAND  LIBERALITY, 

SCHOOLS.   AND    INSTITUTIONS. 


"  Fon  lonniins,  bo  liberal.  Sniiro  no  cost ;  for 
by  f luh  jidi^iinuny,  all  ia  lost  ttint  ia  sftvcii ;  but 
ll!t  it  111!  CaEKUI.  KNOWLEDOE,  Buch  as  U  coii.^ist- 

eiit  with  truth  and  godlinosa." — William  Penx. 

The  first  settlers  of  New  England  are  just- 
ly entitled  to  a  large  share  of  the  credit  of 
having  given  an  impulse  to  the  cause  of  pop- 
ular education.  In  the  year  l(iG8,  a  document 
was  ])ubli.shed,  by  t^rder  of  the  governor  and 
coimcil  of  Massachusetts,  and  oddressed  to 
the  elders  and  ministers  of  every  to\vn,  in 
which  paper  was  set  forth  an  earnest  desire 
for  the  moral  and  religious  instruction  of  the 
peo[)le,  and  an  appeal  to  those  to  whom  the 
instrument  was  directed,  to  examine  whether 
the  education  of  youth  in  the  English  language 
was  attended  to.  From  the  time  of  Win- 
TURop,  ]\I.\TiiER,  and  their  associates,  who 
labored  most  zealously  in  this  field  of  useful- 
np.ss,  to  the  present  period,  New  England  has 
devoted  her  attention  to  the  promotion  of 
knowledge ;  and  in  the  industry,  integrity,  ond 
frugality,  of  her  children,  beholds  now  the  bril- 
liant results  of  her  perseverance.  When  we 
consider  that  the  tide  of  emigration,  which  is 
sweeping  before  it  the  forests  of  the  west, 
takes  its  rise  in  the  eastern  section  of  the  Uni- 
ted States,  and  bears  upon  its  bosom  the  ele- 
ments of  enrichment — that  it  is  composed  in  a 
great  degree  of  those  who  have  been  enabled 
there  to  obtain  the  rudiments  of  learning — the 
first  principles  of  valuable  information — ought 
we  not  to  be  grateful  to  those  who  have  toiled, 
and  feel  it  to  be  both  a  privilege  and  duty  to 
acknowledge  with  gratitude  the  many  princely 
donations  of  the  "  sons  of  the  pilgrims"  to  the 
cause  of  education,  in  order  to  keep  the  fount- 
ain well  supplied,  pure,  and  transparent,  for 
future  use  7 

When  proper  respect  is  thus  paid  to  such 
as  are  possessed  of  those  liberal  talents  and 
enlightened  views,  which  constitute  true 
GREATNESS,  it  must  evidently  be  productive 
of  the  happiest  consequences — especially  to 
youth,  whose  minds  are  so  open  to  impres- 
sions, and  on  whom  the  force  of  example  acts 
with  an  imjiortant  effect,  that  con  not  fail  of 
prcKlucing  a  corresponding  good — exciting  a 
laudable  emulation :  leading  their  views  from 
grovelling  pursuits  to  a  search  after  and  love 
of  virtue,  knowledge,  and  the  various  quali- 
ties which  strengthen  society,  brighten  the 
social  links  which  bind  man  to  his  fellow-man, 
and  so  pre-eminently  distinguishes  the  mem- 
bers of  a  civilized,  intelligent  community,  from 
the  rude  and  unenlightened  nations  of  coun- 
tries where  education  and  its  train  of  blessings 


have  never  been,  or  arc  but  imperfectly 
known.  There  is  something  peculiarly  jdeas- 
ing  and  impressive  in  the  contemplntion  of 
great  and  good  characters — in  thoiie  who  just- 
ly claim  the  appellation; — we  view,  ad- 
mire, and  feel  an  irresistible  longing  to  be  like 
them,  to  imitate  their  virtues,  and  to  jiractise 
their  precepts ;  we  feel  ourselves  better,  and 
destined  to  an  advancement  in  knowledge  and 
strength,  from  the  proud  con.sciou.sness  of  par- 
taking their  natures,  and  possessing,  however 
humble,  a  spark  of  that  celestial,  intellectual 
fire,  which  illumines  so  brilliantly  their  minds, 
and  emanates  from  one  common  source — the 
great  and  inexhaustible  Fountain  of  light  and 
goodness  ! 

It  is  universally  admitted  that  ignorance  is 
the  fruitful  source  of  crime  and  misery.  This 
fact  is  sufficient,  we  should  imagine,  to  arouse 
the  most  profound  attention,  and  create  the 
deepest  anxiety  in  the  bosom  of  every  i)liilan- 
thropist.  The  necessity  of  educating  the  peo- 
ple of  a  free  government  is  admitted  on  every 
side ;  and  yet,  through  a  culpable  inertness,  in 
many  states  of  the  Union,  on  the  part  of  those 
whose  duty  it  is  to  move  forward  on  this  mo- 
mentous subject,  an  immense  portion  tif  those 
into  whose  hands  the  destinies  of  this  last 
sanctuary  of  freedom  must  be  delivered,  is  left 
in  total  darkness,  and  wholly  unac(piainted  with 
the  infonnation  necessary  to  the  formation  of 
valuable  citizens.  The  cause  of  freedom — 
the  tranquillity  of  our  country — the  ]iresent 
happiness  and  future  prosperity  of  millions- 
demand  activity,  and  exhort  the  people  of  the 
United  States  to  unite  in  a  "  crusade  against 
ignorance" — a  crusade  in  which  every  true 
knight,  who  rallies  under  the  holy  standard, 
can  lay  the  flattering  unction  to  his  heart  that 
he  is  the  champion  of  the  cause  of  truth,  and 
of  the  disenthralment  of  the  human  mind  from 
the  most  debasing  species  of  servitude.  Let 
the  watchword  be,  in  the  ever-vigilant  camp 
of  the  faithful,  "  Liberty  and  Education." 
We  have  been  led  into  this  train  of  reflec- 
tion by  j)erusing  in  the  public  prints,  from 
time  to  time,  accounts  of  the  various  munifi- 
cent individual  donations  of  the  wealthy,  pa- 
triotic, and  benevolent  citizens  of  Boston,  in 
support  of  its  institutions  for  moral,  religious, 
and  literary  purposes — continuing  unabated 
from  year  to  year.*  Among  the  most  recent, 
we  notice  the  donations  of  Hon.  Abbott  Law- 
rence to  Harvard  college,  amounting  to  fif- 
ty thousand  dollars.  Hon.  David  Sears 
has  also  given  ten  thousand  dollars  to  the 
same  institution,  and  a  like  sum  to  Amherst 
•  Boston  has  been  called  Uie  "  literary  emporium 
of  the  western  world,"  and  perhaps  justly,  for  it  is  a 
fact  that  a  greater  portion  of  men  disiiiiffuished  for 
acquisitions  of  this  nature  have  arisen  in  this  city  and 
the  vicinity,  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  United 
States. 


iiiiMOniiiM*)!!  mi  I  iWi jialMi 


MMbH 


■Mli 


'ITUTION3. 


r  ore  but  im])erfectly 
lething  ijcculiiiily  jileos- 
n  the  conteinplntion  of 
itflrs — in  thoiii  who  just- 
ntion  ; — we  view,  Dtl- 
listible  longinj;  to  he  like 
■  virtues,  and  to  practise 
el  ourselves  better,  and 
sment  in  knowledge  and 
ud  consciousness  of  par- 
md  possessing,  however 
int  celestial,  intellectual 

0  brilliantly  their  minds, 
10  common  source — the 
le  Fountain  of  light  and 

mitted  that  ignorance  is 
rime  and  misery.  This 
lould  imagine,  to  arouse 
tention,  and  create  the 
bosom  of  every  i)hilan- 
ity  of  educating  the  peo- 
mt  is  admitted  on  every 

1  a  culpable  inertness,  in 
ion,  on  the  part  of  those 
>ve  forward  on  this  ino- 
fimense  portion  of  those 
5  destinies  of  this  last 
aust  be  delivered,  is  left 
holly  unac(piainted  with 
ary  to  the  formation  of 
he  cause  of  freedom — 
r  country — the  ])resent 
prosperity  of  millions — 
sxhort  the  people  of  the 
B  in  a  "  crusade  against 
3  in  which  every  true 
der  the  holy  standard, 
inction  to  liis  heart  that 
the  cause  of  truth,  and 
if  the  human  mind  from 
;ies  of  servitude.  Let 
the  ever- vigilant  camp 
RTT  AND  Education." 
nto  this  train  of  reflec- 
he  public  prints,  from 

of  the  various  munifi- 
ms  of  the  wealthy,  pa- 
;  citizens  of  Boston,  in 
ms  for  moral,  religious, 
— continuing  unabated 
Vmong  the  most  recent, 
lof  Hon.  Abbott  Law- 
lege,  amounting  to  fif- 
3.  Hon.  David  Sears 
ousAND  dollars  to  the 
a  like  sum  to  Amherst 

id  tlie  "  literary  emporium 
i  perlmpB  justly,  for  it  is  a 

of  men  distiiiffuished  for 
Imve  arisen  in  tliis  city  and 

other  part  of  the  United 


NEW  ENGLAND  LIBEllALITY,  SCHOOLS,  AND  INSTITUTIONS. 


21 


collegi.*  Amos  Lawrenck,  Esq.,  Hon.  Thom- 
as II.  Pkiikins,  William  Api'lkton,  Es(|., 
and  many  oth(;r  gentlemen  of  well-kmnvu  lili- 
crality,  in  Massachusetts,  have  contributed  of 
their  abundance  to  the  advancement  of  learn- 
ing. Such  instances  of  enlightened  liberality 
are  to  bo  highly  commended,  and  constitute 
one  of  the  noblest  features  of  New  England 
goo<l  sea'ie  and  feiding. 

We  might  furnish  similar  amounts  of  oth- 
ers, whose  eotlers  are  nut  closed,  l)ut  who  are 
ever  on  llio  giving  hand — encouraging  talent, 
promoting  industry,  and  fostering  the  tine  arts, 
thus  setting  a  most  nobh;  and  jiraiseworthy 
example  to  the  wealthy  men  of  other  cities, 
which  we  could  wish  more  generally  imitated. 
These  benevolent  and  useful  men — descend- 
ants of  the  noblest  ancestry  ever  ])ossessed  by 
any  people — citizens  of  the  "  mother  state"  of 
New  England,  the  v(;ry  birthplace  and  cradle 
of  American  freedom — possess  the  principles 
of  that  most  remarkable  body  of  men,  per- 
haps, which  the  world  has  ever  produced. 
They  well  know  that  knowledge  is  an  all- 
powerful  engine  to  preserve  their  civil  and  re- 
ligious rights,  and  transmit  them  to  posterity. 
They  therefore  very  early  laid  the  foundation 
of  those /rce  sclwols,  of  which  all  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  New  England  are  justly  jiroud. 
Exclusive  of  infant  and  sabbath  school  schol- 
ars, about  a  quarter  part  of  the  population  of 
Boston  is  kept  at  school  throughout  the  year, 
at  an  annual  expense  of  two  hundred  thousantl 
dollars.  Since  the  year  IHDO,  not  less  than 
TWO  MILLIONS  OF  DOLLARS  havc  bccn  ajipro- 
priated  to  the  cause  of  education  by  the  citi- 
zens of  Boston.  Tliis  is  good  evidence  that 
' '  the  pilgrim  spirit  has  not  yet  lled."t    Under 

*  Five  thnHtani  ihllam  to  Harvard  CoUeoje  for  the 
erection  of  an  Obskevatoky  Tuweh,  now  known  as 
tlie  Sears'  Tower.  In  this  tower  is  placeil  tlie  Great 
Telescope,  the  f,'ill  of  Bortou  citizens,  and  from  it  are 
ilatcd  all  the  scientific  reports  of  the  observers,  Mesars. 
G.  and  G.  T.  Bond. 

Five  thoHnnnd  dollart  to  create  a  fund,  the  income 
of  which  is  to  Ixj  appropriated  to  tlie  supijort  of  tlie  ob- 
server;!, and  other  purposes  of  science. 

Ten  t/iotisand  do/Ill). 1  10  Amhcri^  Collefre  to  cstab- 
li.sh  a  foundation  an(i  an  accumulating  fund,  for  the 
advancement  of  literature  ami  science,  the  income  to 
bo  applied,  as  the  trustees,  in  their  discretion,  maj' 
vote  the  proper  objects. 

The  other  gentlemen  mentioned  have  also  been  equal- 
ly liberal,  in  various  ways,  with  tbfir  own  views  of 
utility,  and  merit  an  equally  distinguished  notice. 

t  Says  a  celebrated  (oreigu  writer,  in  no  wise  par- 
tial to  tlie  Puritans  :  "  They  were  men  whose  minds 
had  derived  a  peculiar  character  from  tlie  daily  con- 
templation of  superior  beings  and  eternal  interests. 
Not  content  with  acknowledging  in  general  terras 
an  overruling  Providence,  tliey  habitually  ascribed 
every  event  to  the  will  of  the  Gkeat  'Bei.vo  for 
whoso  nower  nothing  was  too  vast,  for  whose  inspec- 
tion iKithint?  was  too  minute.  To  know  Hi.m,  to  serve 
Him,  to  enjoy  Hi.m,  was  with  them  the  great  end  of 
Umir  existence.  They  rejected  with  contempt  the 
oeremouiou«  homage  which  other  sects  substituted 


no  system  but  Christianity  does  true  liber- 
ty exist,  or  are  human  rights  properly  re- 
spected. By  it  the  existence  of  man  is  in- 
vested with  dignity  and  importance  ;  by  this 
levelliiig  and  exalting  system,  every  human 
being,  in  whatever  circumstances  of  degrada- 
tion no  may  be  jilaced,  stands  on  an  equality 
w-ith  the  mightiest  potentate  on  earth,  ond  to 
his  fate  is  attached  a  mysterious  and  incon- 
ceivalile  importance. 

We  are  well  aware  that  all  political  dema- 
gogues, to  whatever  party  or  profession  they 
may  belong,  are,  as  it  may  naturally  be  sup- 
posed, secretly,  if  not  openly,  opposed  to  pop- 
ular education.  And  they  are  so,  because  an 
ignorant,  idle,  and  immoral  pojmlation  are  more 
easily  managed  to  suit  the  purposes  of  a  dem- 
agogue than  an  enlightened  and  well-principled 
one. 

In  a  late  article  on  the  subject  of  education, 
by  one  of  our  ablest  and  most  industrious  wri- 
ters,* particularly  on  statistics,  we  find  the 
following  remarks : — 

"As  respects  New  England,  however,  it 
will  be  universally  admitted,  we  think,  that 
none  of  its  states  has  ever  fallen  into  so  low  a 
condition,  that  the  mass  of  its  citizens,  under 
whatever  party  banners  they  might  be  enlist- 
ed, would  allow  their  political  leaders  to  break 
dowii  a  system  which  affords  every  individual 
an  opportunity  of  obtaining  an  education  at 
the  public  exiiense,  and,  consequently,  free 
of  charge  to  the  poorest  classes. 

"  It  is  true  that  even  in  Ma.ssachusetts, 
whore  education,  from  the  most  elementary 
to  the  highest  branches  of  instruction,  has  been 
most  liberally  encouraged — not  by  the  state, 
but  by  individuals — the  demagogues  belong- 
ing to  the  profession  of  the  politician,  as  well 
as  the  demagogues  in  all  other  vocations  of 
life,  have  not  lieen  wanting  in  their  wishes  and 
exertions  to  hinder  an  advancement  in  popular 
education,  and  even  to  lower  its  present  stand- 
ard ;  but  they  never  have  had  the  countenance 
of  any  considerable  portion  of  either  of  the 
two  predominating  political  jiarties.    •    •    • 

"  On  the  distribution  of  the  surjilus  revenue 
of  the  United  States  some  few  years  since,  an 
effort  was  made  liy  the  friends  of  popular  ed- 
ucation, in  and  out  of  the  legislature,  to  lay 
aside  the  share  coming  to  Massachusetts — 
amounting  to  $1„047,620— as  a  fund,  the  in- 
come from  which  to  be  applied  to  the  promo- 
tion of  education  ;  but  it  failed. 

"  In  truth,  of  the  vast  sums  which,  for  half 

for  the  homage  of  the  soul.  On  the  rich  and  the  elo- 
quent, on  Dobles  and  priests,  they  looked  down  with 
contempt ;  for  tliey  esteemed  themselves  rich  in  a 
more  precious  treasure,  and  eloquent  in  a  more  sub- 
lime language — nobles  by  the  right  of  an  earlier  cre- 
ation, and  priests  by  tlie  imposilica  of  a  miahtier 
hand." 

*  H.  Lee,  Esq.,  of  Boston, 


itfjit 


.^f 


R  I'.pntury  and  more,  have  been  appropriated 
for  the  support  of  education  and  for  iu  ad 


vanopinent,  by  far  the  larrest  portion  has  oris- 
en  from  the  heiiefactions  of  charitable  and  mu- 
nificent individuals.  As  a  state,  considering 
that  the  annual  income  of  its  inhabitants  is 
much  greater  than  that  of  the  people  of  any 
other  state  of  e(iual  number  of  jjcrsons,  we 
havir  done  less  for  the  promotion  of  education 
than  Vew  York  and  several  other  members  of 
the  Union.  And,  but  for  the  unexampled  gen- 
erosity of  individuals,  the  institutions  for  in- 
struction in  the  higher  branches  of  education 
—leaning,  as  they  have  done,  almost  wholly 
on  the  best(nvTnents  of  individuals  for  support 
— mu;-t,  without  that  private  aid,  have  been 
m  a  very  low  condition,  compared  with  their 
existmg  one.  .So,  in  regard  to  charitable  es- 
tablishments:  they  mainly  owe  their  origin 
and  support  to  the  well-considered  and  wiseTy- 
bestowed  contributions  of  individuals, — nine 
tenths  of  which,  perhaps,  may  have  come 
from  the  citizens  of  Boston. 

"  Although  the  legislatures  of  Massachu- 
setts, and  especially  within  the  last  fifty  years, 
have  not  shown  s()  enlightened  and  liberal  a 
disposition  as  thiur  predecessors  have  done 
(considering  the  vast  accession  to  the  proper- 
ty of  its  inhabitants)  in  regard  to  popular  ed- 
ucation, in  consequence  of  the  hinderanccs 
thro^vn  in  the  way  of  the  advocates  of  educa- 
tion by  the  demagogues  of  both  jiarties — nev- 
ertheless, it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  time  has 
arrived  when  the  resistance  made  bv  the  dem- 
agogues in  the  legislature  and  elsewhere,  to  an 
advancement  in  the  quality  of  the  schools,  and 
m  the  qualifications  of  the  teachers,  will  be 
discountenanced  and  overcome  by  influential 
men  of  all  parties.  Such  will  certainly  be 
the  conduct  of  reflecting  men  ;  for  what,  we 
ask,  is  there  so  necessary  to  the  prosperity,  ! 
self-respect,  and  to  the  general  welfare  of  the  ' 
mass  of  the  people,  as  the  advantages  deriva- 
ble from  education  ? 

"  Upon  this  all-important  subject  of  educa- 
tion, there  are  the  following  just  and  timely 
remarks  in  Governor  BRiaos'  late  address  to 
the  legislature : — 

"  'I  can  not,'  says  this  intelligent  and  ex- 
cellent magistrate,  '  forbear  to  present  to  your 
earnest  consideration,  as  I  have  heretofore  pre- 
sented to  the  consideration  of  your  predecessors, 
the  important  subject  of  ]3opular  education. 

"  '  This  subject  should  be  ever  present  with 
the  people  of  the  commonwealth  and  wth  their 
legislature.  Neither  can  neglect  it  without 
bringing  a  just  reproach  upon  themselves,  and 
doing  injustice  to  rfie  rising  generation. 

"  I  In  the  order  of  Providence,  to  each  suc- 
ceeding generation  of  men  is  committed  the 
education  of  the  children.  This  is  a  high  and 
sacred  duty.     No  generation  con  perform  it 


It  can  not  be   omitted  without 


but  once 
guilt. 

"  '  The  people  of  Massachusetts  can  not  for- 
get,  and  ought  not  to  forget,  that  uniler  Prov- 
idencc,  the  imi)crtant  clement  of  her  prosperi- 
ty has  been  the  ceaseless,  diversified,  and  per- 
severing industry  of  her  population.  To  labor, 
contnved  by  the  heads  and  perfonned  by  the 
hands  of  her  freemen,  under  the  control  and 
influence  of  her  moral,  religious,  and  free  in- 
stitutions, she  mainly  owes  her  present  char- 
acter and  standing  among  the  states  of  this 
confederacy. 

'"On  this  she  must  rely  for  her  future  weal 
and  success.  Our  people  regard  all  honest 
employment  as  honorable,  and  look  u]mn  idle- 
ness, among  the  rich  or  the  poor,  as  the  pro- 
lific parent  of  vice.  But  labor,  to  be  success- 
ful, must  bo  intelligent.  The  well-spring  of 
this  intelligence  is,  and  always  must  be  found, 
for  the  great  mass  of  our  population,  in  the 
district  school-house.' 

"  In  order  to  overcome,  in  some  degree,  the 
prejudice  which,  it  is  conceived,  usually  exists 
on  the  ])art  of  the  uneducated  portion  of  the 
country  against  opinions  of  leading  men  in  the 
educated  states,  we  cite  the  following  editorial 
remarks  from  a  respectable  journal  published 
in  Richmond,  Virginia : — 

"  '  The  reason  of  the  eminent  success,  and 
the  wonderful  manifestation  of  intellectual  and 
moral  power  which  the  New-England  states 
are  exhibiting  on  the  rest  of  the  states,  and  on 
the  general  welfare,  consists  in  these  two 
things:  every  child  must  be  educated,  and 
placed  on  the  same  footing  while  receiving  his 
education  ;  and  every  honorable  occupation  is 
held  in  like  esteem.  The  consequence  of  this 
state  of  things  is,  that  all  men  ore  mentally  fit 
for  all  ])ursuits  to  which  their  genius  ajiplies, 
and  talent  is  not  uselessly  employed.  This 
8tat(  of  things  will  make  any  peojile  rich  ond 
powerful.  If  a  man  has  genius  for  the  intri- 
cacies of  mechanism,  he  will  not  nor  can  not 
distinguish  himself  or  thrive  as  a  fonner,  law- 
yer, doctor,  or  merchant.  By  reversing  the 
system  of  things  here,  as  they  exist  in  New 
England,  we  are  struggling  against  the  Al- 
mighty himself,  and  of  course  we  can  not  suc- 
ceed. Our  policy  is  wrong,  and  the  sooner 
we  right  it  the  better.' 

"  If,  as  alleged  by  this  Virginia  writer,  the 
prosperity  of  New  England  is  justly  attribu- 
table to  the  advantages  deri\ed  from  a  system 
of  general  education,  it  would  seem  to  follow 
that  the  poverty  of  Virginia  is  owing  to  the 
people  of  that  commonwealth  having,  as  as- 
serted by  the  editor,  acted  upon  '  the  reverse 
of  the  New-England  system.' — '  Our  policy,' 
says  this  intelligent  writer,  '  is  wrong,  and  the 
sooner  we  right  it  the  better.    We  are  stru"-- 


3t  be    omitted  without 

nssijchusotts  can  not  for- 
Forget,  that  under  Prnv- 
elemcnt  of  hrr  i)ros]iori- 
CS8,  diversified,  and  jier- 
!r  population.  Tolul)()r, 
s  and  perfonned  by  thn 
under  tho  control  and 
1,  rclin^ous,  and  frco  in- 
owes  her  present  char- 
aong  the  states  of  this 

rely  for  her  future  weal 
'onle  regard  all  honest 
ible,  and  look  upon  idle- 
ir  the  poor,  as  the  pro- 
tut  labor,  to  be  success- 
it.    Tho  well-spring  of 

I  always  must  be  found, 
our  population,  in  the 

•        •         •        • 

me,  in  some  degree,  the 
jnceived,  usually  exists 
ducated  portion  of  the 
s  of  leading  men  in  the 
B  the  following  editorial 
table  journal  published 

e  eminent  success,  and 
ition  of  intellectual  and 
e  New-England  states 
3st  of  the  states,  and  on 
consists  in  these  two 
lust  be  educated,  and 
ing  while  receiving  his 
lonorable  occupation  is 
^he  consequence  of  this 

II  men  are  mentally  fit 
h  their  genius  applies, 
issly  employed.  This 
Le  any  people  rich  and 
IS  genius  for  the  intri- 
e  wll  not  nor  can  not 
drive  as  a  fanner,  law- 
nt.  By  reversing  the 
as  they  exist  in  New 
gling  against  the  Al- 
:ourse  we  can  not  suc- 
iTong,  and  the  sooner 

is  Virginia  writer,  the 
land  is  justly  attribu- 
derived  from  a  system 
would  seem  to  follow 
rginia  is  owing  to  the 
wealth  having,  as  as- 
ed  upon  '  the  reverse 
stem.' — '  Our  policy,' 
;er,  '  i^  wrong,  and  the 
Jtter.     We  are  strug- 


■■■ 


gling  against  the  Almighty  himself,  and  of 
course  we  can  not  succeed,'  " 

These  extracts,  carefully  written  by  their 
Judicious  outhor,  are  well  worthy  of  deep  and 
prayerful  consideration  by  men  of  all  classes 
and  jiolitical  creeds.  Nothing  can  bo  more 
true  than  the  sentiments  therein  urged.  What 
arc  any  jieople,  without  the  advantages  of  ed- 
ucation ?  Ij;norance,  indigence,  and  pauper- 
ism, with  th-jir  usual  concomitants  and  conse- 
(picnces,  will  continue  to  be  among  their  most 
prominent  characteristics. 

lict  public  opinion  therefore  at  once,  through 
the  iiifiuence  of  the  press,  the  pulpit,  and  pub- 
lic l(!Cturcs,  be  orouscd  to  the  necessity  of  the 
education  of  children  ;  let  the  instruction  of  a 
child  be  considered  the  paramount  duty  of  a 
g(tod  citizen,  and  then  public  sentiment  will 
a(!t  much  more  powerfully  to  produce  the  re- 
sults desired  than  the  staff  of  the  police-offi- 
cer. Public  opinion  is  the  best  balance-wheel 
of  the  machinery  of  a  society  constituted  aa 
that  is  in  which  we  live. 

It  must  bo  by  promulgating  among  the  mass 
the  sentiment  of  the  necessity  of  education— 
by  arousing  their  attention  to  its  value — by 
demonstratmg  its  beneficial  results,  as  not  only 
the  best  check  on  the  increase  of  crime  and 
the  prevention  of  pauperism,  but  also  the  pro- 
moter of  public  order  and  private  happiness 
— that  we  can  hope  to  have  education  gener- 
ally diffused.  So  soon  as  the  people  ltc  con- 
vinced, we  shall  secure  the  brilliant  obj«ict 
which  all  should  desire  to  be  effected.  To 
produce  great  results,  must  be  the  work  of 
time.  The  past  labors  of  the  people  are  the 
best  evidences  of  their  devotion  to  the  advance- 
ment of  learning,  and  give  great  hope  that  the 
same  system  of  education  vvliich  has  originated 
in  the  New-England  states,  will  become  uni- 
versal, and  laid  with  a  broad  and  deep  founda- 
tion, on  which  the  pyramid  of  the  republic's 
glory  and  security  may  rise,  and  remain  an 
imperishable  mommient  of  the  wisdom  of  her 
statesmen. 


carry  with  them  to  the  mind  a  powerful  im- 
prossiim  of  the  universal  solemnity  with  which 
death  has  been  regarded.  And  why  is  this, 
that  in  every  nation  over  which  a  sunbeam 
floats  or  a  moonlieam  falls,  every  nation  where 
man  is  found,  every  nation  where  Death  reigns 
—(and  where  does  he  not  reign  ?)— should  be 
marked  by  this  dread  of  dissolution  ?  \VTiat 
is  that  feeling  which  causes  man  instinctively 
to  shudder  as  he  stonds  on  the  border  of  tho 
grave  7 


•"  Why  shrinkf  tho  soul 


Back  on  heracir,  and  startles  at  deatruction  ?" 


BURIAL-PLACES  &  FUNERAL  RITES. 

"Lefa  talk  of  wornia  and  greTeg,  and  epitaph*, 
Make  dust  our  paper,  and  witli  rainy  eyes 
Write  sorrow  on  the  iiosora  of  this  earth  ; 
Let's  choose  executors,  and  talk  of  wills ; — 
And  yet  not  so— for  what  can  we  bequeath, 
Save  our  deposgd  bodies  to  tho  ground !" 

SaAxspaKi. 

The  customs  and  observances  relative  to 
the  dead  form  a  most  interesting  point  of  do- 
mestic history ;  the  distinctive  rites  which  have 
markad  the  ceremony  of  burial  frequently  fur- 
nish an  index  to  national  manners,  and  they 


It  is  a  feeling  which  ranges  through  all  or- 
ders of  intellect  and  all  orders  of  society,  all 
religions  and  sects— the  pagan  and  !he  Chris- 
tian, the  Mohammedan  and  the  Jew.  Phi- 
losophers have  stepjied  forward,  and,  with 
something  like  courage,  they  have  spoken  of 
death  as  the  irvL'at  vestibule  which  leads  to 
immortality ;  but  we  have  seen  them  shudder 
and  shrink  back  aghast,  and  their  philosophy 
was  tinged  with  gloom. 

Poets — Blair,  Young,  Gray,  the  Montgom- 
ei^  ■  and  Bryant — have  '>roken  the  silence  of 
the  giuveyard  with  the  wild  ond  fitful  mur- 
murings  of  their  harps ;  but  the  vrild  notes 
were  only  as  the  gusts  of  mournful  wind  which 
sweep  round  the  sepulchre,  and  breathe   a 
balmy  sadness  over  the  peopled  solitude.-— 
Young,  Blair,  and  Porteus,  will  be  quoted  aa 
contradictory  of  this :  it  %vill  be  said  tney  sung 
a  lofty  pa;an  of  triumph,  ond  their  songs  were 
not  the  songs  of  death.     Yes,  but  they  did  not 
set  their  foot  upon  corruption :  they  walked 
round  the  grave  and  sang ;  their  spirits  should 
have  entered  the  grave;  they  should  have 
flashed  the  fires  of  immortality  on  the  very 
place  of  worms ;  they  should  have  torn  down 
the  mystic  curtain,  and  shown  that  death  is 
actually  not  dreadful ;  that  death  has  actually 
no  power;  thot  universolly  as  the  spirit  of 
corruption  reigns,  the  spirit  of  immortolity 
starts  with  flashing  pinions  from  the  ashes  of 
corruption ;  that  every  sad  rite  and  funereal 
solemnity,  every  solemn  marble  and  falling 
tear,  every  national  funeral  ceremony,  is  the 
proud  and  towering  evidence  of  death's  defeat ; 
that  annihilation  is  a  thing  unknown  through 
all  the  range  of  finite  and  infinite ;  that  &- 
struction  is  innovation,  and  renovation  immor- 
tality.   And  this  can  be  shown.    It  can  be 
seen  that  all  burial-rites  are  holy  solemniries. 
Ay,  holy !  for  fantastical  and  superstitious  as 
they  may  seem,  they  all  contein  one  grand 
assumption :  that  at  the  cessation  (shall  we 
thus  call  it  ?)  of  mon's  existence,  his  vitd  part 
returns  to  its  grand  and  primal  origin.     K  the 
followers  of  Thales  interred  in  water,  it  was 
because  water  was  believed  to  be  the  origin 
of  all  things,  and  the  destiny  of  man.    Wny 


■lfj< 


BURIAL  PLACES  AND  FUNEUAL  1UTE8. 


difl  tlm  (Iisriplos  of  Hrrnrlitim  huiM  tli.>  lii,-), 
funcroQ    iiilc,   mill  why,  nmi<l  Hnrrifici,,!  in- 
cprisp,  (li'l  tli.jy  l)iim  tlieir  fricii.h  ur»m  it  » 
Wns  It  not  l.oonmc-  'hoy  lu'linvcd  tlw  hiiMnn 
soul  to  he  a  thine  '     lianic,  horn  niiil  criulli.,! 
(mi  to  apeak)  in  lin  /     If  tho  Romnns  flun- 
the  rost;  upon  th<-  grnvc,  that  it  jni^ht  slicl  its 
frngrnnco  rhrr.-  j  if  thi"  Greeks  hiiil  aroun.l  it 
the  aniarantli  aiul  the  myrtle  ;  if  they  liuili  the 
luner.al  pyr.^  of  sweet  fuel— the  ever.'roeii- 
trees  tli.-  rvpress,  the  fir,  the  larix,  ami  the 
ye\y— (li,l  they  not  thus  -ive  nil  evi.lenee  of 
their  hope  nn.l  belief  in  inimortalitv,  nndhliow 
that  they  inilul-;e,l  the  sweet  rxpectation  of 
ineetmu'  the  <Iepiirie.|  loved  ones  over  a^ain  T 
Nay,  was  not  eve  y  rustoin  a  syinhol,  ami  ev- 
ery reremonv  a  type  ,'     If,  when  the  pyro  was 
kindled,  the  faee  wa^   .verted  from  the  spec- 
tacle, was  It  not  to  sh,  sv  the  jorief  with  which 
they  ministered  the  luelancholv  otlice  ?    Yet 
as  they  were  cfmimanded  in  perfoniiin"  the 
ceremony  to  lift  the  eye  tiinvard  toward  iho 
blue  heavens,  was  it  not  to  evidence  the  ex- 
peetalion  of  reunion  there? 

The  first  cemetery  of  which  wo  have  any 
notice  IS  that  which  existed  beyond  the  lake 
Acherusin,  or  Acharejish,  in  tcypt,  which 
name  signified  the  last  state  of  man.  Tliia 
cemetery  and  its  miHous  ceremonies  laid  the 
loiimlation  of  many  of  the  notions  connected 
with  hgyptinn  and  Grecian  mytholor-yr ..  the 
lake  we  have  mentioned  gave  rise  to  the  fable 
rns,,ecting  Acheron.  On  the  borders  of  the 
lake  Aeherusia,  a  tribunal  composed  of  forty- 
tw(,  judges  was  established,  to  imiuire  into  the 
lite  and  character  of  the  de(  .^nsed  :  without 
this  examination  a  corpse  coulJ  uol  bo  carried 


Bgyptian  Fnnfiml  Procession. 


itlll  htlilrl  ill,"  llll;h 

mid  siiiTiliciiil  Jn. 
frit'inli  ujxm  it  ? 
lievcd  il>(.  hunnn 
Ixirri  mill  cradled 
he   Kiiirmns  (liiii" 
It  it  iniijlitKlicd  its 
cks  l(ii<l  around  it 
■;  if  they  built  tlie 
I — the  rvfTLTPrii- 
ho  Inrix,  niid  the 
p  nil  fvidcricp  of 
iirtnlity,  mid  hhow 
et  PX|")fTtttti()n  of 
fines  over  ncain? 
a  symbol,  nmi  cv- 
■hen  the  pyre  was 
il  from  the  sjiec- 
prief  with  which 
olyortiee?    Yet, 
1  fici-fdniiinc;  tlio 
wnrd  toward  llits 
evidence  the  ex- 

ich  we  have  nny 

beyond  the  lake 
n  Egypt,  which 
■■  of  man.  Tliia 
emoiiies  laid  the 
otions  connected 
ni^ytholopy :  the 
■■  rise  to  the  fable 
!  borders  of  the 
mposed  of  forty- 
)  in(|uire  into  the 
'^nsed:  without 
lu  iioJ  be  carried 


BUaiAL  PLACES  AND  FUNERAL  KITES. 


25 


to  the  C'liiitcrv  be^oml  the  lake.  If  tho 
<lefi'u«rd  bad  (fii'd  insolvent,  the  coriiso  wus 
udjudi^id  to  till!  creditors,  in  order  to  oblige 
his  reliitives  luid  friends  to  redeem  it.  If  his 
lifi!  hud  been  wicked,  tins  privilej»e  of  burial 
was  refu--ed  M  it,  and  it  was  carried  ami  thrown 
into  a  biii'i!  dilch,  'iiUed  Tartar,  on  account 
of  the  laiiieiitations  this  sentence  pHnluced 
ttinon;;  ihi'  friends  and  relatives  of  the  de- 
ceased. Till!  (Jreek  Tartarus  hud  its  orijyn 
in  this  Kj,'y|)tianone.  If  no  accuser  appeared, 
or  if  file  ai'cusutions  were  found  {c;roundless, 
the  jntli;i;s  decreed  tho  regiihir  burial,  and  an 
eulo'^iuiri  on  the  deceased  was  pronounced 
»mid  the  ii[)|)lausc3  of  the  bystanders:  in  this 
eulogy  his  vulcnts,  virtues,  accomplishments, 
cverylliing,  tiiccpt  his  rank  and  riches,  were 
praised. 

To  carry  tho  corpse  to  the  cemetery,  it  was 
necessary  to  cross  tho  lake,  and  to  ]>ay  a  small 
sum  for  the  passage.  This  circumstance  has 
been  carefulh/  transplanted  into  the  Oreeiiin 
mythology.  The  cemetery  was  a  large  plain, 
surrounded  by  trees  and  intersected  by  canals, 
to  which  was  given  the  apjiellation  Elisout,  or 
Eli^iicus,  meaning  rest.  Every  one  recog- 
nises in  this  description  the  Greek  Charon,  his 
boat.  111-;  ferry-money,  and  the  Elysian  fields. 
The  wIkpI';  ceremony  of  interment  seems  to 
hav(;  ci insisted  in  depositing  the  money  in  nn 
cxeavuti.in  niad(!  in  a  rock,  or  under  the  sand, 
which  covered  the  whole  Elisout;  then  the 
relatives  of  the  deceased  threw  three  han<lfuls 
of  sand  us  a  sign  to  the  workman  to  fill  u|)  tho 
cavity,  after  uttering  three  loud  farewells. 

One  of  the  customs  relating  to  tltS  dead 
which  has  obtained  among  all  nations,  is  that 
of  mourning.  As  a  custom  it  is  very  ancient : 
the  oldest  records  bear  some  notices  of  the 
modes  of  mourning  for  the  dead.  Abraham 
mourned  for  Sarah,  Josejih  mourned  for  his 
father,  and  the  children  of  Israel  mourned 
thirty  days  for  Moses.  The  origin  of  wear- 
ing a  dillerent  dress  arose  doubtless  from  the 
circumstance  of  the  carelessness  and  indifler- 
enco  which  was  engendered  by  death  in  the 
family.  The  colors  of  monniing  are  ditr(;reiit 
in  dillerent  countries.  In  Eurojio  and  Amer- 
ica, tho  ordinary  color  for  mourning  is  Iilack  ; 
in  China,  it  is  white,  a  color  that  was  the 
mourning  of  the  ancient  Spartan  and  Roman 
ladies ;  in  Turkey,  it  is  blue  or  vioh.'t ;  in 
Egyi)t,  yellow ;  in  Ethiopia,  brown ;  and  kings 
and  cardinals  mourn  in  purple.  Every  notion 
gave  a  partlenlar  reason  for  the  particular  col- 
or they  nssumea  h.  mourning.  Black,  which 
is  tho  ])rivatioii  of  light,  indicotes  tho  priva- 
tion of  life,  and  white  is  an  emblem  of  the 
])urit)M)f  the  sjiirit  separated  from  tho  body; 
yellow,  i^  to  represent  that  death  is  tho  end 
of  all  o;r  earthly  hopes,  because  this  is  tjie 
color  of  leaves  when  they  fall,  and  flowers 


when  they  faile ;  brown,  denotes  the  rnrth  to 
which  tin;  deml  return;  hUw  is  an  emlilem  of 
happiness,  whiidi  it  is  hoped  the  deceased  en- 
joys; and  purple  or  violet  expresses  a  inixturo 
of  sorrow  and  hope. 

Then!  were  various  ways  omong  tho  an- 
cients of  mourning.  The  inonnrch  laid  aside 
his  robe  and  crown,  and  various  insignia  of 
royalty ;  the  peojilo  rent  their  clothes,  beat 
upon  tlii'ir  breasts,  wore  sackcloth,  and  sat  in 
ashes.  A  puiilic  mourning  was  sometimes 
celebrated  by  a  general  fast ;  and  when  such 
an  event  took  place  at  llome,  all  the  shops 
were  closed,  the  senators  luid  aside  their  laii- 
clavian  robes,  the  consuls  sat  in  a  lower  seat 
than  usual,  and  the  women  jnit  aside  all  their 
ornaments.  There  was  a  remarkable  practice 
among  the  ancient  soldiers  of  mourning  for 
their  fellows :  tho  whole  army  attended  the 
funeral  solemnities  with  their  arms  turned  up- 
side down.  An  Irish  funeral  is  of  all  funerals 
oni!  of  tho  most  singular.  It  is  the  highest 
point  of  ambition  among  the  children  of  tho 
"  Emerald  Isle"  that  thr'y  may  have  an  "  aisy 
death  and  a  fine  funeral."  They  ileny  them- 
selves innumerable  comforts  in  life,  in  order 
that  they  may  enjoy  themselves  after  d(!atli : 
their  shroud  and  burial-dress  arc  fretpiently  in 
readiness  for  them  several  years  before  they 
are  reipiired,  and  the  headstone  for  the  grave 
fre(iuently  may  be  seen  ready  in  the  cottage, 
and  the  Irishman  gazes  upon  it  with  ecstatic 
rajituro  when  he  remenibers  how  nice  and  neat 
it  will  look  when  it  marks  his  burinl-iilace. 
There  arc  no  pcoiile  who  seem  to  look  forward 
to  death  with  so  little  dread  as  the  Irish  ;  they 
look  upon  the  day  of  their  death  as  a  grand 
gala-day,  and  it  is  the  great  object  of  their 
lives  to  make  all  possible  provision  for  it. 
The  funoral-proeession  in  Ireland  always  bears 
more  resemblance  to  an  electioneering  cere- 
mony. The  Irish  funeral-howl  is  notorious ; 
and  although  this  vehement  vociferous  exjires- 
sion  is  on  the  decline,  tliero  are  still  a  race  of 
women,  called  "  Keeners,"  or  mourners  by 
])rofession.  A  late  traveller  has  been  curious 
to  obtain  information  relating  to  them,  and  de- 
scribes some  of  them  as  very  extraordinary 
characters,  having  memories  exceedingly  pow- 
erful, voices  singularly  harmonio'is  and  strong, 
and  an  intellect  by  no  means  weak. 

In  Spain,  a  widow  passed  the  first  year  of 
her  mourning  in  n  chamber  hung  with  black, 
into  which  (laylight  was  n(!ver  allowed  to  en- 
ter. When  this  lugubrious  year  was  ended, 
she  changed  it  for  one  hung  with  gray,  into 
which  she  sometimes  admitted  an  intrusive 
sunlicain  ;  but  in  neither  chamber  did  custom 
allow  her  a  looking-glass,  nor  anything  but 
actual  necessaries.  This  victim  to  custom 
was  immediately  released  if  she  obtained  an- 
other husband.    In  some  parts  of  Africa,  the 


Nlfe» 


BURIAL  PLACES  AND  FUNERAL  RITES. 


HammyOaaei  and  Marble  StroophagL 


husband  is  no  sooner  dead,  than  his  yrwea, 
concubines,  servants,  and  iiorses,  are  strpngled, 
under  the  impression  that  they  will  render  him 
the  same  services  in  a  future  life  which  they 
rendered  him  in  his  post.     In  Daricn,  when  a 
widow  dies,  such  of  her  children  as  are  too 
young  to  provide  for  themselves,  are  buried 
with  Tier  in  the  same  grove.     At  the  cupe  of 
Good  Hope,  in  order  that  widows  may  not 
impose  themselves  on  men  as  virgins,  they  are 
obliged  to  cut  off  a  finger  for  every  husband 
that  die3.     Some  of  the  American  Indians  lay 
their  dead  bodies  upon  scalTolds,  where  they 
erect  seats  for  the  mourners,  who  go  every 
day  and  sit  for  a  considerable  time  and  howl 
for  them ;  but  if  they  can  not  howl  themselves, 
they  hire  persons  to  howl  in  their  stead.     He- 
nxlotus  menlions,  that   among   the    ancient 
Cretonians  (a  peoi/le  of  Thrace),  widows,  as- 
sisted by  thair  relatives,  made  interest  who 
should  be  preferred  to  the  honor  of  being  killed 
on  the  grave  of  their  dead  husband.     Some 
ancient  nations  dressed  themselves  as  women 
when  they  lost  their  relatives,  in  order,  it  is 
related,  that  the  ridicule   attached  to  their 
vestments  might  make  them  ashamed  of  their 
grief.     The  Abyssinians  mourn  for  their  dead 
many  days,  begmning  their  lamentations  with 
the  morning  and  continuing  them  till  night, 
when  the  nearest  relatives  and  fnends  of  the 
deceased  assembled  at  the  grave,  together  with 


several  hired  female  mourners,  who  join  the 
solemnity  with  shrieks,  also  clapj)ing  theii 
hands,  smiting  their  breasts,  and  uttering  tha 
most  doleful  expressions  of  grief.  \Vlien  a 
person  of  ordinary  rank  dies  at  Guinea,  his 
friends  ond  neighbors  set  up  a  loud  cry  round 
the  corpse,  carrying  it  into  the  ojien  air,  and 
asking  it  the  cause  of  its  death,  and  whether 
it  penshed  through  the  want  of  food  or  not, 
or  from  the  effects  of  necromancy. 

The  origin  of  embalming  seems  to  us  to  bo 
mysterious;  it  undoubtedly  originated  in  a 
wish  to  preserve  the  objects  of  ottection  and 
love ;  and  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  the 
E^ptians  were  the  first  who  practised  the  art. 
It  has  generally  been  considered  the  highest 
point  of  internal  civilization,  and  to  be  met 
with  only  among  those  people  on  whom  the 
light  of  science  had  been  poured ;  but,  strange 
to  say,  the  custom  has  been  found  prevalent 
in  the  islands  of  the  Southern  ocean,  and  that 
too  wth  many  of  the  attendant  circumstances 
which  marked  the  Egyptian  embalmments. 
The  customs  prevailing  at  Tahiti,  on  the  death 
of  a  person  of  distinction,  are  in  the  highest 
degree  appalling :  the  fearful  manner  in  which 
the  natives  cut  themselves  with  knives  excites 
horror  in  the  mind ;  their  superstitious  mode 
of  burying  the  sins  of  the  dead  are  subjects  of 
deep  and  fwrful  interest  alike  in  the  annals 
of  man's  extfemal  history,  and  the  memorials 


IMM 


Qvrnen,  who  join  the 
,  also  clapping  theii 
asts,  and  uttenng  tha 
8  of  grief.  Wlien  a 
i.  dies  at  Quincu,  his 
t  up  a  loud  cry  round 
into  the  o])en  air,  and 
8  death,  and  whether 
I  want  of  food  or  not, 
icromancy. 

me  seems  to  us  to  he 
;edly  originated  in  a 
)ject8  of  afFection  and 
)  little  doubt  that  the 
who  practised  the  art. 
Jiisidered  the  highest 
Eition,  and  to  be  raei; 
people  on  whom  the 
poured ;  but,  strange 
leen  found  prevalent 
them  ocean,  and  that 
endant  circumstances 
'ptian  embalmments, 
t  Tahiti,  on  the  death 
1,  are  in  the  highest 
rful  manner  in  which 
!8  with  knives  excites 
ir  superstitious  mode 
I  dead  are  eub'ectB  of 
t  alike^  in  the  annals 
r,  and  the  memorials 


I- 

S, 

f 


r 


ai^sMiMMiilli 


28 


BURIAL  PLACES  AND  FUNERAL  RITB3. 


Embalming.— The  Froceaset  of  Bandaging  and  Fainting  an  embalmed  Body :  designed  (rom  the  ancient 

Egyptian  Monaments. 


of  his  mental  imbecility.  The  Peruvians,  it 
seems,  had  an  effectual  method  of  preserving 
the  bodies  of  their  incas  or  kings ;  their  main 
secret,  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  burying 
them  in  snow,  and  afterward  applying  a  cer- 
tain bitumen,  which  kept  them  as  entire  as  if 
still  alive.  The  Jews  (as  we  are  told  by  Cam- 
den), the  Assyrians,  and  the  Scythians,  had 
all  different  ways  of  preserving  their  dead  ; 
but  the  most  extraordinary  method  is  that 
adopted  in  the  monastery  of  St.  Bernard.  It 
is  the  custom  of  that  fraternity  to  preserve  the 
dead  bodies  of  their  monks,  and  afterward 
place  thorn  erect  in  niches  along  the  walls. 
This  is  ( .iected  by  baking  them  in  a  very  slow 
oven  contrived  for  the  purpose,  and  they  will 
remain  thus  preserved  for  centuries  without 
changing,  or  becoming  in  the  least  offensive. 
They  are  dressed  in  their  hoods  and  cloaks. 

The  word  Mamoleum,  originates  from  Mau- 
solus,  a  king  of  Caria,  to  whom  a  sumptuous 
sepulchre  was  raised  by  his  wife  Artemesia. 
King  Mausoius  is  said  to  have  expired  in  the 
year  353  B.  C. ;  and  his  wife  was  so  disconso- 
late 8t  the  event,  that  she  drank  his  ashes,  and 
perpetuated  his  memory  by  the  erection  of 
this  monument,  which  became  sa  famous  as  to 
be  esteemed  the  seventh  wonder  of  the  world, 
and  to  give  a  generic  name  to  lill  sepulchres. 
The  mausoleum  of  the  Taaje  Mahal  stands  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  city  of  Agra,  and  as  a 
mausoleum  it  has  not  its  etiual  in  the  world. 
It  is  described  as  the  realization  of  a  fairy 
temple,  personifying  all  the  beamy  dreamings 
of  Arab 'an  enchantment.  It  stands  in  the 
midst  of  the  desert,  where  rudeness  and  deso- 
lation reign :  the  gate  leading  to  it,  is  a  build- 
ing which  in  any  other  place  the  traveller 


would  stay  to  gaze  on  and  admire,  but  scenes 
beyond  attract  his  notice.  The  entrance  is  a 
palace  of  deep  red  stone  inlaid  with  white 
marble.  Oriental  architecture  has  here  lav- 
JiViP.'  all  its  jiowers,  especially  in  the  domed 
room,  the  circular  hall,  and  the  wide-stretch- 
ing gallery.  The  place  of  actual  sepulture  is 
of  a  chaste  and  matchless  beauty  around  it  on 
three  sides  are  suites  of  apartments,  consisting 
of  three  rooms  in  each,  all  of  white  marble, 
having  lattices  of  perforated  marble  for  the 
free  transmission  of  air,  and  opening  to  the 
garden;  the  window-frames  are  of  marble; 
and  altogether  this  8uperl>  piece  of  art  im- 
presses the  mind  of  the  beholder  with  an  over- 
whelming feeling  of  amaze  that  such  a  build- 
ing should  be  a  monument  to  death. 

•        •        •        •        •  •        « 

Qolconda,  near  which  are  the  tombs  repre- 
sented in  one  of  our  engravings,  is  a  Tv  '•^'•ess 
of  Hindostan,  formerly  the  capital  of  the  prov- 
ince of  the  same  name.  It  is  the  residence  of 
the  kings.  This  fortress,  for  extent,  might  be 
called  a  city,  in  the  middle  of  which  rises  a 
hill  like  a  sugar-loaf.  It  is  esteemed  by  her 
natives  impregnable,  but  is  extremely  hot  and 
unhealthy.  It  is  now  the  repository  of  the 
wealth  of  the  Nizam.  The  principal  mineral 
production  of  this  country  is  that  most  inval- 
uable of  gems,  the  diamond.  It  is  generally 
found  in  the  narrow  crevices  of  the  rocks, 
loose,  and  never  adherent  to  the  strong  strat- 
um. The  miners,  with  long  iron  rods,  which 
have  hooks  at  the  end,  pick  out  the  contents 
of  the  fissures,  and  wosn  them  in  tubs,  in  or- 
der to  discover  the  diamonds.  Hindostan  is 
famous  for  its  diamond-mines.  In  Calour, 
near  Golconda,  they  dig  in  « large  plain  to  the 


mmok 


wmm^mitimtmKmmmm 


MBMH 


TE8. 


Body :  designed  from  the  ancient 

ize  on  and  admire,  but  scenes 
lis  notice.  The  entrance  i?  a 
red  stone  inlaid  with  white 
al  architecture  has  here  lav- 
veTB,  especially  in  the  domed 
xt  hall,  and  the  wido-stretch- 
le  place  of  actual  sepulture  is 
latchless  beauty  around  it  on 
lites  of  apartments,  consisting 
in  each,  all  of  white  marble, 
of  perforated  marble  for  the 
a  of  air,  and  opening  to  the 
ndow-frames  are  of  marble; 
this  superb  piece  of  art  im- 
of  the  beholder  with  an  over- 
;  of  amaze  that  such  a  build- 
monument  to  death. 
I        •         •  •         • 

J  which  are  the  tombs  repre- 
our  engravings,  is  a  Tv^-'^'-ess 
rmerly  the  capital  of  the  prov- 
narae.  It  is  the  residence  of 
i  fortress,  for  extent,  might  be 
the  middle  of  which  rises  a 
•loaf.  It  is  esteemed  by  her 
ible,  but  is  extremely  hot  and 
is  now  the  repository  of  the 
izam.  The  principal  mineral 
is  country  is  that  most  inval- 
be  diamond.  It  is  generally 
irrow  crevices  of  the  rocks, 
adherent  to  the  strong  strat- 
rs,  with  long  iron  rods,  which 
le  end,  pick  out  the  contents 
ind  wash  them  in  tubs,  in  or- 
;he  diamonds.  Hindostan  is 
diamond-mines.  In  Calour, 
bey  dig  in  «  large  plain  to  the 


o 
B 


a 


t 


^0 


BURIAL-PLACES  AND  FUNERAL  RITES. 


depth  of  ten  or  fourteen  feet :  forty  thousand 
persons  are  employed,  the  men  to  dig,  and  the 
women  and  children  to  carry  the  earth  to  the 
places  in  which  it  is  to  be  deposited  before  the 
search  is  made.  Diamonds  are  also  found  in 
the  gravel  or  sand  of  rivers,  washed  out  of 
iheir  beds  and  carried  down  with  the  stream. 
The  river  Oonel,  near  Sumbulpour,  is  the 
most  noted  for  them.  Many  other  precious 
stones  are  foimd  in    .lis  country. 

Beautiful,  indeed,  are  the  environs  of  Gol- 
conda,  adorned  wi.'h  the  tombs  of  her  former 
rulers!  Magnificent  mausoleums  of  marble 
and  gold — tnarblc  wrought  with  the  finest  chis- 
elling— woodwork  where  the  delicate  tracery 
of  the  carver  is  covered  over  with  rich  gold, 
so  that  the  whole  seems  as  if  wrought  in  the 
priceless  gold-mines  of  the  world  !  The  ar- 
chitecture of  these  noble  monuments  of  former 
times,  although  neither  Ionic,  Gothic,  nor  Co- 
rinthian, is  at  once  impressive  and  eH'ective. 
In  fact,  all  the  monuments  of  the  Hindoos 
seem  calculated  to  inspire  the  beholder  with 
awe  and  admiration.  While  the  domes  of 
their  buildings  do  not  compare  in  symmetry 
and  geometrical  accuracy  of  measurement  with 
the  far-famed  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  yet  the  eye 
of  the  beholder  is  dazzled,  and,  after  gazing 
in  mute  admiration  upon  them  for  hours,  he 
turns  away  dissatisfied,  only  to  look  back 
again. 

There  are  many  tombs  near  Golconda  ; — 
twelve  of  these,  however,  are  lofty  and  sub- 
lime in  appearance ;  and  when  their  domes  ore 
gilded  by  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  and  the 
scene  is  rendered  lifelike  by  the  presence  of  a 
caravan  of  camels,  loaded  with  the  rich  treas- 
ures of  the  eastern  world — men  dressed  in  gay 
costume,  or  resplendent  with  the  glitter  of 
burnished  armor — truly  may  we  say,  "  Gol- 
C05DA !  thy  diamonds  glitter  in  tlie  mines : 
but  even  on  the  surface  are  gems  of  priceless 
value.'" 

When  the  reader  looks  upon  the  tomb  of 
Hyder  Ali,  the  splendid  pile  of  building  will 
remind  him  of  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
men,  for  such  he  really  was.  Its  occupant 
rose  from  a  gituation  of  the  most  absolute  ob- 
scurity ;  and  gradually  passing,  as  by  on  in- 
clined plane,  to  the  command  of  the  army,  he 
deposed  the  rajah  Ntinjerej,  and  was  chosen 
to  govern  the  destinies  of  tndia.  Hyder  Ali 
died  at  the  advanced  age  of  eighty. 

The  engraving  represents  the  superb  place 
of  sepulture  in  which  both  Hyder  Ali  and  his 
son,  Tippoo  Saib,  are  deposited.  To  attempt 
a  descnption  of  this  illustrious  mausoleum, 
would,  indeed,  be  preposterous.  The  best  de- 
scription is  that  afforded  by  a  view  of  the  en- 
graving; but  all,  all  is  faint,  save  the  vasi 
original. 

Moral  is  the  name  given  at  Otaheite,  in  the 


South-sea  islands,  to  the  large  burial-grounds, 
which  were  formerly  places  of  public  worship. 
One  of  their  most  sacred  places  consisted  of  a 
pile  of  stone  raised  pyrumidically  upon  an  ob- 
long base.  On  each  side  was  a  flight  of  steps ; 
those  at  the  sides  being  broader  than  those  at 
the  ends,,  so  that  it  terminated,  not  in  a  8(|uare 
of  the  same  figure  with  the  base,  but  in  a 
rid^e,  like  the  roof  of  a  house.  There  wore 
eleven  of  these  steps  to  one  of  these  morais, 
each  of  which  was  four  feet  high ;  so  the 
height  of  the  pile  was  forty-four  feet.  Each 
step  was  formed  of  one  course  of  white  coral 
stone,  which  was  neatly  si]uared  and  polished. 
The  rest  of  the  mass — for  there  was  no  hollow 
within — consisted  of  rounded  pebbles,  which, 
from  the  regularity  of  their  figure,  seemed 
to  have  been  wrought.  The  foundation  was 
of  rock-stones,  which  were  also  squared.  In 
the  middle  of  the  top  stood  the  figure  of  a  bird 
carved  in  wood,  and  near  it  lay  the  broken 
one  of  a  fish  carved  in  stone.  The  whole  of 
this  pyramid  made  part  of  one  side  of  a  spa- 
cious area  or  s<|uare,  three  hundred  and  sixty 
feet  by  three  hundred  and  fifty-four,  which 
was  walled  in  with  stone,  and  paved  with  flat 
stones  its  whole  extent.  About  a  hundred 
yards  from  this  building  was  another  paved 
areo  or  court,  in  which  were  several  small 
stages  raised  on  wooden  pillara,  about  seven 
feet  high,  called  by  the  Indians  ewattas. 

To  stand  round  an  open  grave  in  a  country 
churchyard;  to  hear  the  dust  rattle  on  the 
coffin-hd ;  the  deep,  stifled  sob,  the  roll  of  the 
mutHed  bell,  and  the  deep  voice  of  the  stoled 
priest — all  these  rive  solemnity  to  the  im- 
pressive 8»rviee.  But  a  burial  by  land  is  not 
so  solemn  as  a  burial  by  sea.  There  is  some- 
thing in  that  event  peculiarly  impressive :  the 
winds  whistling  through  the  flapping  shrouds 
above,  and  the  solemn  voice  of  the  waves 
dashing  against  the  vessel  beneath, — these 
make  the  music  of  the  service,  and  ring  the 
dirge  and  the  requiem  over  the  departed.  In 
the  former  case,  the  dead  one  is  laid  to  rest 
with  his  fathers,  in  conformity  with  the  usages 
of  society,  beneath  the  green  turf,  perhaps  in 
the  quiet  valley  where  he  first  breathed  life's 
breath :  at  any  rate,  in  the  land  of  his  birth— 
his  own  country.  But  in  the  latter,  there  is 
no  green  mountain  swelling  in  the  dist&nce, 
no  sloping  valley  nor  churdi-tnrret ;  but  all 
along  the  horizon  swells  one  vast  waste  of 
waters,  and  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  it 
glances  over  the  blue  and  bounding  waves. 
And  no  fringed  pall  is  there  :  the  national  ban- 
ner circles  his  form  for  a  winding-sheet,  and 
his  last  bed  is  his  cotBn.  And  who  shall  stand 
and  gaze  on  the  scene,  and  say  that  sailors 
have  not  the  hearts  of  other  men,  when  around 
the  simple  burial  ?  You  may  see  the  forms 
of  men  marked  with  the  tears  of  honorable 


?i  the  large  burial-grounds, 
f  j)laces  of  public  worship, 
jcred  places  consisted  of  a 
pyrumidically  upon  an  ob- 
1  side  was  a  flight  of  steps ; 
;ing  broader  than  those  at 
erminated,  not  in  a  scjuare 
with  the  base,  but  in  a 
of  a  house.  There  wore 
18  to  one  of  these  morals, 
i  four  feet  high ;  so  the 
'as  forty-four  feet.  Each 
one  course  of  white  coral 
atly  s(]uared  and  polished. 
i — for  there  was  no  hollow 
f  rounded  pebbles,  which, 
'  of  their  figure,  ssemed 
;ht.  The  foundation  was 
;h  were  also  squared.  In 
p  stood  the  figure  of  a  bird 
J  near  it  Iny  the  broken 
in  stone.  The  whole  of 
part  of  one  side  of  a  spa- 
,  three  hundred  and  sixty 
red  and  fifty-four,  which 
stone,  and  paved  with  flat 
(tent.  About  a  hundred 
ilding  was  another  paved 
hich  were  several  small 
loden  pillara,  about  seven 
the  Indians  ewattas. 
™  open  grave  in  a  country 
IT  the  dust  rattle  on  the 
stifled  sob,  the  roll  of  the 
e  deep  voice  of  the  stoled 
ve  solemnity  to  the  im- 
(ut  a  burial  by  land  is  not 
.1  by  sea.  There  is  some- 
)cculiarly  impressive :  the 
)ugh  the  flapping  shrouds 
emn  voice  of  the  waves 
5  vessel  beneath, — thesr; 
the  service,  and  ring  the 
ta  over  the  departed.  In 
s  dead  one  is  laid  to  rest 
onformity  with  the  usages 
the  green  ttirf,  perhaps  in 
sre  he  first  breathed  life's 
in  the  land  of  his  birth — 
tut  in  the  latter,  there  is 
swelling  in  the  distance, 
)r  church-turret ;  but  all 
nvells  one  vast  waste  of 
as  the  eye  can  reach  it 
ue  and  bounding  waves. 
8  there  :  the  national  ban- 
for  a  winding-sheet,  and 
fin.  And  who  shall  stand 
me,  and  say  that  sailors 
f  other  men,  when  around 
You  may  see  the  forms 
li  the  Bears  of  honorable 


32 


BLANKET8. 


war,  and  many  a  one  raising  his  coat  to  wipe 
away  the  tear  that  can  not  be  suppressed. 
And  where  should  be  the  sailor's  grave,  but 
beneath  those  billows  over  which  he  so  tri- 
umphantly rode  ?  His  career  was  unchained 
— so  let  liis  grave  be  !  He  goes  down  to  a 
"  drpth  which  no  plummet,  save  GihI's  omni- 
presence, has  ever  fathomed  ;"  and  if  loath- 
some things  creep  over  him,  will  he  heed  their 
assaults,  secure  in  his  last  rci>i)se  ?  And  may 
we  not  then  echo  the  (luestion  of  the  poei 
Howitt — "  Will  ho  rise  less  joyiuUy  when  the 
last  irumpet  rings  over  the  waters,  than  those 
who  laid  them  down  in  the  ornamented  cem- 
etery ?"     We  trow  not. 

But  one  of  the  most  interestingly  solemn 
scenes  in  which  we  can  wander  is  a  village 
churchyard.     Indeed,  our  readers  know  that 
the  poet's  harp  rung  in  solemn  strains  amid 
iis  simple  tombs.     Our  poets  have  dwelt  in 
pensive,  beautiful  melancholy,  reflecting  on  its 
scenes — the   once-busy   and  agitated   hearts 
which  lie  beneath  the  sod,  and  the  balmy 
trantiuillity — emblem  of  a  deeper  repose — 
which  Nature  flings  over  the  spot.     And  e 
burial-place  is,  of  all  others,  the  most  soothing. 
That  is  a  fine  expression  in  the  book  of  Job — 
"  there  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and 
the  weary  are  at  rest."     It  is  a  beautiful 
thought :  their  hearts  so  still,  so  tranquil,  were 
agiteted  as  much  as  ours ;  their  heads  were 
the  seats  of  thought;  their  arms  and  legs  were 
once  active ;  their  eyes  could  once  drink  in 
the  bsauties  of  nature's  scenery ;  their  hearts 
were  susceptible  of  the  same  emotions  as  ours : 
they  stood  perhaps  in  this  very  churchyard, 
and  felt,  as  they  looked  on  surrounding  graves, 
the  same  emotions  which  we  feel !     A  few 
years,  and  another  generation  will  stand  in  the 
churchyard,  and  we  shall  be  in  our  graves. 
And  when  our  minds  revert  to  burials,  to  mon- 
uments, and  to  burial-customs,  by  what  va- 
riety are  we  surrounded !     The  lonely  mound, 
the  stranger's  grave,  where  no  daisy  blooms, 
no  cypress  hangs,  no  mourner  weeps ;  the  neat 
sepulchral  stane,  with  the  trimmed  grass,  and 
perchance  a  flower  showing  its  mild  beauty 
on  the  brow  of  death.     Then  the  monumental 
pile,  the  flattering  epitaph,  the  entablature  of 
ancestral  birth  and  daring  deefls.     Can  we  go 
further  than  this  ?     Oh,  yes :  the  proud  mau- 
soleum, more  like  a  palace  than  a  place  of 
bones ;  where  the  Parian  marble  gleams  in  its 
whiteness,  and  the  sculptor's  noble  effigies 
seem  almost  to  breathe  in  stone ;  but  of  the 
alumberers  beneath  it  may  be  said — 

"  The  rtorm  which  wrenk*  our  wintry  Ay 
No  more  disturbg  their  deep  repose 
Than  guinmer  evening'*  lBte»l  sigh, 
When  shuu  the  rose." 

There  are  some  spectacles  in  the  world  from 
•which  one  shrinks  back  with  horror,  while  oth- 


er circumstances  would  only  create  in  our 
minils  a  feeling  of  complacent  delight.  Such  a 
spectacle  is  the  crow(leil  metropolitan  church- 
yard. The  feelings  it  excites  are  truly  inde- 
scribable. The  crowded  seat  of -H'stilence  and 
death,  the  torturing  memento  »i  the  miseries 
of  life,  with  no  whisper  of  the  repose  which  is 
beyond  ;  oh  !  one  shrinks  from  burial  in  snch 
a  town,  more  than  from  death  itself.  But  a 
village  churchyard — and  often  have  we  leaned 
over  its  gravestones,  and  sighed  to  think  that 
we  were  not  as  those  beneith  us — there  is 
nothing  so  sweet  as  a  country  churchyard.  By 
moonlight  the  beams  rest  on  the  neat  graves 
and  fall  on  the  tombstones,  like  faith  conquer- 
ing doubt ;  and  eier  and  anon,  as  some  fitful 
breeze  sweeps  by,  making  sad  melody,  the 
voices  of  the  dead  seem  to  speak  in  each  hol- 
low gust :  while,  round  the  old  gray  chirch- 
tower,  standing  secure  in  its  hoary  solitude, 
their  spirits  seem  to  walk,  "  breathing  fresh 
beauty  amid  the  gloom  of  graves." 


BLANKETS. 

How  the  casements  rattle !  and  hark,  how 
the  bitter,  biting  blast  whistles  among  the 
trees  !  It's  very  cold,  and  wwn  it  will  be  cold- 
er. We  could  shiver  at  the  thought  cf  win- 
tor,  when  the  icicles  hang  from  the  water-butt, 
when  the  snow  lies  deep  up<m  the  ground ; 
and  the  cold,  cold  wind  seems  to  freeze  the 
heart  as  well  as  the  finger-ends. 

Yet,  after  all,  the  darkest  night,  the  bitter- 
est blast,  and  the  rudest  storm,  confer  some 
benefit,  for  they  make  us  thankful  for  the  roof 
that  covers  us,  the  fire  that  warms  us,  and  for 
the  grateful  influence  of  a  comfortable  bed. 
Oh,  the  luxury  of  a  good,  thick,  warm  pair 
of  blankets,  when  the  wintry  blast  roars  in 
the  chimney,  while  the  feathery  flakes  of  snow 
are  flying  abroad,  and  the  sharp  hail  patters 
against  the  window-panes ! 

Did  you  ever  travel  a  hundred  miles  on  the 
outside  of  a  coach,  on  a  sharp  frosty  night ; 
your  eyes  stiffened,  your  face  smortmg,  and 
your  body  half  petrified  ?  Kd  you  ever  keep 
watch  in  December  in  the  open  air,  till  the 
more  than  midnight  blast  had  pinched  all  your 
features  into  sharpness;  till  your  feet  were 
cold  as  a  stone,  and  the  very  stars  tppeared 
as  if  frozen  to  the  sky  ?  If  you  have  never 
borne  these  things,  we  have;  but  what  are 
they  compared  with  the  trials  that  some  peo- 
ple have  to  endure  ] 

Who  can  tell  the  sufferings  of  thousands  of 
poor  people  in  winter,  from  the  want  of  warm 
bed-clothes !  and  who  can  describe  the  com- 
fort that  a  pair  or  two  of  blankets  communi- 


•)uM  only  create  in  our 
[jplacent  delight.  Such  a 
ileil  m(;tn)[M)litnn  church- 
it  excites  are  truly  inde- 
'ded  seat  of 'H.'stilence  and 
memento  )i  the  miseries 
;)er  of  the  rrj)ose  which  is 
rinks  from  burial  in  snch 
om  death  itself.  But  a 
-and  often  have  we  Icatied 
and  sighed  to  think  that 
)se  bene'ith  us — there  is 
country  churchyard.  By 
8  rest  on  the  neat  graves 
stones,  like  faith  conquer- 
r  and  anon,  as  some  fitful 
makinv  sad  mehxly,  the 
!em  to  speak  in  eacn  hol- 
ind  the  old  gray  chnrch- 
ire  in  its  hoary  solitude, 
!>  walk,  "  breathing  fresh 
om  of  graves." 


iNKETS. 

Its  rattle !  and  hark,  how 
last  whistles  among  the 
I,  and  soon  it  will  be  cold- 
rcr  at  the  thought  cf  vnn- 
hang  from  the  water-butt, 
I  deep  upon  the  ground ; 
wind  seems  to  freeze  the 
finger-ends. 

:  darkest  night,  the  bitter- 
udest  storm,  confer  some 
le  us  thankful  for  the  roof 
ire  that  warms  us,  and  for 
ce  of  a  comfortable  bed. 
'  a  good,  thick,  warm  pair 
the  wintry  blast  roars  in 
the  feathery  flakes  of  snow 
md  the  sharp  hail  patters 
panes ! 
v'fl  a  hundred  miles  on  the 

on  a  sharp  frosty  night ; 
,  your  face  smarting,  and 
ified  ?  Wd  you  ever  keep 
r  in  the  open  air,  till  the 

blast  had  pinched  all  your 
Tiess;  till  your  feet  were 
d  the  very  stars  tppeared 
sky  ?  If  you  have  never 
,  we  have;  but  what  are 
h  the  trials  that  some  peo- 
? 

!  sufferings  of  thousands  of 
ter,  from  the  want  of  warm 
vho  can  describe  the  com- 
two  of  blankets  communi- 


caaisTMAS  m  OEaMANV. 


33 


catc  to  a  destitute  family  !  How  often  have 
we  seen  the  wretched  cTiildren  of  a  wretched 
haliitation,  huddling  together  on  the  floor,  be- 
neath a  ragj^d  great-coat,  or  flimsy  petticoat, 
striving  •-.  derive  that  warmth  from  each 
other  wiriich  their  scanty  covering  failed  to 
supply. 

In  many  places,  benevolent  jiersons  give  or 
lend  blankets  to  the  poor,  and  thus  confer  a 
benefit,  the  value  of  which  can  hardly  be 
told.  May  they  be  abundantly  repaid  by  the 
grace  of  that  Savior  who  said,  when  speak- 
ing of  kindnesses  done  to  his  disciples:  '•  Inas- 
much as  yc  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least 
of  these,  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  iS  unto 
me." 

Think  of  these  things  now,  for  it  will  be  ot' 
no  use  to  reflect  on  them  in  summer.  Chari- 
ty is  never  so  cordial  as  when  she  feels  the 
misery  she  relieves :  while  you  feel  the  cold, 
then,  do  something  to  protect  others  from  the 
inclemency  of  the  season.  It  is  enough  to  be 
ill-fed,  and  ill-clothed,  and  to  sit  bending  over 
a  dying  fire  without  a  handful  of  fuel  to  revive 
it ;  but  after  that  to  pass  the  night  without  a 
blanket  for  a  covering,  must  indeed  be  terrible. 

See,  in  the  sharpest  night  the  poor  ol<l  man, 
over  whose  head  threescore  and  ten  winters 
have  rolled,  climbing  with  difficulty  his  nar- 
row staircase,  to  creep  beneath  his  thin  and 
ragged  coverlet.  See  the  aged  widow,  once 
lulled  ifi  the  lap  of  luxury,  but  now  woni  by 
poverty  to  the  very  boaes,  stretching  her 
eramfted  limbs  upon  her  bundle  of  straw. 
Fancy ! — biic  why  fancy  what  you  know  to 
be  true — these  poor,  aged,  miserable  beings 
having  to  shiver  through  the  livelong  night, 
when  a  blanket  would  gird  them  round  with 
comfort.  We  could  weep  at  such  miseries  as 
these — miseries  which  so  small  an  eflbrt  might 
relieve.  The  table-crumbs  of  the  rich  would 
make  a  ban(|uet  for  the  i>oor,  and  the  spare 
remnants  of  their  clothing  would  defend  them 
from  the  cold. 

Come,  come,  reader !  you  are  not  without 
some  feeling  of  pity  and  affection  for  your  fel- 
low-creatures. Be  not  satisfied  in  wishing 
them  well ;  let  something  be  done  for  their 
welfare. 

If  there  be  a  heart  within  you,  if  you  have 
a  soul  that  ever  olfated  up  an  expression  of 
thanksgiving  for  the  manifold  mercies  which 
your  heavenly  Father  has  bestowed  upon 
you,  then  sympathize  with  the  wretched,  and 
relieve,  according  to  your  ability,  the  wants 
of  the  destitute.  Let  me  beseech  you  to  do 
something  this  very  winter  toward  enabling 
some  poor,  aged,  helpless,  or  friendless  person, 
who  is  slenderly  provided  for,  to  purcnase  a 
blanket.  You  will  not  sleep  the  less  com- 
fortably, when  you  reflect  that  some  shivering 
wretch  has  been,  by  your  assistance,  enabled 


to  pass  the  wintry  night  in  comfort.  It  is  not 
a  great  thing  thot  is  required  ;  do  what  you 
can,  but  do  something.  Let  us  not  plead  in 
vain ;  and  shame  betide  us,  if  we  neglect  to 
do,  ourselves,  the  thing  that  we  recommend 
to  you  to  perform. 

Did  you  ever  lie  snug  and  warm,  in  bleak 
December,  the  bedclothes  drawn  close  round 
your  neck,  and  your  nightcap  pulled  over  your 
ears,  listi.'ning  to  the  midnight  blast,  and  ex- 
ulting in  ihe  grateful  glow  of  your  delightful 
snuggery  7  We  know  you  nave,  and  we 
trust,  too,  that  the  very  reading  of  these  re- 
marks wll  alfect  your  hearts,  and  dispose  you 
to  some  gentle  deed  of  charity  toward  those 
who  are  destitute  of  such  an  enjoyment. 

Now,  then,  while  the  subject  is  before  you, 
while  you  look  round  on  your  manifold  com- 
forts, while  you  feel  the  nipping  and  frosty 
air,  resolve,  ay,  and  act,  in  a  way  that  will 
bless  others,  and  give  comfort  to  your  own 
heart. 

Youth  and  health  may  rejoice  in  frost  and 
snow,  and  while  the  warm  blood  rushes 
through  the  exulting  frame,  we  can  smile  at 
the  wintry  blast ;  but  age,  sickness,  and  in- 
firmity, can  take  no  exercise  sufficient  to 
quicken  the  sluggish  current  of  their  veins. 
Wrap  them  round,  then,  with  your  charity, 
help  them  to  obtain  a  pair  of  warm  blankets, 
and  the  blessing  of  the  widow  and  the  father- 
less, the  aged  and  infirm,  the  destitute,  and 
those  ready  to  perish,  shall  rest  upon  you. 


CHRlSTiMAS  IN  GERMANY. 

I.f  Germany,  the  custom  extensively  pre- 
vails, of  placing,  at  Christmas,  a  small  ever- 
green tree  in  every  house,  and  after  covering 
its  branches  with  various  presents  intended  for 
the  children,  to  suspend  numerous  little  lamps 
or  tapers  to  all  parts  of  it,  and  late  in  the 
evening,  to  exhibit  it  to  the  assembled  family. 
As  the  presents  are  marked  with  the  names 
of  the  donors  as  well  as  those  for  whom  they 
are  intended,  the  occasion  excites  much  in- 
terest ;  and  it  will  be  found  th^t  Germans  gen- 
erally cherish  the  recollection  of  the  annual 
festival  with  lively  pleasure.  It  is  not  un- 
common to  find  instances  in  which  this  custom 
has  been  observed  in  this  country,  either  by 
Germans  or  by  their  imitators.  The  tree 
usually  chosen  being  the  silver  fir,  which  is 
remarkable  for  the  great  number  and  ui»>form- 
ity  of  its  twigs  and  branches,  the  sight  is  often 
8  riking  and  beautiful.  The  gay  and  varied 
co'jrs  of  the  little  gifts  strongly  illuminated 
by  *he  blazing  lamps,  and  relieved  by  the 
dark  *cliage  of  the  evergreen,  have  quito  a 


m 


r- 


mmmtm 


mmm 


mm 


warn 


H 


*^'  ■:^.v  V 


.f.i^'" 


CUSTOMHOUSE,  PHILADELPHIA. 


35 


rich  anil  ikz/.linfj  etrcct ;  and  the  feelings  (if 
Ifcnenmity  ami  gratituite  shared  by  the  mem- 
ijcrs  ()(■  a  haiipy  family  circle,  are  such  as 
must  render  tlie  scene  (loubly  agreeable.  Of 
the  date  or  origin  of  the  custonn,  we  are  not 
infonncd  :  but  while  we  refer  it  to  those  pe- 
riods when  religious  occasions  were  first  con- 
nected with  observonceg  with  few  or  no  traces 
of  their  Christian  associations,  we  admit  that 
this  is  one  of  the  most  hannk'ss  kind.  It 
would  iiid(?ed  have  been  better  if  those  who 
thought  it  a  duty  to  commemorate  Christmas 
hud  adoiitc'd  some  mode  adaj)ted  to  direct  the 
mind  to  the  character,  doctrines,  or  objects  of 
the  Savior:  but  we  can  not  l(K)k  upon  the 
j)icture  we  have  given,  and  see  Luther  with 
his  family,  with  a  Christmas-tree  blazing  be- 
fore thcMn,  without  some  impressive  recollec- 
tion of  him  and  the  peculiar  period  in  which 
he  lived. 


CUSTOMHOUSE,  PHILADELPHIA. 

FORMKRLT    UNITKD   STATES    BANK. 

This  is  one  of  those  chaste  and  beautiful 
liuildiiigs  which  have  given  the  jmblic  archi- 
tecture of  Philadelphia  a  superiority  over 
that  of  every  other  city  of  our  country.  It 
needs  but  that  its  fair  marble  should  be 
weather-fretted  and  stained,  to  express  per- 
fectly to  the  eye  the  model  of  one  of  the 
most  graceful  temples  of  antifjuity.  The  se- 
vere simplicity  of  taste  which  breathes  through 
this  Greek  model,  however,  is  not  adapted  to 
private  buildings;  and  in  a  certain  kind  of 
simplicity,  or  rather  want  of  ornament,  lies 
the  fault  found  by  every  eye  in  the  domestic 
architecture  of  this  city.  The  chess-board 
regularity  of  the  streets,'  so  embarrassing  to  a 
stranger,  a.s  well  as  tiresome  to  the  gaze,  re- 
ouire  a  more  varied,  if  not  a  more  ornate  style. 
The  hundreds  of  houses  that  resemble  each 
other  in  every  distinguishable  particular,  oc- 
casion a  bewilderment  and  fatigue  to  the  un- 
accustomed eye,  which  a  citizen  of  Philadel- 
phia can  scarcely  comprehend. 

The  uniformity  and  plainness  which  Wil- 
liam Penn  has  be(iueathed  in  such  an  abiding 
legacy  to  Philadelphia,  however,  is  seen  but 
by  II  faint  penumbra  in  the  dress  of  the  in- 
habitants, or  in  their  equipages,  style  of  liv- 
ing, and  costliness  of  furniture  and  entertain- 
ment. A  faint  shadow  of  original  simplicity 
there  still  certainly  exists,  visible  through  all 
the  departures  from  the  spirit  of  Quakerism; 
and  it  is  a  leaven  of  taste  and  elegance  in  the 
ferment  of  luxury  which  has  given  Philadel- 


phia em])hatically  a  character  for  refinement. 
A  more  delightful  temper  and  tone  of  society, 
a  more  enjoyable  state  of  the  exercise  and 
mode  of  hos])itality,  or  a  more  comfurtablo 
metropolis  to  live  in,  certainly  does  not  exist 
this  side  the  water.  A  European  would  jire- 
fer  Phila(lel|)hia  to  every  other  residence  in 
the  United  States. 

Evorybodv  has  heard  of  the  celebrated  but 
unfortunate  tjiiitcd  States  bank,  from  its  con- 
nexion with  the  government,  as  its  fonner  fis- 
cal agent.  At  the  time  of  its  dissolution  it 
was  operating  uuder  a  charter  from  the  state 
government,  under  the  title  of  "  The  United 
States  Bank  of  Pennsylvania,"  with  a  capital 
of  $30,000,000.  Its  original  capital  wus 
$35,000,000,  which  was  distributed  between 
the  parent  bank  and  nineteen  branches. 

The  comer-stone  was  laid  in  April,  1819, 
and  the  whole  was  finished  near  the  close  of 
18l>4.  The  cost  of  the  ground  was  #155,628 
— of  the  structure  itself,  $257,4512 — making 
an  aggregate  of  $413,081  ;  an  expense  which 
may  be  regarded  as  very  moderate,  when  we 
consider  the  great  mass  of  materials  which  it 
contains ;  there  being  not  less  than  41,500 
cubic  feet  of  marble  in  the  porticoes  and  walls 
— about  three  millions  of  bricks,  three  thou- 
sand perches  of  building-stone,  and  seventeen 
nnd  a  half  tons  of  copjicr  on  the  roof. 

In  choosing  the  situation  of  such  a  building, 
its  centrality  and  its  convenience  for  business 
were  of  course  more  important  considerations 
than  pictures<|ue  elFect ;  and  the  lot — a  parol- 
lelogram  of  152  feet  by  225 — is,  on  that  ac- 
count, more  circumscribed  than  would  be  de- 
sirable. This  defect  was  to  be  obviated  by 
])lacing  the  structure  as  far  as  possible  from 
the  street — by  insulating  it  entirely — by  inter- 
{Miging  nothing  between  the  spectator  and  the 
building — and  by  raising  the  foundation  so  as 
to  acquire  for  the  whole  an  artificial  elevation, 
which  to  the  eye  would  produce  the  efiect  of 
distance.  Accordingly,  in  the  centre  of  the 
ground  is  constructed  a  terrace,  3  feet  high, 
119  feet  in  front,  and  225  in  dejith,  serving  as 
tht  foundation  from  which,  ot  the  distance  of 
16  feet  from  its  front  and  flunk  edges,  the 
building  rises.  It  occupies  87  feet  in  front, 
and  187  feet  in  depth,  including  the  steps,  or 
161  feet  excluding  them.  On  reaching  the 
terrace,  which,  in  order  to  preserve  its  form 
entire,  is  done  by  steps  in  the  rear  of  the  gate- 
ways, the  building  is  appro'  uhed  by  a  flight 
of  steps  along  the  whole  front — 13  in  number, 
and  occupying  13  feet  in  depth.  These  lead 
to  the  portico,  which  has  a  basement  of  10 
feet  6  inches  in  width,  on  which  stand  eight 
Grecian  Doric  columns,  4  feet  6  inches  in 
diameter,  27  feet  in  height-;-fluted,  and  with- 
out bases,  and  supporting  a  simjile  entablature 
and  a  pediment,  which,  like  the  roof,  has  just 


!«S 


■ji 


ia^f«sfeiS«ss^s^w€f«««*a^*«-5:as^Kg^ir'* 


that  (Iep"ce  of  elevation  npcrasary  to  carry  off 
the  water — the  vertical  angle  being  153  de- 
^roes.  Behind  the  columns,  anil  at  the  due 
distance  from  them — the  width  between  the 
two  columns  at  the  end  of  the  portico— is  the 
wall  of  the  building.  The  door  opens  upon 
a  vestibule  of  30  feet  by  18  in  width,  the  ceil- 
innr  of  which  is  richly  worked,  and  the  pave- 
ment tesselated  with  American  and  Italian 
marble. 

The  structure  is  copied  after  that  of  the 
Parthenon  at  Athens — the  colonnades  on  the 
sides,  and  certain  other  merely  decorative 
parts  of  the  original  being  dispensed  with  in 
the  copy,  on  account  of  the  size  and  structure 
of  the  lot  upon  which  it  is  erected.  The  ex- 
terior is  of  the  Doric  style,  from  the  richest 
materials  of  American  and   Italian  marble. 

The  large  banking-room  is  situated  in  the 
centre  of  the  building,  and  extends  48  feet  in 
breadth,  and  81  in  length.  Through  the 
whole  of  this  length,  on  each  side,  at  the  dis- 
tance of  ten  feet  from  the  walls,  is  a  range  of 
six  fluted  Ionic  columns,  twenty-two  inches 
in  diameter,  The  entire  building  is  justly  re- 
garded as  one  of  the  finest  specimens  of  Gre- 
cian architecture  in  the  country.  The  inte- 
rior is  vaulted  throughout,  and  arched,  so  as 
to  be  entirely  fire-proof,  and  the  roof  is  cop- 
pered. 

The  rooms  are  warmed  by  a  furnace  below, 
the  heut  from  which  diffuses  an  equal  temper- 
ature throughout  its  whole  extent,  while  in 
summer  the  massiveness  of  the  structure  pre- 
serves its  coolness. 

From  this  sketch  may  be  gathered  the  de- 
gree of  its  resemblance  to  the  ancient  temples, 
and  especially  to  the  Parthenon,  from  which 
some  of  its  proportions  are  taken.  In  its  gen- 
eral dimensions  it  is  much  larger  than  the 
Temple  of  Theseus  at  Athens,  and  smaller 
than  the  Parthenon.  Their  respectiva  pro- 
portions are  these : — 

Front,  LengDi, 

ezclading  ttepa.  excluding  itep*. 
Temple  of  Thewai,  45  ft.  ii  in.  104  It.  3  in. 

Parthenon.  101  ft.  1  io.  827  ft.  7  in. 

U.  S.  Bank,  67  ft  161  ft., 

making  the  Parthenon  14  feet  1  inch  wider, 
and  66  feet  7  inches  longer  than  the  bank ; 
but  as  the  Temple  of  Theseus  has  only  two 
steps,  and  the  Parthenon  only  three,  while 
the  bank  has  13,  extending  13  feet  on  each 
front,  the  length  of  the  buildings,  respectively, 
Includitg  the  steps,  would  be  considerably  va- 
ried, the  length  of  the  bank  from  the  outer 
step  being  187  feet,  that  of  the  Parthenon, 
236  feet  9  inches.  The  comparison  may  be 
best  illustrated  by  the  fact  that  the  Parthe- 
non, with  its  steps,  covers  an  extent  of  ground 
nearly,  but  not  quite  equal,  to  the  area  of  the 
terrace  of  the  bank. 


As,  however,  the  double  row  of  columns  in 
the  portico  and  the  flanking  colonnade  rcijuired 
so  much  space,  the  actual  dimensions  of  the 
interior  of  the  two  buildings  are  much  more 
nearly  equal  than  these  pn)portion8  would  in- 
dicate. Thus :  the  enclosed  part  of  the  Por- 
thenon  was  in  width  70  feet  6  inches;  in 
length,  158  feet  7  inches ;  and  the  whole  area 
of  the  enclosure  was  therefore  11,181  feet; 
while  the  enclosure  of  the  bank  is  in  width 
87  feet;  in  length,  141  feet;  making  an  area 
of  12,267  feet,  or,  1,806  feet  more  than  that 
of  the  Parthenon. 

The  interior  of  the  Parthenon,  after  de- 
ducting the  pronaos  and  posticum  at  the  two 
ends,  occupying  12  feet  each,  was  divided  in- 
to two  rooms,  the  treasury  or  opisthodomos, 
of  62  feet  by  42  feet  10  inches,  and  the  great 
central  hall,  the  scene  of  all  the  exhibitions, 
which  wos  98  feet  seven  inches  by  42  feet  10 
inches,  while  the  banking- room  is  48  feet  by 
81,  giving  an  area  very  nearly  equal. 

The  principal  differences  between  the  two 
buildings  are  these.  The  Parthenon  had  a 
cobnnade  on  the  flanks,  which  here  is  want- 
ing. This  b<!autiful  ornament  was  omitted  for 
the  reason  already  stated ;  and  we  may  recon- 
cile ourse'ves  to  the  low  of  it,  by  the  reflec- 
tion, that  ill  a  building  destined  to  receive  its 
ligiit  from  the  side,  it  might  have  too  much 
overshadowed  the  scene  of  business.  The 
Parthenon  has  been  regarded  as  what  is 
technically  called  hypoethral — that  is,  having 
its  roof  open  in  the  centre,  as  would  be  the 
middle  aisle  of  a  modem  church.  Recent 
observations  by  detecting  something  of  the 
later  ages  in  the  columns  of  the  interior,  have 
excited  doubts  as  to  this  fact,  which  the  pres- 
ent dilapidation  of  the  building  will  for  ever 
render  inexplicable — but  the  probability  is, 
that  the  light  of  the  Parthenon  came  from  the 
roof,  not  from  the  sides — and  the  flanking  col- 
onnade would,  on  that  account,  present  no  in- 
convenience. 

The  Bank  of  the  United  States,  previous 
to  the  erection  of  the  present  edifice,  occupied 
the  building  which  it  owned  on  South  Third 
street,  and  which  was  purchased  by  Stephen 
Girard,  and  occupied  as  his  banking-house  un- 
til his  death.  That  building  was  erected  in 
1795.  The  portico  is  of  Pennsylvania  mar- 
ble, but  the  rest  of  the  building  is  brick. 
The  entrance  is  capacious  and  beautifully  or- 
namented with  splendid  fluted  columns,  and 
caps  of  the  Corinthian  order.  It  is  at  present 
occupied  by  the  Girard  Banking  Compuny. 

Is  it  possible  to  realize,  that,  on  the  site  of 
the  refined  city  of  Philadelphia,  only  one  hun- 
died  and  fifty  years  ago,  lived  a  people  in  such 
strong  contrast  to  the  above  (save  only  in  hos- 
pitality), as  are  described  by  William  Penn, 
m  the  following  terms ! — 


iWe  row  of  columns  in 
tin^  colonnade  required 
tual  dimcnoions  of  the 
Idings  arc  much  more 
)  proportions  would  in- 
closed port  of  the  Par- 

70  feet  6  inches;  in 
!8 ;  and  the  whole  area 
therefore  11,181  feet; 

the  bank  is  in  width 
.  feet ;  makinp  an  area 
)6  feet  more  than  that 

Parthenon,  after  de- 
id  posticum  at  the  two 
t  each,  was  divided  in- 
isury  or  opisthodomos, 
)  inches,  and  the  great 
of  all  the  exhibitions, 
;n  inches  by  42  feet  10 
ling- room  is  48  feet  by 
'  nearly  equal, 
snces  between  the  two 
rhe  Parthenon  had  a 
3,  which  here  is  want- 
nament  was  omitted  for 
id ;  and  we  may  recon- 
^  of  it,  by  the  reflec- 
destined  to  receive  its 
might  have  too  much 
ne  of  business.  The 
regarded  ns  what  is 
Ethral — that  is,  having 
ntre,  as  would  be  the 
iem  church.  Recent 
:ing  something  of  the 
IS  of  the  interior,  have 
B  fact,  which  the  pres- 

building  will  for  ever 
ut  the  probability  is, 
rthenon  came  from  the 
—and  the  flanking  co/- 
accoimt,  present  no  in- 

nited  States,  previous 
esent  edifice,  occupied 
iwned  on  South  Third 
purchased  by  Stephen 
his  banking-house  un- 
lilding  was  erected  in 
of  Pennsylvania  mar- 
the  buildmg  is  brick. 
>U8  and  beautifully  or- 
d  fluted  columns,  and 
jrder.  It  is  at  present 
Banking  Compeny. 
:e,  that,  on  the  site  of 
idelphia,  only  one  hum- 
,  lived  a  people  in  such 
•ove  (save  only  in  hos- 
•ed  by  William  Penn, 


S 
B 

B 


2. 
•o 


B 


I 

u 
S 
r 


!0 


f 


"  The  natives  I  shall  considfr  in  their  per- 
»()n«,  Iniiirtinse,  ninmirrs,  nlisrion,  anil  goycrn- 
mrnt,  with  my  hciiw;  of  thoir  nri^inal.  For 
their  pcrKoriH,  thcyun;  f;encrally  tall,  titraight, 
we]!-l)uilt,  and  ot' NJUKiilur  jiroportion ;  tliey 
trcail  Htnmijaniiplcver,  and  mostly  walk  with 
a  lofty  chin.  Of  complexion,  black,  liut  by 
<li'si«fn,  as  thr  >>y|»«ie8  in  Kntflund  ;  they  grraso 
tlicrn-iclvcs  with  bear's  fat,  clarified  ;  niid  using 
no  defence  a^jainst  sun  or  weather,  their  skins 
triiiMt  needs  be  swarthy.  Their  eye  is  little 
and  black,  not  unlikt!  a  straight-lisiked  Jew. 
Tile  thick  lip  and  Hat  nose,  so  frei|uent  with 
the  Kast  Indians  and  blacks,  are  not  com- 
mon to  them;  many  of  them  have  fine  Roman 
noses, 

"  Their  language  is  lofty,  yet  narrow ;  but 
like  the  Hebrew,  in  signification  full.  Like 
short  hand  in  writing,  one  word  serveth  in 
the  pliice  of  three,  and  the  rem  are  supplied 
by  the  understanding  of  the  hearer;  imper- 
fect in  their  tenses,  wanting  in  their  moiHls, 
participles,  adverbs,  conjunctions,  and  inter- 
jections. 

"Of  their  customs  and  manners  there  is 
much  to  bfl  said :  I  will  begin  with  chiMren. 
So  s(X)n  as  th(!Y  are  bom,  they  wash  them  in 
water ;  and  while  very  young,  and  in  cold 
weather,  they  ])lunge  them  in  the  rivers,  to 
harden  and  embolden  them.  The  children 
will  walk  very  young — at  nine  months,  com- 
monly :  if  boys,  they  go  a  fishing  till  ripe  for 
the  w(Mxls,  which  is  about  fifteen ;  then  they 
huiit,  and  after  having  given  some  prcwfs  nf 
their  manhofxl  by  a  goo<l  return  of  skins,  they 
may  marry  ;  else  it  is  a  shame  to  think  of  a 
wife.  The  girls  stay  with  their  mothers,  and 
help  to  hoe  the  ground,  plant  com,  anti  carry 
burdens  :  and  they  do  well  t»  use  them  to  that 
young,  which  they  must  do  when  they  are 
old  ;  for  the  wives  ate  the  true  servants  of  the 
husbands,  otherwise  the  nnen  are  very  affec- 
tionate to  them. 

"  When  the  young  women  are  fit  for  mar- 
riage, they  wear  something  upon  their  heails 
for  an  advertisement,  but  so  as  th(!ir  faces  are 
hardly  to  be  seen  but  when  they  please.  The 
age  they  marry  at,  if  women,  is  about  thirteen 
and  fourteen  ;  if  men,  seventeen  and  eighteen ; 
they  are  rarely  older. 

"  Their  houses  are  mats,  or  barks  of  tread, 
set  on  poles,  in  the  fashion  of  an  English  bam, 
but  out  of  the  jxiwer  of  the  winds,  for  they 
are  hardly  higher  than  a  man :  they  lie  on 
reods,  or  grass.  In  travel,  they  lodgd  in  the 
woods,  about  a  great  fire,  with  the  mantle  of 
dutfils  they  wear  by  day  wrapped  about  them, 
and  a  few  boughs  stuck  round  them. 

"  Their  diet  is  maize,  or  Inilian  com,  divers 
ways  prepared ;  sometimes  roasted  in  the 
ashes ;  sf)metimes  beaten  and  boiled  with  wa- 
ter, which  they  call  hommony  ;  they  also  make 


cake*  not  unpleasant  to  eat.  They  have  like- 
wise severu  wirts  of  beans  and  peas  that  are 
g(Kid  nourishment  ;  and  the  woikIs  and  rivers 
are  their  larder." 


THE  HEAD  AND  THE  HEAIIT. 

Thk  first  thing  we  do  with  children  in,  to 
develop  their  intellects.  Let  a  boy  say  a 
sharp  thing,  .let  him  show  (piickness',  nmf  we 
dream  about  him,  and  talk  of  him  es  a  genius, 
and  parent  and  teacher  are  delighted.  You 
hear  them  say  :  "  How  pn)mising — how  ad- 
vanced— that  lad  will  moke  a  man — wc  shall 
hear  of  him  yet." 

And  do  jdu  hear  nf  him  ?  Arc  these  vrn/ 
promising  children  the  men  of  action  ?  Dii 
they  fulfil,  generally,  any  one  promise  they 
excite  ?  V.'^e  think  not.  And  simply  because 
we  begin  wrong  with  them,  ond  so  beginning, 
they  end  pixdy.  For  the  chihl  sensation  and 
emotion  are  everything ;  not  reason ;  not  re- 
flection ;  tusk  the  intellect,  and  yon  cripple 
him  for  life ;  cultivate  it  chiefly  or  alone,  and 
YOU  break  him  down  ere  he  reaches  manhood  , 
hut  (luicken  his  senses,  touch  his  hrarl,  as 
vuu  tell  him  of  great  men,  of  giKid  deeds,  of 
human  endeavors,  of  starry  skies,  and  the 
stonns  that  sweep  over  them,  green  fields,  and 
the  humblest  flower  that  takes  root  in  them, 
and  you  will  do  more  for  liim — more  to  give 
him  character — in  an  hour's  talk,  or  a  day's 
ramble  in  the  W(x>ds  and  fields,  thon  in  vears 
of  forced  ellbrt,  or  strained  intellectual  culti- 
vation. 

For  the  first  ten  years  of  life,  the  child 
wants  physical  developments  ond  licart-cM- 
turc.  No  metaphysics  are  needed  to  explain 
goodness.  The  very  infant  knows  thai  at 
sight.  No  exertion  of  intellect  is  re(|uired  to 
explain  kindness.  The  veriest  child  under- 
stands that  by  instinct.  By  this  goodness  and 
kindness,  then,  we  should  lead  the  young  on 
and  up,  and  then  prepare  the  way  for  harder 
effort  am)  serious  intellectual  exertion.  But 
these  should  never  be  anticipated ;  no  growing 
child  should  be  forced  to  reason,  to  study,  to 
overload  the  memory  wth  tough  logic,  over- 
task the  brain  w'th  tougher  abstractions ;  all 
that  we  should  look,  labor,  or  long  for,  is  o 
full,  fine  physical  ilevclopment,  buoyancy  of 
spirit,  and  a  heart  joyous  as  the  sjjring-time, 
with  sensations  keenly  alive  to  every  gentle 
or  generous  appeal,  and  emotions  quick  to  an- 
swer the  call  or  command  of  goodness,  as  the 
truest  basis  of  sure  future  development,  and  a 
constant,  ever-growing  moral  and  intellectual 
power. 


B«t.     'iTiryhiivo  like- 

ans  iind  jtras  that  are 

the  wtNxIs  and  rivers 


'  THE  HEART. 

0  with  children  i.^,  to 
.  Let  a  b(iy  snv  a 
)w  "riiiicknefis,  nn(f  wo 
i\k  of  him  BH  n  genius, 

are  (lplic;htr(l.  You 
■  pn>niiHiiig — liow  ik)- 
ip.ke  a  man — wo  shall 

lim  T  Arc  fhi'so  ivn/ 
men  of  action  ?  Do 
ny  one  promiHe  tlicy 

And  simply  becniise 
nn,  and  so  beginning;, 
!ie  chih!  sensation  uiid 
;  not  reason ;  not  re- 
eot,  and  yon  cripple 

chiefly  or  alone,  nnd 
he  reaches  manhood , 

touch  his  hfarl,  as 
?n,  of  gfKKl  deeds,  of 
tarry  skies,  and  tlie 
lem.  p-ecn  fields,  and 
t  takes  rfx)t  in  them, 
r  him — more  to  pve 
mr's  talk,  or  a  day's 

1  fields,  than  in  years 
led  intellectual  culti- 

irs  of  life,  the  child 
nents  ond  hcart-rv]- 
irc  needed  to  ex[)lnin 
ifant  knows  that  at 
itellect  is  re(|uired  to 
veriest  child  under- 
By  this  goodness  and 
Id  lead  the  yonnfl;  on 
e  the  way  for  harder 
ctnal  exertion.  liut 
icipttted ;  no  pnvwing  ' 
1  reason,  to  study,  to  I 
th  tough  logic,  over-  I 
her  abstractifins ;  all 
jor,  or  long  for,  is  a 
ipment,  buoyancy  of 
?  as  the  si)ring-time, 
dive  to  every  gentle 
■motions  quick  to  nn- 
i  of  goodness,  os  the 
3  development,  and  a 
]oraI  and  intellectual 


EXTENT  or  THE  UNITED  8TATK8. 


39 


Parents  may  think  wp  talk  at  rnn<lom.  If 
MO,  Wf  would  urge  them  and  teachers  to  pon- 
der wrll  the  following  remarks,  iximed  by  one 
whose  life-study  has  been  the  eilucation  ()f  the 
younii  :— 

"  The  first  eight  or  ten  years  of  life  shoulrl 
be  devoted  to  the  education  of  the  heart — to 
the  fiirtiiution  of  ))rineiples — rnther  than  the 
H('(|uircinent  of  what  is  usually  tenm-d  knowl- 
I'di,"'.  Nature  herself  |K)ints  out  such  a  course; 
fur  thi-  rmntions  are  then  the  liveliest  aiul  most 
enxily  niMubted,  being  us  yet  unalloyed  l)y  pas- 
sion. It  is  from  the  source  that  the  mass  of 
iticn  are  hereafter  to  draw  thciir  sum  of  hap- 
piiii'ss  or  misery;  the  actions  of  the  immense 
itminriiy  are,  under  all  cin^umstances,  deter- 
nii  111  much  more  by  feeling  than  reflection; 
in  truth,  life  presents  an  infinity  of  rMcasions 
where  it  is  essential  to  happiness  that  we 
slii)uld  feel  rightly  :  very  few  where  it  is  at 
oil  necessary  that  we  should  think  profound- 
ly. 

"  Up  to  the  seventh  yeor  of  life,  very  great 
changes  are  going  on  in  the  structure  of  the 
brain,  and  demand,  therefore,  the  utmost  at- 
tention not  to  interru[)t  them  by  improper  or 
over-excitement.  .Tust  that  degree  of  exercise 
should  be  given  to  the  brain  at  this  peri(Ml  os 
is  neet  >ary  to  its  health,  and  the  best  is  oral 
instruction,  exemplified  by  objects  which  strike 
the  senses. 

"  It  is  perhaps  unnecessary  to  oild  that,  at 
this  period  of  iife,  8|)ccial  attention  should  be 
giveii,  both  by  parents  and  teachers,  to  the 
physical  development  of  the  child.  Pure  air 
and  free  exercise  are  indispensable,  and  when- 
ever either  of  'hem  is  withheld,  the  conse- 
quences will  be  certain  to  extend  themselves 
over  the  whole  life.  The  seeds  of  protracted 
and  ho|)c1es3  suffering  have,  in  innumerable 
instonces,  been  8t)wn  in  the  constitution  of  the 
child  sim))Iy  through  ignorance  of  this  great 
fundamental  physical  law  ;  and  the  time  has 
come  when  the  united  voices  of  these  innocent 
victims  sbouhl  ascend,  '  trumpet-tongucd,'  to 
tha  ears  of  every  parent  and  every  teacher  in 
the  land — 'Give  us  free  air,  and  wholesome 
exercise ;  leave  to  develop  our  expanding  en- 
ergies in  occordance  with  the  law  of  our  be- 
ing ;  and  full  scope  for  the  elastic  and  bound- 
ing impulses  of  our  young  blood  !' " 

Amen,  say  we  !  This  is  the  true  doctrine : 
not  because  it  is  the  man's,  or  ours,  but  be- 
cause all  nature  tells  us  it  is  true.  First  at- 
tend to  the  physical.  That  must  be  sound. 
Then  look  to  the  heart.  Touch  that,  by  all 
means.  Go  out  into  the  fields,  over  beds  of 
flowers,  tell  useful  stories,  and  do  whatever  may 
impress  the  senses  rightly,  or  move  the  heart 
truly,  in  the  child ;  and  if  he  live,  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten,  he  will  be  a  maw,  and  a  true 
one  to  boot ! 


EXTENT  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

The  present  confederacy  of  the  ITnifed 
States  of  North  America  contoins  a  larger 
area  of  cultivated  land  and  hospitable  climate 
than  any  country  that  has  previously  existed. 
Ancient  ond  mcslern  emiiirts  sink  I'nto  insig- 
nificonce  when  -  ((niparcd  with  it.  The  Uni- 
ted StatesofAuM  rica  contain  2„100,n00  square 
miles,  over  half  a  million  more  than  Kurojic, 
if  we  except  Kussio.  Their  greatest  length  is 
.'5,000  miles,  their  greatest  breadth  1,700  miles. 
They  have  a  frontier  line  of  10,000  miles, 
a  seacoast  of  .'JO.OOO  miles,  and  an  inland  lake 
(;oost  of  1,".'00  miles. 

The  rivers  in  the  United  States  are  the  lar- 
gest in  the  worid.  The  Missouri  is  .3,()00  miles 
in  length,  or  more  thon  twice  as  long  as  the 
Danube.  The  Ohio  is  GOO  miles  longer  thon 
the  Rhine.  The  Hudson,  entirely  within  a 
single  state,  is  navigable  120  miles"  above  its 
mouth  further  than  the  Thames. 

The  state  of  Virginia  has  an  area  of  70,000 
stpiare  miles,  and  is  about  u.ie  third  larger 
than  England  ;  the  state  of  Ohio  40,000  souare 
miles,  or  one  fourth  more  than  the  whole  of 
Scotlond  ;  and  the  state  of  Maine  upward  of 
.30,000  8<|uare  miles,  or  nearly  as  large  as  Ire- 
land, which  ho8  about  8,000.000  of  [wople. 

The  hariior  of  the  city  of  New  York  is  the 
Atlantic  outlet  of  a  river,  canal,  and  lake  nav- 
igation of  about  3,000  miles,  or  the  distance 
from  Euroj)e  to  America. 

From  Augusta,  in  the  state  of  Maine,  to 
New  Orleans,  in  the  state  of  Louisiana,  the 
distance  is  1,800  miles,  or  200  more  than  from 
London  to  Constantinople,  Togo  from  Lon- 
ilon  to  Constantinojjle,  you  cross  the  entire 
continent  of  Europe,  and  through  most  of  its 
principal  kingdoms. 

The  great  proportion  of  the  whole  extent  of 
the  territory  of  the  United  States  is  unculti- 
vated. The  population  of  the  country,  as  rap- 
idly as  it  increases,  would  not  occupy  all  the 
public  domain  in  a  cycle  of  five  hundred  years ; 
and  yet,  in  spite  of  this  startling  fact,  there  are 
ainong  us  men  claiming  to  be  statesmen,  who 
wish  to  anticipate  the  future,  and  occupy  by 
conquest,  at  the  exnense  of  bhxxl  and  treasure, 
that  territory  which  is  as  certain  to  fall  into 
our  possession  by  the  natural  course  of  events, 
as  that  the  sun's  rising  marks  the  beginning 
of  (lay.  So  vast,  indeed,  is  the  territory  of  the 
United  States  already,  that  it  takes  no  ordinary 
mind  to  comprehend  its  extent,  and  few  indeed 
can  calculatQ  its  resources ;  and  the  most  com- 
prehensive intellect  can  not,  when  wanned  by 
a  hiph-wrought  imagination,  give  a  faint  glim- 
mering of  the  future  wealth  and  jMJwer  to  be 
accorded  to  the  American  people — not  by  the 
force  of  arms,  bvt  simply  by  the  pursuit  of  the 
arts  of  peace. 


:l 


i 


.  .«'«il 


''lira. 


M 


rn 


.■% 


40 


TRAVELS  IN  TUB  HOLY  LAND. 


TRAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND.-NO.  1. 


It  was  on  Sunday,  March  28th,  that  we 
were  to  enter  the  Holy  Land.  I  had  been  too 
much  engrossed  by  the  objects  which  interested 
us  at  every  step  in  Egypt  and  Arabia,  to  think 
much  of  this  beforehand ;  but  when  1  came 
forth  from  our  tent  in  the  dawn  of  that  mom- 
inj{,  there  was  enough  of  novelty  in  the  scene 
around  me  to  make  me  feel  that  we  were 
about  to  enter  upon  a  new  country,  and  a  new 
set  of  interests ;  and  I  became  eager  to  know 
at  what  hour  we  were  to  pass  the  boundary 
which  separated  the  desert  from  the  Holy 
Land — the  home  of  the  old  faith  from  that  of 
the  new.  We  had  followed  the  track  of  Mo- 
ses from  the  spot  where  his  nwther  placed  his 
bulrush  cradle  to  that  on  which  he  died ;  for 
to  the  east  we  should  this  morning  see  the 
mountains  overhanging  the  Dead  Sea ;  and 
among  them  the  summit  of  Nebo,  whence  he 
lookeil  abroad  over  the  Land  ot  Promise; 
and  now  we  were  to  enter  upon  the  country 
of  Jesus — certain  to  walk  in  his  vir^  foot- 
steps, and  see  what  he  s'-.w — perhaps  this 
very  day.  I  never  remember  feeling  such  an 
interest  in  every  wild-lh»wer,  in  the  outlines 
of  all  the  hills,  and  the  track  of  all  the  waicr- 
courses. 

We  had  left  the  stony  desert  behind  us, 
and  were  encamped  in  a  nook  of  the  hills 
where  the  ground  was  green,  and  weeds  grew 
thick.  There  was  grass  under  my  bed  in  the 
tent ;  and  when  I  came  out  this  morning,  the 
dew  was  heary  on  the  daisies  and  buttercups 
and  flowering  mallows  which  grew  abundant* 


Oriental  Mode  of  Travellingf. 


^_ 


"^d^ 


u 


w 


ly  on  the  turf.  After  breakfast,  while  the 
camels  were  loading,  I  walked  in  the  early 
sunnhine  on  a  strip  of  sand  overlooking  the 
valley,  impressing  on  my  memory  evtry  fea- 
^ture  of  the  landiscape,  and  impatient  of  the 
'rising  ground  to  the  north,  w'  '.  prevailed 
my  seemg  where  we  were  gouig.  it  was  about 
ten  o'clock  when  we  parsed  the  boundary. 
It  was  impossible  to  tell  the  exact  moment; 
but  within  a  mile  or  two  we  felt  that  we  were 
indeed  in  the  native  Iniid  of  Christ,  and  prob- 
ably on  his  venr  track.  He  might  have  been 
here.  His  relati(  .s  lived  at  Hebron;  and 
during  the  first  thirty  years  of  his  life  he  had 
probably  visited  them,  after  meeting  them  at 
the  feasts  at  Jerusalem.  He  might  have 
walked  ov.r  the  hills  which  swelled  higher 
and  higher  as  we  advanced,  and  rested  beside 
some  of  the  wells  which  yawned  beside  our 
track.  At  any  rate,  the  trees  and  flowers 
which  we  saw  must  have  been  familiar  to  his 
eyes ;  the  thorny  acacia  which  began  here  to 
rise  and  spread  from  the  stunted  shrub  of  the 
desert  to  the  dimensions  of  a  tree  ;  the  scarlet 
anemone — with  us  a  precious  garden  flower 
— which  here  strewed  the  ground  for  acres 
round  ;  the  cyclamen,  which  pushed  forth  it» 


^ravelling. 


tufts  of  white  arid  lilac  blossoms  from  under 
many  a  stone  a'td  bush ;  and  the  pojijiy,  mal- 
low, hemlo'-k,  and  wild  outs,  which  grew  as 
thickly  as  in  luiy  Eii;!;li!<h  hedge.  I  did  not 
know  be 'jre  that  these  weeds  wn  as  com- 
mon hers  as  with  us ;  and  never  before  did 
the  sight  of  them  give  me  so  much  pleasure. 
It  would  have  been  uleasiiiit  anywhere  to  meet 
those  familiar  weeds  so  far  from  home  ;  but 
the  df  light  to-day  was  to  think  that  He  and 
his  (I  .ciples  were  as  much  accustomed  to 
them  as  ourselves,  and  that  a  walk  in  the 
early  spring  was,  in  the  pure  rnuntry,  much 
the  same  thing  to  them  as  to  us. 

But  we  soon  came  uinm  truces  which  showed 
that  the  exi)an>(;  of  pure  country  here  was 
small  in  those  days,  compared  with  what  it  is 
now.  The  towns  must  have  been  more  thick- 
ly set  here  than  in  any  country  I  ever  was  in. 
f*atches  and  masses  of  ruins  showed  them- 
selves on  every  hand,  so  near  each  other  as 
to  indicate  thit  land  must  have  been  peo- 
pled to  a  degree  now  nowhere  known.  The 
first  ploughing  we  had  seen  for  many  weeks 
was  a  striking  sight  to  us ;  a  mere  scratching 
of  the  soil  at  the  foot  of  the  hills :  but  close 
by  lay  a  heap  of  building  stones,  the  remains 

'f 


1 

^ 


■'Tf' 


An  Enetnipmeat 


of  a  town  or  village.  Presently  we  saw  a 
rude  plough,  with  a  single  camel  at  work; 
and  at  hand  was  a  long  foundation  wall,  laid 
in  a  far-distant  century.  On  a  height  further 
"ti,  were  the  remains  of  a  large  ancient  build- 
ing, with  two  broken  pillars  standing,  marking 
the  site  of  the  Aroer  of  Scripture.  Then, 
though  there  were  water-courses  about  every 
hill,  wells  began  to  abound  ;  substantial,  deep 
wells,  built  with  a  rim  with  holes  in  it,  to  re- 
ceive the  covering  stone ;  such  wells  as  tell 
of  a  settlement  beside  them.  We  stop])ed 
early  this  day — partly  because  it  was  Sunday, 
and  partly  because  our  Arab  guards,  who 
know  notning  of  our  Sunday,  found  a  con- 
venient place  among  the  hills,  somewhat  shel- 
tered from  the  cold  wind ;  and  here,  a  very 
few  miles  from  the  boundary,  the  gentlemen 
of  the  party  discovered  that  we  had  sat  down 
in  the  midst  of  what  was  once  a  large  town, 
though  the  place  appeared  a  mere  stony  tract, 
like  many  that  we  had  passed.  In  the  morn- 
ing early,  I  went  out  to  see  for  myself,  and 
was  astonished  at  the  extent  of  the  ruins 
which  I  should  not  have-obscrveil  while  mere- 
ly riding  by.  I  could  trace  the  lines  of  foun- 
dation walls  for  half  a  mile  ;  and  building 
fitones,  overgrown  with  grass,  lay  in  hil- 
locks for  a  considerable  distance  round.  The 
many  caverns  in  the  limestone  rocks,  now 
used  as  beds  for  the  goats,  were  found  to  be 
the  vaults  of  large  buildings  now  gone  to  ruin. 
In  a  few  minutes,  we  traced  three  temples,  or 


other  such  buildings,  by  their  overthrown  pil- 
lars. Our  eyes  being  now  opened,  we  this 
day  saw  more  and  more  remains,  till  we  were 
convinced  that  all  the  way  from  the  boundary 
to  Hebron,  the  land  was  tliick-set  witli  towns, 
and  swanning  with  inhabitants  in  the  days  of 
its  glory — the  days  when  the  Teacher  went 
up  an(l  down  in  it,  meditating  the  changes 
which  must  make  it  what  I  have  seen  it  now. 
Its  hills  and  streams,  its  skies  and  flowers,  are 
to-day  what  they  were  before  his  eyes  :  but 
where  he  saw  towns  on  every  height,  and  vil- 
lages in  every  nook,  there  is  now  hardly  left 
one  stone  upon  another.  A  group  of  black 
Bedouin  tents  on  a  hillside,  a  camel  or  two 
browsing  here,  and  a  flock  of  gouts  there,  are 
all  that  relieve  the  utter  solitude  where  there 
was  then  an  innumerable  throng  of  men. 

As  we  advanced,  on  the  Monday,  the  soil 
became  ridier,  and  field  was  joined  to  field,  so 
that  we  began  to  look  for  the  landmarks  which 
are  here  used  instead  of  fences,  to  bound  field 
property.  We  entered  upon  thickets  and 
shrubberies,  where  white  roses,  the  cyclamen, 
convolvulus,  and  fragrant  herbs,  abounded. 
Soon  after  noon,  a  new  scene  ojiened  upon  us. 
On  our  left  hann  lay  a  wide,  deeji  basin  among 
the  hills,  full  of  ^  ineyards  and  olive-grounds, 
where  the  stones  from  the  soil  were  built  up 
into  fences,  and  in  almost  every  plot  rose  a 
garden-house.  This  was  a  sure  sign  that  we 
were  near  a  town  ;  and  tus  we  rounded  the  hill 
on  our  right,  we  came  in  sight  of  the  t\vo  emi- 


'^i^Mh!mm„w^:i^^mmh&mMm^M^&^^^^^ 


by  their  overthrowTj  pil- 
g  now  opened,  we  this 
)re  remains,  till  we  were 
!  way  from  the  boundary 
If 08  thick-set  with  towns, 
[habitants  in  the  days  of 
vhen  the  Teacher  went 
meditating  the  changes 
vhat  I  have  seen  it  now. 
Its  skies  and  flowers,  are 
re  before  his  eyes  :  but 
in  every  height,  and  vil- 
there  is  now  hardly  left 
ler.  A  group  of  black 
lillside.  a  camel  or  two 
flock  of  gouts  there,  are 
ter  solitude  where  there 
ible  throng  of  men. 
n  the  Monday,  the  soil 
lid  was  joined  to  field,  go 
for  the  landmarks  which 
of  fences,  to  bound  field 
red  upon  thickets  and 
lite  roses,  the  cyclamen, 
grant  herbs,  ahirarided, 
V  scene  ojiened  upon  us. 
wide,  dee]>  l)asin  among 
^ards  and  olive-grounds, 
1  the  soil  were  built  up 
Imost  every  plot  rose  a 
was  a  sure  sign  that  we 
d  as  we  rounded  the  hill 
in  sight  of  the  two  emi- 


TRAVEL8  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND. 


43 


Hebron. 


nences  on  which  Hebron  is  built.  There 
stood  the  town  where  Joliii  the  Baptist  was 
bom  ;  and  here  were  the  sceues  which  he  must 
mnny  a  time  have  talked  of  with  his  cousin, 
in  their  boyish  meetings  at  Jerusalem  for  the 
feasts.  Hebron,  too,  is  only  twenty  miles 
from  Bethlehem  ;  only  twenty-six  from  Jeru- 
salem ;  and  in  those  days,  when  a  large 
amount  of  yearly  travelling  was  a  solemn  re- 
ligious duty  incumbent  upon  every  family,  it 
is  scarcely  possible  bui.  that  relatives  must 
have  often  visited  each  other,  and  that  Jesus 
and  his  parents  must  have  come  to  Hebron. 

The  cave  of  Machpeluh  is  there ;  and  the 
burial-place  of  Abraham  and  his  family  was 
a  sacred  locality,  and  an  object  of  pilgrimage 
to  Jews  of  all  ages.  As  we  inquired  for  it, 
and  walked  round  the  enclosure,  which  the 
Mohammedans  now  permit  no  Christian  to  en- 
ter, I  could  not  but  think  who  might  have 
been  before  us  in  the  same  quest. 

As  I  silt  on  a  tomb  in  the  Turkish  cemetery 
the  next  moniing,  watchin'j  the  preparations 
for  our  departure,  I  almost  dreaded  the  inter- 
eat  which  every  day  would  now  bring,  after 
the  calm  and  (juiet  weeks  Wf!  had  spent  in  the 
desert.  Our  encampment  looked  much  the 
same  as  it  had  done  every  morning  for  a  month 
past ;  the  Arab  servants  busy  iu  taking  down 


and  packing  the  tents,  and  a  noisy  quarrel  go- 
ing on  in  the  midst— (this  niorniug  about  a 
pistol  having  been  stolen  from  one  of  the 
tents:) — and  the  diHerciiers  were  only  that 
there  were  spectators  standing  by,  ond  that 
our  camels  had  given  place  to  horses  and  asses. 
But  instead  of  the  rocks  and  sands  of  the 
desert,  Hebron  was  before  my  eyes,  ond  the 
hills  where  Abraham  si)read  his  flocks,  and 
the  spot  where  he  and  his  family  lay  buried. 
And  before  night,  I  should  see  the  j)lace  where 
Da\id  wus  born,  and  lived  his  shepherd  life, 
and  where  Jesus  was  born.  We  had  only 
twenty  miles  to  travel  this  day  to  Bethlehem, 
bu"^  it  was  quite  enough,  for  we  were  ea^er 
about  every  old  tree,  and  well,  and  hill-top. 
The  shrubs  grew  finer,  and  the  wild  flowers 
niorc  abundant,  the  whole  way ;  though  the 
hills  of  Judah  were  wild  and  stony  in  jiarts, 
ond  no  longer  fit  for  pasturing  such  flocks  as 
covered  them  when  Abraham  lived  among 
them,  or  wben  the  Hebrews  drove  in  theit 
cattle  from  the  desert,  or  when  David  in  his 
boyhood  amused  himself  with  sliaging  smooth 
stones  frotn  the  brook  while  his  liither's  sheep 
were  feeding  on  the  slopes.  Wo  sat  down  to 
rest  and  eat  under  the  shailo  of  a  rock  and  a 
spreading  tree;  and  for  the  hundrcdlh  time 
smce  we  left  Egypt  it  occurred  to  mc  how  lit- 


Bethlehem. 


tie  we  can  enter  into  the  meaning  of  David 
when,  in  his  divine  songs,  he  speaks  of  the 
shade  of  rocks,  and  of  the  beauty  of  "  a  tree 
planted  by  rivers  of  water,"  and  all  such  cool 
images.  When  one  has  been  slowly  pacing 
on,  hour  after  hour,  over  glaring  sands  or  heat- 
ed rocks,  under  a  sun  which  makes  every  bit 
of  leather  or  metal,  and  even  one's  outer 
clothing,  feel  scorching  hot,  and  oppressing 
one's  very  breathing,  the  sight  of  a  patch  of 
dark  shade  is  welcome  beyond  belief:  and 
when  one  has  dismounted  and  felt  the  coolness 
of  the  rocky  wall  am*,  of  the  ground  beneath 
it.  and  gathered  the  fresh  weeda  which  cluster 
in  its  crevices,  phrase  after  phrase  of  the 
Psalms  and  jirophecies  comes  over  one's  mind, 
with  a  life  and  freshness  as  sweet  as  the  blos- 
soms in  one's  lap. 

Our  first  sight  of  Bethlehem  was  beautiftil. 
We  came  upon  it  suddenly,  just  when  the 
yellow  sunset  light  was  richest.  Bethlehem 
was  on  the  rising  ground  on  our  right,  massive- 
looking  (as  all  the  villages  of  Palestine  are) 
and  shadowy,  as  the  last  sun-rays  passed  over 
it  to  gild  the  western  hills,  and  another  village 
which  there  lay  high  up,  embosomed  in  fig 
and  olivo  orchards.  The  valley  between,  out 
of  which  we  were  rising,  lay  in  shadow.  Be- 
fore us,  perched  on  a  lofty  ridge,  which  rose 
between  us  and  Jerusalem,  was  the  convent  of 
St.  Elia<!,  which  we  were  to  pass  to-morrow. 
I  was  sorry  to  turn  away  from  this  view :  but 
we  hod  to  take  the  right-hand  road,  and  ride 


through  the  narrow  streets  of  the  village  to 
the  great  convent,  built  over  the  spot  where 
Jesus  is  believed  by  the  monks  to  have  been 
bom. 

It  was  too  late  this  evening  to  see  any  of  the 
sacred  localities  ;  but  it  was  quite  enough  to 
have  the  moonlight  streaming  in  during  the 
whole  night  through  the  wiinlow  of  my  loftv 
convent  chamber,  and  to  think  that  on  this  hill 
took  [)lace  the  greatest  event  in  the  history  of 
the  world ;  and  that  in  the  fields  near,  the 
gentle  Ruth  went  about  her  gleaning,  little 
dreaming  in  those  days  of  her  poverty,  that 
from  her  meeting  with  Boaz  among  the  reap- 
ers of  his  harvests,  wouM  arise  such  events 
to  the  human  race  ;  that  the  shepherd  grand- 
child, whose  divine  songs  were  to  soothe  her 
old  age,  should  be  the  mighty  king  he  was, 
and  the  father  of  a  yet  mightier,  who  should 
build  the  great  temple  of  the  Jjord  ;  and  that 
a  more  distant  descendant  should  make  these 
glories  appear  as  childish  toys  in  the  presence 
of  his  greater  sovereignty  over  the  universal 
human  soul.  A  wise  man  of  a  late  century 
has  nobly  said  that  "  Prosperity  is  the  prom- 
ise of  the  Old  Tc^amrnt,  and  Adversity  that 
of  the  New."  On  this  hill  was  bom  the  pros- 
perity of  the  old  dispensation ;  and  on  this 
hill  was  bora  the  Man  of  sorrows  who  knew 
the  secret  of  true  peace,  and  taught  it  in  the 
saying  that  it  profits  not  a  man  to  gain  the 
whole  world  if  ne  lose  hi^  own  soul. 

In  the  morning  we  went  into  the  chuic^b  of 


streeta  of  the  villa<je  to 
luilt  over  the  spot  where 
•  the  monks  to  have  been 

5  eveninn;  to  see  any  of  the 
It  it  was  quite  enough  to 
streaming  in  durinji  the 
the  winilow  of  my  loftv 
id  to  think  that  on  this  hill 
est  event  in  the  history  of 
,t  in  the  fields  near,  the 
ibout  her  gleaning,  little 
lays  of  her  poverty,  that 
itn  Boaz.  among  the  reap- 
would  arise  such  ev<!nts 
that  the  shepherd  grand- 
songs  were  to  soothe  her 
the  mighty  king  he  was, 
yet  mightier,  who  should 
)le  of  the  Lord ;  and  that 
endant  should  make  these 
ildish  toys  in  the  presence 
reignty  over  the  universal 
se  man  of  a  late  century 
"  Pros])erity  is  the  prom- 
iment,  and  Adversity  that 
this  hill  was  bom  the  pros- 
lispcnsation ;  and  on  this 
[an  of  sorrows  who  knew 
leace,  and  taught  it  in  the 
ta  not  a  man  to  gain  the 
ose  hif  own  soul, 
'e  went  into  the  chui.?b  of 


E. 

o 
B 

S" 

s 


a 

f 


J 


Ifff' 


!'« 


•   m'^'f;' 


Convent  erected  on  what  tradition  allirms  to  be  the  Cave  of  the  Nativity. 


.*»•> 


tho  convent.     I  cnrcd  little  for  the  ujipcr  i)rirt, 
with  its  chai)els  for  Oreek,  Latin,  and  Anne- 
iiiau  worship :   and   not  much   more  for  the 
caverns  underground,    where  the  monks  be- 
lieve that  Joseph  and  Mary  remained  while 
there  was  no  room  for  them  in  the  inn.     If 
the  town  was  too  full  to  receive  them  while 
the  people  were  collected  for  the  census,  it  i.s 
hardly  probable  that  they  would  rc])air  to  an 
umlerground  cave  :  but  in  this  cave  mass  was 
going  on  this  mominc; ;  and  striking  was  the 
elfect,  ofter  coming  down  from  the  sunshine, 
of  the  crowded  cavern,  with  its  yellow  lichts 
and  their  smoke,  and  the  echoes  of  the  chant- 
ing.    We  returned  when  the  service  was  over, 
and  saw  the  star  in  the  marble  iloor  which 
marks,  as  the  friars  believe,  the  precise  spot 
where  Jesus  was  born,  and  the  marble  slab 
which  is  laid   in   the   place  of  the  inangcr. 
When  I  saw,  throughout  the  country,  how  the 
Arabs  now  use  the  caves  of  the  hills  to  bed 
their  goats  and  cattle,  this  belief  of  the  friars 
apjiearcd  less  absurd  than  it  would  with  us  ; 
but  still,  it  is  so  improbable  that  the  jirecise 
sjMjt  of  these  transactions  (whose  im))ortance 
was  not  known  till  afterward)  should   have 
been  marked  and  remembered,  that  I  felt  little 
interested  in  them  in  comparison  with  the  lantl- 
scape  out.-ide,  about  whose  leading  features 
there  could  be  no  mistake. 

From  the  bottom  of  the  garden,  we  over- 
looked the  great  valley  which  expanded  to  the 
northeast ;  am.  one  enclosure  there — a  green 
spot  now  occupied  by  olive-trees — was  point- 
ed out  to  us  iU  the  field  where  the  shepherds 
were  abiding  on  the. night  when  Christ  was 
bom.  Behind  it,  to  the  east,  lay  range  behind 
range  of  hills,  stretching  off  to  the  north ; 
and  among  these,  we  knew,  lay  the  Dead  Sea, 
and  the  Jordan,  where  it  pours  its  waters  into 
that  lifeless  and  melancholy  lake.  As  we  left 
tho  convent  and  village,  and  descended  the 
rocky  road,  with  terraced  vineyards  and  olive 


groves  on  either  hand,  wo  knew  that  Jnsejjh 
atul  Mary  must  have  come  by  this  v/ay  from 
Jerusalem  when  summoned  to  the  census: 
and  this  was  more  to  us  than  all  the  sights  the 
friars  had  shown  us  in  their  zeal  and  kindness. 
We  looked  in  at  the  tomb  of  Rachel,  and  at 


•■yArrf^gt 


A' 


Tomb  of  Ilaobel. 

the  convent  of  Elias;  but  our  eyes  and 
thoughts  were  bent  toward  Jerusalem.  I  re- 
member, however,  that  here  I  first  saw  the 
waters  of  the  Dead  Sea,  lying  blue  in  a  little 
gap  between  the  hills. 

As  soon  as  I  had  mounted  my  ass  before  the 
convent  of  Elias  I  saw  from  our  ridge  some 
buildings  on  the  rising  ground  which  now 
showed  itself  before  us.  I  was  not  immedi- 
ately certain  what  they  wore  :  but  the  news 
soon  spread  among  us.  That  rising  ground 
was  Zion,  and  those  buildings  belonged  to  Je- 
rusalem, though  they  stdod  outside  the  wall 


m 


■  ilio  Nativity. 

iiul,  wo  knew  that  Jns«;i)h 
i-e  coino  l)y  this  v/ny  fVdiii 
iiintiiiined  to  the  census: 
I)  us  thiiii  ull  tho  sights  tho 
ill  their  zeal  an<1  kindness, 
le  tomb  of  Rachel,  and  at 


''1  '"   lUfiiii. ' 


lb  of  Racbel. 

Clias;  but  our  eyes  and 
t  toward  Jerusalem.  I  re- 
,  that  here  I  first  saw  the 
d  Sea,  lying  blue  in  a  little 
ills. 

mounted  my  ass  before  the 
[  saw  from  our  ridge  some 
rising  ground  •which  tiuw 
re  us.  I  was  not  iinmedi- 
;  they  were  :  but  the  news 
g  us.  That  rising  ground 
36  buildings  belonged  to  Je- 
ley  8t6od  outside  the  wall 


PLAN  FOR  EMANCIPATION. 


47 


Immediately  after,  the  walled  city  itself  came 
into  vi(  w,  lying  along  the  hills.  Most  of  the 
jiurty  were  disujipointed.  I  was  not — |)artly 
beeiiiise  I  kn(!W  tli;it  we  were  ai)|)roaLhing  it 
from  the  least  favorable  side,  and  jiurtly  be- 
cause my  expectations  had  much  underrated 
the  size  and  grandeur  of  the  city.  What  we 
now  saw  was  a  line  of  white  walls  on  a  hill- 
side, with  some  s(|uare  buildings  and  small 
white  domes  rising  within. 

I  walked  the  rest  of  the  way.  On  our 
right  were  hills,  the  summit  of  one  of  whi(;h 
was  Acoldema,  l.'ought  by  the])ricsts  with  the 
money  whicli  the  wretched  .Indus  returned  to 
them  when  he  found  too  late  what  he  had  done 
in  his  attcmjit  to  force  his  Lord  to  assert  his 
claim  to  a  temporal  sovereignty.  On  our 
right  was  tho  plain  of  Rephaim.  When  we 
arrivv'd  at  the  brow  of  the  high  ground  we 
were  on,  wo  were  taken  by  surprise  liy  the 
graiidenr  of  the  scene.  Zion  now  opjieared 
worthy  of  her  nainc,  and  of  her  placi;  in  the 
hymns  of  David,  and  in  history.  We  were 
now  overlooking  the  valley  ot  Gihon,  more 
commonly  kno^\^l  i)y  the  name  of  Himnom. 
From  its  depth,  and  its  precipitous  rocks  on 
our  side,  I  slunild  call  it  a  ravine.  This  deep 
'Udl  contains  tho  Lower  Pool,  now  dry  ;  and 
the  a(|ueduet  from  Solomon's  Pools  is  seen 
crossing  it  obVuinely.  Its  opposite  side  is  Zi- 
on, rising  very  steeply,  still  terraced  for  til- 
lage in  some  parts,  and  crowned  by  the  city 
wall.  To  the  right,  swei^ping  away  from  the 
rivinc  of  Gihon,  is  the  deep  and  grand  vall(>y 
of  Jehosliajihat,  clustered  with  rocks,  relieved 
by  trees,  and  heading  the  eye  round  to  the 
slope  of  Olivet,  which,  however,  is  best  seen 
from  the  other  side  of  the  city.  The  black 
dcnnc  of  the  to.tib  of  David  was  the  next  ob- 
ject ;  and  after  that,  the  most  consjiicuoiLs 
roof  in  the  city — the  great  dome  of  the 
3Iosque  of  Omar,  which  occupies  the  site  of 
Solomon's  Temple. 

By  this  time,  there  was  silence  among  us. 
I  walked  behind  our  cavalcade,  as  it  slowly 
ascended  tho  beautiful  rocky  way — glad  of 
the  silence  pennitted  by  each  to  all ;  for  it 
was  not  possible  at  the  moment — nor  will  it 
ever  be  jiossible — to  speak  of  the  impressions 
of  that  hour.  We  entered  bj'the  Jalfa  gate  ; 
and  every  echo  of  our  horses'  feet  in  the  nar- 
row, stony,  picturcs(pie  streets,  told  upon  our 
hearts  as  we  said  to  ourselvi>s  that  we  were 
taking  up  out  rest  in  Jerusalem. 


The  liberty  of  a  jieople  consists  in  being 
governed  l>y  laws  whicli  the_y  have  made  them- 
selves, under  whatsoever  uinn  it  be  of  gov- 
ernment ;  the  liberty  of  a  private  man  in  be- 
ing master  of  his  nvm  time  and  actions,  as  far 
as  may  consist  with  the  laws  of  God  and  of  liis 
country. 


PLAN  FOR  EMANCIPATION. 

TiiKRK  has  been  so  much  said  andptiblislied 
on  the  subject  of  Emancijiation,  both  at  tho 
north  and  south,  that  it  hos  becouic  somewhat 
dirticult  to  discuss  it  without  awaking  party 
interests  and  feelings.  The  best  cause,  as  is 
svell  known,  may  be  ruined  by  injudicious  ad- 
vocates. The  jieople  of  the  south,  however, 
can  not  but  approve  of  candor  and  truth  ;  and 
we  feel  confident  that  they  will  be  jjleased 
with  the  Hon.  David  Sf:ARs'  safe  and  liberal 
))n)positions  on  the  subject  of  gradual  enianci- 
piilion,  advocating,  as  they  most  clearly  do, 
not  only  a  full  indemnity  ior  evcrj  slave  lib- 
erated, but  presenting  no  imiiossibility  or  se- 
rious difficulty  of  execution. 

Before  presenting  onr  readers  with  the  sub- 
stance of  Mr.  Skars'  Plan  for  Emancipation, 
w(!  insert  the  following  petition  in  its  sup|)ort, 
which,  we  understand,  is  now  in  circulation 
for  signatures  in  this  and  several  other  of  the 
states : — 

"  To  the  Senate  and  House  of  Rcprcscn.' 
talivcs  of  the  United  Slates  of  America  : — 
The  ])t;lition  of  the  undersigned,  citizens  of 
,  res j)ect  fully  asks,  that  you  will  con- 


siller  the  expediency  of  endeavoring  to  etl'ect 
such  a  change  in  the  constitution  or  laws,  as 
shall  ajipropriate  the  public  lands  of  the  na- 
tion in  aid  of  the  extinction  of  slavery  through- 
out the  Union. 

"  A.lso,  the  expediency  of  oppointing  com- 
niissioneis,  whose  duty  it  sliull  be — under 
such  conditions  as  congress  may  determine — 
to  purchase  and  etnunci])atc  slaves — being  fe- 
male children  bom  prior  to  1850.  And,  also, 
of  making  annual  ajipropriations  by  law  for 
the  jinrpose,  on  a  pledge  of  said  public  lands, 
with  a  (h'cluratory  act,  that  from  and  after 
Ir^oO,  there  shall  be  no  hereditary  siavery. 
13ut  that  on  and  after  that  date,  everj'  child 
born  within  the  United  States  of  America, 
their  jurisdiction  and  territories,  shall  be  born 
free.'' 

In  mie  of  Mr.  Sears'  late  communications 
on  the  subject  of  Emancijiution,  \yhen  giving 
statistical  facts  in  relation  to  it,  he  says: — 

"  The  last  census  of  the  United  States  gave 
420,000  as  the  nursiber  of  femah;  slaves  under 
ton  \ears  of  aye,  and  300,000  as  the  number 
of  female  slaves  betwten  the  ages  of  ten  and 
twenty  years.  Tlici  plan  projiosed  contem- 
plates the  purchase  of  one,  or  both  of  these 
classes,  at  o  price  to  be  agreed  on.  It  is  esti- 
mated that  at  their  present  average  value,  they 
could  be  bought  and  emancii)attil  at  a  cost 
much  less  than  the  ex[)ense  of  the  last  war 
of  the  nation  with  Great  Britain,  and  for  less 
than  the  probable  cost  of  the  present  war 
on  Mexico." 

In  relation  to  the  commissioners  to  be  ap- 


ft 

n 


■MM 


■am 


i&yi'"" 


48 


PLAN  FOR  EMANCIPATION, 


A  suinmnry  nf  the   plnn  is  as  fellows: — 

1.  Connrcss  In  apprnvriale.  the  prncrrds  of 
the  sales  of  public  Lands  to  the  extinction  of 
slavery. 

2.  Commissioners  to  be  appointed  by  Con- 
jijrcss  to  negotiate  with  the  legislatures  of  the 
slave  states,  for  the  purchase  of  female  slaves 
uti(l(  r  ten  years  of  age,  ami  also,  if  necessa- 
ry, female  slaves  un<ler  tweniy  years  of  age, 
anil  with  instructions  to  close  a  contract  ivith 
any  one  of  said  states  which  majr  agree  to 
accept  the  terms  of  their  commission.  The 
money  to  be  paid  to  the  stales,  and  to  be  by 
them  a])portioned. 

3.  Female  slaves  so  purchased  aro  to  be 
free,  and  their  issue  are  to  be  free. 

4.  In  consideration  of  the  above,  all  chil- 
dren bom  after  1850,  are  to  be  free,  within 
the  states  so  contracting,  and  from  that  date, 
hereditary  slavery  in  the  United  Slates,  its 
territories  and  dependencies,  is  to  cease. 

In  a  rc])ly  of  Mr.  Skars'  to  a  committee 
of  citizens  of  Philadelphia,  on  the  subject,  are 
the  following  practical  remarks,  which  seem 
to  rid  the  plan  of  the  only  serious  objection 
which  can  be  urged  against  it : — 

"  I  am  ready  to  acknowledge  a  right  of 
])roperty  in  slaves — living,  tangible,  and  exist- 
ent— but  not  a  right  to  hold  the  race  in  bond- 
age through  all  future  time.  And  in  order  to 
avoid  the  difficulties  and  dangers  which  might 
arise  from  an  immediate  and  unc|ualified  liber- 
ation of  a  debased  and  ignorant  class,  I  have 
suggested  that  children  who  may  be  bom  after 
1850,  should  be  apprenticed  to  their  owners, 
or  others,  until  they  are  twenty-one  years  of 
age,  on  the  proviso  that  they  receive  from 
their  masters  a  suitable  education  to  fit  them 
for  their  improved  condition.  And  this  is  to 
apply  to  all  children  bom  after  that  period, 
whether  their  mothers  have  been  freed  by  ap- 
propriations made  by  Congress  or  not.  The 
process  once  begun,  and  the  impediment  to 
our  being  a  powerful,  a  united,  and  a  happy 
people,  is  for  ever  removed." 

The  spirit  of  Mr.  Sears'  plan  of  emanci- 
pation is  contained  in  the  above  summary.  In 
our  own  judgment,  we  have  arrived  at  a  con- 
juncture in  which  the  wisdom  of  our  greatest 
statesmen  is  required  on  this  subject.  The 
present  scheme  transfers  the  burden  from  the 
slaveholder  to  the  nation.  Thousands  at  the 
north  will  be  found  to  aid  in  the  accom])li8h- 
ment  of  a  peaceful  emancipation,  even  to  the 
extreme  of  self-denial  and  sacrifice.  Mr.  S.'s 
plan  has  not  been  prepared  under  the  influence 
of  any  sectional  or  party  feeling.  The  wannest 
advocates  of  the  present  state  of  thing?  must 
be  satisfied  of  this  after  reading  his  excellent 
and  judicious  letters  on  the  subject,  as  they 
show,  most  conclusively,  that  the  evil  can  be 
gradually  abolished,  without  detriment  to  their 


rights  or  interests.  We  invite  the  nttenfion 
of  the  press  and  our  pulilie  men  to  the  consid- 
eration of  the  i>lan  ])rop(>sed.  May  nothing 
cloiirl  the  prospect  of  the  nation's  coming  to  a 
speedy,  united,  and  htjil'V  deeision. 

A  late  number  of  the  "Norfolk  (Va.)  Her- 
ald" contains  the  following  n-marks  of  its  can- 
did and  truth-speaking  editor  : — 

"  Let  those  who  arc  lurcil  by  the  prospect 
of  gain,  or  who  really  believe  that  they  can 
better  their  condition  by  emigrating  to  the  new 
states,  follow  ;hL'r  bent — anil  take  tlieir  slaves 
along  with  the  ..  The  vacuum  may  cause  a 
momentary  weakness,  but  it  will  be  only  to 
recruit  with  twi>fold  vigor.  The  place  ot  ev- 
ery slave  will  in  time  be  filled  with  hardy, 
industrious,  tax-paying,  musket-bearing  free- 
men, of  the  right  stuff  to  people  a  free  state, 
which  Virginia  is  destined  to  be  one  of  these 
days,  and  the  sooner  (consistently  with  rea- 
son) the  better  for  her  o%on  good." 

This  is  cheering  intelligence  from  snch  a 
quarter.  The  people  of  western  Virginia — 
whose  prolific  mountains  and  valleys  encour- 
age the  growth  of  the  spirit  of  freedom — have 
long  wished  to  be  rid  of  slavery.  But  the 
peoj)le  of  southern  Virginia,  more  unfortunate 
in  location  and  association,  have  hitherto  suc- 
cessfully repressed  this  western  sentiment. 
If,  as  would  appear  from  this  paragraph  from 
the  "  Norfolk  Herald,"  the  true  character  of 
slavery,  as  a  ruinous  absorbent,  is  beginning 
to  be  felt,  there  is  indeed  hope  of  Virginia. 

That  it  would  be  "  better  for  her"  if  slave- 
ry were  abolished  in  Virginia,  there  can  be  no 
reasonable  doubt.  Slavery  is,  and  always  has 
been,  an  incubus  upon  the  prosperity  of  that 
state.  Her  originally  rich  soil  has  become 
barren  and  fruitless  under  the  exhausting  and 
im  provident  tillage  of  slave-labor.  The  once- 
prolific  plantations  are  bankrupting  their  pro- 
prietors. To  thousands,  the  unpleasant  alter- 
native is  presented  of  abject  poverty  at  home, 
or  emigration  to  the  new  soil  at  the  west. 
Large  numbers  have  chosen  the  latter;  and 
their  places  have  been  filled  by  farmers  from 
the  north.  They,  schooled  in  the  science  of 
agriculture,  and  inun.'d  to  toil,  can,  with  free 
labor,  restore  what  slavery  has  exhausted. 
Under  their  judicious  application  of  this  free 
labor,  Virginia  would  soon  be  lifted  from  her 
present  condition ;  and  when  this  truth  shall 
be  felt  and  acted  upon,  the  "  Flerald's"  pre- 
diction will  become  matter  of  history. 

With  these  and  a  mnltitudeof  similar  facts 
before  them,  will  not  the  intelligent  and  re- 
flecting people  of  the  slaveholding  states  take 
into  serious  and  candid  consideration  the  plan 
devised  and  recommended  by  Mr.  Skars  for 
the  removal  of  the  originating  and  operative 
causes  which,  as  long  as  they  continue  to  ex- 
ist, can  not,  according  to  the  apprehensions  of 


W«"  invitR  the  nttrntiim 
■nihWr.  men  to  the  c(insi<I- 
iroposcil.  May  nothinj; 
tlii^  nation's  fomiiig  to  a 
itpjA"  (lorisioit. 
10  ""Norfolk  (Vn.)Hpr- 
wing  ri'inorks  of  its  can- 
ig  editor  : — 

re  lured  by  the  prospeet 
y  believe  that  tliey  eiin 
by  emi<;rating  to  the  new 
It — and  take  their  slaves 
ho  vacuum  may  cause  a 
,  but  it  will  be  onl^  to 
ngoT.  The  place  of  ev- 
le  be  filled  with  hardy, 
ijr,  muskrt-beoring  frec- 
fT  to  people  a  free  state, 
stined  to  he  one  of  these 
r  (consistently  with  rea- 
•  own  good." 
titelligence  from  such  a 
e  of  western  Virginia — 
Bins  and  valleys  encour- 

spirit  of  freedom — have 
id  of  slavery.  But  the 
irginia,  more  unfortunate 
ation,  have  hitherto  suc- 
this  western  sentiment, 
rom  this  paragraph  from 
1,"  the  true  character  of 
I  absorbent,  is  beginning 
leed  hope  of  Virginia. 
'  better  for  her"  if  slave- 
Virginia,  there  can  be  no 
lavery  is,  and  always  hos 
in  the  prosperity  of  that 
ly  rich  soil  has  become 
mder  the  exhausting  and 
■  slave-labor.  The  once- 
•e  bankrupting  their  pro- 
nds,  the  unpleasant  alter- 
F  abject  poverty  at  home, 
3  new  soil  at  the  west. 
3  chosen  the  latter ;  and 
;n  filled  by  farmers  from 
:hooled  in  the  science  of 
■t;d  to  toil,  can,  with  free 

slnvery  has  exhausted. 
IS  ap])lication  of  this  free 
d  soon  be  lifted  from  her 
ind  when  this  truth  shall 
ion,  the  "  Herald's"  pre- 
matter  of  history, 
multitude  of  similar  facts 
It  the  intelligent  and  re- 
R  slaveholding  states  take 
Jid  consideration  the  plan 
lended  by  Mr.  Skars  for 
iriginating  and  operative 
ig  as  they  continue  to  ex- 
ig  to  the  apprehensions  of 


the  wisest  men  who  have  lived  in  the  south- 
em  states,  fail  of  being  deeply  injurious  to 
their  present  prosperity  and  happiness,  and  of 
being  instrumental  in  placing  invincible  im- 
pediments in  the  way  ot  their  future  advance- 
ment in  science,  literature,  the  arts,  in  wealth, 
and  in  everything  else  which  can  justly  be 
deemed  promotive  of  an  increased  degree  of 
safety,  comfort,  civilization  and  refinement  ? 

Wc  more  cheerfully  make  these  reflections, 
from  the  well-known  fact  that  such  illustri- 
ous men  as  Rufus  Kino,  while  United  States 
senator,  and  more  recently  the  distinguished 
Henry  Clat,  have  boldly  and  honestly  ex- 
pressed similar  sentiments. 

Thn  terms  proposed  are  liberal.  Mr.  S. 
remarks :  "  We  would  manage  it,  if  possible, 
so  as  to  gain  the  approbation  of  the  most  inter- 
ested, and  be  prepared  to  meet  them  on  tenns 
of  mutual  concession  for  common  ])re8ervation. 
Compensation  must  be  made  for  every 
EMANCIPATED  SLAVE,  and  an  obnoxious  fea- 
ture in  the  constitution  removed."  Now,  if 
our  southern  friends  would  meet  the  demands 
of  this  jiroposal  fairly,  manfully.  In  due  sea- 
son, and  in  as  kind  a  spirit  as  animates  the 
author  of  the  plan  alluded  to.  the  one  great 
trust  devolving  on  the  men  of  the  present  gen- 
eration in  this  country  would  be  accomplished ; 
and,  in  ages  to  come,  their  posterity  would 
bless  them. 


In  order  to  present  more  iloarly,  the  views 
and  sentiments  of  Mr.  Sears,  in  relation  to 
his  proposed  plan  for  emancipation,  we  give 
the  following  extracts  from  his  Cfirrespondence 
on  the  subject,  wia*  the  late  Ex-President, 
John  Qcincy  Adams  : — 

"We  believe  that  the  interest  as  well  as 
hapiiiness  of  the  whole  Union,  requires  the 
abolition  of  slavery.  But  in  this  belief  we 
would  be  careful  to  let  neither  prejudice,  nor 
passion,  nor  wrong,  govern  us.  We  desire, 
therefore,  that  some  proposal  may  be  made 
to  show  to  the  intelligent  and  thinking  part 
of  the  south,  that  in  the  adjustment  of  this 
matter,  the  rights  of  property  are  to  be  sa- 
credly respected ;  some  mode  adopted  to  sat- 
isfy them  that  our  interttions  are  honest  :— 
some  evidence  given,  that  we  act  under  a  con- 
S'.ientious  conviction,  that  oti  it  depends  the 
quiet  and  duration  of  the  Union." 

"  To  avoid  the  inevitable  result  of  an  open 
outbreak,  it  is  necessary  that  there  should  be 
a  united  action  in  the  free  states,  with  the 
adoption  of  some  great  principle  which  shall 
unite  us  all."  .     . 

"  In  this  view,  the  enclosed  principles  are 
framed.  They  are  independent  of  party, 
and  leave  every  one  free  to  act  on  all  minor 
questions— being  united  only  in  MxB—thatjrom 
and  afier  1850,  event  child  horn  in  the   Uni- 


ted States  shall  be  horn  free.     This  greot  ob- 
ject we  earnestly  seek  to  otitaia  in  a  reason- 
able  way,  and  upon  principles  of  right  and 
justice.     We  would  manage  it,  if  possible, 
so  as  to  gain  the  aj^jrobation  of  those  most 
interested,  and  be  prejiared  to  inec^t  them  on 
terms  of  mutual  concession  for  common  pres- 
ervation.    Compensation  must  be  made  for 
every  emancipated  slave,  and  an  olinoxious 
feature  in  the  constitution  removed.     But  it 
is  not  necessary  in  attempting  this,  to  touch 
the  argument  that  a  certain  interpretation  of 
that  instrument  would  perpetuate  slavery  to 
all  generations  unborn,  nor  to  show  that  by 
such  an  assumption  of  construction,  the  state 
of  Virginia,  and   her  southern   neighbors- 
while  the  traffic  is  expressly  forbidden  else- 
where— are  virtually  made  another  Africa  for 
the  supply  of  slaves,  and  ha^      a  monopoly 
of  the  trade.     Such  irritating  u.pics  may  be 
put  at  rest.     It  is  best  to  ajipeal  to  the  inter- 
est of  the  slaveholder  to  convince  him.     It 
is  projiosed  that  he  should  be  paid  for  every 
slave  that  is  emancijiated,  and  that  he  shall 
have  the  labor,  during  their  lives,  of  such  as  are 
not  purchased.    He  is  in  fact  dejirived  of  noth- 
ing which  has  existence,  or  in  which  he  can 
have   property.     No   pecuniary   sacrifice   ia 
exacted— the  expense  of  the  infaticy  of  chil- 
dren being  paid  by  indenture  with  their  moth- 
ers, who,  being   purchased   and  made  free,  I 
may  bind  them  to  labor,  as  we  bind  our  ap- 
prentices—and an  honoroble  opjiortunity  is 
thus  oflcred  to  the  slaveholder,  to  test  the 
honesty  of  his  democratic  principles,  and  his 
regard  for  human  rights,  without  danger,  and 
without  loss.     The  moral  tone  of  the  slave  is 
raised   by  the  brighter  future,  and   parent 
slaves  are  induced    to  behave  well,  and  to 
work  hard,  in  the  knowledge  that  their  chil- 
dren will  be  free ;  all  tending  to  the  benefit 
of  the  owner." 

"  No  projxisition  like  the  present  has  ever 
yet  been  made  to  the  south,  nor  remuneration 
in  any  shape  offered.  Let  us  try  it,  m  the 
spirit  of  conciliation,  to  save  tluin  and  our- 
selves from  a  great,  a  common,  and  an  impend- 
ing calamity." 

"  These  views  I  have  strongly  urged,  and 
I  have  endeavored  to  impve^-s  on  the  minds 
of  our  friends  the  necessity  of  uniting  on  the 
subject  of  compensation,  for  the  sake  of  umon, 
happiness,  and  peace." 

"It  certainly  appea/s  to  be  a  matter  of 
great  importance,  especially  to  the  three  states 
Moryland,  Virginia,  and  Kentucky,  to  look 
closely  into  the  subject,  and  examine  the  prop- 
osition tendered  to  them.  They  are  border 
states,  and  in  contact  with  u  spirit  of  free- 
dom ;  and  while  they  are  becoming  compar- 
atively less  rich  and  strong,  they  can  not  bui 
1  see  that  their  neighbors— divided  from  them, 


50 


PLAN  FOR  EMANCIPATION. 


oiilv  1'V  nil  iinncinary  lino,  or  a  small  strnnm 

arc  riipiilly  uilviiiit'iMji  upon  them  in  wealth 

ami  Hreimih.     Nor  enn  they  deny  that  these 
coriseipienees  follow,  on   the  one  hiind,  from 
the  institution  of  slavery,  ond  on  tlwi  other, 
from  the  institution  of  free  labor.*     The  for- 
mer must  ever  yield  to  the  latter  in  the  jiro- 
duotion   of  wealth,   j)rosperity,  nnd    ])ower. 
As  these  elements  of  Rreutness  inerease  amon;; 
the  free  states,  what,  in  all  i)rol)nliility  will 
be  the  future  destiny  of  these  border  states?" 
•>  I  wish  not  to  excite  an  angry  feelin.2,  or 
to  wound  the  self-love  of  any  one,  my  object 
is  Vftire  ;  but  if  the  iieople  of  these  states, 
would  ealmly  hear  what  may  be  said,  nnd 
C(K)11y  jud,ne  of  what  they  hear,  we  should  all, 
in  time,  come  to  the  saine  eonclusion.     Sup- 
pose this  conclusion  arrived  Qt.  then  Mary- 
land, Vir^iinia,  ond  Kentucky,  would  unite  in 
applying  to  Congress  for  the  very  compro- 
mise which  the  jietition  oilers.     They  wotild 
o„j,  '  We  have  long  borne  the  burden  of  sla- 
very, and  now  wish  to  get  rid  of  it.    We  can- 
not do  so  without  your  assistance.     We  may, 
it  is  true,  sell  a  part  of  our  property  m  South 
Carolina  and  other  states,  where  the  soil,  from 
its  nature,  and  the  climate,  from  its  unheulthi- 
ness,  can  only  be  inhabited  by  the   African, 
but  we  have  been  at  a  great  expense  in  rear- 
ing the  infant  to  the  child,  and  in  feeding  the 
old  man  in  his  age.     You  must,  therefore, 
gront  us  something  as  an  equivalent,  and  wc 
will  meet  in  the  spirit  of  comproinise,  to  root 
from  our  land  an  acknowledged  evil.     Put  us, 
we  pray  you,  in  a  position  to  reap  the  full 
advantages  oH'ered   to  us  by  Heaven,  in  a 

•  What  a.  volume  is  contained  in  llio  Cillowing  con- 
tstut ;  and  yet  lliia  is  only  a  lair  Blatemcnt  of  Uie  dif- 
fcrcucc  bctwoou  a  slave  and  a  free  state. 

rBKKSOir.— MASSACIIl'SKTTSSLAVK  SOIL— S'TH  CABOLINA 

Him  tcrritorv... 7,500  «J  minas  territory..  .25.000  «q  m. 

"op  inm?..   :. . . .  .8IW.0(K)  Fop.  in  1H45 COO.OW 

Pr.\d.H't«  in  do  .$124,735,304  Product,  in  do...«J.'3,U(j6,"'lw 
I'roduQtion  to  rach 

individusl 688 

Cost  of  .State  Gov- 
ernment, !fM4 ...  .•.147,e.'il 

Members  of  Congress 7 

t^cliolHrs    in    Com- 
mon Scliools 12520 

In  Academics 4.32fi 

In  (killeges Wtl 

Wliites  over  20,  who  cim 
can  not  rcua  jr  «..ie.  -.-.^o      not  read  or  write.. .  .20,615 

Slaves NONE  Slave,  not  perm  ttcd 

to  read  or  write.. .  .3.10.000 

Still  itiore  striking  does  this  contrast  become  if  we 
comnaro  Kontuoky  ami  Oliio— sister  stales,  alike  m 
soil  and  climate,  and  divided  only  by  a  rivor,  but  as 
dissimilar  in  ontorimso  and  prospority  as  can  lie  im- 
acined.  No  powers  of  argument  can  reason  down 
facts  like  tlieso,  and  already  is  their  niflucnce  at  wot k 
in  Virijinia,  Kentucky,  Maryland,  and  perhaps  ntlier 
states.  Coniiliation,  as  well  as  fimiaess,  is  now  de- 
manded on  the  part  of  tlic  north  ;  lirmness  in  an  op- 
position to  tlie  extension  of  slavery,  but  a  Kcnerous 
and  conciliatory  spirit  in  devising  a  method  ol  reliel 
for  the  states  now  involved  iu  it. 


healthy  climate  and  n  rich  soil,  nnd  to  this  end 
liurchuse  and  make  free  the  female  infants  of 
our  slaves,  and  we  will  nhnlish  hereditari/sfa- 
rrry  fir  ever.  Kvery  child  born  after  1950, 
shall  be  born  free.'  " 

"Nor  is  the  supposition  '^f  such  a  union 
of  opinion  by  any  means  chimerical.  It  is 
obviously  for  the  interest  of  thest?  three  states 
to  range  themselves  on  the  side  of  freedom, 
and  if  they  should  do  so,  the  result  is  certain." 
"  As  events  ripen,  it  is  evident  that  no  time 
should  he  lost  in  devising  some  conciliatory 
nieosure  of  compromise.  Tiie  great  (juestim 
of  slavery,  thouah  in  a  modilied  form,  has 
already  licioii  bnnight  before  Congress,  never 
again  to  <piit  it  until  slavery  ceases.  The 
jiowcr  and  number  of  those  who  seek  its  ex- 
tinction nrc  daily  on  the  inerease,  and  the 
chances  of  coinjiensation  for  slaves  will  year- 
ly grow  less  :  after  18')0,  in  my  ojiinion  none 
enn  be  obtained.  The  matter  must  then  as- 
sume .'-  more  serious  nsiiect,  and  the  border 
states  will  doubly  sulTi-r." 

"  In  a  letter  to  a  friend — who,  in  n  series 
of  numbers  recently  jiuldished  in  the  Hoston 
Courier,  has  so  fully  demonstrated  the  value 
of  the  plan  of  emancipation  I  suggested,  and 
who  has  touched  the  subject  with  a  master's 
hand— I  frankly  stated  my  fears,  and  in  giv- 
ing them  also  to  you,  I  trust  they  will  be  re- 
ceived as  they  were  uttered — 'more  in  sorrow 
than  in  anger.'  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  we  are  slowly  but 
steailily  advancing  to  thot  dreadful  crisis  that 
has  been  so  long  predicted.  The  events  of 
the  next  ten  years  will  probably  decide  the 
question  of  the  continuance  of  South  Caroli- 
na, and  some  other  of  the  slave  states  as  a 
"     ■       ■        ■       th 


Producticm  to  each 
individual 8151 

Co«t  of  State  Gov. 
«rnment,  1844  ...8461,097 

Members  of  Congress 10 

Scholar,  in  Com- 
mon Schools Ifl0.2.'>7 

In  Academics 16  74G 

la  Colleges 700 

I'crson.i  <iver20  who 
can  not  read  jr  write.  4443 


part  of  the  confederacy— for  by  that  time  tlie 
north  will  demonstrate  a  determined  force 
against  slave  dictation.  The  balan(!e  of  i)ow- 
er  under  the  comprotnise  of  the  constitution 
is  gone — the  constitution  itself  is  invaded  and 
broken — and  new  elements  are  introduced  in- 
to it,  which  are  too  inllammable  in  their  na- 
ture not  to  consume  it." 

"  The  right  of  slave  representation,  origin- 
ally limited,  iu  fact  if  not  by  name,  to  live 
out  of  thirteen  states,  is  soon  to  be  extended 
over  conquered  territories  and  foreign  iinlion.'* 
of  more  than  half  n  continent.  The  indolent 
and  ignorant  slaveman,  without  ediicalinn  or 
indusuy,  is  hereafter,  by  niemis  of  a  three- 
fifth  vote,  to  guide  the  destuiics  of  this  mighty 
empire." 

"Had  a  firm  resistance  been  shown  to  the 
admission  of  Texas,  while  demanding  a  slave 
representation— 1  do  not  say  a  ,s/air  jiopula- 
tion  ;  that  is  another  branch  of  the  (|uestion, 
but  a  slave  representation — there  is  little 
doubt  that  the  war  with  Mexico  would  have 
been  avoided.     What  is  now  to  prevent  a 


irli  soil,  nml  to  this  end 
^  tlio  female  infmits  of 
ahnlish  licredilarji  sla- 
child  born  nftcr  1850, 

litir.n  '.f  siirh  a  union 
[ins  rhiniTirQl.  It  is 
St  of  tlirsf  thrf  o  states 
1  the  side  of  frcrdom, 
1,  the  result  is  rertnin." 
is  evident  that  no  time 
(injj  some  mnciliatory 
I.  The  grent  <|iiestirn 
n  modilied  form,  has 
)cfore  (!'on;i;ress,  never 
shivery  censes.  The 
:hose  who  seek  its  ex- 
tho  inerense,  und  the 
m  for  slaves  will  yenr- 
)0,  in  my  opinion  none 
•.  matter  must  then  ns- 
is])ect,  ond  the  border 
i'r." 

lend — who,  in  n  series 
uhlishcd  in  the  Hoston 
lemonstrnted  the  volue 
mtion  I  sncgcsted,  and 
lubject  with  n  master's 
I  my  fears,  nml  in  piv- 
[  trust  they  will  be  re- 
tered — 'more  in  sorrow 

hat  we  ore  slowly  but 
hat  dreadful  erisis  tlint 
ieted.  The  events  of 
ill  prolinbly  deride  the 
iinnce  of  South  Cnroli- 
f  the  slave  states  as  a 
y — for  bv  that  time  the 
te  n  determine(l  force 
.  The  l)alun(!e  of  i)ow- 
nise  of  the  eonstitution 
ion  itself  is  invaded  and 
nents  are  introduceil  in- 
illammable  in  their  na- 

e  representation,  orijjin- 
if  not  by  name,  to  five 
,  is  soon  to  l)e  extended 
)ries  and  foreiu^i  uiiiion* 
ontinent.  The  indolent 
n,  without  edueaiinn  or 
r,  by  nirinis  of  a  three- 
B  destinies  of  this  mightv 

tance  been  shown  to  the 
while  demandiniT  a  slure 
not  sav  0  slarr.  jwpula- 
branoli  of  the  (piestion, 
LMitation — there  is  little 
I'ilh  Mexico  would  have 
lat  is 'now  to  prevent  a 


THE  AQE  OP  rilOGRESS. 


51 


slave  representation  from  being  indefinitely 
exteniled  !  Whiit  to  prevent  the  farmer  ond 
meeliaiiie  of  th  •  north,  from  being  ruled  and 
governed  liy  the  slaves  of  the  south?  Noth- 
ing liut  a  siern  and  unbending  will,  followed 
out  by  action,  to  maintain  ihe  princi|)le »  of 
the  eonsiiiution.  Mutual  concession  and  com- 
promise may  do  mui'h,  but  can  they  be  l)rought 
to  bear,  exeejit  utitler  pressure  of  necessity, 
and  to  save  the  Union." 

"  Kvenls  are  tending  to  this  issue,  and  soon- 
er or  later  tin;  struggle  will  come.  It  is  im- 
possible that  three  fourths  of  the  talent,  the 
wealth,  and  the  industry  of  the  country  can 
always  ([uietly  submit  to  have  their  petitions 
and  counsels  rejected,  and  tin  ir  best  interests, 
and  their  own"  peculiar  institutions,  continu- 
ally sucriliced  ut  the  will  and  ]ilcasure  of  the 
feudal  bondage  jwwer  of  slavcmen.  We  had 
better  meet  the  evil,  h(iw(^ver  great,  or  in 
whatever  form  it  may  approach  us." 

"  I  do  not  fear  a  dissolution  of  the  Union. 
The  worst  that  can  hoppcii  is  a  temporary 
secession  from  the  confederation  of  certain  of 
the  slave  states,  which  may  perha|is  (piit  us 
for  u  time,  and  attempt  to  form  an  independ- 
ent goveriunent !  Ijct  them  try  the  experi- 
ment. In  live  years  from  their  seporation, 
thev  wouM  l)e  compli'tely  at  our  mercy,  and 
petition  for  re-annexalion  on  our  own  tertns. 
Tli(;y  can  not  exist  without  us — yet  being 
with  us,  and  of  little  comparative  value  in 
the  statistics  of  power  and  the  elements  ot 
greatness,  they  govern  us  at  their  own  ca- 
price." 

"  We  arc,  in  fact,  in  a  false  position.     We 
have  yielded  uj)  the  compromise  of  five  slave 
states  to  eight  free  states — the  spirit  of  the  | 
compact  of  the  constitution — and  i)ermitted  j 
a  gross  encroachment  of  the  slavemen  upon] 
the  degree  of  power  we  originally  conceded. 
But  notwithstanding  these  facts,  and  the  feel- 
ings they  naturally  engender,  I  am  anxious 
still  toolTur  to  them  the  plan  for  ctnancipation 
which  you  have  been  kind  enough  jjublicly  to 
notice.     It  was  conceived  in  good  will  and 
friendship  to  the  south,  and  oH'ercd  in  the 
spirit  of  mutual  concession  to  avert  an  im- 
pending evil,  and  restore   harmony  to  the 
Union." 

'•  No  one  understands  better  than  yourself 
— whose  experience  extends  beyond  the  era 
of  the  constitution — that  the  present  state  of 
hostility  between  the  north  and  south,  has 
moiuly  been  brought  about  by  a  British  poli- 
cy, and  the  radical  sentiments  uttered  by  the 
feuilul  chiefs  of  South  Carolina,  and  other 
slave  states,  and  thrown  by  them  as  fiiebrands 
among  us,  to  light  the  flames  of  riot,  and  spread 
abroad  the  embers  of  disunion.  They  have 
been  successful,  und  we  have  retreated  before 
them." 


"  Their  hti/.zas  for  liberty  to  all,  and  equality 
for  each,  have  been  taken  i>y  us  literally,  and 
we  hapten  to  sliout  them  liaek  in  eurnest. 
Men  north  of  Washington,  I'an  not  compre- 
hend why  the  doctrine  should  not  be  good 
south  of  it, and  what  the  shivenian  has  preached 
the  freeman   is  now  determined  to  practise." 

"  Had  the  educated  and  intidligent  of  the 
south,  instead  of  rushing  to  their  ruin  in  a 
voin  struggle  for  personal  power,  been  willing 
to  have  remained  friends  with  the  same  class 
of  the  north,  and  jointly  labored  with  them 
in  the  construction  anil  maintenance  of  a  gov- 
ernment of  laws  founded  upon  reasonable  and 
liberal  principles,  und  unitedly  opposed  the 
intrigu(!s  and  management  of  viciinis  and 
needy  men,  who  have  nothing  to  lose  and  ev- 
erything to  gain,  how  much  more  huppy  would 
have  been  our  country,  and  how  many  bitter 
feelings  wouUl  have  been  spared  to  her  best 
and  bravest. 

"  Qucm  Dcus  vult  pcrdcrc,  prius  dcmcntaL" 


THE  AGE  OF  PROGRESS. 

No  man,  we  think,  will  deny  that  the  state 
of  society,  which  belongs  to  the  present  era, 
is  distinguished  above  all  others,  bv  the  de- 
sire and  the  power  to  advance.  To  resist 
such  progress,  is  not  possible  ;  and,  if  possi- 
ble, would  not  be  lawful ;  since  the  resistance 
would  be  nothing  less  than  the  wilful  rejection 
of  benefits  which  God's  providence  has  scat- 
tiTcd  in  our  path.  Look  only  to  those  benefits 
which  the  oldest  may  remember  to  have  seen 
wrought  in  his  own  day  ;  and  the  commence- 
ment of  some  of  which  may  have  been  wit- 
nessed, even  by  the  youngest.  Look,  for  in- 
stance, to  the  valuable  discoveries  made,  wn 
may  almost  say  daily,  throughout  the  vost 
and  various  fields  of  natural  science.  Look 
to  the  new  powers  with  which  the  telescope 
and  microscope  are  invested,  ond  which  ena- 
bles us — in  a  way  more  wonderful  than  any 
which  man's  imagination  could  ever  have  con- 
ceived possible — "  to  see  a  system  in  every 
star,  a  world  in  every  atom."  Look  also  to 
the  spark  of  the  electric  telegraph,  darting 
with  lightning  speed  through  hundredsof  miles 
of  space,  and,  as  it  darts,  communicating 
thought  from  man  to  man.  Behold  the  effects 
which  have  been  produced  by  the  single  agen- 
cy of  steam,  and  see  what  centuries  of  im- 
provejnent,  in  com|)nrison  with  the  past,  the 
last  half  century  has  comprised  within  itself. 
But  whv  need  we  go  through  the  long  cata- 
logue of  wonders?  If  these  be  among  the 
marvels  of  the  present  day,  is  there  any  hu- 
man being  who  can  say  that  his  own  position 


mum 


08 


BOSTON  COMMON. 


in  tlu"  worlil  is  not  nnictcil  liy  lli'-in  ?  Not 
now  to  ciiuiiKTiitc  all  lilt'  cliiinjii-n  wliit  h  munt 
ariKP,  w(!  woulil  umK  him  wlu-thfr  tlirri'  lie  not 
a  jioMiivf  u'ldiliiin  miu(1(>  liiTfliy  to  tlie  jicrio<l 
of  his  owr  «•\i^I<■llc(;  ?  \Vr  mean  not,  of 
coui-c,  an  uililiiioii  to  tlu;  iloys,  ami  wi-rks, 
and  month-*,  iiiid  vciirn,  by  wliich  the  courno 
of  life  it  reckoned,  but  nn  addition  to  all  the 
"  n|i|ilianceH  imd  means"  of  usefulness  which 
may,  and  ou};lit  to,  be  exertt^d  within  those 
limits.  Life  ]n  virtmilly  jirolonsed,  whereso- 
vcr  ihe  fueilities  of  sight,  and  motion,  and 
thought,  and  knowleilge,  und  aetion,  aro  mul- 
tiplied. And,  if  it  be  so,  then  is  a  greater 
re<|M)n»iliility  uttaehed  to  that  stewardship 
wliieh  (jimI  lias  eoinmitted  to  the  charge  of 
all  of  us.  A  higher  value  is  imparted  to  the 
trust;  and  In-uvitT  will  lie  the  sin  of  throwing 
it  awav.  or  ot  employing  it  unprofitably. 

"Tfie  steam-engine  and  the  railroad,"  says 
Sir  Robert  l*e<l,  "  arc  not  merely  facilitating 
the  transport  of  iiicrcluindise,  they  are  not  mere- 
ly shorlenliig  tiie  duration  of  journeys,  for  ad- 
ministering to  the  sujiply  of  physical  wants. 
They  are  speeding  the  intercourse  between 
mind  and  mliid — they  are  creating  new  de- 
mands for  knowledge — they  are  fertilizing  the 
intellectual  as  well  as  the  material  waste — 
they  are  reni'ning  the  impediments  which  ob- 
scurity, remi  iteness  or  poverty,  may  have  here- 
tofore opiHised  to  the  energy  of  real  merit." 

These  are  "  words  of  truth  and  soberness." 
they  describe  accurately  the  benefits  which 
result  from  the  agency  of  this  mighty  instru- 
ment; and  the  years  which  have  elojised 
since  they  were  spoken,  have  but  supplied 
fresh  and  diverse  testitnony  in  support  of  the 
same  truth.  What  then  is  the  duty  of  v^ise 
men.  who  find  themselves  placed  in  the  midst 
of  changes  so  numerous  and  so  vast  ?  Should 
not  their  prayer  be  to  gain  for  all  classes  the 
utmost  amount  of  benefit  thus  placed  within 
their  reach ;  and  should  not  their  elTbrts  be 
directed  to  the  accomplishment  of  their  pray- 
er 1  To  this  great  end,  let  them — to  borrow 
the  forcible  language  of  Dugald  Stewart — 
"  heave  the  log  into  the  deep — and  measure 
the  rapidity  of  the  current  by  which  the  world 
is  borne  along."  They  can  not,  I  repeat  it, 
stop  the  progress  of  the  current  if  they  would ; 
and  they  ought  not,  if  they  could.  Neither 
may  they  stand  MJly  by,  trusting  to  thestrength 
of  the  moorings  to  which  their  vewel  is  made 
fast;  for  the  stoutest  cable  may  give  way, 
anil  the  fairest  vessel  may  drift  and  be  lost 
amid  rocks  ami  shallows.  Let  them  strive, 
therefore,  and  turn,  in  the  best  directions,  the 
stream  which  is  carrying  them  forward.  Let 
them  open  for  it  a  free  course  into  regions 
where  it  is  most  needed  ;  and  rejoice,  as  they 
see  it  "  fertilizing  the  intellectual  aa  well  as 
the  material  waste." 


BOSTON  COMMON. 

This  bcoutiful  piece  of  ground,  associated 
with  so  many  of  the  pleonures  and  so  much 
of  the  historical  jiride  of  the  inlmbitonts  of 
Huston,  is  situated  in  lire  westerly  part  of  the 
city,  infrontofthefctatehouse.  It  is  surround- 
ed upon  three  sides  by  streets,  upon  which 
are  some  of  the  handsonicst  private  residences 
in  the  city,  and  ujion  the  other,  it  lies  ojien 
to  the  country,  commanding  a  beautiful  view 
of  the  hills  and  villages  of  Roxbury,  Brook- 
line,  Brighton,  and  Cambridge. 

The  space  contained  in  I'le  common  proper 
— which  exjirrssion  we  su]i|Mise  to  be  no  sole- 
cism, except  ill  speaking  on  grammatical  sub- 
jcrts — is  about  forty-eight  acres,  inclusive  of 
the  cemiiery  within  its  limits,  which  is  now 
tastefully  laid  out  with  trees  and  n  alks.  The 
land  west  of  Clinrles  street,  and  'leld  by  the 
lifv  as  a  part  of  the  same  iiropert/,  as  joint- 
sK/i  k  of  the  citizens,  is  now  used  for  a  public 
garden  and  is  ropidly  becoming  an  ornament 
ond  a  benefit  to  Boston.  The  common,  inclu- 
ding this  piece  of  land,  consists  of  filiout  sev- 
nnty  live  acres,  and  to  the  travel!)  ;  entering 
the  city  from  the  west,  forms  a  very  extensive 
opening  among  the  otherwise  compact  masses 
of  brick  upon  the  peninsula. 

The  malls  about  the  common  are  shaded  by 
the  most  beautiful  elms ;  ind  trees,  mostly 
American  elms,  old  denizen^  of  colonial  times 
and  young  children  of  city  parentage,  stand  in 
numbers  (to  sneak  statistically  there  arc  over 
seven  hundred)  in  every  part  of  the  common. 
Near  its  centre  is  o  little  sheet  of  fresh  water, 
now  the  basin  of  o  beautiful  Cocliiluate  fount- 
ain, which  modern  refinement  once  christened 
"Crescent  Pond,"  and  once  "Quincy  Lake," 
bnt  which  Bostonians  will  probably  ever  speak 
of,  since  all  men  are  boys  once,  as  the  "  Fnoo 
Pond."  About  this  pond  have  been  set  some 
young  and  thrifty  elms,  which  we  hope  to  see 
yet  rivalling  in  beauty  their  older  brothers  in 
the  malls.  South  of  the  |jond  stands  the  most 
prominent  of  the  eminences  with  which  the 
surface  of  the  common  is  varied,  which  until 
within  a  few  years  has  borne  the  marks  of  a 
fortification  thrown  uji  by  the  British  troops 

?|uartered  here  in  1775,  ond  although  its  sur- 
ace  is  now  more  smooth  and  rouniled,  many 
Boston  boys  will  regret  the  destruction  of  "  the 
fort." 

The  common  has  never  been  ns  has  been 
supposed  by  some,  held  as  the  projierty  of  an 
individual  or  individuals.  It  appears,  from  a 
deposition  of  several  of  the  then  "  oldest  in- 
habitants," taken  before  Governor  Bradstreet 
in  1684,  for  the  ;Mrpose  of  discovering  the  true 
terms  and  agreement  by  which  the  jieninsnla 
was  obtained  by  the  colony  under  Winthrop, 
that  after  the  land  (with  a  reservation  of  about 


COMMON. 

I  of  proiiml,  n><«>riatrcl 
ik'iiHtircs  mill  >»>  iiiuch 
of  lilt)  iiilmbitniitH  of 
i»;  westerly  part  <it'the 
house.  It  in  surroiind- 
)y  strrftH,  upiiii  which 
ncMt  j)rivntn  rcsidpiiccs 
the  othrr,  it  lies  oiicn 
ruling  fi  hcautit'ul  view 
'8  of  Roxbury,  Brook- 
iihridgc. 

ill  t'lft  common  proper 
siijipose  to  be  no  sole- 
g  on  urQinniatiriil  snb- 
sht  acres,  inclusive  of 
i  limits,  which  is  now 
trees  and  ivalks.  The 
trect,  and  'mid  liy  the 
me  jiropert/,  ns  joint- 
now  nsed  for  a  public 
lucoining  an  ornament 
,  The  common,  inclu- 
consists  of  nliout  sev- 
the  travelli  r  entering 
forms  a  very  extensive 
jrwise  compact  masses 
nsula. 

:ommon  are  shaded  by 
ns ;  ind  trees,  mostly 
lizcUb  of  colonial  times 
:ity  parentage,  stand  in 
istically  there  arc  over 
y  part  of  the  common, 
le  sheet  of  fresh  water, 
itiful  Coclutuate  fount- 
lement  once  christened 
once  "Quincy  Lake," 
ill  probably  ever  speak 
ys  once,  ns  the  "  Fboo 
ind  have  been  set  some 
,  which  we  hope  to  see 
their  older  brothers  in 
le  jK)nd  stands  the  most 
lences  with  which  the 
1  is  varied,  which  until 
J  borne  the  marks  of  a 
by  the  British  troops 
,  and  although  its  sur- 
th  and  rouniled,  many 
the  d^^struction  of  "  the 

ever  been  as  has  been 
\  as  the  property  of  an 
Is.  It  appears,  from  a 
f  the  then  "  oldest  in- 
■e  Governor  Bradstreet 
:  of  discovering  the  true 
py  which  the  pcninsnla 
Sony  under  Winthrop, 
h  a  reservation  of  about 


S 
5! 


S. 


er 
o 


a 


i 


'111 


-:'mmm 


I'.W'^ 


«#« 


:%i 


54 


VIEW  OF  NIAQAUA  FAI.I-P.  BELOW  TAIW.E  ROCK. 


b'ix  niTci*)  liiiil  lirrn  sold  to  tliptn  by  "Mr. 

of  immi'V  iiiiiilo  iij)  by  n  subHcriiitinn  i)f  nix 
sbilliii'-"'  I'mm  ciicb  hnii-rhDMcr  ("ntirip,"  »nys 
rhc  iilllilavit.  "  (myiiis  b'si^i  «timin  ci-n^idornbly 
innr''"),  "  il.  ■  iKWii  biiil  out  •)  plaro  f  ir  n  troin- 
inj;-ti>'lil,  \s\uc\\  ever  »iiiro,  and  now  is  uspiI 
for  tliiit  i)ur|MMf  unci  for  til"'  fci'iliiinof  cattln." 
Tlii"  wiix  lb:'  oriKiii  of  the  fOMMON,  wbichwo 
firnt  find  nlhidfdto  in  thr.  town  rrrordii,  under 
iliiff  of  Oilobcr  10,  ICi.'H,  when  ccrtiiiri  corn- 
inifHiimcr.-t  ii|i|ioinli'd  to  divide  and  dis|viKf-  of 
the  uiiofTn)iipd  landx  nro  iristrurtnd  to  Icnvp 
out  "  "'irb  ))oriions  ii\  coinnion  for  the  w.w  of 
NfW-  nifr.i,  and  tlin  furtbcr  bent  ll(  of  tlm 
fowni-,  :H  ill  tbcir  bt-st  dincrotions  they  shall 
think  lit." 

So!ii<>  further  extract*  from  the  tdwn  rec- 
ords oi,  this  suliject  mny  be  fouml  intcrf^tins. 
In  Miiy,  \7'V.),  we  find  nn  ndniiriddo  instiince 
of  ihr  "  wb<'n-it-rainH-lct-it-riiin"-j)hilc»so|)hy, 
an  (itlciniit  huvinj;  been  mude  to  do  soincthins 
with  the  marsh  on  the  west  side  of  the  com- 
mon. "  The  selectmen  Imvinj:  viewed  the 
miirsh  at  the  l)ottom  of  the  common,  nnd  not 
findiii','  111  V  material  use  that  can  be  made  of 
it,"  fee,  ■■  lire  of  opinion  that  it  is  best  to  lye 
in  the  condition  it  now  is."  This  conilition 
seem-f  to  bii%e  been,  for  a  piece  of  land,  about 
09  i)reciirious  os  that  of  some  modi'm  western 
cities,  for  we  find  nn  account  about  thot  time 
(.fanuary,  l7t.»S)oftwoyotm5m('n,  skatin;;  "at 
the  bottom  of  the  common,"  who  were  drowned 
there  from  the  breakinj;  of  the  ice. 

In  March,  173.3,  it  was  "voted  thot  the  row 
of  trees  olready  planted  on  the  common  be  to- 
ken core  of  t)y  the  selectmen,  and  that  another 
row  of  trees  i)e  planted  there  at  n  suitable  dis- 
tance ;"  and  "  that  o  row  of  posts,  with  a  rail 
on  the  top  of  them,  be  set  up  and  continued 
throu^lh  the  common,  from  the  buryini;-])lace 
to  Colonel  K^tche's  fence,  leavini;  openings  at 
the  several  xtreets  and  lonri."  In  1739,  it 
was  "  voted  that  posts  and  rails  be  set  up  from 
thd  granary  in  Common  street"  (the  site  of 
the  present  Park-street  church)  "  to  Beacon 
street." 

We  find  subscciuently  two  propositions  for 
disposinj?  of  parts  of  the  common,  one  "  to  sell 
Fox  hill  on  the  common,"  a  low,  sandy  mound, 
which  h;is  been  levelled  nnd  used  in  filling  up 
the  abo\ c-mentioncd  marsh;  nnd  one  a  peti- 
tion from  a  citizen  for  half  an  acre  of  land  to 
be  taken  out  of  the  common  for  a  house-lot : 
but  neither  of  them  was  acceded  to. 

The  ori2;inal  purposes  specified  in  the  reser- 
vation of  the  common  as  a  place  for  "  a  train- 
ing-field, and  ihfc  fcccling  of  cuttle,"  were  long 
subserved  by  it.  We  hope  that  the  planting 
of  so  many  trees,  which  has  rendered  it  unfit 
for  the  former  purpose,  virill  preserve  it  from 
that  use  in  future,  as  it  has  done  in  a  great 


(lejpro  latolv.  Cntflo  havfl  been  kept  there 
within  tlie  NiHt  fifteen  or  twenty  years,  nml 
the  city  iirdinimce  that  forbids  this  licurs  diiM' 
as  loteas  1833.  Many  Hostoniaiis  will  r<'col- 
lect  nn  anecdote  in  connexion  with  this  case  of 
the  common,  of  an  cxiicise  of  ])rivilege  which 
woiiM  hardly  be  tolerated  ot  the  present  time 
— and  some  of  the  older  jiortion  of  thf  com- 
munity may  not  have  forgotten  the  spirit  with 
which  n  venerable  Indy,  now  deceased,  n-ird 
to  relate  how  she  was  unexpectedly  called  up- 
on to  entertain,  as  the  guests  of  hrr  hilslmnd, 
whose  mansion  still  overlooks  the  cojnmon.  a 
large  jiarfvof  French  oIKcers  belonging  to  the 
cinint  d'F.stainir's  (leet,  nnd  how  her  energies 
arose  with  the  emergencies  of  the  occasion. 
"  And  whatdoyon  think,"  would  she  say,  "  I 
did  for  the  cream  nnd  milk  to  serve  for  n  break- 
fast for  such  B  party  ?  Wliy,  I  sent  out  my 
people  with  orders  to  milk  oil  the  cows  on  the 
common,  and  told  them  if  nnybo<ly  n-ked  any 
ipiestions,  to  tell  them  to  take  the  bill  to  (Jov- 
enior  Hancock." 

The  COMMON  is  growing  in  beauty  every 
day,  nnd  will  ever  lie  a  wmrce  of  jiride  and 
pleasure  to  Hostonians.  It  is  a  8[H)t  endeared 
to  all  the  inhabitants  of  Bo'i  m,  and  a  tin  ine 
for  those  praises  of  stranu'  -  with  wliirh  we 
oil  foster  our  love  ond  our  vanity  of  hoin.'.  It 
will  remain  compnnion  of  Faneuil  hall  in  the 
historical  associations  of  the  city,  nnd  will 
hardly  need  for  its  jyreservation  the  clause  in 
the  city  charter  which  forbids  the  council  to 
sell  it. 


VIKW  OF  NIAGARA  FALLS, 

BK.LOW    TABLE   ROCK. 

Amono  the  many  points  that  arrest  the  at- 
tention of  the  trnveller  at  Ningnro,  there  is 
none  which  he  beholds  with  grcoter  awe,  or 
which  so  fully  reveals  to  him  the  vastnes-;  of 
the  mighty  cataract,  ns  the  one  dejnctcd  ip 
our  engraving.  The  interest  of  the  view  is 
greatly  heightened  by  the  impending  elifi", 
which  has  the  appearance  of  being  aliont  to 
fnll  nnd  crush  all  beneath  it.  A  few  year* 
since,  the  most  projecting  port  of  it  felf,  and 
now  a  large  nnd  very  deep  crack  has  widened 
around  the  remaining  area  of  the  [ilatform 
above;  yet,  notwithstanding  its  fearful  appear- 
ance, ladies  and  gentlemen  crowd  its  broad 
summit  at  all  hours — walking,  drawing,  and 
gazing — in  the  fullest  confidence  that  rocks 
have  liases.  And  so  it  will  go  on,  probably, 
till  the  "  one  (thunder)  too  many  hammers" 
through  its  crack  of  doom ! 


CK. 

mve  born  krpt  thrri' 
or  fwoiity  yt'iirt,  aihI 
orliHln  th'iH  l)(Mirs  iliifn 
liiHtiinlnns  will  ri'cul- 
•xion  wiili  this  I'lisf  1)1" 
'isfl  of  J>rivil(';,'c  wliirb 
5(1  nt  llic  prfsciir  ijinc 
r  ]«irti(in  of  ihi'  rdiii- 
r)Tf)ttt'n  the  Hpirit  wiili 
,  now  (Icrciiscil,  ihimI 
irxiH'ctcdly  (■(ilicd  iip- 
ucMts  of  Jicr  hiislimid, 
rliK)k«  the  roiniiKiri,  q 
HcfTH  l)clonf,'iti;;  to  ilic 
utid  how  her  ciht;;!!'* 
iriPS  of  tlio  occii^ioi). 
s,"  would  she  siiy,  *>  I 
Ik  to  serve  for  n  hrcnk- 
Why,  I  B<'nt  out  my 
Ik  nil  the  cows  on  tlin 
if  nnyhody  n-kcd  any 
)  tuke  tlio  bill  to  (iov- 

iVJDR  in  bcnuty  pvpry 
!i  Noiirce  of  ))ride  and 
It  i»  0  spot  endeared 
■  Brwi-  m,  and  n  ilieine 
M\fs>  •*  with  wliii'h  we 
ur  vnnity  of  hoiii'',  Tt 
of  Fnneuil  hull  m  the 
of  the  rity,  nnd  will 
ervation  the  clause  in 
forbids  the  council  to 


GARA  FALLS, 

ILE   ROCK. 

ints  that  arrest  the  nf- 
•  at  Niflfjarn,  there  i** 
1  with  greater  nwe,  or 
to  him  the  vastnes-i  of 
s  the  one  depicted  in 
nterest  of  the  view  is 
the  impending  clitr, 
ince  of  beinc  aliont  to 
30th  it.  A  few  year* 
ng  part  of  it  fell,  nnd 
eep  crack  has  widened 
area  of  the  jOntform 
idinj;  its  fearful  nppenr- 
["inen  crowd  its  broml 
wulkinc;,  drawing,  nnd 
confidence  that  rocks 
:  will  go  on,  probably, 
)  too  many  hnnnncrs" 
om! 


I 


«  '(■r 


56 


VIEW  OF  NIAGARA,  "WITHIN  THE  VEIL." 


The  path  leading  behind  the  sheet  of  the 
"  Horse-Shoe  Fall,"  which  is  on  the  Canada 
side,  runs  close  under  the  clitl'of  Table  Rock  ; 
and,  between  the  spray  and  the  small  rivulets 
that  trickle  over  the  sharp  edge,  or  find  their 
way  out  oF  the  numerous  crexices  on  the  face 
of  the  prcci|iice,  it  is  as  wet  as  the  lawn  blest 
with  "  perpetual  rain"  by  the  Witch  of  Atlas. 
A  small  shanty  stands  at  the  head  of  the  stair- 
case, where  a  reading-room  and  repistrv  are 
kept,  and  curious  walking-sticks,  cut  at  Niag- 
ara, niiuerals,  spars,  and  stulled  scori)ions, 
vended  ;  the  i)n)])rietor  also  otTiciarinn;  us  guide 
under  the  falls.  Parties  are  formed  daily  to 
visit  this  part  oi' the  falls,  and  "go  behind  the 
sl'eet."  The  mode  of  procedure  is  so  inter- 
esting, that  we  will  give  an  account  of  a  visit 
to  it : — 

The  ladies  were  taken  into  a  small  apart- 
ment to  change  their  dresses,  jireparatorv  to 
their  descent ;  and  the  giiide  soon  metaiiior- 
phi)se<l  his  cavaliers  into  as  lirignnd-looking  a 
set  of  tatterdemalions  as  could  be  found  in  the 
Abru/zi.  Rough  duck  trowsers,  long  jackets 
of  green  painted  cloth,  oil-skin  hats,  and  flnn- 
nel  shirts — the  whole  turn-out  very  much  like 
the  clothes  of  the  drowned,  exhibited  for  ree- 
o,i;Tiition  at  the  mosipie  in  Paris — constituted 
our  habiliments.  The  did'erence  of  the  femah; 
costume  consisted  in  the  substitution  of  a  coarse 
petticoat  for  the  trowsers,  and  a  string  tied 
over  the  broan-brimmed  hot ; — and  thus  ar- 
rayed, few  would  have  known  us  or  been  wil- 
ling to  recognise  us  as  their  friends.  The  most 
ludicrous  part  of  the  expedition  is  passing  in 
review  betore  the  curious  persons  collected  on 
the  way. 

The  guide  went  before,  and  wc  followed 
close  under  the  clifT.  A  cold  clanuny  wind 
blew  strong  in  our  faces  from  tl.e  moment  we 
left  the  shelter  of  the  staircase  ;  and  a  few 
steps  brought  us  into  a  pelting,  fine  rain,  that 
penetrated  every  opening  of  our  dresses,  and 
made  our  foothold  very  slip])ery  and  difficult. 
We  were  not  yet  near  the  sheet  of  water  wc 
were  to  walk  through  ;  one  of  our  party  gave 
out  and  returned,  declaring  it  was  impossible 
to  breathe ;  the  rest,  imitating  the  guide,  bent 
nearly  daible  to  keep  the  beating  spray  from 
their  nostrils,  and  pushed  on,  with  enough  to 
do  to  keep  sight  of  his  feet.  We  arrived  near 
the  difficult  point  of  our  progress;  and  in  the 
midst  of  a  confusion  of  blinding  gusts,  hdf 
deafened,  and  more  than  half  drowned,  the 
guide  stopped  to  give  us  a  little  counsel  how 
to  proceed  the  remainder  of  the  way.  All 
that  could  be  heard  amid  the  thunder  of  the 
cataract  beside  us  \vas  o  ^  injunction  to  push 
on  when  it  got  to  the  worst,  as  it  was  shorter 
to  get  beyond  the  sheet  than  to  go  back ;  and, 
with  this  pleasant  statement  of  our  dilemma, 
we  faced  about  with  tL'    longest  breath  we 


could  draw,  and  encountered  the  enemy.     It 
may  be  supposed  that  every  person  who  hns 
been  dragged  through  the  column  of  water 
which  obstructs  the  entrance  to  the  cavern 
brdiind  this  cataract,  has  a  very  tolerable  idea 
of  the  pains  of  drowning.     What  is  -R'anriiig 
in  the  density  of  the   element  is  more  than 
!  made  up  by  the  force  of  the  contending  winds, 
j  which  rush  into  the  mouth,  eyes,  and  nostrils, 
;  as  if  flying  from  a  water-fiend.     The  "cour- 
age   of  worse    behind"   alone    ])ersuades  the 
gasping  sullerer  to  take  one  desjjerate  step 
'  more. 

;       It  is  difficult  enough  to  breathe  within  ;  but 
\  with  a  little  si  If-control  and  management,  the 
'i  nostrils  mity  be  guarded  from  the  watery  Jiar- 
:  tides  in  the  atmosphere,  and  then  an  iri])res- 
I  sioii  is  made  upon  the  mind  by  the  cxfraordi- 
;  r.aiy  pavilion  above  and  around,  which  never 
!  loses  its  vixidness.     The  natural  bend  of  the 
:  falling  cataract,  and  tl.e  backward  shelve  of 
I  the  precipice,  form  an  immense  area  like  the 
■  interior  of  a  tent,  but  so  pervaded  by  dis- 
charges of  mist  and  spray,  that  it  is  impossible 
to  see  far  inward.     Outward  the  light  strug- 
gles brokenly  through  the  crystal  wall  of  the 
cataract ;  and  when  the  sun  shines  directly  on 
its  face,  it  is  a  seme  of  unimaginable  glory. 
The  footing  is  rather  unsteadfast,  the  path  be- 
ing only  a  narrow  shelf  composed  of  loose  and 
slippery  stones.     A  chain  has  been  fastened 
to  the  rock  jmrt  of  the  way,  which  somewhat 
aids  the  visiter  in  the  most  dangerous  portion 
of  the  passage.     The  distance  from  where  the 
falls  commence   to     '  Termination  Rock"  is 
two  hundred  and  thirty  feet.     Beyond  this 
point  it  is  impossible  for  man  to  penetra'^e,  as 
the  ledge  there  rises  perpendicularly  from  the 
water  to  the  top  of  the  falls.    On  the  whole, 
the  undertaking  of  a  passoge  under  the  sheet 
is  rather  more  pleasant  to  remember  than  to 
achieve. 

_  The  following  lines,  written  a  few  years 
since  by  the  late  Grenville  Mellen,  after 
going  "  within  the  veil"  of  Niagara,  beauti- 
fully expresses  the  emotions  produced  in  the 
minds  of  those  who  have  witnessed  the  majes- 
tic seen" : — 

O  God  !  —  my  prayer  is  to  thee,  amid  sounds 
That  rock  the  world  !    I've  seen  thy  majesty 
Within  tho  veil !  —  I've  heard  the  anthem  shout 
Of  a  great  ocean,  as  it  leaped  in  mist 
About  my  thunder-shaken  path !  —  thy  voice 
As  centuries  have  heard  it,  in  the  rush 
And  roar  of  waters  1    I  have  bent  my  brow 
Within  thy  rainbow —  and  have  iifted  up 
My  shriek  'mid  these  fast  cadences  I  —  I've  $een 
What  is  the  wonder  of  etirnitt  — 
And  what  this  visioned  —  Dotbiogness  of  man  I 
Tablb  Rock,  AugMtt  22, 1838. 


IL." 

countered  the  enemy.  It 
lat  every  person  who  hiis 
igli  the  cohimn  of  water 
e  entrance  to  the  envern 
,  hns  n  very  tolerable  iih-a 
wninc.  What  is  ■s'lmriiifr 
he  element  is  moio  thnii 
e  of  the  contenilini;  winds, 
mouth,  eyes,  and  nostrils, 
vater-ficud.  The  "  rour- 
nd"  ulone  ])ersuades  the 
take  one  desperate  stej) 

ijrh  to  breathe  within  ;  but 
itrol  and  management,  the 
ded  from  the  watery  jiur- 
lere,  and  then  an  iri|)res- 
le  mind  by  the  extroordi- 
and  around,  which  never 
The  natural  bend  of  the 
tie  backward  shelve  of 
an  immense  area  like  the 
but  so  pervaded  by  dis- 
ipray,  that  it  is  impossible 
Outward  the  light  struo;- 
;h  the  crystal  wall  of  the 
the  sun  shines  directly  on 
e  of  unimaginable  glory. 
•  unsteadfast,  the  path  be- 
elf  composed  of  loose  and 
chain  has  been  fastened 
lie  way,  which  somewhat 
c  most  dangerous  portion 
e  distance  from  where  the 
'  Termination  Rock"  is 
hirty  feet.  Beyond  this 
i  for  man  to  penetrate,  as 
perpendicularly  from  the 
he  falls.  On  the  whole, 
passage  under  the  sheet 
lant  to  remember  than  to 


es,  written  a  few  years 
lENViLLE  Mellen,  after 
'eil"  of  Niagara,  beauti- 
smotions  produced  in  the 
lave  witnessed  the  majes- 


r  is  to  thee,  amid  sounds 
I've  seen  thy  majesty 
ve  heard  the  anthem-shout 
t  leaped  in  mist 
ifcen  path !  —  thy  voice 
trd  it,  in  the  rash 
I  have  bent  my  brow 
-  and  have  iifted  up 
» est  cadences !  —  I've  leen 

if  ETIRNITT  — 

id  —  notbingness  of  man  I 
838. 


-••'**^, 


58 


TRAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND. 


TRAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND-NO.  2. 

BT    HARRIET   MARTI.VKAU. 

iMy  room  oprncfi  upon  a  littli;  terrace — the 
flnt  roof  of  11  lower  u|)nrtin(.'iit  in  our  inn  at 
Jrrnsaloni,  and  from  lliis  little  terrace  I  was 
never  tired  of  ga/inc;.  A  considcralile  por- 
tion of  the  city  was  s])rc«d  out  below  ine  ; 
not  with  its  streeti*  laid  o|)en  to  view,  as  it 
would  be  in  one  of  our  cities;  but  jiresentinn; 
a  collection  of  (la  -lofs,  v;ith  small  white  cu- 
polas rising  from  them,  and  the  minarets  of 
the  mos()ues  springing,  tall  and  light  as  the 
])oplar  from  the  long  grass  of  the  meadow. 
Tlie  narrow,  winding  lanes,  which  are  the 
streets  of  eastern  cities,  arc  scarcely  traceable 
from  a  height :  btit  there  was  one  visible  from 
our  terrace — with  its  rough  pavement  of  large 
stones,  the  high  housewalls  on  each  side,  and 
the  arch  thrown  over  it,  which  is  so  fajjiiliar 
to  all  who  have  seen  ])ictnres  of  Jerusalem. 
This  street  is  called  the  Via  Dolorosa,  the 
Mournful  V\'"ay,  from  its  being  supposed  to 
be  the  wav  by  which  Jesus  went  from  the 
Judgment  Hall  to  Calvary,  bearing  his  cross. 
Many  times  in  a  day  my  eye  followed  the 
windings  of  this  street,  in  which  I  rarely  saw 
any  one  walking :  and  when  it  was  lost  among 
the  buildings  near  the  walls,  I  looked  over  to 
the  hill  which  bounded  our  prospect ; — and 
that  hill  was  the  Mount  of  Olives.  It  was 
then  the  time  of  full  moon,  and  evening  after 
evening  I  used  to  lean  on  the  parapet  of  the 
terrace,  watching  for  the  corning  up  of  the 
large  yellow  moon  from  behind  the  ridge  of 
Olivet.  By  day  the  slopes  of  the  Mount 
were  green  with  the  springing  wheat,  and 
dappled  with  the  shade  of  the  olive  clumps. 
By  night,  those  clumps  and  lines  of  trees 
were  dark  amidst  the  lights  and  shadows  cast 
by  the  moon ;  and  they  guided  the  eye,  in 
the  abscneo  of  daylight,  to  the  most  interest- 
ing points — the  descent  to  the  brook  Kedron, 
the  road  ;o  Bethany,  and  the  place  whence 
Jesus  is  believed  to  have  looked  over  upon 
the  noble  city  when  he  pronounced  its  doom. 
Such  was  the  view  from  our  terrace. 

One  of  our  first  walks  was  along  the  Via 
Dolorosa.  There  is  a  strange  charm  in  the 
streets  of  Jerusalem,  from  the  pictTiresquc 
character  of  tho  waiU  and  archways.  The 
old  walls  of  yellow  stone  are  so  beautifulh' 
tufted  with  wctids,  ihn.t  one  longs  to  jiaint 
every  ai  gle  and  p-ojecrion,  with  their  mellow 
coloring,  and  dangling  and  trailing  weeds. 
And  the  shailo-.vy  archways,  where  the  vault- 
ed roofs  intersect  each  other,  till  they  are  lost 
in  the  dnzzle  of  the  suiishifle  beyond,  are  a 
perjietnal  trr!at  to  the  eye.  The  pavement 
IS  the  worst  I  ever  walked  on ;  large,  slippery 


stones,  slanting  all  manner  of  ways.  Passing 
such  weedy  walls  and  dark  archways  as  I 
have  mentioned,  we  turned  into  Via  Dolorosa, 
and  followed  it  as  far  as  the  (Governor's  House, 
which  stands  where  Fort  Antouia  stood  when 
Pilate  there  tried  Him  in  whom  he  fnuml,  as 
he  declared,  no  guilt.  Here  we  obtained  per- 
mission to  mount  to  'he  roof. 

Why  did  we  wisn  it  ?  For  reasons  of  such 
force  as  I  despair  of  making  uiiderstooil  by 
any  but  those  to  whomth(^  name  of  tli"  Tem- 
ple has  been  sacred  from  their  earliest  years. 
None  but  Mohammedans  may  enter  the  en- 
closure now  • — no  Jew  nor  Christian.  The 
Jew  and  Christian  who  repel  each  othi'r  in 
Christian  lands  are  under  the  same  ban  here. 
They  are  ahkc  excluded  from  the  place  where 
Solomon  built  and  Christ  sanctified  the  tem- 
ple of  Jehovah;  and  they  are  alike  mocked 
and  insulted,  if  they  draw  near  the  gates. 
Of  course,  we  were  not  satislied  without  see- 
ing all  that  we  could  see  of  this  pluee — now 
occupied  by  the  mosque  of  ( )inar — the  most 
sacred  spot  to  the  Mohammedans,  after  Mec- 
ca. We  could  sit  under  the  (lolden  Gate, 
outside  the  walls  :  we  could  measure  with  the 
eye,  from  the  bed  of  the  brook  Kedron,  the 
height  of  the  walls  which  crowned  JNIoriah, 
and  from  amidst  which  once  arose  the  temple 
courts  :  we  could  sit  where  Jesus  sat  on  the 
slope  of  Olivet,  and  look  over  to  the  height 
whence  the  glorious  Temjjlc  once  commanded 
the  Valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  which  lay  between 
us  and  it :  but  this  was  not  enough,  if  we 
could  see  more.  We  had  gone  to  thi!  thresh- 
old of  one  of  the  gates,  as  far  as  the  Faithful 
permit  the  infidel  to  go :  and  even  there  we 
had  insulting  waniings  not  to  venture  further, 
and  were  mocked  by  little  boys.  From  this 
threshold  we  had  looked  in  ;  and  from  the  top 
of  the  city  wall  we  had  looked  down  upon 
the  enclosure,  and  seen  the  external  beauty 
of  the  buildings,  and  the  pride  and  prosperity 
of  the  Mohammedan  usurpers.  But  we  culd 
see  yet  more  from  the  roof  of  the  governor's 
house;  and  there  we  went  accordingly. 

The  enclosure  was  spread  out  like  a  map 
below  us ;  and  very  beautiful  was  the  mostpie, 
built  of  variegated  marbles,  and  its  vast  dome, 
and  its  noble  marble  platform,  with  its  ilights 
of  steps  and  light  arcades ;  and  the  green  lawn 
which  sloped  away  all  round,  and  the  row  of 
cypress  trees  under  which  a  company  of  wor- 
shippers were  at  their  prayers.  But  liow 
could  we,  coming  from  a  Christian  luid,  at- 
tend much  to  present  things,  when  the  sacred 
past  seemed  spread  before  our  eyes  ?  T  was 
looking,  almost  all  the  v.'hilc,  to  see  w  here  the 
Sheejjgate  was,  through  which  the  lainbs  for 
sacrifice  were  brought :  and  the  Watergate, 
through  which  the  i)riest  went  down  to  the 
spring  of  Siloam  for  water  for  the  ritual  pu- 


nnor  of  wnys.  Pn«(<inji 
(1  (liirk  uri'liwnys  as  I 
iriicd  iiiio  V'iii  Doldrosa, 
s  i1r'  (idvcriiui'.'i  I  Idusc, 
'orl  Aiifdiiin  stddil  wliL'ii 
1  in  wlioiu  ho  IdUiiil,  ns 

HlTP  wu  oblaiiHMl  piT- 
ic  root'. 

,  ?  For  renstiiis  of  such 
mnkinp;  iindcrstooil  liy 
1  the  iiuine  of  tli"  'I'ciii- 
Din  llicir  onrlicfit  yi'iirs. 
inns  iiitiy  Piitor  tlui  i-ii- 
IV  nor  Cliriistiiin.  The 
ho  rcial  each  other  in 
(lor  tlie  siinin  ban  here, 
fd  from  till"  pliK'f  where 
irist  sunetifit'd  the  tein- 
thcy  are  alike  iiioeked 

draw  ncsir  tin;  ii;nte8. 
)t  sutislied  without  see- 
see  of  this  ])hice — now 
we  of  Omar — the  most 
tiaminedniis,  after  Mec- 
uder  the  (Tolden  Gate, 
could  measure  with  the 
tlio  brook  Kedron,  the 
,'hich  crowned  Moriah, 
h  once  arose  the  temple 
wh<.'re  Jesus  sat  on  the 
look  over  to  the  )iein;ht 
'emple  once  commanded 
ihat,  which  lay  between 
vas  not  enou^:h,  if  we 
had  jrone  to  the  thresh- 
8,  as  far  as  the  Faithful 
go :  and  even  there  we 
s  not  to  venture  further, 
little  boys.  From  this 
ed  in ;  and  from  the  top 
had  looked  down  ui)on 
en  the  external  beauty 
;he  pride  and  prosperity 
isurper:^.  But  we  c;uld 
!  roof  of  the  govenior's 
went  accordingly. 

spread  out  like  a  map 
sautiful  was  the  rnosijue, 
irblcs,  and  its  vast  dome, 
)latfonn,  with  its  llights 
des  ;  and  the  green  lawn 
1  round,  and  the  row  of 
hich  a  company  of  wor- 
3ir  prayers.  I'ut  how 
Ti  a  Christian  1  iiid,  at- 
thiiigs,  when  the  sacred 
efore  our  eyes  ?  T  was 
1  v/hile,  to  see  where  the 
gh  which  the  lambs  for 
It :  and  the  Watergate, 
riest  went  down  to  the 
water  for  the  ritual  pu- 


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(0 

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0 

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■,;i3. 


TRAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND. 


A  Street  in  Jernsalem. 


rilicalion.  I  st  where  the  Temple  itself 
must  have  stood,  and  planned  how  far  the 
outer  courts  extended — the  Court  of  the  Gen- 
tiles, the  Court  of  the  Women,  the  Treasury, 
wh(!rc  the  chest  stood  on  the  right  of  the  en- 
trance, and  the  right  hand  might  give  without 
the  left  hand  knowing :  and  the  place  where 
the  scribes  sat  to  teach,  and  where  Christ  so 
taught  in  their  Jealous  presence  as  to  make 
converts  of  those  who  were  sent  to  apprehend 
him.  1  saw  whereabouts  the  altar  must  have 
stood,  and  where  arose,  night  and  morning, 
for  long  centuries,  the  smoke  of  the  sacrifices. 
I  saw  where  the  golden  vine  must  have  hung 
its  clusters  on  the  front  of  the  Holy  Place, 
and  where,  again,  the  innermost  chamber  must 
have  been — the  Holy  of  Holies,  the  dwelling- 
place  of  Jehovah,  where  none  but  the  High 
Priest  might  enter,  and  he  only  once  a  year. 
These  j)laces  have  been  familiar  to  my  mind's 
eye  from  my  youth  up ; — almost  as  familiar 
as  my  own  house  ;  and  now  I  looked  at  the 
very  groimd  they  had  occujiied,  and  the  very 
scenery  they  had  commanded,  with  an  emo- 
tion that  the  ignorant  or  careless  reader  of  the 
New  Testament  could  hardly  conceive  of. 
And  the  review  of  time  was  hardly  less  in- 
teresting than  that  of  place.  Here,  my 
thoughts  were  led  back  to  the  early  days  when 
David  and  Solomon  chose  the  ground  and  lev- 
elled the  summit  of  Mount  Moriah,  and  be- 


gan the  Temple  of  Jehovah.  1  could  see  the 
lavishing  of  Solomon's  wealth  upon  the  edi- 
fice, and  the  fall  of  its  pomp  under  invaders 
who  worsliipped  the  sun;  and  the  rebuilding 
in  the  days  of  Nehemiah,  when  the  citizens 
worked  at  the  walls  with  arms  in  their  girdles ; 
and  in  the  full  glory  and  security  (as  most  of 
the  Jews  thought)  of  their  Temple  while  they 
paid  tribute  to  the  Romans.  O !  the  proud 
Mohammedans  before  my  eyes  were  very  like 
the  proud  Jews,  who  mocked  at  the  idea  that 
their  temple  should  be  thrown  down.  I  saw 
now  the  area  where  they  stood  in  their  pride, 
and  where  before  a  generation  had  passed 
away,  no  stone  was  left  upon  another,  and  the 
plough  was  brought  to  tear  up  the  last  re- 
mains of  the  foundations.  Having  witnessed 
this  heart-breaking  sight,  the  Jews  were  ban- 
ished from  the  city,  and  were  not  even  per- 
mitted to  see  their  Zion  from  afar  oB".  In  the 
age  of  Constantine,  they  were  allowed  to  a{>- 
proach  so  as  to  see  the  city  from  the  sur- 
rounding hills ; — a  mournful  liberty,  like  that 
of  permitting  an  exile  to  see  his  native  shores 
from  the  sea,  but  never  to  land.  At  length, 
the  Jews  were  allowed  to  purchase  of  the 
Roman  soldiers  leave  to  enter  Jerusalem  once 
a  year — on  the  day  when  the  city  fell  before 
Titus. 

And  what  to  do  ?   How  did  thev  spend  that 
one  day  of  the  year?    I, will  tell;  for  I  saw 


Fehovah.  1  could  see  the 
n's  wealth  upon  the  edi- 

its  pomp  under  invaders 
3  sun;  and  the  rebuilding 
emiah,  when  the  citizens 
with  arms  in  their  girdles ; 

and  security  (as  most  of 
r  their  Temple  whilo  they 
Romans.  O  !  the  proud 
re  my  eyes  were  very  like 
o  mocked  at  the  idea  that 

be  thrown  down.    I  saw 

they  stood  in  their  pride, 
a  generation  had  passed 
left  upon  another,  and  the 
t  to  tear  up  the  last  re- 
tions.  Having  witnessed 
sight,  the  Jews  were  ban- 
,  and  were  not  even  per- 
(ion  from  afar  oH'.     In  the 

they  were  allowed  to  ap- 
e  the  city  from  the  sur- 
inournful  liberty,  like  that 
le  to  see  his  native  shores 
lever  to  land.  At  length, 
owed  to  purchase  of  the 
/e  to  enter  Jerusalem  once 

when  the  city  fell  before 

How  did  they  spend  that 
jT    I, will  tell;  for  I  mw 


*4. 


62 


TRAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND. 


t 


T  linvc  saiil  how  proud  and  prosperous  ]tm. 
pd  the  Mos(|ue  o*'  Omar,  with  its  in.<rl)le 
Imihliuijs,  it«  ^■;"vi  lawns,  and  Koyly-drfssed 
pciiplo — wjine  nt  orayer  under  the  cypresses, 
some  conversiiiji  under  the  arcades ; — female 
d(!votces  in  white  sitting  on  the  grass,  and 
merry  children  running  on  the  slopes : — nil 
these  ready  nridcafrer  to.vtone  to  death  <<n  the 
instant,  any  Christian  or  Jew  who  should  dare 
to  set  his  foot  within  the  walls.  This  is  vhnt 
we  saw  within.  Next  we  wont  round  the 
outside  till  we  came,  byantnrow  crooked 
passage,  to  a  desolate  spot,  occupied  by  ii<  so- 
late  people.  Under  a  high,  massive,  and  >  try 
ancient  wall  was  a  dusty  narrow  space,  rn- 
closed  on  the  other  side  by  the  backs  of  moiJ- 
ern  dwellings,  if  I  remember  right.  This 
ant  ii^nt  wall,  where  the  weeds  are  springi'.;? 
from  the  crevices  of  the  stones,  is  the  only 
purt  remaining  of  the  old  temple  wall ;  and 
here  'he  .Tews  come  every  Fridiw  to  their 
Placf  iif  Wailing,  as-  it  is  calleil,  to  mourn 
ovi  ;  :hc;  fidl  of  thr'j'  t-  p^ple,  and  ;;ray  for  its 
restoration,  Whi'':  i.  ■ou'rast  did  iliese  hum- 
bled peo|)le  present  ;i;  ^'le  i,:  .ud  ^^l)ham'n•■- 
dans  within  !  The  vn.ia m  wf  's  ,uat.ed  it,  I'iio 
dust — snnie  wailing  al'iud,:  M/nii:  r<»pi!adng 
prayers  with  moving  lips'  .;'  1  olhftni  ;i;xding 
them  from  books  on  tljeir  k(  e  %i.  A.  it  .v  chil- 
dren were  at  play  on  tUc  ground;  mA  somr 
aged  men  sat  silent,  tlicir  heads  drooped  on 
their  breasts.  Severn)  younger  men  were 
leaning  against  the  wall — pressing  their  fore- 
heads against  the  stones,  and  resting  their 
books  on  thc'r  clasped  huiids  in  the  crevices. 
With  sfime  this  wailing  is  no  forrti :  for  I  saw 
tears  on  their  cl: -oks.  I  l.nged  to  know  if 
any  had  hope  in  thoir  hearts,  that  they  or  their 
children  of  anv  generation  should  ;»a8s  that 
wall,  find  should  help  to  swell  the  cry,  "  Lift 
!i|>  your  heads,  O  ye  gates,  that  the  King  of 
Glory  may  come  in  I"  If  they  have  any  such 
hope,  it  may  give  some  sweetness  to  this  rite 
of  humiliation.  We  had  no  such  hope  for 
them ;  and  it  was  with  unspeakable  sadness 
that  I,  for  one,  turned  away  from  the  thought 
of  ihe  jiride  and  tyranny  within  those  walls, 
and  the  der^olRtioi;  without,  carrying  with  me 
a  deep-felt  lesion  on  the  strength  of  human 
faith,  and  the  weakness  of  the  tie  of  brother- 
hood. 

Alas !  all  sf  ?n7.  weak  alike.  Look  at  the 
three  great  places  of  prayer  in  the  Holy  City ! 
Here  are  the  i^f  ohavimedans  eager  to  kill  any 
Jew  cr  Christian  wh(>  may  enter  the  Mostjue 
of  Omar.  There  are  the  Christians  ready  to 
kill  any  Mohammedan  -it  Jew  who  may  enter 
the  church  of  the  Holy  Se])ulchre.  And 
here  are  the  Jews  pleading  against  their  ene- 
mies :  "  Remember,  O  Lord,  the  children  of 
Edom  in  the  day  of  Jerusalem,  who  said,  r'lze 


it,  raze  it,  even  to  the  foundation  thereof.  O, 
daughter  of  Babylon  that  art  to  be  destj-oyed, 
happy  shall  he  be  thatrewardeth  thee  at  tiiou 
hast  served  us.  Happy  shall  he  be  that  tnkeih 
and  dashcth  thy  little  ones  against  the  stoni'.s  I" 
Such  are  the  things  done  and  said  in  the  iihme 
of  Religion !  

In  connexion  with  what  h"}  wm  nl  ready 
related  by  Miss  Martinea;  concr-iiiri;  the 
Mo8(iue  of  Omar,  we  hero  '^it  \>Iui;e  n  more 
particular  description,  with  an  ..  .igraving 
drawn  from  n.  sketch  made  on  'he  'ipot  by  F. 
Cathkrwood,  Es<|,,  who  spent  scveru!  years 
in  the  Holy  Land  It.r  the  purpis"  of  obtain- 
ing views  of  the  vari(»;n  places  Uirit  have  be- 
come haiioAvi  (1  to  the  Chri-tian  world. 

This  sijleidi.'  building  occupies  the  site  of 
(lie  anciei  •.  temple  erected  by  .SoVimon  on 
"  Mount  Morisdi,  where  the  Lord  oppenr;>d 
unto  David  hi  i  fnthc  in  tb  '  piacc  that  David 
Lft.i  prepared  in  liie  tlirashitJg-tloor  of  Oninri," 
or  Araunah,  "the  J>bu'Lt '."  (I  Kni;.'s.  vi., 
with  2  Chron.,  iii.  1)  L  was  ere<  :>  d  by  the 
calif  Omar,  and  by  :,5ie  .Mi^slems  i.j  oputed 
to  lie  next  in  sanctity  to  the  temple  at  Mecca. 
When  Jerusalem  was  taken  by  the  crusaders, 
it  was  converted  into  a  Christian  church ; 
and  when  they  finolly  abundoned  the  city,  the 
victorious  sultan  Saladin  caused  the  whole 
building  to  be  washed  with  rosewater,  by  way 
of  purification,  before  he  would  enter  it. 

The  Mosque,  which  is  i'ic  finest  piece  of 
Saracenic  architecture  in  f.iistcnce,  is  a  reg- 
ular octagon,  each  side  beiii;^  seventy  feet  in 
width ;  it  is  entered  by  four  spacious  diKirs 
facing  the  cardinal  points,  the  Rab  el  Garb  on' 
the  west,  Bab  nebbe  Daoud,  or  <iate  of  David, 
on  the  east,  Bal)  el  Kebla,  or  the  (Jate  of 
Prayer,  on  the  south,  and  Bab  el  Djinna,  or 
the  Gate  of  Heaven,  on  the  north  ;  each  of 
these  entrances  has  a  jwrch  of  timber-work, 
of  considerable  height,  excepting  Bab  el  Ke- 
bla, which  has  a  fiiie  |K)rtico,  8U])[)ortpd  by 
eight  Corinthian  jnlWs  of  marble  ;  the  lower 
part  of  the  walls  is  faced  with  marble,  evi- 
dently very  ancient ;  it  is  white,  with  a  slight 
tinge  of  blue,  and  pieces  wholly  blue  are  oc- 
casionally introduced  with  go<id  cfli;ct ;  each 
face  is  panelled,  the  sides  of  the  panels  form- 
ing plain  pilasters  at  the  angles;  the  upjier 
jinrt  is  faced  vnth  small  glazed  tiles,  oliont 
eight  inches  square,  of  various  colors.  Idue 
being  the  prevailing,  with  passages  from  the 
Koran  on  them,  forming  a  singular  and  beau- 
tiful Mosaic ;  the  four  jilain  sides  have  each 
seven  well-proportioned  windows  of  stained 
glnis ;  the  four  sides  of  entrance  have  only 
six.  The  roijf  gently  rises  toward  the  per- 
pendicular part  under  the  d  ■;•:  ■  which  is  also 
covered  with  colored  tiles,  rr  '  .r'?d  in  various 
elegant  devices.     The  don .;  a  uouble  :  it  was 


W\  '^^i 


foundation  thfjrpof.  O, 
hnt  art  to  be  'Jestj-oyi'd, 
rrwanleth  thi'c  a'*  thou 
y  slvall  h(!  be  that  tiikcili 
ines  ogainst  the  atom's  I" 
•lie  and  said  in  the  iibme 


whot  hfS}  brrn  ali'ondy 
TiNEAC   <:i)ncr-:iii-!,'  tlio 

hero  •.i(t:\Klui:e  n  more 
1,    with    an    .  ii^nvinn; 
nade  on  'he  -ijiot  by  F 
vho  spent  scveriii  years 

the  jiurp'-i'!  of  obtuin- 
.;n  ploces  lUnt  have  be- 
Chri'!tian  world. 
ing  occupies  the  site  of 
rected  by  Sr]')mon  on 
ere  the  Lord  oppenr.'d 
in  th  !  yi&cc  thnt  David 
rashif ig-tloor  of  (Srnnri," 
bu^iti'."  (I  Koi'js,  vi„ 
Ir  was  erec:'«  (i  by  the 
l\e  .Mi^sler.r'.s  \.i  I'puted 
to  the  temple  at  Mecca, 
taken  by  the  crusaders, 
7  a  Christian  church ; 

ab'indoned  the  city,  the 
idivi  caused  the  whole 
with  rosewater,  by  way 

he  would  enter  it. 
h  is  ViC  finest  piece  of 
B  in  luistcnce,  is  a  reij- 
e  being  seventy  feet  in 
by  four  spacious  d(H)rs 
ints,  the  Rab  el  (tarb  on 
ia(md,  or  <  iate  of  David, 
Kebla,  or  tiie  (Jate  of 

and  Bab  el  Djinim,  or 

on  the  north  ;  each  of 

]K)rch  of  timber-work, 
t,  excepting  Uab  el  Ke- 
jKirtico,  supported  by 
•s  of  marlde  ;  the  lower 
iced  with  marble,  evi- 
t  is  white,  with  a  slight 
ces  wholly  blue  are  oc- 
with  good  elVect ;  each 
ides  of  the  panels  fomi- 

the  angles ;  the  upper 
mil  glazed  tiles,  al)out 
of  various  colors,  lilue 
with  passages  from  the 
[ig  a  singular  and  bcau- 
r  plain  sides  have  (-ach 
ed  windows  of  stained 

of  entrance  hove  only 
r  rises  toward  the  per- 
the  d  .:r  :  which  is  also 
iles,  .'•'  red  in  various 
I  dor  I ,  •;  oouble ;  it  wos 


TEAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND. 


63 


built  by  SohTiian  I.,  of  a  sjjherical  form ;  is 
covered  witli  lead,  and  crowned  l)y  a  gilt 
cresrcnt ;  the  whole  is  ninety  feet  in  height, 
anil  has  a  light  ond  beautiful  elTect :  the  fan- 
ciful di'<i)()sition  of  the  soft  colors  above,  con- 
trasting with  the  blue  and  white  marble  below, 
is  extremely  pleasing. 

The  interior  is  paved  with  gray  marble ; 
iwid  the  walls,  which  are  quite  plain,  are  cov- 
ered with  the  same  material,  of  a  fine  white 
color.  Twenty-four  jnllurs  of  mttrl)le,  of  a 
brownish  color,  form  a  concentric  nave;  the 
eight  opposite  the  angles  arc  scjuare.  without 
orniuneiit ;  the  other  sixteen,  being  two  to 
eiich  face  of  the  octagon,  are  round,  well- 
pro])onioncd,  and  about  twenty  feet  in  height, 
with  cajntals  of  a  composite  style,  gilt ;  above 
is  a  plain  ])linth,  and  twenty-four  small  arches 
supporting  the  roof,  which  is  wrought  in  com- 
partments, and  gilt  in  exquisite  taste.  A 
sec-nd  circle  of  sixteen  pillars,  four  square 
and  twelve  round,  based  on  an  elevation  in  the 
floor,  to  which  there  is  an  ascent  of  four  steps, 
anil  having  cajiitals,  a  i)linth,  and  arches,  as 
before,  8up|)0rts  the  dome,  the  interior  of 
which  is  finely  painted  and  gilt  in  arabesfiue  ; 
from  the  centre  are  susjjended  several  antuiue 
vessels  of  gold  and  silver,  otFerings  of  some 
])ious  Mohanmiedans.  Immediately  beneath 
the  dome,  surrounded  by  a  high  iron  railing, 
gilt,  with  only  one  gate  of  entrance,  is  an  im- 
mense mass  of  limestone,  of  an  irregular  form, 
probably  part  of  the  rock  on  which  the 
Mos(|ue  stands;  it  is  named  El  Hadjcra  el 
Sahhara  Allah,  the  Locked-up  Stone  of  God, 
and  is  held  in  the  highest  veneration.  The 
tradition  resjjecting  it  is,  that  it  fell  from  heav- 
en when  the  spirit  f)f  prophecy  commenced  ; 
that  all  the  ancients  to  whom  it  was  given 
projAesied  from  it ;  and  that  on  this  rock  sat 
the  angel  of  death,  who,  upon  David's  incon- 
siderate numbering  of  the  j)eople,  slaughtered 
until  God  "  commanded  liim  to  put  up  his 
sword  again  into  the  sheath  thereof."  (1 
Chron.  xxi.  7.)  At  the  time  the  prophets  fled 
from  .lerusalem,  the  stone  wished  to  accom- 
pany them,  but  was  prevented  by  the  angel 
Gabriel,  who  forcibly  held  it  (the  marks  of 
his  fingers  still  remain)  until  the  arrival  of 
Mohammed,  who,  by  his  prayers,  fixed  it  for 
ever  to  the  spot.  Mohammed,  in  the  twelfth 
year  of  his  mission,  made  his  celebrated  night 
journey  from  Mecca  to  Jerusalem  on  the 
beast  el  Borak,  accompanied  by  the  angel 
Gabriel,  as  described  in  the  17th  chapter  of 
the  Koran ;  and  having  paid  his  devotions, 
ascended  from  this  stone  to  heaven ;  the  rock, 
sensible  of  the  happiness,  became  soft,  and 
the  print  of  the  prophet's  foot  remains  to  this 
(lay,  an  object  of  great  veneration  to  all  true 
believers.  Some  years  back  a  portion  of  the 
rock  was  stolen  by  the  Christians;   but  no 


sooner  had  they  got  it  out  of  the  Mosque  than 
it  became  invisible  to  them,  and  was  after- 
ward discovered  by  the  Mussulmans.  The 
rock  is  enclosed  l)y  a  low  W(M)den  railing,  and 
covered  by  a  canopy  of  green  and  red  satin  ; 
immediately  beneath  it  is  a  natural  chamber, 
calK'd  the  "  Ennobled  Cavern  of  God,"  an  ir- 
re  ular  sipiare  chamber,  cichteen  feet  each 
way,  and  eight  in  the  highest  part,  above 
which  is  a  hole  through  the  rock,  called  the 
"  Hole  of  Mohammed."  Five  small  cavities 
around  are  inscribed  as  the  places  of  Solomon, 
David,  Abraham,  Gabriel,  and  St.  John.  It 
also  contains  the  Well  of  Souls,  or  entrance 
to  the  infernal  regions.  This  mosque  further 
contains  the  praying-place  and  footstep  of  our 
Lordlrlris;  the  praying-place,  sword  (four- 
teen feet  long),  and  standard  of  Ali,  nephew 
of  Mohammed ;  the  scales  for  weighing  the 
sotils  of  men ;  the  shield  of  Mohammed  ;  the 
birds  of  Solomon  ;  the  pomegranates  of  Da- 
vid ;  and  the  saddle  of  El  Borak  ;  on  a  wood- 
en desk,  an  original  co})y  of  the  Koran,  the 
leiives  of  which  are  four  feet  in  length.  In 
the  outer  circle  there  is  a  well,  at  which 
believers  wash  and  drink  ;  and  near  the  west- 
cm  entrance  is  a  slab  of  green  marble,  fonning 
j)art  of  the  floor,  which  has  the  marks  of  hav- 
ing been  pierced  by  eighteen  noils  of  silver ; 
three  of  these  ond  o  jiortion  of  o  fourth  only 
remain,  the  others  having  at  diflerent  times 
disappeared,  in  order  to  mark  the  completion 
of  certain  great  epochs.  The  remainder  ore 
to  follow;  and  when  the  last  takes  its  depart- 
ure, the  fulness  of  time  will  be  complete  and 
the  world  end.  It  is  also  soid  that  the  noils 
were  pulled  out  by  the  devil,  in  his  attempts 
to  enter  /aradise  by  this  door. 

This  rilosciue  belongs  especially  to  the  prin- 
ci])al  and  most  respected  Mussulman  sect, 
that  of  the  Honifites  (so  called  from  Hanifoh 
its  founder),  and  has  been  kept  sacred  from 
the  njjproach  of  Christians  until  very  recently. 
Here,  and  in  the  Mosque  at  Mecca,  the  Mus- 
sulman believes  his  prayers  to  be  more  ac- 
ceptable to  God  than  anywhere  else.  It  is 
believed  by  the  Moslems  that  all  the  prophets, 
since  the  time  of  Adam,  have  come  here  to 
pray  and  prophesy  ;  and  that  even  now  they 
come  in  invisible  troops,  accompanied  by  an- 
gels, ta  pray  on  the  Sahhara.  The  usual 
guard  of  this  holy  stone  is  seventy  thousand 
angels,  who  are  relieved  every  day.  One 
hundred  and  eighty'  lamps  are  lighted  at  night 
in  this  Mosque.  _ 

PoptJLAR  Instruction. — To  instruct  man- 
kind in  things  most  excellent,  and  to  honor 
and  applaud  those  learned  men  who  perform 
this  service  with  industry  and  care,  is  a  duty, 
the  performance  of  which  must  procure  the 
love  of  all  good  men. 


■fi'^*?^ 


\Hi 


'  » 

^, 

'      H 

*'% 

1 

u 

n 

' 

a  ^ 

<*» 

64 


OKNlfS  SlJPERIOa  TO  THE  SWORD. 


GENIUS  SUPERIOR  TO  THE  SWORD. 

The  (li'sigii  of  the  present  work  is  to  carry 
liplit  anil  I'.iiowlcd^jo  into  the  "  highways  niid 
hy-wuv"."  "I'll  to  tlic  very  licarths  of  the  jx.'o- 
plo.  Aiiil  what  arc  tlic  iicoplc,  or  any  nation, 
witlinut  iviKiwh-duo?  Tlir()ii;^h  tin-  iiilliiciifu 
of  good  piililications  how  many  are  daily 
snatclit'd  from  the  haunts  of  vice  and  iirimor- 
alitv  ?  Wf  sec  them  sitting  at  tlieir  firesides, 
reailinj;  or  listening  to  some  moral  and  in- 
structive article.  They  wonder  they  have 
been  asleep  so  long;  they  are  roused  to  vir- 
tuous action;  they  liegin  to  feel  their  respon- 
sibilities ;  the  appetite  tor  knowledge  has  corn- 
mcnceil — useful  unit  inllgious  hooks  are  cheu|) 
— a  trifle  saved  out  of  the  hard  earnings  of 
the  industrious  fanner  or  mechanic.  furnish(!s 
suflicient  aliment  for  the  intelleclual  man ; 
the  way  is  paved  for  greater  odvances,  both 
in  a  moral  and  religious  ))oint  of  view. 

What  a  change  has  heiMi  wrought  in  the 
last  half  century  !  Hut  a  fi;vv  hundred  years 
ago,  and  the  world  was  sunk  in  tiarbarism. 
Oerinany,  France,  Britain,  and  other  Eurojje- 
an  countries,  alionnded  in  mighty  forests,  al- 
most impervious  to  light ;  their  surface  was 
covered  l)y  stagnant  p(M)ls  of  water,  and  wild 
and  <lreary  morasses,  injurious  to  the  health 
of  man,  and  tenanted  by  animals  that  proved 
civilization  to  be  yet  in  abeyance.  1  he  in- 
habitants were  rude  ond  unlettered ;  reading 
and  writing,  the  absolute  foundation  of  all 
learning  anil  civilization,  formed  no  jwrtion  of 
their  education  ;  nor  wore  they  governed  in 
any  respect  by  well-defined  laws,  though  tra- 
dition and  practice  had  certainly  formed  the 
rude  outlines  of  codes  that  were  perhaps  suf- 
ficient for  their  wants,  or  congenial  to  their 
tastes  and  habits.  The  power  that  has  inter- 
vened to  change  so  dark  a  picture  into  one  of 
brilliancy  and  light  is  Genius.  Even  now 
the  world  would  be  involved  in  ignorance  to  a 
greater  extent  than  were  the  Canadas  before 
the  discovery  of  America  by  Christopher  Co- 
lumbus, were  it  not  that  men  of  genius  applied 
their  intellect  for  the  purpose  of  advancement 
in  arts  and  science.  It  is  a  mistaken  notion 
that  ordinary  minds  act  in  any  way  intellect- 
ually for  the  advancement  of  their  kind  ;  too 
freciuently  they  are  a  mere  drag,  and  impede 
progress ;  in  such  cases  genius  has  not  only  to 
labor  to  discover  the  laws  of  nature,  but  has 
likewise  to  combat  the  apathy  as  well  as  the 
ignorance  of  mankind,  in  order  so  to  overcome 
prejudice  and  inertia  as  to  be  enabled  to  apply 
its  inventions  to  the  advantage  of  its  age  and 
of  posterity.  We  do  not  contend  that  genius 
is  clogged  m  its  onward  progress  by  all  ordi- 
nary minds  :  so  far  from  such  being  the  case, 
it  has  in  all  ages  derived  vital  aid  from  many 
who,  though  incapable  themselves  of  throw- 


ing light  ui>on  innlter  hithrrtodi-enied  for  ever 
dark,  have  hail,  nulwiihstanding,  the  inosf; 
hearty  symimthy  with  men  of  thought,  and 
have  struggled  arduously,  enduring  sarrit'ees 
with  stern  determination,  octuateil  by  the  love 
of  truth,  and  filled  with  anxiety  for  th';  regen- 
eration of  their  feilow-men. 

The  most  simjile  dnniestic  utensil  has 
caused  intense  tlniught  in  many  minds  before 
it  could  be  wro\ight  into  its  ))resent  state,  in- 
significant as  it  may  now  seem,  after  all  the 
time  and  study  that  have  been  bestowed  niHin 
it :  but  when  we  recollect  how  slowly  im- 
liriivemcnts  take  olace,  even  in  the  present 
dav,  considering  llie  amount  of  intellect  ap- 
l)lieil,  one  can  hardly  be  a<to;iished.  In  gen- 
eral convorsHtion  in  mixed  society,  Watt  is 
usually  termed  the  inventor  of  the  steam- 
engine,  and  admiration  is  in  conse<iuenco  ex- 
clusively devoted  to  him.  Let  all  j)raise  he 
given  to  genius ;  but  we  should  carefully 
avoid  giving  one  invi'Utor  more  than  his  due, 
or  we  detract  from  the  merits  of  others.  Watt 
invented  the  condenser.  The  steam-engine 
was  at  Work  in  several  mines  long  before 
steam  was  condensed  by  this  invention ;  and 
since  Watt's  time  numerous  excellent  improve- 
mi.'nts  have  been  made.  Thus  we  observe  it 
took  many  extraordinary  minds  a  very  long 
tim(;  to  complete  that  great  work  the  steam- 
engine  ;  and  even  now,  if  we  judge  from  the 
improvements  continually  being  effi'cted,  it 
would  appear  that  it  is  far  from  perfection. 
Now  what  endless  gratitude  is  due  to  those 
noble  intellects  whose  workshops  have  erected 
such  admirable  and  enourable  trojjhies,  and 
without  whose  cfibrts  the  world  at  the  present 
time  would  be  but  a  barren  waste,  with  the 
human  species  scarcely  elevated  obove  the 
lower  animals.  Every  step  of  progress  has 
been  gained  by  the  toding  of  genius — by  the 
reflections  of  men  of  superior  endowments. 
The  !!iusket  of  the  soldier  has  been  fashioned, 
not  by  himself,  bat  by  the  application  of  su- 
perior intelligence  furnished  by  the  philoso- 
pher; and  although  the  gencA'  may  gain 
laurels  for  destroying  his  thousands,  have 
monuments  erecte  J  to  his  memory  when  dead, 
and  occupy  a  page  in  history,  yet,  be  it  re- 
membered, the  means  which  he  used — the 
means  employed  by  his  troops — were  discov- 
ered and  invented  by  minds  infinitely  superior 
to  his  own — by  nn  agCTCgate  »(  mind  each  in- 
dividual portion  of  which,  fashioned  a  link  in 
the  chain  of  progress. 

It  is  fashionable  in  Europe,  and  also  in  this 
country,  to  erect  monuments  to  celebrated 
warriors.  The  class  privileges  of  the  world 
have  grown  out  of  war.  There  is  more  feu- 
dalism in  this  day  than  men  think  of:  a  war- 
loving  people  must  always  be  beneath  the  hoof 
of  military  despotism ;  a  greater  curse  to  a 


•  *»  «*i|i 


1 


liillti  rtodcrnicil  for  ovor 
iwiihstniidiii!;,  tlii'  most 
th  iiii'ii  of  tliimylit,  mill 
itisly,  I'liiluriiip;  sufrifcc.t 
idii,  nrmiitrd  liy  fho  lovo 
ith  nnxicty  lor  th';  rcgen- 
iv-int'ii. 

•  (loTiKjstic  iitrn«ii!  has 
lit  in  ninny  initiils  Ix-fore 
into  its  ))resont  stnto,  in- 

iiow  socni,  iiftPr  all  tlio 
lavf  Itroii  bestowed  iiiion 
■collect  how  slowly  im- 
ire,   even  in  the  jireseiit 

amount  of  intellect  np- 

•  lie  astonished.  In  gen- 
mixcd  society,  Watt  is 
inventor  of  tbo  steam- 
on  is  in  conspiiuenee  ex- 

liim.  Let  nil  praise  he 
lilt  we  should  carefully 
entor  more  tlian  his  due, 
c  merits  of  others.  Watt 
iser.  The  steam-cnjrine 
.'ernl  mines  loiin;  before 
1  by  this  invention ;  and 
neroiis  excellent  iinprove- 
dc.  Thus  we  observe  it 
inary  minds  a  very  long 
It  great  work  the  steam- 
)w,  if  we  judge  from  the 
lually  being  eflectcd,  it 
it  is  far  from  perfection, 
gratitude  is  due  to  those 
3  workshops  have  erected 

enuurablc  trophies,  and 
3  the  World  at  the  present 
a  barren  waste,  with  the 
pely  elevated  above  the 
cry  step  of  progress  has 
toiling  of  genius — by  the 
af  superior  endowments, 
ildier  has  been  fashioned, 
jy  the  application  of  su- 
amished  by  the  jihiloso- 
i  the  gene'a^  may  gain 
ng  his  thousands,  hove 
1  his  memory  when  dead, 
in  history,  yet,  be  it  re- 
ins which  he  used — the 
his  troops — were  discov- 
'  minds  infinitely  superior 
rgregate  if  mind  each  in- 
I'nich,  fashioned  a  link  in 

i. 

I  Europe,  and  also  in  this 
lonuments  to  celebrated 
s  privileges  of  the  world 
var.  There  is  more  feu- 
lan  men  think  of:  a  war- 
ways  be  beneath  the  hoof 
n;  a  greater  curse  to  a 


GENIUS  SUPKRIOa  TO  THE  SWORD 


65 


roui  try  run  not  bo  conrcived — it  is  natural 
that  it  should  be  so.     In  a  nation  whose  gen- 
eral inteliiuciife  is  its  safe«uiinl  and  protePtioB, 
iiiteUi;;eiic.-  will    bo    respected  ;    in    a   nation 
whose  liiiiliii<;  interests  are  safesuanl  and  i)rn- 
teetioii,  tnid<-  will  be  respected;  in  a  nation 
prone  to  war,  feneiiig  itself  all  nrnml  with  the 
fort  and  ill"  pike,  and  relying  upon  the  genius 
of  battle  tor  proteeiiou,  the  warrior  will  lie 
nio'-t  resjwited.     Who  ninoii;;  us  equals  the 
warrior  in  liniior  ?     Seldom,  oh  !  how  seldom, 
is  the  pott  or  the  iihilosophiT  neeuiiiarily  re- 
warded, or  honored  with  the  title  of  greatness. 
Monoiinly  of  legislation,  monopoly  of  trade, 
will  be  touiid  to  be  children  of  war.     If  war 
were  abolished  and  brought  into  disrepute,  and 
the  miliiarv  I'l-m  were  regarded  as  a  kind  of 
"  Jack  Kri'  li"  us  he  is  in  China,  things  W(nild 
soon  reium  to  their  natural  level.     How  ar- 
rived this  shameful  ineciuality  of  prooerfy  in 
the   Oil!    World,  to  so  alarming  a   height? 
Whence  the  appalling  poverty  ?  Whence  the 
the  i)au'eaiilry,  the  magnificence  of  wealth  ? 
Whem'e  that   numerous  class,  who,   though 
ri(di,  Ikivc  neither  brilliant  talents  nor  sublime 
virtues  ?      Whence    the    insolence    and    the 
usurpiitiou    of    the  rich,    the    legislation    of 
wealth  a(,'aiiist  poverty,  and  a  crowd  of  disa- 
bilities and  evils  beiieoth  which  man  is  com- 
pelled to  lal)or  ?     If  we  are  asked  the  reason 
of  all  tluse,  how  easy  to  prove  that,  while 
they  are  the  sad  fruit  of  the  monster  sin,  they 
are'  iuinicdiately  caused  by  war  !     War  wins 
ccnintries,  and  war  grasps  t'hem,  and  the  fruits 
of  the  victory  are  in  the  pockets  of  the  chil- 
dren  of  warriors ;  the  jilaces  of  power  are 
awarded  to  them ;  for  them  the  jewelled  tiara 
and  the  ermine  robe.     Who  docs  not  perceive 
in  the  war  system  a  complicated  machinery, 
set  up  for  the  purpose  of  retaining  in  idleness 
the  scions  of  titled  warriors,  whose  names  and 
wealth  may  thus  be  transmitted  to  a  remote 
posterity? 

Now  we  do  not  for  a  moment  contend  that 
men  who  were  supposed  to  have  rendered 
their  country  essential  aid,  should  be  deprived 
of  any  honor  that  a  grateful  country  can  be- 
stow. Officers  and  soldiers  often  fight,  actu- 
ated by  the  purest  feelings  of  patriotism,  and 
only  wishing  by  sacrificing  the  foe  to  add  to 
their  country's  glory,  losing  sight,  at  the  time, 
or  proliably 'having  no  idea  of  their  own  indi- 
vidual accountabilitv  hereafter,  for  each  soul 
hurried  iiy  them,  unprepared,  into  eternity  ! 
Let  us,  however,  waive  this  strong  arinmcnt 
against  war,  and  see  whether  upon  the  old- 
fashioned  notions  of  national  etitpiette  and 
honor,  the  present  one  can  be  justified  or  not. 
Possibly  it  can,  but  if  we  do  not  depart  from 
such  notions,  "honor"  ^vill  be  a  very  expen- 
sive item.  Wo  can  maintain  this  "honor," 
if  we  will  pay  for  it.     We  always  thought 


that  at  the  close  of  the  Revolution,  the  nation 
establisiied  for  itself  a  new  eoile  of  honor,  and 
rose  abr>ve  the  maxims  which  indnarehs  found 
so  convenient  for  improper  iiurjioses.  This 
was  to  lie  our  iilorv.  and  until  the  jireseiit  war, 
we  were  resjieete'd  <'verywhere  us  a  ])eo|ile 
who,  intent  on  the  arts  of  pence,  and  distin- 
ijuished  by  the  universality  of  education,  lili- 
ertv,  and  competence,  would  not  seek  the  bat- 
tle." nor  shun  it  when  it  came. 

The  laboring  men,  or  "  produein<r  classes," 
are  those  who,  throughout  (Miristeiulom,  jmy 
niiu-  tenths  of  the  revenue  of  their  respective 
"overnments.  The  national  debts  of  tlu^  va- 
rious Christian  countries  eontraetefl  for  wars, 
amount  in  the  astjregttte  to  .S7..')(in,0(>0,000. 
The  interest  on  nine  ti'Uths  of  this  sum  at  r> 
per  cent.,  is  alxmt  $337,000,000.  In  the  next 
thirty  years  the  workiiiL'-men  of  CMiristeiidom 
will  have  to  pav  $10,000,000,000  for  interest 
on  this  debt.  Think  how  many  days'  work 
this  is  at  75  cents  a  day. 

This  is  not  all  that  wo  pay,  for  it  does  not 
include  the  "  preparations"  for  war.  For 
these,  the  workins-men  of  Christendom  have 
pni.l  durins  the  last  32  years,  S',>l,r,00,00(1,00n. 
This  exjiense  is  annually  growing  lienvi<'r  in 
the  United  States,  Britain,  France,  and  many 
other  countries.  A  writer,  under  the  signa- 
ture of  "A  Workiug-Man  of  America,"  makes 
the  following  estimate : — 

»  There  are  at  least  2.500,000  able-bodied 
men  in  the  standing  armies  of  Christendom ; 
nil  able-bodied  men  these,  according  to  the 
surgeon's  certificate,  \^hich  is  never  asked, 
when  men  are  wanted  merely  to  mow,  plough, 
and  sow,  and  make  stone-wall,  or  for  any  vul- 
gar utilitarian  purpose.    Every  common  sol- 
dier is  taken  from  the  laboring  class  ;  we  fed 
sure  of  that.     The  popidation  embracing  the 
laboring  classes  of  any  country  will  not  aver- 
age more  than  one  "able-bodied  man,"  ac- 
cording to  the  surgeon's  military  standard,  to 
every 'ten  individuals.     Then  it  woiil.l  take 
out  all  the  able-bodied  men  from  25,000,000 
of  the  yieople  to  raise  the  standing  army  of 
2,500,000  which  has  been  kept  up  in  Chris- 
tendom ever  since  the  day  of  Watcrioo.  Now, 
instead  of  being  drilled   into  mere  machines 
for  murder,   suppose  these  2,500,000   able- 
bodied  men  had  been  employed  in  some  pro- 
ductive labor,  even   at  the  low  rate  of  less 
than  25  cents  a  day,  the  hard-earned  money 
paid  by  laboring  men  since  1815  in  preparing 
for  war,  amounts,  including  interest,  to  ncnriy 
$39,400,000,000." 

The  war  appropriations  of  this  country  since 
the  present  war  with  Mexico  began,  are 
$80,873,062. 

The  appropriations  for  the  same  obiects  at 
ithe  present  session  of  Congress,  should  the 
I  war  continue  during  the  present  year,   will 


::m 


66 


probnMy  excrrtl  rather  than  fall  short  of  fifty 
inillion^  of  doUnrs. 

Those  cstimntos  «ay  nothing  of  the  valnf^ 
of  the  poor  withdrawn  frmn  useful  pursuilM, 
and  the  consi-'iucnt  loss  to  tho  country,  nor 
state  how  manv  of  our  peojjle  and  of  the  en- 
emy must  yearly  by  these  meai;';  nk  to  their 
graves. 

But  the  pen  and  not  the  sword  must;  soon 
become  the  weaicm  of  prugrc  "  i  !i>i  (airk- 
ers  aro  naininj;  ground  ;  uiiTe'  'i  .'•  •»'  tho  U<\i- 
of  public  fo.or    toward  i    i' '■  he 

RWord,  is  simewhat  slar'.i.Ming  la  ila  course  ; 
and  we  be  lieve  there  wi"  soon  bo  a  radical 
and  porracient  change  in  Jie  feelings  of  man- 
kind, on  this  and  kindred  topics.  Men  of 
thought  —men  of  gcni'  —are  now  ltK)ked  up 
to  with  reverence  and  love.  The  inventor  of 
the  simplest  aid  in  the  cause  of  human  prog- 
ress will  soon  t)c  regarilfd  as  one  of  the  ben- 
efactors of  niinkind. 

What  progress,  however,  can  a  people 
make  in  the  cnnso  of  peace  and  humanity,  so 
long  as  th  d:x:trine3  ot  Christianity  are  repre- 
sented as  noliolding,  or  rather  justifying  war 
and  revengi' .'  The  fruits  of  such  teachings 
can  ea'tily  I'e  conceived.  We  can  not  be  tin- 
genuin    d^scendents  of  the  pilgrim  fathers  or 


"I 


la'tiiy  1' 

n  ■  d-^sc 
Willia,  a  I'cnn,  for  their  spirit  and  conduct  had 
no  share  in  the  formation  of  these  scnthncnts, 
at  least  as  understood  and  practised  by  many 
at  the  present  day.  But  let  us  hope,  that 
with  the  progress  of  time,  the  increasing  in- 
telligence of  the  oge,  and  the  growing  venera- 
tion for  that  sublime  and  heavenly  doctrine 
which  teaches  us  to  "forgive  our  enemicM, 
persecutors,  and  slanderers,"  and  v  >  pray  that 
their  "hearts  may  be  tmned  ;"  in  accordance 
with  that  religion  which  was^vento  establish 
"  peace  on  earth,  and  good-will  toward  man," 
these  sentiments  will  soou  1  "3  among  the  things 
that  arc  past ;  and  that  in  this  country,  and 
throughout  the  Christian  world,  at  least,  the 
sentiment  ( .  the  heart  :iay  be  mo'e  in  uni.'-.i  n 
with  the  language  of  the  lips :  "  Forf  "ve  us 
our  trespas^c■^<,  as  we  forgive  those  who  tres- 
pass against  us."  When  we  shall  utter  this 
prayer  with  sincerity  of  h  '  and  ftf,  up  to 
the  principles  of  Christianity  .  s  well  as  pn  ■ 
fess  them,  wars,  duels,  and  other  evils,  will  1 
banished  from  the  world,  and  forgiveness  oi 
injuries  be  regarded  as  more  diq^iiB<  1  and  no- 
ble than  murder  and  revenge. 

Sklf-love  is  a  principle  in  human  nature 
of  such  extensive  energy,  and  the  interest  of 
each  individual  is,  in  general,  84-)  closely  con- 
nected with  that  of  the  community,  that  thfj 
philosophers  were  almost  excusable,  who  fai 
cied  that  all  our  concern  for  the  public  mig^ 
be  resdlved  into  a  concern  for  our  own  happi 
ness  and  preservation. 


WOMAN. 

lit  oil  the  exciting  scenes  of  liff,  women  is 
the  moHt  -^nsitive.  If  they  be  joyous,  she  is 
the  firni  I.  mile;  if  they  be  sorrowful,  she  is 
the  first  to  %veep.  Wficn  a  company  hove 
assembled,  when  all  is  unbroken  silence,  and 
the  ni'-n  seem  not  '»  know  what  to  say,  nor 
how  to  say  it,  her  animated  tongue  is  the  first 
to  relieve  the  embinrassiiii'iii,  enliven  the 
scene,  and  f-i  all  other  tongues  in  motion. 
Whatever  may  be  the  ceremony,  she  is  the 
first  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  tlio  occasion. 
In  the  moment  of  danger  she  is  the  most  con- 
scious, vet  the  most  self-possessed,  while  she 
most  skilfully  parries  the  impending  blow.  In 
love,  she  is  tno  most  ardent,  yet  the  most 
mmlest. 

.*■'■'  .  njostic  trials  of  her  household, 
'  ;  iS  arc  the  hf  -t  and  '^:epept  pangs  ;  yet  she 
is  the  most  patient  under  them.  In  the  afllic- 
tions  of  others,  her  warmer  heart  is  the  first 
to  sympathize,  while  her  kinder  hand  is  first 
extended  to  bless,  to  solace,  and  to  save. 
However  evil  association  may  sonii'times  per- 
vert her  nature,  these  traits  arc  her  instinctive, 
primeval  virtues,  which,  while  t!  v  elicit  the 
profound  respect  of  man,  claim  for  her  his 
sympathy  ond  prompt  assistance,  uiider  all 
the  trying  circumstances  of  life,  whether  he 
happen  to  be  a  brother,  a  neighbor,  or  a  stran- 
ger. The  Americans  are  noted  for  their 
civility  to  the  ladies,  obove  the  jii'ojile  of  all 
other  nations;  yet  more  kindness  would  be 
stil  better,  and  more  just  as  well  u  s  more 
natural. 

Woman  is  the  first  to  befrici  i  uuil  the  last 
to  desert.  Like  Mory,  "she  is  last  at  the 
cross  and  first  at  the  grave."  The  greater  n 
man'  sfortunes,  the  deeper  lis  disgrace,  t' 
more  ue  is  forsaken  by  the  world,  the  closer 
she  clings  to  him,  even  mf)re  eager  to  shf  re 
his  sorrows  than  1  'oys.  Though  his  path 
lead  through  flower  y  j  lains  of  ple;.^ure,  or 
the  shadowy  vale  of  sorrow,  yet  to  the  very 
brink  of  the  grave  is  she  found  close  by  his 
si('  and  though  barren  and  dreary  be  their 
ji  neyof  life,  she  gathers  af  the  goes  the 
f  w  isolated  fln  vers  that  grow  by  the  wn-. 
with  which  she  tries  to  comfort  him,  a> 

THUUOU    HER  HEART    BE  BREAKING,    CHEKIH 

HIM  WITH  HER  SMILES.  As  the  meteor 
shi?  i  brighter  wi  r  the  increasing  darkness, 
so  linr  benign  spirit  sheds  its  brightest  li.  tre 
upon  his  darkest  hours. 

Wlstn  luan's  path  in  life  is  hcset  v  h 
troij  s  on  over\  hand — when  his  spint  is 
bori:  wn  to  the  earth — when  n,  o  else  wi'l 
lee'  ■>  cries,  and  he  is  '  rat  to  taint  by  the 
wo  vhen  life  is  a  bur  ien,  and  relief  can 
no  '  be  found  but  in     "ath — ^thei  we.uiin 

flies  to  f  s  rescue,  and  witb  ''at  sweetest  balm 


IMAN. 

scenes  of  life,  womp.n  is 
If  they  be  joyoua,  she  is 
tlicy  be  sorrowful,  she  ig 
When  a  company  hove 
is  unbroken  eilcncts  und 
)  know  what  to  say,  nor 
!  mated  tongne  is  the  first 
lurassiiirnl,  cnlivm  the 
ither  tongues  in  motion. 
;ht'  ceremony,  she  is  the 
e  spirit  of  tiio  occasion, 
.nger  she  is  the  most  con- 
self-possessed,  while  she 
I  till)  impending  Mow,  In 
)st  ardent,  yet  the  most 

c  trials  of  her  household, 
\  ''cepest  pangs  ;  yet  she 
ndcr  tnem.  In  the  afflic- 
warmer  heart  is  the  first 
3  her  kinder  liiind  is  first 
to  solace,  and  to  save, 
ution  may  8t)nit'tinie8  per- 
3  traits  ore  her  instinctive, 
lich,  while  tlMV  flicit  the 
man,  claim  for  her  his 
npt  assistoncc,  u:ider  all 
mces  of  life,  whether  he 
,er,  a  neighbor,  or  a  stron  • 
ins  ore  notoil  for  their 
,  above  the  people  of  oil 
more  kindness  would  be 
ire  just  as  well  us  more 

St  to  befrici  i  u.tA  the  last 
ary,  "  she  is  last  at  the 
!  grave."  The  greater  n 
le deeper  lisdisp-ocp,  t' 
by  til  '  world,  the  closer 
ven  mi>re  eager  to  shrre 

'oys.  Though  his  puth 
■>  j  Inirn  of  jilci  ,ure,  or 
t  sorrow,  yet  to  the  very 
is  she  found  close  by  his 
jTen  and  dreary  be  their 

gathers  of  ihe  goes  the 
I  thot  grow  by  the  wn<-. 
ies  to  comfort  him,  a>- 

T   BE  BRF.AKINO,    CHEKK  s 

MILES.     As    the    meteor 
the  increasing  darkness, 
sheds  its  brightest  li    *re 
urs. 

th  in  life  is  beset  >"  h 
hand — when  iiis  spin;  -^ 
irth — when  ni  d  else  w 
lie  is  ■  n\t  to  taint  by  tl.  ■ 
a  bui  en,  and  relief  run 
ut  in  ath — thi  i  w  i.r- 
id  will.    'It  sweetest  balm 


8TEUBKNVILLE,  OHIO. 


eTi 


for  a  wounded  spirit-with  her  words  of  con 
solotion,  she  r.vivcs  the  courage  that  is  nl'n., 
to  falter,  scmuIics  the  heart  that  is  reody  m 
break,  and,  as  o  blessed  convoy,  bv  her  smile 
and  sonK.  l«ads  him  gently  andsaf.-ly  thronth 
oil  the  bleak  deserts  of  life. 

When  man  lo-'ka  back  unon  the  troubled 
sea  of  life— wlien  He  beholds  its  mountain 
surges  ubcmt  to  overwhelm  hini-and  when, 
as  he  starts  forward,  he  sees  the  Jordan  of 
Death  lying  before  him— when  he  is  obout  to 
sink  down  in  despair  and  die,  woman  comes 
OS  his  <leliverer,  and  by  her  tears  ond  prayers, 
opens  11  way  f'>r  his  es-cape  ! 

As  th«  I'ly  is  borne  down  beneath  the  wa- 
ters bv  tlic  rapid  current,  and  yet  rises  again 
to  adorr:  the  surface  of  the  stream— as   the 
rose  is  crushed  to  the  eorth.  and  yet  rises 
Btroin  with  an  clastic  spring,  to  gladden  with 
its  bea-:ty  the  .^e  of  him  who  had  humbled 
it— *J  woman,  like  the  lily,  is  submerged  be- 
neath the  waves  of  the  troubled  waters  ot 
life,  vet  her  buoyant  spirit  rises  again  obove 
them-so  woman,   like  the  rose,  is  crnshed 
beneath  the  iron  heel  of  the  tyrant  man  (made 
a  tyrant  by  the  intoxicatiiij'  draught),   yet 
•he  rises  again  to  resume  the  uuticM     f  her 
houstiiold.  as  if  nothing  had  happ,        -to 
feed  and  clothe  the  man  who  hud  robbed  both 
her  on.l  h-  -•  helpless  offspriii?  of  their  own 
food  and  .       .ent-daily  to  for;;ive  his  daily 
ci    168  and  10  kiss  the  hps  that  cursed  her, 
anil  press  the  hand  that  smote  her ! 

Though  she  rise  at  early  'awn,  and  tml  on 
till  her  midnight  lamp  goes  >  i,  only  for  want 
of  means  to  replenish  it,  slowly  to  cam  what 
he  so  quickly  spends,  for  that  which  n  vards 
jjer  i,^,,..  _not,  as  she  had  hoiied,  wii  a  the 
coml>  life,  but  with  its  worst  miseries. 

Thou  uh  a  broken  heart,  ond  weeiiing 

/eg,  at.  i  f<eble  hands,  she  cams  money  to 
-  V  bread,  which  he  expends  for  thot  which 
u    ws  if  v-n  viol- nee  upon  her  own  head,  ond 
1  thoue'        'erth'    afluence  of "  liquid  poison," 
I  he  du  ^es  :    r,  v  ^  in  the  forgiving  spint 

I  of  her  ^.     or      >   tt>    cross,   she  exclaims, 
"  He  knows  i-         vat  he  docs !  he  is  not  him- 
'  self'"     ^VTiile  sli     patiently  drinks  the  cup 
of  mh<       he  presents  to  her  ii-^  very  dregs, 
and  thou-h  he  robs  her  of  everything  dear  to 
life,  she  can  not  or  will  not  believe  him  her 
enemy!    If,   >y  dissipation,  h'      duce  her  to 
poverty  and  ubject  want— wlu.        r  children 
are  crying  for  bread,  she  forbears       partake 
of  the  scanty  repast,  though  sli    >  irve^her- 
•5elf,  till  she  has  appeased  the  h  ni  ,er  of  her 
famishing  family.  liowevr  heart    endin?hcr 
troubles,  she  patiently  bea     the  a.  wh       her 
noble  spirit  forbears  to  cali  ior  iissisu^ 

Sh.  not  only  binds  up  the  wounds  uer 
owu  hi'useholi!,  but  wanders  for  into  llie 
world  to  eeek  other  objects  ot   chanty. 


"ho  foregoes  her  own  comfort  to  promote  the 
-ifort  of  others,  and  perils  her  own  life  to 
ue  others— as  did  the  Mexican  woman, 
,t  dead  on  the  battle-field  in  Mexico,  as  she 
irricd  water  between  the  two  contending  ar- 
mies, with  which  she  moistened  the  parched 
lips  of  the  wounded  ond  dying,   not  only  of 
the   Mexicans,  but  of  the    Americans  also. 
Thus  did  the  mercy  of  woman  cope  witli  the 
cruelty  of  men.    by   striving   to  sooth   the 
wounds  of  both  portfes,  while  fresher  wounds 
were  yet  being  inflicted  by  both  !     Woman- 
like, with  the  imparrial  rympothv  of  true  bc- 
nevolence— (}o<l-like,  in  the  nolilc  and  divme 
spirit  of  her  Savior,  she  stayed  not  her  hnd 
in  her  work  of  mercy  till  she  hod  blesset      .t  h 
friends  and  enemicF,  and  oflcred  up  her  lite  in 
the  cause  of  sntlering  humanity  !        „     ,  . 

\Vhere  womon  is,  there  is  home.     Hard  is 
the  fflte  of  that  man  who  hath  not  the  sweet 
counsels  of  woman  to  eosc  his  varied  triols, 
ond   soften  the   asperities   of   life— nor  her 
cheering  smiles,  as  omental  sunshine,  to  chose 
away  the  clouds  of  despondency  thot  rest 
upon  his  soul.     And  how  hard  is  the  deoth 
of  that  mon  who  hath  not  woman  by  his  side 
in  the  chorocter  of  a  sister,  wife,  or  rnother, 
08  a  ^'isible  guardian  angel,  to  smootli  his  dy- 
ing pillow— to  wipe  the  deoth-domp  from  hia 
brow— to  clasp  his  pole  hand— to  bedew  with 
his  tears  his  burning  cheek— to  kiss  his  quiv- 
ering lips,   ond   to  whisper  on  otiectionate 
odieu  to  his  sinking  spirit  as  it  recedes  from 
the  worid,  into  the  dark  unfathomable  and 
unknown  abyss  of  death ! 


STEUBENVILLE,  OHIO. 

This  lively  place,  which  has  wholly  grrown 
up  with  the  present  century,  does  all  in  its 
power,  which  is  not  inconsiderable,  to  ac- 
quire the  size  and  bulkiness  of  other  and 
older  cities.  It  took  to  itself  the  west  bank 
of  the  Ohio,  together  with  eceneiy  of  the 
fairest  kind  upon  this  fairest  of  nvers.  It 
commenced  with  great  order  and  regularity 
to  build  itself  up  in  a  proper  and  convenient 
city-^ike  manner,  and  thence  has  continued 
steadily  and  rapidly  to  advance.  It  hos,  like 
all  o;hcr  Amenr.m  ws  however  smoll,  its 
churches,  ocodemies,  pri  irs-ofhces,  and 
monufactories,  each  and  fficient  for  the 

needs  ond  enterprise  o?  '> ;.  -    nng  population. 
In  1830  its  population  was  2,937 ;  in  1840, 

'  The  name  of  this  place  is  one  of  the  few 
names  of  foreign  origin  which  we  recognise 
with  feel.  :s  of  grateful  pleosure.  Itwosso 
named  in  \  mor  of  Boron  Steuben,  a  most  gal 


:jj 


WASHINaTON'iJ  ftHaiDENCB  IN  NKW  YOBK. 


09 


iiiiit  uii.l  ttlkifiit  olHi-or  (»f  til    r.'voliitumury 
iirmv. 

I'Vr.l.'rif  Williiiiii,  iir,  OH  111!  v,in  m'nrrully 
ciiII.mI.  Huniu  Sti-ulicii.  wiiH  a  ilisiliiKui^licil 
l'ru-*-*iuii,  of  hirtli  iiml  I'liiiiifiu'f  llniliiiiKlit 
ciitillf  liiin  to  till'  lii;ilii"»t  liouorH  in  liit  <>«  ii 
ciifiiitiy,  wliicli  lie  aliuiidoiM'l,  ii^  'li'l  Lulnv- 
<'lli',  loll;;lit  in  lfn'  riiiikt  oltn  iloin  in  Aim-r- 
i  a.  Ilr  hull  Ihmii  all  iiiil  to  ilif  ^ri'iit  l-'riil- 
,  ri-'.  whiTi'  he  <"oulil  iioi  but  Icnrii  tin  immt 
(Aiirt  miiitiirv  ilisciplin'-,  thu  most  iircnui- 
|ili~liiM|  tiiodirof  Imtti-ring  down  wiiUi*  of  ilenli 
unci  l>lood. 

Tlif  ^kill  and  ImrdilioiHl  tlms  ai-i|uircd  wcrn 
of  iMi'sliiiiiildf  vului;  to  tiir   Aini'rirua  iinnv. 
SiimiIh'm,  who  liiid  niodritly  olli'ri'd  liinisflf 
UM  ri'iidv  HI  laki!  uny  |iositii)ii  wIuti;  lie  could 
bi'st  sfi  VI!  the  ureiit  cuiiMe  of  liuinun  tVeedorn, 
was  (It  once  upiioinleil  ins|)iTtor-ji;enpral,  with 
the   rank  of   inajor-gcticral ;  and  i)it1iu|)«  ho 
did   riiori^   tliun  any    other    man,    duiinu   the 
wholr  of  the  eventful  jieriod  from  1777  to  the 
elose  of  llu!  war,    to  introduce  a  nyttem  ot 
uniform  military  tuelics  amoii;;  the  lirave  and 
di^voted,  but  most  raw  and  unilisr,i|^irnied  men 
com|irisiug  the  army  of  the  Revolution.   Steu- 
ben fought  at  the 'battle  of  Monmouth,  and 
comrnnmled  the  trenches  at  Yorktowii.     lie 
was  almost  adored  by  the  soldiery,  such  was 
his  goiKluess  of  heart  combined  with  his  cour- 
teous and  8oldler-like  manners.     At  the  close 
of  the  war,  a  veteran  wdio  hud  fou>;lit  under 
him,  went  the   distance  of  some  leagues  to 
aci|uainl  the  general  of  his  recent  state  of  im- 
ternity,  and  that  he  had  named  the  child  after 
his  old  commander.     "  And  what  do  you  cull 
the  boy?"  asked  Steuben.     "  Wliy,  Buron, 
to  bo  sure,  \i)UT  honor." 

Steuben  found  himself  poor,  as  did  all  other 
jiatriots,  ut  the  close  of  the  war.  Eventually, 
the  state  of  New  York  granted  him  an  exten- 
sive tract  of  land,  and  congress  voted  him  a 
nsward  of  some  thousands.  Ho  died  upon  a 
fann  in  the  vicinity  of  New  York,  and  was 
buried,  according  to  his  own  orders,  in  his 
military  cloak,  in  a  nameless  grave. 


WASHINGTON'S  RESIDENCE  IN  NEW 
YORK. 


From  the  Recollections  and  Privote  Me- 
moirs of  the  Life  and  Character  of  Wash- 
INOTON,  by  his  adopted  son,  G.  \V.  P.  Cus- 
TI3,  Esq.,  we  extract  the  following  account 
of  Washington's  residence  in  Nt  w  York  : — 

On  the  30th  of  April,  1789,  the  constitu- 
tional govcrnm^t  of  the  United  iitate  began, 
by  the  inauguration  in  the  city  of  Ni      York, 


of  (leorge  Wushingion   as  president  of  thu 
United  State*. 

In  theiheii  limited  extent  and  improvement 
of  the  eily,  iheri'  wiH  some  diHienlty  in  se- 
lectin^  a 'mansion  lor  the  residi  nee  of  llm 
chief  nmuistralc,  and  a  lionsehidd  suitable  to 
his  rank  and  station.  Osgood's  house,  ii  man- 
sion of  very  miMlerat.i  extent,  silnuled  in 
Clierry  strec't,  vas  at  length  tixed  u|ioii. 
There  the  president  lieeame  domieiled.  His 
(lomesiii;  family  consisted  of  Mrs.  Washing- 
ton, the  two  a'dopted  children,  Mr.  Leiir  us 
priucipul  seeretary.  Colonel  Humphreys,  with 
Slessrs.  Ijewis  and  Nelson,  secretaries,  and 
Major  Wm.  Jackson,  aid-de-cump. 

Persons  visiting  the  house  in  Cherry  street 
at  this  dnv  will  wonder  how  a  luiildiiiL'  »o 
smidl  conl'd  contain  the  many  and  mii;lity 
spirits  that  thronged  its  halls  in  olden  (lays. 
Congress,  enlniiet,  all  ])ublic  functionaries,  in 
the  commencement  of  the  government,  were 
sideeted  from  the  vefy  elite  of  the  niilion. 
Pure  patriotism,  commanding  talent,  eminent 
services,  wi^re  I  he  proud  and  inilisjiensable 
requisites  for  otHcial  station  in  ihe  lirst  days 
of  the  republic.  The  first  congress  wus  a 
most  enlightened  and  dignitied  body.  In  the 
senate  were  several  of  the  members  of  the 
congress  of  177(!  and  signers  of  the  Declara- 
tion of  Iridependcnci — Richard  Henry  Lee, 
who  moved  the  Declaration,  John  Aduras, 
who  seconded  it,  with  Sherman,  Morris,  Cor- 
roll,  Sec. 

The  levees  of  the  first  president  Vvcre  at- 
tended by  these  illustrious  patriots  and  states- 
men,  and   by   many  other  of  the    patriots, 
statesmen,  and  soldiers,  who  could  say  of  the 
Revolution,  "magna  pars fui ;"  while  tiiim- 
bers  of  foreigners  and  strangers  of  disthiction 
crowded  to  the  scat  of  the  general  government, 
all  anxious  to  witness  the  granil  experiment 
that  was  to  determine  how  much  rational  lib- 
erty mankind  is  cajjuble  of  enjoying,  without 
said  liberty  degenerating  into  licentiousness. 
Mrs.  Washhigton's  drawing-rooms,  on  Fri- 
day nights,  were  attended  by  liie  grace  and 
beanty  of  New  York.     On  one  of  these  oc- 
casions an  incident  occurred  which  might  have 
been  attended  by  serious  consequences.    Ow- 
ing to  the  lowness  of  the  ceiling  in  the  draw- 
ing-room,   he  ostrich  feathers  in  the  head- 
dress of  Miss  M'lver,  a  belle  of  New  York, 
took  fire  from  the  chandelier,  to  the  no  small 
alarm  of  the  company.     Major  Jackson,  oid- 
de-camp  to  the  president,  with  great  presence 
of  mind  and  equal  gallantry,  flew  to  the  res- 
cue, and  by  clappinjc;  the  burning  plumes  be- 
tween his  hands  extinguished  the  llaraes,  and 
the  drawing-room  wrent  on  as  usual. 

Washington  ])reserved  flic  habit,  as  well  in 
public  as  "in  private  life,  of  rising  at  four 
o'clock  and  retiring  to  bed  at  nine.     On  Sat- 


J 


70 


WASHINGTON'S  RESIDENCE  IN  NEW  YOEK. 


urdaj-s  he  rested  sotnewlmt  from  his  Inbors, 
by  cither  riding  into  the  country,  attended  by 
a  groom,  or  ipiJihis  family  in  his  coach  drawn 
by  sis  hortics. 

Fond  of  Iiorses,  the  stables  of  the  president 
were  always  in  the  finest  order,  and  his 
e(|uipage  excellent  both  in  taste  and  (juulity. 
Indeed,  so  long  ago  as  the  days  of  the  vice- 
regal jourt  of  Lord  Botetourt,  at  Williams- 
burg, in  Virginia,  wc  find  that  there  existed 
a  rivalry  between  the  equipages  of  Colonel 
Boyd,  tt  magistrate  of  the  old  regime,  and 
Colonel  Washington — the  grays  against  the 
bays.  Bishop,  the  celebrated  body-servant 
of  Braddouk,  was  the  master  of  Washington's 
stables.  And  there  were  what  was  termed 
muslin  horses  in  those  old  days.  At  cock- 
crow the  stable-boys  were  at  work ;  at  sun- 
rise Bishop  stalked  into  the  stables,  a  muslin 
handkerchief  in  his  hand  which  he  apjilied  to 
the  coats  of  the  animals,  and  if  the  slightest 
stain  was  perceptible  uj)on  the  muslin,  up 
went  the  luckless  wights  of  the  stable-boys, 
and  punishment  was  administered  instanter; 
for  to  the  veteran  Bishop,  bred  amid  the  iron 
discipline  of  European  armies,  mercy  for  any- 
thing like  a  breach  of  duty  was  altogether 
out  of  the  question. 

The  president's  stables  in  Philadelphia 
were  under  the  directior  of  German  John, 
and  the  grooming  of  the  white  chargers  will 
rather  surprise  the  modems.  The  night  be- 
fore the  horses  were  expected  to  be  rode,  tliev 
were  covered  entirely  over  with  a  paste  of" 
which  whiting  was  a  component  part ;  then 
the  animals  were  swathsd  in  body-cloths,  and 
left  to  sleep  on  clean  straw.  In  the  morning 
the  composition  had  become  hard,  it  was  well 
rubbed  m,  and  carried  and  brushed,  which 
process  gave  to  the  coats  a  beautiful,  glossy, 
and  satin-like  appearance.  The  hoofs  were 
then  blacked  and  polished,  the  mouths  washed, 
teeth  i)ricked  and  cleaned ;  and  the  leopard- 
skin  housings  being  properly  adjusted,  the 
white  chargers  were  led  out  for  service.  Such 
was  the  grooming  of  ancient  times. 

There  was  but  one  theatre  in  New  York 
in  1798  (in  John  street),  and  so  small  were  its 
dimensions  that  the  whole  fabric  might  easily 
be  placed  on  the  stage  of  one  of  our  modern 
theatres.  Yet  humble  as  was  the  edifice,  it 
possessed  an  excellent  company  of  actors  and 
actiesses,  including  old  Morris,  who  was  the 
associate  of  Garrick,  in  the  very  outset  of  that 
great  actor's  career  at  Goodmanfields.  The 
stage-boxes  were  api)i-opriated  to  the  presi- 
dent and  vice-president,  and  were  each  of 
them  decorated  with  emblems,  trophies,  &c. 
On  the  play-bills  were  the  words,  "  Vivat  Re- 
puUfica.''  Washington  often  visited  this  the- 
atre, being  much  gratified  by  Wignell's  per- 
formance of  Daibtf  ill  the  Poor  Soldier. 


It  was  in  the  theatre  'n  John  street  that  the 
now  national  air  of  "  Hail  Columbia,"  then 
called  the  "  President's  March,"  was  first 
jilayed.  It  was  composed  by  a  German  mu- 
sician, named  Fyles,  the  lca(W  of  the  orches- 
tra, in  compliment  to  the  president.  The  na- 
tional air  will  ]u«t  as  long  as  the  nation  lasts, 
•while  the  meritorious  composer  has  been  long 
since  forgotten. 

It  was  while  residing  in  Cherry  street  that 
the  president  was  attacked  with  a  severe  ill- 
ness, that  requirerl  a  surgical  operation.  He 
was  attended  iiy  the  elder  and  the  younger 
Drs.  Bard.  Tlie  elder  being  somewhat  doubt- 
ful of  his  nerves,  gave  the  knife  to  his  son, 
telling  him  to  cut  away — "  deeper,  deeper 
still ;  don't  be  afraid ;  you  see  how  well  he 
bears  it."  Great  anxiety  was  felt  in  New 
York  at  this  time,  as  the  jiresident's  case  was 
considered  extremely  dangerous.  Hajipily, 
the  operation  provetl  successful,  nnd  the  pa- 
tient's recovery  removed  all  cause  of  alarm. 
During  the  illness  a  chain  was  stretched 
across  the  street,  and  the  sidewalks  laid  with 
straw.  Soon  after  his  recovci-y,  the  president 
set  out  on  a  tour  through  the  New  England 
states. 

The  president's  mansion  was  so  limited  in 
accommodation  that  three  of  the  secretaries 
were  compelled  to  occupy  one  room — Hum- 
phreys, Lewis,  and  Nelson.  Hum])hreys, 
au'-(fc-camp  to  the  commander-in-chief  at 
Yorktown,  -vt^as  a  most  estimable  man,  and  at 
the  same  time  a  jioet.  About  this  period  ho 
was  composing  his  "  Widow  of  Malabar.'' 
Lewis  and  Nelson,  both  young  men,  were 
content,  after  the  labors  of  the  day,  to  enjoy 
a  good  night's  repose.  But  this  was  often 
denied  them;  for  Humphreys  when  in  the 
vein,  would  rise  from  his  bed  at  any  hour, 
ond  with  stentorian  voices,  recite  his  verses. 
The  young  men,  roused  from  their  slumbers, 
anil  rubbing  their  eyes,  beheld  a  great  burly 
figure  "  en  chemise,"  striding  across  the  floor, 
reciting  with  emphasis  jiartiailar  passages  of 
his  poem,  and  calling  on  his  room-mafes  for 
their  approbation.  Having  in  this  way  for  a 
considerable  time  "  murdered  the  sleep"  of 
his  associates,  Hi  iphreys,  at  length  wearied 
by  his  exertions,  would  sink  upon  his  pillow 
in  a  kind  of  dreamjr  languor.  So  sadly  were 
the  young  secretanes  annoyed  by  the  frequent 
outbursts  of  the  poet's  imagination,  that  it 
was  remarked  of  them  by  their  friends,  that 
from  1789  to  the  end  of  tlieir  lives,  neither 
Robert  Lewis  nor  Thomas  Nelson  were  ever 
known  to  evince  the  slightest  taste  for  poetry. 
The  mansion  in  CIiciTy  street  proving  so 
very  incon^snient,  induced  the  French  am- 
bassador to  give  up  his  establishment — M'- 
Comb's  new  bouse  m  Br.iaiway — for  the  tc- 
comraodation  of  the  piesident.'  Ic  wnj  from 


^U^ 


K. 


?■  :n  John  street  that  the 
'  Hail  Columbia,"  then 
nt's  March,"  was  fiist 
wsei]  bv  a  Geiiunn  mu- 
thc  leailer  of  the  orches- 
the  |)resi(lent.  Tiie  na- 
long  as  the  nation  lasts, 
composer  has  been  long 

1,5;  in  Cherry  street  that 
uked  with  a  severe  ill- 
iirn;icnl  ojieration.  He 
elder  and  the  yonnger 
•  being  somewhat  doubt- 
•e  the  knife  to  his  son, 
way — "  deeper,  deejier 
;  you  see  how  well  he 
dety  was  felt  in  New 
the  i>resident's  case  was 
dangerous.  Hajipily, 
successful,  and  the  pa- 
.•ed  all  cause  of  alarm, 
chain  was  stretched 
the  sidewalks  laid  with 
recovei-y,  the  president 
:iugh  the  New  England 

nsion  was  so  limited  in 
hree  of  the  secretaries 
:upy  one  room — Hum- 
Nelson.  Humphreys, 
commander-in-chief  at 
;  estimable  man,  and  at 
About  this  period  ho 
Widow  of  Malabar.'' 
loth  young  men,  were 
rs  of  the  day,  to  enjoy 
.  But  this  was  often 
mphreys  when  in  the 
his  bed  at  any  hour, 
lices,  recite  his  verses, 
•d  from  their  slumbers, 
3,  beheld  a  great  burly 
;riding  across  the  floor, 
1  particular  passages  of 
on  his  room-mafes  for 
aving  in  this  way  for  a 
urdered  the  sleep"  of 
reys,  at  length  wearied 
J  sink  upon  his  pillow 
[ignor.  So  sadly  were 
nnoyed  by  the  frequent 
3  imagination,  that  it 
1  by  their  friends,  that 
of  tlieir  lives,  neither 
m'lS  Nelson  were  ever 
glitest  taste  for  poetry. 
leiTy  street  proving  so 
iuced  the  French  am- 
is establishment — M'- 
Br.iaiway — for  the  tc- 
iesident.^   It  vvaj  from 


tf^* 


this  house  that  Washington  in  1790  took  his 
final  departure  from  New  York.  It  was  al- 
ways his  habit  to  endeavor,  as  much  as  possi- 
ble, to  avoid  the  manifestations  of  affection 
and  gratitude  that  met  him  everywhere.  He 
strove  in  vain ;  he  was  closely  watched  and 
the  people  would  have  their  way.  He  wished 
to  have  slijjped  off'  unobserved  from  New 
York,  and  thus  steal  a  march  upon  his  old 
companions  in  arms.  But  there  were  too 
many  of  the  deoi  glorious  old  veterans  of  the 
Revolution  at  that  time  of  day  in  and  near 
New  York  to  render  such  au  escape  even 
possible. 

The  baggage  had  all  been  packed  up  ;  the 
horses,  carriages,  and  ser\ants  ordered  to  be 
over  the  ferry  in  Paulus  Hook  by  daybreak, 
and  nothing  was  wanting  for  dejjarture  but 
the  dawn.  The  lights  were  yet  burning, 
when  the  president  came  into  the  room  where 
his  family  were  assembled,  evidently  much 
pleased  in  the  belief  that  all  was  right,  when, 
immediately  under  the  windows,  the  band  of 
tlie  artillery  struck  up  Washington's  March. 
"  There,"  he  exclaimed,  "  its  all  over ;  we  are 
found  out.  Well,  well,  they  must  have  their 
own  way."  New  York  soon  after  appeared 
as  if  taken  by  stonn ;  troops  and  persons  of 
all  descriptions,  hurrying  down  Broadway 
toward  the  place  of  embarkation,  all  anxious 
to  take  a  last  look  on  him  whom  so  many 
could  never  expect  to  see  again. 

The  embarkation  was  delayed  until  all  com- 
plimentary arrangements  were  completed. 
The  president,  after  taking  leave  of  many 
dear  and  cherished  friends,  and  many  an  f)ld 
companion  in  nnns,  stepped  into  the  barge 
that  was  to  convey  him  from  New  Y'ork  for 
ever.  The  coxswain  gave  the  word,  "  Let 
fall  ;'|  the  sjiray  from  I'uo  oars  sparkled  in  the 
morning  sunbeam ;  the  bowsman  shoved  off" 
from  the  pier,  and  the  barge  swun;'  round  to 
the  tide;  Washington  rose,  "ncoveiod  in  the 
stern,  to  bid  adieu  to  the  masses  assembled  on 
the  shore  :  he  waved  his  hat,  and  in  a  voice 
tremulous  from  emotion,  pronounced  farewell. 
It  may  be  supposed  that  Major  Beuman,  who 
commanded  the  artillery  on  the  interesting  oc- 
casion, who  was  first  captain  of  Lamb's  regi- 
ment, and  a  favorite  officer  of  the  war  of  the 
Revolution,  would,  when  about  to  poy  his 
last  resi)ccts  to  his  beloved  commander,  load 
his  i)ieces  with  something  more  than  mere 
blank  cartridges.  But  all !  the  thunders  of 
tlie  caimon  were  completely  hushed  when  Che 
mighty  shout  of  the  peoi)le  arose  that  respond- 
ed to  the  farewell  of  Washington.  Pure 
from  the  heart  it  came  ;  right  up  to  heaven  it 
went,  to  call  down  blessings  upon  the  Father 
of  his  country. 

The  barge  had  scarcely  gained  the  middle 
of  the  Hudson  when  the  trumpets  were  heart! 


at  Paulus  Hook,  where  the  govemjr  and  tho 
chivalry  of  New  Jersey  were  in  waiting,  to 
welcome  the  chief  to  those  well- remembered 
shores.  Escorts  of  cavalry  relieved  each 
other  throughout  the  whole  route,  up  to  the 
Pennsylvania  line;  every  village  and  every 
hamlet  turned  out  its  population  to  greet  with 
cordial  welcome  the  man  ujjon  whom  all  eyes 
were  fixed,  and  in  whom  all  hearts  rejoiced. 

What  must  have  been  the  recollections  that 
crowded  on  the  mind  of  Washington  during 
that  triumphant  progress?  Newark,  New 
Brunswick,  Princeton,  Trenton !  What  a  con- 
trast between  the  glorious  burst  of  sunshine 
that  now  illuminated  and  made  glad  every- 
thing around  these  memorable  spots,  with  the 
gloomy  and  desolate  remembrance  of  1776 ! 
Then  his  country's  champion,  with  the  wreck 
of  a  shattered  host,  he  was  flying  before  a 
victorious  and  well-appointed  foe,  while  all 
around  him  was  shrouded  in  the  darkness  of 
desjiair ;  now  in  his  glorious  progress  over 
the  self-same  route,  his  firm  footste])  presses 
upon  the  soil  of  an  infant  empire,  reposing  in 
the  joys  of  peace,  independence,  and  happi- 
nes.s.  Among  the  many  who  swelled  his  tri- 
umph, the  most  endeared  to  the  heart  of  the 
chief  were  the  old  associates  of  his  toils,  his 
fortunes,  and  his  fame.  Many  of  the  revolu- 
tionary veterans  were  living  "in  1790,  and  by 
their  presence  gave  a  dignified  tone  and  char- 
acter to  all  public  assemblages :  and  when 
you  saw  a  peculiarly  fine-looking  soldier  in 
those  old  days,  and  would  ask,  "To  what 
corps  of  the  American  anny  did  you  belong  ?" 
drawing  himself  up  to  his  "full  height,  with  a 
martial  air,  and  back  of  the  hand  thrown  up 
to  his  forehead,  the  veteran  would  reply: 
"  Life-Guard,  your  honor." 

And  proud  and  hai)py  were  these  veterans 
in  again  beholding  their  own  gcMxl  Lady 
Washington.  Greatly  was  she  beloved  in  the 
amy.  Her  many  intercessions  with  the 
chiefs,  for  the  (lardon  of  ortenders;  her  kind- 
ness to  the  sick  and  wounded  ;  all  of  which 
caused  her  usual  arrival  in  camp  to  be  hailed 
as  an  evei:t  that  would  serve  to  dissipate  the 
gloom  of  the  winter-tjuarters. 

Arrived  at  the  line,  tlie  New  Jersey  escort 
was  relieved  by  the  cavalry  of  Pennsylvania, 
and  when  near  to  Philadelphia  the  president 
was  met  by  Governor  MilHin  and  a  brilliant 
cortege  of  officprs,  and  escorted  by  a  sipiad- 
ron  of  horse  to  the  city.  C  .isjiicuous  among 
the  governor's  suite,  as  well  for  his  niartia! 
bearing  as  for  the  manly  beauty  of  his  jier- 
son,  was  General  Walter  Stewart,  a  son  of 
Erin,  and  a  gallant  and  distinguished  otlicer 
of  the  Peiinsylvania  line.  To  Stewart  as  to 
Cadwallader,  Washington  was  most  warmly 
attached  ;  indeed,  those  officers  wee  among 
the  very    choicest  of  the  contributions  of 


i'  ''' 
I 


i 


^'mb 


h 


Pennsylvania  to  the  anny  anil  cause  of  inde- 
jjcmlence.  MilHin,  small  in  stature,  was  ac- 
tive, alert,  "every  inell  a  soldier."  He  was 
a  ])atriot  of  frreat  influence  in  Pennsylvania  in 
the  "times  tliat  tried  men's  souls,"  and  nobly 
did  he  exert  that  inlluiMice  in  raisini;  troops, 
with  which  to  reinforce  the  wreck  of  the 
griuid  anny  at  the  close  of  the  campaign  of 
177R. 

Arrived  within  the  city,  the  crow<l  became  I 
immense  ;  the  jiresident  left  his  carriujie  and  I 
mounted  the  white  charjjer ;    and,  with  the  j 
governor  on  his  rii^lit,  proceeded  to  the  city- 
tavern  in  Third  street,  where  quarters  were  I 
j)repared  for  him,   the    light-infantry,   after ; 
some  time,  having  openeil  a  passage  for  the  j 
carriages.     At  the  city-taveni  the  president  j 
was  received  by  the  authorities  of  Philadel-  j 
l)hia,  who  welcomed  the  chief-magistrate  to  : 
their  city  as  to  his  home  for  the  remainder  of  j 
his  presidential  term.     A  group  of  old^andj 
long-tried  friends  were  also  in  waiting.  Fore- 
most among  these,  and  first  to  grasp  the  haxd 
of  Washington,   was  one  who  was  ahvivs 
nearest  to  his  heart,  a  patriot  and  a  public 
benefactor,  R<jbert  Morris. 

After  remaining  a  short  time  in  Philadel- 
phia, the  president  speeded  on  his  journey  to 
that  home  where  he  ever  found  rest  from  his 
mighty  labors,  and  enjoyed  the  sweets  of  ru- 
ral and  domestic  happiness  amid  his  farms  and 
at  the  fireside  of  Mount  Venion. 

Onward,  still  onwani,  whirls  the  tide  of 
time.  The  few  who  yet  survive  that  remem- 
ber the  Father  of  his  Country  are  fast  fading 
away.  A  little  while  and  their  gray  heads 
will  all  have  dropped  into  the  grave. 


VIEW  OF  NIAGARA  FALLS, 

FROM   CLIFTON   HOUSE. 

The  most  comprehensive  view  of  Niagara 
is,  no  doubt,  that  from  the  galleries  of  the 
Clifton  House,  on  the  Canada  side  of  the 
falls ;  but  it  is,  at  the  same  time,  for  a  first 
view,  one  of  the  most  unfavorable.  This 
house  stands  nearly  opposite  the  « cntre  of  the 
irregular  crescent  formed  by  the  falls ;  but  it 
is  so  far  back  from  the  line  of  the  arc,  that 
the  height  and  grandeur  of  the  two  cataracts, 
to  an  eye  unacfpiainted  with  the  scene  are 
deceptively  diminished.  After  once  making 
the  tour  of  the  (K)ints  of  view,  however,  the 
distance  and  elevation  of  the  hotel  are  allowed 
for  by  the  eye,  and  the  situation  seems  most 
advantageous.  In  crossing  the  river,  b(;low 
the  falls,  however,  the  height,  extent,  and 
volums  of  the  grand  panorama  can  be  more 
distinctly  realized. 


LECTURES  ON  ASTRONOMY.-No.  1. 

BT    PROFESSOB    O.    M.    MITCHELl,. 

[We  propose  to  giv«  in  pjme  of  the  suc- 
ceeding (larts  of  our  work,  the  most  interest- 
ing and  valuable  portions  of  the  lectures  on  As- 
tronomy, delivered  in  New  5fovk,  by  Prof. 
MiTCHELi.,  and  ably  rciiorted  for  the  New 
York  Tribune.  These  lectures  embrace  an 
exjxwition  of  the  great  problem  of  the  uni- 
verse, the  mechanism  of  the  solar  system, 
and  the  constitution  of  the  starry  heavens, 
with  an  account  of  the  great  modem  discov- 
eries, and  the  infhience  of  theories.  Prof. 
Mitchell  has  been  engaged  several  years 
in  establishing  an  observatory  at  Cincinnati, 
for  the  cultivation  and  dilTusion  of  astronomi- 
cal science,  and  has  erected  one  which  will  vie 
in  excellence  with  the  best  in  the  Old  World.] 

When  we  look  upon  the  heavens — when  we 
watch  the  movements  of  those  silent  orbs — 
when  we  wing  our  flight  upward,  and  take  in 
the  immense  range  by  which  we  are  sur- 
roimded,  even  extending  beyond  the  narrow 
limits  of  human  vision — can  we  contemplate 
the  scene  without  being  filled  with  wonder 
and  astonishment  ?  This  same  scene  opened 
upon  the  first  eye  that  was  permitted  to  see 
the  light :  and  from  that  hour,  down  through 
long-succeeding  ages,  this  wondrous  scene 
above  us  has  ever  fastened  the  attention  and 
directed  the  gaze  of  the  best  and  most  won- 
derful minds  that  have  adorned  this  earth. 
The  science  to  which  I  would  direct  your  at- 
tention is  one  which  has  fumishetl  the  theme 
for  the  investigation  of  the  most  exalted  in- 
tellects in  every  age ;  and  from  the  earliest 
obser.'ation  down  to  tl.e  present  moment,  we 
find  tbe  human  mind  occupied  in  its  ellbrts  to 
solve  these  mysteries — grasping  the  most  dif- 
ficult problems,  and  sternly  pushing  its  inves- 
tigations onward  and  onward,  until  darkness 
disappears  and  light — even  a  flood  of  light — 
breaks  in  from  the  heavens  upon  the  victorious 
soul.  And  thus  it  must  ever  be.  God  has 
given  these  works  for  our  examination,  and 
has  given  to  us  intellect  by  which  we  are  ena- 
bled to  comprehend  their  structure ;  and  it  is 
by  this  that  we  are  enabled  to  rise — to  climb 
— to  ascend — to  soar,  by  our  own  effl)rts  and 
by  His  aid,  till  we  stand  nj)()n  u  lofty  simimit, 
whence  we  look  out  u]ion  the  wonders  1)V 
which  we  are  surrounded,  and  behold  the  evi- 
dences of  His  wisdom,  jwwer,  and  glory,  who 
has  created  all  things  in  beauty  and  perfection. 

Allow  me  now  to  direct  your  attention  to 
the  scale  upon  which  the  universe  is  built, 
and  to  the  grand  problem  involved  in  solving 
the  mysteries  by  which  it  is  surrounded. 

First,  let  ma  in(|uire  if  there  be  laws  gov- 
erning the  movements  of  all  these  bodies,  and 


TaONOMY. 


RONOMY— NO.  1. 

M.   MITCIlEIiL. 

in  p  jne  of  the  suc- 
k,  the  most  iiitcre.<t- 
nf  the  lectures  ftii  As- 
Jew  ifovk,  by  Prof, 
iiorted  lor  the  New 
lectures  embrnce  an 
problem  of  the  iini- 
(f  the  solar  system, 
the  starry  heavens, 
Treat  modem  discov- 

of  theories.  Prof, 
gaged  several  years 
vatory  at  Cinciimati, 
ffusion  of  astronomi- 
ed  one  which  will  vie 
St  in  the  Old  World.] 
e  heavens — when  we 
f  those  silent  orlis — 
upward,  and  take  in 
which  we   are  siir- 

beyond  the  narrow 
-can  we  contemplate 
;  filled  with  wonder 
s  same  scene  ojiened 
was  permitted  to  see 

hour,  down  through 
his  wondrous  scene 
led  the  attention  and 

I  best  and  most  won- 
adomed  this  earth. 

would  direct  your  at- 
fumishetl  the  theme 
the  most  exalted  in- 
nd  from  the  earliest 
present  moment,  we 
upied  in  its  ettbrts  to 
[rasping  the  most  dif- 
ily  pushing  its  inves- 
iward,  until  darknesi 
en  a  flood  of  light — 
IS  upon  the  victorious 
;  ever  be.  God  has 
>ur  examination,  and 
by  which  we  are  ena- 
r  stru(;ture ;  and  it  is 
3led  to  rise — to  climb 
'  our  own  etlbrts  and 
upon  a  lofty  simimit, 
pon  the  wonders  by 
I,  and  behold  the  ovi- 
ower,  and  glory,  who 
•eauty  and  pcrteetion. 
Oct  your  attention  to 
he  universe  is  b\iilt, 

II  involved  in  solving 
it  is  surrounded. 

if  there  be  laws  gov- 
r  all  these  bodies,  and 


jB^^'iPj. 


'*'mij ' 


74 


ASTRONOMY. 


\ 


if  it  is  possible  to  ascertain  the  nature  of  these 
laws  ?  Are  they  to  be  comprehended  by  the 
human  mind  ?  or  are  they  beyond  the  reach 
of  the  intellect  which  has  been  given  us  ?  I 
answer,  they  are  not :  they  are  within  our 
reach,  and  we  are  permitted  to  understand 
them ;  and  in  understanding  them  we  are  per- 
mitted to  extend  onward  and  onward  in  our 
caieerof  examination  and  discovery. 

The  first  law  to  which  I  direct  your  atten- 
tion is  the  law  of  motion.  If  a  body  be  lo- 
cated in  space,  and  receive  a  sinjjle  impulse, 
it  will  move  on  for  ever  in  a  right  line,  and 
always  maintain  its  onward  career,  never 
turning  to  the  right  nor  left,  and  never  relax- 
ing its  speed.  Now,  is  this  a  necessary  law 
of  matter  7  I  answer,  it  is.  There  is  no 
necessity  why  this  law,  in  preference  to  any 
other,  shoulil  have  been  adopted.  It  is  the 
wisdom  of  God  which  has  assigned  this  law 
to  motion.  But  why  should  not  this  motion 
be  retarded  and  relax,  and  decline,  and  gradu- 
ally die  away  ?  Such  laws  govern  other  mo- 
tions, and  why  not  in  this  case  ? — Again,  we 
have  the  law  of  gravity ;  and  what  is  this  ? 
It  is  a  law  which  tells  us  that  every  particle 
of  matter  in  the  universe  attracts  every  other 
particle  with  a  force  which  varies  in  propor- 
tion to  the  mass,  and  decreasing  in  a  certain 
ratio  with  the  distance.  Tliis  is  o  second 
law. — Another  law  is  this  :  Every  revolving 
body,  in  sweeping  about  from  its  centre,  has  a 
tendency  to  fly  from  that  centre  with  a  cer- 
tain force  called  centrifugal  force.  Now, 
combining  these  three  toi^'ther,  we  have  all 
the  laws  which  govern  the  movements  and 
guide  the  motions  of  the  heavenly  bodies. 
These  are  simple  and  easily  understood. 

Then,  with  these  laws  at  our  command,  let 
us  examine  the  structure  of  our  own  system — 
for  this  shall  be  our  type  and  model — and, 
passing  on,  let  us  essay  to  reach,  if  pos.5ible, 
the  limits  of  the  imiverse.  Now,  then,  to 
view  our  system,  let  us  move  to  the  sun  and 
locate  ourselves  on  that  immense  orb  Wliat 
do  we  find  ?  A  vast  globe,  880,000  .  .iles  in 
diameter.  He.'e  we  tix  our  point  of  observa- 
tion. At  the  distance  of  95,000,000  miles,  far 
as  the  eye  can  reach,  there  is  a  ball  reflecting 
back  the  light  thrown  upon  it  froTn  its  great 
centre.  That  ball  receives  an  \n<">  '  se  under 
the  action  of  that  force  by  w.  '•  .  .'t  would 
move  fr)r  ever  in  a  right  line,  bi.t  tiie  attractive 
power  of  the  sun  seizes  it,  and  lo  I  a  planet, 
bathed  in  the  light  of  its  controlling  luminary, 
is  sweeping  in  its  orbit,  onward  and  onward 
in  its  swift  career,  until  it  comes  back  to  the 
point  whence  it  started.  Has  its  velocity 
been  diminished  ?  has  it  lost  any  of  its  mo- 
tion 1  No.  "With  the  same  velocity  with 
which  it  set  out  it  reaches  its  starting-point, 
end  onward  moves  again. 


Now,  suppose  we  were,  if  it  were  possible, 
to  fix  golden  rings  in  the  path  of  this  moving 
body,  of  such  diameter  that  it  might  pass 
through  with  not  a  solitary  hair's-brcadtn  to 
spare.  Such  is  the  beauty  and  perfection  of 
its  motion  that  from  century  to  century,  and 
from  age  to  age,  this  solitary  planet  would 
swing  in  its  orbit  around  the  sun,  passing  uni- 
formly and  invariably  through  these  golden 
rings  with  no  shadow  of  variation  from  its 
first  motion.  But  stay :  while  this  planet  is 
revolving  in  the  distance,  we  find  another 
small  globe,  with  dim  and  diminishetl  light, 
commencing  its  movement,  subordinate  and 
controlled  by  the  movement  of  its  central 
body — the  planet.  There  is  a  satellite — the 
moon — added  to  the  first  body,  the  two  sweep- 
int;  onward,  but  alas!  the  accuracy  of  the 
original  motion  of  the  planet  is  destroyed  for 
ever.  It  no  longer  sweeps  through  these 
golden  rings.  As  the  moon  passes  in  between 
it  and  the  sun,  it  adds  its  force  of  attraction 
to  that  of  the  sun,  and  the  earth  is  drawn  in- 
ward, no  longer  j)asbing  through  the  points  it 
once  so  unerringly  visited.  As  the  moon 
swings  round  on  the  opposite  side,  it  draws 
the  earth  farther  from  its  orI)it ;  and  thus  we 
find  oscillations  backward  and  forwarl  —per- 
turbations and  disturbances — which  it  would 
seem  no  human  intellect  can  grasp  or  u?iravel. 

But  this  has  been  done.  Go  back  3,000 
years — stand  upon  that  mighty  watch-tower, 
the  temple  of  Belus  in  old  Babylon — and  look 
out.  The  sun  is  sinking  in  eclipse,  and  great 
is  the  dismay  of  the  terror-stric'ien  inhabit- 
ants. We  have  the  fact  and  circumstances 
recorded.  But  how  shall  we  prove  that  the 
record  is  correct  ?  The  astronomer  unravels 
the  devious  movements  of  the  sun,  the  earth, 
and  the  mot)n,  through  the  whole  pcniod  of 
3,000  years — with  the  powjr  of  intellect  he 
goes  backward  through  the  cycles  of  thirty 
king  centuries — and  announces  that  at  such  an 
hi  ur  on  such  a  day — as  the  Chaldean  has 
written — that  eclipse  did  take  place. 

Such  is  the  character  of  the  knowledge  we 
have  attained  with  reference  to  the  movements 
of  these  bodies.  But  we  must  go  still  farther. 
I  announced  to  you  that  the  law  of  gravita- 
tion declaies  that  every  particle  of  matter  in 
the  universe  attracts  every  other  particle. 
Now  then,  add  to  the  system  we  have  im- 
agined, two  interior  primary  ])lanets.  Mercury 
and  Venus — the  planet  Mars  on  the  outside — 
and  the  seven  asteroids  now  revolving  be- 
tween the  planets  Marj  and  Jupiter :  add  to 
these  Jupiter  with  his  four  moons.  Saturn 
with  his  n  'ghty  orb  of  79,000  miles  diameter 
— add  his  moons  and  rings  also  :  go  still  far- 
ther till  you  reach  Uranus — add  his  moons  : 
step  out  still  farther  to  the  utjnost  boundaries 
now  known  of  our  ftolar  system,  and  bring  in 


■e,  if  it  were  possible, 
I  path  of  this  moving 

that  it  might  pass 
ary  hoir's-brcndtn  to 
ity  and  perfection  of 
itury  to  century,  and 
olitary  planet  would 

the  sun,  passing  uni- 
hrough  these  golden 
jf  variation  from  its 
:  while  this  planet  is 
ce.  we  find  another 
and  diminished  liglit, 
snt,  subordinate  and 
;ment  of  its  central 
;re  is  a  satellite — the 
body,  the  two  swecp- 
the  accuracy  of  the 
lanet  is  destroyed  for 
veeps  through  these 
wn  passes  in  between 
ts  force  of  attraction 
he  earth  is  drawn  in- 
through  the  points  it 
ited.  As  the  moon 
posite  side,  it  draws 
8  orbit ;  and  thus  we 
•d  and  forivarl — per- 
ices — which  it  would 

can  grasp  or  uriravel. 
me.  Go  back  3,000 
mighty  watch-tower, 
Id  Babylon — and  look 
;  in  eclipse,  and  great 
rror-stric\en  inhabit- 
ct  and  circumstances 
ill  we  prove  that  the 
I  astronomer  unravels 
of  the  sun,  the  earth, 
the  whole  period  of 
powjr  of  intellect  he 

the  cycles  of  thirty 
Dunces  that  at  such  an 
IS  the  Chaldean  has 
i  take  jilace. 

of  the  knowledge  we 
ence  to  the  movements 
e  must  go  still  farther. 
Lt  the  law  of  gravita- 

particle  of  matter  in 
every  other  particle. 

system  we  have  im- 
lary  ])lanets.  Mercury 
Mars  on  the  outside — 

i  now  revolving  be- 
i  and  Jupiter :  add  to 

four  moons.  Saturn 
79,000  miles  diameter 
ings  also  :  go  still  far- 
inus — add  his  moons  : 
the  utmost  boundaries 
r  system,  and  bring  in 


ASTRONOMY. 


75 


that  wonderful,  mysierious  body  known  as 
the  planet  Neptune,  whose  history  is  as  yet 
more  wonderl'ul  and  strange  than  any  other 
belonging  to  our  system :  adil  all  these  together 
— let  each  one  of  these  bodies  act  upon  every 
other,  and  then,  is  it  possiljle  for  the  human 
mind  to  grasp  the  laws  which  hold  all  these 
bodies  in  their  orbits  ?  Can  it  roll  back  the 
tide  of  Time,  and  tell  you  that  a  thousand 
years  ago,  such  and  such  were  the  configura- 
tions of  all  these  planets  and  satellites  ?  and 
not  only  thut,  but  draw  aside  the  veil  from 
the  future  and  show  a  tliousand  years  hence, 
that  such  and  such  shall  be  tlirir  configura- 
tions ?  With  all  their  disturbing  influences, 
can  such  truth  be  eliminated,  and  the  whole 
rendered  clear,  perfect,  harmonious,  and 
beautiful  ?  Yes :  even  this  has  been  accom- 
plished. 

But  we  have  not  exhausted  the  problem  of 
our  system  oven  yet.  I  have  only  taken  into 
account  the  planets  and  satellites  belonging  ro 
our  own  system.  There  are  other  mystericms 
bodies,  wliich  seem  not  to  obey  the  laws  that 
govern  these  muveiuenls.  While  the  planets 
are  circular  hi  their  orbits  and  the  satellites 
nearly  the  same,  we  find  dim,  mysterious 
bodies,  wandering  through  the  uttermost  re- 
gions of  space — we  see  them  C(;ming  closer 
and  closer,  and  as  they  approach  our  system, 
they  fling  out  their  mighty  banners,  wing 
their  lightning  flight  around  the  sun  and  speed 
away  to  the  remotest  limits  of  vacuity. 
These  eccentric  bodies — these  comets — belong 
to  our  solar  system,  and  fonn  a  part  and  jiar- 
cel  of  the  whole  :  each  and  every  one  of  these 
must  be  taken  into  account  in  resolving  the 
mighty  problem  of  the  universe.  And  they 
are  not  to  be  counted  by  tens,  nor  hundreds, 
nor  thousands  :  their  number  is  not  less  than 
millions.  Neither  do  they  revolve  in  the 
same  plane  on  which  the  planets  roll,  nor  in 
the  same  direction.  While  all  the  planets 
sweep  around  the  great  centre  regularly  and 
harmoniously,  we  find  the  comets  pouring  in 
from  every  possible  point,  forming  everj'  pos- 
sible angle,  and  passing  out  in  every  possible 
direction.  And  yet  the  perturbations  occa- 
sioned by  these  wandering  bodies  in  their  long 
journeys  of  thousands  of  years  have  to  be 
made  out. 

At  this  very  time,  the  whole  astronomical 
world  is  intensely  interested  in  watching  the 
return  of  one  of  these  wonderful  bodies. 
Two  hundred  and  ninety  years  ago,  it  visited 
our  system  for  a  short  space.  The  ;■'•'<  hun- 
dred and  ninety  years — its  co\rn>rL"ei.'  period — 
are  now  nearly  expired,  and  i.t  ti^i )  ti  .iie  every 
telescope  on  our  globe  is  dirftec'  <.vii,hthe  ut- 
most intensity  of  anxiety  t>'  tc.tn  particular 
region  in  space  wher';  it  is  believed  the  stran- 
ger will  first  make  his  appearance.     Think, 


6 


that  we  should  be  able  to  trace  the  invisible, 
unknown  movement  of  these  almost  s))iritual 
bodies,  and  be  able  to  announce  their  return 
with  a  degree  of  accuracy  thot  astonishes 
every  intellect !     And  yet  tliis  is  the  fact. 

But  to  what  distances  do  these  bodies  pen- 
e'rate  into  space  ?  When  we  remrniber  that 
the  periodic  time  of  the  most  distunr  of  our 
planets  (Xeptune,  2,700.000,000  mil.-s  from 
the  sun)  is  but  1G7  years,  aiul  that  the  p.'riod 
of  some  of  these  comets  is  not  short  of  three 
or  four  thousand  years,  how  iinmense  must  lie 
the  distance  to  which  they  recede  from  our 
sun  ! 

Now,  retaining  in  your  minds  the  fact  I 
have  stated — that  every  particle  of  matter  ot- 
tracts  every  other  jiartiele — and  that  if  these 
comets,  in  sweeping  out  to  this  immen^^e  dis- 
tance, fall  under  the  influence  of  other  suns, 
they  are  gone  from  us,  never  to  revisit  our 
system  again:  is  it  possible,  then,  that  there 
are  other  systems  which  do  not  interfere  with 
ours  ond  with  each  other  ?  Is  it  passible  that 
these  forever-wandering  bodies  do  not  come 
under  the  influence  of  other  suns  ?  Is  space 
so  boundh'ss — is  the  universe  so  limited — that 
there  is  room  for  more  than  one  of  these 
mighty  systems  ?  To  this  point  I  would  ask 
your  attention.  You  see  thus  a  partial  de- 
velopment of  the  scale  upon  which  the  solar 
system  was  created,  and  you  can  begin  to  ap- 
preciate the  nature  of  the  problem  of  the  uni- 
verse which  has  been  so  far  solved,  that  man 
might  attain  a  knowledge  of  the  system  with 
which  he  is,  in  his  physical  nature,  so  inti- 
mately associate!!. 

But  there  are  other  objects  than  planets  and 
comets  filling  the  heavens.  Look  out  upon 
the  millions  of  stars  in  beautiful  constellations. 
Behold  these  magnificent  groups  in  every  point 
of  the  heavens.  Trace  out  that  mysterious 
and  curiously-wrought  band,  stretching  from 
one  end  of  t'ho  sky  to  the  other — the  Milky 
Way.  Give  aid  to  the  delighted  eye,  and 
through  the  space-annihilating  tehiscope  see 
millions  and  millions  of  suns  flashing  upon  the 
dazzled  sight  at  once.  Surely  these  bodies 
are  clustered  near  together  ?  They  are  not 
separated  from  each  other  by  the  same  amount 
of  space  as  we  appear  to  be  separated  from 
them? 

Let  us  examine  this  for  a  moment",  the 
astronomer,  in  order  to  find  his  distance  from 
any  heavenly  body,  ascertains  precisely  the 
point  in  the  lieavcns  where  that  body  is  lo- 
cated. For  instance :  should  we  desire  to 
ascertain  the  distance  of  the  moon  from  the 
earth,  we  should  locate  one  astronomer  at  a 
given  point  on  the  earth  with  his  telescope 
directed  to  the  moon :  another  astronomer  we 
station  at  a  place  far  distant  from  the  first, 
with  bis  line  of  sight  also  on  the  moon  at  tke 


ISfi''    ^ 


76 


ASTRONOMY. 


|i 


same  instant  of  time.  The  angle  of  the  ] 
visual  ray  with  a  pcriK'nclicular  tn  the  earth's  J 
centre  is"  caroinlly  noti-d  by  each  observer; 
and  when  this  angle  is  found  (the  liase  of  i 
their  triangle  being  their  distance  apart)  it  ; 
is  easy  to  tell  at  what  distance,  from  the  ' 
earth  the  protracted  sides  would  meet — and  i 
that  point  of  junction  will  be  the  centre  of  ; 
the  trioon. 

Now  let  us  try  the  same  with  regard  to  the 
fixed  stars  and  see  whether  any  results  are 
ascertained.     We  locate  two  observers  8,000 
miles  njiart  (one  on  each  side  of  the  earih) ; 
and  from  these  two  points  they  direct  their 
visual  rays  to  yonder  distant  orb:  l)ut  a'as! 
the  lines  "arc  ab"solutely  parallel.     The  fstion- 
omer  is  foiled — he  gains  no  point  wdiosc  dis- 
tance he  can  estimate.     AVhat  now  is  to  he 
done  ?     He  makes  the  earth  itself  a  grand 
travelling  observatory,  and  at  the  extremity 
of  the  diameter  of  the  earth's  orbit,  at  the 
end  of  six  long  months,  when  the  earth  shall 
have  swung  itself  halfway  round  the  sun,  at 
the  immense  distance  of  200,000,000  miles  he 
again  Sf.ids  up  his  visual  ray.     And  now  he 
has  a  base  of  200,000,000  rniles— surely  the 
angle  at  the  vertex  of  this  immense  triangle 
will  reveal  the  distance !    But,  alas !  again 
it  is  almost  insensible  ;  and  if  it  be  sensible  at 
all,  it  can  not  be  so  ^reat  as  to  bring  the  near- 
est  of  the   stars   nearer   than   sixtv  billions ' 
(60,000,000,000,000)  of  miles!      With  this 
immense    space   intervening  is  there  danger 
that  the  comets  shall  rush  against  our  neigh- 
boring suns,  even  in  their  long  journeys  of 
thousands  of  years  ?     I  think  not. — And  this 
is  another  illustration  of  the  immense  scale 
upon  which  the  universe  is  built.     Now,  hav- 
ing reached  outward  to  the  nearest  of  these 
objects,   let  us    stand   and   contemplate   the 
scene  by  which  we  are  surrounded.     Yonder 
shines  Orion,  with  his  broad   and  beautiful 
belt,  and  yonder  is  the  Northern  Bear.    These 
groups — so  familiar  to  us — are  always  delight- 
ful to  the  eye.     Go  with  me  until  we  reach 
that  beautiful     ir  in  vhe  northern  heavens — 
Lyra.     From      it  point  look  out,  and  what 
do  you  behold?    Is  there  ony  change  ?   Surely 
there  is  a  new  heavens  !     Yonder  is  old  Ori- 
on's belt,  gleaming  with  the  same  beautiful 
stars  and  arranged  in  precisely  the  same  order 
as  when  we  left  our  native  earth.     All  the 
change  is  no  more  than  would  be  made  by  a 
change  of  position  wth  your  neighbor  upon 
your  own  planet. 

And  having  gaineil  this  unit  of  measure, 
we  are  enabled  to  go  on  to  the  next,  till  finally 
in' one  unbroken  succession  we  fmd  them  ex- 
tending outward,  and  outward,  and  outward, 
till  a  long-extended  series  reaches  in  some  di- 
rections even  to  five  hundred  successive  ob- 
jects.    Then  sweep  round  with  this  immense 


line  as  a  radius.  All  the  vast  limits  in  the 
entire  circuit  of  its  range  are  tilled  with  suns 
and  svstems  that  bum,  and  roll,  »nd  shine,  as 
do  our  own. 

Having  gone  thus  far,  it  would  seem  that 
we  are  on  the  uttenriost  limits  of  s])ace  ;  nnil 
that  the  human  mind,  after  attaining  to  thut 
point,  must  there  rest  its  weary  wings.  Not 
so.  We  are  barely  at  the  outskirts  of  one 
littl(!  island  of  the  universe — a  small  compass, 
condensed  and  united  so  that  if  we  were  even 
in  tlie  extreme  limits  which  we  can  reach 
with  our  aide<l  vision,  we  should  grasj)  the 
whole — all  its  sims  and  systems,  as  it  were, 
in  our  very  hand  itself."  When  we  have 
reached  these  (Uiler  limits,  and  applied  the 
powers  of  the  telescope,  exploring  space  be- 
vond,  we  find  objects  coming  up  from  the 
(Icep  distance  and  bursting  Tipon  the  sight, 
which  fill  the  mind  with  wonder  and  astonish- 
ment. 

I  have  gazed  through  the  mighty  telescope 
ui)on  these  sublime  objects  in  the  dead  hour 
of  the  night,  when  earth's  thousaiuls  of 
beating,  throl)bing  hearts  were  quieted  in 
slumber — when  the  rapid  furious  pulse  of  bu- 
siness was  stilled  in  the  aims  of  sleep.  There 
was  a  time  when  my  own  mind  could  nfit  take 
in  these  objects:  it  seemed  iTr> possible  :  I 
could  not  stretch  my  imagination  to  their  ut- 
most limits.  But  now  jiut  your  eye  to  this 
instrument,  and  tidl  me  what  breaks  in  upon 
your  vision  1  Ah  !  I  see  a  most  beautiful 
sight — millions  of  diamond  points  sjirinklinn; 
the  blue  vauli  of  the  heavens.  How  strange 
is  that  other  object !  Shall  I  tell  you  what 
object  it  is  ?  Go  with  me  throng'  \e  regions 
of  space — onward — onward.  I  seti  it  expand- 
ing, increasing — 1  see  diamond  points  in  it 
lighting  up  with  brilliancy  and  splendor.  As 
we  near  the  object  we  find  it  expanding  till  it 
fills  the  whole  visible  universe  itself,  for 
it  is  nothing  less  than  a  universe  of  stars. 
Where  are  we  now  ?  Look  backward,  and 
what  is  behind  ?  Is  our  own  sun  visible  in 
the  mighty  galaxy?  Yes.  I  see  nothing 
but  a  dim  stain — a  nebulous  haze.  Yet  that 
is  the  mighty  system  we  have  left  behind. 
This  is  but  one,  and  it  is  the  nearest  of  all  of 
them.  Go  ofT  in  another  direction  and  you 
will  bring  up  not  only  tens  and  hundreds,  but 
thousands  of  these  bright  and  beautiful  star- 
islands  of  the  universe,  strewed  throughout 
the  vast  regions  of  space. 

It  is  the  business  of  the  astronomer  to  study 
not  only  his  own  system,  but  to  contemplate 
the  millions  of  stars,  and  to  go  still  farther  out 
to  those  mysterious  nebulous  objects  with 
which  the  heavens  are  filled,  and  tell  if,  in 
the  long  lapse  of  ages,  some  mighty  change 
may  not  be  working  in  these  curious  end 
wonderful  objects. 


All  the  vast  limits  in  tlio 

riiiigo  arfi  lillcil  with  suns 

um,  anil  roll,  »nd  shine,  as 

us  far,  it  would  soem  that 
itnost  limits  of  spare  ;  oncl 
ind.  after  attainini;  ro  that 
f'st  its  weary  wines.  Not 
ly  at  the  outskirts  of  one 
uiiverse — a  small  compass, 
ed  so  that  if  wc  were  even 
nits  whieh  we  can  reach 
sion,  we  should  ffrasp  the 
(  and  systems,  ns  it  were, 
itself.'  When  we  have 
pr  limits,  and  applied  the 
scope,  exiiloring  space  be- 
jects  comini;  up  from  the 
burstinjr  upon  the  sipht, 
\vitli  wonder  and  astonish- 

•fm<;h  the  mighty  telescope 
e  objects  in  tin-  dead  hour 
len  earth's  th(»usanils  of 
;  hearts  were  quieted  in 
e  rapid  furious  pulse  of  bu- 
tt the  arms  of  sleep.  There 
ny  own  mind  could  nf)t  take 

it  seemed  irrpossible :  I 
my  imagination  to  their  ut- 

now  ])ut  your  eye  to  this 
dl  me  what  breaks  in  upon 
1 !  I  see  a  most  beautiful 

diamond  points  sprinklinp; 
he  heavens.  How  strange 
3t !  Shall  I  tell  you  what 
svithme  throug'  'he  regions 
—onward.     I  sec  it  expand- 

see  diamond  points  in  it 
rilliancy  and  splendor.  As 
;  we  find  it  expanding  till  it 
visible  universe    itself,  for 

than  a  universe  of  stars. 
iw  ?     Look  backward,  and 

Is  our  own  sun  visible  in 
:y?  Yes.  I  see  nothing 
I  nebulous  haze.  Yet  that 
stem  we  have  left  behind, 
nd  it  is  the  nearest  of  all  of 

another  direction  and  you 
anly  tens  and  hundreds,  but 
e  bright  and  beautiful  star- 
i  verse,  strewed  throughout 
f  space. 

;s  of  the  astronomer  to  study 
system,  but  to  contemplate 
rs,  and  to  go  still  farther  out 
ous  nebulous  objects  with 
ns  are  filled,  and  tell  if,  in 

ages,  some  mighty  change 
king  in   these  curious  end 


THE  DEAP  SEA. 


77 


The  Dead  Sea. 


THE  DEAD  SEA. 


The  result  of  the  exploration  of  this  an- 
cient locality,  by  the  United  States  navy  offi- 
cers who  have  just  sailed  for  the  Mediterra- 
nean, will  be  looked  for  with  deep  interest  by 
the  civilized  world.  The  federal  govenimenf. 
have  authorized  this  reconnoissance  for  the 
purpose  of  solving  geographical  problems  and 
to  elucidate  ancient  story. 

The  Dead  sea  is  to  be  t.  ;\'i  "t^  i  y  Ameri- 
can sailors — that  sea  of  marvt'<  \T\ich,  after 
engulfing  the  giiilty  "cities  of  I'ue  plain" — 
has  been  ever  since  invested,  to  the  imagina- 
tion, with  awful  and  supernatural  character. 
"  A  pestilential  vapor,  it  has  been  said,  rises 
continually  from  its  waters  ;  fish  can  not  live 
in,  nor  birds  fly  over  them;  iron  will  not  sink 
in  them,  nor  have  they  ever  been  navigated 
by  ship  cr  bark." 

Such  slight  examination  as  occasional  trav- 
ellers of  more  recent  days  have  given  to  this 
bitter  sea,  has  dispijlled  many  of  these  fables ; 
but  still  these  deep  dark  waters  are  a  mystery 
to  the  world.  They  have  been  found  to  con- 
tain— as  accounting  for  their  extraordinary 
specific  gravity,  which  led  to  the  tale  that 
iron  would  not  sink  in  them — 41  parts  in  a 
hundred  of  salt;  a  much  greatt^r  proportion 
than  that  of  the  sea,  and  deiived  from  entire 
rocks  of  this  mineral  continually  dissolving  on 
the  southern  shore.  Bitumen  also  rises  in 
abundance  from  the  bottom  and  floats  on  the 
surface — and  hence  these  waters  acquire  a 
consistency  which  enables  them  to  bear  up 
bodies  that  would  sink  m  other  waters. 


The  Rev.  Doctor  Durbin,  late  president  of 
Dickinson  College,  Carlisle,  Pennsylvania, 
gives  the  following  illustration  of  the  density 
of  these  waters : — 

'•  I  waded  in  carefully,  to  test  the  oft- 
repeated  statements  of  the  great  specific  grav- 
ity of  the  fluid,  and  repeated  the  experiment 
several  times  :  the  uniform  result  was,  that 
when  the  waters  rose  above  my  armpits  but 
not  over  my  shoulders,  my  body  was  balanced, 
and  I  could  not  touch  the  bottom,  but  my  feet 
tended  strongly  to  rise  and  my  head  to  de- 
sc  id.  When  I  turned  on  my  back  and  drew 
U|.  my  knees,  so  as  to  balance  the  body  on  the 
surface.  ^  Hy  as  still  as  a  knot  of  wood  my 
head,  knees,  ant'  half  of  my  feet  out  o.'  ihe 
wft-^r;  and  so  loicg  as  I  was  perfectly  still,  I 
fl  Kite.'  ^n  this  ;  osition.  These  experiments 
satlsr-  '1  .'le  of  its  great  specific  gravity." 

Du  ■:\  ^  DuiMn  adds  that  his  hair  was  mat- 
ted wltV  th..^  bitumen,  which,  on  being  pressed 
by  the  fingers,  covered  them  with  a  sticky 
sub.stance. 

Josephus,  in  his  fourth  book  of  the  wars  of 
the  Jews,  relates  that  the  waters  of  the  Dead 
sea  support  on  the  surface  whatever  is  thrown 
into  the  lake,  and  confirms  the  relation  by  the 
fact  that  Vespasian,  'to  convince  himself  of 
the  truth  of  'his  assertion,  ordered  several 
persons  with  their  hands  and  legs  tied,  to  be 
thrown  into  the  lake,  and  that  not  one  of  them 
sunk. 

But  it  is  less  to  verify  or  refute  problems 
such  as  these  that  :.n  exploration  of  the  Dead 
sea  by  competent  and  scientific  observers  is 
desired,  than  to  ascertain  its  actual  relation  to 


1  > 


**.j|, 


m 


'^'•^ 


78 


BOOKS,  THKia  PUBLICATION  AND  CIRCULATION. 


the  wntors  of  the  Moditen-nnean,  frnin  which 
it  is  (listiint  not  more  than  between  30  and  40 
miles ;  yet  the  level  of  the  Dead  scu  is  snid 
to  l)e  some  hundreds  of  feet  below  that  of  the 
Mediterranean. 

Into  the  Dead  sea  the  river  Jordan  dis- 
charges and  loses  itself.  Descending  iVom 
the  sea  of  Tiberius,  which  is  in  fact  a  shallow 
outspreading  in  the  fashion  of  a  lake,  of  the 
river — some  CO  miles  in  a  winding  cotirse,  the 
Jordiin  disai)i)ears  in  this  deep  and  bitter  os- 
phaltic  sea,  which  is  about  24  miles  in  length 
from  north  to  south,  and  not  more,  accordiii": 
to  modern  travellers,  than  six  or  seven  in 
breadth. 

It  is  comparatively  shallow  at  its  southern 
extremity,  but  its  general  depth  is  reputed  to 
be  unfatliinnable.  Its  western  shore,  on  the  side 
of  Arabia,  or  Moab,  is  one  prodigious  black 
perpendiculor  wall,  in  which  there  is  not  a 
summit  or  the  smallest  peak ;  its  eastern  or 
Indian  shore  is  of  limestone  and  sandy  dill's 
of  varied  and  fantastic  fonns. 

All,  however,  but  the  mere  external  ap- 
pearances of  this  dismal  sea  and  its  dreary 
shores,  is  matter  of  conjecture  and  uncertainty; 
and  hence  the  greater  stimulus  to  investigation. 

The  United  States  store  ship  Supply,  being 
bound  to  the  Mediterranean  with  stores,  is  to 
be  employed  under  Lieut.  Lynch,  as  her  com- 
mander, with  Lieut.  Dale,  who  will  be  mure 
specially  charged  with  the  scientific  recon- 
noissances. 

To  effect  the  exploration  of  the  Dead  sea, 
they  will  land  at  Acre,  and  thence  direct  their 
operations  across  the  ancient  plains  of  .Tericho, 
and  the  point  of  research,  carefully  levelling 
the  intermediate  route,  in  order  to  determine, 
first  of  all  the  relative  altitude  between  the 
two  seas.  Amply  provided  with  instruments 
— having  metal  boats  of  light  construction, 
and  all  the  means  and  appliances  for  survey- 
ing and  sounding— we  may  justly  anticipate 
from  this  expedition  accurate  infommtion  on 
points  heretofore  wholly  conjectural,  yet  in- 
vested with  deep  interest. 

It  is  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  watiT 
of  the  Dead  sea,  that,  although  so  dense  and 
bituminous,  it  is  exceedingly  translucent. 

It  is  somewhat  singular  that  a  goveniment 
of  the  now  world  should  be  the  first  to  explore 
and  verify  the  facts,  concerning  a  region  so 
intimately  connected  with  the  common  faith 
of  Christendom  and  the  witness  of  one  of  the 
most  awful  i)enaltie9  of  transgression  under 
the  Mosaic  dispensation ;  and  we  can  not  but 
hope  from  this  expedition  what  will  gratify 
natural  and  intelligent  curiosity,  while  confii-m- 
ing  the  original  record  of  the  Bible.  The 
evil  propensities  of  the  wand,;ring  hordes  who 
travers*  the  deserts  in  that  vicinity  furnish  the 
greatest  obstacles  to  complete  success. 


BOOKS: 

THEIR    PUBLICATI0.>    AND    CIRCULATION. 

It  is  a  very  common  thing  to  hear  of  the 
evils  of  pernicious  reading,  of  how  it  enervates 
the  rmnd,  or  how  it  depraves  the  prinriplis.  ] 
The   complaints  are    doubtless  just.     These  ' 
books  could  not  be  read,  and  these  evils  would 
be  sjiared  the  world,  if  one  did  not  write,  niid 
another  did  not  jjrint,  and  onotherdid  not  sell, 
and   another  did   not   eirculute   them.      Are 
those,  then,  without  whoso  agency  the  mis-  } 
chief  could  not  ensue,  to  b.i  held  nnioeent  in 
aHi)r<ling  this  agency  ?      Yet,  hnidly  as  we  ] 
complain   of  the  evil,  and   carefully   as  we  j 
warn  our  children  to  avoid  it,  how  seldom  do 
we  hear  ptd)lic  reprobation   of  the   writers  I  ' 
As  to  printers,  and  booksellers,  and  library- 
keepers,  we  scarcely  hear  their  olVences  men-  [ 
tioned  at  all.     We  speak  not  of  those  aban- 
doned publications  which  all  respectable  mim 
condenni.  but  of  those  which,  jjernicious  as 
they  are  confessed   to  be,   furnish   reading- 
rooms  and  librories,  and  are  habitually  sold  in 
almost   every   bookseller's    store.     He   thut 
lends  a  man  money  to  use  for  an  improper 
iiurpose,  or  a  weapon  for  his  revenge,  makes 
himself  a   partner   of  his  crime.     He,   too, 
who  writes  or  sells  a  book  which  will,  in  all 
probability,  injure  the  reader,  is  accessory  to 
the  mischief  whitth  may  be  done :  with  this 
aggravation,    that  while    the   money   would 
probably  do  mischief  but  to  one  or  two  per- 
sons,  the  book  may  injure   a  hundred   or  a 
thousand.     Of  the  writers  of  injurious  books 
we  neeil  say  no  m.orc.     If  the  inferior  agents 
are  censurable,  the  primary   agent  must  be 
more  censurable.     A  printer  or  a  bookseller 
should,  however,  reflect,  that  to  be  not  so  bad 
as  another  is  a  very  different  thing  from  being 
innocent.     When  we  see  that  the  owner  of  a 
press  will  print  any  work  that  is  offered  to 
liim,  with  no  othci'  (concern  about  its  tendency 
than  wliether  it  will  subject  hira  to  penalries 
from  the  law,  we  surely  must  perceive  that 
he  exercises  but  a  very  imperfect  virtue.    Is 
it  objigatfiry  upon  us  not  to  promote  ill  princi- 
ples in  othirr  men?     He  does  not  fulfil  the 
obligation.     Is  it  obligatory  upon  us  to  pro 
mote  n.'ctitude  by  unimpecchable  example? 
Ho  does  not  c\hil)it  that  example.    If  it  were 
rii^ht  for  my  neighbor  to  furnish  me  with  the 
means  of  moral  injury,  it  would  n<jt  be  wrong 
for  me  to  accept  and  to  emi)loy  them. 

Let  ns  stand  in  a  bookseller's  store,  and 
observe  his  customers  successively  coming  in. 
One  orders  a  lexicon,  and  one  a  woik  of  scur- 
rilous infidelity ;  one  Captain  Cook's  voyages, 
and  one  a  new  licentious  romance.  If  the 
bookseller  takes  and  executes  all  these  orders 
with  the  same  willingness,  we  can  not  but 


ATION. 


OOKSs 

lOM    AND    CIRCULATION. 

imon  thins  '"  hear  "f  llie 
cudiiig,  ot"  how  it  enervated 
t  (Icpiuvcs  tlie  priiici|)l(s. 
re  (louhtless  just.  Tlioc 
roiul,  and  these  evils  would 
1,  if  one  did  not  write,  and 
lit,  nnil  miother  did  not  sell, 
lot  eirculute  them.  Are 
ut  whose  nijency  the  nii^- 
iue,  to  b.T  held  nuiocent  in 
icv  ?  Yet,  londly  as  wc; 
vil,  and  curef'ully  ns  v« 
:o  avoid  it,  how  seldom  dn 
probation  of  the  writers  1 
I  booksellers,  and  library- 
ly  hear  tVieir  olli?nces  nien- 
!  speak  not  of  those  abun- 
which  oil  respectable  men 
liose  which,  pernicions  as 
i  to  he,  funiish  reading- 
,  and  arc  habitually  sold  in 
kseller's  store.  He  that 
y  to  use  for  an  improper 
)on  for  his  revenge,  makes 

of  his  crime.  He,  too. 
1  a  book  which  will,  in  all 
the  reader,  is  accessory  to 
1  may  be  done :  with  this 

while  the  money  would 
ief  but  to  one  or  two  pcr- 
ly  injure   a  hundred   or  a 

writers  of  injurious  books 
ire.  If  the  inferior  agents 
e  primary   agent  must  be 

A  printer  or  a  bookseller 
eflect,  that  to  be  not  so  bad 
y  different  thing  from  being 
we  see  that  the  owner  of  a 
iiy  work  that  is  offered  to 

concern  about  its  tendency 
ill  subject  him  to  penalties 

surely  must  perceive  that 

very  imperfect  virtue.  Is 
us  not  to  promote  ill  princi- 
1  ?  He  does  not  fulfil  the 
obligatory  upon  us  to  prr 

unimpeachable  example? 
it  that  example.  If  it  were 
bor  to  furnish  me  with  the 
ury,  it  would  not  be  wrong 
ud  to  employ  them. 
-i  a  bookseller's  store,  and 
lers  successively  iroming  in. 
on,  and  one  a  woik  of  scur- 
nc  Captain  Cook's  voyages, 
icentious  romance.  If  the 
nd  executes  all  these  orders 
illingness,  we  can  not  but 


■I  ■>.»»■■.   _ 


BOOKS,  THEIR  I'UBLICATION  AND  CIRCULATION. 


79 


perceive  that  there  is  an  inconsistency,  on  in- 
cnmpleteness,  in  his  moral  princijiles  of  action. 
Perhaps  this  jierson  is  so  conscious  of  th<'  mis- 
:  chievous  ellt'cts  of  such  books,  ihiit  In^  would 
not  allow  them  iu  tlu;  hands  of  his  cliildrcn, 
nor  snller  them  to  be  seen  on  liis  i)arlor-table. 
But  if  he  thus  knows  the  evils  which  they  in- 
ihi-t,  can  it  be  right  for  him  to  be  the  »■— ut  in 
(litlusing  thein  ?  Such  a  jicrson  dot  i  l.-'-  ex- 
hiliit  that  consistency,  that  conipletetn  ss  of 
virtuous  conduct,  without  which  the  Christian 
cliurucler  can  not  be  fully  exhibited.  Step 
into  the  store  of  this  bookseller's  neighbor, 
«  druggist,  and  there,  if  a  ])€rson  asks  for 
some  arsenic,  the  ajmthecary  begins  to  be 
anxious.  He  considers  whether  it  is  probable 
the  buyer  wants  it  for  a  ])roi)er  ])arpose.  If 
he  does  sell  it,  he  cautions  the  buyer  to  keep 
it  where  others  can  not  have  access  to  it ;  and 
before  he  delivers  the  packet  legibly  inscribes 
upon  it — Poison.  One  of  these  men  sells 
poison  to  the  body,  and  the  other  poison  to  the 
mind.  If  the  anxiety  and  caution  of  the 
druggist  are  right,  the  indilierence  of  the  book- 
seller must  be  wrong.  Add  to  which,  that 
the  druggist  woulil  not  sell  ars<;nic  at  all  if  it 
were  not  sometimes  useful;  but  t«  what 
readers  can  a  vicious  book  be  useful  ? 

Suppose  for  a  moment  that  no  printer  would 
commit  such  a  book  to  his  press,  and  that  no 
bookseller  would  sidl  it,  the  eonse(|uence 
would  be  that  uine  tciiths  of  these  manuscripts 
would  be  thrown  into  the  fire,  or  rather  that 
they  would  never  have  been  written.  The 
inference  is  obvious ;  and  surely  it  is  not  need- 
ful again  to  enforce  the  consideration  that  al- 
though your  refusal  might  not  prevent  \ici(nis 
books  from  being  published,  you  are  not 
therefore  exempted  from  the  obligation  to  re- 
fuse. A  man  must  do  his  dutjs  whether  the 
elFects  of  his  fidelity  be  such  as  he  would  (!(■- 
sire  or  not.  Such  purity  of  conduct  might 
no  doubt  circumtcribe  a  man's  business,  and 
so  does  jiurity  of  conduct  in  some  oth(>r  pro- 
fessions: but  if  this  be  a  sufficient  excuse  for 
assisting  to  demoralize  the  world,  if  profit  be 
a  justification  of  a  departure  from  rectitude, 
it  will  be  easy  to  defend  the  business  of  a 
jiickpcKket. 

We  know  that  the  principles  of  conduct 
which  these  remarks  recommend  lead  to  gra\'e 
practical  consequences:  we  know  that  they 
lead  to  the  conclusion  that  the  business  of  a 
jirinter  or  bookseller,  as  it  is  ordinarily  con- 
ducted, is  not  consistent  with  Christian  up- 
rightness. A  man  may  carry  on  a  business  in 
select  works;  and  this,  by  some  conscientious 
persfms,  is  really  done.  In  the  present  state 
of  the  jiress,  the  uifficulty  of  obtaining  a  con- 
siderable business  as  a  bookseller  without  cir- 
culating injurious  works  may  frequently  be 
great,  and  it  is  in  consequence  of  this  diffi- 


culty that  we  see  so  few  booksellers  among 
the  (pjakers.  The  few  wlio  do  conduct  the 
business  generally  reside  in  large  towns,  where 
the  demand  for  all  books  is  so  great  that  a  per- 
son can  procure  a  competent  income  though 
ho  excludes  the  bad. 

He  who  is  more  studious  to  justify  his  con- 
duct than  to  act  aright  may  say  that  if  a  per- 
son may  sell  no  book  that  can  injure  another, 
he  can  scarcely  sell  any  book.  The  answer 
is,  that  although  there  must  be  some  difficulty 
in  discrimination,  thougli  a  bookseller  can  not 
always  inform  himself  what  the  jirccise  tv.n- 
deuey  of  a  book  is — yet  there  can  be  no  diffi- 
culty in  judging,  respecting  numberless  books, 
that  their  tendency  is  butl.  If  we  can  not 
define  the  ])recise  distinction  between  the 
goiKl  and  the  evil,  we  can  nevertheless  per- 
ceive the  evil  when  it  has  attained  to  a  certain 
extent.  He  who  can  not  distinguish  day  from 
twiliirht  can  distinguish  it  from  night. 

The  ease  of  tlio  proprietors  of  common 
circulating  libraries  is  yet  more  palpable ; 
because  tlio  majority  of  the  books  which  they 
contain  inflict  injury  upon  their  readers.  How 
it  huj)pens  that  persons  of  resjiectable  charac- 
ter, and  who  join  with  others  m  lamenting  th« 
frivolity,  and  worse  than  frivolity,  of  the  age, 
nevertheless  daily  and  hourly  contribute  to  the 
mischief,  without  any  apparent  consciousness 
of  inconsistency,  it  is  ditlicult  to  explain.  A 
person  estaldishes,  perhaps,  one  of  these  li- 
braries for  the  first  time  in  a  country  town. 
He  sup|)lies  the  younger  and  less  busy  part 
of  its  inhabitants  w'th  a  source  of  moral  in- 
jury from  which  h...ierto  they  had  been  ex- 
empt. The  girl  who  till  now  possessed  sober 
views  of  life,  he  teaches  to  dream  of  the  ex- 
travagances cf  love  ;  he  familiarizes  her  ideas 
with  intrigue  and  licentiousness ;  destroys  her 
disposition  for  rational  j)ursuits;  and  prepares 
her,  it  may  be,  for  a  victim  of  debauchery. 
These  evils,  or  such  as  these,  he  inflicts,  not 
upon  one  or  two,  but  upon  as  many  as  he  can  ; 
and  yet  this  person  lays  his  head  ujion  his  pil- 
low, as  if,  in  all  this,  he  was  not  offending 
against  virtue  or  against  man  ! 


The  Biblk. — There  is  no  other  volume  in 
the  world  which  grows  in  interest  Ijv  repeated 
reading.  We  may  study  Bacon,  feutler,  or 
Boyle,  but  so  soon  as  the  argument  is  appre- 
ciated and  the  truth  appropriated,  the  mind 
labors  through  another  reading.  But  every 
passage  in  the  New  Testament  is  fruitful  of 
varied  suggestions,  and  the  more  spiritual  the 
mind  of  the  reader,  the  more  fruitful  of  good 
is  the  passage  read.  Because  one  passage 
suggests  others,  and  thus,  like  the  links  of' a 
chain,  attains  some  new  or  some  impressive 
views  of  God's  character  and  of  human 
duty. 


f^ll-r' 


80 


BO  PEEP.— CUHIOai  .1E8  Olf  8CI1C  .CE. 


BO-PEEP. 


Oun   cniuriivinK  rrprcsents    nne   •)f   thosf 

scctifs  in  (iiiinc^itic  life  which  cosl  sm  littlo, 
but  iro  go  *  ir  ">  innki>  iii)  tho  sum  nj  u  wo- 
n-.nnV  hai>|)ine-s.  The  iiicturiminfi  iiiriui!.'fi- 
niiiil  of  lij;ht  and  shndu  is  '*i"  miHt  strikins 
artistic  f'-uture  of  tho  rroiip-  As  tlio  "free 
knitter  iu  the  sun"  swiftly  inn-rlacps  tho  glis- 
tPiii'ng  ])ins,  like  liii''^  ot  light,  her  thmights 
as  s])ectlily  weave  niingletl  drciiins  of  the  tu- 
tiirn,  ns  the  chiliUsh  i^lee  of  the  childri'ii  comes 
to  her  ear.  On  one  side  the  low  sun  shoots 
his  hcnmsover  sweet  gardens  and  fresh  fields, 
and  ut  last  restsujwn  the  5;rcen  grape  elusters, 
peeping  between  the  leaves  around  the  cot- 
tajio-dixir,  and  upon  her  clean  olive  cheek, 
transparent  as  the  lucid  skin  of  the  berry. 
On  the  one  hand  it  is  the  glow  of  outward  na- 
ture that  warms  her  heart ;  on  th*;  other,  the 
joy  of  maternal  love,  as  she  watcnes  her  chil- 
dren at  play. 


CURIOSITIES  OF  SCIENCE. 

The  followng  interesting  facts  ore  from  an 
a<ldres9  delivered  by  Professor  Mopes,  before 
the  Mechanics'  Institute  of  New  York  : — 

The  feathers  of  birds,  and  each  particular 
part  of  them,  ore  arranged  at  such  an  angle  as 
to  be  most  cBicient  in  assisting  ilight.  The 
human  eye  has  a  mirror  on  which  objects  are 
reflected,  and  a  nerve  1.- which  these  reflec- 
tions are  conveyed  T  >  'i'."-  i:rain,  and  thus  we 
are  enabled  to  take  no  -.fiMuest  in  tht  objects 
which  pass  before  ^  n  ;  oye.  Now,  when  the 
eye  is  too  convf.  .Vf  vin  one  kir.ii  of  glosses 
to  correct  the  fault,  atui  >.f  it  be  not  convex 
enough,  or  if  we  wisl;  '■>  l(K)k  at  objects  at 
diffiirent  distonces,  we  use  glasses  of  entirely 
anr)ther  description. 

But  as  birds  can  not  get  spectacles.  Provi- 
dence has  given  them  a  method  of  supplying 
the  deficiency.  They  have  the  power  of 
contracting  the  eye,  of  making  it  more  convex, 
so  as  to  sec  the  specks  which  float  in  the  at- 
mosphere, and  catch  them  for  food  ;  and  also 
of  flattening  the  eye.  to  see  a  great  distance, 
and  observe  whenever  any  vulture  or  other 
enemy  is  threatening  to  destroy  them.  In 
addition  to  this  they  have  a  film,  or  coating, 
which  can  be  suddenly  thrown  down  over  the 
eye  to  protect  it;  because  at  the  velocity 
with  which  they  fly,  and  with  the  delicate 
texture  of  their  eye,  the  least  speck  of  dust 
would  act  upon  it  as  a  penknife  thrust  into  the 
human  eye.  This  film  is  to  protect  the  eye, 
and  the  same  thing  exists  to  some  extent  in 
the  eye  of  the  horse.    The  horse  has  a  very 


largo  eye,  very  liable  to  take  du'-'  Tin  i 
coating  in  the  horse'  eye  is  called  thfl  hn" 
or  thir<l  eyelid,  and  it  you  will  woteh  cliwe ly, 
you  may  see  it  deseeiiil  and  return  with  cler 
trie  velocity.  It  clears  away  th''  dii«t.  and 
jirotects  the  eye  from  injiiiv.  If  llir  e\r 
shouhl  catch  co'd,  the  haw  '  ird.iis  and  pro- 
jei-ts,  and  ignnr^int  persons  i  i  itc'V,  a^^d  ihm 
ilestroy  this  sutepiord. 

You  all  know,  it  you  iaKi;  a  jxi         if  irm 
pnd  make  of  it  a  hollow  rod  u  HmH  1.    ^',  what 
weight  it  will  support ;  n  weight  miiay  times  I 
greater  than  before.     Nature  m-eni-  to  have  I 
taken   advantage  of   this    nlwi,    lout;  before 
mathematician'^  had  disco vi- red  it,  and  all  the  : 
bones  of  animals  are  hollow.     The    (jh       t 
birds  are  large,  because  they  must  be  ^    jng 
to  move  their  large  wings  with  sntticient  ve- 
locity; but  they  must  also  be  lidit,  in  order 
to  float  easily  upon  the  oir.     Bi'.      also  illns- 
trate  another  fact  in  natural  philoxfih-       If 
you  take  a  bag,  make  it  air-tighl,  ami  jmt  it 
under  woter,  it  w  i!  support  a  large  weight, 
say  a  hundred  pounds.     But  twist  it,  or  di- 
minish the  air  in  it,  and  it  will  8U|>"ortnn  ^nch 
weight.     Now,  a  bird  has  such    m  ai.     i!,'. 
"When  he  wishes  to  descend,  he  compresses  it 
at  will,  and  falls  rapidly  ;  when  he  would  ri  sp, 
he  increases  it,  and  flouts  with  ease.     He  also 
has  the  power  of  forcing  air  into  the  hollow 
parts  of  the  hcwly,  and  thus  to  assist  his  flight. 
The  same  thing  may  be  observed  in  fishes. 
They  also  have  an  air-bag  to  enable  them  ' 
rise  or  sink  in  the  water,  till  they  find  their 
temperature. 

If  they  wsh  to  rise,  they  increase  it ;  if 
they  wisli  to  sink  they  compress  it,  and  down 
they  go.  Sometimes  the  fish,  in  sinking, 
makes  too  strong  an  elTort  to  compress  it ;  then 
down  he  goes  to  the  bottom,  and  there  re- 
mains for  the  rest  of  his  life.  Flounders,  and 
some  other  fish,  have  no  air-bag;  and  so  they 
ore  never  found  floating  on  the  surface,  but 
must  always  be  caught  at  the  bottom. 

In  this  "woy  are  the  principles  of  science 
applied  to  almost  everything.  Yon  wish  to 
know  how  to  pack  the  greatest  amount  of  bulk 
in  the  smallest  space.  The  form  of  cylinders 
leaves  large  spaces  between  them.  Mathe- 
maticians labored  hard  for  a  long  time  to  find 
what  figure  could  be  used  so  as  to  lose  no 
s])eck  ;  and  at  last  found  that  it  was  the  six- 
sided  figure,  and  also  that  a  three-plane  end- 
ing in  a  point,  fo'ined  the  strongest  roof  or 
door.  The  honey-bee  discovered  the  same 
things  a  good  wiiile  ago.  The  honey-comb  is 
made  up  of  six-sided  figures,  and  the  roof  is 
built  with  three-plane  surfaces  coming  to  a 
point. 

If  a  flexible  vessel  be  emptied  of  air,  its 
sides  will  be  almost  crushed  together  by  the 
pressure  of  the  surrounding  atmosphere.    And 


manHtf  ^-HJtt^Mttmw^ittMtKl 


le  to  take  dtiM.  Tin. 
i-vn  \n  callrd  th*!  hnw 
yim  will  wntrh  clt»el_v, 
1(1  mill  rf'turn  with  c]vf 
irs  uwHV  thi'  <l^•^^,  iiml 
m  iiijurv.  It'  tin-  im- 
■}  how  '  irilfiis  ami  pio- 
rsons.  t  it  (■'''.  a*"!!  thnii 
I. 

on  laki;  n  jx)\  i>f  irm 
)W  roil  a  foot  li.  ?,  wliiii 
t ;  M  wripht  mitiiy  timci 
Naturr  tfoms  to  hovn 
this  alwi,  UiDsi  before 
lidcovcretl  it,  aii'l  all  th' 

hollow.       'i'hfi     M.I, 

use  ihi'V  must  be  ^  ,11" 
vings  w-ith  sutHeifiit  ve- 
*t  also  be  li'jht,  in  onler 
he  air.  Bi'ii  also  ilhs- 
nntnral  philo>-<  ph  If 
3  it  air-tighl,  "Mil  jmi  it 
support  a  large  weight, 
Is.  But  twist  it,  or  di- 
iri  ii  will  sTipiiort  nr)  <«nch 
rd  has  sxich  nn  aii  ig. 
osceiK?,  he  compresses  it 
Uy ;  when  he  woiiM  rr*-?, 
outs  with  ease.  Hi' also 
rcing  air  into  the  hollow 
d  thus  to  assist  his  flight, 
y  l)(!  observed  in  fishop. 
ir-bag  to  enable  then, 
rater,  till  they  find  thci. 

ise,  they  increase  it ;  if 
!y  compress  it,  and  down 
is  the  fish,  in  sinkin";, 
ffort  to  compress  it ;  then 
B  bottom,  and  there  re- 
hislife.  Flounders,  and 
5  no  air-bag;  and  so  they 
ting  on  the  surface,  but 
;ht  at  the  bottom. 
:he  principles  of  science 
■erything.  Yon  wish  lo 
e  greatest  amount  of  bulk 
.  The  form  of  cylinders 
between  them.  Mathe- 
rd  for  a  long  time  to  find 
e  used  so  as  to  lose  no 
Dund  that  it  was  the  six- 
J  that  a  three- plane  end- 
led  the  strongest  nx)f  or 
lee  discovered  the  same 
igo.  The  honey-comb  is 
i  figures,  and  the  roof  is 
ne  surfaces  coming  to  a 

si  be  emptied  of  air,  its 
crushed  together  by  the 
nnding  atmosphere.    And 


ij 


r 


!  *• 


Bo-Peep. 


83 


WUITEFIKLD  AND  WESLEY 


if  a  tube  piirtly  tilled  with  fluid  hv.  cmntipil  of 
air,  the  lliiiil  will  rim  to  the  lop.  Tlui  lic^o 
umlcr«liin(U  tirw,  and  whi'n  ho  eomeH  m  tho 
cu|)  of  till!  tall  li()iioy-8uokle,  nii<l  Kiuls  tliiit  ho 
CUD  not  rt'iich  llu;  sweets  at  itn  liottoiri,  he 
thrusts  in  liii  body,  ahuU  up  the  (lower,  and 
then  exliaiisis  the  air,  and  so  pos^iesMi's  him- 
self of  th(!  ilust  and  hotiey  of  the  llower. 
The  feet  of  Hies  aitl  lizards  an;  eohrttructed 
on  tt  similar  principle,  and  they  tluH  walk 
with  easi!  on  glass  or  ceilinf{.  Their  fei  (  are 
80  made  as  to  create  a  vacuum  l)eneatli  thern, 
and  BO  they  have  tho  pressun!  of  the  atmo- 
sphere, fifteen  jKiunds  to  the  sipiare  inch,  to 
enable  them  to  hold  on.  Tho  cat  has  tho 
Bame  power  to  a  less  extent. 

Plants  reiiuirc  tho  sunlij^ht,  and  some  flow- 
ers turn  tliemselves  toward  the  sun,  as  it  trav- 
els round  from  east  to  west.  The  sunllowcr 
does  this,  and  so  does  a  field  of  clover.  The 
facts,  tlumj;h  we  have  not  yet  got  at  the  rea- 
son of  thern,  are  still  extremely  interesting. 

The  Virf^inia  creeper  throws  out  tendrils  in 
the  form  of  a  foot  with  five  toes ;  each  toe 
has  a  large  number  of  hairs  or  spines,  which 
entering  the  small  openin"  of  brick  or  lime, 
swell  and  hold  on ;  but  when  dccnyins  they 
shrink  and  the  plant  falls  otf.  The  vnniihi 
plant  of  tho  West  Indies  exhibits  a  similar 
construction,  except  that  it  winds  itself  around 
other  objects. 


WHITEFIELD  AND  WESLEY. 

Whitefif.ld  and  Wesley  accomplished 
greot  moral  eifects  by  their  |)prsuasive  elo- 
(|uencc.  England  had  rarely,  ir'ever,  been  in 
a  lowei  moral  ami  s])iritunl  condition  than  it 
was  in  tlie  early  part  of  rhe  last  century. 
The  funiitici.smot  several  religious  sectsduriiig 
the  period  of  the  Cromwellian  commonwealth, 
was  followed  by  the  wide-spread  libertinism 
which  luul  gone  out  everywhere  from  the 
court  of  Churles  II.  To  this,  there  was  but 
little  check.  For  the  clergy  of  that  period, 
appointed  to  their  livings  chiefly  by  secular, 
if  not  bad  men,  for  the  most  part  resembled, 
in  character,  those  who  gave  them  their  liv- 
ings. In  this  state  of  things,  six  or  eight 
young  men,  students  at  Oxford,  became  ti  uly 
pious  ;  and  being  more  sober  than  their  fellow 
collegians,  and  more  zealous  Godwanl,  iluy 
were  treated  with  great  derision  by  (li<;ir 
equals,  and  with  marked  contempt  and  re- 
proach by  their  oflicials. 

Their  persecution,  however,  did  them  good. 
It  increased  their  zeal.  It  gave  finnncss  to 
tbeir  faith,  and  resoluteness  to  their  purpose 


Although  Whitefield  and  Wesley  received 
orders,  yet  as  they  were  shut  out  from  tho 
pulpits  of  most  of  the  establishrMl  churches, 
they  went  everywhere,  preaching  the  wonl. 
In  fields — on  wide  moors — and  sometimes  in 
theiiutskirlsof  lurgt!  cities — thesi!  men  of  («()<1, 
with  a  freediim,  a  manliness,  anil  pathos  of 
utterance,  almost  peiiteeostal,  warned  sinners 
to  (leo  from  the  wrath  to  come,  and  made 
known  tlie  exceedii".T  riches  of  tlie  grace  of 
(lod  in  Christ  Jesus.  'I'he  efVect  on  multitudes 
was  electrical.  More  and  better  than  this ; 
it  was  enlightening,  sanctifying — saving.  The 
lower  classes  received  iin  intellectual  impulse 
and  elevation  of  character,  sucdi  ns  they  never 
before  exj)criene;ed.  They  were  trained  to 
think  ond  imiuire  ;  and  were  lifted  uj>  to  tho 
knowledge  of  tho  true  (jod,  and  of  Jesus 
Christ,  whom  lie  had  •♦ent.  The  drunkard 
left  his  cups  ;  the  licentious  his  haunts ;  and 
the  profane  ceased  his  ooths.  Many,  who 
had  been  like  the  Corinthians,  were,  like 
them,  "  washed,  and  sanctified,  and  justified, 
in  the  narnc  of  tho  Lord  Jesus,  and  by  tho 
Spirit  of  our  God." 

"  I.intii  am)  benHti  of  navRgn  name, 
Val  on  the  iiuturo  uf  tliu  Lamb." 

The  cl(M|uence  of  George  Whitefield  and 
of  John  Wesley  was  of  a  very  dillerent  char- 
acter each  from  the  other.  But  each  was 
suited  to  win  attention,  to  secure  confidence, 
and  to  accomplish  tho  grand  jiuriioses  of 
preaching — by  rescuing  men  from  the  jjaths 
of  sin,  and  rest(jring  them  to  the  obedience  of 
the  truth. 

Whitefield,  overflowing  with  the  strong  and 
tender  sensiuilities  of  his  nature,  exhibited  his 
whole  soul  in  his  features  and  in  every  niovc- 
ment  of  his  '.  ixly.  His  very  tones,  even 
with  )ut  words,  assisted  by  his  ctnintennnee, 
would  touch  the  chords  of  fimr,  and  terror, 
and  h()])e,  and  sensibility,  in  the  vast  crowds 
that  always  assembled  to  liear  him.  And 
when  these  tones  conveyed  the  awakening, 
peace-giving,  ami  hojie-inspiring  truths  of  the 
gospel,  with  God's  blessing  they  produced 
their  appropriate  effects. 

Wesley  was  un  ehxiuent  man,  but  of  a  very 
dilferent  order.  His  undoubted  jiiety,  his  pu- 
rity, his  absti.'niionsness,  and  his  observance 
of  clerical  propriety  in  his  costume  and  de- 
portment, inspired  his  hearers  with  confidence 
and  reverence.  No  one  heord  from  him 
the  bursts  of  eloquence  which  distinguished 
Whitefield's  jircaching.  There  were  no  sud- 
den thunderings  and  lightnings  from  Mount 
Sinai,  taking  his  hearers  by  surprise,  and 
making  them  quake  with  fear  and  terror. 
But  there  was  an  even,  a  gentle  flow  of  truth, 
like  a  clear  and  refreshing,  but  almost  noise- 
less stream — varied  with  facts  and  narratives 


--Timamm 


':m 


nnd  W«"«lny  received 
.'tiro  shut  out  frmn  the 

0  CHtnlilislir'd  (,'liurcho!i, 
■o,  priMii-liini;  thi;  wonl. 
iiiirs — mill  MiiiK'tiincs  in 
itirn — ihrsc  men  i)t'(f(Hl, 
luiilinesH,  nnd  piithim  of 
tecn«t»l,  wnnit'd  ninticr« 
ith  to  ciirnn,  nnd  iniidn 

riches  i)t'  the  ftruee  of 
Tlio  ellt'ct  on  inulritudos 
(•  und  bfttiT  tliiin  this; 
inctifyiiii; — suvinj;.  The 

1  an  intellectual  impulse 
u^tiT,  Huch  ntj  they  never 

They  were  tramed  to 
id  were  lifted  up  to  the 
ue  (Jod,  nnd  of  Jesus 
1 1  f^nt.  The  drunkard 
eiitious  hia  hauiita ;  und 
lis  oQths.  Many,  who 
Corinthians,  were,  like 
snnctilied,  and  justified, 
Lord  Jesus,  and  by  the 

:iof  Havnge  name, 
Lie  uf  tliu  Lamb." 

George  Wliitefield  and 
of  u  very  dill'eient  cliar- 

ollier.  But  each  was 
in,  to  secure  contidence, 
the  grand  purposes  of 
ng  men  from  the  paths 
;liem  to  the  obedience  of 

iwing  with  the  strong  and 
his  nature,  exhibited  his 
ures  and  in  every  move- 
His  very  tones,  even 
ted  by  his  countenance, 
irds  of  f(mr,  and  tc'rror, 
ility,  in  the  vast  crowds 
led  to  hear  him.  And 
inveyed  the  awukenin;;, 
:ie-inspiring  truths  of  the 
blessing  they  produced 
lets. 

Kjuenl  man,  but  ot  a  very 
undoubted  jiiety,  his  pu- 
less,  and  his  observance 
in  his  costume  and  de- 
s  hearers  with  confidence 
I  one  heard  from  him 
nee  which  distinguished 
ig.  There  were  no  sud- 
I  lightnings  from  Mount 
carers  by  surprise,  and 
!  with  fear  and  terror, 
n,  a  gentle  flow  of  truth, 
sshing,  but  almost  noise- 
.vith  facts  and  narratives 


r 


1 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1^ 

150 
L;     I. 

•UUt- 


|2e    |25 

20 
1.8 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


L25  iu  iii.6 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


< 


<. 

y^ 
^<i^ 


<? 


fw 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  ue  microreproductions  historiques 


WINDOW-GARDENING. 


83 


suiteil  to  fix  attt'iition,  and  to  illustrate  tlic 
subjects  of  his  discourse.  His  hearers  were 
overuvvi'd  and  yet  caj)tivoted  by  the  sanctity 
of  his  appearaiico  us  though  he  were  a  gentle 
and  yet  authoritative  visiter  from  another 
world,  whose  messages,  though  calmly  and 
mellilluously  uttered,  were  not  to  be  doubted. 
The  elo(|uence  of  Whitcfield  was  like  the 
dri)|)s  of  riiiu  couiing  down  copiously  and  with 
audible  noise.  Tlie  eloquence  of  Wesley 
was  like  the  falling  of  the  dew  upon  the  ten- 
der heri),  known  more  by  its  elTects  than  by 
its  fall.  And  then,  if  Wesley  was  inferior  in 
direct  power  of  speech  to  Whitcfield,  he  was 
far  superior  as  to  the  power  of  his  pen.  With 
the  liiner  instrument,  Whitcfield  could  do 
nothing.  His  whole  strength  was  in  his  ora- 
tory. JJut  wliih;  he  was  unsurpassed  in  the 
pulpit,  Wesley  Tar  transcended  him  in  eccle- 
siastical government.  One  was  a  child  as  to 
his  capacity  to  organize  into  a  well-arranged 
religious  body,  the  converts  he  had  made. 
The  other  was  a  giant,  or  rather  an  able  states- 
man, in  reiluciug  his  converts  to  fellowship 
and  durable  organization.  Hence,  perhaps, 
there  is  scarcely  a  church  in  Christendom  that 
can  trace  its  origin  to  Whitcfield  ;  but  there 
are  a  thousand  churches  in  Europe  and  Amer- 
ica that  delight  to  trace  their  existence  to 
Wesley.  We  need  not  add  that  both  these 
nieii  were  great  blessings  to  the  world,  and 
the  more  so,  that  they  were  laboring  and 
preaching  in  the  same  districts  of  country,  in 
alternate  succession,  or  at  the  same  time.  As 
neither  the  sun  nor  the  moon  can  take  each 
other's  ])lace,  soii,  was  with  these  men  of  God. 
Each  had  his  appropriate  messages  to  deliver, 
and  his  own  mamu^r  of  delivery,  and  his  own 
special  work  to  perform.  Infinite  Wisdom 
knew  this,  and  wrought,  now  by  the  son  of 
thunder — and  now  by  the  ■son  of  consolation. 
Their  eloquent  advocacy  of  the  great  truths 
of  the  gospel,  became  the  power  of  God  unto 
salvation,  to  multitudes  who,  through  tlieir 
word,  believed.  Their  •  ratory,  under  God, 
was  full  of  benignity  ano  gooil  to  their  fellow- 
beings,  both  in  Great  Britain  and  her  then 
American  colonies. 


WINDOW  GARDENING. 

In  crowded  cities,  where  ground  is  so  val- 
uable that  large  houses  have  only  a  small 
yard  behind  them,  window  gardening  becomes 
an  important  branch  of  floriculture,  as  it  af- 
fords the  inhabitants  almost  their  only  chance 
of  enjoying  the  luxury  of  flowers.  That  the 
cultivatioii  of  flowers,  even  in  a  window,  is, 
indeed,  an  enjoyment  to  the  inhabitants  of 


cities,  is  evident  by  the  pleasure  with  which 
we  see  many  of  those  who  live  by  their  labors 
with  the  jujcdle  or  the  loom,  spending  the 
greater  |)«t  of  their  few  leisure  hours  in  tend- 
ing a  few  geraniums  or  other  flowering  |)lai;ts 
arranged  on  a  window  sill ;  and  there  is  some- 
thing atlectin;^  in  the  sight,  when  we  recollect 
that  many  oi  these  jiersons  jirobably  came 
originally  from  the  country,  and  that  these 
few  leaves  and  flowers  arc  "all  that  remain  to 
remind  them  of  their  native  fields.  The 
plants  of  persons  of  this  class  are,  howe\er, 
generally  much  more  healthy  than  those  of 
richer  cultivators,  probably  because  they  are 
more  cared  for,  and  more  diligently  watched; 
for  no  living  objects  more  amply  repay  the  at- 
tention bestowed  upon  them  than  flowering 
plants. 

All  plants  grown  in  pots,  and  kept  in  a  room, 
re(|uire  more  attention  than  they  would  do  in 
any  other  situation,  as  they  are  in  a  most  un- 
natural state,  and  they  need  the  greatest  care 
that  can  be  bestowed  upon  them  to  counteract 
the  bad  elfects  of  their  peculiar  position.  To 
understand  thoroughly  how  disadvantageous 
that  position  is  to  their  growth,  we  must 
recollect  that  plants  derive  their  nourishment 
partly  through  their  roots,  and  partly  through 
their  leaves,  by  means  of  pores  so  extremely 
fine,  that  they  can  only  be  seen  by  the  aid  of 
a  very  powerful  microscope.  When  a  plant 
is  kept  constantly  in  an  inhabited  room,  the 
pores  of  the  leaves  become  choked  up  with 
dust;  and  as  the  air  of  every  room  inhabited 
by  human  beings  must  necessarily  be  very 
dry,  the  delicate  points  of  the  roots,  which 
are  of  a  soft  spongy  nature,  to  enable  them  to 
imbibe  woter,  become  withered  or  dried  up, 
and  lose  that  power  of  alternate  dilation  and 
contraction,  which  is  absolutely  necessary  to 
enable  them  first  to  absorb  moisture  from  ^he 
soil,  and  afterward  to  force  it  up  through  the 
stem  and  leaves.  In  addition  to  these  evils, 
which  it  is  extremely  diflicult  to  guard  against, 
may  be  added  another  of  almost  equal  im- 
portance, arising  from  the  use  of  saucers  to 
the  flower-pots.  These  it  is  diflicult  to  dis- 
pense with  in  a  living  room,  as,  without  them, 
there  would  be  danger  of  injuring  the  carpet, 
and  other  articles  of  furniture,  every  time  the 
plant  is  watered ;  for  water  is  of  scarcely  any 
use,  unless  it  be  given  in  sufficient  quantity  to 
saturate  the  whole  mass  of  earth  in  the  pot, 
and  this  can  not  be  done  without  some  esca- 
ping by  the  hole  at  the  bottom.  If,  however, 
water  be  suffered  to  stand  in  the  saucer,  unless 
there  be  abundance  of  drainage  in  the  bottom 
of  the  pot,  the  water  will  sodden  the  earth, 
and  if  it  does,  the  spongioles  of  the  roots  will 
inevitably  become  rotten.  Wlicrever,  there- 
fore, plants  are  kept  in  pots,  it  should  be  a 
paramount  object  with  the  cultivator  to  set 


84 


WINDOW  QAHDENING. 


them  out  in  the  open  air  ns  oftiMi  as  possiljle, 
und  then,  while  the  ))i)ts  are  stunding  without 
their  saucers,  to  uive  tliein  niiundunee  of  wa- 
t(  r,  eillii.'r  syringing  their  leaves,  or  washing 
tiicni  tlioiDughly  by  holding  a  watering-pf)t, 
wiiii  II  tine  rose,  uliove  them,  and  letting  the 
wiiter  descend  on  their  leaves  like  a  shower. 
In  summer,  jilants  may  be  watered  in  this 
manner  twice  a  day,  and  in  spring  and  autumn 
once  a  day,  without  receiving  the  slightest  in- 
jury from  over-watering.  In  winter,  how- 
ever, the  case  is  ditFerent ;  and  as  soon  as  the 
air  becomes  frosty,  the  plants  should  not  bo 
exposed  to  it,  and  they  should  be  watered  as 
little  as  possible,  so  as  to  keep  them  alive,  un- 
less they  should  be  plants  which  (lower  in  the 
winter,  ill  which  ease  they  shoidd  be  watered 
daily,  as  all  plants  when  in  flower  recjuire 
more  water  than  at  any  other  season.  As 
these  winter-flowering  ])lants  must,  of  course, 
be  jilaced  in  saucers,  for  the  sake  of  cleanli- 
ness, it  will  be  necessary  to  take  care,  when 
the  plants  are  watered,  that  the  saucers  are 
em])tied  out,  as  soon  as  the  water  has  run 
through  into  them,  so  that  no  stagnant  water 
may  be  allowed  to  remain  to  chill  the  roots. 
Another  point  which  sh>)uld  l)e  attended  to, 
when  plants  are  kf'[)t  in  living  rooms,  is  to  re- 
move all  the  dead  leaves  as  soon  as  they  ap- 
pear, as  the  decomposition  of  vegetable  mat- 
ter is  extremely  injurious  to  the  health  of  hu- 
man beings.  Even  ihe  plants  themselves  ap- 
pear to  grow  better  when  all  the  decaying 
vegetable  matter  they  produce  is  n^gularly 
removed  from  them;  and  not  only  do  they 
grow  more  vigorously,  but  the  perfume  and 
beauty  of  their  flowers  is  said  to  be  increased. 

In  attending  to  the  cultivation  of  plants 
which  are  to  be  kept  in  rooms,  it  must  never 
be  forgotten  that  they  mpiiic  I'.-r  as  well  as 
water  to  n(nirish  them.  It  hua  been  long 
known  that  ])lants  will  not  thrive  unless  the 
air  has  free  access  to  their  leaves  ;  but  it  has 
only  lately  been  ascertained  that  the  leaves 
not  only  act  in  elaborating  the  sap,  but  that 
they  also  tak(;  in  nourishment  from  the  atmo- 
sjdiere.  Aii  should  likewise  be  permitted  to 
have  access  to  the  roots  moderately,  so  as  not 
to  dry  them  ;  as  the  roots  can  derive  nourish- 
ment from  it,  as  well  as  the  leaves,  provided 
they  are  kept  in  a  sufficiently  moist  state  by 
the  earth  with  which  they  are  surrounded,  to 
be  capable  of  taking  nourishment  from  any- 
thing. The  important  fact  that  plants  derive 
a  great  portion  of  their  nourishment  from  the 
atmoajiheric  air,  was  little  known  before  the 
time  of  Liebig  ;  and  even  now,  it  is  so  contrary 
to  all  our  ancient  prejudices,  that  even  where 
it  is  acknowledged,  it  is  rarely  remembered 
when  the  rules  derived  from  it  are  to  be  acted 
upon. 

Light  is  as  essential  as  air  or  water  to  the 


growth  of  plants;  and  os  jilants  in  pots  rarely 
obtain  a  sufficient  (|uantity  whi'n  thcv  are 
kept  in  living  rooms,  their  stems  are  fici|Ufntly 
drawn  up  till  they  become  wciik  .iiid  slcndir, 
and  neither  their  leaves  nor  thrir  (lower,--  are 
so  dark  as  they  would  be  if  thv  jiliiiits  w(  re 
grown  in  the  open  air.  When  plants  are 
grown  in  grcenliouses,  they  are  generally 
placed  upon  a  stage  raised  on  steps  one  above 
another,  and  in  this  manner  the  leaves  receive 
the  full  odvantage  of  light,  while  the  sides  of 
the  pots  are  not  dried  by  exjiosure  to  tin?  sun  ; 
but  the  reverse  of  this  generally  takes  place 
when  plants  are  ke])t  on  a  wiiulow-siil,  as  the 
leaves  of  the  plants  are  fieciueiitly  shaded  by 
some  projecting  jiart  of  the  i;onse  or  window  ; 
while  the  pots  are  exposed  to  the  full  influ- 
ence of  the  sun,  and  thus  the  jxiints  of  the 
roots  of  the  plants  contained  in  them  are  very 
apt  to  become  dry  and  withered. 

It  may  |)ossibly  be  thought  by  some  persons, 
that  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  enlarge  on  the 
importance  of  light,  air,  and  water,  to  the 
health  of  plants,  as  every  one  must  be  aware 
of  that  fact ;  this,  howtner,  is  far  from  being 
the  case.  The  generality  of  amateurs  who 
cultivate  plants  in  pots,  think  that  the  j)rinei- 
pul  care  re(|uisite  for  their  ]ilunts  is  to  keep 
thein  wann  ;  and  if  they  do  not  grow  freely, 
to  give  them  niaimre ;  but  nothing  can  be 
more  ernnieous  than  this  mode  of  treatment. 
Too  much  heat  is  as  injurious  as  too  much 
cold ;  and  if  jjlants  are  brought  suddenly  out 
of  a  cool  greenhouse  into  a  very  warm  room, 
they  will  become  sickly ;  their  ilower-bmis 
will  fall  otr  without  ex))anding,  and  ])robably 
they  will  lose  the  greater  \mn  of  their  leaves. 

Over-manuring  is  still  more  injurious.  The 
roots  of  i)lants  in  jjots  are  so  cramped  by  the 
confined  space  in  which  they  are  kept,  that 
they  have  seldom  strength  to  digest  strong 
manure  ;  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  great  num- 
bers of  greenhouse  plants  were  killed  by  over- 
doses of  guano,  when  it  was  first  introduced. 
Giving  strong  manure  to  a  sickly  plant  is  as 
injurious  as  giving  strong  food  to  an  invalid ; 
and  in  both  cases,  does  harm  rather  than  good. 
If  to  over-manuring  be  added  abundant  wa- 
tering, and  want  of  drainage,  the  earth  in  the 
pot  becomes  what  is  called  sour,  and  is  not 
only  totally  incapable  of  aflijrding  nourish- 
ment, but  it  actually  rots  the  roots  of  the 
plants  growing  in  it. 


Excellence  is  never  granted  to  man,  but 
as  the  reward  of  labor.  It  argues,  indeed,  no 
small  strength  of  mind  to  persevere  in  the  habits 
of  industry  without  the  pleasure  of  perceiving 
those  advantages,  which,  like  the  hand  of  a 
clock,  while  they  make  hourly  approaches  to 
their  point,  yet  proceed  so  slowly  as  to  escape 
observation. 


1  OS  plants  ill  pots  rarely 
|unntity  when  llicv  are 
heir  sieins  ure  l'ie(|iii.|itl y 
coiiu'  weiik  <iiiil  sleuiler, 
,H'S  iinr  llii'Jr  (Idwery  nre 
111  l)e  if  the  ])liiiits  wi  re 
air.  When  plants  are 
PS,  they  nre  ;,'eiierally 
uiseil  on  stcjis  one  aliovo 
innner  the  leaves  reeeive 
light,  while  the  sides  of 
hy  exposure  to  thi;  sun  ; 
lis  generally  takes  place 
on  a  window-sill,  as  the 
irefie(pieiitly  shaded  hy 
)f  the  house  or  window  ; 
tposed  to  the.  full  influ- 
tluis  the  points  of  the 
iitnined  in  them  are  very 
d  withercid. 

honijht  by  some  jiersons, 
essaiy  to  enlarge  on  the 
air,  and  water,  to  the 
very  one  mnut  bo  aware 
wfiver,  is  far  from  being 
rality  of  nniateurs  who 
ts,  think  that  ilie  jirinei- 
their  ])lants  is  to  keep 
hey  do  not  prow  freely, 
e;  but  nothina;  can  be 
this  mode  of  treatment, 
i  injurious  as  too  much 
re  brought  suddenly  out 
into  a  very  wann  room, 
"kly;  their  flower-buds 
expanding,  and  jirobably 
ateriiart  of  their  leaves. 
:ill  more  injurious.  The 
s  are  so  cramped  hy  the 
dch  they  are  kept,  that 
;rcngth  to  digest  strong 
10  doubt  that  great  num- 
ints  were  killed  by  over- 
it  was  first  introduced. 
I  to  a  sickly  plant  is  as 
rong  food  to  an  invalid  ; 
s  harm  rather  than  good, 
be  adiled  abundant  wa- 
•ainage,  the  earth  in  the 
called  sour,  and  is  not 
e  of  alUirding  nourish- 
r  rots  the  roots  of  the 


ver  granted  to  man,  but 
'.  It  argues,  indeed,  no 
to  persevere  in  thehabiti 
e  pleasure  of  perceiving 
icn,  like  the  hand  of  a 
te  hourly  approaches  to 
d  so  slowly  OS  to  escape 


THE  BOUNTIES  OF  NATURE. 


85 


TIIK  UOUNTIKS  OF  NATURE.       | 

I.VNUMKRABLK  are  mail's  relations  with  the  j 
(lull  1  world.     Think  not   iiieiciy  of  the  links! 
wliicli  liinil  to  it  your  aniinu!  life.     True,  our  : 
lilr  dejiends   every  inoiiieiit  oil  the  air  in  tli(!  [ 
miiisl  of  wlii<'h  we  live.     15ut  we  bear  other  ; 
relatiipiis  to  the  visibb'  woricL     Tiie  skies  are  \ 
yours,  for  voii  behold  tlieiu  with  wonder  and  ! 
(leiiLilit.     'I'he  variegated  earth  is  yours,  and 
the   rich    uplands   of  the  swelling  hills:   the! 
music  of  tlie  rustlini;  trees  and  of  the  rippling  | 
brook;  the  changeful  anlliem  of  the  ocean  is  j 
yours;  for   things    properly    belong  to   those; 
who  can  enjoy  them,  and  tin;  man  of  a  culti- 1 
vated  mind  lias  inlets  of  pleasure  for  every 
department  and  almost  every  object  in   the  I 
World.     How   rajiidly  incn;ase  our  relations  j 
with  the  universe  in  proportion  as  we  gain  i 
knowledge  and  become  refined  in  taste.     The  | 
infant  sees  in  life  nothing  imt  smiling  eyes  and  ; 
happy   faces;    and    ])leasnralile   is   the   sight.! 
The  boy  views  every  object  in  relation  to  his  . 
amusement'.     The  ignorant  ascend  not  lieyond  . 
the  associations  connecteil  with  animal  grati- 
licutions.     Hills  to  the  shepherd  are  made  for 
grazing   sliee|).     Rivers   in   the  eyes  of   the 
coiniiii^rcial  man  are  means  of  inland  iiaviga- 
ticu  .  '.ml  the  ocean  rises  to  no  higher  charac- 
ter iliun  the  great  higliway  of  nations.     How 
dilferent  the  views  of  him  whose  mind  is  well- 
disciplined    and    well-tilled;  whose    heart   is 
pure  and  lofty  ;  how  dissimilar  his  views,  and 
how  much  more  true,  varied,  rich,  and  eleva- 
ted.    There  can  not  be  a  greut(;r  mistake  than 
to  suppose  that  the  obvious  are  the  sole  (luali- 
tics  of  bodies — f'      the  lower  are  the  only  real 
r(dation3   that  between   them   and  us. 

If  it  is  found  ^uj^  '*  se  relations  multiply 
with  every  step  man  takes  in  advance,  then 
mav  we  infjr  that  there  is  much  more  yet  to 
be  "known — many  links  to  discover— fither 
s|)lieres  of  beauty,  of  use,  rif  gratification. 

Indeed,  we  are  as  yet  only  in  the  alphabet 
of  our  knowledge  of  nature  ;  we  stand  only 
on  the  threshold  of  her  temple.  Not  on  the 
most  tiny  and  inconsiderable  object  can  we 
look,  but  wonder  mingles  with  our  pleasure : 
the  little  that  we  know  of  it  tells  us  there  are 
greater  secrets  to  bo  explored  ;  a  richer  mine 
in  nature  to  be  discovered  and  worked.  That 
leaf  pleases  by  its  contour,  and  gratifies  by  its 
texture  and  its  hue  :  ])lace  it  under  the  micro- 
scope, how  eclijised  is  its  sujierficial  beauty. 
That  rivulet  has  caught  your  eye,  you  listen 
pleasurably  to  its  soothing  melody  :  then  mark 
how  the  daisy  and  the  buttercup  enarncl  its 
banks ;  how  the  mild  violet  peeps  smilingly 
up  from  under  its  tangled  shrubs;  but  carry 
forward  your  thoughts ;  see  how  a  thousand 
streamlets  trickling  down  from  their  gravelly 
beds  unite  to  form  a  rivulet ;  and  a  hundred 


rivulets  running  ovi.t  riclily-co\  ered  plains 
meet  together  in  a  stream ;  and  how  several 
streams,  after  watering  and  refreshing  many  a 
hnmestead  and  many  a  village.  How  into  a 
river  :  how  aft"r  liuving  lel't  their  beneliietioiis 
iu'liiiid  for  men  and  cattle,  rivers  unite,  and  ii, 
oni'  grand  volume  go  like  a  monarch,  forwar.i 
to  the  ocean,  there  to  blend  with  other  sn(  ams 
from  opposite  (|uarlers  of  the  glolie,  and  form 
the  great  reservoir  of  waters  wliicli  binds  to- 
gether remote!  nations,  supplies  the  clouds 
with  moisture,  makes  our  atmosphere  lit  for 
sustaining  animal  life,  and  semis  dews  and 
showers  to  enrich  th(!  earth  and  feed  every 
living  thing. 

It  is  chiefly  when  the  moral  and  the  re- 
liuioiis  feelings  intervene,  that  iiiun's  relalions 
to  the  world  become  most  inipressi\e  and 
most  gratifviiig.  Abundance  and  privation 
seen  as  (Joil's  ordinations  for  man's  jjood — in- 
struct while  they  move  and  fill  the  mind  with 
sentiments  of  the  holiest  kind.  I  low  great, 
how  ennobling,  is  the  contemjiIatiiMi  of  the 
universe,  when  all  is  seen  in  God;  and  God 
is  seen  in  all. 

'I'lien  is  there  excited  in  the  mind  a  feeling 
which,  more  than  any  other,  combines  %vhat  is 
|)leasiirable  with  what  is  elevating;  namely, 
gratitude.  This  is  the  emotion  which  an 
abundant  harvest  spontaneously  awakens. 
In  every  ]ilain,  on  every  hillside,  along  the 
winding"  banks  of  every  stream,  we  behold 
gifts  of  the  divine  bounty,  trace  our  relations 
with  inanimate  nature,  and  hear  claims  on  (uir 
grateful  adoration.  The  birds  and  llu'  cattle, 
in  partaking  of  these  jirovisions,  ami  uiteriiig 
the  glad  tones  which  abundance  prompts,  join 
in  inviting  man  to  praise  thccommtai  benefac- 
tor. The  joy  excited  by  the  bright  promise  of 
an  amiilc  harvest  is  enhanced  when  we  re- 
vert to  the  privations  and  sufVerings  that  in 
times  of  scarcity  thousands  have  to  endure. 
The  time  will  come  when  there  will  no  longer 
be  the  possibilityof  a  widely-extended  famine. 
Dearth  of  food  docs  by  no  means  depend  ex- 
clusivelv  on  the  abundance  of  one  harvest,  or 
the  ample  returns  reaped  by  the  agriculture 
of  one  country.  Moral  causes  here,  as  in 
every  human  interest,  have  very  much  to  do 
with  our  condition.  In  the  earliest  jieriods  of 
history,  famine  freiiuently  devastated  large 
(lortions  of  the  earth.  Yet  the  population  was 
thin  and  scattered,  land  was  not  wuniiiig,  har- 
vests in  general  were  copious.  Dearth  of 
food  aiosj  from  men's  improvidence.  They 
lived  for  the  passing  hour.  Plenteous  aiiU 
unlimited  in  her  gifts  is  our  mother  earth. 
But  if  men  will  not  ask  her  for  more  than 
they  at  the  moment  need ;  or,  if  they  squan- 
der what  they  have ;  or,  if  they  will  not  take 
and  enjoy  in  one  part  what  she  pioduces  in 
another — what  but  famine  and  distress  can  be 


J>£> 


86 


VIADUCT  OVER  THE  PATUXENT. 


pxppctnil  ?  We  are  very  far  from  having 
rcni'hod  the  limit  of  the  earth's  productive- 
ness. Ildw  larfjo  a  portion  of  its  surt'uce  is 
yet  iirieuitivated  !  how  imperfect  much  of  our 
actual  cultivation!  In  seienee,  the  progress 
of  8oci<!ty  has  been  most  rapid  ond  most  ex- 
tensive. Have  its  resource's  no  now  jiower  to 
unfold,  in  regard  to  the  pr'oiiiitiion  of  food  for 
man  ?  Amid  its  multitudinous  combinations, 
is  there  not  one  which  will  directly  minister 
to  the  su[)pr)rt  of  human  life  ?  We  can  send 
our  words  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning  over 
the  earth's  surface.  We  dart  through  the 
air  more  swiftly  than  the  birds.  Shall  we 
despair  of  yet  discovering  means  for  multi- 
plying the  supplies  of  human  food  ?  Such  o 
secret  will,  we  doubt  not,  be  discovered. 

But  were  it  actually  in  our  possession,  and 
were  we  in  consecpience  able  to  increase  the 
common  stock  a  hundred-fold,  still  should  we 
possess  no  absolute  guaranty  against  want 
ond  dearth.  Tlu;  lands  that  are  most  prolific 
are  not  the  most  free  from  famine.  It  is  not 
abundance  so  much  as  thrift  that  secures  man 
from  indigence.  Those  who  have  most  at 
their  command  are  generally  most  in  need. 
The  rich  man's  estate  comes  to  the  hammer, 
while  the  cottage  of  the  industrious  lal)orer 
passes  down  through  successive  generations. 
Where  nature  or  providence  is  most  bountiful 
man  is  most  wasteful.  The  barbarian  con- 
sumes as  fast  as  he  gains.  What  is  termed 
civilized  society  bears  some  resemblance  to 
savage  life.  Hitherto,  each  country  has  first 
kept  its  own  produce  to  itself,  then  refused  to 
receive  the  produce  of  other  lands,  and  lastly, 
consumed  every  year  what  the  year  has 
brought  forth.  It  is  partly  to  the  folly  of  gov- 
ernments, partly  to  the  improvidence  of  indi- 
viduals, that  we  owe  dearth,  famine,  and  pes- 
tilence. When  we  think  of  the  amazing  com- 
mand overextemal nature  that  man  has  gained, 
and  think  also  of  the  resources  of  moral  wis- 
dom, we  feel  no  less  amn/ed  than  grieved  that 
such  a  calamity  as  the  luio  dearth  in  Ireland  is 
possible.  Three  millions  of  men,  women,  and 
children,  in  the  nineteenth  century  reduced  for 
their  daily  subsistence  to  the  dole  of  charity  ! 
and  in  a  most  prolific  land,  with  abundance  on 
foreign  shores  waiting  to  be  purchased  and 
consumed !  An  entire  people  living  from  hand 
to  mouth  !  the  British  islands  with  no  provis- 
ion 0:i;ainst  the  dayof  need  !  their  bams  empty, 
their  storehouses  exhausted!  and  that  too, 
when  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  &, 
hands  were  ready  and  willing  to  labor  in  pro- 
ducing or  sending  them  food ! 

The  true  wealth  of  a  people  is  what;  they 
save  from  the  present.  Men  must  save  if 
they  would  be  safe.  Accumulation  renders 
want  impossible.  Accumulation  promotes  ac- 
cumulation.   Every  individual  ought  to  lay 


by  for  the  future  a  portion  of  his  present  gains. 
Tliese  exertions  of  our  moral  nature  must  be- 
come, and  they  only  can  become,  the  guardi- 
ans of  our  physical  life.  He  is  not  jioor,  he 
never  will  be  pmir,  who  consumes  less  than 
he  obtains.  Where  there  is  a  spare  lonf,  fiirn- 
ine  never  comes.  Individual  thrift  is  national 
prosperity.  Abundance  vonishes  before  waste- 
fulness. An  impoverished  must  be  a  sufli'ring 
people.  Whether,  in  general,  the  relation 
which  the  outer  world  bears  to  us  individuully 
and  collectively  shall  be  one  of  happiness  or 
of  sufitTing,  depends  mainly  on  our  character. 
Mental  culture,  wise  forethought,  ganerous 
affections,  a  healthy  frame — these  are  the 
great  sources  of  happiness ;  and  were  these 
universal,  pain  would  be  rare,  and  famine 
unknown. 


VIADUCT  OVER  THE  PATUXENT. 

The  arches  of  the  viaduct,  in  the  engraving 
which  we  present  to  our  readers,  sjjan  the 
Patuxent,  a  stream  which  at  some  points  is  of 
very  consideraide  depth  and  breadth,  but 
which,  in  addition  to  its  own  loveliness  becomes 
an  object  of  interest  for  its  being  the  scene  of 
actions  which  ti  raispired  during  our  country's 
last  war  with  Great  Bri;  lin.  The  view  will 
be  recognised  for  its  faithfulness  in  every  par- 
ticular ;  and,  that  it  may  be  more  forcibly  im- 
pressed ujjon  the  memory,  we  annex  some  of 
the  historical  passages  connected  with  it, 
drawn  from  the  most  respected  authorities. 

In  May,  1814,  while  the  British  were  at- 
tempting to  blockade  the  coast,  in  the  com- 
mand of  a  flotilla,  comprising  a  cutter,  two 
gun-boats,  a  galley,  and  nine  large  barges, 
Commodore  Barney  sailed  from  Baltimore  for 
the  protection  of  the  bay.  At  the  mouth  of 
the  Patuxent,  on  the  first  of  June,  he  discov- 
ered and  chased  two  schooners,  one  of  which 
carried  eighteen  guns.  The  schooners  were 
soon  joined  by  a  seventy-four-gun  ship,  which 
sent  a  number  of  barges  to  their  assistance;, 
and  the  commodore,  to  avoid  being  cut  off 
from  the  Potomac,  sailed  up  the  Patuxent. 
The  schooners  and  barges  having  followed  him, 
he  engaged  and  drove  them  back,  and  anchon-d 
within  three  miles  of  the  seventy-four.  After 
a  few  days,  the  British  were  reinforceil  by  a 
sloop-of-war  and  a  razee,  and  joining  the  bar- 
ges, they  moved  into  St.  Leonard's  creek, 
Nvhere  Commodore  Barney  had  placed  the  flo- 
tilla across  in  line  of  battle.  An  engagement 
was  the  consequence.  The  enemy  retreated, 
the  flotilla  followed,  and  in  tl\e  aftenioon  the 
former  made  a  second   attack  with  twenty 


tion  of  his  present  gains. 
r  moral  nature  must  bf- 
Qn  brnotne,  the  giinnli- 
*e.  He  is  not  jmor,  lie 
ho  consumes  Icsm  tlmn 
lero  is  a  spare  lonf,  fnni- 
ividual  thrift  is  national 
2  vanishes  before  wusto- 
sheil  must  be  a  suHi'rin;!,' 
1  general,  the  relation 
bears  to  us  individually 
be  one  of  happiness  or 
ininlyon  our  character, 
forethoupht,  gsnerous 
frame — these  are  the 
iness;  and  were  these 
1  be  rare,  and  famine 


THE  PATUXENT. 

aduct,  in  the  engraving 
mr  readers,  sjian  the 
ich  at  some  points  is  of 
|)th  and  breadth,  but 
own  loveliness  hecomes 
r  its  being  the  scene  of 
d  during  our  country's 
rii,iin.  The  view  will 
ithfulncss  in  every  par- 
i}'  be  more  forcibly  im- 
3ry,  we  annex  some  of 
IS  connected  with  it, 
inspected  authorities. 
R  the  British  were  at- 
:he  coast,  in  the  com- 
nprising  a  cutter,  two 
md  nine  large  barges, 
led  from  Baltimore  for 
ay.  At  the  mouth  of 
rst  of  June,  he  discov- 
hooners,  one  of  which 
The  schooners  were 
(T-four-gun  ship,  which 
es  to  their  assistance, 

0  avoid  being  cut  ofF 
lied  up  the  Patuxent. 
;s  havmg  followed  him, 
em  back,  and  anclion-d 
e  seventy-four.     After 

1  were  reinforced  by  a 
le,  and  joining  the  bar- 

St.  Leonard's  creek, 
nev  had  placed  the  flo- 
ittie.    An  engagement 

The  enemy  retreated, 
id  in  the  afternoon  the 
1  attack  with  twenty 


88 


NOAH  WORCESTER,  THE  AMERICAN  APOSTLE  OK  PEACE. 


barges  nnil  two  Bchooners.  The  action  was 
seven!,  mid  the  eijjhtecn  fiun  schooner  was 
run  a;,'n)iiii(i  ninl  nl)nn(loneil.  A  cor|ia  of  artil- 
lery iirrivini;  from  WaHliinjiton  on  the  twenty- 
sixth,  the  eoinmoilore  attueked  the  whole 
si|iia(lron,  and  after  an  action  of  two  hours, 
drove  the  enemy's  shi])»  down  the  river. 

TIk!  Uritish  n;i)verninent,  hostilities  in  Eu- 
ro|)e  luivinijceivsed,  sentout  reinforcements  to 
llieir  lleet  in  America.  Sir  Alexander  Coch- 
rune  arrived  with  thirty  sail,  and  several 
lliousand  men,  under  JVIajor-tieneral  Ross. 
This  power  eMtere(l  the  Chesaiieake,  and  a 
lilun  (if  ultiick  was  formed  asainst  Wasliin-;- 
ton,  Alexandria,  and  Haltimore,  the  secretary 
of  state  having  heen  honorahly  inforoKMl  liy 
the  admiral,  that  his  orders  were  to  lay  waste 
!  all  the  accessihle  towns  on  the  cciast.  In  two 
divisions,  the  Meet  a|i|)r()a>'hicl  the  capital  by 
the  Potomac  and  I'atnxent. 

Comm.idore  Harney,  obedient  to  orders, 
blew  ui)tlie  llolilla  in  "the  I'atnxent,  and,  with 
his  mill,  joined  (Jeneral  Winder,  (ieneral 
Ross  landed  six  thousand  inen  at  the  head  of 
frigate  navigation.  IIc!  was  met  by  (ieneral 
Winder,  and  his  force  of  live  thousand  men, 
at  Rladenslmr,«h.  The  action  conmieiiced  at 
nixHi.  In  the  main  roa<l  l)y  which  the  British 
advanced,  was  Commodore  Barney's  battery. 
After  several  vain  attempts  were  made  to 
pass  him,  the  main  column  was  thrown  into 
disorder.  His  right  was  then  Hanked.  In 
all  other  points,  the  British  gained,  ami  Com- 
modore Barney,  with  a  slight  force,  stood 
alone. 

The  commodore  was  wounded  in  the  thigh, 
and  had  but  a  single  round  of  cartridge  left; 
General  Ross  had  nearly  the  control  of  the 
field.  Thus  situated,  the  commodore  reluc- 
tantly retreated,  and  so(4i  fell,  exhausted  by 
the  loss  of  blood.  Taken  prisoner,  he  was 
borne  to  the  enemy's  hospital,  kin(Uy  treated, 
and  on  his  recovery,  released  on  his  parole. 

General  Ross  marched  to  the  capital,  and 
humed  the  public  buildings,  an  act  \yhich  was 
immediately  condemned  by  the  British  gov- 
ernment. 

The  division  of  the  enemy's  fleet  which 
wetit  up  the  Potomac,  consisted  of  eight  sail, 
and  was  commanded  by  Captain  Gordon,  It 
was  directed  toattack  Alexandria.  The  town 
surrendered,  and  stipulated  that  the  houses 
should  be  neither  entered  nor  destroyed. 

Captain  Gordon,  afterward,  with  a  fleet 
of  prizes  taken  from  Alexandria,  sailed  to  join 
the  rest  of  the  s(|uadion  in  the  Chesapeake, 
receiving  some  damage  from  the  batteries  near 
the  mouth  of  the  river  as  he  descended,  and 
united  in  the  less  formidable  actions  against 
Baltimore. 

The  following  lines  beautifully  describe  the 
past  and  present  appearance  of  the  Patuxent, 


and  give  ailditional  testimony  in  favor  of  the 
triumphs  of  peace  onti  industry  : — 

WhHt  n  chnnge  liiu  olil  I'lmo,  In  Ilia  courKo  hero  crcutod, 
I'utuxriit  I  8Wi!i't  riviT,  uliu'u  wh(Mi  u  iriirf  lioy. 

Fsrawny  IVoin  ii:y  lioim',  wiih  bwitI  I'Iurhu'')  cuinntcil, 
On  thy  linnkn  wc  iliM'OVtriul  the  fuiiiitiiinK  of  J(iy. 

1  rcninnlinr  tlie  day  wlicn  thn  CHniiuirH  ^luil  rattlu, 
.Sliuok  tliu  bouniU  ul  tliy  bod  like  tliu  tliiinJor's  dread 
ronr, 

And  the  emokc  thnt  nroac  from  the  icone  of  thn  bnttic, 
Sprnid  iibovo  ttiec  in  clouds,  B'ld  unnhrondcd  thy  sliore. 

At  n  iliwtance  I  stood  nnd  be^hrld  witli  deep  wonder, 
Tlir(m)!li  tlio  I'Hrlenijthened  line,  aa  each  lightning-flush 
broke, 

While  the  scene  wns  confused  by  Ibu  echoln};  thunder, 
Tlie  dend  and  the  d;  ing  tout  fell  in  the  nnioke. 

Oh,  bow  pcftcelul  nnd  (juiet  is  now  k)I  around  thco, 
Thy  banks  are  distiirlied  liy  nc»  din  that  destroys. 

For  twinned  Commerce  and  Wisdom  have  hiiiipily  found 
thee. 
Ami  their  zenl  for  mankind  now  thy  service  employs. 

Tbou  art  spanned  by  triumjihant  and  useful  high  arches, 
^V'lli(■h  unite  thy  rich  banks,  as  a  clasp  firm  and  strong, 

Ami  Knterprise  there  with  a  mairic  o'ermnrches. 
While  her  votaries  follow,  and  fear  not  to  throng. 

What  a  cliange  has  old  Time,  in  his  course  here  created, 
Patuxent  I  sweet  river,  since  when  a  mere  boy, 

Far  away  from  my  home,  with  swci  t  Pleasure  co-mated, 
On  thy  banlu  wo  discovered  the  fountains  of  Joy. 


NO.\H  WORCESTER, 

THE   AlrtERICAN   APOSTLE   OF    PEACE. 

Noah  Worcester,  the  subject  of  the  fol- 
lowing sketch,  was  bom  at  HoUis,  New 
Hampshire,  on  the  25th  day  of  November, 
1758.  Hollis  was  then,  like  many  New 
England  towns  which  are  now  flourishing,  an 
obscure  place,  .md  the  roads  which  passed 
through  it  were  marked  by  the  axe  of  the 
woodman.  A  few  years  serve  to  clear  away 
the  trunks  and  roots  of  trees  in  these  thriving 
villages,  and  substitute  in  their  place  neat 
squara  houses,  with  at  least  one  church  v.-ith 
its  spire  pointing  upward.  Noah  was  lineally 
descended  from  the  Rev.  William  Worcester, 
who  came  from  Salisbury,  in  England,  and 
became  minister  of  a  church  in  Salisbury,  in 
Massachusetts  Bay,  instituted  in  16.38,  ])roba- 
bly  s(X)n  after  his  arrival  from  the  mother- 
country.  Noah,  with  the  beautiful  simplicity 
and  truth  that  marked  his  character,  speaks 
of  his  religious  impressions  as  of  the  earliest 
date  that  he  could  remember  anything,  ex- 
cept, he  adds,  "a  bum  which  I  received  in 
my  bosom  when  I  was  two  years  old."  His 
opportunities  of  education  were  few  and  im- 
perfect, and  his  services  as  a  laborer,  as  he 
grew  strong  and  robust,  he<;ame  important ;  a 
few  weeks  in  the  winter  season  were  all  that 


)K  I'KACK. 


pstimony  in  favor  of  the 
ui  industry : — 

inp,  In  hill  eoumo  horo  crcuteJ, 
itlii'c  when  u  irn  re  lioy. 
with  nwi'ft  IMeHMU"»J  oo-inated, 
ernl  tho  fuuiituind  uf  Joy, 

thi!  mnnuirH  'mid  rnttlu, 
y  bed  Ukc  tlic  tlnindcr'ii  dread 

from  the  iconc  of  thn  bnttlc, 
luja,  H'ld  uuithroudvd  thy  eliure, 

ii'lit'ld  Willi  deep  wonder, 

iicd  line,  an  cnch  lightning  Siiah 

ised  liy  Iho  nrliolnR  thunder, 
tiuit  fell  in  the  niiioltc. 

■t  ia  now  itll  nround  thee, 

I  by  no  din  thiit  destroys, 

nd  Wisdom  havo  hiippily  found 

ind  now  thy  »ervice  emjiloya. 

iilihiint  nnd  useful  hiiih  arches, 
lilies,  ns  a  einsp  firm  and  utrung, 
I  a  inngic  o'ermnrehes, 
w,  and  tear  not  to  throng, 

nie,  in  hie  course  here  created, 
"inco  when  a  mere  boy, 
with  8wc<:t  I'leasuro  co-mated, 
ered  the  fountains  of  Joy. 


WORCESTER, 

APOSTLE    OF   PEACE. 

R,  the  subject  of  the  fol- 
bom  at  HoUis,  New 
25th  day  of  November, 
then,  like  many  New 
li  are  now  flourishing,  an 
the  roads  which  passed 
rked  by  the  axe  of  the 
ears  serve  to  clear  away 
of  trees  in  these  thriving 
ute  in  their  place  neat 
at  least  one  church  -".'ith 
r'ard.  Noah  \»as  lineally 
Elev.  William  Worcester, 
lisbury,  in  England,  and 
I  church  in  Salisbury,  in 
instituted  in  1638,  proba- 
irrival  from  the  mother- 
h  the  beautiful  simplicity 
cd  his  character,  speaks 
essions  as  of  the  earliest 
remember  anything,  ex- 
um  which  I  received  in 
as  two  years  old."  His 
cation  were  few  and  im- 
'ices  as  a  laborer,  as  he 
ist,  be(;ame  important ;  a 
nter  season  were  all  that 


NOAH  W0UCK8TEH,  THE  AMERICAN  APOSTLE  OK  PEACE. 


89 


could  be  allowed  him  for  school  education, 
wliii'h  was  (if  ilie  HJinplcst  kind,  and  deticifiit 
in  the  priii'liciil  stinlics  of  grammar  and  geog- 
ruphy.  Wlicii  ln'  was  sixteen,  his  school  ed- 
ucntiiiti  wholly  ceased. 

It  is  not  surprising  that,  possessed  of  an  ar- 
dent and  ailivn  iniinl,  ho  should  have  em- 
braced the  lirsl  ('limige  that  ollered  ;  anil  on 
the  ciimiiiciiceiiiciit  of  the  American  Rcvolu- 
tiou,  the  ensuing  s|iriiig,  he  joined  the  uritiy  as 
a  lifer,  and  continued  eleven  moiillis  in  the 
service.  He  wiis  at  the  bill  tie  of  Hunker's 
Hill — inenioralile  iiiilh  for  I!riti>li  and  Aineri- 
cuiis,  who  iiiiiv  to  this  diiv  view  the  grimiui, 
enrielieil  liy  the  lil 1  of  their  cherished  sons. 

IJis  reciillei^tidus  of  this  period  were  vivid  ; 
once  h(^  narrowly  eseii|ied  lieiiig  mnile  prisoner. 
He  was  afterwiirdiu  the  buttle  of  Heiiiiingtoii, 
and  expressed  the  ucuteness  of  his  feelings  in 
going  over  the  Imtlle-ground  the  day  after  the 
conK'st.  When  llii'  tcnn  of  his  enlistment 
expirt'd,  lie  was  snlieited  to  remain,  with  olli'rs 
of  iniTcased  eniiliiment;  hut  he  was  heart- 
sick of  ihi  l)usiuess,  and  jiersistcd  in  ([uitting 
the  camp. 

This  was,  in  truth,  the  scIkkiI  in  which 
Providence  liiid  liestiiied  him  to  be  educated  ; 
it  was  here  he  was  to  learu  the  means  of  being 
most  useful  to  his  fellow-ereatures ;  to  learn 
the  nature  of  war,  its  vampire  horrors,  futten- 
inn  on  the  blood  of  fellow-men,  and  rioting  on 
the  bed  of  carnage.  He  expressed  devout 
gratitude  fo  Pioviilence,  who  had  led  him  un- 
harmed through  moral  dangers,  but  he  was 
shocked  to  Hml  how  greatly  the  generous  and 
tender  syin[)ulhies  of  his  nature  hadbecomc! 
weakened  by  the  sight  of  human  carnage. 
There  was  still,  however,  a  living  spring  of 
symjiathy  in  his  heart;  he  had  found  a  being 
congenial  to  himself,  with  a  mind  gentle  and 
courageous  as  his  own — a  voung  girl,  v.-ho  at 
the  age  of  sixteen  was  w'  v^  to  pledge  her 
faith  to  him,  then  eighteen,  ;  1  hand  in  hand 
meet  poverty  and  war. 

Another  source  of  education  was  now  opened 
to  him :  he  was  reipiestcd  to  become  the 
teacher  of  the  villu're  school.  He  felt  his 
deficiencies  for  such  im  office,  but  was  resolute 
and  determined  to  remove  them.  He  devoted 
the  intervals  of  the  school — it  must  be  re- 
membered that  this  occupied  only  the  winter 
months — in  actpiiring  stich  learning  as  was 
.  most  useful  and  necessary ;  and  finding  it  dif- 
ficult to  procure  pa|)er  during  the  war,  he 
selected  pieces  of  white  birch  bark,  and  imi- 
tated the  liest  copies  of  handwriting  he  could 
find.  He  was  fortunate  enough  at  the  age  of 
eighteen  to  procure  a  dictionary,  the  first  he 
ever  possessed.  That  he  was  continued  in  the 
office  of  a  teacher  nine  successive  winters,  is 
a  proof  how  faithfully  he  tilled  it.  He  was 
itariied  with  no  other  prospects  in  life  but 


farming  in  the  summi  -,  and  keeping  schtxil  in 
the  winter;  yet  peace  and  cotitentmeni  made 
their  home  in  his  dwelling.  At  this  time  ho 
was  twenty-one  years  of  age,  and  hud  never 
written  any  comjKisitions  on  abstract  subjects. 
He  mentions  writing  letters  for  liimself  and 
others  who  had  friends  in  the  army,  and  also 
when  teaching,  com|)osing  copies  for  his  schol- 
ars, and  (piestions  in  arithmetic,  instead  of 
taking  them  from  books.  His  huiiils  of  reflec- 
tion and  iiKiuiry  were  formed,  and  led  him  to 
fret!  discussions,  and  even  arguments,  on  vari- 
ous sulijecls. 

About  this  period  a  convention  of  delegates 
had  formed  aeunsiiiution  tiir  New  Hampshire, 
his  native  state,  which  they  caused  to  be 
printed  and  sent  to  the  diirerent  towns,  with  a 
reipiest  tliiit  "such  objeelions  as  should  occur 
might  Ije  stated  in  writing,  with  reasons  for 
theiisupport,  and  forwarded  to  the  convention 
at  their  next  meeting." 

It  was  now  that  the  treosnres  of  his  mind, 
which  hud  been  gradually  acciimuhuing,  burst 
forth  into  siiontuneous  fruit.  He  coinposetl  an 
article  on  the  subject,  perfectly  satisfactory  to 
till.'  committee  and  the  town,  and  began  to  feel 
that  by  |iractice  he  might  wite  to  advantage. 
He  fonned  the  habit  of  examining  religious 
subji'cts,  by  writing  short  dissertations  on  dif- 
ferent questions.  He  was  jirompted  to  these 
exercises  by  the  (|uickness  and  activity  of  his 
mind,  ui.'d  for  his  own  satisfaction.  The 
strength  of  these  impulses  maybe  better  com- 
lireheiided  by  a.  knowledge  of  his  situation. 
He  had  an  incn^asing  family,  and  no  means 
of  subsistence  but  the  labor  of  his  own  hands. 
This  was  incessant.  When  not  working  on 
the  farm,  he  applied  himself  to  making  shoes, 
which  became  in  fact  his  recreation.  The 
man  who  was  to  efl'ect  a  revolution  in  public 
ojiinion  in  after-life,  sat  at  work  upon  his 
bench,  ajiparently  wholly  engaged  with  his 
awl  and  his  la.st;  but  at  the  end  of  the  bench 
lay  his  lapboard,  with  jien,  ink,  and  paper, 
upon  it ;  and  when  his  thoughts  were  ripe  for 
expression,  the  shoe  gave  place  to  the  lap- 
board,  and  placing  it  on  his  knees,  he  poured 
forth  the  eloquent  thoughts  that  demanded 
utterance. 

We  have  no  intention  of  entering  into  the 
process  of  Mr.  Worcester's  theological  opin- 
ions, deeply  interesting  t  ■  they  are,  and  guided 
and  developed  by  the  faithful  study  of  Scrip- 
ture. This  has  been  done  liy  the  ablest  of 
pens  ;  and  though  the  hand  that  once  guided 
it  is  still  and  consigned  to  the  dust,  the  mind 
tliat  impelled  it  still  lives,  and  will  continue 
to  influence  thousands  of  human  beings.* 

The  power  of  self-education  is  much  better 
understood  in  the  present  day  than  it  was  at 
that  period  of  Noah  Worcester's  life.     Those 
•  The  Rev.  Henry  Ware,  Jan.,  D.l). 


":f;f"«4»i,.  -1 


■'*1 


<t.i  .SI 


^,*..44t1 


i^^itiil 


wlir)  had  seen  tlip  strifiliiiR  grow  up  to  »niin- 
IkmkI  ntnonu;  tlicin,  wiihout  nny  nxtcriml  ad- 
Vftiitnijca,  yet  now  stiiiidins  forld  with  n  (l(')irt(' 
of  miiriil  ))()u-('r  nml  diunity,  wtTf  nstonislicd; 
they  t'ldt  that  he  wiisciillrd  to  do  the  work  of 
his  fathiT,  and  many  of  liis  clerical  frirtids 
iiriii'il  him  to  hcconu!  n  iniiiistor.  After  dct'|i 
rcdcction,  ho  rosoKcd  to  present  hiiiwelf  for 
exiiiniiiation,  nnd  was  readily  a|i|)rove<l. 

"I  have  never,"  lie  says,  "donhted  the 
friendship  or  siijcerity  of  those  ministers  who 
advised  and  eiieonrajied  me  to  lieeomn  a 
))reaelier;  yet  I  have  often  doulited  whether  I 
could  have  given  similar  advice  under  similar 
circuinsianc.'s.  My  want  of  edueafiou  was 
great ;  I  hail  a  wife  and  three  chililren  who 
depended  for  sn[)port  on  the  fr, lit  of  my  lahors ; 
I  was  emliarrassed  l)y  d(d)t,  hy  having  pnr- 
chasod  a  farm  at  an  nnfavorahle  time  during 
the  war;  I  had  found  no  lei-inrn  for  regular 
study ;  and  when  or  whi're  I  should  obtain 
regular  employment  as  a  i)reaelier  seemed 
wholly  nnci-rtuin.  When  m  later  years  I 
iittve  reflecied  on  thesi'  several  facts,  it  has 
seemed  to  me  wonderful  that  wise  men  shoidd 
have  advised  me  to  make  the  attem|)t  to  he- 1 
come  a  minister,  nnd  also  wonderfid  that  I  was 
induced  to  eomjily  with  their  advice.  But,  I 
donhtless,  God  had  some  wise  design  in  so 
ordering  the  event.'' 

His  preaching  was  immediately  acceptable, 
and  in  a  few  months  he  was  settled  at  Tliom- 
ton  ;  "  and  here,"  says  his  biographer,  "  he 
fulfilled  a  useful  and  "hannonious  ministry  of 
tweniy-three  years'  duration." 

It  must  not  he  supposed  that  he  was  en- 
dowed with  any  rich  benefice  ;  the  town  was 
small  and  humble  ;  he  ])reached  in  a  dwelling- 
house  or  schoolhouse  ;  and  his  salary  was  two 
hundred  dollars  a  year.  On  this  small  stipend, 
aided  by  the  labor  of  his  hands,  partly  on  the 
farm,  and  partly  in  making  shoes,  he  more 
than  supported  his  growing  family — he  found 
the  art  of  being  beneficent.  Many  of  his 
parishioners  could  ill  afTord  to  pay  their  pro- 
portion of  the  small  sum ;  and  when  the  time 
for  collecting  it  drew  near,  to  the  poorer  ones 
he  gave  a  receipt  in  full,  relinquishing  all 
claims  upon  them.  When  a  hard  season  came, 
and  there  was  no  provision  for  a  winter  school, 
he  threw  open  the  door  of  his  house,  invited 
the  children  to  his  study,  and  gave  them  reg- 
ular and  daily  instruciion.  With  all  these 
•wearing  occupations,  the  activity  of  his  mind 
was  constant;  he  entered  with  interest  into 
the  subjects  which  engaged  jjublic  ottention, 
studied  with  pen  in  hand,  writing  down  his 
thoughts,  and  publishing  in  the  public  journals. 
His  publications  early  attracted  attention ; 
and  the  obicuro  minister  of  an  obscure  place 
begun  to  be  heard  of  in  the  circles  of  the 
learned  and  uinuent.     In  the   midst  of  this  1 


scene  of  prosperity— for  such  in  truth  it  might 
be  termed,  their  few  and  siinide  want-  having 
made  their  means  a  coni|)eleiiey,  domestic  love 
and  hannony  sheilding    its   Inippy    indmnco 
within  their  humble  dwcdling.  and  the  i;entle 
misire-is  of  the  house,  like  our  first  molher, 
amid  fruits  arid  flowers  making  u  parailise  of 
lumie — amid  all  this,  (here  came  a  sad  reverse. 
Mr.  Worcester  had  eiigageil  to  preach  for 
a  brother  minister,   an<l    with  the   primitive 
sim|dieify  of  the  times,  took  his  wifi a  pil- 
lion beliind  him  logo  to  the  appointed  place. 
'I'he  horse  became  iniruly.  nnd  .'Mrs.  Worces- 
ter was  thrown  from  her  seat.     At  the  time 
j  she  (lid  not  appear  uuu-h  injured,  but  her  sit- 
uation made  the  accident  aliirming.     .fusf  one 
month  after,  tin?  New  England  thanksgiving 
arrived — an    anniversary    iiistimtrd    by    the 
found<'rs  of  the  colony,"  an<l  scupidously  ob- 
served to  this  day  by  tlieir  descemlaiiis.     As 
it  is  an  observance  peculiar  to  New  Kte^land, 
it  may  not  be  amiss  to  say  a  wonl  on  the  stdj- 
ject.     It  was   originally"  designed  to  he    ob- 
served rather  os  a  day 'of  prayer  than  feost- 
ing;  but,  as  is  natural, 'friends  collected  around 
the  board  after  the  morning  public  service, 
and  the  dinner  sfHm  became  an  im|)ortaiit  fea- 
ture in  thanksgiving-day.     At  this  period  of 
Mr.  Worcester's  ministry  it  had  become  one 
of  recreation  as  well  as  puldic  devotion  ;  and 
many  joyful  hearts  were  saddened    as  ihey 
heard  on  their  way  to  churcdi  that  the  wife  o"f 
their  ministerwas  ill,  and  not  expected  to  live 
an  hour.     "It   was  a  blustering  Novend)er 
day,"  said  his  daughter,   "  and  I  never  hear 
the  wind  blowing  and  whi-tling  without  re- 
memb(*ring  it."     She  was  only  six  years  old, 
but  her  recollections  an;  vivid  tm  the  subject. 
"  The  minister,"  sheodded,  "who  jjerfofmed 
the  funeral  services  held  my  two  elder  brothers 
and  myselfuptolookon  our  molher,  nnd  said, 
'  She  IS  not  dead,  but  sleepelh.'     I  wondered 
what  he  meant."  This  little  unconscifms  child 
was  destined  in  latei  years  to  be  the  nurse  and 
sole  companion  of  her  father.     Left  with  the 
charge  of  eight  children,  it  became  imperative 
to  provide  for  their  well-being.     An  excellent 
successor  to  his  wife  was  f.nmd,  who  became 
a  mother  to  them.     It  was  a  happy  union,  and 
her  life  was  prolonged  till  v.itliin"  five  years 
of  his  own  death. 

We  have  thus  far  endeavored  to  follow,  in 
a  summary  manner,  the  life  of  Noah  Worces- 
ter, but  our  limits  do  not  allow  us  to  continue 
this  sketch,  slight  as  it  is  ;  wc  hasten  to  the 
great  object  of  this  memoir. 

In  1813,  he  removed  to  Brighton,  in  the 
vicinity  of  Boston,  at  the  solicitation  of  four 
clergyinen  of  the  highest  respectability,  to 
edit  a  periodical  called  The  Christian  Dis'iiple. 
The  character  of  this  work  was  one  of  gen- 
tleness, candor,  and  charity.  "  The  Disciple," 


•wMoranRMMMnMaAMi 


OK  PEACE, 


— for  Kiirli  ill  triitli  it  riiinlit 
w  1111(1  simpir  wiitui  li.iviiig 
(■oiii|iricMi('y.  iliitiioticldvt! 
Iiliii«    its    Imppy    iiifliii'iiro 
If!  (Iwclliii;;.   niii'l  llic  i;iMitl(« 
iisc,  like  iiiir  lirst  iiiiiilirr, 
vvurs  iiiiikiM;;  a  piirinlisi'  iif 
•*,  lIuTc  ciiriic  11  siiil  r«'\  rrso, 
liuil  i'!ii.'ii^c()  ro  prcMcli  for 
.   ami    with  tlic  priiiiitivo 
nes,  took  liis  wifi'  uij  a  pil- 
go  tf)  tin-  appoiiiftil  place, 
unruly,  niid  >trs.  W'nrccs- 
111  her  scat.     At  rlic  time 
inui'li  injured,  liut  licr  sit- 
'iilciit  aluriiiin^',     Jiisf  one 
I'W  Kiiu'lanil  lluinks',Mvin<r 
•rsary    in-<tiiiit<'d    by    fho 
oiiy,  ami  sciipiili)M>ly  ob- 
liy  tlicir  (Icscciidanis.     As 
peculiar  to  New  Kimlatid, 
to  say  n  word  on  the  sub- 
naljy  designed  lo  bo    ob- 
duy  of  jirayer  tlian  fcnst- 
ul,  friends  collected  avoiind 
!  rnorniiii;  public  service, 
became  an  important  fen- 
K-day.     At  tliis  jieriod  of 
iiiistry  it  bad  iiccome  one 
II  as  public  devotion  ;  and 
wen;  saddiMied    as   they 
to  cliundi  lluit  ibe  wife  of 
!l,  and  not  expected  to  live 
i  a  blusterinj;  November 
lliter,  "  and  I  never  hear 
ind  whistlinji  without  re- 
le  was  only  six  years  old, 
i  arc  vivid  on  th(!  subject, 
e added,  "who  jierformed 
held  my  two  elder  brothers 
kon  our  inotlu  r,  and  said, 
lit  slocpeth.'     I  wondered 
his  little  iiiicoiiscious  child 
;  years  to  be  the  nurse  and 
ler  father.     Left  with  the 
Iren,  it  became  imperative 
well-bciTifj.     An  excellent 
3  was  found,  wlio  became 
It  was  n  happy  union,  and 
;ed  till  witliin  five  years 

■  endeavored  to  follow,  in 
the  life  of  Noah  Worces- 
3  not  allow  us  to  continue 
8  it  is  ;  wc  liasten  to  the 
nemoir. 

3ved  to  Bri^'hton,  in  the 
at  the  solicitation  of  four 
li^hest  respectability,  to 
!d  The  Christian  Dis"';iple. 
lis  work  was  one  of  gen- 
iharity.  "  The  Disciple," 


NOAH  W0UCE8TER,  THE  AMERICAN  APOSTLE  OF  PEACE. 


91 


says  Dr.  Ware,  "  ns  it  came  forth  with  its 
monthly  burden  to  the  church,  might  remind 
one  of  tlie  aged  disciple,  John,  who  is  said 
from  sabbath  to  sabbath  to  have  risen  before 
the  congregation  to  reiieat  this  allectionate  ex- 
hortation, '  Little  chiklren,  love  one  another.' " 
His  mind  had  long  been  revolving  the  great 
subject  of  war.     "At  first,"  he  snys,   "my 
views  were  perplexed,  dark,  nnd  confused  ;" 
but  tlio  war  of  1812,  between  (ireat  Hritain 
and  tlie  United  States,  operated  with  liim  on 
entire  conviction;  and  in  1814  he  wrote  "A 
Soh^nm   Review  of  the  Custom  of  War." 
This,  says  his  biographer,  was  the  most  suc- 
cessful and  etFicient  pamphlet  of  any  period. 
It  has  been  translated  into  many  languages, 
and  circulated  extensively  through  the  world, 
and  has  been  one  of  the  chief  instruments  by 
which  tlie  ojiinions  of  society  have  been  af- 
fected in  the  present  century.     It  found  a  rc- 
8j)onse  in  every  heart ;  the  world  was  wearied 
with  buttles;  and  enough  were  found  in  every 
country  to  repeat  cud  enforce  its  doctrines. 
The  Massachusetts  Peace  Society  was  f  )rmed, 
and  the  publication  of  "  The  Friend  of  Peace" 
began  in  1819,  ond  was  continued  iiujuarterly 
numbers  for  ten  years.     Noah  Worcester  de- 
voted his  talents  lo  this  work.     The  revolu- 
tion it  created  in  society  sutliciently  jiroves 
its  power  and  richness ;  it  was  full  oF  varii-ty 
and  argument,  and  enlivened  with  u  quaint 
shrewdness  of  remark,  and  a  gentle  humor, 
which  "just  opened  upon  the  reader,  like  the 
quiet  heat  of  a  summer-day's  twilight,  and 
then  disappeared." 

It  is  on  th's  ground,  as  the  apostle  of  peace, 
that  we  consider  him  one  of  the  most  remark- 
able men  of  the  age,  and  one  worthy  to  be 
known  to  our  readers.  He  carried  the  world 
perceptibly  forward — he  opened  a  new  era  in 
Its  history — he  made  the  abolition  of  war 
practicabfe  by  reasoning  and  demonstration. 
To  circulate  pacific  opinions  in  his  own  coun- 
try, he  considered  but  a  small  part  of  his 
work.  He  wrote  to  the  emjioror  Alexander 
of  Russia,  and  received  an  answer  dated  St. 
Petersburg,  July  4,  1807,  assuring  him  of  his 
"  cordial  approbation."  We  con  only  quote 
the  concluding  sentence :  "  Considering  the 
object  of  your  society,  the  promotion  of  peace 
among  mankind,  as  one  so  eminently  congenial 
to  the  spirit  of  the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ,  I 
have  judged  it  proper  to  express  these  my 
sentiments  respecting  your  labors,  in  answer 
to  your  communications  to  me  on  this  subject." 
In  a  letter  from  Prince  Alexander  Galitziny, 
we  find  the  concluding  sentence  :  "  Most  ear- 
nestly praying  for  every  blessing  to  accompany 
yor.r  labor  in  promoting  peace  on  earth,  and 
good  will  among  men,  I  shall  esteem  it  a  pe- 
culiar honor  to  be  among  the  members  of  such 
a  humane  society." 


Mr.  Worcester  received  letters  from  dis- 
tinguixhed  men,  and  from  foreign  Roeiclies. 
Among  the  collection  of  letti'rs  aililressed  to 
him,  it  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  mention 
one  from  Jeaiie  Pierre  Hoyer,  president  of  tho 
reimblic  of  Hayti.  It  is  dated,  "  Port-au- 
Prince,  le  9  June,  1818,  An'  l.j  de  I'liidejien- 
dance,"  and  breathes  tlirougliout  a  spirit  of 
peace. 

All  these  tokens  of  respect  and  approbation 
were  encouraging  to  the  Friend   oj    Peaci; ; 
and  it  is  justly  observed  that  "  by  commencing 
a  systematic  enterprise  against  war,  he  set  in 
motion  an  agency  which  unites  itself  with  tho 
other  agencies  now  carrying  forwanl  the  prog- 
ress of  man,  and  which  are  so  knit  together, 
and  so  reciprocally  strengthen  each  other,  that 
they  make  sure   the   final   comniest  of  tho 
wori  '."     That   the  work  is  still  incomplete 
we  see  too  many  proofs  ;  but  hove  we   not 
reason  to  believe  that  n  wonderful  change  of 
opinion  has  taken  place.     The  great  jirinciples 
of  pi'ace  are  well  understood.     The  world  can 
only  be  changed  through  its  oiiinions.     Noah 
Worcester  set   in  motion   that  direct  action 
which  goes  at  once  to  the  bottom  of  the  sub- 
ject.    The  active  combination  of  peace  so- 
cieties throughout   the  Christian  we -Id,   by 
ai^ents  and  books,  bear  witness  to  tho  value 
of  his  labors  ;  it  was  owing  to  his  pamphlet 
called  "  A  Solemn  Review  of  the  Custom  of 
War,"  which  appeared   without  a  namo  or 
any  recommendation,  that  the  "  Peace  Society 
of  Massachusetts"  was  formed.     "  He  began 
his  efforts,"  said  the  late  Dr.  Channing,  "  in 
the  darkest  day,   when   the  whole  civilized 
world  was  shaken  by  conflict,  and  threatened 
by  military  despotism.     He  lived  to  see  more 
than  twenty  years  of  general  iieace,  and  to 
see  through  these  years  a  multiplication  of 
national  ties,  an  extension  of  commercial  com- 
munications, an  establishment  of  new  connex- 
ions between    Christians    and   learned  men 
through  tho  world,  and  a  growing  reciprocity 
of  friendly  and   beneficent  influence   among 
different  states — all  giving  aid  to  the  principles 
of  peace,  and  encouraging  hopes  which  a  cen- 
tury ago  would  have  been  deemed  insane." 
Noah   Worcester  believed  that  no  mightier 
man  than  William  Penn  ever  trod  the  soil  of 
America,  when  entering  the  wilderness  un- 
arnied,  and  stretching  out  to  the  savage  a  hand 
which  refused  all  earthly  weapons,  in  token 
of  brotherhood  and  peace.     He  believed  in 
the  power  of  Christian  love   to  subdue  and 
control  the  angry  passions,  and  his  whole  de- 
meanor expressed  this  feeling.     There  was  an 
unusual  gentleness  in  his  manner,  and  at  the 
same  time  a  dignity  which  at  once  commanded 
respect.    He  was  tall  and  athletic  in  his  form  ; 
as  he  advanced  in  life  his  silver  locks  fell  to 
his  shoulders ;  though  he  gave  the  beholder 


^i 


Siiiit-'  I 


92 


THK  PHILOSOPHY  OF  A  TEAK. 


an  idea  of  rnoeknono,  it  wa«  jii«tly  inid.  thrrc 
was  n  niujrsty  in  hin  im;t'kiir?t«).  Wn  wt-ll 
ri'tncnjlicr  tlii'*  vcncralilc  iniin  war  the  cIukc 
of  his  lite — liis  lliiwiiig  l(i<:k<t,  hix  l«'iiirFimnt 
smile — liii  tiitnil  UHiially  wiion  hi'  H(K)ki'  phiciMl 
upnti  his  hi'iirt — Cor  hn  wiih  tiiitli'rini;  frmn 
Niimf  iliiciisi!  in  ilmt  rr^iini.  We  nl'trn  nift 
him  in  iiis  ijuii-t  wulks  in  u  iH'ijihliorinK  w(«h1, 
ln'loUL:in2  Id  his  trni.'  iinil  crnHiiint  t'rirnd  the 
Intc  (tiirhuin  Piirm)ns.  His  mind  wns  itn- 
|)ri'ssi'd  liy  tho  hiMintifnl  (ilijoct*  of  niitnrf, 
ond  cultivated  Ity  poetry  and  mnsic;  his  resi- 
dence wus  ns  piitrinrchul  ns  his  life,  mid  wt? 
rejoice)  to  soy  thiit  this  rrsicienro  has  pnssed 
into  the  hntids  of  tho  iluiiehter  before  nliniled 
to.  His  second  wife,  who  seems  to  Iiavo 
been  all  he  could  wfsh,  died  five  years  before 
him,  and  lio  wns  left  nlonn  with  his  only  un- 
murried  (hiUKhter.  Siie  wnteheil  ovi-r  liim 
day  and  nii^ht,  inheritim^  his  own  i>oculinr 
sweetness  nnd  gentleness,  and  sootlnm;  and 
comfortini;  him  under  the  infirmities  of  nge. 
By  hercnre  ami  economy  she  made  )i»s  means 
sutfieicnt  for  all  liis  wants,  and  (;ttv(!  an  nir  of 
neatness  und  tnste  to  tin*  little  tenenjent  which 
ho  rented  from  Mr.  Parsons  at  u  low  rato. 
He  spoke  of  his  old  age  as  tlie  hap|>iesr  jjart 
of  his  life.  "WVien  I  have  visited  him," 
says  Dr.  Channing,  "  in  his  last  years,  and 
looked  on  his  sen-ne  conntenance,  nnd  heard 
his  cheerful  voice,  nnd  soon  the  youthful  ear- 
n«srness  with  which  he  was  reudina  a  variety 
of  books,  nnd  studying  the  great  interests  of 
humanity,  I  have  tV-lt  how  little  of  this  out- 
ward world  is  needed  to  our  haijpiness ;  I 
have  felt  the  greatness  of  the  human  spirit, 
which  could  create  to  itself  such  joy  from  its 
o%vn  resources."  He  closctl  his  mortal  life 
October  31,  1837,  aged  79  years.  A  monu- 
ment has  been  erected  to  his  memory  at  Mount 
Auburn,  by  numerous  friends.  On  one  side 
is  this  inscription :  '•  Blessed  are  the  i)eace- 
raakcrs,  for  they  shall  be  called  the  children 
of  God." 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  A  TEAR. 

Beautiful  Tear  !  whether  lingering  upon 
the  brink  of  the  eyelid,  or  darting  down  the 
furrows  of  the  care-worn  cheek — thou  art 
beautiful  in  thy  simplicity — great  because  of 
thy  modesty — strong  from  thy  very  weakness. 
Onspring  of  sorrow '  who  will  not  own  thy 
claim  to  sympathy  ?  who  can  resist  thy  elo- 
quence ?  who  can  deny  mercy  when  thou 
pleadest  ?     Beautiful  Tear ! 

Let  us  trace  a  tear  to  its  sonrce.  The  eye 
is  the  most  attractive  ergon  of  nnimal  bodies. 
It  is  placed  in  a  bony  socket,  by  which  it  is 


protpctol,  nn<l  wherein  it  fin<ls  riKim  to  i>rr- 
form  tho  motions  reipiisite  to  its  nses.  The 
r..ys  of  light  which  transmit  the  images  of  ex- 
teniol  objects  enter  thi^  i>npil  through  the 
cryntullini!  lens,  and  fall  upon  the  retina, 
upon  which,  within  the  space  represented  by 
a  dime,  is  foniH'd,  in  all  beauty  and  perfec- 
tion, nn  exact  image  of  many  miles  of  lanii- 
scnpe,  every  object  displaying  its  pniper  color 
and  true  proixirtions — trees  and  lakes,  hills 
and  valleys,  insects  and  flowers,  nil  in  truB 
keeping,  are  there  shown  nt  once,  nnd  the 
impression  jiriKlnccd  thereby  upim  the  fila- 
ments of  tho  oj)tin  nerve  causes  n  sensation 
•.vliich  communicates  to  tho  mind  tho  apparent 
<|Ualities  of  the,  varied  objects  we  behold. 

That  this  wonderful  faculty  of  vision  may 
be  uninterru]iti'd,it  is  necessary  that  tho  trant*- 
[Mirent  membrane  which  forms  the  external 
covering  of  the  eye  shall  be  kept  r»«)ist  and 
free  from  the  ctintact  of  opnipio  substances. 
To  supply  the  fluid  which  shall  moisten  nnd 
cleanse  the  rye,  there  is  placed  at  tho  outer 
and  u])f>er  part  of  the  ball  a  small  gland,  which 
secretes  the  lachrymal  fluid,  nnd  jiours  it  ont 
nt  the  corner  of  tm;  eye,  whence,  by  the  mo- 
tion of  the  lids,  it  in  eipiully  spread  over  the 
surface,  and  thus  moisture  and  clearness  ore 
nt  once  secured. 

When  we  incline  to  sleep,  tho  eyes  become 
comparatively  bloodless  nnd  dull.  The  eye- 
lids dnip  to  shut  out  everything  which  might 
tend  to  arouse  the  slumbering  senses.  The 
secretion  by  the  lachrymal  glands  is  probalily 
nil  but  suspended,  nrolthe  organs  of  sight  par- 
ticipate in  the  general  rest.  When,  after  a 
long  night's  sleep,  the  eyelids  first  open,  there 
is,  therefore,  a  (tulness  of  vision,  arising  prob- 
ably from  the  dryness  of  tho  coniea :  then 
or(;ur  the  rajiid  nw'itions  of  tho  eyelids,  famil- 
iarly termed  "  winking" — sometimes  instinct- 
ively aided  by  rubbing  with  the  hands — and 
after  n  few  m^iments  the  *'  windows"  of  the 
b(Hly  have  been  properly  cleansed  ami  set  in 
order,  the  eye  adjusted  to  the  quantity  of  light 
it  must  receive,  and  we  are  "  awake"  for  the 
day,  and  mnv  go  forth  to  renew  our  acquaint- 
ance with  the  beauties  of  nature. 

It  is  from  the  glands  which  supjily  this 
moisture  that  tears  flow.  Among  physiologists 
it  is  well  known  that  emotions — imjjressions 
upon  the  nervous  system—exercise  a  powerful 
nnd  immediate  influence  npon  the  secretions. 
As,  for  instance,  the  mere  thought  of  some 
savory  dish,  or  delicious  fruit,  or  something 
acid — as  the  juice  of  the  lemon — will  excite 
an  instant  flow  of  the  salivary  fluid  into  the 
mouth.  An  emotion  of  the  mind  influonccs 
the  lachrymal  glands,  which  copiously  secrete 
and  jxiur  forth  the  crystal  drops,  ami  these, 
as  they  api>ear  upon  tap  surface  of  the  eye, 
we  denominate  tears. 


fxTfin  it  fitiiU  room  t(i  jw- 
ri'i|ui«iti!  to  its  noi'ii.  Tho 
h  tiiirisinit  tlicininjfPHof  rx- 
Irr  the  I  ii|iil  tliri(ii;;h  tliH 
iinil  Cull  ii|«in  t!iu  retina, 
III  till'  s|inc('  ri'|ir«'scntcil  liy 
t,  iri  111!  In'mity  iind  |n'rlrc- 
li'ii'  of  iiinuy  (nilt'r*  of  Inmi- 
■I  ili-'plnyiiii;  its  pnipcr  color 
ii'in  -trci's  mid  InkcH,  hilli 
■I -I  anil  fldwcru,  all  in  triiB 
•«!  nhowri  ot  once,  nnil  f?i« 
[■I'd  tliiTijby  u|>on  tl>t'  fila- 
<;  ncrvfi  ruiisi  h  a  Hrnsotion 
itesto  the  iiiiiulthi!  apfiarcnt 
iricfl  obji'fts  we  tichcilil. 
'crful  faculty  of  vision  may 
it  iMncrcsHnrythiitthe  traiMt- 
whicli  forms  thi;  extcninl 
yc  Hhnll  hi:  kept  moist  ami 
ifnct  of  opnijiio  sulistatires. 
liil  which  slinll  moisten  oikI 
:hf'rii  is  placed  at  tlin  outer 
the  hull  a  small  ,t(lund,  which 
yinnl  fluid,  nnil  jiours  it  nnt 
fi(!  cyo,  whence,  by  the  mo- 
ir,  einiuUy  spread  over  the 
moisture  ajid  clearness  are 

le  to  sleep,  the  eyes  become 
K)dk'ss  Olid  dull.  The  eyc- 
I'lt  everything  which  mii;ht 
e  slumbering  senses.  The 
ichrymal  glands  is  probably 
,  am!  the  organs  of  sight  par- 
■neral  rest.  When,  after  a 
the  eyelids  first  open,  there 
liiess  of  vision,  arising  prob- 
yness  of  tho  cornea  :  then 
otiiins  of  the  eyelids,  famil- 
nking" — sometimes  instinct- 
bbing  with  the  hands — and 
■nts  the  *'  windows"  of  the 
iroperly  cleansed  and  set  in 
listed  to  the  quantity  of  light 
ind  we  are  "  awake"  for  the 
forth  to  renew  our  acquaint- 
intics  of  nature. 

glands  which  supply  this 
■)  flow.   Among  physiologists 

that  emotions — imj^essions 
system — exercise  a  powerful 
flucnce  upon  the  secretions, 
the  mere  thought  of  some 
elicious  fruit,  or  something 
3  of  the  lemon — will  excite 
r  the  salivary  fluid  into  the 
'.ion  of  the  mind  influences 
nds,  which  copiously  secrete 
le  crystal  drops,  ami  these, 
pen  toe  surface  of  the  eye, 
ars. 


MUTUAL  INaTHUCTION  CLASStt. 


03 


A  similar  actum,  called  forth  by  another  '  iiidiHsolublo  union.  Kverythinir  proctiraMn 
kind  ol  .•xcit.-meiit,  .K'cuis  when  dust  or  otiier  should  lie  d,m.!  to  rendtT  the  m.etinan  of  tli,. 
irntiituiy  suliNtumre  comes  iii  coiitiu't  with  tli..  class  not  merely  useful  liiit  entertaiiiintf  The 
eye  :  ilie  giaiuls  it.stuntly  secrete  al)uii.la,iily.  j  dull  bending  over  books  is  fur  i.iferi.ir  lo  other 
and   pouring  llie   .-rystal   fluid  o-it  upon  the  i  and  more  social  m.Hles of  acouiriugknowlidL-e 

mirluce,  the  eye  is  protected  from  injury,  and  ;  A  plan  which  works  well  is,  to  pr se  to  file 

!',',"  ';H';"''"'fi  «;il"^taiice  is  washed  away.  ;  class  that  some  work  of  recognised  ,.ve,-l!ei„e 
Ihe  feelings  which  excite  excessive  laughter;  lie  read  and  conversed  upon.  Take  for  iii- 
or  joy  iiUo  Ntimulat.!  this  secretion— the  ..'yes  stance,  Combe's  work  on  the  I'liysiolo-y  „f 
are  said  to  "water.''  It  is  only  when  "tlie  j  H.alth.  Let  A.  read  aloud  to  tli...  ela«  ,,i 
crystal  drop  comet  forth  under  the  impulse  one  night.  J{.  on  onother,  an.l  so  on  in  rotation 
ol  sorrow— thus  speaking  the  anguish  of  the  |  One  half-hour  (or  more)  to  !»•  si.ent  in  re.idiu!.'' 
iiHiid— that  It  can  properly  t  e  called  a  tear.  I  a  subsequent  half-hour  (or  mor.')  in  conver^u- 
1  f  ■lire  its  sacred  character,  anrl  the  sympathy    t ion  upon  the  subject  read.     Li  t  the  reader 


which  it  si'lilom  fails  to  create. 

Kvery  tear  repn    I'lits  some  indwelling  sor 
row  pn;ying  u|)on  ilie  mind  oiid  eating  out  its 


stand  up,  uncovered,  and  reail  aloud,  as  to  a 
larger  audience.  At  the  close,  C.  requests 
that  the  passage  relating  to  exercise'  before  and 


)»eiiee.     Tile  tear  comes  forth  to  declare  the  |  rest  after  meals,  be  reread,  because  of  its  ii.i- 
l".^^.'!*'  .  '*"'.",W''v,'""'  '"  l'''"',"'  "  ,f"L-i'  against    portance.     U.  wishes  the  reader  ogaia  to  state 

the  components  of  atmosidierie  air.     In  coii- 


I  111  I  her  St  rile.  How  meet  that  the  eye  should 
be  tlic  seat  of  tears — where  they  can  not  oc- 
cur unobserved,  but  blending  with  the  speak- 
ing liiauty  of  the  eye  itself  nmst  command 
atli'iiliun  and  sympathy. 

Whenever  we  behold  a  tear,  let  our  kindli- 
est sympathies  awuke— let  it  have  u  sacF  i    how  evenings  mav  be  spent  in  o  way  at  once 
claim  upon  all  that  we  can  do  to  succor  auj  .  instructive  and  entertaining.      * 


le  components  of  atmospheric  air.     In 
nexion  with  this  latter  subject,  K.  suirgests  a 
siitqile  method  for  the  ventilation  of  work- 
shops; and  F.  enlarges  upon  its  importance, 
as  u  means  for  the  preservation  of  lualtli. 
These  outlines  will  be  sullicient  to  show 


comfort  under  ttlUiction.  What  rivers  of  tears 
have  flown,  excited  by  the  cruel  and  perverse 
ways  of  man  !  War  has  sjiread  its  carnage 
and  desolation,  and  the  eyes  of  widows  and 
orjiliuiis  have  been  sullused  with  tears !  In- 
t(!inperaiice  has  lilighted  the  homes  of  millions, 
and  weeping  and  wailing  have  beim  incessant ! 
A  thousand  other  evils  which  we  may  con(|uer 
have  given  birth  to  tears  enough  to  constitute 
u  flood — a  great  tide  of  grief.  Sujipose  we 
(irize  this  little  philosophy,  and  each  one  de- 
terniine  never  lo  exrile  a  tear  in  another — how 
))leasantly  wi!l  i'iire  mankind  !  Watching  the 
eye  as  tho  telegraph  of  the  mind  within,  let 
us  observe  it  with  anxious  regarrl ;  and  whether 
we  are  moved  to  complaint  by  tho  existence 
of  supposed  or  real  wrongs,  let  the  idication 
of  the  coming  tear  bo  held  as  a  sacred  truce 
to  unkindly  feeling,  and  all  our  ell(>rts  bo  de- 
voted to  the  substitution  of  smiles  for  tears ! 


MUTUAL  INSTRUCTION  CLASSES. 

To  make  a  mutual  instruction  class  suc- 
cessful, it  should  be  so  coudu  jted  as  to  sustain 
the  character  it  Bc-nimes.  It  should  be  em- 
])hatically  an  instruction  class,  and  every 
member  should  feel  himself  at  the  close  of 
each  meeting  in  the  possession  of  some  fact 
he  had  not  known  before.  This  constitutes 
the  reward  of  membership,  and  sujiplies  a  tie 
strong  enough  to  bind  a  group  of  inquirers  in 


A.  IS  exercisei, 
in  reading — H.  C.  tVc,  are  improved  in  their 
conversational  abilities — and  all  ore  iieiielited 
by  the  nccjuiri'ment  of  knowledge,  while  the 
jiart  each  takes  in  the  jiroceedings  sharjiens 
the  faculties  and  shakes  olF  drowsiness. 

OccasionoMy,  subjects  may  be  set  apart  for 
debat".  But  it  must  always  be  remembered 
that  discussion  involves  the  jionsession  of 
knowledge,  rather  than  tho  acijuirement  of 
it.  But  matters  will  constantly  arise  out  of 
these  readings  u])on  which  the  members  may 
dillcr.  Thus  Combe  recommends  the  use  of 
alcoholic  stimulants  under  certain  circumstan- 
ces. P.,  however,  sees  reason  to  djssent  from 
Combe's  opinion  ;  and  is  strengthened  by  the 
experience  of  six  years,  during  which,  in  ill- 
ness and  in  health,  he  has  lived  in  entire  dis- 
use of  them.  He  believes,  moreover,  that  the 
use  of  intoxicants,  whether  medicinal  or  other- 
wise, is  fraught  with  dangerous  conseqi  ences, 
and  should  be  altogether  avoided — he,  there- 
fore, proposes  to  the  class  to  discuss  the  (pies- 
tion :  Are  olcoholic  drinks  essential  under  any 
and  what  <■  ■'cumstances  ?  This  subject  dis- 
cussed, var.  .,  •  opinions  arc  elicited,  and  H. 
proposes  to  u_  the  subject  in  another  sense — 
Do  the  social  and  i)hysical  evils,  arising  from 
the  use  of  alcoholic  drinks,  outweigh  thie  sup- 
posed benefits  from  them,  and  demand  their 
entire  disuse  ? 

In  this  way,  question  will  multiply  upon 
<)uestion — and  the  perusal  of  one  woik  will 
sujiply  various  matters  for  discussion,  at  the 
same  time  that  tho  members  of  the  class  are 
fitting  themselves  to  analyze  the  matter  in 


iJ 


•r{ 


94 


GOLD  AND  SILVER  MINES  OF  MEXICO. 


(lisimte.  Subjects  chosen  for  dobntc  sTioiil.1 
ahvays  have  some  practical  bearing  uj^on  the 
■welfare  of  the  world.         „         ,  , ,. 

A  "ooJ  plan  is  occasionally  to  have  a  public 
meotinK,  unJ  the  friends  of  the  members  in- 
vited to   attend.      At  these    meetings   each 
member  should  say  something  upon  a  subject 
in  which  he  is  most  skilled  and  interested.  A. 
is  appointed  chairman  ;  and  being  a  mechanic, 
opens  by  a  description  of  the  steam-engine, 
and  oHers  a  few  remarks  upon  the  revolution 
produced  by  its  mighty  powers.    B.,  a  pnntcr, 
describes  the  process  of  printing,  and  adverts 
to  the  great  influence  of  the  press.     C.  has 
looked  into  the   almanac   and   seen  the   an- 
nouncement of  a  partial  lunar  eclipse  :  he  in- 
vites his  fellow-members  to  watch  the  interest- 
ing ])henomena,  and  briefly  describes  the  laws 
by  which  it  is  produced.     D.  has  brought  a 
curious  specimen  of  natural  history,  which  he 
has  borrowed  to  show  to  the  class,  and  ex- 
i.lains  its  peculiarities.     E.  describes  the  elec- 
tric telegraph,  and  displays  a  few  diagrams  ot 
his  owi  preparation.     F.  communicates  a  lew 
thoughts    upon    natural  theology,    and    the 
chairman  having  taken  notes  of  the  proceed- 
ings, concludes  by  a  summary  of  the  subjects, 
remarks  upon  the  pleasures  of  the  night,  and 
encourages  the  members  to  persevere  in  their 
good   co°urso.     In  these   jjroceedings,   every 
speaker  should  stand  uncovered.     The  chair- 
man should  occupy  an  elevated  seat,  and  ev- 
ery regard  should  be  bestowed  upon  order  and 
mutual  respect.     The  interest  and  profit  ot 
these  meetings  are  greatly  enhanced  by  due 
regard  to  such  regulations ;  while  those  who 
participate  in  them  are  fitted  for  such  impor- 
tant stations  in  life  as  they  may  be  called 
upon  to  fill  hereafter. 

That  which  has  been  suggested  here  to 
classes,  may  also  be  carried  out  in  families 
with  great  profit.  Why  should  not  every 
family  constitute  a  class,  where  parents  and 
children,  uncles,  aunts,  and  nenhews,  and  a 
circle  of  cousins  and  acquaintances,  now  and 
then  meet  alternately  at  each  other's  homes, 
to  carry  on  these  sweet  pursuits,  and  thus  add 
to  the  charms,  the  poetry  of  life,  and  multiply 
its  ])loasures  1 


GOLD  &  SILVER  JUNES  OF  MEXICO. 


WEIGHTS  AND  MEASURES. 


Wheat  flour,  1  pound  is  1  quart. 

Indian  meal,  1  pound  2  ounces  is  1  quart. 

Butter,  when  soft,  1  pound  1  onnce  is  1  quart. 

Loaf-sugar,  broken,  1  pound  is  1  quart. 

White  B.igar,  powdered,  X  pound  1  ounce  is  1  quart 

Be-it  brown  sugar,  1  pound  2  ounces  is  1  quart. 

ERgs,  average  size,  10  ejrgs  are  1  pound. 

Sixteen  large  tablespoonfuls  are  half  a  pint 

Eight  tablespoonfuls  are  1  gill. 

Fimr  large  tablespoonfuls  are  half  a  grilt 

A  oommonsized  tumbler  holds  half  a  pmt- 

A  commousizBd  wine-glass  holds  half  a  gdl. 


The  gold  and  silver  mines  of  Mexico  have 
not  been  overrated.  From  the  discovery  of 
this  continent  in  1490,  to  the  year  ipn.3,  the 
"old  and  silver  obtained  from  the  American 
mines  amounted  to  the  enormous  sum  of 
$5,700,700,000.  Of  this  sum  an  average  of 
$:5,5,000,000  was  jjroduced  after  the  year 
1750.  Although  a  large  amount  of  the  \ne- 
cious  melals  arc  annually  jjroduced  in  South 
America,  Mexico  is  constantly  increasing  the 
number  of  her  mines,  so  that  her  facilities  for 
furnishing  gold  and  silver  are  second  to  none 
on  the  comment.  The  (lunntity  of  silver  pro- 
ductid  by  the  American  mines  as  compared 
with  the  gold,  is  as  forty-six  to  n:ie. 

The  silver  ore  obtained  in  Mexico  is  not  as 
valuable  as  that  obtained  in  Europe;  yielding 
but  one  ounce  of  pure  siher  to  four  hundred 
ounces  of  ore;  while  the  average  yield  of 
the  Euroi>can  ore  is  very  near  three  times  as 
great.  The  mines  of  Europe  have  been 
worked  for  centuries,  and  the  heavy  expense 
reiiuired  to  obtain  the  ore  from  the  bowels  of 
the  earth,  greatly  increases  the  cost  of  silver. 
The  abundance  of  ore,  and  the  facilities  for 
procuring  it  in  Mcxicc,  more  thon  compensate 
for  its  comparative  barrenness.  But  few  large 
mines  have  been  opened  and  continually 
worked  in  Mexico.  It  has  been  the  common 
practice,  when  the  water  or  nther  causes  ren- 
der the  mining  operations  dilicult,  to  quit  the 
spot  and  commence  at  some  new  place. 

Semi-barbarous  as  Mexico  has  iK-en,  there 
is  no  country  on  the  globe  where  the  labor  of 
jirocuring  the  precious  metals  is  so  well  re- 
warded as  in  that  country.  At  Potosi,  in 
South  America,  the  mines  are  worked  entirely 
by  Indians,  six  thousand  of  whomare  sent 
every  eighteen  months  from  the  neighboring 
provinces,  the  jiay  of  each  being  about  thirty 
cents  a  day.  InEuropc,  most  of  the  mines 
are  worked  by  criminals.  In  Mexico,  the  la- 
borer who  works  in  the  mines  cams  five  dol- 
lars per  week,  and  those  employed  to  carry 
the  ore  from  the  mine  to  the  fumacC;  receive 
nearly  two  dollars  per  day's  work  of  six  hours, 
while  the  common  laborer  of  the  country  does 
not  earn  more  than  a  dollar  and  a  half  per 
week. 

Specimens  of  virgin  gold  have  sometimes 
been  discovered  in  Mexico,  but  this  metal  is 
commonly  found  combined  with  quartz,  mica, 
slate,  and  the  various  members  of  the  green- 
stone family. 

The  annual  quantity  of  quicksilver  which 
is  used  in  Mexico  for  separating  the  silver  from 
the  ore,  exceeds  200,000  pounds.  This  is 
obtained  from  Spain,  Austria,  Italy,  and  Ger- 
many. A  failure  of  the  rtgular  supply  of 
quicksilver  would  materially  retard  the  pro- 


[NES  OF  MEXICO. 

nines  of  Mexico  hiive 
rom  the  discovery  of 
to  the  year  1803,  the 
(1  from  the  American 
e    enorinona    sum  of 
lis  sum  nn  average  of 
need    after    tlie  year 
;e  nuKHnit  of  the  prc- 
lly  ])rod  need  in  South 
isfnntly  increasing  the 
)  that  ner  facilities  for 
er  arc  second  to  none 
quantity  of  silver  jiro- 
n  mines  qs  compared 
y-six  to  c'/io. 
ed  in  Mexico  is  not  as 
id  in  Europe;  viclding 
silver  to  four  hundred  1 
the  average  yield  of 
ry  near  three  times  as 
r   Europe    have  been 
ind  the  heavy  expense 
)re  from  the  ho^vels  of 
;ases  the  cost  of  silver. 
;,  and  the  ricilities  for 
more  than  compensate 
enness.     But  few  large 
ened    ond    continually 
;  has  been  the  common 
ter  or  Dther  causes  ren- 
ins dilicult,  to  quit  the 
some  new  jdace. 
Mexico  has  iK-cn,  there 
obe  where  the  labor  of 
s  metals  is  so  well  re- 
entry.    At  Potosi,  in 
ines  are  worked  entirely 
and  of  whom  are  sent 
s  from  the  neighboring 
each  being  about  thirty 
>pe,  most  of  the  mines 
lis.     In  Mexico,  the  la- 
ic mines  earns  five  dol- 
lose  employed  to  carry 
to  the  furnace,  receive 
day's  work  of  six  hours, 
orer  of  the  country  does 
a  dollar  and  a  half  per 

in  gold  have  sometimes 

FexTco,  iTUt  this  metal  is 

lined  ^^^th  quartz,  mica, 

members  of  the  green- 


ty  of  quicksilver  which 
,e]iarating  the  silver  from 
0,000  pounds.  This  is 
Austria,  Italy,  and  Qer- 
the  I'egular  supply  of 
ateiially  retard  the  pro- 


EEMEDIES  AGAINST  MOTHS. 


96 


duction  of  silver  from  the  Mexican  mines. 
The  Rothschilds  are  aware  of  this  fact,  and 
have  sometimes  operate<l  extensively  in  quick- 
silver, by  ])urchasing  all  that  was  in  the  mar- 
ket, and  raising  its  value  before  the  amount 
reipiircd  for  the  regular  coiisum[)tion  could  lie 
procured  from  the  min'-s.  Without  the  aid 
of  (]uicksilver,  the  cost  of  separating  the  sil- 
ver from  the  ore  would  nearly  equal  the  value 
of  the  silver  j)rocured. 

The  ()uicksilver  mines  of  Idria,  in  Austria, 
ne»r  the  gulf  of  Venice,  are  the  most  exten- 
sive of  any  in  the  world.  These  mines  were 
discovered'  in  ]  497,  by  a  cooper,  who,  having 
](laced  a  new  tub  under  a  drojiping  sp'ing  at 
night,  discovered  in  the  morning  a  shining  fluid 
at  the  bottom  of  the  tub,  which  was  so  heavy 
that  he  could  hardly  move  it.  He  carried  the 
article  to  nn  apothecary  in  a  neighboring  town, 
who  gave  hiiii  a  small  sura  for  it,  and  requested 
him  '—  bring  more. 

!■  ithstaiidiiig  the  large  quantities  of 
gold  imbedded  in  the  eaith  in  Mexico,  the 
ixpense  of  preparing  it  for  use  from  its  rough 
state  as  found  in  the  mine,  is  an  item  of  con- 
siderable importance.  It  is  easy  to  imagine 
that  the  mines  of  JNIcxico  abound  in  lumps  of 
solid  gold,  but  the  truth  is  far  dillerent ;  nor 
would  it  at  nil  benefit  America  if  gold  could 
be  produced  at  one  half  its  jiresent  cost.  The 
most  favored  nation  in  this  respect  (.Spaing  has 
ilwindled  from  a  powerful  people  to  an  indo- 
lent and  powerless  race  ;  while  the  inhabitants 
of  Iceland,  who  have  few  luxuries  provided 
by  nature,  being  compelled  to  dejiend  ujion 
their  own  exertions  for  a  livelihiwd,  present  nn 
example  for  morality  and  intelligence  which 
might  be  copied  by  nations  whose  lots  are 
cast  in  countries  abounding,  as  it  were  in  milk 
and  honey. 


REMEDIES  AGAINST  MOTHS. 

These  very  troublesome  and  destructive 
little  depredators  may,  with  a  little  trouble, 
be  elTectually  removed,  and  rooms,  drawers, 
&c.,  be  kept  free  from  them  for  yeors.  The 
hints  given  in  the  following  remarks  from  the 
Limd<m  Magazine  will  be  valuable  to  those 
good  housewives  who  have  not,  hitherto, 
availed  themselves  of  similar  means  for  the 
extermination  of  this  insect.  The  writer  says : 
It  is  an  old  custom  with  some  housewives  to 
throw  into  their  drawers  every  year  a  number 
of  fir  cones,  under  the  idea  that  their  strong 
resinous  smell  might  keep  away  the  moth. 
Now,  as  the  odor  of  these  cones  is  due  to  tur- 
pentine, it  occurred  to  Reaumur  to  try  the  ef- 
fect of  this  volatile  liquid.     He  rubbed  one 


side  of  a  piece  of  cloth  with  turpentine,  and 
put  some  grubs  on  the  other ;  the  next  morn- 
ing they  were  all  dead,  and  strange  to  say, 
had  voluntarily  abandoned  their  sheaths.  On 
smearing  some  paper  slightly  with  oil,  and 
])uttiiig  this  into  a  bottle  with  some  of  the 
grui)s,  the  weakest  v/ere  immediately  killed  ; 
the  iiK.st  vigorous  struggled  violently  for  two 
or  thr(;e  hours,  quitted  their  sheaths,  and  died 
in  convulsions.  It  was  soon  abundantly  evi- 
d(,'nt  that  the  vapor  of  oil  or  sjiirits  of  turpen- 
tine acts  as  a  terrible  jxiisou  to  the  grubs. 
Perhaps  it  may  be  said  that  even  this  remedy 
is  worse  than  the  disease,  but  as  Reaumur 
justly  observes,  we  keep  away  from  a  newly- 
puintcd  room,  or  leave  ofl'  for  a  few  days  a 
coat  from  which  stains  have  been  removed  by 
turpentine  ;  why,  therefore,  can  we  not  once 
a  year  keej)  away  for  a  <]ay  or  two  from 
rooms  that  have  been  fumigated  with  turpen- 
tine ? 

It  is,  however,  surjirising,  how  small  a 
(juantity  of  turpentine  is  reijuired ;  a  small 
ytu'cc  of  pa[)er  or  linen  just  moistened  there- 
with, and  jiut  into  the  wardrobe  or  drawers  a 
single  day,  two  or  three  times  a  year,  is  a  suf- 
ficient preservation  against  moths.  A  small 
quantity  of  turjientine  dissolved  in  a  little 
spirits  of  wine  (the  vapor  of  which  is  also 
fatal  to  the  moth)  will  entirely  remove  the 
ort'ensive  odor,  and  yet  be  a  sufficient  pre- 
servative. "J'he  fumes  of  burning  paper, 
wool,  linen,  leathers,  and  of  leather,  are  also 
clleetual,  for  the  insoct*  jierish  in  any  thick 
smoke  ;  but  the  most  efTectual  smoke  is  taat 
of  toljacco.  A  coat  smelling  but  slightly  of 
tobacco  is  sufficient  to  preserve  a  whole  draw- 
er. The  vopor  of  tiirpentine  and  the  smoke 
of  tobacco  are  also  ellectual  in  driving  away 
flies,  spiders,  ants,  earwigs,  bugs,  and  fleas. 


"The  Laborer  is  worthy  of  his  Hire." 

— Man  does  not  deal  with  his  brother  as  God 
deals  with  him.  He  causes  the  sun  to  shine, 
and  his  showers  to  descend  with  equal  profu- 
sion upon  all — both  upon  the  high  and  the 
low,  the  rich  and  the  jioor.  But  in  adjusting 
the  rewards  of  labor,  we  adopt  no  such  equi- 
table rule.  We  pay  largely  for  labor  of  the 
head,  and  little  for  the  labor  of  the  hands. 
We  graduate  the  scale  of  the  prices,  not  ac- 
cording to  the  utility  or  the  actuol  severity  of 
the  labor — not  in  proportion  to  the  outlay  of 
physical  strength,  or  the  time  occupied — but 
to  the  demand  and  supply.  Hence  that  class 
of  mankind — ^laborers,  being  the  most  numer- 
ous class — are  the  worst-paid  people  in  society. 
We  can  not  control  the  laws  of  nature,  yet  this 
we  may  do :  pay  as  liberally  as  we  can  afTord 
for  labor,  common  labor,  the  labor  of  the  poor. 


•4»N'«. .... 


1 


'Vt  I 


"*lf  I 


r 


96 


CONSOLATIONS-HOW  TO  MAKE  STEEL. 


CONSOLATIONS. 

Mr  father,  onr  work  is  fatiguiii!;  to-dnv; 
the  spiidR  relxmiiils  uixm  tlin  i>unhi'il  piirth ; 
the  sun  (larts  ravs  of  tiro  ;  the  ilust  raist-il  l)y 
tin-  south  wind  "blows  in  whirlwinds  over  the 
iilair).  . 

My  son,  Hr  whi)  sends  Imniin;.'  sales  seiiils 
nlso  l.edewin;;  cloudlets.  To  each  dny  belongs 
its  puin  and  its  hojx',  and  ulttr  labor  comes 
retJosi-. 

My  father,  do  yon  fee  those  ]M^n  plants, 
how'thcy  laii^mish,  and  how  their  yellow 
leaves  droop  down  their  exhan>riMl  sialk  ? 

Thiy  will  rise  up  nirain,  my  son  ;  no  blade 
of  {irass  is  for<,'otte:i :  fruituil  rains  and  I'n-sli 
di nvs  are  always  provided  lor  it  amidst  the 
celestial  tri>asure',. 

My  father,  ihebirrls  are  silent  in  the  folinue ; 
the  (jnuii,  iiiiiiioveable  in  tli>'  I'ltrrow  does  not 
even  recal  itseompainon  ;  the  licitcr  seeks  tlie 
shade  ;  and  the  ox,  with  irw  limbs  tolited  be- 
neath his  heavy  body,  his  ncek  stretelied  ont, 
dilates  his  lan.'C  nostrils,  in  order  to  respire 
th<-  air  which  he  is  in  need  of. 

(lod,  my  son,  will  reston^  the  birds  their 
voi(res,  and  the  oxen  their  stren<,'th,  (exhausted 
t)y  the  extreme  heat.  The  breiv.e  which  will 
reanimate  them  already  glides  over  the  sea. 

Let  us  seat  ourselves,  my  father,  \\\mn  the 
feni  that  borders  the  pond,  near  that  old  oak  { 
whose  haiifjing  branches  s<i  gently  touch  the 
surface  of  the  water.  How  calm  and  trans- 
parent it  is!  How  gayly  the  fishes  i>lay 
there!  Some  pursue  their  winged  prey,  jHior 
gnats  just  entered  into  bcinu; ;  others,  raising 
their  'hea<l8,  with  their  mouths  half  open, 
appear  to  be  softly  kissing  the  uir. 

lie  who  has  made  all  things,  my  son,  has 
everywhere  bestowed  his  inexliaustible  gifts, 
life,  ami  the  joy  of  life.  What  appears  to  us 
evil  is  but  the  similitude  of  g<M)d— its  shadow. 
And  yet,  my  father,  yon  suffer.  What  la- 
bor, what  fatigue,  you  endure,  in  order  to 
provide  for  our  wants  !  Are  you  not  i>oor  ? 
Is  not  my  mother  pixir  ?  It  is  the  sweat  of 
your  brow  which  has  given  me  fo(xl ;  have 
you  ever,  for  one  single  day,  had  the  morrow 
provided  for  ? 

What  signifies  the  mnrmw  to  us,  my  son? 
The  morrow  belongs  to  God  ;  let  us  confiile 
in  him.  Whoso  rises  in  the  moniwig  knows 
not  whether  he  shuil  see  the  evt^ning.  Why, 
th(!n,  trouble  and  diMiuiet  one's  self  about  a 
time  which  will  perhaps  never  arrive?  We 
live  here  below  like  theswallow,  seeking  from 
day  to  day,  the  bread  of  coeh  day,  nnd  like 
her,  when  the  winter  ai)prottche8,  a  mysterious 
jKiwer  draws  us  to  milder  climes. 

Wliat  is  this,  my  father  ?  It  resembles  a 
corpse  wrapped  in  its  shroud,  or  an  infant 
rolled  in  swaddling-clothes. 


My  son,  it  was  a  crawling  -voni),  it  will «  on 
be  a  fixing  flower,  nn  aerial  form,  which, 
decked  in  its  brightest  colors,  will  rise  toward 
heaven. 


HOW  TO  MAKE  STEEL. 

Steki.  is  made  of  the  purest  ninllenlde  iron, 
by    a   process    called    eeinentation.     In    this 
operation,  layers  of  malleable  iron  and  layers 
of  charcool  ore  iihieed  one  iijion  aiidllicr,  in  a 
jiroper  furnace,  the  air  is  excluded,  the  fire 
raiseil  to  a  considerable  degree  of  intensity, 
ami  kept  up  for  eight  or  ten  days.     If  tipon 
trial  of  a  l)ar,  the  whole  substance  is  converted 
hito  steel,  the  fire  is  extinguished,   and  the 
whole  is   left  to  cool   for  six  or  eight  days 
Itmger.     Iron  thus  prei)ared  is  eulleil  blistered 
steel,  from  the  blisters  which  ajipear  (m  its 
surface.     In  England,  charcoal  alor.e  is  uscii 
for  this  purjxjso :  but  Dnamel  found  iin  ad- 
vantage in  using  one  fourth  to  oi\e  third  of 
w(xk1  ashes,  especially  when  the  iron  was  not 
of  so  good  a  (piality  os  to  otlord  steel  [xissca- 
siiig  tenacity  of  body  as  well   ns  hardness. 
These  ashes  prevent  the  steel-making  jiroerss 
from  being  effected   so  rapidly  as  it   wmild 
otherwise  be,  and   give   the   steel   pliability 
without  diminishing  its  hardness.     The  blis- 
ters on  the  surface  of  the  steel,  under  this 
management,  ore  smaller  and  more  numerous. 
He  also  found  that  if  the  i>ars,  when  they  are 
put  into  the  fumaee,  he  sprinkled  with  sea- 
salt,  this  ingredient  ctmtributes  to  give  body 
to  the  steel.     If  the  cementation  be  continued 
t(X)  long,  the  steel  becomes  porous,  brittle,  or 
a  darker  fracture,  more  fusible,  and  capable 
of  being  welded.     On  the  contrary,  steel  ce- 
mented with  earthly  infusible  jiowdersis  grad- 
ually  reduced    to   the  state   of   ftirged   iron 
again.     Excessive   or  repeating  heat  in  the 
forge  is  attendeil  with  the  same  effect. 

The  properties  of  iron  are  renmrkaMy 
changed  by  cementation,  atid  it  acquires  a 
small  addition  to  its  weight,  wi.i>-h  consists  of 
the  cariurn  it  has  ahsori>ed  from  the  <-hareonl, 
and  amount.s  to  about  the  hundri^l  and  fiftieth 
or  two  hundredth  i)art.  It  is  much  m.  ire  brit- 
tle and  fusible  than  before ;  and  it  may  still  be 
welded  like  bar-iron,  if  it  has  not  be.-  «  fused 
or  over-cemented ;  but  by  far  the  most  im- 
portant alteration  in  its  |)ropenies  is,  that  it 
can  be  hardened  or  softened  at  pleasure.  If 
it  be  made  red  hot,  and  instantlv  e(X>ls.  it  at- 
tains a  degree  of  hardness  which  is  sutlicient 
to  cut  almost  any  other  substance;  but  if 
heated  and  e(x)l"ed  gradually,  it  becomes 
nearly  as  pure  as  iron,  ajid  niay,  with  much 
the  same  facility,  be  manufactured  into  any 
determined  form. 


I 


rr-1 


KL. 

fftwling  -voni),  it  will  «  on 
mi  ncrial  t'i>nii.  wliirh, 
st  colms,  •will  rise  tiiwiinl 


MAKE  STEEL. 

fhr  jiTirest  mallriililc  imn, 
il   ccinontntiou.     In    this 
iimllenhle  iron  ninl  layi-rs 
1(1  oni!  iijn)n  aiKilIirr,  i?»  n 
air  is  excluiltMi,  the  tire 
al)le  dci»rre  of  intensitj', 
ht  or  ten  days.     If  m>im 
olu  substance  is  converted 
is  extinsuisliod,  and  the 
ol   for  six  or   cijiht  days 
repared  is  called  Ijlisiercd 
tors  which  a|)iK'ar  on  its 
id,  charcoal  alone  is  used 
lit  Dtiamcl  fotind  an  nd- 
ic  fourth  to  one  third  of 
lly  when  the  iron  was  not 
r  OS  to  Qtltjrd  steel  jHisses- 
idy  Bs  well   ns  hardness, 
tthe  steel-inakinj;  process 
I   so  rapidly  as  it   would 
give   the   steel  pliahilify 
;  its  hardness.     The  blis- 
I  of  the  steel,  under  this 
nailer  and  more  numerous, 
if  the  liars,  when  they  are 
:e,  be  sprinkled  with  sea- 
t  contributes  to  give  body 
',  cementation  be  continued 
becomes  porous,  brittle,  or 
more  fusible,  and  capable 
Ol  the  contrarv,  steel  cc- 
f  infusible  jiowders  is  prad- 
the  state   of   forijed   iron 
or  re]M-atini:  heat  in  the 
ith  the  same  etVect. 
of  inin    are    nnmrkably 
itation,  mid  it   neipiires  a 
s  weight,  wi.i"'h  consists  of 
ibsorbed  from  the  charcoal, 
)ut  the  hundred  and  fiftieth 
art.     Il  is  much  mure  brit- 
I  before  ;  ami  it  may  still  be 
m,  if  it  has  not  betii  fused 
;  but  1)V  far  the  most  im- 
in  its  properties  is,  that  it 
>r  softened  at  pleasure.     If 
,  and  instantlv  cwls,  it  at- 
lardness  wliicli  is  suflicient 
!  other   substance ;   but  if 
■d    gradually,    it    becomes 
iron,  ajid  may,  with  much 
be  manufactured  into  any 


H  H'lM' 


^ 


fifc.*. 


<..t  . 


Sfe-.  It" 


•■  »■  .  « 


\.%m 


♦ti*i.j- 


M%1'    I 


98 


TRAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND. 


-tf^r^-^^ 


Fool  of  Siloam. 


% 


TE4VZLS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND— N».  3. 

BY    HARRIET    MARTINEA0. 

There  is  little  pleasure  in  visiting  the 
places  within  the  walls  of  Jerusalem  which 
are  reported  by  the  monks  to  be  the  scenes  of 
the  acts  and  sufferings  of  Christ.  There  is 
no  certainty  about  these ;  and  the  e]K)ts  re- 
garding which  there  can  be  no  mistake  are  so 
interesting,  that  the  mind  and  heart  of  the 
traveller  turn  away  from  such  as  may  be  fab- 
ulous. About  the  site  of  the  temple  there  is 
no  doubt ;  and  beyond  the  walls  one  meets  at 
every  turn  assurance  of  being  where  Christ 
walked  and  taught,  and  where  the  great  events 
of  Jewish  history  took  place.  Let  us  go  over 
what  J  found  in  one  ramble;  and  then  my 
readers  will  see  what  it  must  be  to  take  walks 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Jerusalem. 


Leaving  the  city  by  the  Bethlehem  gate, 
we  descended  into  the  valley  of  Hinnom  or 
Gehenna.  Here  there  are  many  tombs  cut 
in  the  rock,  with  entrances  like  door-ways. 
When  I  speak  of  Bethany,  I  shall  have  oc- 
casion to  describe  the  tombs  of  the  Jews. 
It  was  in  this  valley,  and  close  by  the  foun- 
tain of  Siloam,  that  in  the  days  of  Jewish 
idolatry,  children  passed  through  the  fire,  in 
honor  of  Moloch.  This  is  the  place  called 
Tophet  in  scripture — fit  to  be  spoken  of  as  it 
was,  as  an  image  of  hell.  Here,  in  this  place 
of  corruption  and  cruelty,  where  fires  hovered 
about  living  bodies,  and  worms  preyed  on  the 
dead — ^here  was  the  imagery  of  terror — "the 
worm  that  dieth  not,  and  the  fire  that  is  not 
quenched."  The  scene  is  very  ditTercnt  now. 
The  slopes  are  terraced,  tlif  t  the  winter  rains 
may  not  wash  away  the  soil ;  and  these  ter- 
races were  to-day  green  with  springing  wheat ; 


by  the  Bethlehem  gate, 
the  valley  of  Hinnom  or 
lere  are  many  tombs  cut 
>ntrances  like  door-ways. 
Jethany,  I  shall  have  oc- 
the  tombs  of  the  Jews, 
y,  and  close  by  the  foun- 
it  in  the  days' of  Jewish 
assed  through  the  fire,  in 
This  is  the  place  called 
— fit  to  be  spoken  of  as  it 
hell.  Here,  in  this  place 
lelty,  where  fires  hovered 
and  worms  preyed  on  the 

imagery  of  terror — "  the 
;,  and  the  fire  that  is  not 
;ene  is  very  different  now. 
iced,  tli^t  the  winter  rains 
y  the  soil ;  and  these  ter- 
een  with  springing  wheat ; 


4~-j,2  t,  ■  ' 


-'t'    '^1 


■.*!!('«• 


I 


100 


TRAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND. 


::; -  "  w.  ¥^^ 


Garden  of  OetbsemaQO. 


and  the  spreading  olives  and  fig  trees  cast 
flu'ir  shadows  on  the  rich  though  stony  soil. 
Streams  wore  led  from  the  pool  of  Siloam 
among  the  fields  and  gardens ;  and  oil  looked 
cool  and  fresh  in  the  once  hellish  spot.  On 
the  top  of  the  opposite  hill  was  the  Field  of 
Blood — the  field  bought  as  a  burial-place  for 
strangers,  by  the  priests  to  whom  Judas  re- 
turned his  bVibe.  For  the  burial  of  strangers, 
it  was  used  in  subsequent  ages ;  for  pilgrims 
who  died  at  the  Holy  City  were  laid  there. 
It  is  now  no  longer  enclosed ;  but  a  charnel- 
house  marks  the  spot. 

The  ])ools  all  round  Jerusolemore  beautiful ; 
the  cool  arching  rock-roof  of  some,  the  weed- 
tuftcd  sides  and  clear  waters  of  all,  are  de- 
licious. The  pool  of  Siloam  is  still  pretty- — 
though  less  so,  no  doubt,  than  when  tne  blind 
man,  sent  to  wash  there,  opened  his  eyes  on 
its  sacred  stream.  The  fountain  of  Siloam  is 
more  beautiful  than  the  pool.  It  lies  deep  in 
a  cave,  and  must  be  reached  by  broad  steps 
which  wind  down  in  the  shadow.  A  woman 
sat  to-day  in  the  dim  light  of  reflected  sun- 
shine— washing  line.i  in  the  pool.  Here  it 
was,  that  in  days  of  old  the  priest  came  down 
with  his  golden  pitcher,  to  draw  water  for  the 
temple  service;  aud  hither  it  was  that  the 
thought  of  Milton  came  when  he  sang  of — 

Biloa's  brooH  that  flowed        .   . "  ' 
Fast  by  the  oracle  of  Ood. 


We  were  now  in  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat ; 
and  we  crossed  the  bottom  of  it,  where  the 
brook  Kedron  must  run  when  it  runs  at  ail ; 
but  it  seems  to  be  now  merely  a  winter  tor- 
rent, and  never  to  have  been  a  constant 
stream.  When  we  had  ascended  the  opposite 
side  of  the  valley,  we  were  on  the  Mount  of 
Olives.  The  ascent  was  steep — now  among 
tombs,  and  now  past  fields  of  waving  barley, 
flecked  with  the  shade  of  olive-trees.  As  we 
ascended,  the  opposite  hill  seemed  to  rise,  and 
the  city  to  spread.  Two  horsemen  in  the  val- 
ley below,  and  a  woman  with  a  burden  on  her 
head,  mounting  to  the  city  by  a  path  up  Mo- 
riah,  looked  so  surprisingly  small  as  to  prove 
the  grandeur  of  the  scenery.  Hereabouts  it 
was,  as  it  is  said,  and  may-  reasonably  be 
believed,  that  Jesus  raoumed  over  Jerusalem, 
and  told  his  followers  what  would  become  of 
the  noble  city  which  here  rose  upon  their  -s-iew, 
crowning  the  sacred  mount,  and  shining  clear 
against  the  cloudless  sky.  Dwellcrsin  our 
climate  can  not  conceive  of  such  a  sight  as 
Jerusalem  seen  from  the  summit  of  the  Mount 
of  Olives.  The  Moab  mountains,  over  toward 
the  Dead  sea,  are  dressed  in  the  softest  hues 
of  purple,  lilac,  and  gray.  The  hill-country 
to  the  north  is  almost  gaudy  with  its  contrasts 
of  color ;  its  white  or  gray  stones,  red_  soil, 
and  crops  of  vivid  green.  JJut  the  city  is  the 
glory— aloft  on  the  steep— its  long  Imes  of 


■  «.«•' 


,e  valley  of  Jehoshaphat ; 
bottom  of  it,  where  the 
run  when  it  runs  at  ail ; 
DW  merely  a  winter  tor- 
have  been  a  constant 
lad  ascended  the  opposite 
'6  were  on  the  Mount  of 
was  steep — now  among 
fields  of  waving  barley, 
le  of  olive-trees.  As  we 
;e  hill  seemed  to  rise,  and 
Fwo  horsemen  in  the  val- 
nan  with  a  burden  on  her 
le  city  by  a  path  up  Mo- 
isingly  small  as  to  prove 
scenery.  Hereabouts  it 
and  may  reasonably  be 
mourned  over  Jerusalem, 
s  what  would  become  of 
here  rose  upon  their  ^^ew, 
mount,  and  shining  clear 
s  sky.  Dwellers  in  our 
:eive  of  such  a  sight  as 
the  summit  of  the  Mount 
lb  mountains,  over  toward 
ressed  in  the  softest  hues 
gray.  The  hill-country 
t  gaudy  with  its  contrasts 
or  gray  stones,  red  soil, 
■een.  Jjut  the  city  is  the 
steep — its  long  lines  of 


TllAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND. 


101 


wall  clearly  defining  it  to  tlie  sight,  and  every 
miimret  and  cupola,  and  alnmst  every  stone 
nmrked  out  by  the  brilliant  sunshine  against 
the  deep  blue  sky.  In  the  spaces  unbuilt  on 
within  the  walls,  are  tuft;j  of  verdure;  and 
oypressos  spring  here  and  there  from  some 
convent  garden.  The  green  lawns  of  the 
Mos(|ue  of  Omar,  are  spread  out  small  before 
the  eye,  with  their  groups  of  tiny  gay  moving 
people.  If  it  is  now  so  glorious  a  place  t(J  the 
eye,  what  must  it  have  been  in  the  days  of 
its  j)nde !  Yet  in  that  day,  when  every  one 
looked  for  the  exulting  blessing  "  Peace  be 
within  thy  walls,  and  prosiffcrity  within  thy 
jiahices  !"  there  came  instead  the  lamentation 
over  the  Jerusalem  that  killed  the  proph- 
ets and  stoned  the  messengers  of  Jehovah, 
and  wlioso  h(3use  must  be  therefore  left 
desolate. 

The  disciples  looking  hence  upon  the 
strength  of  the  walls,  the  massiveness  of  the 
t(nnple  buildings,  then  springing  480  feet  from 
the  bed  of  the  brook  below,  and  the  depth 
and  niggedness  of  the  ravines  surrounding  the 
city  on  three  sides,  might  well  ask  when  those 
things  should  be,  and  how  they  should  be  ac- 
complished. On  the  foi:-;h  side,  the  north, 
where  there  is  no  ravine,  the  Roman  army 
was  encamped.  We  could  now  see  that 
rising-ground,  once  covered  with  the  Roman 
tents,  but  to-day  with  corn-fields  and  olive- 
grounds.  The  Romans  encamj)ed  one  legion 
on  the  Mount  of  Olives ;  but  it  coidd  not  do 
any  harm  to  the  city,  and  the  only  available 
pomt  of  attack — the  north  side — was  guarded 
by  a  moat  and  three  walls.  The  oiege  was 
long ;  so  long  that  men's  hearts  failed  them 
for  fear,  and  at  least  one  famished  woman  ate 
her  own  child  :  and  at  last  the  city  w(.s  taken 
and  nearly  destroyed ;  and  of  the  temjjle,  not 
one  stone  was  led  upon  another.  How  we 
were  in  the  midst  of  these  scenes  to-day ! 
We  stood  where  the  doom  was  pronounced ; 
below  us  was  the  camp  of  the  single  legion  I 
have  mentioned ;  opposite  was  the  humbled 
city,  with  the  site  of  the  temple  courts ;  and 
over  to  the  north  was  the  cam))  of  the  enemy. 
Here  was  the  whole  scene  of  that  "  great  trib- 
ulation, such  as  was  not  known  from  the  be- 
ginning of  the  world." 

From  the  summit  of  Olivet,  we  went  down 
to  the  scene  of  that  other  tribulation — that 
ai'guish  of  mind  which  had  perhaps  never 
been  surpassed  from  the  beginning  of  the 
world.  "When  Jesus  had  spoken  these 
words"  (his  words  of  cheer  after  the  last  sup- 
per), "  he  went  forth,"  we  are  told.  "  with  his 
disciples  over  the  brook  Kedron,  where  was  a 
garden."  Tliis  garden  we  entered  to-day, 
from  the  other  direction,  and  left  it  by  crossing 
the  bed  of  the  brook.  It  is  a  dreary  place 
now,  very  unlike  what  it  must  have  been 


when  "Jesus  oftimes  resorted  thither  with  his 
disciples."  It  is  a  ])lot  of  ground  on  a  slope 
above  the  brook,  enclosed  with  fences  of  loose 
stones,  and  occupied  by  eight  ctremely  old 
olive-trees — the  oldest,  I  should  think,  that 
we  saw  in  all  our  travels.  I  do  not  mean  that 
they  could  have  been  growing  in  the  days  of 
Christ.  That  is  su])posed  to  be  impossible  ; 
though  I  never  C(ndd  leani  what  is  the  great- 
est age  known  to  be  attained  by  the  olive- 
ti'ee.  The  roots  of  these  were  su|)])orted  by 
little  terraces  of  stones,  that  neither  trees  nor 
soil  might  be  washed  down  the  slo])e  by  the 
winter  torrents.  But  little  remains  of  these 
once  fine  trees  but  hollow  trunks  and  a  few 
straggling  branches.  It  is  with  the  mind's 
eye  that  we  must  see  the  filling  up  of  this 
garden  enclosure  where  Jesus  "  oftimes  resori  ■ 
ed  thither" — its  orchard  of  fig,  pomegranate, 
and  olive-trees,  and  the  grass  or  young  spring, 
ing  corn  under  foot.  From  every  part  of  it 
the  approach  of  Judas  and  his  party  must 
have  been  visible.  By  their  "lanterns  and 
torches  and  weapons,"  gleaming  in  the  light, 
they  must  have  been  seen  descending  the  hill 
from  the  city  gate.  The  sleeping  disciples 
may  not  hove  heeded  the  lights  and  footsteps 
of  the  multitude  ;  but  step  by  step  as  it  wound 
down  the  steep,  and  then  crossed  the  brook, 
and  turned  up  to  the  garden,  the  victim  knew 
that  the  hour  of  his  fate  drew  on. 

By  the  way  the  crowd  came  down,  we  now 
ascended  toward  the  city,  turning  aside,  how- 
ever, to  skirt  the  north  wall,  instead  of  re- 
turning home  through  the  streets.  Not  to 
mention  now  other  things  that  we  saw,  we 
noted  much  connected  with  the  siege: — the 
nature  of  the  ground — favorable  for  the  en- 
camjiment  of  an  army,  and  the  shallow  moat 
under  the  walls,  where  the  Romans  brought 
two  great  wooden  towers  on  wheels,  that  the 
men  in  the  towers  might  fight  on  a  level  with 
those  on  the  walls,  and  throw  missiles  into  the 
town.  This  scene  of  conflict  is  very  quiet 
now.  A  crop  of  barley  was  ripening  under 
the  very  walls :  and  an  Arab,  with  a  soft, 
mild  countenance,  was  filling  his  water-skins 
at  the  pool,  called  the  sheep-])ool,  near  the 
Damascus  gate.  The  proud  Roman  and  de- 
spairing Jew  were  not  more  unlike  each  other 
than  this  Arab,  with  his  pathetic  face  was 
unlike  them  both.  As  he  stooped  under  the 
dim  arches  of  the  rock,  and  his  red  caj)  came 
into  contrast  with  the  dark  gray  of  the  still 
water  below,  and  the  green  of  the  dangling 
weeds  over  his  head,  our  thoughts  were  re- 
called to  our  own  day,  and  to  a  sense  of  the 
beauty  we  meet  in  every  nook  and  comer  of 
the  Holy  Land. 

From  this  ramble,  my  readers  may  see 
something  of  what  it  is  to  take  walks  m  the 
neighborhood  of  Jerusalem. 


i'^: 


'■*•*"-..... 


•S.;*,,      i, 

h 

i 


10& 


DUTIES  OP  SISTEaS  TO  BR0THEU3, 


DUTIES  OF  SISTERS  TO  BROTHERS. 

The  im|inrtant  relation  which  sisters  bear 
to  l)roih(T.s  can  not  lie  fully  nppreciutotl  with- 
out  II  rrreater  knowledge  of  the  world  and  its 
teni|itiitions  to  young  men,  than  girls  in  their 
teens  Clin  l)o  su[)i)osed  to  possess ;  Imt  they 
niny  l)e  assured  that  their  companionship  and 
iailuence  may  be  jxiwerful  agents  in  iireserv- 
ing  tliiir  brothers  from  dissipation,  in  saving 
them  from  dangerous  intimacies,  and  main- 
taining in  their  minds  n  high  standard  of 
female  excellence. 

If  your  brothers  arc  younger  than  von,  en- 
courage them  to  be  perfretly  confidential  wiili 
you  ;  win  their  friendship  by  your  symjiathv 
ni  all  their  concerns,  and  let  them  see  that 
their  interests  and  their  )ileasures  are  liberally 
))rovi(led    for   in    the    family    arrangements. 
Never  disclose  their  little  secrets,  however 
unimportant  they  may  seem  to  you;   never 
liniii  theniby  any  ill-timed  joke,  never  repress 
their  feelings  by  ridicule  ;  but  be  their  ten- 
derest  friend,  and  then  you  may  become  their 
ablest  adviser.     If  separated  lirom  them  by 
tiie   course   of  school   or  college   education, 
make  a  point  of  keeping  up  your  intimacy  by 
full,  free,    and   aH'ectionate   corresimndence'; 
and  when  they  return  to  the  jiaternal  roof,  at 
that  awkward  age  between  youth  and  man- 
hood, when  leserveereejjs  over  tlie  mind,  like 
an  imjwiietrablo  veil,  suflcr  it  not  to  interpose 
between  you  and  your  brothers.     Cultivate 
their  friendship  nn(f  intimacy  with  all  the  ad- 
dress and  tendeniess  you  possess;  for  it  is  of 
unspeakable  im])ortance  to  them  that  their  sis- 
ters should  be  their  confidential  friends.     Con- 
sider the  loss  of  a  ball  or  party,  f(jr  the  sake 
of  making  the   evening    pass   pleasantly   to 
your  brothers  at  home,  as  a  small  sacrifice ; 
cue  you  should  unhesitatingly  make.     If  they 
go  into  company  with  you,  see  that  they  are 
introtluced  to  the  most  desirable  nc(|uaintanccs, 
and   show  them  that  you  ore  interested  in 
their  acquitting  themselves  well. 

If  you  are  so  happy  as  to  have  elder  broth- 
ers, you  should  be  equally  assiduous  in  culti- 
vating their  friendship,  though  the  advances 
must  of  course  be  diflTerently  made.  As  they 
have  long  been  accustomed  to  treat  you  as  a 
child,  you  may  meet  with  some  repulses  when 
you  aspire  to  become  a  companion  and  a 
friend ;  but  do  not  be  discouraged  by  this. 
The  earlier  maturity  of  giris,  will  soon  ren- 
der you  their  equal  in  sentiment,  if  not  in 
knowledge,  and  your  ready  sympathy  will 
soon  convince  them  of  it.  I'hey  will  be 
agreeably  surprised  when  they  find  their  for- 
mer plaything  and  messenger  become  their 
quick-sij;hted  and  intelligent  companion,  un- 
derstanding at  a  glance  what  is  passing  in 
their  hearts ;  and  love  and  confidence  on  your 


part  will  soon  be  repaid  in  kind.  Young  men 
often  feel  the  want  of  a  confidential  friend  of 
the  softer  sex,  to  sympathi/.c  with  them  in 
their  little  allliirs  of  sentiment,  and  happy  are 
those  who  (ind  one  in  a  sister. 

Once  ])ossessed  of  an  elder  brother's  con- 
fidence, spare  no  pains  to  preserve  it ;  convince 
him  by  the  little  sacrifices  of  personal  con- 
venience and  pleasure  which  you  are  willing 
to  make  for  him,  that  when  you  do  op|)ose  his 
wishes,  it  is  on  jirinciidi^  and  for  conscience 
soke  ;  then  will  you  be  a  blessing  to  him,  and, 
even  when  dillering  from  you,  he  will  love 
and  respect  you*  the  more  for  your  adherence 
to  a  high  standard. 

.*<o  many  temptations  beset  young  men,  of 
which  young  women  know  nothing,  that  it  is 
of  the  utmost  importance  that  your  brothers' 
evenings  should  be  happily  passed  at  home, 
that  their  friends  should  be  your  friends,  that 
their   engagements    should  'l)e   the  same   ns 
yours,  and  that  various  innocent  amusements 
should  be  provided  for  them   in  the  fmiiily 
circle.     Music  is  an  accomplishment,  cliiefly 
valuable  as  a   home  enjoyment,  ns   raliving 
round  the  ])inno  the  various  members  of  the 
family,  and  hiirmorii/ing  their  hearts  ns  well 
as  voices,   particularly  in  devotional  strains. 
We  know  no  more  agreei.ble  and  interesting 
spectacle,  than   that  of  brothers  and  sisters 
playing  and  singing  together  those  elevated 
compositions  in  music  and  jioetry  which  grati- 
fy tlie  taste  and  jiuritv  of  the  heart,   while 
thi'ir  fond  parents  sit  delighted  by.     We  have 
seen  ond  heard  an  elder  sister"  thus  lending 
the  family  choir,  who  was  the  soul  of  hannony 
to  the  whole  household,  and  whose  life  was  a 
perfect  example  of  those  virtues  which  we 
are  here  endeavoring  to  inculcate.     Let  no 
one  say  that  we  require  too  much  of  sisters, 
that  no  one  can  be  expected  to  lead  such  a 
self-sncrificing  life  ;  for   the  sainted   one   to 
\yhoin'Ave  refer,  was  all  that  we  could  ask  any 

■r  lived. 


sister  to  be,  nnd  a  happier  person  neve.  

"  To  do  good  and  make  others  hapjiy,"  was 
her  rule  of  life,  and  in  this  she  found"^  the  art 
of  making  herself  so. 

Sisters  should  l)e  always  willing  to  walk, 
ride,  and  visit,  with  their  brothers,  and  esteem 
it  a  jirivilege  to  be  their  companions.  It  is 
worth  while  to  learn  innocent  games  for  the 
sake  of  furnishing  brothers  with  amusement 
and  making  home  the  most  agreeable  place  to 
them. 

If  your  brothers  take  an  interest  in  your 
personal  appearance  and  dress,  you  should 
encourage  the  feeling  by  consulting  their  taste, 
and  sacrificing  any  little  fancy  of  your  own 
to  a  decided  dislike  of  theirs.  Brothers  will 
generally  be  found  strongly  .opposed  to  the 
slightest  indecorum  in  sisters  ;  even  those  who 
are  ready  enough  to  take  advantage  of  free- 


niil  in  kind.  Ynung  idpii 
if  a  coiitidentiiil  friiml  df 
yin|infhi/c  witli  flicni  in 
<ontiinrnt,  and  linpijy  arc 
1  asistpr. 

"  an  elder  l)rnllier's  enn- 
is  fo  preserve  it ;  rnnvince 
crifices  of  iiersonni  ron- 
•e  which  you  are  willinn 
r  when  you  do  ojipost-  liin 
t'ipli'  and  for  cnnscicnfo 
)f  a  blessing  to  liini,  and, 
from  you,  he  will  love 
more  for  your  adherence 

nns  beset  ynnnn[  men,  of 
know  nothinij,  thnt  it  is 
once  tliut  yonr  brothers' 
ui])pily  passed  at  home, 
uid  be  your  friends,  that 
■<hon]d    be   the  same   as 
us  innocent  amnscnients 
for  them    in  the  finnily 
accomplishment,  pliicdV 
enjoyment,  as   rallviiif; 
various  members  of  tin; 
'.'m<i  their  hearts  as  well 
y  in  devotional  strnins. 
greeuble  and  intcrcstinn; 
of  brothers  and  sisters 
together  those  elevated 
and  ])oetiy  wliich  grati- 
ity  of  the  heart,   while 
lelightcd  by.     AVe  have 
Ider  sister  thus  leading 
was  the  soul  of  liannon}' 
111,  and  whose  life  was  a 
hose  virtues  which  we 
:  to  inculcote.     Let  no 
re  too  much  of  sisters, 
spected  to  lead  such  a 
or   the.   sainted  one   to 
.11  that  we  could  ask  any 
ipier  person  never  lived, 
ike  others  hapj)y,"  was 
:i  this  she  found  the  art 

Iways  willing  to  walk, 
eir  brothers,  and  esteem 
leir  companions.  It  is 
innocent  games  for  the 
ithers  with  amusement 
most  agreeable  place  to 

ke  an  interest  in  your 
and  dress,  you  should 
y  consulting  their  taste, 
tie  fancy  of  your  own 
theirs.  Brothers  will 
rongly  opposed  to  the 
sisters  ;  even  those  who 
ake  advantage  of  free- 


DUTIK8  OF  SISTERS  TO  BROTHEttS. 


103 


dom  of  manners  in  othiT  girls,  have  very 
strict  notions  with  regard  to  their  own  sisters. 
Their  intercourse  with  nil  sorts  of  men  ena- 
bles them  to  judge  of  the  construction  put 
upon  certain  actions  and  mo<ies  of  dress  and 
speech,  much  better  than  women  cun;  and 
you  will  do  well  to  take  their  advice  on  all 
such  points. 

JJrothers  and  .sisters  may  greatly  aid  each 
other  in  judging  of  their  friends  of  the  oj)|)o- 
sitc  s(!x.     Brothers  can  throw  important  light 
upon  the  character  and  merits  of  young  men, 
because  they  see  them  when  acting  out  tlieir 
tiaturcs  before  their  comrades,    and  relieved 
from  the  restraints  of  the  drawing-riMim  ;  and 
you  can  in  return,  greatly  assist  your  brothers 
111  coming  to  wise  and  just  conclusions  con- 
cerning their  female  friends.     Your  brothers 
may  bo  very  much  indebted  to  the  quicker 
penetration  of  women  into  each  other's  char- 
acter, and  saved  by  your  discernment  from 
being  fascinated  by  (pialitics  thut  are  not  of 
sterling  value  ;  but,  in  order  to  have  the  in- 
fluence necessary  to  such  iin])ortant  ends,  you 
must  be  habitually  free  from  a  spirit  of  de- 
traction, candid  in  all  your  judgments,  oiid 
ever  ready  to  admire  whatever  is  lovely  and 
good  in  your  own  sex.     If,  when  you  dissent 
from  your  brother's  too  favorable  opinion  of  a 
lady,  ho  can  with  any  justice  charge  you  with 
a  prejudice  against  her  family,  or  a  capricious 
tlisliiic  of  her,  your  judgment,  however  cor- 
rect, will  have  no  weight,  and  he  will  be  very 
likely  to  become,  not  only  the  lady's  champion, 
but  her  lover. 

If  your  brothers  have  received  a  classical 
education  and  you  are  studiously  inclined, 
you  may  derive  great  assistance  from  them  in 
the  cultivation  of  your  own  mind,  and  bind 
them  still  closer  to  yoi4  in  the  delightful  com- 
panionship of  literary  jmrsuits. 

Many  men  who  have  passed  unharmed 
through  the  temptations  of  youth,  owed  their 
escape  from  many  dangers  to  the  intimate 
companionshipofatTectionateond  pure-minded 
sisters.  They  have  been  saved  from  hazard- 
ous meeting  with  idle  company  by  some  home 
engagement,  of  which  their  sisters  were  the 
charm ;  they  have  refrained  from  mixing  writh 
the  imjiure,  because  they  would  not  brine 
home  thoughts  and  feelings  which  they  coulS 
n()t  share  with  those  trusting  and  loving 
friends ;  they  have  put  aside  the  wine-cup 
and  abstained  from  stronger  potations,  because 
they  would  not  jirofane  with  their  fumes  the 
holy  kiss  with  which  they  were  accustomed 
to  bid  their  sisters  good  night. 

The  duties  of  sisters  to  each  other  are  so 
obvious  and  well  understood,  that  it  will  be 
needless  to  enter  fully  upon  them  here.  If 
your  heart  is  right  toward  God,  and  you  feel 
that  the  great  business  of  life  is  the  education 


of  your  immortal  spirit  for  eternity,  you  will 
easily  bear  with  the  iiitinnities  of  others,  be- 
cause you  will  be  fully  imjtressed  with  a  sense 
of  your  own  ;  and  when  you  eon  amicably 
bear  and  forbear,  love  will  come  in,  to  soften 
every  asperity,  heol  every  little  wound,  ami 
make  a  band  of  sisters  "heljiers  of  each 
other's  joy." 

A  few  cases  may  arise,  in  the  most  harmo- 
nious fomilies,  wherein  sisters  may  not  fully 
understand  each  other's  rights,  and  mny  there- 
fore ignorantly  trespa.ss  ujion  them  ;  such,  for 
instance,  as  where  one  of  the  family  is  very 
fond  ()f  reading,  and  wishes  to  have  a  certain 
portion  of  her  time  uninterruptedly  given  to 
that  em))loymcnt,  and  a  sister  keeps  interrupt- 
ing her  by  conversation,  or  ojipeals  to  her  for 
aid  in  some  lesscm  or  piece  of  work.  Some- 
times a  great  reader  is  made  the  butt  of  the 
rest  of  the  family  for  that  very  valuable  pro- 
pensity, and  halt  her  ])leosure  in  it  destroyed 
liy  its  being  made  a  standing  joke  among  her 
brothers  and  sisters. 

Sisters  should  as  scrujiulously  regard  each 
other's  rights  of  property,  as  they  would 
those  of  a  guest  staying  in  the  house:  never 
helping  themselves  without  leave  to  the  work- 
ing materials,  writing  implements,  drawin" 
apparatus,  books,  or  clothing  of  each  other" 
It  is  a  mistake  to  sujipose  that  the  nearness  of 
the  rclationshij)  makes  it  allowable  ;  the  more 
intimate  our  connexion  with  any  one,  the 
more  necessary  it  is  to  guard  ourselves  against 
taking  unwarrantable  liberties.  For  the  very 
reason  that  you  are  obliged  to  be  so  much  to- 
gether, you  should  take  care  to  do  nothing 
disagreeable  to  each  other. 

Love  is  a  plant  of  delicate  growth,  and, 
though  it  sometimes  springs  up  spontaneously, 
it  will  never  flourish  long  and  well  without 
careful  culture ;  and  when  we  see  how  it  is 
cultivated  in  some  families,  the  wonder  is, 
not  that  it  does  not  spread  so  as  to  overshadow 
the  whole  circle,  but  that  any  sprig  of  it 
should  survive  the  rude  treatment  it  meets 
with. 

Genuine  politeness  is  a  great  fosterer  of 
family  love ;  it  allays  accidental  irritation,  by 
preventing  harsh  retorts  and  rude  contradic- 
tions ;  it  softens  the  boisterous,  stimulates  the 
indolent,  suppresses  selfishness,  and,  by  form- 
ing a  habit  of  consideration  for  others,  har- 
monizes the  whole.  Politeness  begets  jwlite- 
ness,  and  brothers  may  be  easily  won  by  it  to 
leave  off"  the  rude  woys  they  bnng  home  from 
school  or  college.  Never  receive  any  little 
attention  without  thanking  them  for  it ;  never 
ask  a  favor  of  them  but  in  cautious  terms, 
never  reply  to  their  questions  in  monysyll  ables ; 
and  they  vrill  soon  be  ashamed  to  do  such 
things  themselves.  You  should  labor,  by  pre- 
cept and  example,  to  convince  them,  that  no 


4 

I"        '         - 
■  ii  >  1 


104 


DUTIE8  OF  9I8TEH8  TO  BaOTHEaS. 


I 

9 


one  cnn  have  rcoUy  ernMl  monncrs  abrrjad,  who 
i«  not  hiililttmlly  polite  at  lirjtnc 

Killer  sisters  rxrrt  a  vpry  great  influence 
over  tlie  voHngci  chililren  of  a  family,  either 
for  good  or  for  evil.  If  y<iu  nrc  iini)nticnt, 
unfiiir  in  your  judgments,  or  n.sHumc  tmt  much 
ttiitliority,  you  injure  the  tempers  of  tiieso  lit- 
tle (iiies,  mnke  them  Jealous  of  their  rights, 
and  render  your  own  position  a  very  unplens- 
nni  one ;  whereas,  if  you  are  patient  and  kind, 
and  found  your  jiretensions  to  dictate,  not  on 
your  age,  l)Ut  on  truth  and  justice,  the  younger 
children  will  readily  allow  your  claims. 

Young  children  ore  excellent  judges  of  the 
motives  and  feelings  of  those  who  attempt  to 
control  them;  and,  if  you  would  win  their 
love,  and  dispose  them  to  com|)ly  with  your 
rcasonaiilc  requests,  you  must  treat  them  with 
jicrfect  candor  ami  uprightness.  Never  at- 
tempt to  cheat,  even  the  youngest,  into  a  .  ^m- 
plianc<!  with  your  wishes;  frjr,  though  you 
succeed  at  the  time,  you  lessen  your  inHuence 
l>y  the  lo»8  of  contidcnco  which  follows  detec- 
tion. 

With  every  disposition  to  treat  the  younger 
ones  kindly,  elder  sisters  are  often  discouroged 
and  discomforted  Ity  what  they  consider  the 
over-indulgence  of  their  parents  toward  the 
younger  memliers  of  the  family ;  hut  where 
this  comidaint  is  well  founded,  much  is  still  in 
their  power.  They  can,  by  judicious  conduct, 
do  a  great  deal  to  counteract  the  bad  etlects 
of  this  parentol  fondness,  ami  make  the  little 
ones  ashamed  to  take  a  mean  a<lvantage  of  it. 
The  very  indulgent  are  seldom  just;  now 
children  value  justice  and  strict  odherenco  to 
promises  more  than  indulgence,  and  you  may 
mould  them  to  your  will  by  the  exercise  of 
those  higher  qualities. 

It  is  the  duty  of  elder  sisters  to  take  a  lively 
interest  in  the  education  of  the  younger  chil- 
dren, and  to  use  all  the  advantages  which  they 
have  received,  for  the  benefit  of  those  that  are 
coming  forward  in  the  same  line.  They 
should  aid  their  parents  in  the  choice  of 
schools,  and  ascertain  what  is  actually  learned 
at  tliem.  Where  circumstances  render  it 
necessary  that  the  elder  children  should  assist 
in  teaching  the  younger  ones,  it  should  be 
done  cheerfully ;  not  as  a  auty  merely,  but  as 
a  useful  discipline.  Some  writers  upon  edu- 
cation consider  teaching  others  as  the  best  and 
most  eflectual  way  of  learning  one's  self. 
When  Madame  de  Gcnlis  described  what  she 
considered  as  a  perfect  svstem  of  education, 
she  represented  her  models  as  takinw  ycjungei 
children  to  teach  as  a  part  of  their  own 
instruction.  It  has  been  said  that  we  are 
never  sure  that  we  know  a  thing  thoroughly, 
until  we  have  taught  it  to  another. 

If  the  duty  of  teaching  has  its  advantages, 
it  also  has  its  dangers :  it  is  a  very  fatiguing 


occupation,  and  ought  not  to  occupy  too  tnuch 
of  n  yoinig  person's  time.     WIhtc  this  is  n-- 
(juircd    of    a    daughter,    other    home -duties 
should  be  remitted,  nnd  her  dny  should  be  so 
Bp|)ortionfd  «»  to  leave  her  nmi)1e  time  for  ex- 
ercise and  recreation,  or  the  hiltor  may  jirovo 
injurious  to  her  health.     It  is  very  si-ldom 
that  one  who  has  never  atteni]iled  to  tcaeh 
others,  can  duly  appreciate  tlur  labor  of  it ; 
I  ond  a  father  so  circumstanced,  will  sometimes 
'  think  that  as  many  hours  may  be  given  to  it 
j  as  he  gives  to  his  business  ;  but  this  is  a  great 
!  mistake  ;  nothing  is  so  hcovy  a  tax  on  min(i 
j  ond  bcnly  os  the  act  of  communicating  knowl- 
i  edge  to  other  minds ;  and  the   more  intelli- 
I  gently  and  lovingly  it  is  done,  the  greater  is 
j  the  fatigue. 

'I'liis  duty  should  not  be  allowed  to  interfere 
j  wiih  th(!  further  progress  of  the  young  teacher, 
I  for  though  it  may  be  useful  to  go  over  ohl 
ground,  with  those  who  ore  learning,  she 
should  still  be  careful  not  to  narrow  her  mind 
down  to  the  standard  of  their  habits  ;  but  re- 
fresh and  invigorate  it,  at  the  same  time,  by 
exploring  new  fields  of  literature. 

Those  M'ho  ore  not  called  upon  to  teach 
younger  brothers  ond  sisters,  may  yet  do  them 
great  good  by  exercising  their  muids  in  con- 
versation, and  by  communicating  useful  in- 
formation to  them  in  their  daily  intercourse. 
The  reverse  of  this  we  hove  sometimes  ob- 
served with  sorrow,  W^e  have  seen  amiable 
and  well-informed  girls  act  toward  these  little 
ones  as  if  thty  were  not  at  oil  responsible  for 
the  impressions  they  mode  on  their  tender 
minds.  They  would  mislead  a  young  inquirer 
by  false  information,  and  consider  it  a  good 
joke ;  or  they  would  harrow  up  young  and 
susceptilb  minds  by  frightful  stones,  which, 
though  amusing  at  the  time,  could  not  fail  to 
send  the  little  clears  trembling  to  bed,  afraid 
of  the  dark,  and  unable  to  sleep  for  terror. 
Where,  however,  the  elder  children  have 
been  properly  trained  by  the  porents,  such 
mistakes  can  not  occur,  and  where  they  have 
not,  it  would  require  a  volume  to  do  justice  to 
the  subject. 

It  is  as  necessary  for  those  who  are  much 
with  children,  to  have  right  notions  about  the 
manner  of  treating  them,  as  for  the  parents 
themselves ;  it  is  therefore  very  desirable  that 
elder  sisters  should  read  some  of  the  excellent 
works  which  have  been  written  on  education. 
Among  these,  we  would  particularly  recom- 
mend Edgeworth's  "  Practical  Education," 
Mrs.  Hamilton's  "  Letters  on  the  Elementary 
Principles  of  Education,"  "  Hints  on  Nursery 
Discipline,''  a  valuable  book,  republished  in 
Salem  a  few  years  ago,  and  a  late  French 
work  of  great  merit,  entitled  "  L'Educotion 
Progreasive,"  by  Madame  Necker  de  Saus- 
sure.     These  works  are  as  entertaining  as 


I 


■KBRiml  X I Wmp 


ai^m 


;  not  to  occupy  too  tniirli 
i»nc.  Wlirrn  this  in  rc- 
irr,  other  hotnc-dutips 
nd  her  i\uy  should  In-  no 
("  her  nmplf  tiiiif  fur  ox- 
or  th(!  liilior  limy  provo 
Ith.  It  iH  vrryw.'Idorn 
\vr  ottfiiiptcd  to  tciu!h 
rceitttc  the  lulxir  of  it ; 
iHtnncrd,  will  Hoinctimcs 
ours  may  ho  j;ivt'n  lo  it 
iipss  ;  but  this  is  n  great 
!0  heavy  a  tax  on  mitul 
"  coniniunicdting  kiiowl- 
;  and  tho  niont  iiitcili- 
;  is  done,  the  greater  is 

)t  be  alh)wcd  to  interfi're 
CS3  of  the  young  teacher, 
3  useful  to  go  over  old 
who  are  learning,  she 
not  to  narrow  her  mind 
of  their  habits  ;  but  rc- 
it,  at  the  some  time,  by 
f  literature, 
t  called  upon  to  teach 
iislrrs,  may  yet  do  them 
ing  their  muids  in  con- 
rnmunicating  useful  in- 
their  daily  intercourse, 
re  have  sometimes  ob- 

We  have  seen  amial)le 
8  act  toward  these  little 
lot  at  all  responsible  for 

maile  on  tneir  tender 
Mislead  a  young  inijuirer 
and  consider  it  a  good 

harrow  up  young  and 
frightful  stones,  wnich, 
s  time,  could  not  fail  to 
rembling  to  bed,  afraid 
ble  to  sleep  for  terror, 
e  elder  children  have 
I  by  the  parents,  such 
r,  and  where  they  have 
I  volume  to  do  justice  to 

or  those  who  are  much 
I  right  notions  about  the 
lem,  as  for  the  jiarcnts 
jfore  very  desirable  that 
ad  some  of  the  excellent 
?n  written  on  education, 
uld  particularly  rccom- 
'  Practical  Education," 
itters  on  the  Elementary 
m,"  "  Hints  on  Nursery 
le  book,  republished  in 
igo,  and  a  late  French 
entitled  "  L'Education 
dame  Necker  de  Saus- 
ure  as  entertaining  aa 


they  arc  Instnictive,  and  great  pleasure  might 
be  found  in  testing  some  ctf  the  theorii's  and 
inuxiiiH  which  thev  contain,  by  the  living  ex- 
perience of  a  family  circle.  By  studying  the 
subject  of  cclucation,  elder  sisters  would  learn 
to  rcganl  tin-  ehildren  around  tliein,  not  merely 
as  necessary  intcrrui)tions  and  occasional  ])lay- 
things,  but  us  nioralunil  intellectual  |)roblems, 
which  tbcy  may  litid  i)roHt  in  solving. 


AVINTER  NOT  MONOTONOUS. 

Thk  winter  landscape  has  been  accused  of 
monotony ;  and  certainly  all  nature  has  at 
this  season  a  less  animateil  and  varied  as- 
pect than  at  any  other.  Unless  when  it  is 
sprinkled  over  with  hoar-frost,  or  covered 
with  a  cold  mantle  of  stiow,  tho  surface  of 
the  earth  ii  arrayed  in  a  bleak  and  faded  hue. 
The  woods  have  now  lost  tho  variegated  foli- 
age that  hud  already  ceased  to  be  their  orna- 
ment ;  and  the  brunches  of  the  trees,  with 
their  "naked  shoots,  tiarren  as  lances,"  Imvii 
one  unil'iirm  uppcurancc  of  dt^ath  and  decay. 
The  howUng  of  the  long-continued  storm,  and 
the  fe\v  t'liint  liird-iiDtcs  still  heard  at  intervals 
in  the  tliickels  or  hedges,  are  monotonously 
mournful.  The  devastation  of  the  earth,  and 
th(!  sounds  that  seem  to  bewail  it,  arc  general 
and  unvaried.  Such,  at  a  cursory  glance, 
appear  to  be;  the  aspect  and  tone  of  our  winter 
scenery.  But  the  keenly-observant  eye  dis- 
covers, even  at  this  desolate  season,  and  in 
the  midst  of  seeming  monotimy,  that  endless 
variety  which  characteri:;es  every  province 
of  creation.  On  close  inspection,  indeed,  all 
wo  behold  is  varied.  Whatever  bo  the  sea- 
son, and  wherever  lie  the  scene  of  our  obser- 
vation, though  many  things  arc  apparently 
similar,  yet  none  are  exactly  or  really  so.  At 
certain  times  and  places,  tne  mutual  resem- 
blances between  all  the  common  objects  of 
sense,  all  that  solicits  the  eye  or  the  car  in  the 
landscajie,  may  be  so  numerous  and  striking, 
that  a  feeling  of  monotony  ensues ;  groups  of 
mournful  sights  and  sounds  may,  in  the  dead 
of  the  year,  successively  impress  us  with  a 
sense  of  melancholy,  and  incline  us  to  set  a 
limit  to  the  usual  prodigality  of  nature  ;  but 
yet  true  wisdom,  aided  by  quick  and  active 
observation,  easily  draws  the  dull  veil  of  uni- 
formity aside,  and  reveals  to  the  admiring  eye 
boundless  diversity,  even  in  the  ravaged  and 
gloomy  scenery  o*'^  winter. 

Are  the  woods  so  uniformly  dead  as,  on  a 
first  sui;vey,  they  appear  ?  The  oak,  the  ash, 
the  beech,  and  most  of  our  forest-trees,  have 
lost  their  varied  foliage ;  bnt  the  numerous 
varieties  of  the  fir  and  the  pine  retain  their 


leaves,  and  varicffate  the  disrobed  grove  with 
their  unfailing  verdure.  In  the  WckmII«ii(I 
copse  or  lonely  dell  tlie  rvergreen  still  glad- 
ilens  the  eye  with  its  shining  and  dark  green 
leaves.  Nor  are  our  shrubberies  without 
their  living  green.  Befori!  the  severity  of 
winter  is  over,  the  snowdrop  emerges  from  the 
reviving  turf,  tlie  lovely  mid  venturous  herald 
of  a  coming  host.  Thus,  in  the  periinl  of 
frost,  and  snow,  and  vegetable  death,  tho 
beauty  of  flowers  is  not  unknown  ;  Imt  rntlier 
what  survives  or  braves  the  desolating  stonn 
is  (l(nibly  enhanced  to  our  eyes  by  tho  sur- 
roumling  dreariness  and  decay. 

And  ore  the  atmospherical  [ihenomena  of 
this  seasiui  monotonous  or  uninteresting? 
Independently  of  the  striking  contrast  they 
present  to  those  of  summer  rind  autumn,  tlniy 
are  of  themselves  grnndly  diversified.  Tho 
dark  and  rainy  storm  careers  over  the  face  of 
the  earth  till  the  fliKxled  rivers  overflow  their 
banks,  and  tho  forest  roars  like  a  tempestuous 
sea.  The  hoar-frost  spangles  the  ground  with 
a  white  and  brilliant  incrustation  ;  or  the  snow, 
fulling  softly,  covers  tho  wide  expanse  of 
mountain,  and  W(K)d,  oiid  ])laiii,  with  a  mantle 
of  dazzling  purity.  Then  the  dark  brunches 
of  tho  trees,  bcniling  under  a  loud  of  white 
and  feathery  flakes,  have  a  picture8(|ue  aspect, 
and  seem  to  rejoice  in  the  substitute  of  their 
last  foliage.  And  how  fantastically  beautiful 
are  the  cHects  of  frost  !  Water  is  transmuted 
into  solid  forms,  of  a  thousand  dillerent 
shapes.  The  lake,  and  even  tho  river  itself, 
becomes  a  crystal  floor,  and  th«  drojis  of  the 
house-eaves  collect  into  rows  of  icicles,  of 
varying  dimensions,  dillcrcntly  reflecting  and 
refracting  tho  rays  of  the  mitlday  sun.  The 
earth  is  bound  in  magical  fetters,  and  rings 
beneath  the  tread.  The  air  is  jmrc  and  keen, 
yet  not  insufTerably  cold.  Calm  and  clenr 
frosty  days,  succeeded  by  nights  that  unveil 
tho  full  glory  of  the  starry  firmament,  are  in- 
termingled with  magnificent  tempests,  that 
sweep  over  the  land  and  sea,  and  make  tho 
grandest  music  to  the  car  that  is  ottuncd  to  the 
harmonies  of  nature. 

Variety  seems  to  be  a  universal  attribute 
of  creati(m.  It  is  stamped  upon  the  heavens, 
the  earth,  and  the  sea.  The  stars  are  all  glo- 
rious, but  "  one  star  difTereth  from  another 
stor  in  glory."  Tho  sun  eclipses  them  all, 
and  the  moon  reigns  among  them  like  their 
queen.  The  earth  is  covered  wth  numberless 
mountains  and  hills,  thick  as  waves  on  the 
ocean,  and  more  wonderfully  diversified. 
From  the  tiny  hillock  to  the  cloud-piercing 
peak,  no  two  eminences  are  wholly  alike  in 
shape,  or  size,  or  in  any  single  quality.  What 
volley  or  plain,  what  tree  or  flower,  or  leaf, 
or  blade  of  grass,  is,  in  all  points,  similar  to 
another  1     Search  the  whole  world,  and  you 


■  ^**ti..ti 


I 


f§^' 

fm 

1       " 
J- 

...-'' 


Srvf'^' 


tiite, 


!M..,,„,  j 


106 


NKAPOLITANS  ON  THE  SEASHORE. 


will  fiml  no  pnir  of  nriy  of  thc«o  ('rented  things 
exiict  count(T|ii\rt«  to  each  otlirr,  in  rcf^nrcl  to 
■■'"ight,  color,  Ntruriiirc,  f\miTr,  or  niiy  other 
•  ttwerittal  ororeiilentnl  property.  Thennininl 
Wtwli  ,«  nsondh'HxIy  divernilieil.  Not  onlj'  is 
th«  /hstiii<"tion  hetwern  tho  vnriouH  ((rfieru 
and  mieeic*  wido  and  iiripaMHalilc,  hut  hct'vvcn 
tho  indiviihiolM  of  eneh  upeeiei  no  prrfect 
«imih»rity  exists.  Twins  nro  commonly  most 
UKo  ench  other  ;  hut  yrt  wo  ore  ut  no  loss  to 
(!*'"tinjfiiish  hetwi-en  them.  Even  when  we 
tuko  two  nnrts,  however  n!)pnrcntly  alike,  of 
two  individuals  of  tho  sumo  snecies,  we  find 
the  game  diversity.  The  variety  oliservulilo 
in  tho  human  countonnnco  has  lonj^  heen  a 
matter  of  remark  and  admiration.  Tho 
general  features  arc  tho  stnrio  in  all ;  hut 
their  color,  their  nlativo  size,  and  numerous 
other  peculiarities,  ure  ;rie,eonei!al)ly  dilVercnt. 
Ilenee  we  eaii  at  once  recognise  an  individual 
among  a  thousand,  even  when  th-y  are  of  thu 
samo  stature  and  complexion  with  himself. 

The  diversity  of  Cfdor  is  truly  astonishing, 
and  is  the  source  of  much  beauty  and  enjoy- 
ment. Thougli  tho  primary  colors  art;  only 
seven,  yet  these  are  so  mixed  and  blended 
over  all  nature,  as  to  delight  the  eye  with 
millions  of  diflerent  hues,  of  all  degrees  of 
depth  and  brilliancy.  Let  us  look  at  a  bed  of 
blowing  summer  flowers,  and  behold  the  rav- 
ishing wonders  of  color.  Tho  unstained  sil- 
very whiteness  of  tho  lily,  the  deep  crimson 
of  the  rose,  the  dark  and  velvety  blue  of  tho 
violet,  the  bright  yellow  of  the  wallflower  and 
the  marigold,  are  but  specimens  of  the  rich 
and  gorgeous  hues  that  delight  us  with  a  sense 
of  beouty  and  varii  ty.  Tho  fields  and  lawns, 
with  their  bright  green,  spotted  with  white 
clover  and  crimson-tipped  daisies  ;  tho  mead- 
ows, with  their  butter-cups,  and  all  their  pe- 
culiar flowers;  tho  woo(ls,  with  their  fresh 
spring  verdure,  and  their  flaming  autumnal 
robes ;  and  the  mountains,  at  one  time  bathed 
in  a  deep  azure,  at  another  shining  with  golden 
sunlight,  all  exhibit  the  marvellously  varied 
touches  of  thot  pencil  which  none  but  an  om- 
nipotent arm  can  wield. 

This  universal  variety  is  not  merely  a  dis- 
play of  infinite  skill,  but  it  is  equally  beauti- 
ful, pleasing,  and  useful.  !■.  Qi'  Is  immensely 
to  our  enjoyment  of  natvire,  r,*!  t^n  ntly  "n- 
hancea  our  idea  of  God's  ("Mt.kb  ,  '  ibutes. 
It  furnishes  us  with  thi  fni'HP"  jf  (lis  :rimina- 
tion,  without  which  the  earth  would  be  to  us 
a  scene  of  confusion.  Were  there  only  one 
color,  and  were  every  mountain,  for  example, 
of  the  same  shape,  or  every  shrub  and  tree 
of  the  same  size,  how  dull  and  monotonous 
would  be  every  landscape!  And  if  every 
human  face  were  exactly  alike,  how  should 
we  be  able  to  distinguish  a  friend  from  an 
enemy,  a  neighbor  from  a  stranger,  a  country- 


man from  a  foreigner.  Or,  to  tukn  an  <'xaui- 
pln  still  more  impressive,  wi.'re  the  jxiwors 
and  |)asHions  of  every  individual  mind  in  every 
resju'ct  similar,  that  diversity  of  charocter 
and  pursuit,  which  constitutes  the  mainspring 
of  HOI  iety  and  civilization,  would  not  be  fouml, 
In  all  'Jiis,  there  is  an  adaptation  and  wis« 
d(!sign.  Amid  apparent  uniformity,  thi'  neces- 
sary variety  everywhere  obtains.  And  sel- 
dom does  variety  run  to  an  excess.  Uttt  r 
dissimilarity  is  as  rare  as  complete  resem- 
blance. All  things  nri;  beautifully  and  usefully 
vnrii'd;  but  they  also  all  wear  the  distinguish- 
ing mark  of  the  same  grout  Artist,  andean  all 
lie  arranged  into  cIhsk'M),  the  individuals  of 
whi(di  bear  to  ono  another  the  most  curious 
and  intiina'"  resemblaniK  "i.  There  is  in  na- 
ture a  unifoiiiiity  that  is  as  beneficial  as  vari- 
ety itself.  I'he  V  ives,  flowers,  and  fruits, 
ot  a  tree  or  shnib,  though  infinitely  varied  in 
their  |!  'lire  anil  appearance,  are  yet  all  so 
mucli  ulike,  that  they  can  easily  be  referred 
to  their  parent  «peci(!8.  All  the  animals  of  a 
kind  have  each  theii-  peculiarities ;  but  every 
individual  can  at  onco  be  recognised  by  tho 
naturalist's  practised  eye.  Thus  has  the  Au- 
thor of  all  tilings  so  blended  variety  and  uni- 
formity together,  as  to  delight,  yet  iiot  bewil- 
der us,  with  exhaustless  variety;  to  enable 
us  to  class  his  works  into  great  groups  of  gen- 
era and  snecies,  and  thereby  to  exercise  oar 
powers  of  reason  and  observation  in  tracing 
tho  delicate  resemblances  and  disagreements 
that  meet  us  in  all  c  ir  inquiries.  O,  Lord, 
every  (|uality  of  thy  works  is  the  result  of  in- 
finite wisdom !  Tne  grand  diversities  of  the 
seasons,  v'ith  all  their  distinguishing  charac- 
teristics, the  beautiful  harmony  and  unlimited 
variety  of  nature,  alike  eviilence  thy  g(K»d- 
ness,  and  demand  the  cheerful  gratitude  of 
man. 


NEAPOLITANS  ON  THE  SEASHORE. 

We  scarcely  know  how  in  words  to  do  jus- 
tice to  the  beautiful  drawing  from  which  our 
engraving  is  made.  Reidel,  the  painter, 
th"  igh  a  Gerniaii,  has  caught  the  spirit  of  the 
sc  '  ',  and  given  us  a  genuine  Neopolitan  pic- 
ture. How  can  we  wonder  thot  such  mighty 
schools  of  painters  sprung  up  in  Italy,  when 
its  women  presented  such  enchanting  models 
of  grace  and  dignity?  Nothing  tan  exceed 
tho  felicity  of  the  grouping  of  the  mother  and 
children.  Look  at  the  young  girl  lying  at  full 
length  along  the  ground  !  How,  to  the  life, 
we  see  the  indolent  voluptuousness  of  her 
race  develojiing  in  her  form.  A  true  chi'd  of 
the  south,  she  cares  not  for  the  bronzing  sun, 


J 


r.  Or,  to  tiikt!  nn  cxain- 
'Msivc,  were  till'  [iDwerii 
I  itiillviilual  iniml  iti  rvfry 
t  ilivfTHiiy  of  chiirm'ttT 
(mHlitutcH  tilt!  muiiispririf; 
uion,  wiiulil  not  lie  fouiiil, 

(III  n(ln|itutiiiii  ami  wiiM 
riit  uniformity,  the  necps- 
h'licrc  olitaiiis.  And  hvU 
nn  to  an  I'xcpus.  Utttr 
am  as  compjcto  ri'scm- 
t;  licniilifully  and  imrfully 
•  nil  wi'nr  tin!  distiiifiuish- 
3  ^rcut  Artist,  amlcnn  all 
i«n''H,  tlif!  inilividuaU  of 
inorher  tlio  most  curious 
InijiM  ^.  Thcrn  is  in  na- 
it  is  08  licneficittl  as  vnri- 
ve«,  (lowers,  ami  fruits, 
lough  infinitely  varifd  in 
[H'ttrancc,  are  ypt  all  so 
■y  can  easily  be  referred 
!8.  All  the  animals  of  a 
'  peculiarities ;  but  every 
,ce  be  recognisiul  by  the 

eye.  Thus  has  the  Au- 
blcnded  variety  and  uni- 
te delight,  yet  iiot  bewil- 
Jtlcss  variety;  to  enable 
into  great  groups  of  gen- 

thereby  to  exercise  our 
d  observation  in  tracing 
ancea  and  disagreements 

ir  inquiries.  O,  Lord, 
works  is  the  result  of  in- 
!  grand  diversities  of  the 
ir  distinguishing  charac- 
1  harmony  and  unlimited 
like  evidence  thy  good- 
ie cheerful  gratitude  of 


N  THE  SEASHORE. 

r  how  in  words  t"  do  jus- 
[Irowing  from  which  our 
Reidel,  the  painter, 
iS  caught  the  spirit  of  the 
genume  Neopolitan  pic- 
vor.der  that  such  mighty 
iprung  up  in  Italy,  when 
such  enchanting  models 
'?  Nothing  tan  exceed 
)uping  of  the  mother  and 
le  young  girl  lying  at  full 
und  !  How,  to  the  life, 
t  voluptuousness  of  her 
;r  form.  A  true  chiM  of 
lot  for  the  bronzing  sun, 


fMlff  njfflju^itf  ■*  J 


II: 


4  *  *'*> " 


li  u  ill    • 


JLaJ-^' 


108 


THE  BOUNDLESSNESS  OF  THE  MATERIAL  UNIVERSE. 


but  pazcs  fnr  out  into  the  lustrous  ocean,  and 
watcliPs  the  wliito-s-iiled  feluccas,  sninil  as 
the  curved  wiii<;s  of  seahirds;  or  still  farther 
stretches  her  idle  paze  to  where  the  shadows 
of  the  clouds  th'.vart  with  long  lines  of  most 
delicate  gray  the  silver  shining  sea.  The 
mother  bends  her  head  down  over  her  young- 
er child,  whil(;  she  clasps  her  beads  and  utters 
a  jirayer  for  the  l)ark  which  is  far  away.  The 
sad  and  gentle  music  of  the  sea,  spreading  its 
thin  tide  upon  the  sand,  then  singing  in  its  re- 
treat amid  shells  and  agate  pebbles,  murmurs 
a  fitting  undertone  to  her  thoughts. 


THE  BOUNDLESSNESS  OF 

THE  MATERIAL  UNIVERSE. 

It  will  be  immediately  suggested  by  the 
intelligent  reader  that  that  which  is  material 
can  not  be  boundless,  and  that  therefore  the 
title  of  the  article  conveys  to  the  mind  an  evi- 
dent anomaly ;  but  the  fact  in  plain  and  sim- 
ple language  is  that  not  only  the  universe,  but 
every  oljject  in  nature,  as  we  shall  presently 
show,  is  boundless  in  its  ramifications.  Bound- 
lessness may  be  considered  as  synonymous 
with  infinity,  and  there  is  perhaps  no"^  word 
suggesting  ideas  so  inct.mprehensible  and  sub- 
lime as  the  word  infinity ;  it  is  a  word  the 
meaning  of  which  we  can  not  conceive,  and 
yet  our  minds  crowd  on  through  a  vast  and 
airy  field  of  thought,  descrying  in  the  very 
darkness  by  which  we  are  surrounded,  the 
scintillations  and  coruscations  of  v/hich  we 
are  led  to  dream.  And  it  is  because  to  be  im- 
mortal is  to  be  infinite  that  the  mind  thus 
walks  upon  ihe  wind,  and  visits  fields  which 
lie  beyond  its  ken,  for  it  is  to  give  but  a  cir- 
cumscribed notion  of  infinity  to  suppose  that 
it  can  belong  to  Deity  alone,  or  to  the  eternity 
in  which  Deity  dwells.  It  is  not  sufficiently 
realized  that  eternity  is  one,  and  infinity  is 
one ;  the  infinite  is  that  of  which  we  can  not 
conceive,  the  point  at  which  the  imagination 
can  never  arrive;  and  yet  the  infinite  may  be 
created ;  there  may  have  been  a  time  when 
all  with  it  was  darkness,  and  it  may  be  able 
to  date  the  moment  of  its  birth,  although  it 
never  can  that  of  its  consummation.  "We 
may  see  a  world  first  launch  forth  through  the 
fields  of  space ;  and  if  it  were  given  us  to 
know  that  planet  was  destined  to  run  an  im- 
mortal career,  to  know  that  after  passing 
through  a  series  of  revolutions,  each  in  it- 
self boimdlesi?  to  our  eye,  it  should  become 
Ltherealized — why,  because  we  saw  it  drink 
its  first  beam  of  glory,  because  we  saw  it  dart 
its  first  fires  over  the  concave  of  creation,  and 


pourits  first  fragrance  through  the  atmosphere 
— we  should  not  the  less  regard  it  as  an  infinite 
in  the  germ,  as  an  immortal  in  the  bud. 

And  it  is  when  viewed  in  this  light  that  the 
universe  presents  an  aspect  of  tinboundeil  and 
unlimited  creation  ;  as  far  as  the  eye  of  intel- 
ligence can  glance,  it  sees  matter,  and  that 
matter  in  a  state  of  motion  ;  and  if  it  casts  its 
eye  upward  it  loses  itself  in  a  wilderness  of 
worlds,  nnd  if  it  casts  its  eye  downvvurd  it 
loses  itself  in  a  wilderness  of  ages  ;    f  it  ana- 


lyze a  drop  of  water  it  beholds  it  jieopled  with 


I  ■ 

forms  of  life  so  infinitesimal,  that  nil  jiower 

of  calculation  drops  the  wing  and  (lags  in  the 
august  attempt  to  convey  tlie  iilea  of  number. 
But  it  will  be  said  that  iirojierly  speaking  this 
does  not  convey  the  idea  of  boundlessness, 
"  Although,"  it  may  be  said,  "  iin])erceptible 
to  us,  creation  doubtless  has  a  termination ; 
and  if  our  apprehension  were  greater  we 
might  calculate  the  animnlcuhe  which  swarm 
in  the  drop  of  water,  and  the  stars  which 
wander  through  the  nebidre ;"  yet  even  this 
is  doubtful,  it  is  ground  for  more  than  hypoth- 
esis ;  we  certainly  dare  not  say  that  nature  is 
not  boundless  in  its  extent.  We  must  meas- 
ure objects  by  their  ends  ;  and  if,  after  tracing 
them  accurately  through  a  long  series  of  pro- 
cessions and  circumstances,  we  at  last  lose 
sight  of  them  in  a  vast  void,  which  no  plum- 
met can  fathom,  no  comjiass  describe,  no  tel- 
escope scan,  no  chronology  date,  what  is  that 
but  infinity?  An  instance  is  at  hand  :  let  us 
throw  a  glance  over  our  gl.ibe's  unwritten  his- 
tory, lei  us  trace  it  through  all  its  gradations 
up  to  the  present  time,  and  what  are  the  con- 
clusions we  derive  from  the  facts  ?  We  are 
conducted  to  a  period  of  wild  and  fearful  gran- 
deur, the  reign  of  darkness  and  chaos,  when 
the  atoms  were  first  congregating  which  were 
to  form  our  planet,  and  attaired  a  state  of  fix- 
edness, the  grosser  separated  from  the  more 
aerial,  and  thus  the  earth  gained  the  first  stage 
of  its  existence  ;  now  from  that  period,  when 
the  thunder  and  clash  of  contending  atoms, 
struggling  with  their  own  graviries,  broke  the 
stillness  of  our  system,  there  has  been  a  con- 
stant progressive  development  of  order,  and  a 
progressive  development  of  life  on  our  globe  : 
first,  when  our  world  was  a  vast  ocean,  with 
no  land  to  margin  its  streams,  we  find  the  tril- 
obite  and  mollusc  moving  through  the  watery 
depths,  and  dwelling  securely  there ;  the 
nantilutae  then  by  thousands  nxle  the  waves, 
and  hoisted  their  sails,  ay,  perhaps,  more 
proudly  than  in  our  time. 

The  waters  again  subsided — our  world  be- 
came then  in  a  more  strict  sense  of  the  word 
than  now,  a  terraqueous  globe  ;  then  the  sau- 
rian tribe,  those  giants  of  *y "  fell  and  flood, 
came  forth  to  run  their  career-,  iJiey  finished 
it ;  and  then  rose  matchless  forests,  composed 


mi. 


anan* 


mm 


■MM 


jmVERSK. 


ncc  throDRh  thf  ntmosjihorfi 
10  loss  rrgunl  it  ns  nii  infinite 

iirimortiil  in  tlio  l)ii(1. 
viewed  in  this  liijlit  tlmt  the 
an  asneet  of  iinbdunded  nrid 

;  as  far  as  the  eye  of  intel- 
e,  it  sees  mutter,  and  t^int 
f  motion  :  and  if  it  casts  its 
f>s  itself  in  a  wilderness  of 
easts  its  eye  downvvurd  it 
ilderni'ss  of  an;es  ;  f  it  ann- 
erit  beholds  it  jienpled  Avilh 
ifinitesimal,  that  nil  ])ower 
|)s  the  win^  and  Hags  in  the 
ennvev  the  idea  of  nnmher, 

that  ])roj)erly  speakini^  this 
the  idea  of  boundlessness, 
ay  bo  said,  "impereeptibic 
)ul)tless  has  a  termination ; 
shetision  were  !;reater  we 
c  nnimalenhp  which  swarm 
'atcr,  and  the  stars  whieh 
he  nebulie ;"  yet  even  this 
'ound  for  more  limn  hypoth- 
'  dare  not  say  that  nature  is 
ts  extent.  We  must  meas- 
ir  ends  ;  and  if,  after  tracinn; 
hrough  n  long  series  of  pro- 
imstances.  wo  at  last  lose 
,  vast  void,  which  no  phim- 
10  compass  describe,  no  tel- 
ironology  ilnte,  what  is  that 

instance  is  at  hand  :  let  lis 
ir  our  globe's  unwritten  his- 
it  through  all  its  gradations 
time,  and  what  are  the  con- 
;  from  the  facts  ?  We  are 
iod  of  wild  and  fearful  gran- 
darkness  and  chaos,  when 
•St  congregating  which  were 
,  and  attained  a  state  of  fix- 
■r  separated  from  the  more 
3  earth  gained  the  first  stage 
now  from  that  period,  when 
clash  of  contending  atoms, 
eirown  gravities,  broke  the 
stem,  there  has  been  a  con- 
levelopment  of  order,  am!  a 
)pment  of  life  on  our  globe  : 
irld  was  a  Vast  ocean,  with 
its  streams,  we  find  the  tril- 
moving  through  the  watery 
lling   securely  there ;    the 

thousands  rode  the  waves, 
sails,  ay,   perhaps,   more 
ir  time. 

in  subsided— our  world  be- 
ire  strict  sense  of  the  word 
|ueous  globe  ;  then  the  san- 
riants  of  «■> "  fell  and  flood, 

their  carrer-,  ihey  finished 
natehless  forests,  composed 


r" 


THK  lJdUNDLESSNK.SS  OF  THE  MATEIIIAL  UNIVERSE. 


109 


of  the  lepidodeiidron  and   coriiifcrciP,  where 
tlic  r.egatlu'riiim  and  iliiiniiicriutn  roiiined;  to 
these  succeeded  our  iircseiit  fair  green  earlli, 
Willi  ils  streams  iiilcrsecting  vidlivs  cldtheil 
widiTcorn.  and  its  ciiscudcs  (lushing  down  from 
innuntaiiH  crowned    with    snow.     And    here 
man  exists  with  a  soul :  never  have  a  similar 
race  of  beings  ln'fore  graced  the  garden  of  our 
wiirid  ;  the  world  is  now  in  the  greenness  of 
its  u'lory,  the  freshness  of  its  spring,  and  these 
fdcts  bear  out  the  notion  that  its  career  will 
be  linmidless.     Destined  for  liual  condiigration 
it  may  be,  but  neverf(M-a  funereal  pile;  those 
llami's  will    only  pur<j:e    it    from   corruption, 
mid    make    it    a   brighter  and    better    world. 
Ten  thousand   pent-up  volcanoes  may  belch 
firlli,  and   pour  their  li(piid  lava  over  every 
portion  of  our    i;reeu    nlobe  ;    they    will    but 
elhereali/e   it.  they  will  impart  to  it  an  im- 
iiij)rridity  which  it  Ikm-i.'  not  before,  and  iniike 
it  a  fit  residence  for  b"iii!;s  ethereali/ed,  and 
as  immortal  as  itself.     Thus  in  destiny,   the 
miUerial  world,  if  not  theniiilerinl  iiiiivc'rse,  is 
iioiliidless.     But  li't  us  disassociate  this  view 
of  the  case  from  the  reader's  mind — let  the 
universe  stand    as  it  .still  stands,  and   it   is 
boundless — boundless,  else  show  us  the  walls 
which  mark  the  limits  of  creation  !  boundless, 
else  show  us  the   window    whence   we  may 
look  forth  into  the  de|)lhs  of  nop.-existence  ! 
boundless,  else  classify  the  illimitable  ocean- 
tribes,  and  count  the"  "  stars  which  wander 
through  the  ujiper  depths."     Boundless  !  why 
every  step  we  take  in  science  tells  us  of  im- 
mensity undreamed  of  before.     Let   us  lay 
our  hand  on  any  one  brnneh  of  physical  sci- 
ence, or  natural  history,  and  bounilless  is  the 
termination  to  all  our  iiupiiries.     The  venera- 
l)le  sires  of  philosophy  in  every  age  have  felt 
themselves  bewildered  by  a  glance  at  nature; 
and  our  higher  degree  of  knowledge  has  given 
to  us  a  thicker  .shade  of  darkness.  Chymistry, 
while  it  ilescribes  to  us  fifty-four  sim])lc  sub- 
stances, does  not  forget  to  tell  us  that  it  went 
no  farther,  simply  because  it  could  go  no  far- 
ther. Olid  not  because  there  appeared  to  be  an 
erid  of  its  doctrine.     In  geology  we  arc  darker 
still,  we  wander  on  through  o  million  of  ages, 
and  seem  to  gain  no  point.     Nay,  what  is  all 
science  but  a  subterranean  tempic  by  torch- 
light ;  the  brightest  coruscations  it  reflects 
serve  but  to  reveal  a  deeper  darkness  than  we 
thought  existed  before  ;  the  ray  of  light  trem- 
bles on  some  ruined    jiillar.  'We  copy  the 
hieroglyphic,  but  we  can  not  decijiher  it ;  and 
as  we  wander  on  through  the  long  temple,  col- 
umn after  column  attracts  our  notice,  full  of 
meaning,  but  darkness  invests  them  all. 

But  we  must  not  conceal  fr>>rn  ourselves 
that  discovery  and  knowledge  are  light,  al- 
though they  leave  many  additional  doubts  and 
perplexities  upon  the  mind.     The  joy  which 


rushes  o\  or  the  spirit  of  the  discoverer  afler 
his  long  years  of  patient  study  is  too  irnut  for 
him  to  mark  :  the  darkness  frein  his  discovery 
only  stands   out    as    it   were   in   liold  outline. 
Plii!osoph|.rs  have'  in  all  ages  been  ascrnding 
as  ir  were  all  inclined   plane,  niid  every  suc- 
ceeding age  has  left  those  of  the  precedinu  far 
behind.     It   we  may  (\nyir  a  noble  illiisinilioii 
from  the  splendid  work  of  Professor  N/llols 
on  "The  Aichil.'clnre  of  ihe  Ileavi'nsr  we 
miKht  sii|)pose  a  N(n-lli  Americun  Indian  who 
had  been  liiiried  the  whole  of  his  existence  in 
one  wild  wood,  and  hail  never  dreamed  of  ibe 
existence  of  other  woods,    far  less   of  other 
■lands;   yet  one  day  he  arrives  in  the  chase  at 
the  foot()f  a  lofty  mounlaiii,  he  ascends  it, 
and  he  finds  fresh  scenes  of  green  i;lory  iiisli- 
!  iiig  on  his  eye;  he  sees  forests  stretching  nil 
j  around  hiin.  and  wild   streams  (laiicin<;  iTiiiid 
:  valleys    of    which    he    had    never    drenmcd 
before;  and  he  stares,  and  starts  with  wonder 
!  and  ama/e.     Yet  we  know  that  he  has  seen 
I  nothing,  and  that  whn'  '-is  eyethou;;lit  so  vast 
j  was  but  a  mere  sp- .-'•    in  "the  circle  of  the 
I  worid.     And  are  wt  /loi  rcali/inir  the  wonder 
j  of  the   Indian   every  ilay?     What   are   our 
proud  oliservntioiis  Imt  rising  knolls  (ar<>  they 
so  much  ill  the  universe  ?)  whence  we  can 
descry  here  a  stream  and  there  a  stream  ;  l;«;re 
a  forest  ami  there  a  forest,  while  tlie  vast  and 
sounding  ocean,  and  the  mountain  (diain,  and 
nature's  more   attractive  glories  are  hid  from 
our  eye  ?     We  said  they  were  hid  from  our 
ey^e;  but  sujipose  that  we  were  able  to  per- 
ceiyn  all,  would  not  the  very  vastitude   by 
which  we  were  surncmded    when   made  .so 
manifest  become  painful  ?     If  our  eyes  were 
so  opened  that  wc  could  see  the  atmosphere 
which  w(!  inhaled  or  exhaled,  crowded  with 
animal  existences;  the  wot^er  we  drank  teem- 
ing with  life ;  if  wc  saw  that  at  every  step 
we  took  we  crushed  millions  of  insects,  would 
mit  our  position  be  horrible?  should  wc  not 
loathe  (uirselves  and  loathe  the  worid  ?     Phi- 
losophers would  not  then  see  the  wisdom  in 
the  economy  of  crei^.  ion  which  they  now  .see  ; 
an  awful  blindness  would  settle  on  the  eyes- 
and  only  would  they  wake  to  create  a  shud- 
der at  the  horrible  forms  by  which  they  saw 
them.selves  surrounded.     An  idea  somelhin'r 
like  this  seemed  to  have  flitted  across  the  mas- 
culine mind  of  that  prince  of  novelists,  Bul- 
wer.     Ill  his  ArasmaiK  s,  an  allegorical  tale, 
in  the  second  volume  of  the  Student,  he  rep- 
resents his  hero    as    having    his   eyes  thus 
opened  :  first  to  beauty,  and  second  to  deform- 
ity.    The  baronet  stated  that  it  originated  not 
altogether  in  fiction,  but  from  a  melancholy 
case  of  hypochondriasis  which  came  under  his 
own  observation  in  Italy.     The  [latient,  a  mini 
of  genius  and  a  philosopher,  expired  under  ihe 
impression  that  he  was  surrounded  l)y  lif^  in 


k'UnliKi'  t 


JiffiilgBTflWit. 


110 


THE  BOUNDLESSNESS  OF  THE  MATERIAL  UNIVERSE. 


its  most  horrible  forms,  entrrini;  into  the  at- 
mos|)]icrc  he  inhaled,  and  mingling  with  every 
cirrntnstnnce  of  his  life. 

Hut  what  is  the  universe?  Is  it  suffidrnt 
to  dt'srribe  it  as  the  area  of  creation — the 
theatre  where  God  works  his  manifest  marvels 
in  the  eyes  of  all  intelligences  ?  The  universe 
is  an  invisible  world;  it  is  haunted  through  all 
its  extent  with  thinijs  of  life;  and  ('ouhtless 
there  are  eyes  which  see  ihem  better  than 
onrs.  What  are  the  views  which  0|)en  to  the 
inhnbitants  of  the  planets?  these  moons  and 
satellites,  what  a  boundless  theme  for  con- 
jpfturt,  the  varied  characters,  fcelinjis,  and 
eniiitions,  of  the  dwellers  on  those  immense 
bodies  which  roll  so  far  beyond  us;  but  the 
scene  from  the  smallest,  namely,  the  moon, 
must  be  most  inferestino;  to  ourselves.  The 
earth,  to  the  inhnbitinits  of  that  body,  must 
seem  the  most  splendid  orl)  in  the  vast  fichl 
of  creation,  with  a  surface  thirteen  times 
larger  than  she  appears  to  us.  They  can 
plainly  distingixish  our  seas,  ajiparcntly  un- 
ruffled by  stonns.  They  can  behold  our  im- 
mense mountains  and  caverns,  and  glory  in 
the  splendor  reflected  from  our  ])lanet,  as  wo 
joy  in  the  pple  rays  emitted  from  theirs. 

The  universe  is  boundless.  There  are 
many,  doubtless,  who  will  think  we  have  laid 
d(;wn  an  axiom,  but  by  no  means  logically  or 
mathematically  i)roved  it;  and  perhaps  this 
arises  greatly  ftom  the  fact  that  there  seems 
no  necessity  to  do  so.  Wliy  labor  out  an 
elaborate  essay  to  prove  what  every  school- 
boy believed,  that  boundlessly  wo  are  sur- 
rounded by  evidences  of  mind.  Let  the  moon 
be  no  larger  than  the  shields  of  our  sires,  the 
stars  but  insignificant  somethings  which  ap- 
pear to  gem  the  vault  of  night,  and  even  then 
the  universe  to  us  is  boundless ;  but  tell  lis 
of  laws  which  rule  those  stars ;  tell  us  that 
the  sun  is  one  million  of  times  larger  than  the 
earth,  and  that  the  nearest  of  those  twinkling 
stars,  which  seem  so  small,  is  thirty-two  mil- 
lions of  millions  of  miles  distant,  and  the 
frame  is  paraly/ed  at  its  own  insignificancy. 
The  ga/er  tunis  from  the  mighty  orbs,  wheel- 
ing their  ponderous  forms  through  space,  and 
shudders  and  shrinks  within  himself,  horrified 
at  his  own  puerility  in  the  eves  of  the  mighty 
Architect.  Nay,  O  man !  shrink  nor  shudder 
not ;  thou  art  second  only  to  those  august  and 
majestic  fires,  whieh  flash  in  majesty  and  roll 
in  might  through  nature's  gloom.  Nay,  O 
man  !  thou  art  more.  Oi  thy  brow  is  the 
stamp  of  eternity,  for  thou  art  the  image  of 
thy  maker,  God ;  and  though  the  stars  per- 
form in  gi'andeur  their  motions,  and  sweetly 
sing  as  they  wheel  onward  ii.  their  spheres, 
thou  art  more  curiously  wrought  than  thej', 
and  thy  life  more  curiously  sustained  than 
theirs.    The  hand  which  first  launched  them 


away ;  the  finger  which  first  gave  to  them 
their  unalterable  law,  has  never  touched  them 
Jiince  ;  they  have  but  one  principle  to  govern 
them,  but  one  law  to  guide.  fJut  thou,  O 
man  !  art  thy  Maker's  master-piece.  Every 
gland,  every  bone,  every  muscle,  attests  a 
special  design  worthy  of  a  (lod ;  nor  canst 
thou  breathe  unless  sixty  billions  of  separate 
intentions  )iut  forth  their  energies.  Th(m  art 
greater  than  a  star,  ()  man  ! 

Boundless  immensity !  whither  am  T  car- 
ried 1  where  is  the  mighty  goal,  the  destina- 
tion of  these  awful  travellings?  Stars  can 
not  tell ;  onward  they  sweep  in  matchless 
myriads,  and  the  gleams  reflected  on  thoir 
surface  tell  of  stars  beyond  them.  They  are 
not  the  goal  of  bouinllessness.  Waves  can 
not  t<'ll ;  they  roll,  and  dash,  and  roar,  they 
ripple  at  our  feet,  or  thunder  on  our  vessel — 
images  of  eteniity — they  can  not  tell ;  we  see 
neither  their  beginning  nor  their  end. — They 
are  aot  the  goal  of  boundlessness.  Winds ! 
micb'^v  winds!  harpers  of  the  mount,  and 
the  forest,  and  the  glen,  ye  shall  tell ;  for  often 
are  yc  silent,  and  ye  wake  no  response  around 
ye.  No,  the  winds  can  not  tell ;  some  leaf  is 
always  monng,  some  breeze  is  always  sigh- 
ing, some  tempest  is  always  swelling,  to  indi- 
cate their  restless  activity,  to  spcnk  the  prcs- 
encetjf  their  power.  Winds  can  not  tell; — 
they  are  not  the  goal  of  boundlessness ;  and 
naught  in  nature  can  tell,  for  all  is  action,  all 
is  boundless.  No  eye  hath  ever  been  blinded 
by  the  darkness  of  that  part  of  space  where 
God  is  not  in  his  works.  A  void  in  the  uni- 
verse !  it  would  be  ot  once  to  say  that  Deity 
had  expended  his  machinery,  that  there  wos 
a  void  in  the  Divine  Mind.  Let  us  allow 
that  there  are  parts  of  space  unpeopled  with 
the  creations  of  intelligence,  and  by  a  very 
slow  process  of  reasoning,  we  may  reduce  the 
jilenipotency  which  arms  the  Eternal,  to  the 
weakness  and  imperfection  which  mark  the 
creature.  We  can  form  no  conception  of  De- 
ity, but  we  know  that  the  majesty  of  his 
power  has  crowded  all  space  with  the  mighty 
configurations  of  his  glory.  A  boundless  uni- 
verse !  then  there  is  no  such  being  as  an  athe- 
ist ;  and  here  we  take  up  the  beautiful  idea 
of  that  first  of  modem  classical  essayists, 
John  Foster,  in  his  important  essay  on  iho 
dearth  of  Christianity  among  men  of  genin* 
He  reasons  thus :  How  can  men  deny  the  ct 
istence  of  a  Deity  unless  they  have  travwlle* 
through  all  space  to  discover  whether  he  might 
not  have  revealed  himself  ?  Every  record  of 
all  time,  of  every  land,  must  be  laid  open  be- 
fore the  atheist ;  every  planet  and  star  must 
unfold  its  history;  and  if  there  be  other 
bodies  far  ofTin  space,  governed  not  by  plane- 
tary law,  and  neither  planets  nor  stars,  but  in- 
habited by  intelligences,  their  history  must  be 


I 


UNIVERSE. 


^r  which  first  gavn  to  tlicm 
law,  lias  never  touclied  thciii 
3  but  one  principle  to  govern 
aw  to  guide.  fJiit  thou,  O 
iiker's  niustcr-piece.  Every 
tic,  every  muscle,  attests  a 
'orthy  of  a  (iod ;  nor  canst 
ess  sixty  billions  of  separate 
'til  their  energies.  Thou  art 
ar,  ()  mail ! 

nensity !  whither  am  I  car- 
he  mighty  goal,  the  destinn- 
I'ful  travellings?  Stars  can 
il  they  sweep  in  matchless 
c  gleams  reflected  on  their 
[irs  beyond  them.  They  are 
bounillessness.  Waves  can 
11,  and  clash,  and  roar,  they 
:,  or  thunder  on  our  vessel — 
y — they  can  not  tell ;  we  see 
inning  nor  their  end. — They 

of  boundlessness.  Winds  I 
harpers  of  the  mount,  and 
e  glen,  ye  shall  tell ;  for  often 
I  ye  wake  no  response  around 
nds  can  not  tell ;  some  leaf  is 
some  breeze  is  always  sigh- 
it  is  always  swelling,  to  indi- 
s  activity,  to  spenk  the  prcs- 
wi'T,  Winds  can  not  tell ; — 
3  goal  of  boundlessness ;  and 

can  tell,  for  all  is  action,  all 

0  eye  hath  ever  been  blinded 
of  that  part  of  space  where 

1  works.  A  void  in  the  uni- 
bc  at  once  to  say  that  Deity 
s  machinery,  that  there  was 
)ivine  Mind.  Let  us  allow 
irts  of  space  unpeopled  with 

intelligence,  and  by  a  very 
easoning,  we  may  reduce  the 
ich  arms  the  Eternal,  to  the 
nperfection  which  mark  the 
:an  form  no  conception  of  De- 
■>\v  that  the  majesty  of  his 
led  all  space  with  the  mighty 
his  glory.  A  boundless  um- 
5  is  no  such  being  as  an  athe- 
e  take  up  the  beautiful  idea 

modem   classical   essayists, 

his  important  essay  on  iho 
ianity  among  men  of  genin* 
:  How  can  men  deny  the  et 
ty  unless  they  have  trav>"lte« 
:  to  discover  whether  he  mi-jht 
d  himself  ?  Every  record  of 
y  land,  must  be  laid  open  bc- 

every  planet  and  star  must 
ry;  and  if  there  be  other 
space,  governed  not  by  plare- 
itlier  planets  nor  stars,  but  in- 
igences,  their  history  must  be 


COD-FISHING. 


Ill 


known  too  ;  and  until  he  knows  this,  and  has 
iupiired  at  nil  these  places,  whether  Deity  has 
never  been  known  to  reveal  himself,  he  is  not 
at  liberty  to  suy  there  is  no  (Jod.  This  idea 
has  been  ijcirrowf  d  and  curried  out  by  Doctor 
Chahners,  in  his  Bridgewater  Treatise.  But 
oh  !  why  should  we  travel  so  fur  when  liound- 
lessiiess  breathes  all  around,  and  that  bound- 
lessness loused  by  (toil.  Boundlessness  is 
written  in  letters  of  lightning  on  the  black 
thunder-cloud — we  know  not  whence  it  eoin- 
eth  nor  whither  it  goeth ;  boundlessness  on 
the  petals  of  tlu^  flower  bowing  on  its  ealvx  ; 
mvriud  veins  defy  the  mi;st  intense  in  rroscopic 
ken  ;  boundlessness  in  the  colors  ("f  the  rain- 
bow, the  fires  of  the  aurora,  the  insect  and 
the  animal  trilie,  with  all  their  train.  The 
universf!  in  all  tlu;  extent  of  its  creation,  teems 
with  boundlessness,  and  that  because  God 
himself  is  boundless. 


COD-FISHING. 

Although  I  had  seen,  as  I  thought,  abun- 
dance offish  along  the  coasts  of  the  F'loridas, 
the  numbers  whi<'h  I  found  in  Labrador  (piite 
astonished  me.  Shonlil  your  sur|)rise,  while 
reading  the  following  statements  be  as  gnmt 
as  mine  was,  while  observing  the  facts  related, 
you  will  conclude,  as  I  have  often  dime,  that 
Nature's  means  for  providing  small  animals 
for  the  use  of  larger  ones,  and  vice  versa,  are 
as  am[)le  as  is  the  grandeur  of  that  world 
which  he  has  so  curiously  constructed. 

The  coast  of  Labrador  is  visited  by  Eu- 
ropean as  well  as  American  fishermen,  all  of 
whom  are,  I  believe,  entitled  to  claim  portions 
of  fishing-ground,  assigned  to  each  nation  by 
mutual  understanding.  For  the  present,  how- 
ever, I  shall  confine  my  observations  to  those 
of  our  own  country,  who,  after  all,  are  )>roba- 
bly  the  most  numerous.  The  citizens  of  Bos- 
ton, and  many  other  of  our  eastern  seaports, 
are  those  who  chiefly  engage  in  this  depart- 
ment of  our  commerce.  Eastport,  in  Maine, 
sends  out  every  year  a  goodly  fleet  of  schoon- 
ers and  "  pickaxes"  to  Labrador,  to  procure 
cod,  mackerel,  halibut,  and  sometimes  her- 
ring, the  latter  being  caught  in  the  interme- 
diate space.  The  vessels  from  that  port,  and 
others  in  Maine  and  Massachusetts,  sail  as 
soon  as  the  warmth  of  spring  has  freed  the 
gulf  of  ice,  that  is,  from  the  beginning  of 
May  to  that  of  June. 

A  vessel  of  one  hundred  tons  or  so,  is  pro- 
vided with  a  crew  of  twelve  men,  who  are 
equally  expert  as  sailors  and  fishers,  and  for 
every  cou])le  of  these  hardy  tars,  a  Hampton 


boat  is  provided,  which  is  lashed  rn  the  deck, 
or  hung  ill  stays.  Their  jirovision  is  simple, 
hut  of  good  ipialitv.  and  it  is  very  seldom  that 
any  sjiirits  are  alfowed ;  beef,  pork,  and  bis- 
cuit, with  water,  being  all  they  take  with 
them.  The  men  are  sujiplied  with  warm 
clothing,  water-proof  oiled  jackets  and  trou- 
s<'rs,  large  boots,  broad-bri«imed  hats  with  a 
round  crown,  and  stout  mittens,  with  a  few 
shirts.  The  owner  or  captain  furnishes  them 
with  lines,  hooks,  and  nets,  and  also  provides 
till'  bnit  best  adapted  to  insure  success.  The 
hold  of  the  vessel  is  filled  with  ^  asks  of  va- 
rious dimensions,  some  containing  salt,  and 
otlii'rs  for  the  oil  that  may  be  procured. 

The  bait  generally  sed  at  the  beginning  of 
the  season,  consists  of  mupclcs  salted  f  )r  the 
purpose;  but  as  soon  as  the  capclings  reach 
the  cousi,  they  are  substituted  to  save  exjiense  ; 
anil  in  many  instances,  the  flesh  of  gannets 
and  other  sea-fowls  is  emj)loyed.  The  wages 
of  fishermen  vary  from  sixteen  to  thirty  (lol- 
Inrs  per  month,  according  to  the  qualifications 
of  the  individual. 

The  labor  of  these  men  is  excessively  hard, 
for,  unless  on  Sunday,  their  allowance  of  rest 
in  the  twenty-four  hours,  seldom  exceeds 
three.  The  cook  is  the  only  person  who  fares 
better  in  this  respect,  but  he  must  also  assist 
in  curing  the  fish.  Hebe  'eakfast,  consist- 
ing of  coflee.  bread,  and  at,  ready  liir  the 
cajitain  and  the  whole  ' 
every  morning,  excep' 
))er^;on  carries   with   I 

cooked,  which  is  commonly  eaten  on  the  fish' 
ing-grounds. 

Thus,  at  three  in  the  morning,  the  crew 
are  jirepared  for  their  day's  labor,  and  ready 
to  betake  themselves  to  their  boats,  each  of 
which  has  two  oars  and  lugsails.  They  all  de- 
part at  once,  and  either  by  rowing  or  sailing, 
reach  the  banks  to  %vhich  the  fishes  are  known 
to  resort.  The  little  8(iuadron  drop  their 
anchors  at  short  distances  from  each  other,  in 
a  depth  of  from  ten  to  twenty  feet,  and  the 
business  is  immediately  commenced.  Each 
man  has  two  lines,  and  each  stands  in  one  end 
of  the  boat,  the  middle  of  which  is  boarded 
off  to  hold  the  fish.  The  baited  lines  have 
been  dropped  into  the  water,  one  on  each  side 
of  the  boat ;  their  leads  have  reached  the 
bottom,  a  fish  has  token  the  hook,  and  after 
giving  the  line  a  slight  jeik,  the  fisherman 
hauls  up  his  prize  with  a  continued  pull, 
throws  the  fish  athwart  a  small  round  bar  of 
iron  ]ilaced  near  his  back,  which  forces  open 
the  mouth,  while  the  weight  of  the  body, 
however  small  the  fish  may  be,  tears  out  the 
hook.  The  bait  is  still  goo<l,  and  over  the 
sifle  the  line  again  goes,  to  catch  another  fish, 
while  that  on  the  left  is  now  drawn  up,  and 
the  same  course  pursued.     In  this  manner,  a 


by  three  o'clock 

Sunday.      Each 

his  dinner  ready 


N(>' 


^■*i.;ti 


'%W'' 


s— «-in  11,.,.   I 


112 


CODFISIIINO. 


fislicr  busily  plyino;  nt  each  ond,  thn  onrration 
is  cmtimu'.l  uiitilllif  txmt  is  so  Ind.n,  lluit 
licr  gunwale  is  luouglit  williiu  a  fi>w  inches 
of  tiio  surface,  when  they  rntuni  to  th.-  ves- 
sel ill  luirlior,  si^Moni  distant  more  than  eight 
miles  tVoiii  the  hunks. 

DuriiiL:  the  greater  jinrt  of  the  day,  the 
fislienrieii  have  kept  up  a  constant  conversa- 
tion, of  which  the  topics  nre  the  pleasure  of 
tiniliiig  a  good  supply  of  cod,  their  di>inestic 
alVairs"  the  jiolitical  jirospects  of  the  nation, 
anil  other  matters  similarly  connected.     Now 
the  repartee  of  one  elicits  a  laugh  from  the 
other;  this  passes  from  man  to  man,  and  the 
whole  jlolilla  enjoy  the  joke.     The  men  of 
one  boat  strive  io  outdo  those  of  the  others  m 
hauling  up  the  greatest  (luautity  of  fish  in  a 
given  time,  and  'this  forms  another  source  of 
merriment.     The  bouts  arc   generally   filled 
about  the  same  time,  and  all  return  together. 
Arrived  at  the  vessel,  each  man  employs  a 
pole  anned  with  a  bent  iron,  resembling  the 
prong  of  a  hay-fork,  with  which  he  pierces 
the  fish,  ami  throws  it  with  a  jerk  on  deck, 
counting  the  number  thus  discharged,  with  a 
loud  voice.     Each  cargo  is  thus  safely  depos- 
ited, and  the  boats  instantly  return  to  the  fish- 
ing-ground, when,  after  anchoring,  the  men 
ea't  'their   dinner   and  begin   anew.     There, 
good  reader,  with  your  leave,  I  \yill  let  them 
pursue  their  avocations  for  awhile,  as  I  am 
anxious  that  you  should  witness  what  is  doing 
on  board  the  vessel. 

The  captain,  four  men,  and  the  cook,  have, 
in  the  course  of  the  morning,   erected  long 
tables  fore  and  aft  the  main  hatchway,  tbcy 
have  taken  to  the  shore  most  of  the  salt-bar- 
ri'ls,  and  have  placed  in  a  row  their  large 
empty  casks,  to  receive  the  livers.    The  hold 
of  the  vessel  is  quite  clear,  except  a  comer 
where  there  is  a  large  heap  of  salt.     And  now 
the  men,  having  dined  precisely  at  twelve, 
are  ready  with  their  large  knives.     One  be- 
gins with  breaking  off  the  head  of  the  fish,  a 
slight  pull  of  the  hand  and  a  gash  with  the 
knife  eflecting  this  in  a  moment.     He  slits  up 
its  belly,  with  one  hand  pushes  it  aside  to  his 
neighbor,  then  throws  overboard  the  head,  and 
begins  to  prepare   another.     The  next  man 
tears  out   the  entrails,   separates  the  liver, 
which  he  throws  into  a  cask,  and  casts  the 
rest  overboard.     A  third  perwin  dexterpusly 
passes  his  knife  beneath  the  vertebras  of  the 
fish,  separates  them  from  the  flesh,   heaves 
the  latter  through  the  hatchway,  and  the  for- 
mer into  the  water. 

Now,  if  vou  will  peep  into  the  hold,  you 
will  see  the'loist  stage  of  the  process,  the  salt- 
ing and  packing.  Six  experienced  men  gen- 
erally manage  to  head,  gut,  bone,  salt,  and 
pack",  all  the  fish  caught  in  the  morning,  by 
the  return  of  the  boats  with  fresh  cargoes, 


I  when  oil  hands  set  to  work,  and  clear  the  deck 

'  of  the  lisli.     Tims  their  labors  rouliiiue  until 

'  twelve  o'clock,  when  they  wash  their  faces 

I  and  hands,  jnit  on  dean  chithes,  hang  their 

fishing-apparel  on  the  shronds,  and.  betaking 

thems(lves  to  the  foreco-stle,  arc   soon  in  a 

sound  sleep. 

At  three,  next  morning,  comes  the  captain 
from  his  berth,  rul)bing  his  eves,  anil  in  a  loud 
voice  calling :  "  All  hinds,  ahoy  !"  Stitli'ned 
in  limb,  and  but  half  awake,  the  crew  ipiickly 
appear  on  the  deck.  Their  fingers  and  Ininils 
are  so  cramped  and  swollen  by  pulling  the 
lines,  that  it  is  ditlicult  for  them  to  straighten 
even  a  thumb  ;  but  this  matters  little  at  pres- 
ent;  for  th(!  coelv,  who  had  a  good  nap  yes- 
terday, has  risen  an  hour  before  them,  and 
l)repared  tlieir  coffee  ond  eatables.  Breakfast 
desjiatched.  they  exchange  their  clean  clothes 
for  the  fishing-apparel,  and  leap  into  their 
boots,  which  had  been  ^.  ■'shed  the  previous 
night,  and  again  the  flotilta  bounds  to  the 
fishing-ground. 

As  there  may  be  not  less  than  a  hundred 
scliooners  or  pickaxes  in  the  harbor,  three 
hundred  boats  resort  to  the  banks  each 
day;  and,  as  each  boat  may  procure  two 
thousand  cods  per  diem,  when  Saturday  night 
comes,  about  six  hundred  thousand  fishes  have 
been  brought  to  the  harbor.  This  having 
caused  some  scarcity  on  the  fishing-grounds, 
and  Sunday  being  somewhat  of  an  idle  day, 
the  captain  collects  the  salt  ashore,  and  sets 
sail  for  some  other  convenient  harbor,  which 
he  expects  to  reach  long  before  sunset.  If  the 
weather  he  favorable,  the  men  get  a  good  deal 
of  rest  during  the  voyage,  and  on  Monday 
things  go  on  as  before. 

I  must  not  omit  to  tell  yon,  reader,  that 
while  proceeding  from  one  harbor  to  another, 
the  vessel  has  passed  near  a  rock,  which  is 
the    breeding-place    of  myriads  of  puffins,  j 
She  hos  laid  to  for  an  hour  or  so,  while  i)ort 
of  the  crew  have  landed,  and  collected  a  store 
of  eggs,  excellent  as  a  substitute  for  croom, 
and  not  less  so  when  hard  boiled,  as  food  for 
the  fishing-grounds.     I  may  as  well  inform 
you,  also,  how  these  ad/enturous  fellows  dis- 
tinguish the  fresh  eggs  from  the  others.    They 
fill  up  some  large  tubs  \vith  water,  throw  in  a 
(luantity  of  eggs,  a/id  allow  them  to  remain  a 
minute  or  so,  when  those  which  come  to  the 
surface  are  tossed  overboard,  ond  even  those 
that  manifest  any   upward   tendency,  share 
the  same  treatment.     All  that  remrin  at  bot- 
tom, you  may  dejiend  upon  it,  g(K)d  reader, 
are  perfectly  sound,  and  not  less  palatable  than 
any  that  you  have  ever  eaten,  or  that  your 
best  guinea-fowl  has  just  dropped   in  your 
barn-yard.     But  let  us  return  to  the  cod-fish. 
The   fish  olready  procured  and  salted,  is 
1  t»ken  ashore  at  the  new  harbor,  by  part  of 


::^c 


«i\M,*BiSW.-J.Tn;,  ji«5a(SS.»B3SSE!S&T!«BOS  iCls 


.v&it 


ifVo^ViV^ 


""^^•tlf^"*.  \ 


work,  nnd  dear  tlie  dcrk 
heir  lulinrs  rdiitiiiiic  until 
ri  tlit'v  wiisli  tlicir  fnces 
•lean  rldthes,  hnri!;  thiir 
10  sliroiiils,  nr.d,  lictakiii!; 
breciustle,  arc   soon  in  a 

rnin?,  comes  the  captain 
iii{  liis  fvfs,  nnd  in  a  loud 
111  nils,  ulioy  !"  .Stilli'ncil 
'  uwnkp,  tin-  cri.'w  (|ui(,-kly 
Tlipir  RnjioR  nnd  hands 
I  swollen  by  pullinj;  tlic 
ult  for  thcni  to  straiijhtcn 
this  matters  little  at  prcs- 
who  h.nd  a  gooil  nap  yes- 
n  hour  before  them,  nnd 
nnd  eatables.  Breakfast 
change  their  clean  clothes 
arel,  and  leap  into  their 
pen  ^.-'shed  the  previous 
he  JlolUla  bounds  to  the 

not  less  than  n  hundred 
xes  in  the  harbor,  three 
sort  to  the  banks  each 
I  boat  may  procure  two 
iem,  when  Saturday  night 
ndred  thousand  fishes  have 
lie  harbor.  This  having 
ty  on  the  fishing-gniunds, 
somewhat  of  an  idle  day, 
!  the  salt  ashore,  and  sets 
convenient  harbor,  which 
long  before  sunset.  If  the 
le,  the  men  get  a  good  deal 
voyage,  and  on  Monday 
ire. 

;  to  tell  yon,  reader,  that 
•om  one  harbor  to  another, 
sed  near  a  rock,  which  is 
3    of   myriads  of  puffins. 

an  hour  or  so,  while  part 
inded,  and  collected  a  store 
as  a  substitute  for  cream, 
en  hard  boiled,  as  food  for 
s.  I  may  as  well  inform 
se  adventurous  fellows  dis- 
ggs  from  the  others.  They 
:ubs  with  water,  throw  in  a 
i/id  allow  them  to  remain  a 
1  those  which  come  to  the 

overboard,  nnd  even  those 
'  upward  tendency,  share 
It.  All  that  remrin  at  bot- 
lend  upon  it,  good  reader, 
1,  anil  not  less  palatable  than 
e  ever  eaten,  or  that  your 
has  just  dropped  in  your 
et  us  retnm  to  the  cod-fish, 
dy  procured  nnd  salted,  is 
:he  new  harbor,  by  part  of 


KINDNESS  AND  CENS0III0USNES8. 


113 


the  crew,  whom  the  captain  has  marked  as 
the  worKt  hands  at  fishing.  There,  on  the 
bare  rocks,  or  on  elevated  scallblds  of  con- 
siderable extend,  the  salted  cods  are  laid  side 
by  side  to  dry  in  the  stm.  They  are  turned 
several  tinies  a  ihiy,  and  in  the  intervals  the 
men  bear  a  hand  on  board  at  clearing  and 
stowing  away  the  dnilv  produce  of  the  fishing- 
banks,"  Toward  eveniiig,  they  return  to  the 
drying-grounds,  and  put  up  the  fish  in  piles, 
resein"bliiig  so  many  haystacks,  disposing 
those  toward  the  top  in  such  a  manner  that 
the  rain  can  not  injure  them,  nnd  jilacing  a 
heavy  stone  on  the  summit  to  prevent  their 
being  thrown  down  should  it  blow  hard  during 
the  night.  V^ou  see,  reader,  that  the  life  of  a 
Lnbrud(jr  fisherman  is  not  one  of  idleness. 

The  cnpelings  have  approached  the  shores, 
and  in  myriads  enter  every  basin  and  stream, 
to  deposite  theii  spawn,  for  now  July  is  ar- 
rived.    The  cods  follow  them,  as  the  blood- 
hound follows  his  prey,  and  their  compact 
masses  literally  line  the  shores.     The  fisher- 
men now  adopt  another  method :  they  have 
brought  with  them  long  and  deep  seines,  one 
end  of  which  is,  by  means  of  a  line,  fastened 
to  the  shore,  while  the  other  is,  in  the  usuol 
manner,  drawn  out  in  a  broad  sweep,  to  en- 
close as  great  a  space  as  possible,  and  hauled 
on  shore  by  means  of  a  capstan.     Some  of 
the  men  in  boats  su])[iort  the  corked  part  of 
the  net,  and  beat  the  water,  to  frighten  the 
fishes  within  toward  the  land,  while  others, 
anned  with  poles,  enter  the  water,  hook  the 
fishes,  and  fling  them  on  the  beach,  the  net 
being  gradually  drawn  closer  as  the  number 
of  fishes  diminishes.     What  do  you  think, 
reader,  as  to  the  number  of  cods  secured  in 
this  manner  at  a  single  haul  ?•— thirty,   or 
thirty  thousand  ?     You  may  form  some  notion 
of  (lie  matter  when  I  tell  you  that  the  young 
gentlomeu  of  my  (lorty  while  going  along  the 
shores,  caught  codfish  alive,  with  their  hands, 
and  trouts,  of  many  pounds  weight,  with  a 
piece  of  twine  and  a  mackerel-hook  hung  to 
their  gun-rods;   and   that,   if  two  of  them 
walked  knee-deep  along  the  rocks,  holding  a 
handkerchief  by  the  corners,   they  swept  it 
full  of  capelings.     Should  you  not  trust  me 
in  this,  I  refer  you  to  the  fishermen  them- 
selves, or  recommend  you  to  go  to  Labrador, 
where  you  will  {^ive  credit  to  the  testimony 
of  your  eyes. 

The  "  seining"  of  the  codfish,  I  believe,  is 
not  quite,  lawful,  for  a  great  projwrtion  of  the 
codlings  which  are  dragged  ashore  at  last,  are 
so  small  as  to  be  considered  useless ;  and,  in- 
stead of  be'ng  returned  to  the  water,  as  they 
ought  to  be,  are  left  on  the  shore,  where  they 
are  ultimately  eaten  by  bears,  wolves,  and  ra- 
vens. The  'fishes  taken  along  the  coast,  or 
on  fishing-stations  only  a  few  miles  off,  are  of 


small  dimension ;  and  I  believe  1  am  correct 
in  saying  that  ''jw  of  them  weigh  more  than 
two  pounds,  when  perfectly  cured,  or  exceed 
six,  when  taken  out  of  the  water.  Tlie  fish 
arc  liable  to  several  diseases,  and  at  times  are 
annoyed  by  parasitic  niiimals,  which  in  a  short 
time  render  them  lean  nnd  unfit  for  usi'. 

Some  individuals,  from  laziness,  or  other 
causes,  fish  with  naked  hooks,  and  thus  fre- 
quently wound  the  cod  without  securing  them, 
in  consetiuence  of  which,  the  shoals  are  driven 
away,  to  the  detriment  of  the  other  fishers. 
Some  carry  their  cargoes  to  other  parts  before 
drying  them,  while  others  dispose  t)f  them  to 
agents  from  distant  shores.     Some  have  only 
a  pickaxe  of  fifty  tons,  while  others  are  own- 
ers of  seven  or  eight  vessels  of  c(|nnl  or  larger 
burden ;  but  whatever  be  their  means,  should 
the  season  prove  favorable,  they  are  generally 
well  repaid  for  their  labor.     I  have  known 
instances  of  men,  who,  on  their  first  voyage, 
ranked  as  "boys,"  and  in  ten  years  after  were 
in  independent  circumstances,  although  they 
still  contintied  to  resort  to  the  fishing-grounds; 
"  For,"  said  they  to  me,  "  how  could  we  be 
content  to   spend    our   time    in    idleness   at 
home  ?"     1  know  a  person  of  this  class,  who 
has  carried  on  the  traffic  for  many  years,  and 
who  has  quite  a  little  fleet  of  schooners,  one 
of  which,  the  largest   and  most   beautifully 
built,  has  a  cabin  as  neat   and   comfortable 
as  any  that  I  have  ever  seen  in  a  vessel  of 
the  same  size.     This  vessel  took  fish  on  board 
only  when  perfectly  cured,  or  acted  as  jiilot 
to  the  rest,  and  now  and  then  wouhl  return 
home  with  an  ample  supply  of  halibut,  or 
a  cargo  of  prime  mackerel.  Auduboa. 


KINDNESS  AND  CENSORIOUSNESS. 

Observation  shows  that  those  persons 
who  indulge  most  in  a  fault-finding,  bitter 
spirit,  always  have  the  most  faults  of  charac- 
ter themselves,  and  are  the  most  deficient  in 
excellent  virtues.  A  censorious,  bitter  per- 
son, is  apt  to  be  one  of  a  narrow  and  |)reju- 
diced  mind,  not  liberalized  by  extensive  ac- 
quaintance with  men  or  things,  and  generally 
self-conceited,  contemptuous,  and  positive,  just 
in  proportion  to  his  own  littleness  of  irind  and 
personal  unworthiness. 

A  truly  great  mind,  or  a  great  heart,  is  never 
contemptuous  or  scornful,  or  bitter  against 
others,  but  has  always  too  much  knowledge 
or  too  much  goodness  for  that,  or  both,  and 
too  intimate  an  acquaintance  with  self  and 
personal  frailties,  to  allow  of  the  tongue  s 
dwelling  censoriously  upon  the  faults  of  others. 
When  Goethe  was  already  an  old  man,  he 


kb. 


**•>. .. 


f*""l)H!' 


114 


THE  HAMMER. 


said :  "  As  I  prow  old,  I  becomo  more  Iniicnt 
to  the  sins  of  frail  liurnniiity.  The  man  wlin 
loudly  di'iiouncos,  I  alwiiya  suspect.  1I<- 
knows  too  much  of  crime,  who  dciiouncos  ii 
fellow-crciiturc  unhciird— n  knowlcdjjc  which 
cnn  only  bo  obtained  by  criminality  itsclt. 
The  hyjiocrite  olway.s  strives  to  divert  atten- 
tion from  his  own  w'lckedness,  by  denonnciiij; 
uns|)«rin<:ly  that  of  others.  He  thinks  he 
shall  seem  pood,  in  exact  ratio  as  he  itinkes 
others  s.ciu  bad."  We  may  treasure  up  such 
remarks  of  the  follies  or  vices  of  our  neighbors 
as  may  be  a  constant  guard  against  our  jirac- 
tice  of  the  same,  without  exposing  the  reputa- 
tion of  our  neighbor  on  that  accotmt. 

Those  who  are  truly  kind  and  noble  by  na- 
ture, like  the  tndv  modest  and  pure,  are  most 
likely  to  think  others  so  likewise  ;  whereas, 
the  naturally  mean,  vulgar,  and  immodest,  are 
apt  to  charge  others  with  being  so,  just  in  ])ro- 
portioii  as  all  that  they  have  of  nobility  or 
mndestv  is  counterfeit.  They  seem  to  forget 
that  while  to  the  pure  all  things  are  i)ure,  the 
calling  of  attention  to  an  immodest  thing  or 
speech  is  far  more  immodest  than  the  thing 
itself,  and  that  commenting  upoti  an  indelicacy 
and  so  innking  it  noticeable,  is  itself  the  most 
highly  indelicate. 

It  is  an  old  ))roverb,  that  whom  you  injure 
vou  hate,  and  it  is  indeed  true  that  a  man  is 
far  more  likely  to  become  an  enemy  to  one 
who'm  he  has  injured,  than  to  one  that  has  in- 
jured him.  So,  to  be  seen  by  another  in  a 
humiliating  position,  or  in  a  fit  of  ill  tenifier 
or  sensuality,  will  ever  after  make  thot  j)erson 
an  enemv  to  the  one  that  is  so  unfortunate  as 
to  have'l)cen  a  witness  to  his  weakness  or 
misconduct,  such  is  the  vice  of  human  nature, 
as  exhibited  in  some  characters. 

On  this  principle  it  is  that  Borrow  says  of 
Portugal,  in  his  book  entitled  "  The  Bible  in 
Spain,"  that  "  the  English,  who  were  never 
at  war  with  Porttigal,  who  have  fought  for 
its  independence  on  land  and  sea.  and  8(iuan- 
dered  bl(X)d  and  treasure  in  its  defence,  and 
always  with  success ;  who  have  forced  them- 
selves, by  a  treaty  of  commerce,  to  drink  its 
coarse  and  filthy  wines,  which  no  other  nation 
cares  to  taste,  are  the  most  unj)0)iular  peo])le 
thot  visit  Portugal.  The  French  have  rav- 
aged the  country  with  fire  and  sword,  and 
shed  the  blood  of  its  sons  like  water;  the 
French  will  not  buy  its  fruits,  and  they  loathe 
its  wines,  yet  there" is  no  bad  spirit  in  Portugal 
toward  the  French.  The  reason  of  this  is 
no  mystery ;  it  is  the  nature,  not  of  the  Por- 
tuguese only,  but  of  corrupt  and  unregenerate 
man,  to  dislike  his  benefoctors,  who,  by  con- 
ferring benefits  u|)on  him,  mortify  in  the  most 
generous  maiirier  his  miserable  vanity.  There 
18  no  country  in  which  the  English  ore  so  pop- 
ular as  in  France;  but  though  the  French 


have  been  freiiueiitly  roughly  handled  by  the 
English,  anil  h.ive  seen  their  cajHtal  occupied 
by  an  English  army,  they  have  never  been 
subjected  to  the  ignominy  of  receiving  assist- 
ance from  them."  There  is  both  pmlosoiihy 
and  truth  to  nature  in  this,  as  api)licable  to 
the  relations  of  nations   as  of  individuals. 


THE  HAMMER. 

TiiK  hammer  is  the  universal  emblem  of 
mechanics.     With   it   are   alike   forged   the 
sword  of  contention,  and  the  ploughshare  of 
peaceful  agriculture,  the  press  of  the   free, 
and  the  shackle  of  the  slave.     The  eloiptence 
of  the  forum  has  moved  the  armies  of  Greece 
and  Rome  to  a  thousand  battle-fields,  but  the 
eloijuence  of  the  hummer  has  covered  those 
fields  with  victory  or  defeat.     The  insinration 
of  song  has  kindled  n\i  high  hopes  and  noble 
aspirations  in  the  Ixisoms  of  brave   knights 
and  gentle  dames,  but  the  inspiration  of  the 
hammer  has  strewn  thv.  field  with  tattered 
helm  and  shield,  decided  not  only  the  fate  of 
chivalric   combat,   but  the   fate   t)f  thrones, 
crowns,  and  kingdoms.     The  forging  of  thun- 
derbolts was  ascribed  by  the  Greeks  as  the 
highest  act  of  Jove's  omnipotence,  and  their 
mythology  beautifully  ascrilies  to  one  of  tlieir 
go"ds  the  task  of  presiding  at  the  labors  of  the 
forge.     In  ancient  warfare,  the  hammer  was 
a  powerful  weapon,  independent  of  the  blade 
which  it  formed.     Many  a   stout  scull   was 
broken  through  the  cap  and  helm  by  a  blow 
of  Vulcan's   weapon.     The    aniiies  of   the 
Crescent  would  have  subdued  Europe  to  the 
sway  of  Mohammed,  but  on  the  jihiins  of 
France  their  progress  was  arrested,  and  the 
brave  and  simjilc  warrior  who  saved  Christen- 
dom from  the  sway  of  the  Mussulman  was 
named  Martel — "  the  hammer."     How  sim- 
ple, how  oppropriate,  how  grand — "  the  ham- 
mer."    The  hammer  is  the  savior  and  bul- 
wark of  Christendom.     The  hammer  is  the 
wealth  of  nations.     By  it  are  forged  the  pon- 
derous engine  and  the  tiny  needle.     It  is  on 
instrument  of  the  savage 'and  the  civilized. 
Its  merry  clink  points  out  the  abode  of  indus- 
try— it  is  a  domestic  ditty,  presiding  over  the 
grandeur  of  the  most  wealthy  and  ambitious, 
as  well   as   the    humble  and   impoverished. 
Not  a  stick  is  shaped,  not  a  house  is  raised,  a 
ship  floats,  or  carriage  rolls,  a  wheel  spins,  an 
engine  moves,  a  press  speaks,  a  viol  sings,  a 
spade  delves  or  a  flag  waves,  without  the  ham- 
mer.   Without  the  hammer  civilization  would 
be  unknown,  and  the  human  species  only  as 
defenceless  brutes,  but  in  skilful  hands,  di- 
rected by  wisdom,   it  is  an  instrument  of 
power,  of  greatness,  and  true  glory. 


IIWMWllWllllf . 


fmmms^^ 


Iv  roughly  hnndletl  by  tlir- 
ipcn  thoir"  capital  occupieil 
ly,  they  have  never  lieen 
lominy'of  receiving  assist- 
There  is  both  puilosophy 
c  in  this,  OS  applicable  to 
lions   OS  of  individuals. 


HAMMER. 

the  universal  emblem  of 
I  it  are  alike  forced  the 
n,  and  the  ploughshare  of 
re,  the  jircss  of  the  free, 
the  slave.  The  ehMpicnce 
loved  the  armies  of  Greece 
usand  battle-fields,  but  the 
hammer  has  covered  those 
or  defeat.  The  iiisjiiration 
:d  U))  high  hojjcs  and  noble 

lx)soms  of  brave  knights 
,  but  the  inspiration  of  tlie 
vn  the  field  with  tattered 
ecided  not  otdy  the  fate  of 

but  the  fate  of  thrones, 
oms.  The  for£;:inir  of  thun- 
ibed  by  the  Greeks  as  the 
'e's  om'ni))oteiice,  and  their 
"ully  ascribes  to  one  of  tlnir 
iresiding  at  the  labors  of  the 
;  warfare,  the  hammer  was 
n,  independent  of  ihe  blade 

Many  a  stout  scull  was 
ie  cap  and  helm  by  a  blov  j 
])on.  The  annies  of  the  i 
lave  subdued  E>irope  to  the 
Tied,  but  on  the  jdains  of 
;res8  was  arrested,  and  the 
.varrior  who  saved  Christen- 
■uv  of  the  Mussulman  was 
■  the  hammer."  How  sim- 
luto,  how  grand — "  the  ham- 
iTiier  is  the  savior  and  bul- 
dorn.  The  hammer  is  the 
.  By  it  are  forged  the  pon- 
d  the  tiny  neeille.  It  is  an 
B  savage  "and  the  civilized. 
nints  out  the  abode  of  indus- 
»tie  ditty,  presiding  over  the 
iiost  wealthy  and  ambitious, 
humble  and  impoverished, 
iped,  not  a  house  is  raised,  a 
riage  rolls,  a  wheel  spins,  an 
press  speaks,  a  viol  sings,  a 
flag  waves,  without  the  ham- 
le  hommer  civilization  would 

the  human  sjiecies  only  as 
38.  but  in  skilful  hands,  di- 
m,  it  18  an  instrument  of 
ess,  and  true  glory. 


USE  OF  ELEPHANTS  IN  WAE. 


USE  OF  ELEPHANTS  IN  WAR. 

The  military  history  of  elephants  com- 
metices  with  the  invasion  of  India  by  Alex- 
ander the  Great ;  the  battle  fought  by  Poms 
is  the  first  well-authenticated  account  of  their 
use  in  war.  Thenceforward  we  find  thern 
used  by  the  successors  of  Alexander,  partic- 
ularly the  Ptolemies  and  the  SeleucidiE.  An- 
tipater  introduced  them  into  Greece,  and 
Pyrrhus  transported  them  into  Italy.  The 
elej)hants  used  by  these  princes  were  of  the 
Asiatic  race  {Eleplias  Indicus  of  Cuvier),  but 
the  Carthagenians  and  Numidians  about  the 
commencement  of  the  Punic  wars,  began  to 
make  a  similar  use  of  the  African  elephant 
(Elephas  Capensh  of  Cuvier),  which  differs 
from  the  o.her,  by  having  less  size,  weight, 
and  strength,  but  longer  ears  and  tusks. 

What  may  be  called  the  military  qualifica- 
tions of  the  elephant,  are  his  size,  his  strength, 
his  docility,  his  jKiv/er  of  swimming,  and  the 
toughness  of  his  skin,  which  in  most  places 
was  impenetrable  to  the  weapons  of  ancient 
warfare.  It  must,  however,  be  observed,  that 
the  strength  of  the  elephant,  though  great,  is 
not  at  all  projiortionato  to  his  magnitude. 
The  ordinary  pictures  of  ancient  battles,  in 


which  elephants  are  represented  bearing  huge 
towers,  crowded  with  armed  men,  are  ludi- 
crous exaggerations ;  the  most  that  the  animal 
could  carry  is  a  houdah  with  from  four  to  six 
persons, .  and  even  this  weight  could  not  be 
sustained  on  a  long  march  ;  the  houdah  was 
expressed  by  a  Greek  word  which  literally 
signifies  "a  little  cuiras,"  but  is  sometimes 
used  by  military  writers  for  the  hurdles  or 
wicker  work  employed  in  the  constniction  of 
field-works.  The  passage  of  Silius  Italicus, 
which  has  led  to  the  exaggerated  notion  of 
these  towers  is  merely  descriptive  of  the  ex- 


116 


U8K  OF  ELEPHANTS  IN  WAR. 


cessivo  alarm  wliicli  would  bo  excited  in  an 
iiriuy  scuiiig  such  a  spectacle  for  the  first 
tiini' : — 

''  HIkIi  nil  liU  liiK'li  till!  mililii'm  hrw,  amazed, 

Kiiilialtli'il  towi'i'H  mill  lliri^iili'iiiiiK  fiirtii  u|irai(i«il; 
Till'  |iiiiiiii'li"<,  a'^i'i'ijiliiii,'  C(i  llie  t'loniU. 
SliakuHHliu  iiiiivuHaiiil  tliiuat  to  crush  the  rrowila." 

I'unica,  ix. 

This  is  just,  such  nn  exajijjpration  as  wn 
liiiil  ill  the  IliiKiiio  piH'in  troiislatcd  iiy  Wil- 
kiiis  ill  till-  Asiatii;  roscarches:  "  Hisch'phants 
miivfil  iiitc  walitins  luoniitiiiiis,  ami  the  earth, 
oppressed  by  their  weight,  crumbled  into 
dust." 

M.  Arinandi,  in  his  work  on  "  The  Military 
History  of  Klephnnls,"  to  which  we  are  in- 
debted for  iinudi  of  the  infonnation  contained 
in  this  article,  justly  remarits  that  elephants 
anil  war-chariots  were  used  in  ancient  warfare 
for  jmrposes  analogous  to  parks  of  artillery  in 
modern  times.  In  tiie  battle  of  the  Hydas- 
pes,  I'onis  employed  his  ele|)haiits  to  cover 
his  centre  and  left  win";,  believing  that  his 
rii;ht  was  sullicieiitly  jiroteeted  by  the  river. 
According:  to  I'olyciius  he  committed  the  fatal 
error  of  phicin;^  his  elephants  so  close  together, 
that  they  prevented  him  from  making  any 
change  in  his  lines ;  consequently,  when  Ge- 
nus charged  through  his  right  wing,  and  at- 
tacked his  centre  in  flank  and  rear,  the  In- 
dians, kept  liaek  by  the  'dcphants  in  front,  and 
pressed  hard  by  Genus  in  the  rear,  became  a 
helpless  mass  of  confusion.  Porus  tried  to 
remedy  this  disaster  by  ordering  his  elejihants 
to  charge  the  phalanx  which  fonned  the  Ma- 
cedonian centre  ;  init  the  Greeks  having  room 
to  mnninuvre,  attacked  each  elephant  with  a 
separate  detachment  of  light  troops,  Alexander 
having  selected  picked  men,  armed  with  sharp 
axes  and  crookeil  swords  for  the  purpose,  who 
were  taught  to  aim  at  the  trunks  and  throats 
of  the  elephants.  The  animals  were  finally 
driven  back,  and  thus  any  new  formation  of 
the  Indian  lines  was  effectually  prevented. 
In  this  instance,  then,  it  may  be  said  that  these 
cumiirous  animals  caused  the  defeat  of  the  In- 
dian army,  iiy  rendering  its  lines  immoveable, 
after  they  hud  been  once  formed. 

Elephants  being  used  as  a  covering  force, 
were  usually  stationed  in  the  front  of  the 
lines,  the  intervals  between  them  being  occu- 
jiied  by  divisions  of  light  troops,  who  had  to 
prevent  the  enemy  from  ttirningthe  elephants 
back  upon  their  own  ranks.  Some  leaders 
were  so  much  afraid  of  the  elephants  being 
turned  that  they  kept  these  animals  in  reserve, 
and  only  brought  them  up  to  turn  the  doubtful 
scale  of  victory.  It  was  thus  that  Pyrrhus 
won  the  battle  of  Heraclea.  The  Roman  cav- 
alry were  cutting  lanes  through  his  columns 
when  he  brought  up  the  elephants ;  the  Latin 
horses  were  more  frightened  than  their  riders 


;  at  the  unusual  sight,  the  squadrons  fell  back 

on'  the  legions,  and  threw  tlii'tn  into  disorder, 

j  Pyrrhtis  seized  ihedccisivt-momcnt  to  cliuri;e 

j  at  the  heiid  of  liis  Tbessaliun  cavalry,  "and 

the  rod  field  was  won." 

A  curious  circiiinstatice  corroborates  ilio 
assertion  of  Florns,  that  (dcpbanls  were  j  'e- 
viously  unknown  to  the  Ronii'iis;  they  calir.l 
the  animals  "  Lucaniaii  oxen,"  the  battle  hav- 
ing been  fought  in  Lucania,  and  this  was  the 
name  usually  given  to  the  clcplmiii  Iiy  Liiiin 
writers,  down  to  the  Augustan  age.  The  biit- 
j  tie  of  Asculum  was  rcmarkalile  for  two  cir- 
I  cumstances,  which  have  been  omitteii  by 
I  nearly  all  the  modern  writers  of  I{(iniun  his- 
i  tory :  the  legionaries  liad  so  fur  ricoMrcd 
,  from  their  fear  of  elephiints,  iliat  a  ceiiliirion, 
named  Minucius,  attacked  one  of  these  lii^a- fs 
single-handed,  and  cut  ofl"  a  large  portion  of 
his  trunk.  The  second  incident  is  that  the 
'  Romans  borrowed  war-chariots  fnmi  the  (Jiuils 
as  a  counterpoise  to  the  elephants  of  J^vnlius, 
but  never  used  them  exccjit  in  this  battle. 

Minucius  was  not  the  only  hero  who  ven- 
tured singly  against  nn  t  Icphant ;  a  more  no- 
ble instance  of  devoted  lieroisni  is  recorded  in 
the  history  of  the  Maccabees,  at  the  baffle  of 
Beth/.acharias  :  "  Eleazar.  siirnamed  Savaran, 
])(;rceiving  that  one  of  the  beasts,  armed  with 
royal  harness,  was  higher  than  the  rest,  and 
supposing  that  the  king  was  upon  him,  jiut 
himself  in  jeopardy,  to  the  end  he  might  de- 
liver his  people,  and  get  him  a  jierpetual 
name ;  wherefore  he  ran  u])on  him  courage- 
ously through  the  midst  of  the  battle,  slay- 
ing on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left,  so  that 
they  were  dividcul  from  him  on  both  sides, 
which  done  he  crept  under  the  elejihant,  and 
thnist  him  under,  andslewhim,  whereujion  the 
elephant  fell  down  u])on  hiin,  and  there  he 
died." — 1  Mac.  vi.,  43-4G.  On  this  narrative 
it  may  be  remarked,  that  the  words  rendered 
"  roya'.  harness,"  properly  signifies  "  a  royal 
houdah  ;"  and  that  the  thirty-two  men  saiil  in 
a  preceding  verse  to  be  united  with  the  mahout 
in  the  charge  of  each  elephant,  include  not 
only  the  warriors  in  the  tower,  but  also  the 
soldiers  who  had  the  charge  of  protecting  the 
unwieldy  animals  from  the  skirmishers  and 
light  troops  of  the  enemy. 

Pyrrhus  was  indebted  to  his  elephants  for 
his  victory  at  Heraclea,  but  these  same  ani- 
mals caused  his  utter  ruin  in  the  battle  of 
Beneventum.  Curius  Denfatus  had  trained 
a  body  of  archers  to  shower  burning  nrniws 
on  these  animals,  which  sticking  in  their 
flesh,  burned  through  their  thick  skins,  and 
drove  them  mad  with  pain.  No  animal  is 
more  ferociously  destructive  than  an  infuriated 
elephant ;  even  in  the  domesticated  state,  they 
are  known  to  be  gratified  with  carnage,  and 
hence  they  have  been  frequently  employed  as 


-5=qr- 


,  the  Rciuuilron!*  W]  Imck 
lirt'w  tlii'in  into  (lisiirilcr, 
I'cisivmnomriit  lo  cIiuijjr 
Micssiirmii  cavulry,  "  and 
11." 

istiiiicf!  corrobiirnfrM  tho 
flint  ('lr|)Iiaiits  were  j  'C- 
the  Roni'ilis  ;  llwy  <'alh  ,| 
inn  oxen,"  tlic  Imlllc  liiiv- 
jiiciiiiiii,  (Mill  lliis  wri-*  tlio 
to  the  clcliliiiiit  1)V  Liitiii 
(\ii;;iisliiii  iij.'c.     Tlic  liiit- 

rcirmrkalili'  fur  twn  cir- 

luivc  l)C(!ii  (iiiiilli'd  liy 
n  writers  of  Hoiimn  liis- 
s  Imd    so   (ur   ncDVcrcd 

plmiits,  llmt  a  cciitiirion, 
ickcil  one  ot  llicsc  hcn'ts 
ut  oil"  a  Iar;;c  |)(iilioii  of 
•Olid  incidi'iit  is  tliitt  tlio 
ir-clmriot-*IVoiii  ilic  (Jnuls 
he  ('lcf)liaiits  of  Pyrihns, 
exccjit  in  tliis  hiittlp. 

thr  only  hero  who  vcn- 
111  tlrphant ;  q  more  no- 
(m1  hcmisin  is  rccordrd  in 
icnalifos,  nt  thf  linttle  of 
■nzar, siirriamod  Siivuinn, 
if  tlif  hensts,  nmicd  with 
iif,'licr  than  the  rest,  and 
[ing  was  ii|)oii  him,  jiiit 

to  the  end  ho  mijjlit  dc- 
id   pet  him   a   jierpetual 

ran  u])ori  liim  courafje- 
lidst  of  the  battle,  slny- 
1  and  on  the  left,  so  that 
Vnni  him  on  both  sides, 

under  the  elejihant,  nnd 
slew  him,  whereujion  the 
ijion  him,  nnd  there  he 
ti-iC).  On  this  narrative 
that  the  words  rendered 
nperly  signifies  "  a  royal 
10  thirty-two  men  saiti  in 
le  united  with  the  mahout 
;h  elephant,  include  not 

the  tower,  but  also  the 
charge  of  protecting  the 
om  the  skirmishers  and 
lemy. 

bted  to  his  elephants  for 
lea,  but  those  same  ani- 
er  ruin  in  the  battle  of 
IS  .Dcntattis  had  trained 
I  shower  burning  anows 
i\-hich  sticking  in  their 
h  their  thick  skins,  and 
th  pain.  No  animal  is 
ructive  than  an  infuriated 
:  domesticated  state,  they 
tified  with  carnage,  and 
1  frequently  employed  as 


"far    'i''^i''i"i'  ".  i  '  .  l.ii 


USK  OK  ELEPHANTS  IN  WAft. 


117 


Elephants  destroying  Captives  taken  in  War, 


executioners  by  the  despots  of  the  East. 
One  of  the  Epirote  elephants,  furious  from 
pain,  shook  oil'  his  driver,  and  rushing  back 
upon  the  phalanx  which  Pyrrhus  hail  fonned 
with  closer  ranks  than  usual,  crushed  and  de- 
stroyed a  great  number  of  soldiers  before  any 
remedy  cimld  be  found  for  such  u  disaster. 
Oil  a  ])revious  occasion  the  delight  of  the  ele- 
"jihaiit  in  carnage  had  been  fearfully  (U:noii 
strated  ;  before  the  body  of  Alexander  was 
laid  in  the  tomb,  three  hundred  of  his  bravesl 
comjianions  were  crushed  to  death  by  ele- 
phants, ill  the  presence  of  the  entire  army,  by 
command  of  the  regent  Perdiccas.  Arrian 
says  that  this  sickening  massacre  was  ren- 
dered the  more  revolting  by  the' trumpeting, 
roaring,  and  other  signs  of  savage  delight, 
whicli  the  animals  exhibited  while  engaged  in 
the  work  of  slaughter. 

The  military  value  of  elephants  was  best 
tested  ill  the  second  Punic  war.  Hannibal 
attached  more  importance  to  these  animals 
than  any  cotemporary  general,  and  he  cer- 
tainly made  a  more  skilful  use  of  them  than 
any  great  captain  of  anti(|uity.  At  the  battle 
near  tho  river  Trebia,  Hannibal  charged  and 
routed  the  Roman  cavalry  with  his  elephants ; 


but  the  infantry  stood  firm  against  these  a  >i- 
mals,  ond  even  drov  them  back  on  the  Ci'  • 
thttgenian  lines.  We  are  told  that  the  k\ 
aries  were  encimraged  to  this  resistance  by  th' 
example  of  Fiiirenus.  The  incident  is  well 
told  by  .Silius  Italicus;  and  as  this  most  pro- 
saic of  historical  poets  is  ranly  «ead  by 
English  students,  we  shall  venture  to  translate 
tile  passage : — 

"  Fresh  horrors  now  are  added  to  the  fight, 
The  fcarlul  elephants  appear  in  siglit ; 
They  gain  the  bunk,  they  rush  into  the  stream, 
HiKli  o'er  the  wave  (heir  spear  feuped  turiets  gloam  ; 
The  Trebia  trembles  at  the  sudden  shock, 
As  if  invaded  by  some  mnnHtroii '  rock, 
Which,  torn  by  lempoiit  from  si-me  mountain's  head, 
Cliukcd  up  the  streuiii,  and  droM:  it  tVum  its  bed. 
But  vnlor  rises  iimler  adverse  futc. 
And  dangers  still  excite  the  tijiily  irreat  s 
FibienuH,  only  anxious  that  his  name 
Sin.,      live  recorded  in  tho  rolls  ol'  I'ume, 
Sliouts  '  Tlmuk  thee,  fortune  ! — undfnieulh  tho  wave, 
Tliou  dlilst  not  give  me  un  unhoiiored  f,'i'ave; 
My  di-eds  are  seen,  and  here  on  land  I  fry 
What  force  the  Human  falchion  can  defy. 
Or  what  the  monster  is  that  must  not  fear 
The  Latin  javelin  and  Tuscan  spear' 
Ho  spoke,  and  eager  sought  some  temlor  part, 
!  Then  at  the  monster  hurled  his  rapid  dart ; 
I  Right  to  the  eye  tho  weapon  held  its  way 
I  Tore  through  the  ball,  and  quenched  tliu  v  "lal  ray  ( 


.   .^  I      i 


|f4f'!-l 


118 


U8E  OF  ELEPHANTS  IN  WAE 


■^  .Mnrnea,  ..™ 


Army  on  a  Murcli,  wllh  Eleplianti, 


The  horrid  heant  wnt  forth  n  frnrful  ronr, 
Which  echoeil  wildly  round  tho  hloiid utainfit   ^'ml■e, 
Then,  blind  with  rage,  niid  inuddenod  by  Uin  /.aiu, 
llti  ihruw  Ilia  driver  helplexa  on  the  (ilain, 
And  Hod  amain.     Tlie  Romnnii  at  the  High'. 
Rereivc  fresh  courage,  and  renew  the  light ; 
They  prt'Hi  the  monster  with  hice«iant  blows, 
From  gn|iliiK  wound*  hia  blood  in  torrents  flowi; 
Arrows  and  dartHaro  quivering  in  his  hide, 
Till  one  wide  gush  extoiida  along  his  side  ; 
A  bustling  forest  on  his  bnrk  appears. 
Of  waving  javelina  and  of  deep-driven  spears  ; 
Worn  out  at  last,  the  dreadful  monster  reels, 
And  soeliM  <hc  river  as  his  death  he  feels  : 
Ho  fnlla— the  mighty  ruin  cholies  tlie  llnod, 
And  tlic  clear  stream  rui>  i  c/insson  with  his  blood." 

I'unka,  iv. 

According  t.o  Polybius,  whose  authority  is 
incidentnlly  confirmed  by  Juvenal,  Hunnibal 
lo.st  all  his  elephants  but  one  in  this  battle,  and 
did  not  receive  a  fresh  supply  until  after  his 
victory  at  Cannae.  Hanno  joined  hitn  nt 
CopuB  with  forty  elephants  and  four  thousund 
Numidian  cavalry,  but  this  reinforcetnent  die' 
not  enable  Hannibal  to  pursue  his  career  of 
contiuest.  He  was  defeated  at  Nola  by  Mar- 
cellu.>«,  with  a  loss  of  four  elephants  killed, 
and  two  taken ;  he  met  a  similar  loss  at  Gru- 
menlum ;  two  of  his  ele])hant8  were  killed  in 
the  unsuccessful  attempt  to  relieve  Capua, 
and  five  more  were  slain  at  the  battle  of  Cam- 
isiuni.  At  the  battle  of  the  Metaurus  the 
elepliuats  were  repulsed  by  the  pikemen  of 
the  eleventh  legion,  four  being  slain  on  the 
spot,  and  the  rest  driven  biefc  on  the  Cartha- 
genian  lines. 

But  the  most  remarkable  example  which 
can  be  cited  of  the  use  of  elephants  during 
this  ]ieriod  was  presented  at  the  battle  of  Za- 
ina,  wViere  Hannibal  covered  his  line  with  no 
less  than  eighty  of  those  animals.  Scipio  im- 
mediately changed  the  usual  order  of  Roman 
lilies ;  he  left  wide  spaces  like  lanes  between 


the  manipuli  of  the  legions,  masking  this  or- 
rongcnient  by  throwing  for*vurd  a  cloud  of 
skirmishers  and  light  tnwps,  principally  Nti- 
inidian  cavalry  furnished  to  them  l)y  Mas- 
sinissu.  !'I«nnibol,  unnoyed  by  the  hkinnisli- 
ers,  ordered  his  elephants  to  charge  the  Ko- 
innn  lines  in  a  body,  and  the  skirmishers  re- 
treated through  tfle  bines  or  I)assnge3  left 
open  by  the  formation  of  the  legionaries.  The 
elephants  pursued,  atid  the  moment  one  of 
those  animals  was  engaged  in  one  of  the  jios- 
snges  his  doom  was  sealed  ;  on  either  side 
were  the  pike-men,  whose  serried  weapons 
could  not  be  beaten  down,  whiletlw  lighttroops 
attackeil  the  animals  with  spears,  javelins, 
crooked  swords,  and  battle-axes.  The  chief 
danger  arose  from  the  cavalry ;  the  Italian 
horses  could  not  be  got  to  face  the  elephants. 
Seipio,  however,  promptly  set  the  example 
of  dismounting,  and  after  a  fierce  strug^de  the 
elephants  were  all  hors  de  combat.  Eleven 
of  these  animals  were  taken  alive  by  the  Ro- 
mans; all  the  rest  fell  in  action. 

This  battle  taught  the  Romans  the  advan- 
tage of  an  open  formation  of  the  lines  in  a 
contest  with  elephants,  and  in  some  degree 
proved  the  inutility  of  these  animals  when 
sent  against  disciplined  troops.  Thencefor- 
ward the  use  of  these  animals  in  war  de- 
clined, and  they  are  mentioned  for  the  last 
time  in  the  military  history  of  Rome  at  the 
battle  of  Thapsus,  where  Julius  Caesar  over- 
threw the  last  army  of  the  republic  and  its 
African  auxiliaries.  All  the  accounts  of  this 
battle  which  we  possess  are  so  imperfect, 
that  it  is  not  easy  to  determine  how  Juba  em- 
ployed his  elephants;  but  that  the  victory 
over  them  was  deemed  very  important  is  man- 
ifest from  the  frequent  appearance  of  the  ele- 
phant on  the  coins  and  medala  of  the  Julian 
family. 


I 


-sam 


•^ 


Ippong,  mnskinp  tlii«  nr- 
iiig  fonvuril  a  clcuiil  of 
troops,  principally  Nii- 
ishcil  to  tlicin  liy  Miis- 
nnoyod  by  llif>  Kkinnixli- 
hnnt«  to  charfje  tin;  Ko- 
aiul  the  skinnislicrs  re- 
lanP8  or  passages  left 
1  of  the  legionaries.  The 
mil  the  moment  one  of 
gaged  in  one  of  the  pns- 
isenlci) ;  on  either  side 
whose  serried  wcnjjons 
wn,  while t ho  light  troojis 
I  with  spears,  javelins, 
battle-axes.  The  chief 
10  cavalry;  the  Italian 
ot  to  face  the  elephants. 
)mptly  set  the  cxam|)Ie 
iter  o  fierce  struggle  the 
ors  de  combat.  Eleven 
e  taken  alive  by  the  Ro- 
ll in  action. 

the  Romans  the  ndvon- 
nation  of  the  lines  in  a 
Its,  and  in  some  degree 
of  these  animals  when 
led  troops.  Thencefor- 
Bse  animals  in  war  de- 
mentioned  for  the  last 
history  of  Rome  at  the 
here  Julius  Cfcsar  over- 
of  the  republic  and  its 
All  the  accounts  of  this 
issess  are  so  imperfect, 
letermine  how  Juba  em- 
i;  but  thot  the  victory 
d  very  important  is  man- 
it  appearance  of  the  ele- 
id  medala  of  the  Julian 


i 


asthonomy. 


119 


Tlie  neglect  of  elephniit*  in  the  western 
wiirM  iifler  the  battle  of  'Pliapiiii  bi'ciime  an 
esfiilili  ;hed  principle;  both  Ijivy  aiid  Arriiin 
speiik  iif  ihern  as  utterly  cmiteinplilple  fur  the 
piirpiiHcs  of  war;  but  in  the  east  tlic  u-n'  df 
them  was  revived  by  the  prince*  of  the  lioUMe 
of  Sassiiii,  1111(1  tliev  were  eriiploved  in  the 
wars  (if  Imliii  so  lute  as  177!l;  Ilvdcr  Ali 
having  sent  his  elepluints  to  elmr','e  the  dis- 
ordere(|  lines  of  the  iinfiirtiniate  Hiiiliie.  Tn 
the  ensfcrii  wars,  nut  less  tliiiri  in  those  of  the 
west,  cb  pliuntshiive  proved  iin  micertiiiti  and 
dangermis  siippnrt ;  thus  when  the  Portuguese 
were  attacked  at  roldinlio  in  loJO,  the  ele- 
phants sent  ngaiii«t  tlicin  bv  tin-  Cingiilese, 
daunted  by  the  lire  of  the  lmri|ii(  busses  and 
maddened  bv  wnuuds,  tunieil  Imels  upon  their 
own  lines,  mul  erusbcd  to  deiitli  whole  troops 
of  unl'iirtiiiiMte  isluiwbrs.  Sonie  of  the  em- 
i)er(irs  of  Delhi  niountiMl  Ij^lit  <z\\\\v.  im  the 
backs  of  elephiiiits,  but  the  slow  niovenieiits 
of  the  anirniils  jirevented  this  kind  of  urtillirv 
from  being  genenilly  ad(iptc(l.  In  our  dav, 
elepliMits  are  cliiedy  usimI  for  the  tr'nisport  of 
ordnance  and  heavy  stores;  ainl  many  are  of 
o|)iiiioii  that  even  for  this  purpose  they  arc  in- 
ferior in  value  to  horses. 


very  first  nstro- 
iiion  any  nio\  jnij 
the  mix  in.     Thin 


LECTURE.S  ON  ASTRONOMY.-NO.  2. 

BT    IMIOFKSSOR   O.    M.    MITCIIKI.L. 

I  have  stoted  in  the  preceding  lecture  the  fact 

that  the  science  of  astronornv  has  furnished 
to  the  liiinian  infidlect  the  wildest  and  noblest 
field  for  its  elTIirts.  I  propose  to  direct  your 
nttcMition,  in  this  lecture,  to  siiecilic  objcts. 
Follow  nic,  then,  if  you  please,  through  the 
history  of  the  developments  of  discoveries 
made  with  referrnco  to  our  nearest  neighbor — 
tlie  nioiin. 

The  {>arly  history  of  science  we  know  is 
lost.  Wo  'nay  trace  back  the  record  of  its 
movements  untd  we  see  that  there  was  a  sci- 
ence of  astronomy  anterior  to  the  earliest  date 
wdiieh  history  can  reach.  We  may  then  take 
up  tradition — stepping  still  further  back — and 
there  again  we  stop  and  ponder  upon  the  fact 
that  there  was  a  science  of  astronomy  anterior 
even  to  tradition.  Thus  we  are  lost  in  the 
obscurity  of  ])ast  time,  and,  having  nothing 
more  t;)  iruide  us  up  )n  which  we  can  rely,  we 
must  resort  tn  speculation.  But  let  it  be  re- 
membered that  this  spectdatiim  is  of  such  a 
character  that  it  is  absolute  certainty,  and  if 
it  be  properly  conducted,  it  will  lead  us  to  re- 
sults entirely  reliable.  I  shall  be  obliged, 
then,  to  begin  with  speculation. 

In  turning  the  eye  to  the  heavens,  the 


strong  prol       ;  ty  is  that 

noinicul  iili^.  r\  itions  tniul 

body  were  tho»i"  nmde  ii|i«)n 

iittriicted  the  wiinili  ritm     'i/e  of  everv  eve — 

its  curious  and  extrinirdiii;iry  (dm?ii;es,  anil  the 

riipidily  id'  its  movements,  were  so  dillirent 

from    those   of    any   other    heavenly    body. 

;  Willie  the  sun   was  ever  bright  an  I   round— 

I  while  the  other  planets  alwavs  shone  with  n 

I  serene  and  slendy  light — while  the  (i\cd  stars 

shed  forth  the  same  unviiryingdeLricedf  -plen- 

I  dor   year  after  year,   it  was  found  iliut  the 

moon  was  constantly  chiiiigini;.     On  diie  v\c. 

ning  it  was  observed  to  be  the  slend(  r  silver 

cresci-iit.  cliise  beside  (he  sun  :  it  wiis  v\  (itched 

from  niiilit  to  nii^lit,  receding  from  a  line  with 

the    sun.    and    increasing;    in   biilliiiiiev,    till, 

finally,  it  was  foinul  to  rise  in  the  east,'  in  full 

Orb,  while  the  sun  was  sinking' in  the  west. 

Tlien.  ns  (be  ni'jhts  rolled  on,  tlie  liulit   was 

discovered  to  decrease,  until,   when   it  U'.'ain 

came  round  in   coniunction  with  the  sun,  it 

hail    entirely   disa))peare(|.      These    eluini'es 

were  i|(iiilitle-i>i!y  the  first  ob>*erved. 

Hut  there  was  iiiiolher  point  w!n(di  early 
attnicte(l  the  attention  of  man.  When  the 
!;roiiping  of  the  stars  in  the  heavens  bud  first 
been  made — when  it  was  seen  tbiit  tliev  Indd 
invarialile  re!iiti\('  positions  toeiedi  other,  the 
next  point  was  to  wat(di  and  see  if  the  moon 
held  its  ])lace  among  the  stars.  Here  arose  a 
most  wonderful  discovery.  The  moon  did 
not  hold  its  place  among  them.  W'lnit  did  it 
do?  It  was  found,  in  the  next  place,  to  bo 
movlnj  contrary  to  the  mo'ion  of  all  tin; 
heaveidy  bodies,  wlii<  h  ap|)enred  to  make 
regular  diuniid  rotations.  The  moon  was 
heaving  upward,  while  at  the  same  time  it 
had  a  general  dinmni  motion.  Here  was  the 
first  disco-/<-ry  ever  made  with  regard  to  the 
movenu'iits  of  the  ln^avenlv  bodies. 

For  a  long  time  it  must  have  been  a  matter 
of  jierplexity  whether  this  niotifiti  of  the 
moon  was  real,  or  was  occasioned  bv  the  fact 
that  the  whole  sidereal  heavens  were  swee|)- 
ing  past  the  moon.  Hi)w  is  it  p;)ssil)le  to  de- 
termine thisipiestion  ?  If  they  had  only  this 
object  to  examine  and  no  other  moving  bodies 
were  found,  then  would  it  have  been  i:npos- 
aiblc  to  have  settled  thetpiestion  whether  this 
motion  actuady  belonged  to  this  object  alone, 
or  whether  the  whole  sjdiere  of  stars  wdieeled 
round  more  rapidiy  than  the  moon. 

But  after  a  little  while  they  found  that  the 
sun  in  like  monner  jiartook  of  a  similar  motion. 
They  watched  the  s.'tting  Kun.  How  ninny 
of  us  have  done  the  same  thing,  for  the  like 
purpose  ?  They  saw  certain  bright  stars  first 
making  their  appearance,  n])parently  near  the 
sun,  as  it  sunk  to  rest.  Night  after  night  they 
watched,  and  found  to  their  astonishment  that 
these  broad  groups  of  stats  ware  coming  down- 


liii! 


1  ■.  '■!    ; 


■  *    » 
re  -  M 


'*♦■ 

ii 


120 


ASTUONOMY. 


wiird  rotnopt  tho  «un,  and  ot  every  »UPfe»iii«ive 
•Iftv  llicv  were  ricnrcr  nnil  iirmrr  tlinf  Inmin- 
nry,  'Pin-  huh  \h  hcnviiip  tipwiinl,  Nuiil  tlicy, 
ro  iM'Tt  itii'  Htiir«,  n*  tiny  iiri'  Kiiikiinj  dnwn 
uimIit  till'  liitri/iin  ;  nnil  iiMiiinnrli  tm  tluH  |ilii'- 
iKirmviDii  dill  imf  diUrr  t'niin  ihiit  ofllic  iiniini, 
it  sc  €i'd  till'  lpl(•^^tillIl  lit  orici'  mid  for  ever, 
tlint  iTf '4  iniitiiiti  of  llic  iiiHiiti  niid  tin-  kiiii  wiim 
rciillyiiino  Hi'iiMc  liclonyiim;  to  tln'  lii'iivcMly 
iMidicH  (ittiiiiii;  wliicll  tlicy  n|i|i(iirrd  to  lie  Iti- 
ctltC'I.  Ili'rr,  then,  \V(»m  n  Hrcnnd  i;riiiid  dis- 
co* rrv — iln'  iiinvi  incut  of  tlic  sun. 

Rill  lis  tlicy  ciintiiiui'd  tlii'si'  exniniimtiiHis 
tlicv  Imd  iiccii>ii(m  to  ndVr  tlii'  sun  to  n  vcrv 
briliiniit  lii'iiiitifiil  stiir,  tlmt  wns  foimd  to  lie 
visililr  to  tlii'hi  itftrr  the  sun's  sfttin^.  This 
wns  rcanrdril  iis  ii  (i\ril  star  111110111;  the  rest ; 
lint,  hy  continuous  cxniiiiniitiori.  it  was  foiind 
this  slur  wii^  inov  ins;  downward  to  inrct  the 
sun.  It  did  not  hold  its  pliict' ainiiii'^  tlic  rest. 
What  could  III'  the  iiii'iiniii!.'  of  this  ,'  lie 
who  (irsf  li\cd  hiscyn  ciiiiiprrliiMdiiii;lv  upon 
this  oliji'ct,  how  intt'tisc  must  have  liccn  his 
finotions  I  What  is  this,  hitherto  reiianled  as 
n  fixed  star?  IFe  watches  it  till  tiiiully  it  is 
lost  ill  the  spleiiilor  of  till'  sun.  Wiiat  now? 
It  has  Ix'en  fniiiid  that  all  the  bright  stars 
ninoiii;  which  the  sun  appears,  move  upward 
in  the  east  in  the  mornin;;  just  lufoie  the  sun 
rises.  Mifjlit  it  not  he  that  this  star  will  pass 
hy  the  sun  and  make  its  appearance  in  like 
manner?  M'e  can  imagine  this  inilividual. 
tnomiiiLj  after  morning,  with  iiis  gaze  ttxcd  on 
the  eastern  sky,  watching  the  roappi'arance 
of  his  If\st  star.  At  length  it  is  found:  there 
it  is,  on  the  other  side  of  the  sun ! 

Here,  then,  is  the  first  discovery  ever  made 
of  n  jilaiiet  by  the  human  eye.  Who  dis- 
covered it  ?  Alas !  his  name — his  country,  is 
for  ever  lost.  But  we  know  this  to  have  heen 
the  process.  Having  found  one  of  these 
moving  bodies,  it  was  not  difficult  to  find 
others.  But  it  is  unnecessary  to  go  into  an 
explanation  of  the  manner  in  wliicdi  other 
])lanets  were  discovered,  and  I  will  revert  to 
the  moon.  Up  to  this  time  no  explanations 
of  the  clianges  of  the  moon  were  divined — it 
was  impossible  to  divine  them. 

Another  phenomenon,  more  wonderful,  more 
terrific  than  all,  now  came  to  impress  itself 
upon  the  mind  and  awake  its  eoergies  :  it  was 
the  exhibition  of  a  solar  ccli])se.  No  eye, 
even  at  this  day,  has  ever  gazed  upon  this 
startling  scene  without  experiencing  a  sense 
of  owe  or  fenr.  The  idea  that  the  great 
source  of  light  is  waning — is  dying — is  passing 
away  from  the  heavens,  always  chills  the 
blood  and  fills  the  mind  with  terror.  What, 
then,  must  have  been  the  effect  produced  upon 
the  minds  of  the  early  inhabitants  of  the 
earth  by  this  ])hpnomeiion — while  the  causes 
which  produced  it  were  unknown,  and  it  was 


i?n|Kwsiblc  to  predict  its  cominR — when,  at 
tlie  noon  of  a  mormons  and  siiiiiiv  das .  ii  pre- 
Heiited  itself  (i)  their  lisliiiii-.bed  gil/e  .'  Siindv, 
we  iniiy  iiiiiiniiie  ihiit,  atiir  sueh  a  startling 
plleniillleliiin,  the  iiiosf  jKiwerfiil  ilitelli  etK 
Were  cnnsecriilcd  to  the  iii\f»tiglitioii  of  thin 
mystery. 

Now,  T  shall  venture  to  iittcmpt  an  e\|  iin- 
tion  U>  go  fur  enough  tn  show  to  ymi  liow  i; 
was  that  the  first  lelipse  was  piidirted,  so 
that  Villi  yoiirsidves  can,  with  the  eyi  alone. 
Illlike  (he  reipiisile  observations  ami  iitlaili  siif- 
fliieiit  knowledge  to  be  able  yourxdves  fo 
predict  the  coming  of  su<di  an  event,  TJiis 
may  seem  very  ditlleidt — and  it  i"  iniirvelloiis, 
e\eii  now,  with  all  the  aid  of  tistroiioiiiiial 
tallies,  and  all  the  knowIeilL'e  we  have  derived 
from    the  storied  )m«t.     How  it  could  have 

I II  done  thousands  of  years  a;;o,  when  the 

true  kno\vleili;i'  of  our  svsti  III  dill  not  exist,  is 
most  remarkable  and  eniirily  itiexplicublo. 
Let  us  exaiiiine  into  this  niatter. 

Ill  the  first  place,  the  attentive  eve  marked 
the  fact  that  when  an  eclipse  of  the  sun  oc- 
curred, no  niooii  was  visible.  This  was  a 
very  iiiiportant  point;  and,  aroused  by  the 
discovery  of  this  fact,  they  walchi'd  the 
niiivemeiits  of  the  moon  and  marked  its  posi- 
tion bcllire  the  coming  eidipse.  'J'lio  next 
night  after  the  eidijise  they  found  the  moon 
(dose  to  ih(!  sun — a  silver  crescent,  actuolly 
located  in  such  o  manner  that  if  it  pursued  its 
wonted  nrb't  it  must  have  passed  very  near 
the  sun  at  the  very  time  the  eclipse  took 
place.  The  moon  was  last  seen  on  this  side 
— immediately  after  the  obscuration  it  occu- 
pied the  other  side.  They  joined  these  two 
points,  and  by  the  rate  of  motion  of  the  moon 
calculated  how  long  it  took  for  the  moon  to 
come  up  ti/  a  junction  with  the  sun,  and  it 
was  found  to  be  just  such  as  to  allow  the  moon 
to  come  in  conjunction  with  the  sun  at  the 
very  time  of  the  eclipse.  Hence  they  reached 
the  conclusion  that  the  moon  was  [mssing  be- 
tween the  eye  of  the  observer  and  the  sun, 
and  in  that  manner  the  light  of  the  sun  had 
been  intercepted.  Here  was  an  explanation 
of  the  extraordinary  phenomenon  of  a  solar 
eclipse. 

But  how  was  it  possible  for  them  to  calcu- 
late the  return  of  on  eclipse?  This  will  re- 
(|uii-e  more  attention.  I  beg  you  to  remember 
that  Tve  have  no  history  going  back  sufTiciently 
far  tT  record  this  wonderful  discovery — even 
tradition  knows  nothing  of  it.  We  must  then 
go  back  in  imagination,  and  speculate  con- 
cerning it. 

First,  then,  it  was  remarked  that  the  track 
pursued  by  the  sun  and  the  moon  among  the 
fixed  stars  was  circular.  ■  Now  if  it  were 
possible  for  mo  to  mark  out  the  traok-of  the 
sun  in  the  heavens — if  it  would,  for  our  ac- 


ct  iu  pfitning — when,  «t 
1111  mill  oiiiiiiy  (lii_\  ,  it  jtrr- 
ii-.Iiiiii-.l)iil  liw/v  1  Siirt'ly, 
uit,  iil'tiT  Hiii-li  (I  stiirtlinR 
iiiiHf  |ii)vv('rriil  iiitclli  itn 
till-  iiivisti;iiiliiiii  of  thi« 

iiri'  t(iiitt(rii|it  iiri  i'\\  na- 
il til  mIiiiw  to  vmi  liow  i! 
rrii|)N('   was   pn  ilii  tril,  no 

run,  Willi  till'  I'Vi  iiloiic, 
Ihitviii'idiis  iiikI  nitiiiti  Mil- 
II  lie  nlili-  yoursclvr''  to 
of  Murli  nil  r\('iit.  'riiis 
riilt — n(i<l  it  i"  tiiiirvflloim, 
I  till'  iiiil  of  iisirotioinii'iil 
lowlrili/c  \\v  Iiiivi'  iIiTivi'il 
ist.  How  it  coiilil  liiiv« 
s  of  vciirH  (1^11,  wliiii  tlin 
iir  MVtrlii  iliii  not  exist,  is 
ml  riitirt'ly  iiicxiilicublo. 
I  tliin  timttcr. 

till'  nttiiitivo  I'vo  innrkod 
in  ('('liiisc!  of  tile  sun  oc- 
as vlsililc.  Tlii«  was  a 
It ;  uiiil,  arou.si'il  hy  tlm 
I'adt,  llii'y  waiclii'il  tlin 
loon  anil  niaikcil  its  jiosi- 
iiiii^'  crlipsc.  'J'lic  iif'xt 
isr  tlif'v  found  till'  moon 

silvor  crcspcnt,  ni-tually 
iiniT  tlmt  if  it  jmrsiicil  its 
it  linvo  passed  very  near 
V  time  the  eclipse  took 
was  Inst  seen  on  this  side 

the  obscnrntion  it  occu- 

Tlii'v  joined  these  two 

itG  of  motion  of  the  moon 

it  took  for  the  moon  to 
on  with  the  sun,  and  it 
such  ns  to  nllow  the  mixm 
ion  with  the  sun  at  the 
)se.  Hence  they  reached 
he  moon  was  passing  be- 
lie observer  and  the  snn, 
tin;  lifrht  of  the  sun  had 
Here  was  an  explanation 
'  phenomenon  of  a  solar 

ossible  for  them  to  ralcu- 
i  eclipse  7  This  will  re- 
,  I  bcpyou  to  remember 
iry  goini;  back  sufficiently 
mderful  discovery — even 
inj;  of  it.  We  must  then 
tion,  and  speculate  con- 

3  remarked  that  the  track 
and  the  moon  among  the 
culnr.  -  Now  If  it  were 
nark  out  the  trnokof  the 
—if  it  would,  for  our  ac- 


J?*^* 


ASTRONOMY. 


121 


.(rniinoilation,  leave  a  bmad   belt  enual  in 

liri'iidtli  to  its  diiiiiii't<-r — if  the  moon  iii  like 
muiiner  kIihuIiI  leave  the  mark  of  its  track, 
these  two  liolls  would  not  coincide,  but  would 
rriwd   euili   other   in  two  opposite  points, — - 
These  are  what  nre  enlleil   the  ;  rulin.      Vou 
will   understuiid  what   follows  without  ditli- 
ciilty.     Now,  in  order  that  it  hIiouIiI  be  possi-  I 
liU-   that  the  ei  lipse  should  take  place,  you 
will  reiidily  perceive  tliut  it  was  ner«'ssary, 
not  only  that  the  m.ioti  should  be  in  conjunc-  , 
tion  with  the  sun,  but  it  must  actually  cross 
the  truck  of  the  sun  when  in  conjunction,  in 
order  to  tiiiike  an  eclipse.     The  inixjn  must 
be  in  one  of  these  nodes  or  on  eclipse  can  not  [ 
take  place.  { 

But  ajjain.  it  has  been  already  observed  that 
on  eclipse  can  not  ocinir  except  at  new  moon. 
Coiiiliine  these  two  facts.     If  it  should  so  bap-  i 
])eii  that  the  new  moon  should  come  in  just  at 
the  instant  it  was  ('ros»iii!»  under  the  disk  of  , 
the  sun,  then  would  the  moon  interpose  itself 
between  the  eye  (iiid  the  sun  and  on  eclipse  : 
would  necessariiv  occur.  I 

Now  then,  to  tind  out  that  period:  let  us 
go,  in  iiiiayinatioii  it  you  please,  to  the  top  of 
some  mountain  peak,  where  the  first  ustron-  , 
oilier — iiiiiiuired  tVoni  the  world — carries  on  I 
his  iii!,'litlv  ol)S(  rvalion.     Hi"  hat?  reached  to, 
the  kiii'\vleil;;e  iit  the  fact  that  there  will  lie  i 
nn  eclipse  of  the  sun  if  the  new  moon  occur 
at  the  liiiii.' she  is  in  her  node.     He  uliiady! 
knows  the  liiiie  for  llie  new  moon  to  come  in,  ' 
whicii  is  llxed  and  certain.     He  belitives  he  '. 
can  coiii(iuie  the  tinic  when  the  next  node  i 
will  conic  roiiiiil,  and  to  do  it  he  sei/ea  the  aid  ; 
of  the  moon  to-night.     He  runs  onward  till  ! 
he  tinds  when  the  new  moon  will  appear,  and 
ilist'oveis  that  when  it  comes  round  it  is  not  ' 
in  the  net  of  crossing  the  sun's  path.     He  , 
runs  round  unmlier  cycle  and  finds  again  that 
it  is  not  oil  the  sun's  track.     He  extends  his  | 
investi'iatioiis  still  farther  from  one  lunation 
to  aiiotber — he  liiids  that  the  new  tnoon  ap-  j 
jmmching  neuriT  and  nearer  to  the  desired  i 
jilnce,   till   liimily  it  comes   exactly   to   this 
point.  The  computation  is  marked.  "There,"! 
he  says,  "when  that  day  arrives,  I  announce 
to  the  inliabitants  of  the  world  that  the  sun  , 
shall  lose  its  light."  i 

With  what  anxiety  he  must  have  watched  , 
the  eoiiiiiii;  of  that  day  !  How  slowly  did 
the  revoKiug  moons  pass  by!  At  last  the 
day  arrives — he  retinas  to  his  rocky  summit, 
there  to  await  the  test  of  his  triumph  or  his 
deleat.  The  sun  rises,  bright  and  beautiful 
— it  mounts  the  heavens,  and  scatters  glory 
ill  its  ]iaih.  While  the  mortal  world  below 
are  enaaged  in  the  avocations  of  business  and 
the  p  .  suiis  of  pleasure,  he  is  watching  with 
inii'nsjLjrtixiety  to  know  what  the  result  will 
b.-.     But  ill  the  very  noon  of  the  day  his  tri- 


umph orrivni.    The  sun  heglnt  to  fade — it 

wanes — it  dies!  The  terror-stiicKiii  iiiiHiuns 
below  cry  with  ayoiiy ;  while  this  lone  man, 
on  his  bleak  and  barren  waiili-tower,  with 
out-stretched  arm  olli-rs  his  thanks  totlieCiod 
of  till!  universe  who  has  crowned  liis  tllbrts 
with  succi'ss. 

Hut,  ulas,  for  human  fume !  .Surely  t/iiit 
individual  might  have  hoped  to  believe  that 
he  who  had  first  pnilicted  the  cuining  of  an 
eclipse,  who  had  removed  the  causes  of  ter- 
ror which  this  |ilieiionienon  hud  spreinl  among 
the  inhaliilaiits  of  earth,  should  Imve  bis  name 
engraved  upon  the  tablet  of  Fame  "  with  n 
lieu  of  iron  and  the  point  of  a  diaiiioiid."  Vet 
ills  name,  his  naliou,  is  lost  forever!  No  his- 
tory reaches  so  far  back — no  tiielilion  can  ex- 
tend M  the  point  ol  time  when  he  lived,  or 
wdiere. 

Now,  by  a  most  remarkable  and  wonderful 
arrangement  of  the  lunatiiais,  on  the  return 
of  the  new  moon  it  is  found  that,  at"ter  we 
have  predicted  one  eclijise,  if  we  go  on  and 
record  each  successive  eclipse  for  tlie  jieriod 
of  between  18  and  ]!»  years,  at  the  end  of  the 
I'scle  of  1>'J3  yciirs  they  will  have  run  round 
what  might  be  called  at:  orbit,  and  again  oc- 
cur on  the  same  days.  Hence,  after  they  had 
recorded  eclipses  for  one  such  cycle,  there 
was  no  dilTiculty  in  (jreiliciini;  an  colijise  at 
any  future  time.  The  coincidence,  however, 
is  not  exact.  For,  if  an  eclipse  occurred  (»i 
the  l!»th  I'l  .March,  .3,000  years  ago,  the  suc- 
cession of  the  cycle  may  in  the  course  of  time 
wear  gradually  arouiui  and  ilisii|)|)ear ;  but 
many  years  mu.st  roll  away  before,  on  the  re- 
currence of  the  cycle,  an  r.  lipse  will  not  take 
pi 'ice. 

As  soon  as  it  was  possiide  to  understand 
the  cause  of  the  cidipse  of  the  sum.  the  human 
mind  was  directed  to  tlii?  iuMsti'intion  of  the 
cause  producing un  eclip^,e(!r  the  moon.  This 
was  far  more  ditlicult,  and  for  this  reason  : — 
In  the  ecli])se  of  the  .sun  they  had  watched 
the  c(  ming  up  of  the  moon  to  the  sun,  its 
])nssage  across  the  sun's  disk,  bidieviiig  with- 
out question  that  the  eclipse  was  caused  by 
its  interposition  between  them  and  the  sun, 
and  that  it  occurred  only  at  new  moon.  But 
what  was  to  interpose  itself  lutween  the  be- 
holder onil  the  full  moon  ?  There  seemed  to 
be  nothing  in  the  heavens.  Upon  reflection, 
the  human  mind  bethought  itself  that  i.'very 
liody  which  revolves  in  the  li^Iit  of  another 
luminous  body,  will  cast  a  shiidow  beyond  in 
a  right  lino  with  the  light  itself.  Now  if  the 
earth  is  opaque,  it  might  intercept  the  light 
thrown  upon  it  from  the  sun,  casting  a  shadow 
toward  the  hori/on,  and  might  it  not  be  pro- 
jected far  enough  to  reach  the  moon  itself,  so 
that  the  moon  in  passing  into  the  shadow, 
having  no  light  of  its  own,  would  be  obscured  ? 


'■.:!■] 

I 

hi     i 


tK.p  -.1-     :,    i 


(iS^ 


12« 


ASTRONOMY. 


Here  is  an  explanation  of  the  cause  of  the 
lunar  eclipse,  revealing  to  the  early  astron- 
omers the  fact  that  the  moon  was  not  self- 
luminious. 

Tlie  explanation  of  the  phases  of  the  moon 
is  easy.  If  it  be  o  globe,  or  sjjhere,  and  only 
brilliant  in  C(mse(|uence  of  the  reflection  of  the 
light  from  the  sun,  it  became  necessory  that  [ 
the  illumination  should  always  be  at  the  time 
when  the  moon  and  the  sun  wen;  in  contrary 
positions  relative  to  the  earth.  When  the 
sun  was  setting  and  the  moon  was  compara- 
tively near  the  sun,  ond,  of  course,  between 
the  observer  aiiu  the  sun,  it  w^as  im])ossible 
to  see  the  whole  illuminated  surface  of  the 
moon,  and  hideed  sometimes  almost  none  at 
all.  But  as  the  moon  gradually  receded  from 
the  sun,  night  after  night,  after  a  time  it  cimie 
to  occupy  an  easterly  position,  when  the  light 
of  the  sun  falling  upon  its  surface  was  thrown 
back  at  a  very  acute  angle  upon  the  eye  of 
the  observer," and  the  full  moon  was  present- 
ed. These  changes  were  going  on  from  luna- 
tion to  lunation,  and,  once  observed,  were 
easily  comprehended. 

Willie  the  moon  thus  revealed  to  them  the 
causes  of  the  eclipse  of  the  sun,  and  the  reason 
of  its  own  phases,  it  also  revealed  to  the  early 
astronomers  the  figure  of  our  earth.  How  did 
this  occur?  It  was  found,  when  the  moon 
passed  into  the  shadow  of  the  earth,  that  the 
line  cut  out  on  the  disk  of  the  moon  by  the 
shadow  was  an  arc  of  a  circle,  and  as  it  jiass- 
cd  further  and  further  on,  even  to  the  entire 
obscuration  of  the  moon,  it  still  apjjeared  in 
a  form  nearer  a  comjilete  circle.  Now  it  was 
impossible  that  any  other  than  a  globular  figure 
should  cast  such  a  shadow  upon  the  surface  of 
the  moon.  The  moon,  then,  first  revealed  the 
figure  of  the  earth  upon  which  we  live ;  and, 
strange  to  tell,  that  same  moon,  in  our  ovm 
day,  has  given  us  a  more  perfect  knowledge 
of  the  figure  of  the  earth  than  can  be  derived 
from  any  measurements  with  the  most  ac- 
mrate  nistruments  we  yet  possess. — This 
matter  I  shall  undertake  to  explain  hereafter. 

We  find,  on  running  back  to  past  history, 
that  observations  were  made  upon  the  moon, 
at  Babylon,  2,250  years  before  the  Christian 
era.  And  these  observations,  upon  the  taking 
of  that  city  by  Alexander,  were  said  to  have 
been  presenled  to  Aristotle.  The  truth  of 
this  we  can  not  know  ;  but  one  thing  we  do 
know— that  on  the  19th  of  jNIarch,  2,567  years 
ago,  there  was  an  eclipse  of  the  sun  observed 
and  recorded  in  the  tower  erected  in  that 
mighty  city  :  on  the  8th  of  March  in  the  fol- 
lowing year  there  was  another ;  and  on  the 
4th  of  September  in  the  next  year  there  was 
another.  And  we  know  and  understand  the 
peculiarities  belonging  to  these  anti(iue  obser- 
vations. 


These  are,  perhaps,  among  the  earliest  ob- 
servations— and  of  such  imjiortance  are  they 
in  linking  the  past  with  the  ]u-escnt,  that  but 
for  them  we  would  at  this  time  be  compara- 
tively ignorant  of  the  movements  of  that 
wondrous  orb  which  does  more  for  the  civil- 
ization of  the  world  than  any  other  oni;  thing 
of  wliich  we  have  a  knowledge.  I  pronounce 
this  to  be  true  without  hesitation.  If  it  were 
possible,  now,  to  trace  with  perfect  |)r('(  ision 
the  exact  position  of  the  moon,  we  slionld  ac- 
complish more  for  commerce,  for  science,  for 
civilization,  than  could  be  done  in  any  other 
way.  Why?  Because  then  the  temjiest- 
tossed  mariner  ujion  any  ocean — over  whom 
days  and  weeks  had  passed  without  his  se(!- 
ing  the  sun  or  stars — the  moment  this  silver 
orb  made  its  appearance  again  in  the  heavens, 
woidd  be  able  with  perfect  confidenci!  to  ex- 
claim :  "I  know  exactly  in  what  part  of  the 
globe  I  am  situated  ;  the  smallest  observation 
gives  me  my  latitude,  and  the  jxisition  of  the 
moon  my  longitude."  Hence,  I  say,  it  is  of 
the  utmost  conseijuence  that  we  shoulil  have 
these  old  observations;  for  by  linking  them 
with  those  now  rr.nking,  we  are  al)le  to  ap- 
proximate to  the  accomplishment  of  this  grand 
design  more  fully. 

But  as  we  come  down  through  the  tide  of 
time,  we  find  a  particular  theory  adojited  with 
regard  to  the  whole  system  with  which  we 
are  united — the  old  Greek  theory,  to  which  I 
will  just  advert.  It  located  the  earth  in  the 
centre,  and  made  the  moon  the  neart  st  object, 
and  the  sim  next.  Now  it  happened,  curious- 
ly enough,  that  there  was  oin;  truth  in  the 
theory:  the  moon  did  revolve  about  the  earth. 

\Vlicn  Copernicus  presenteil  his  theory,  and 
transferre^l  the  fixed  centie  to  the  sun,  causing 
the  planets  to  take  proper  position-,  rescuing 
the  earth  from  its  false  position  and  ^ending  it 
revolving  round  the  sun,  the  question  was, 
what  is  to  be  done  with  the  mcwn  ?  There 
seemed  to  be  a  difficulty  here.  The  (juery 
was :  is  the  moon  a  planet  like  the  rest  ? 
Perhaps  many  of  my  audience  have  not 
thought  of  this.  How  many  of  us  have  ask- 
ed ther[uestion — "How  do  we  know  that  the 
moon  revolves  ?"  Because  the  books  tell  us 
so?  We  are  generally  in  the  habit  of  re- 
ceiving facts  in  that  way.  I  do  not  retnem- 
ber  ever  to  have  seen  an  e\planaiion  of  this 
in  any  book.  But  Coiiernicus  reasoned  in 
this  way.  Said  he :  I  do  not  believe  the 
moon  revolves  in  an  orbit  interior  to  the  earth's, 
because  I  find  that  evinces  a  miracle ;  the  moon 
in  that  case  should  never  kiave  the  sun  but  to 
a  limited  distance.  Now  the  moon  does  leave 
the  sun,  and  moves  ofT  till  it  is  directly  oppo- 
site, and  th.en  comes  around  again  up  to  the 
Sim.  I  therefore  say  it  docs  v^t  revolve  in- 
terior to  the  earth's  orbit.     In  the  next  place, 


ps,  nmoiifi  the  rarlicst  ob- 
such  imjiortnnce  art  they 
kvith  the  |)iTscut,  that  l)ut 
nt  this  lime  ho  t'(>in|iiua- 
tho  inovcijK'nts  ol'  ihnt 
ii  (lues  inorc!  for  the  eivil- 
1  thuii  any  other  one  thing 
kiiDwk^ilge.  I  jironoiincc! 
out  hnsitutiim.  If  it  were 
ace  with  ])erfect  ])re(  ision 
f  the  moon,  we  should  ac- 
•omnierce,  for  science,  for 
luld  be  (lone  in  any  other 
cause  then  the  temiiest- 
n  any  ocean — over  whom 
I  inisseil  without  his  see- 

the  moment  this  silver 

ranee  again  in  the  heavens, 
I  perfect  confulenc(!  to  ex- 
xaclly  in  what  part  of  the 
;  the  smallest  observation 
le,  and  the  position  of  the 
."  H('nee,  I  say,  it  is  of 
cnco  that  we  should  have 
ions;  for  by  linking  them 
'king,  we  are  able  to  ap- 
complishment  of  this  grand 

down  through  the  tide  of 
icular  theory  adojjted  with 
c  system  with  which  we 
(rreek  theory,  to  which  I 
It  located  the  earth  in  the 
le  moon  the  nenn  st  object, 
Now  it  happened,  curious- 
ere  was  one  truth  in  the 
id  revolve  about  tho  earth. 
IS  presented  his  theory,  and 
1  ccntie  to  the  sun,  causing 
proper  position-,  r(!scuing 
alse  posit  ion  and  sending  it 
le  pun,  the  question  was, 
!  with  the  moon  ?  There 
fficulty  here.     The  (juery 

a  planet  like  the    rest  ? 

my  audience  ha\e  not 
iow  many  of  us  have  ask- 
How  do  \vc  know  that  the 
Because  the  books  tell  us 
erally  in  the  habit  of  re- 
it  way.  1  do  not  reniem- 
leen  an  e>.i)lanation  of  this 
t  Copernicus  reasoned  in 
le :  I  do  not  believe  the 
orbit  interior  to  the  earth's, 
ivinces  a  miracle ;  the  moon 
never  leave  the  sun  but  to 

Now  the  moon  docs  leave 
i  off  till  it  is  directly  oppo- 
59  around  again  up  to  the 
lay  it  docs  vitt  n^volve  in- 
3  orbit.     In  the  next  place, 


mm 


ASTRONOMY. 


123 


it  does  not  revolve  exterior  to  the  earth's  orbit; 
fori  find  the  motion  of  all  the  plonets  exterior 
to  the  earth,  at  certain  points  of  their  career 
becomes  slow — it  ia  arrested — they  stop — 
retrograde — they  stop  again,  and  tnen  take 
up  their  onward  rnoti(jn.  Now  I  understand 
why  it  is  that  we,  being  on  the  surface  of  a 
circular  globe  must  have  these  changes  ex- 
hibited to  us.  But  the  moon  never  stops 
and  retrogrades — it  is  ever  moving  onward, 
and  therefore  ia  not  exterior  to  the  orbit  of  the 
earth. 

Here  was  a  further  absolute  demonstration. 
It  could  not  be  either  interior  or  exterior — 
therefore  it  was  no  planet  at  all.  Now  the 
phenomena  exhibited  W  the  moon  were  per- 
fectly accounted  for.  K— upon  the  hypothe- 
sis that  you  make  the  earth  its  centre — it  re- 
volves about  the  earth,  it  is  our  satellite,  ever 
accompanying  us  in  all  our  movements. 

But  we  come  down  still  further  in  the  his- 
tory of  our  neighbor.  When  Kepler  discov- 
ered the  two  laws  of  planetary  movements — 
that  they  revolved  in  orbits  not  exactly  cir- 
cular, but  a  little  elongated — elliptical  as  they 
are  called;  when,  in  like  manner,  he  had 
discovered,  by  tracing  them  up,  that  a  line 
drawn  from  the  sun  to  any  of  the  planets  al- 
ways swept  over  equal  areas  of  space  in  equal 
times — and  when,  at  the  end  of  seventeen  long 
years  of  toil,  he  had  also  discovered  his  last 
great  law,  which  linked  all  these  isolated 
planets  into  one  grand  unit,  making  the  sun 
always  the  centre,  it  seemed  that  nothing  more 
remained  to  be  done.  But  immediately  the 
question  arose:  what  holds  these  mighty 
ffllobea  steady  ?  What  power  reaches  out  to 
them  and  prevents  them  from  breaking  from 
their  orbits  and  wandering  away  into  the 
blackness  of  darkness?  The  resolution  of 
this  problem  was  reserved  for  the  imraortd 
Newton.  Kepler  himself  gathered  some  faint 
glimmerings  of  the  great  cause — that  there 
was  a  power  of  attraction  existing  in  bodies, 
mutually  o{)erating  upon  each  other ;  but  he 
did  not  attain  to  the  demonstration  of  this  fact. 
This  was  reserved  for  that  great  man  to  whom 
we  owe  our  knowledge  of  the  laws  of  attrac- 
tion. 

Here,  if  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  attempt 
to  explain  the  manner  in  which  Newton  con- 
ducted the  argument  which  led  him  to  the 
grand  result.  I  am  confident  that  although 
there  are  many  hero  who  have  given  com- 
pararively  little  attention  to  astronomical  sci- 
ence, they  will  be  able  to  follow  me  readily 
in  this  explanation.  Newton  began  where 
Kepler  left  off.  The  latter  announced  that 
bodies  were  attracted  to  each  other,  and  by  a 
force  which  he  believed  decreased  according 
to  a  certain  fixed  law :  and  it  was  to  prove 
this  that  Newton  made  his  investigations. 


In  the  first  place,  he  announced  this  as  a  law, 
according  to  his  belief:  that  everybody  at- 
tracts every  other  body  by  a  force  which 
varies  inversely  as  the  square  of  the  distance. 
If  a  body  be  locoted  at  a  distance  one,  the 
force  of  its  attraction  we  will  pall  one.  Now 
remove  this  body  as  far  again  to  a  distance 
two,  and  the  attractive  power  will  be  one 
fourth — at  a  distance  three,  one  ninth,  and  at 
a  distance  four,  one  sixteenth  ;  and  you  can 
carry  out  the  law  to  any  distance. 

Now,  to  prove  the  truth  of  this  law  was  the 
question.  In  the  first  ]ilace,  it  is  manifest 
that,  whatever  be  the  law  of  attraction,  it  will 
be  clearly  and  positively  determined  by  the 
amount  of  velocity  it  is  capable  of  impressing 
upon  a  falling  body.  This  is  intelligible  to 
all.  If  from  this  point  I  let  fall  any  object 
toward  the  earth's  surface,  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  force  of  attraction  suppose  it  fell 
sixteen  feet  in  the  first  second  of  time — this 
sixteen  feet  will  measure  the  force  of  attrac- 
tion at  the  earth's  surface.  If  it  were  possi- 
ble to  go  4,000  miles  high,  and  from  that 
point,  as  remote  from  the  surface  of  the  earth 
as  ray  first  station  at  the  surface  was  distant 
from  the  centre,  and  then  drop  a  body,  meas- 
ure the  sjjace  through  which  it  falls,  and  find 
it  to  be  one  fourth  of  sixteen  feet  in  a  second, 
this  would  be  j)roof  that  the  law  was  true. 
But  suppose  I  rise  still  higher,  12,000  miles 
above  the  centre  of  the  earth,  and  there  find 
the  space  through  which  this  body  falls  ia  a 
ninth  part  of  sixteen  feet  in  a  second — here  is 
another  confirmation  of  the  law,  An(l  if,  as 
I  increase  my  distance  every  time  by  the 
radius  of  the  earth's  circumference,  I  fin^  the 
same  law  holds  true,  I  pronounce,  without 
hesitarion,  that  this  is  the  law  of  attraction. 

But  I  can  not  rise  in  this  way,  to  a  distance 
of  twelve,  eight,  or  four  thousand  miles.  Yet 
may  I  not  carry  my  observations  to  a  certain 
height  ?  Yes ;  but  to  such  a  comparatively 
small  distance  that  the  diflference  wll  be  in- 
appreciable. A  las,  for  the  person  who  under- 
takes the  experiment!  such  is  the  minute 
difllerence,  even  when  he  has  attained  the 
greatest  height  ever  attained  by  man,  it  can 
not  be  appreciated. 

What  then  was  to  be  done  ?  No  one  could 
ascend  above  the  earth  to  perform  these  ex- 
periments. But  the  mighty  intellect  of  New- 
ton stretched  still  further,  and  our  old  friend, 
the  moon,  was  brought  in  to  play  the  part  of 
this  falling  body!  What!  do  you  ask — is 
the  moon  falling  toward  the  earth,  and  does 
Newton  seize  it  and  stop  it,  and  then  com- 
pute with  what  velocity  it  should  come  tow- 
ard its  central  planet  ?  No :  This  is  not  pos- 
sible. But,  let  me  explain.  Here  is  the 
moon : — now  let  us  start  with  the  moon  when 
it  was  first  projected  in  its  orbit.     Under  the 


9 


■•ft*^M 


^1; 


•tufi 


124 


THE  OUAEDIAN  ANGEL. 


action  of  the  impulsive  force  it  would  have 
moved  off  in  n  straight  line,  with  a  certain 
determined  velocity,  which  we  can  measure. 
If  this  iniiiulse  had  not  been  ^iven  to  it,  ond 
it  had  been  left  free  in  space,  it  would  have 
dropped  toward  the  centre  of  the  earth  with 
a  certain  velocity,  which  we  can  also  measure. 
Now,  under  the  action  of  these  two  forces,  it 
does  not  obey  either  of  them,  but  takes  a  di- 
rection intermediate  between  the  two,  and 
swings  in  a  curve  about  the  earth.  And  here 
is  the  stated  point :  if,  under  the  action  of  an 
impulsive  force,  it  would  in  a  second  of  time 
reach  that  point  in  a  straight  line,  under  the 
attraction  of  the  earth  it  is  drawn  down,  and 
the  amount  by  which  it  is  drawn  dovyn  is  the 
amount  through  which  it  falls  during  that 
second  of  time.  _  _ 

One  more  grand  point  is  to  be  accomplish- 
ed, and  wo  are  through.  First :  inasmuch  as 
the  moon  is  falling,  it  is  necessary  to  note  how 
much  it  falls.  That  is  easily  measured  :  all 
we  have  to  do  is  to  remark  the  amount  of 
declension  from  a  straight  line  which  it  would 
have  pursued  in  a  second  of  time.  A  straight 
line  is  easily  measured,  and  gives  the  value 
of  the  distance  through  which  a  body  located 
at  the  moon  will  fall  toward  the  earth  in  one 
second. 

Now  the  grand  point  is  whether  that 
distance  is  what  it  ought  to  fall,  under  the 
hypothesis  of  the  law  of  gravitation.  When 
Newton  undertook  this  investigation  he  was 
not  provided  wth  accurate  data.  It  \yas  easy 
to  compute  how  far  a  body  should  fall  in  r  ^ 
second  of  time — every  person  can  do  that 
Only«follow  this  law,  beginning  with  16  feet 
a  second  at  a  surface  of  the  earth,  or  at  the 
length  of  the  earth's  radius.  .lust  sf|uare  the 
distance,  which  wll  be  successively  2,  4,  9, 
16,  and  so  on,  till  at  the  distance  of  the  moon, 
or  60  times  the  length  of  the  earth's  radius, 
it  ^vill  be  3,600.  Since  this  computation  was 
so  easy,  all  that  was  necessary  was  to  measure 
the  space  through  which  the  moon  did  fall, 
and  if  they  Avcre  equal,  then  of  course  the 
demonstration  jvos  made. 

Yet,  alas  for  the  toil  of  the  philosopher ! 
His  data  were  incorrect,  ond  for  seventeen 
years  did  he  goad  his  mind  to  the  subject, 
toiling  day  and  night  to  make  this  coincidence 
perfect,  but  it  would  not  rgree  ;  so  he  threw 
his  laborious  computations  away  in  despair. 

But,  in  attending  a  meeting  of  the  Roj'al 
society  in  London,  he  happened  to  catch  the 
sound  of  the  voice  of  an  individual  who  was 
talking  about  a  recent  measurement  of  the  cir- 
cumference of  the  earth.  That  was  the  prin- 
cipal element  entering  into  the  computation. 
The  new  measurement  differed  from  the  old. 
Here,  thought  ho,  may  be  the  source  of  my 
error.     He  takes  down  his  old  computations, 


and  substitutes  the  new  measurement  of  the 
diameter  of  our  globe,  which  makes  a  differ- 
ence in  the  pro|X)rfional  distance  to  the  moon. 
The  result  he  anticipates  is  coming  out.  But 
his  nervous  system  sinks  beneath  the  intense 
excitement— he  yielded  up  the  comj)utation 
to  a  friend,  for  he  could  not  make  it  himself. 
The  coincidence  was  perfect — the  grand  dem- 
onstration was  made — the  law  of  gravitation 
was  proved.  At  last  he  had  grasped  the  key 
to  the  mysteries  of  the  universe,  and  held  it 
with  a  giant  hand. 


THE  GUARDIAN  ANGEL. 

"Take  heed  that  ye  despise  not  one  of  these  littie  ones ; 
for  I  say  unto  you,  that  in  hoavcn  their  nnpels  do  always 
behold  the  face  of  my  Father  which  ia  in  heaven," 

8t.  Matthew,  xvili.  10. 

The  engraving  opposite  shows  the  Guardi- 
an Angel  guiding  the  footsteps  of  the  trustful 
child.  Grimeaux,  the  painter,  has  taken  for 
his  subject  the  two  beautiful  passages  in  the 
ninety-first  psalm : — 

"  For  he  shall  give  his  angelo  charge  over  thee,  to 
keep  thee  in  all  thy  ways ;  ,    ,        1 

"  Tbey  shall  bear  thee  up  in  their  bands  lest  thou 
dash  thy  foot  against  a  stone." 

The  old  masters,  who,  like  the  German  ar- 
tists cf  the  present  day,  drew  their  best  in- 
spirations from  the  Scriptures,  never  perhaps, 
embodied  a  more  beautiful  idea  than  that  ot 
the  Guardian  Angel.     A  little  Gennancsque 
it  might  be,  but  what  really  great  efibrt  is  un- 
tinged  by  nationality  ?      The  picture,  taken 
as  a  whole,  is  a  fine  moral  poem,  and  full  of 
mcanins;  in  every  line.     The  dangers  of  life 
are  typified  by  the  dark  sea  which  lies  on 
each  side  of  the  rarrow  neck  of  land  down 
which  the  child  is  being  guided  by  the  Angel. 
The  brink  of  the  precipice  on  either  hand  is 
hidden  by  flowers,  which  represent  the  delu- 
sive pleasures  of  the  world.     The  angel,  from 
behind,  like  a  mother  waiting  upon  the  trem- 
bling feet  of  an  infant,  with  careful  palms, 
watches,  lest  he  should  swerve  from  the  nar- 
row path.     She  does  not  touch  him— to  his 
own  free  will  his  footsteps  are  left,  until  his 
inherent  helplessness   calls  forth  the  gentle 
guidance  of  her  hands.     Her  white  wings 
curve  around  as  though  doubly  to  assure  the 
child,  for  does  it  not  say  in  the  psalm — 

"  He  shall  cover  thee  with  his  feathers,  and  under 
his  wings  shalt  thou  trust"  7 

The  face  of  the  angel  is  very  fine.  Anni- 
bal  Caracci,  whose  ijngels,  "  with  hair  blowji 
back,"  reach  the  highest  point  of   spiritual 


f^' 


~!g.^  -,  -n»p^s*j«s!fe-*;*':v;?s^SfeS^%^^*ftt^»i 


the  tiew  tncQsnrcmpnt  of  the 
globe,  which  makes  a  iliffcr- 
ortionnl  distance  to  the  moon, 
iticipates  is  coming  out.  But 
cm  sinks  beneath  the  intense 
yielded  up  the  comi)utation 
le  could  not  make  it  himself, 
i  was  perfect — the  grand  dcm- 
nadc — the  law  of  gravitation 
tt  last  he  had  grasped  the  key 
i  of  the  Tiniverse,  and  held  it 
ad. 


3UARDIAN  ANGEL. 

ye  despise  not  one  of  these  little  ones ; 
that  in  lieavon  tlieir  nnpels  do  alwuys 
my  Father  which  is  in  heaven." 

St.  Matthew,  xvlii.  10. 

ng  opposite  shows  the  Guardi- 
ig  the  footsteps  of  the  trustful 
.ux,  the  painter,  has  taken  for 
two  beautiful  passages  in  the 
Im:— 

give  hi«  angelB  charge  over  thee,  to 
liy  ways ;  J 

car  thee  up  in  their  bonds  lest  thou 
iiist  a  Btone." 

Iters,  who,  like  the  German  ar- 
escnt  day,  drew  their  best  in- 
1  the  Scriptures,  never  perhaps, 
)re  beautiful  idea  than  that  ot 
Angel.     A  little  Gennanesque 
It  what  really  great  eflbrt  is  un- 
ionality  ?      The  picture,  taken 
a  fine  moral  poem,  and  full  of 
ery  line.     Vhe  dangers  of  life 
ly  the  dark  sea  which  lies  on 
;he  parrow  neck  of  land  down 
d  is  being  guided  by  the  Angel, 
the  precipice  on  either  hand  is 
/ers,  which  represent  the  delu- 
of  the  world.     The  angel,  from 
mother  waiting  upon  the  trem- 
an  infant,  with  careful  palms, 
he  should  swerve  from  the  nar- 
he  does  not  touch  him — to  his 
his  footsteps  are  left,  until  his 
lessness   calls  forth  the  gentle 
her  hands.     Her  white  wings 
as  though  doubly  to  assure  the 
i  it  not  say  in  the  psalm — 

ircr  thee  with  his  feathers,  and  under 
tliou  tru»t"  1 

F  the  angel  is  very  fine.  Anni- 
vhose  ^ngels,  "with  hair  blown 
.  the  highest  point  of   spiritual 


I 


The  Guardian  Angel. 


urn 


i-    i 


l^ftt'l' 


^^i^^^^-dSi^B 


126 


DIAMONDS. 


fet'ling,  never  painlcil  a  more  bcuutiful  oiip. 
IJut  (Icscriiiliou  is  dull  when  employctl  upon 
such  a  picture ;  we  hiivebcer  vainly  otrninj)!- 
ing  to  paint  with  the  pc  tvnat  the  rciider 
can  understand  at  one  glance  by  looking  at 
the  engraving.  Both  in  idea  and  in  execu- 
tion it  is  a  work  of  high  ait — of  on  artwhic^h 
addresses  itself  to  the  breadth  and  depth  of 
human  feeling  rather  than  to  the  narrow  edge 
of  conventioualiBin,  however  refined. 


DIAMONDS. 

The  diamond  is  a  mineral  body  of  great 
value  and  hardness,  first  discovered  in  Asia. 
The  primitive  fonn  of  this  precious  stone  is 
the  regular  octoedron,  each  triangular  facet 
of  which  is  sometimes  replaced  by  six  secon- 
dary triangles,  boimded  by  curved  lines ;  so 
that  the  crystal  becomes  spheroidal,  and  then 
presents  forty-eight  small  facets.  These  two 
peculiar  characteristics  of  the  diamond  are 
exhibited  in  the  subjoined  figures. 


Many  stones  when  rubbed  exhibit  very 
distinct  electrical  clFects.and  they  will  attract 
or  repel  light  bodies  which  are  brought  mto 
their  neighborhood.  The  diamond,  when  ex- 
cited, exhibits  positive  electricity ;  wliereas, 
the  other  precious  stones,  if  rough,  uflord 
ncative  electricity.  In  general,  however,  it 
does  not  retain  this  electricity  for  any  consid- 
erable length  of  time. 

Diamonds  become  phosphorescent,  when 
exposed  to  the  rays  of  the  sun.  Many  of 
them,  however,  do  not  possess  this  property, 
although  agreeing,  in  color,  form,  and  trans- 
parency, with  those  which  readily  become 
luminous.  The  continuance  of  the  phospho- 
rescence varies  from  five  or  six  seconds  to  a 
full  hour,  and  this  even  when  the  stone  has 
not  been  exirosed  more  than  a  few  seconds  to 
the  rays  of^  the  sun.  It  is  i)hosphorescent 
under  water,  as  well  as  in  the  air.  The  dia- 
mond, v/hen  exposed  to  the  blue  rays  of  the 
prism,  becomes  phosjAinresccnt ;  but  when 
exiMjsed  to  the  red  ra;  s  is  noc  so.  The  spark 
from  a  charged  jar  produces  the  same  effect  as 


I  exposure  to  the  sun's  rays.     Exposure  tn  the 
'  light  of  a  WDX-candle  also  produces  i)hospho- 
rescencc. 

Diamonds  are  found  chieflv  in  the  king- 
doms of  Oolcondii,  Visa]H)ur,  Bengal,  the  isl- 
and of  Borneo,  and  Brazil.  The  mines  are 
generally  adjticeiit  to  nicky  hills  and  mount- 
ains, and  sometimes  the  diamonds  are  fonnd 
scattered  in  the  earth,  within  two  or  three 
fathoms  of  the  surface.  In  other  jilaces,  the 
miners  dig  through  rocks  to  the  depth  of  for- 
ty or  fifty  fathoms,  till  they  come  to  a  sort  of 
mineral  earth  in  which  they  find  the  diamonds 
enclosed.  This  earth  is  sometimes  of  a  yel- 
lowish, and  sometimes  of  a  reddish  color,  and 
adheres  to  the  stone  so  strongly,  that  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  get  it  oH".  A  sufficfent  (luantity  of 
this  earth  being  dug  out  of  the  mine,  it  is 
thrown  into  a  cistern  of  water,  where,  having 
soaked  for  some  time,  it  is  stirred  about  till 
the  clods  are  broken,  ond  the  gravelly  mat- 
ter sinks  to  the  bottom.  After  this  a  vent  is 
opened,  and  the  cistern  snpjilied  with  clean 
water,  till  all  the  earthy  substance  is  washed 
awav,  and  nothing  but  gravel  remains.  What 
thus'  settles  at  the  bottom  is  spread  to  dry  in 
the  sun,  then  sifted,  and  afterward  carefully 
searched  with  the  hands  to  find  out  the  dia- 
monds, at  which  the  workmen  are  so  expert, 
that  the  most  minute  bit  of  a  stone  can  hardly 
escape  them.  It  sometimes  happens,  how- 
ever, that  the  earth  is  so  fixed  about  the  dia- 
monds, that,  before  thev  are  rubbed  on  a 
rough  stone  with  sand,  their  transparency  can 
not  be  discovereiJ. 

In  the  kingdom  of  Golconda,  or  in  that  of 
Visapour  according  to  some  maps,   are   the 
miney  of  Raolconda,  which  have  been  discov- 
ered above  two  hundred  years.     The  earth 
here  is  sandy,  and  full  of  rocks ;  and  in  these 
rocks  are  fonnd  several  little  veins,  half  an 
inch  or  an  inch  broad,  out  of  which  the  mi- 
ners,  with  hooked  irons,  draw  the  sand  or 
earth  that  contair.s  the  diamonds,  breaking 
the  rock  when  the  vein  terminates,  thot  the 
track  may  be  easily  found  again  and  continu- 
ed.     To  separate  the   diamonds  from  tlii^ 
earth,  it  undergoes  several  washings  and  oth- 
er operations,  as  we  have  already  observed. 
Tlie  miners  are  obliged  to  work  almost  naked, 
and  have  likewise  inspectors  to  prevent  their 
concealing  the  diamonds  ;  which  yet,  notwith- 
standing all  this  care,  they  sometimes  find 
opportunities  of  doing.     Tavemicr  says,  he 
saw  one  detected  who  had  put  a  small  stone 
into  the  comer  of  his  eye  ;  but  swallowing  a 
diamond  is  a  surer  and  more  usual  method 
among  them.    If  the  miners  meet  with   a 
stone  of  fifteen  or  sixteen  carats,  they  are  al- 
lowed  a  reward,  besides  their  usual  pay, 
which  is  very  little.     Tlic  king  has  two  per 
cent,  for  all  the  diamonds  that  are  sold ;  and 


DIAMONDS. 


127 


I's  rnvs.     Exposure  to  the 
lie  also  produces  i)hortpho- 

ounil  chi(>fl^'  in  tTie  king- 
Visa])()nr,  iBciignl,  the  isl- 
d  Brazil.  The  mines  are 
to  roeky  hills  ond  monnt- 
ps  the  dioinonds  arc  fonnd 
nrth,  within  two  or  three 
face.  In  other  places,  the 
I  rocks  to  the  depth  of  for- 
,  till  they  come  to  a  sort  of 
hioh  they  find  the  dinmonrls 
irth  is  sometimes  of  a  yel- 
mes  of  a  reddish  color,  and 
le  so  stronjilv,  that  it  is  dif- 
r.  A  sutficfent  <iuantity  of 
lug  ont  of  the  mine,  it  is 
•rn  of  water,  where,  having 
ime,  it  is  stirred  about  till 
ten,  and  the  gravelly  mat- 
rttom.  After  this  a  vent  is 
cistern  supplied  with  clean 
earthy  substance  is  washed 
but  gravel  remains.  What 
f;  bottom  is  spread  to  dry  in 
'd,  and  afterward  carefully 
hands  to  find  ont  the  dia- 
the  workmen  are  so  expert, 
lite  bit  of  a  stone  can  hardly 
sometimes  happens,  how- 
th  is  so  fixed  about  the  dia- 
ire  thev  are  rubbed  on  a 
sand,  their  transparency  can 

of  Golconda,  or  in  that  of 
ng  to  some  maps,  are  the 
da,  which  have  been  discov- 
lundrcd  years.  The  earth 
1  full  of  rocks ;  and  in  these 
several  little  veins,  half  an 
Odd,  out  of  which  the  mi- 
ni irons,  draw  the  sand  or 
ii-.3  the  diamonds,  breaking 
le  vein  terminates,  that  the 
ily  found  again  and  continu- 
te  the  diamonds  from  thh 
!s  several  washings  and  oth- 
we  have  already  observed, 
bliged  to  work  almost  naked, 
B  inspectors  to  prevent  their 
imonds  ;  which  yet,  notwith- 

care,  they  sometimes  find 
doing,     llivemier  says,  he 

who  had  put  a  small  stone 
'  his  eye  ;  but  swallowing  a 
rer  and  more  usual  method 
f  the  miners  meet  with  a 
ir  sixteen  carats,  they  are  al- 
I,  besides  their  usual  pay, 
tie.  Tlie  king  has  two  per 
liamorids  that  are  sold ;  and 


also  a  duty  from  the  merchants,  according  to 
the  nuinl)er  of  hands  employed  in  digging. 

Tlu-re  ore  other  mines  at  Gani,  or  CouTour, 
in  the  kingdom  of  Golconda,  where  they  find 
diamonds  from  ten  to  forty  carets  and  upward ; 
l>ut  those  are  not  very  clear,  their  water  be- 
ing usually  tinged  with  the  color  of  the  soil, 
which  in  some  places  is  yellowish,  in  others 
b'nck  and  moist,  and  in  others  reddish.  An- 
other defect  of  some  conse(iuence,  is  a  kind  of 
greasiness  appearing  on  the  diamond  when 
cut,  which  takes  oH'  part  of  its  lustre.  Here 
the  miners  usually  dig  to  the  <l(']ith  of  twelve 
feet,  or  till  they  find  water,  which  prevents 
their  going  further.  The  earth  is  carried 
from  the  mine  by  women  and  children  into  u 
neighboring  enclosure,  where  it  is  washed, 
and  then  dried  and  sifted.  According  to  Ta- 
veniier,  there  are  generally  sixty  thousand 
jjersons  (men,  women,  and  children)  employ- 
ed in  the  mines  of  Coulour ;  they  work  al- 
most naked  like  the  miners  of  Raolconda, 
mill  arc  watched  in  the  same  manner  by  in- 
spectors. 

A  great  number  of  diamonds  are  found 
near  Soumelpour,  a  large  town  in  Bengal,  sit- 
uated on  the  river  Goual.  From  this  river, 
all  our  fine  diamond-points,  or  s])arks,  called 
natural  sparks,  are  brought,  where  they 
search  for  them  after  the  great  rains  are  over 
— that  is,  after  the  month  of  Decemoer.  At 
that  season,  when  the  water  is  clear,  eight  or 
ten  thousand  persons,  of  all  ages,  come  out 
of  Soumelpour  and  the  neighboring  \nllages, 
and  examine  the  sand  of  the  river,  going  up 
it  to  the  very  mountain  whence  it  springs. 
After  this  examination,  they  proceed  to  take 
up  the  sand  wherein  they  judge  diamonds  are 
likely  to  be  found ;  and  this  is  performed  in 
the  h)llowing  manner :  Hoving  made  a  dam 
round  the  place  with  earth,  stones,  fascines, 
&c.,  the  river  being  then  very  low,  they  lade 
out  the  water,  and  dig  about  two  foi.'t  deep, 
carrying  the  sand  into  a  place  walled  round 
on  the  bank  of  the  river,  where  the  ))roccss 
is  much  the  same  as  at  the  mines  almvemen- 
tioned,  and  the  workmen  are  watched  with 
equal  strictness.  As  to  ihe  diamonds  of  the 
island  of  Borneo,  they  are  foiin<l  in  the  sand 
of  the  river  Succadan,  or  Succadano,  and 
perhaps  in  some  other  parts  of  the  island, 
with  which  we  are  little  acffuainted. 

The  provinces  in  Brazil,  knowni  to  possess 
diamonds,  arc  Minas  Geraes,  Minas  Novas, 
Goyaz,  and  iNIatto  Grosso ;  but  it  is  supposed 
that  several  of  the  other  provinces  are  fur- 
nished \vith  these  highly-prized  gems.  The 
ditnnonds  found  in  Minas  Geraes  are  general- 
ly the  largest,  but  they  are  not  of  the  purest 
water.  The  most  celebrated  diamond  mines 
iuBrazil  are  those  of  Serrado  Frio,  which  are 
also  known  by  the  name  of  the  Arrayal  Dia- 


mantino,  or  diamond  district,  properly  so  cull- 
ed. These  mines  were  not  actually  discijv- 
ered  tintil  the  gnvrrntnent  of  Dom.  Lorinco 
d'Almeida,  although  the  diamondswere  known 
to  have  been  in  the  jiossession  of  the  negroes, 
who  met  with  them  accidentally  while  em- 
ployed in  gold-washing,  and  other  j)ersons  ig- 
norant of  their  value,  long  before  tnat  period. 
Thoy  were  first  taken  from  Brazil  to  Lisbon 
in  17128,  by  Bernardo  da  Silva  Lobo.  He 
siiowed  them  to  the  Dutch  rersident  consul, 
who  recognised  them  as  diamonds,  and  in- 
formed him  of  his  important  discovery.  This 
district  is  surrounded  by  almost  inaccessible 
rocks,  and  v  formerly  guarded  with  so 
much  \igilance  that  not  even  the  governor  of 
the  province  had  the  liberty  of  entering  it 
without  the  special  permission  of  the  director 
of  the  mines. 

The  mines  are  wrought  by  accumulating 
the  cascalhao,  a  kind  of  ferruginous  earth  (in 
which  the  diamonds  are  found  mixed  with 
flints),  and  washing  it.  The  former  opera- 
tion is  performed  iluring  the  hot  season,  at  a 
time  wlien  the  beds  of  the  rivers  and  torrents 
are  dry,  and  the  diamond-sand  can  be  easily 
extracted.  When  the  wet  season  arrives,  the 
ojicration  of  washing  commences.  It  is  per- 
formed in  the  open  air,  and  frequently  under 
sheds,  where  the  action  of  the  sun  is  least 
likely  to  injure  the  health  of  the  negroes.  At 
the  bottom  of  the  shed  glides  a  small  stream, 
which  occupies  one  of  its  sides.  Seats,  rais- 
ed, and  without  Isicks,  are  arranged  along  the 
shed,  in  such  a  manner  that  the  subaltern  of- 
ficers (feltors)  are  enaljlcd  to  watch  thenegiocs 
at  work.  One  feltor  superintends  eight  ne- 
groes. Each  negro  works  in  a  conii)artmcnt 
of  the  shed,  separated  or  walled  oil',  as  it 
were,  from  the  others.  The  cascalhao  to  be 
cxomined  is  jilaced  in  troughs  close  to  the 
stream,  and  the  negroes  are  introduced  entire- 
ly naked,  excepting  in  time  of  extreme  cold, 
when  they  arc  allowed  a  kind  of  waistcoat, 
but  without  either  pockets  or  lining.  They 
are  furnished  with  an  alavanca,  a  kind  of 
handspike,  by  means  of  which  they  separate 
the  earth  from  the  flint,  and  then,  taking  the 
largest  stones  in  their  hands,  they  proceed  to 
search  for  the  diamonds.  Notwithstanding 
the  jirecaution  of  making  the  negroes  work 
naked,  robberies  of  diamonds  are  of  fre(]ucnt 
occurrence.  When  a  negro  discovers  a  dia- 
mond, having  first  shown  it  to  the  feltor,  he 
depositcs  it  in  a  large  wooden  vessel  suspend- 
ed in  the  middle  of  the  shed.  If  any  negro 
is  fortunate  enough  to  discover  a  diamond 
weighing  seventeen  carats,  he  is  purchased  by 
the  government,  and  receives  his  liberty. 
The  discovery  of  a  stone  of  less  weight  also 
confprs  liberty  up<jn  the  finder,  but  with  some 
restrictions.     Various  premiums  are  distribu- 


m 


'■%M'> 


mim 


ii 


tnd.  npconliiiij  tf>  tliR  vnlue  of  iJie  stone,  even 
toil  pinch  of  tolmcco.  Notwitlistniidiii!.'  <'V- 
erv  imuirinntilp  precaution,  negroes  tinrl  nieinirt 
to  niirloin  dirimonils,  which  they  ili.-«|M)S(!  of  to 
sinn(j!:li-rH  (coiitralmmlistiix)  ni  a  very  low 
()rico.  The  liittor  (lis|M)se  of  them  chielly  at 
Tiinrn  and  Villo  do  Princi[>(.>.  They  obtain 
a  higher  price  ot  tlie  hitter,  l)ecause  their 
ri^ks  are  jreater  in  transportiuD:  them  thither. 
The  neirroes  frei|neiitly  (contrive  to  im[)o.se 
upon  the  contrabandistus,  as  they  have  the 
ir.euns,  by  some  simple  process,  of  (living 
crystals  the  npi)earance  of  rou^h  diamonds, 
so  ns  etVecually  to  d<M-eive  them.  Fonnerly 
there  were  as  many  as  thirty  thousand  ne- 
1,-i'ops  employed  in  the  mines,  but  the  number 
employed  at  a  later  day  did  not  exceed  twen- 
ty thonsand. 

Tile  diamonds  dilTer  greatly  in  size.  There 
are  some  so  small  that  twer.tv  would  scarcely 
make  n  carnt.  It  is  mrely  that,  in  the  course 
of  a  year,  more  than  two  or  three  ore  found 
weighing  from  sevcTitccn  to  twenty  carats ; 
and  two  years  may  pass  without  discovering 
one  of  the  wejghtof  thirty  carats. 

Tlie  administration  of  the  diamond  mines 
is  regulated  by  a  law  iif  1771.  Down  to  the 
ilate  of  this  law,  the  right  of  working  the 
iliamnnd  mines  was  farmed  out ;  but,  from 
that  period,  the  government  has  taken  it  into 
its  owr.  hands,  and  they  are  all  under  the  su- 
])erintcndenco  of  a  Iward.  The  crown  re- 
ceives ojie  fifth  of  the  total  value. 

To  bring  diamonds  to  that  p|.5rfection  in 
whiih  their  beauty  consists,  the  diamond-cut- 
ters begin  by  nibbing  two  rough  diamonds 
against  each  other,  after  having  well  cement- 
ed them  to  the  ends  of  two  blocks,  called 
cutting-sticks,  thick  enough  to  be  held  in  the 
hand.  By  this  means  they  rub  otF  the  dull 
outer  cnist,  and  reduce  them  to  form,  in  order 
to  their  being  jxilished  ;  and  this  powder,  thus 
nibbe<l  oir,  and  received  in  a  little  box,  serves 
to  polish  the  stones.  Diamonds  are  polished 
})y  means  of  a  mill,  which  turns  a  wheel  of 
cast  inin,  smeared  with  diamond-dust,  mixed 
with  oil  of  olives.  This  wheel  moves  hori- 
zontallv ;  and  l)efore  the  diamonds  are  applied 
to  it,  they  are  solilered  into  pieces  of  metal 
prejiared  for  that  purpose.  But  diamonds 
are  more  ex|>pdirioi)sly  divided,  by  finding 
tV.e  grain  of  the  stone,  as  it  is  called  ;  that  is, 
the  disiwsition  of  the  laminas  or  plates  of 
which  it  iscomjjosed,  and  intnxlucinir  between 
ihem  the  point  of  a  tine  chisel.  When  this 
is  properly  done,  a  stone  will  split  as  evenly 
as  a  piece  of  tnlc,  and  give  two  diamonds  or 
more,  if  the  thickness  will  allow  it,  of  the 
same  breadth  or  surface  with  the  original  one. 
The  sj)litting  of  a  diamond  sometimes  answers 
another  enil,  whe.i  the  stone  has  a  flaw  or 
blemish  in  it,  which  greatly  debases  its  value ; 


proper 


for,    by  separating  tlip   plates  ot  a 
depth,  tilt'  lliiw  miiy  In-  rcnifivcd. 

'JMie  diumonils  cliosoti  for  cutting  gluss  nn 
al!  crvstulli/ed.  The  fuccs  arc  curved,  and 
hence  the  meeting  of  any  two  of  them  pri'- 
scnts  a  curvilinear  ediie.  If  the  diainoiid  1h> 
so  placid  that  the  lini;  of  the  intended  cut  i< 
a  tangent  to  this  edge  near  its  extremity,  and 
if  the  two  surfaces  of  the  diamond  laieriillv 
adjacent,  be  etpiallv  inclined  to  the  surfoce  of 
the  glass,  then  the  conditions  necessary  for 
etVecting  the  cut  are  complied  with.  In  adili- 
tion  to  the  cutting  and  engraving  of  glass,  the 
diamond  has  l>een  very  advantageously  em- 
ployed in  drawing  minute  lines  on  the  surface 
of  steel,  by  which  nil  of  the  beautifully- 
variegated  tints  of  the  roinlMiw  may  be  pro- 
duced- 

As  on  article  of  commerce,  the  value  of 
diamonds  is  measured  by  various  circumstan- 
ces, among  which  ore  their  size,  form,  weight, 
color,  purity,  and  cutting.  In  the  diamon<l» 
which  have  been  polished,  the  mast  valuable 
arc  the  limpid,  which  command  a  price  twice 
as  great  as  those  that  are  tainted  with  blue, 
gray,  black,  yellow,  or  vitrous  8]K)t3.  The 
(juality  of  diamonds,  in  reference  to  their  pu- 
rity and  transparency,  is  described  by  the 
terms  the  first,  second,  and  third  water.  The 
first  are  those  which  are  of  the  utmost  clear- 
ness, ond  free  from  any  fault ;  the  secontl  ore 
marretl  by  dark  spots  or  flaws ;  and  the  third 
are  of  the  least  value,  being  tinged  with  yel- 
low, brown,  green,  blue,  or  blackish  flaws. 
Nor  is  the  cutting  of  the  diamon<l  of  less  im- 
portance than  its  qualhy,  for  this  is  regulated 
by  its  form.  The  proportion  of  the  height  to 
tfie  circumference  of  the  diamond,  and  the 
regular  order  of  the  sides,  tending  to  increase 
its  brilliancy,  governs,  in  some  measure,  its 
value.  Hence  the  brilliant  is  of  greater  val- 
ue than  the  rose-diamond,  and  the  rose-dia- 
mond than  the  table-stone.  Although  the 
value  of  the  diflferent  species  ot  the  diamond 
is  regulated  by  certain  fixed  rules  known  to 
jewellers,  still  it  is  depending  so  much  on  va- 
rying circumstances,  tnot  no  permonent  valu- 
ation can  be  established  for  the  ditlerent  sorts. 
It  appears,  however,  that  they  advance  in  a 
geometrical  ratio  according  to  their  form. 

The  dilTorent  forms  in  which  diamonds  are 
cut  by  the  Dutcli  and  English,  and  thus  va- 
rying in  value  according  to  their  size  and 
quolity,  are  familiar  to  all  who  are  conversavit 
with  our  jewellers'  shops.  The  form  most 
calculated  for  lustre  is  the  brilliant. 

The  rose-diamond  that  is  usually  cut  from 
the  gem  which  is  too  thin  to  be  cut  into  o 
brilliant  without  much  loss,  has  only  a  crown, 
and  is  formed  of  e([uilateTal  triangles.  It  is 
composed  of  two  rows  of  three-sided  facets. 
Fragments  of  rose-diamonds  which  are  very 


S3U 


the   |)lnte9  at  a   proper 
,'  \)v  rcmiivfil. 
Dson  for  cuitiii;;  glass  nrc  I 
lio  I'lK't's  ore  (Mirvrd,  riml 
i(f'  oiiy  two  of  them  |>vf- 
i^ilue.     If  th«  fiiiuiiotut  l>»> 
Jii!  of  the  iiitPiiiliMi  cut  is 
re  near  its  extremity,  nnij 
of  tho  dintnoiid  hiterjiliy 
inclined  to  the  snrfnee  of 
cimditions  necessary   for 
I  complied  with.     In  addi- 
nd  enn^aving  f)f  gliiss.  the  i 
very  ndvantagconsly  em- 
ninnte  lines  on  the  surface 
I    ftU  of   the    benutifully- 
the  rainlwiw  may  be  pro- 
commerce,  the  value  of 
pd  hy  various  circumstan-  | 
re  thoir  size,  fonn,  weight,  I 
uttiuc;.     In  the  diamonds  ; 
)lishe<l,  the  mast  vnlnable  j 
ch  command  a  price  twice  j 
lat  ore  tainted  with  blue,  ' 
',  or  vitrous  8]X)ts.      The  j 
i,  in  reference  to  their  pu-  | 
iicy,  is  described   by  the 
ind,  and  third  water.'  The 
h  are  of  the  utmost  clear- 
any  fault ;  the  second  ore  ' 
Its  or  flaws ;  and  the  third  i 
ue,  being  tinged  with  yel- 
,  blue,  or  blackish  flaws. 
A  the  diamond  of  less  im- 
lalhy,  for  this  is  regulated 
proportion  of  the  height  to 
of  the  diamond,  and  the 
s  sides,  tending  to  increase 
irns,  in  some  measure,  its 
brilliant  is  of  greater  val- 
iamond,  and  the  rose-dia- 
ble-stone.     Although  the 
•nt  species  of  the  diamond 
tain  fixed   rules  known  to 
depending  so  much  on  va- 
9,  that  no  pennnnent  vulu- 
shed  for  the  dirt'ercnt  sorts. 
•r,  that  they  advance  in  a 
jeording  to  their  form, 
ms  ia  which  diamonds  are 
and  English,  and  thus  va- 
cording  to  their  size  and 
r  to  all  who  ere  conversant 
'  shops.     The  fonn  most 
8  is  the  brilliant, 
id  that  is  usually  cut  from 
too  thin  to  be  cut  into  o 
uch  lo3s,  has  only  a  crown, 
([uilateral  triangles.     It  is 
ows  of  three-sided  facets, 
■diamonds  which  are  very 


DIAMONDS. 


129 


small  are  sometimes  seen,  and  also  small  roses 
fur  ear-ikops. 

The  table-diamond  is  a  flat  gem,  without 
much  depth  or  lustre.  It  is  usuolly  cut  into 
a  table,  with  four  jilanes  and  eight  facets. 

Peculiar  care  is  nvpiired  in  tho  cutting  of 
gems  depending  upon  their  fonn  and  color,  in 
order  to  exhibit  their  beauty  with  the  greotest 
eirect. 

The  step,  or  pavilion  cut,  is  especially 
adajited  to  colored  gems,  as  the  light  is  re- 
flected by  this  form  in  the  highest  degree. 

The  mixed  facet-cut  is  compounded  of  the 
brilliant  and  pavilion  cuts,  the  first  of  which 
is  on  the  crown,  and  it  contributes  greatly  to 
increase  the  lustre. 

The  elongated  brilliant  facet-cut  is  some- 
times used  in  the  cutting  of  stones. 

The  table-cut,  appropriate  for  sealsfones,  is 
mmjiosod  of  an  uneven  and  conchoi<lal  table, 
surrounded  by  one  or  two  circular  rows  of 
facets. 

The  df)ub1e  facet-cut  has  a  crown  compo- 
sed of  two  rows  of  facets,  with  a  collet  of  a 
pavilion  fonn,  and  is  well  adapted  to  conceal 
any  fla^\'S  or  fissures  in  the  stone. 

The  cabochon-cut  is  cither  flat,  convex,  or 
double-convex,  that  is,  arched  ;  it  may  be  on 
both  sides,  or  only  on  one.  This  cut  is  par- 
ticularly ap])li(;able  for  semi-transparent  gems, 
or  those  which  disj)lay  their  peculiar  colors, 
such  as  the  ojial,  moonstone,  &c.,  or  collect 
the  light  in  a  small  space,  on  one  or  several 
jiarts,  according  to  the  convexity  they  have 
received.  The  cabochon-cut  may  have  one, 
two,  or  more  rows  of  facets,  and  opaque 
stones  receive  with  advantage  the  facets  over 
the  whole  surface.  Ganiets,  for  instance, 
which  are  generally  of  a  dark  color,  are  cut 
en  cabocJwn,  the  lower  plane  excavated  in  a 
circular  form,  and  the  u|)per  plane  all  around 
with  facets.  Other  gems,  the  interior  faults 
of,  which  can  not  be  concealed,  may  be  im- 
proved by  this  cut,  giving  them  more  trans- 
I)arencv,  vividness  of  color,  and  a  greater  de- 
gree of  fire. 

As  allusion  has  been  made  to  the  great 
value  of  diamonds,  it  may  be  mentioned  that 
at  a  very  extensive  sale  of  gems  made  in 
London,  during  the  year  1837,  there  were 
sold  an  amount  to  the  value  of  nearly  two 
hundred  and  thirty  thousand  dollars.  Among 
these  there  were  a  pair  of  ear-rings,  formerly 
the  property  of  Queen  Charlotte,  which  pro- 
duced fifty-five  thousand  dollars  ;  a  sapphire, 
set  with  brilliants,  two  thousand,  four  hundred 
and  sixty-five  dollars ;  brilliant  drops,  which 
were  stated  to  have  formerly  belonged  to 
Marie  Antoinette,  eight  thousand,  eight  hun- 
dred and  seventy-five;  a  Turkish  dagger, 
mouuted  with  brilliants  and  rubies,  oold  for 
four  thousand  dollars ;    and  the  celebrated 


Nassauck  diamond  was  purchased  at  thirty- 
six  thousand. 

It  may  be  jiroper  here  to  notice  the  princi- 
])al  diamonds  which  arc  now  knowni  to  exist 
in  Europe.  A  diamond  in  the  jx^session  of 
the  grand-mogul,  is  in  form  and  si,  like  half 
a  hen's  egg.  Its  weight  is  two  Inuidrod  and 
ninety-seven  and  three  sixteenths  carets.  It 
is  cut  in  a  rose  form,  is  perfectly  limpid,  and 
it  is  valued  at  eight  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
A  diamond  found  upon  the  island  of  Borneo, 
was  formerly  in  the  possession  of  tho  rajah  of 
Mattan.  I'his  is  of  an  egg  form,  and  of  the 
first  water.  It  weighs  three  hundred  and 
sixty-seven  carats.  A  diamond,  formerly  be- 
longing to  the  sultan  of  Persia,  about  the 
size  of  a  pigeon's  egg,  was  purchased  by  the 
empercss  Catharine  for  about  four  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and  an  annuity  of 
twenty  thousand.  One  weighing  a  hundred 
and  thirty-eight  and  a  half  carats  is  in  the 
treasury  of  Rio  Janeiro;  and  a  single  gem  is 
jiossessed  by  the  Austrian  crown,  which  is 
valued  at  half  a  million  of  dollars.  The  fa- 
mous regent  or  Pitt  diamond,  which  was  pur- 
chased by  Mr.  Pitt,  when  govemor  of  Ben- 
coolen,  in  Sumatra,  and  by  him  sold  to  the 
regent  duke  of  Orleans,  who  placed  it  among 
the  crown-jewels  of  France,  was  valued  by  a 
commission  of  jewellers,  in  1791,  at  over  two 
millions  of  dollars.  Another  diamond,  be- 
longing to  the  crown  of  Franco,  is  in  tho 
form  of  a  pear.  It  is  cut  as  a  double  rose- 
diamond,  and  was  purchased  for  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  Among  the  crown-jewels 
of  France  there  is  one  diamond  of  a  sky-blue, 
and  valued  at  five  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
dollars.  A  rough  one  in  the  possession  of  the 
prince-regent  of  Portugal,  is  said  to  weigh  an 
ounce  troy. 

Two  large  diamonds  belong  to  the  Turkish 
crown,  one  of  which  is  valued  at  about  one 
hundred  and  eighty  thousand  dollars;  and 
one  was  discovered  in  Brazil,  in  1780,  which 
is  now  at  Rio  Janeiro,  weighing  seventy-two 
carats  and  three  fourths  grains.  Another 
was  found  at  the  same  place,  weighing  sev- 
enty carats.  It  is  said  that  the  largest  dia- 
mond known  in  the  world,  is  now  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  king  of  Portugal.  It  is  in  its 
rough  state,  being  the  size  of  a  pigeon's  egg, 
and  has  been  valued  at  the  enormous  sum  of 
two  hundred  and  eighty  millions  of  dollars, 
although  it  is  the  opinion  of  many  jewellers 
that  it  is  a  white  topaz. 

A  brief  description  of  the  crown-jewels  of 
Victoria,  the  reigning  queen  of  England,  may 
perhaps  here  be  interebting.  The  croviTi  it- 
self weighs  about  three  pounds,  and  is  com- 
posed of  hoops  of  silver,  enclosing  a  cap  of 
blue  velvet.  These  hoops  are  studded  with 
precious  stones ;  and  upon  the  crown  is  a  ball. 


'■I  ■':,  *  . .; 


m 


-S&H 


^•' 


130 


NIGHT.— THE  SOLAR  SYSTEM. 


set  also  with  precious  stones,  and  surmounted 
with  brilliunts  in  the  form  of  a  Mahese  cross. 
The  rim  is  flowered  witii  3Ialtcse  crosses  and 
the  ficurs-de-Us.  In  the  centre  of  the  lur^^e 
Maltese  cri).ss  is  a  s|ilenilid  sap)>hire,  and  m 
front  is  the  immense  ruby  once  worn  by  Ed- 
ward the  black  prince.  Numt^rous  otlier 
precious  stones,  rubies,  pearls,  and  emeralds, 
arc  intenninglfd  with  these  gems  down  to  the 
rim,  which  is  formed  of  ermine.  The  follow- 
ing is  the  estimated  value : — 

Twenty  diamonds  roand  the  circle,  t7,S00 

each $150,000 

Two  largo  centre  diuuiond^i,  $10,000  each  SO,OOU 
Fifty-fuar  ernullcr  diamonds,  placed  at  the 

angles  of  the  former  ....    500 

Four  crosaoK,  eaoh  composed  of  twenty-tive 

diamonds 60,000 

Four  diamonds  on  the  tops  of  the  crosses  800,000 
Eigliteun  dinniuiids  contained  in  the  lleurs- 

dells 50,000 

Eighteen  smaller  diamonds,  in  the  same  10,000 

Pearls,  diamonds,  &c.,  ou  the  arclies  and 

crosses         50,000 

Oao  liundrud  and  forty-one  diamonds  on  the 

mound 3,500 

Twent^'il:r  diamonds  on  the  apper  cross  15.000 

Two  circles  of  pearls  about  ibe  rim  ■         4.000 


$563,000 


NIGHT. 

'Tis  night — solemn  nicht ;  the  broad  eye 
of  day  has  closed,  and  all  its  joyous  sights  and 
sounds  have  departed ;  a  majestic  gloom  broods 
over  all  things;  night  has  wrapped  in  her  ob- 
livious mantle,  the  golden  glories  of  day's 
bright  ruler,  and  naught  breaks  the  fearful 
contrast,  save  the  twinkling  of  some  far-oir 
star,  whose  feeble  rays  remind  us  that  light 
has  been. 

And  yet  the  ni^ht  is  not  wholly  unlovely, 
or  unloved ;  for  when  the  day  is  past,  meili- 
tation  delights  to  pursue  her  task  'ncath  her 
shadowing  wine.  When  are  the  woijds  more 
solemn,  than  when  darkness  broods  over  the 
green  foliage,  or  the  night  winds  in  fitful  gusts 
sway  the  outspreading  branches  of  the  fores'; 
trees  ?  It  is  such  a  time  as  this  that  suits  the 
spirit  that  has  drunk  deeply  of  the  cup  of  suf- 
fering, and  these  gloomy  sights  and  solemn 
sounds  are  sweeter  than  music  to  the  ear 
which  has  been  satiated  with  the  fulsome  and 
unmeaning  adulation  of  a  false  world,  and  the 
mind  finds  even  in  the  forest's  gloom,  and  the 
wailing  sound  of  the  hoarse  night  wind,  some- 
thing in  unison  with  the  sombre  thoughts  that 
are  dwelling  within. 

The  thoughts,  too,  at  such  a  season,  are 
not  drawn  aside  by  the  multitude  of  objects 
which  bright  day  presents,  but  the  mind  is 
turned  in  upon  itself — its  own  acts  are  the 


objects  of  scrutiny,  the  cn.;)ti  's  which  lurk 
deep  in  the  recesses  of  the  «  il  are  brought 
under  strict  view,  passion  is  cooled,  reason 
triumphs,  and  thought,  foi  the  moment,  is 
supreme. 

Night  is  the  season  for  examination;  the 
acts  of  the  ilay  then  present  themselves  be- 
fore tlie  mind  for  judgment ;  ranscience  stamps 
its  a])proval  or  condemnation  on  every  action, 
and  by  its  impartial  voice  we  are  taught  to 
imi)rove  the  future  by  the  follies  and  errors 
of  the  past. 

Night  is  the  time  for  devotion ;  the  solemn 
sky,  with  its  gleaming  fires,  and  the  awful 
silence  which  prevails,  j)ress  holy  feelings  on 
the  soul — feelings  which  bid  man  bow  and 
humbly  worship;  for  at  such  seasons  the 
world  is  shut  cnit,  and  man,  cut  oil  from  the 
thron|»  of  his  fellows,  stands  alone  with  God. 
How  important  then  that  sin  should  be  con- 
fessed, jiardon  sought,  and  the  conscience 
cleansed  ere  sleep  be  invited. 

Night  is  the  time  for  music's  soft  strain ; 
its  notes  breaking  on  the  stillness  which  reigns 
around,  seem  like  the  voices  of  far-olF  angels, 
and  every  pulsation  of  the  heart  is  in  unison 
with  the  song.  The  mind,  too,  is  then  better 
suited  to  the  reception  of  holy  impressions, 
and  oft  at  such  seasons  we  seem  borne  away 
from  earth,  and  stand  with  the  heavenly 
harpers  near  the  eternal  throne. 

Let  us,  then,  ever  improve  its  pensive 
gloom,  and  its  solemn  .silence — let  music  swell, 
let  nrayer  arise,  let  thought  bo  free  to  range 
in  the  extended  empire  which  God  has  given 
it,  and  we  shall  have  abundant  reason  to  bless 
Qod  for  the  night. 


THE  SOLAR  SYSTEM. 

If  the  younger  portion  of  our  readers  will 
commit  to  memory  the  following  lines,  they 
will  ever  after  have  a  correct  idea  of  the  ar- 
rangement of  our  solar  system.  It  will  fix  it 
in  the  memory  like  the  length  of  the  months 
by  tho  old  "thirty  days  hath  Sej)tember,"&c. 

"  Poised  in  the  centre  hangs  the  glorious  Sun, 
Hound  which  the  rapid  Mercury  doth  ran  ; 
Next,  in  due  order,  Vcnwi  wheels  her  tlishl. 
And  then  the  Earth,  and  Moon,  her  satellite; 
Next  fiery  Mart  pursues  his  ronnd  career  ; 
Beyond,  the  circling  AiCeroids  appear ; 
The  beUjMl  Jupiter  remoter  flies, 
With  his  four  moons  attendant  thro'  the  skies ; 
Tho  belt-ringed  Saturn  roams  more  distant  still. 
With  seven  sw:fl;  moons  he  dolh  his  circuit  fill  j 
While  with  six  satellites,  that  round  him  roll, 
Uranut  slowly  circumvolvea  the  whole. 
But  far  beyond,  nnscanned  by  mortal  eye, 
In  widening  spheres,  bright  suns  and  systems  lie, 
Circling  in  measureless  infinity  I 
Pause  o'er  the  mighty  scents,  O  man !  and  raise 
Your  feeble  voice  to  the  Ckbatok's  praise  t" 


M: 


the  en.nt:  ^8  which  lark 
i  of  the  m  il  arc  brought 
passion  is  cooled,  reason 
ight,  fu<  tho  inuinent,  is 

son  for  examination ;  the 
n  present  tlieinselves  bo- 
lament;  ranscience  stamps 
einnation  on  every  action, 
il  voice  wc  are  taught  to 
by  the  follies  and  errors 

for  devotion ;  the  soicmn 
ling  fires,  and  the  awful 
ils,  press  holy  fef  lings  on 
ivliicli  bid  man  bow  nnd 
fur  at  such  seasons  the 
md  man,  cut  oti  from  the 
3,  stands  alone  with  God. 
n  that  sin  should  be  con- 
ght,  and  the  conscience 
e  invited. 
)  for  music's  soft  strain; 

I  the  stillness  which  reigns 
ic  voices  of  far-i)ir  angels, 
of  the  heart  is  in  unison 
B  mind,  too,  is  then  better 
ition  of  holy  impressions, 
)ns  wc  seem  borne  away 
and  with  the  heovenly 
rnal  throne. 

k-cr  improve  its  pensive 

II  silence — let  music  swell, 
thought  bo  free  to  range 

)ire  which  God  has  given 
:  abundant  rcoisou  tu  bless 


-AR  SYSTEM. 

•rtion  of  our  readers  will 
the  following  lines,  they 
a  correct  idea  of  the  ar- 
lar  system.  It  will  fix  it 
the  length  of  the  months 
ays  hath  September,"  dec. 

Iianffa  the  glorious  Sun, 
ipid  Mercury  doth  ran  j 

Venun  wheels  her  flight, 
1,  and  Moon,  her  satellite ; 
rsaes  hia  roond  career ; 
5  Aiieroids  appear  j 
remoter  flies, 

8  attendant  thro'  the  skie* ; 
turn  roams  innre  distant  still, 
lonns  he  doth  his  circuit  fill ; 
sllitcs,  that  ronod  him  roll, 
amvolvea  the  whole, 
icanned  hy  mortal  eye, 
«,  bright  suns  and  systems  lie, 
less  infinity ! 

ity  scen«s,  O  man  f  and  ruise 
>  the  Ckiatoh's  praise  I" 


ANCIBNT  WINEPaESS. 


131 


In  Syria,  the  vintage  begins  about 
tho  miifdlc  of  September,  and  contin- 
ues for  about  two  months.  It  is  earlier 
in  Palestine,  where  the  grapes  are 
sometimes  ripe  even  in  June  or  July ; 
this  arises  probably  from  a  triple  pru- 
ning, in  which  case  there  is  also  a  third 
vintage.  The  first  is  in  August,  the 
second  in  September,  and  the  third  in 
October. 

Joyous,  indeed,  was  the  season  when 
the  grapes  were  plucked  off,  and  car- 
ried to  the  wine-press,  which  was  built 
in  the  vineyard,  whose  site  was  care- 
fully chosen  in  fields  of  u  Wse,  crum- 
bling soil,  on  a  rich  plain,  a  sloping  hill, 
rising  with  a  gentle  ascent,  or,  where 
the  acclivity  was  very  steep,  in  terra- 
ces turned  as  much  as  possible  from  the 
setting  sun.  The  wine-presses  were 
either  built  of  stone,  or  hewm  out  of  a 
large  rock.  The  grapes  were  thrown 
into  the  upper  part,  to  be  trodden  by 
men,  and  tht;  juice  flowed  out  into  re- 
ceptacles beiinath,  as  appears  from  the 
engraving.  The  treading  of  the  wine- 
press was  laborious,  but  it  was  per- 
formed with  singing,  and  sometimes  ac- 
companied with  musical  instruments. 

Oil  of  olives  was  expressed  in  the 
same  way,  before  the  invention  of  milk. 
The  existence  of  this  practice  in  Pales- 
tine, is  evident,  from  the  language  of 


m 

ifMflJUsfli 

i    •    \       I 
1       r 

'^    4  ■   f 


I 


'^»«^:t 


i^hi^M^ 


^%m  i 


138 


8HAKKU8  OF  NEW  LEBANON. 


Moses :  "  I^et  Ashcr  dip  his  foot  in  oil ;"  and 
from  the  threatening,  "  Thou  shalt  sow,  but 
thou  shalt  not  reap  ;  tliou  shall  tread  the  ol- 
ives, but  thou  shalt  not  anoint  thee  with  oil ; 
and  sweet  wine,  but  shalt  not  drink  wine," 
Micoh  vi.  15. 

To  the  custom  of  treading  grapes  and  olives, 
reference  is  frecjuently  made  by  the  inspired 
writers.  Thus  the  glorious  conqueror,  who 
appeared  in  vision  to  Isaiah,  said,  "I  have 
trodden  the  wine-press  alone ;  and  of  the  peo- 
ple there  was  none  with  me:  fori  will  tread 
them  in  mine  anger,  and  trample  them  in  my 
fury;  and  their  blaxl  shall  be  sprinkled  on 
my  garments,  and  I  will  stain  all  my  raiment," 
Isiiiuh  Ixiii.  3.  As  the  clothes  of  the  treaders 
were  sprinkled  with  the  juice  of  the  grapes, 
so  were  the  garments  of  the  Redeemer  with 
the  bl(K)d  of  his  enemies,  who  were  as  easily 
and  completely  crushed  bv  his  almighty  pow- 
er, as  are  the  full  ripe  clusters  of  the  vine, 
beneath  the  feet  of  men.  The  same  figure  is 
employed  in  the  book  of  Revelation,  xiv. 
1 8-20,  to  express  the  fearful  destruction  which 
awaits  the  adversaries  of  God  and  of  man. 


SHAKERS  OF  NEW  LEBANON. 


■*!? 

m 


Perhaps  there  is  no  sect  whose  principles 

ond  forms  have  been  so  misrepresented,  and 

so  little   understood   by  the  worid,  as  the 

people  called  shakers.     "We  have  no  doubt 

our  readers  will  be  interested  in  reading  a 

description  of  a  Sunday  passed,  in  the  green 

Inp  of  New  Lebanon,  at  the  oldest  and  richest 

establishment  of  that  most  singular  ppople,  in 

this  country.     There,   in  the  midst  of  that 

sweet  circle  of  picturesque  and  verdant  hills, 

two  extremesof  modem  life  have  nestled  down; 

fashionable    society  around    the    "springs," 

which  suggest  at  least,  if  they  do  not  exactly 

afford,  physical  health   and  comfort,  and  a 

couple  of  miles  off,  that  sober  company  of 

separatists  around  what  they  deem  "  springs 

of  living  water,  welling  up  to  everlasting  life." 

They  are  associationists  m  their  way,  which 

truly  is  a  most  negative  and  inverse  way  to 

one  who  is  a  believer  in  the  passions,  as  the 

essential  springs  of  all  good  energy  in  man, 

fed  from  the  fountain  of  Divine  love;  but, 

they  illustrate   some  of  the   advantages  of 

combination,  and  we  were  moved  to  seek  a 

lesson  from  them. 

Their  industry  we  could  not  see,  it  being 
Sunday,  but  tliere  was  a  chance  for  us  to 
spell  out  something  of  their  life-ideal  from  the 
strange  symbols  of  their  worship.  Passing 
their  highly-cultivated  gardens,  and  their 
neat,  plain  dwellings,  we  came  to  the  meeting- 


house, a  spicious  and  (jnaint  structure,  which 
had  yet  a  Certain  architectural  beauty  of  its 
own.     I>y  its  lead-colored,  semi-cylindrical 
long  roof,  and  its  starched  air  of  neatness,  it 
resembled  a  meek  quoker  bonnet,  while  the 
details  of  doors  and  windows  and  green  blinds 
were  groceful  and  appropriate.     Yet  use  and 
plainness  evidently  were  the  only  presiding 
canons  of  their  art.     The  side  on  which  we 
entered,  was  filled  from  end  to  end  with  curi- 
ous spectators  like  ourselves,  though  few  of 
them  W8  fancy,  regarded   the  matter  in  so 
serious  a  mcxHi  as  wo  did.     Upon  the  other 
side,  across  the  8j>  icious,  smooth  floor,  gleam- 
ing like  a  sheet  oi    etter  paper,  and  so  clean 
that  not  a  speck  was  visible  upon  it,  we  caught 
the  full  ensemble  of  the  worshipiiers,  ranged 
on  benches  running  hblf  across  the  room- 
benches  without  backs — sitting  demure,  their 
hands  upon  their  knees,  rows  of  men  opposite 
to  rows  of  women,     llie  first  glimpse  of  the 
latter  startled  us  like  a  scene  in  the  tombs ; — 
they  looked  so  much  like  white  and  sheeted 
ghosts,   in  their  death-like  linen    caps  and 
facial  bandages  and  robes  that  hung  so  straight 
and  close  to  the  gaunt  figures;  old  and  yoiing 
alike  reduced  to  the  sKmo  pattern,  of  which 
the  ideal  seemed  the  extinction  of  any  most 
remote  suggestion  of  beauty.     The  men  and 
boys  in  their  old-mannish   uniform  looked 
generally  hale  and  cheerful,   vith  a  shrewd 
twinkle 'in  the  eye,  despite  a  placid  and  sub- 
missive manner.     Most  of  them  were  gentle 
and  mechonical  looking  persons ;  but  here  and 
there  was  one  more  imposing  and  ambitious 
looking  figure,  who  seemed  as  if  he  should 
have  passions,  and  whose  existence  amid  that 
monotonous,  tame  life  we  could  not  so  readily 
account  for.     But  the  women  were  a  sad 
sight ;  on  them  falls  the  heaviest  penalty  of 
this  dear-bought  and  unnatural  peace.     The 
gravity  of  the  ficene  was  certainly  impressive. 
Assuming  that  a  life  which  satisfies  so  many 
and  so  long,  and  which  has  so  succeeded  in 
an  outward  way,  could  not  have  nothins  at 
the  core  of  it,  and  that  the  inner  sense  of  their 
peculiarities  must  form  a  consistent  whole  of 
some  sort,  we  gave  respectful  and  studious  at- 
tention to  the  exercises  which  rnw  opened. 

An  aged  voice,  proceeding  somewhere  from 
the  centre  of  the  worshippers  (we  could  not 
see  the  person),  congrotulated  them  upon  the 
return  of  their  sweet  privilege  of  worshipping 
God  after  their  own  monner  and  understand- 
ing. This  was  simply  ond  briefly  said,  and 
in  a  tone  not  cold  nor  formal,  but  quite  hu- 
man. Then  by  a  simultaneous  movement 
(whence  communicated  we  could  not  tell), 
they  were  all  on  their  feet  at  once,  and  began 
to  j)ile  away  the  benches  in  their  respective 
comers,  male  and  female,  to  make  on  open 
area  for  what  was  to  follow,  and  stood  waiting 


8HAKKH9  OK  NKW  LEBANON. 


133 


n<\  nnaint  stninturp,  which 
irchitpcturol  bcnuty  of  its 
l-colorcil,  somi-cyhwlricnl 
itarched  air  of  ncafness,  it 
quaker  bonnet,  whilo  the 

winilows  and  crcen  blinds 
appropriate.  Yet  use  and 
'  were  the  only  presiding 
.  The  side  on  which  wo 
from  end  to  end  with  curi- 
•  ouwelvcs,  though  few  of 
ogarded   the  matter  in  so 

wo  did.  Upon  the  other 
(•ious,  wnooth  floor,  gleain- 

etter  paper,  and  bo  clean 
3  visible  upon  it,  we  caught 
f  the  worshippers,  ranged 
ig  half  across  the  room — 
icks — sitting  demure,  their 
necs,  rows  of  men  opposite 
ITie  first  glimpse  of  the 
ke  a  scene  in  the  tombs ; — 
ch  like  white  and  sheeted 
ieath-like  linen  caps  and 
1  robes  that  hung  so  straight 
,unt  figures ;  old  and  young 
iie  ^Mime  pattern,  of  which 
he  extinction  of  any  most 

of  beauty.  The  men  and 
l-mannish  uniform  looked 
d  cheerful,  vith  a  shrewd 
:,  despite  a  placid  and  sub- 
Most  of  them  were  gentle 
)king  persons ;  but  here  and 
ire  imposing  and  ambitious 
10  seemed  as  if  ho  should 
I  whose  existence  amid  that 
life  we  could  not  so  readily 
it  the  women  were  a  sad 
lis  the  heaviest  penalty  of 
md  unnatural  pence.  The 
le  was  certainly  impressive, 
ife  which  satisfies  so  many 
which  has  so  succeeded  in 

could  not  have  nothina  at 
that  the  inner  sense  of  their 
t  form  a  consistent  whole  of 
e  respectful  and  studious  at- 
rcises  which  riow  opened, 
proceeding  somewhere  from 
worihippers  (we  could  not 
ongratulated  them  upon  the 
eet  privjlogo  of  worshipping 
vn  manner  and  understand- 
imply  and  briefly  said,  and 
1  nor  formal,  but  quite  hu- 

a  simultaneous  movement 
nicated  we  could  not  tell), 
their  feet  at  once,  and  began 

benches  in  their  respective 
1  female,  to  make  an  open 
s  to  follow,  and  stood  waiting 


ia  thoir  cross  rows  ufjnin.     Aiidilertlien  stop, 
pcd   forward   ami  adclrisM-d   the    mMiiulc.r-i, 
rfs|)ccirully  ri'questing  tlii'in  to  alutuin  from 
talkiim,  luughinj:,  und  ollu'r  inlcrruptionH,  and 
eHpcciuliy  settiiij;  forth  tliiir  law  of  licnnruifss 
which  iiii<l  bciii  grossly  outrnged  on  the  pre- 
viou.i  Sunday,  by  some  low,  loliaceo-gpitting 
visiters,  who"had  come  to  siii'crniid  tie  amused. 
The  lesson  was  tiiiuly  niid  ini|ircssivc,  and 
judginj;  from  the  entiri'  cthec  it  took  u|>oii  the 
crowd  we  should  say  thut  soiiie  of  tin  in  could 
not  have  attended  chuii^ii  to  better  jmrpose. 
Wo  should  not  wonder  if  wmie  careless  hearts 
had  the  idea  of  outward  imrilieation  seriously 
engraved  upon  them  there,  for  the  first  time 
perhai)s  in  their  lives.     The  speaker  said  ho 
was  aware  that  their  customs  were  singular, 
naturuUv  causing  astonishment  and  even  ridi- 
cule in  Those  who  could  not  understand  them 
as  they  did  ;  but  he  gently  reminded  them  of 
the  respect  due  to  their  peculiarities,  to  which 
they  had  a  perfect  right.     Indeed,  they  all 
evinced  a  perfect  sane  consciousness  of  their 
relative  position  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  which 
they  did  not  sufler  to  disturb  them.     The 
most  singular  thing  about  their  singularities, 
was  the  absence  of  oil  fanatical  into:dcotion. 
In  the  songs  and  dances  which  ensued,  wo 
sawnothingof  that  violence  and  phrensy  which 
have  been  reported  of  them;   all  was  mod- 
erate, deliberate,  and  self-possessed ;  no  dis- 
tortions, whiriings  round  on  tijitoe,  groans,  or 
frantic  shouts.     The  spirit  did  not  seem  to 
wrestle  with  then,  but  to  descend  upon  them 
8oothin"ly ;  and  we  were  convinced  that  the 
spirit  of  their  system  is  subdued  and  (luiot  and 
that  if  such  thmgs  ever  occur  as  above  hinted 
they  are  only  exceptional. 

First  came  a  spiritual  hymn  or  chant,  sung 
standing,  to  a  very  homely",  humdrum,  secular 
I  sort  of  a  tune,  with  a  brisk,  jig-like  motion, 
'  It  was  sung  in  unison,  all  the  voices  on  one 
l)art,  from  grulFest  base  to  shrillest  treble; 
"the  very  pluiiujst,  baldest  thing  that  could  be 
called  music  having  a  rhythm  and  a  melody, 
but  rigorously  rejecting  all  unnecessary  wealth 
and  coloring  of  harmony.     The  close  of  every 
song  was   marked   by  unisonous,  sepulchral 
lengthening   out    of    the  last   note.      There 
rei<Tiied  the  same  neatness  and  correctness  in 
this  performance,  as  in  their  costume  and  their 
clean  floor ;  no  false  notes  or  slips  of  time. 
It  was  music   emptied  of  the  sentiment  of 
beauty,  of  which  all  their  ways  betray  a  hor- 
ror: it  was  music  as  an  exercise,  a  ceremony, 
and  not  as  a  fine  art ;  the  ghost,  or  skeleton 
of  music,  enough  to  show  that  they  do  believe 
in  measure,  rhythm,  order,  but  not  in  charm 
and  beauty.     I'hey  seem  to  recognise  the  in- 
herent presence  of  music  in  the  very  law  of 
life,  to  accept  the  symbol  of  pervwling  har- 
mony, but  they  reject  the  ultimate  expression 


und  result  thereof  in  forms  of  art.  in  lieimlv  ; 
they  study  to  possess  the  law  without  the 
eonerctioM  und  embodiment  of  it  in  nature;  it 
seems  the  very  essence  of  their  creed  towage 
exterminating  war  with  nature,  to  soak  out 
the  bliMKl  and  coloring  nulistances  from  life's 
fleshy  tissue,  and  simjily  keep  the  pale  and 
lifeless  fonn;  and  so  if  they  accept  the  visits 
of  the  angel,  St.  Cecilia,  it  is  only  when  she 
comes  in  a  mop-eap  and  strait  gown  of  a 
ghostly  white,  and  promises  to  leave  behind 
lier  every  tempting  charm,  and  everything 
that  can  fend  worth  to  earth.  For  the  shaker 
wants  the  spiritual  u/''jf>u/  the  materiol ;  not 
the  spiritual  in  the  material.  Life  without 
passion,  unity  without  variety,  use  without 
beauty,  law  without  attraction,  and  purity  by 
sheer  simplistic  abstinence,  arc  his  fancied 
solution,  but  in  reality  evasion,  of  the  grand 
life-problem. 

Next  came  the  dance.     Two  by  two  the 
men,  and  two  by  two  the  women,   getting 
time  and  impulse  from  the  jig-like  hymn  o* 
their  own  chanting,  both  hands  dangling  loose 
and  fin-like  before  the  breast,  went  journey- 
ing round  the  room  in  circles,  with  strange 
limping  step,  stout  old  men  and  starch  old 
maidens,  spite  of  solemn  faces,  stepiiing  otF 
as  briskly  as  the  youngest,  and  forgetting  the 
apparent  loss  of  dignity  in  the  profound  obe- 
dience of  all  this.     Some  of  the  older  and  in- 
finn  members  only  stood  still  and  liKiked  on, 
but  kept  up  the  same  dangling  of  the  hands, 
as  if  to  fan   the  flame.     Occasionally  they 
would  pause  in  the  middle  of  these  "  divine- 
circles,"  as  one  of  the  speakers  called  them, 
and  the  silence  would  be  broken  by  some  fe- 
male voice,  8U])posed  to  be  under  the  moving 
of  the  spirit,  declaring  "  her  uiisi)enkable  sat- 
isfaction in  this  life,  that  she  felt  that  she  had 
found  G(k1,"  and  a  few  more  sentences  to  this 
elFeet,  which  was  answered  in  like  (|uiet  man- 
ner,   passionless,  and   mechnnieal,    by   some 
other  sister,  or  by  some  old  man,  or  yimng 
convert  warmly  giving  his  experience.     Then 
they  would  tourney  on  again,  with   steady 
eanicst  pertinacity,"  as  if  by  way  of  symbol- 
iziuK  tlie  dull  journey  of  life. 


Reason. — Reason  is  used  by  those  most 
acute  in  distinguishing,  to  signify  that  power 
of  the  mind  by  which  we  draw  inferences,  or 
by  which  we  are  convinced,  that  a  relation 
belongs  to  two  ideas,  on  account  of  our  having 
found"  that  these  ideas  bear  certain  relations 
to  other  ideas.  It  is  that  faculty  which  en- 
ables us,  from  relations  and  ideas  that  are 
known,  to  investigate  such  as  are  unknown, 
and  without  which  we  never  coulil  proceeil 
in  the  discovery  of  truth  a  single  step  beyond 
I  first  principles. 


«=  iiij  1 


-«ui4^'^ 


i     i 


WpIi^i*,, 


%im 


"tirj 


-mimmm^sms^^ff», 


134 


SOCIAL  INFLUENCE. 


SOCIAL  INFLUENCE. 

'r  i«  n  moHt  iiit(;re«titiff,  ai  wi'll  a»  iolrmn 
fort,  tlint  every  iiidiviiliiiil  jneniber  of  society 
i.H  r(>^|Miii^ilile,  to  some  ilegree,  forthcrntninon 
Coixl.  We  limy  way  toriifh  oiif.tho  Aliiii;;hty 
liii-i  |ilii<'r(l  tlie  moral  ehnriu'Ur,  the  soriul  coii- 
ilitioji,  the  M|iirituul  jjrowth  of  mmiy  others,  to 
B  coiisiilenililc  extent,  under  your  eare.  He 
hi).«  liiikeil  to;.'ether  all  men  with  a  ihouHand 
iiitiTsec(iii2  eliaint ;  mimy  of  wliieh,  no  to 
•|K.>ak,  eiiniieet  with  eneh  one  of  ii^i ;  and  by 
iiu'iiiis  of  tl^ese,  our  inlluenco  in  contiiinully 
flowing;  out  in  every  direction.  Thus  we  nre 
reri|ir()callv  inHueiiciiig  each  other's  coiuluct, 
niid  moulding;  each  other's  character. 

It  is  astonishing  how  much  intlueiicc  a  single 
pi'rson  sometimes  has  oV('r  n  whole  communi- 
ty. He  imi)re9ses  his  mark  upon  all  around 
him,  and  it  is  visible  to  nil.  IJut  the  iiilluence 
of  n  jxTsoii  is  not  to  be  measured  by  its  visible 
oH'wis.  Tliose  cases  which  ore  the  most 
strikiiip,  generally  attract  attention  because 
they  bear  somewhat  of  an  eccentric  type,  and 
huvp  respect  to  things  out  of  the  Vonimon 
course — When  the  inlluenco  is  to  onytliing 
lieculiur,  it  is  instantly  seen.  iJut  in  p'rojior- 
lion  as  it  falls  in  with  u  <!urrent,  or  is  expan- 
sive and  well  balanced,  it  los<!s  its  individual- 
ity. Th(!  most  obvious  case  which  meets  our 
eye,  is  only  nn  example  of  that  fonnulivo 
power  which  wc  all  have  over  each  other; 
though  it  is  generally  more  secret  in  its  ef- 
fects. 

Let  us  not  underrate  this  influence,  nor 
take  t(K)  limited  views  of  its  extent.  There 
is  no  one  who  does  not  i>oss(!S8  and  exercise 
it,  and  there  is  no  one  who  is  not  alfected  i)y 
it  in  others.  And,  if  desirable,  its  amount 
may  always  be  increased  l)y  cultivutin;;  those 
([ualities,  and  expanding  those  Oiculties  of  ours 
Ufion  which  it  is  based. 

There  are  various  tistinct  spheres  of  life 
where  this  influence  is  peculiarly  exerted, 
and  wherein  Pnnidence  seems  to  have  de- 
signed to  atli)rd  us  an  ojiportunity  for  benefit- 
ing each  other. 

One  of  the^e  spheres  is  the  family.  By 
ordaining  the  ties  of  kindred,  and  collecting 
us  together  in  family  grouns,  n  foundation 
has  been  laid  for  much  delightful  and  im- 
proving influence.  The  relations  into  which 
we  arc  thus  brought  to  each  other,  give  us  a 
reciprocal  power  which,  if  rightly  improved, 
Mcuresthe  most  beneficial  results;  but  which, 
if  perverted,  is  to  an  e(iual  extent  disastrous. 
The  influence  of  a  parent  over  a  child,  proba- 
bly exceeds  every  other.  By  it,  the  child's 
character  will  receive  a  bias  which  nothing 
can  afterward  fully  remove.  Hence  the  un- 
told importance  ol'^  giving  it  early  a  right  di- 
rection.    "Take  this  child  and  nurse  it  for 


me,"  is  the  address  of  Ood  to  every  parent, 
and  a  solemn  responxiliillty  attends  tin;  ebarye. 
The  child  will  b((  very  much  what  the  piirent 
attempts  to  make  it.  Kvervhoiir  inipres-ions 
will  be  mode  upon  it  wliieli  nothing  can  ef. 
face.  Nor  is  the  influrnco  of  oilii.T  mciniiers 
of  the  family  upon  each  other,  very  mnch 
below  that  of  tilt!  pareii^. 

Next  We  will  mention  the  social  circle  of 
friends.  Tlie  iiilluence  here  exerted  nualit, 
p<rlin]is,  to  be  estimated  next  to  that  in  the 
iamily.  In  such  a  circle,  drawn  together  by 
the  attractive  power  of  coincident  tiistes  anil 
feelings,  where  heart  mingles  with  heuit,  and 
thoughts  uni)idden  flow  freely  forth,  then!  is 
such  u  l)lendiiig  of  spirits,  and  su<'li  a  trust- 
ful obandonmeiit  of  self  to  the  guidance  of 
others,  as  always  results  in  a  mental  ussinii- 
lutioii  of  character. 

Kven  the  local  circumstance  of  neighbor- 
hiHid  provides  another  s]ihere  of  iiilluence,  by 
no  means  of  little  acc^ount.  For  it  is  impossi- 
ble, even  lor  the  most  dissimilar  persons  to  be 
near  each  other,  lo  bi;  daily  seen,  and  bniugbt 
into  contact  in  the  business  of  life,  wiiliuiit 
insensibly  pnMlucing  deep  impressions,  ond 
working  changes  of  feeling  and  character. 

The  civil  lionds  of  society,  also,  by  uniting 
men  in  national  ties,  and  awakening  comnion 
feedings  of  mental  dependence,  oneness  of  in- 
terest, and  ]mtriotic  ilesire,  is  another  founda- 
tion for  personal  influence  of  coiisideriible  ex- 
tent, lluise  who  are  united  together  for  the 
supjiort  of  a  good  government,  to  muiiitaiii 
common  rights,  to  resist  oiijiression,  establish 
justice,  and  foster  those  institutions  which  are 
necessary  for  the  well-being  of  society  and 
progress  ()f  the  race,  have,  from  this  interest- 
ing relation  to  each  other,  a  mutual  sympathy 
awakened,  which  gives  them  an  important  iii 
fluence  over  each  other's  hearts. 

The  last  sphere  of  social  influence  which 
we  shall  mention  in  this  brief  article,  is  the 
chur(di.  As  religion  is  one  of  the  (b  epcst 
|irinci|)les  of  our  nature,  the  influence  arising 
from  this  source  is  of  wonderful  powt  r.  Each 
of  the  other  relations  we  have  mciiioned  af- 
fords a  means  f)f  jiromoting  mental  and  spirit- 
ual improvement ;  but  this,  being  founded 
upon  spiritual  alliuities,  alii  irds  the  most  de- 
lightful o|)i)ortunities  for  operating  upon  other 
minds — So  tender  and  sacred  is  this  relation, 
that  it  invests  the  humblest  member  with  a 
degree  of  consideration,  and  secures  a  defer- 
ence to  his  oi)iiiions  and  wishes,  which  he 
could  not  otherwise  attain  :  while  every  one 
finds  ample  room  here,  and  open  hearts,  to 
receive  the  g(xid  impressions  he  may  have  the 
ability  and  the  will  to  make. 

But  we  will  enlarge  upon  these  various 
sjiheres  of  social  innuence;  They  nre  all  in- 
teresting; they  are  all  important;  they  are  all 


(  of  0(1(1  to  rvpry  parnit, 
miliillty  nttiiuU  tin;  clmrni', 
fry  muchwhiit  tin;  imrcut 
.  Kvrrv liDiir  iiii|ir(*»i(>im 
I  it  wliicli  tioiliiii^  ciiri  (•('. 
illiiriicc  of  oiIk.t  inciiilicrx 

I  cnrh  other,  very  iiiiicli 
uri'ii^. 

•iilidii  tlin  Sdc'uil  i'irrl(.'  of 
iclK^c  here  (■xcrlcil  (iii;;lit, 
iintcil  next  til  that  in  tin; 
circle.  (Iruwii  toKcilii-r  hy 
T  of  coincident  tiistcit  and 
rt  inin£jl(!s  wiili  licait,  uml 
(low  freely  forili,  there  u 
'  npiritu,  and  ninh  a  tni»t- 
if  self  to  th(!  ;;iiiiliinr(5  of 
'csults  in  a  mental  u^sinii- 

I'ircunistanco  of  nei^jhlior- 
H'r  H|ilier('  of  inlluence,  hy 
ccoinit.  For  it  is  ini|i(issi- 
ist  (li8»iinilftr  |((.'rs(Mis  to  ho 
lie  (Inily  seen,  nnd  hron^ht 
•  husincss  of  life,  without 
ic  deep  iinpriNsions,  and 
'  feeling  and  elmriirtcr. 
)f  society,  als(j,  hy  uniting 
1,  and  owilkenili!;  coiniiiou 
lependeiice,  oiu'nesx  of  iii- 
de^-iru,  is  another  fouiida- 
[luenc(?  of  Considerable  ex- 
irc  united  togetln^r  fur  the 
government,  to  maintain 
resist  oppression,  establish 
lose  institutions  which  are 
well-heiniT  of  society  nnd 
•,  have,  from  this  interest- 
other,  a  mutual  sympathy 
ivcsthem  nn  important  in- 
ther'«  hearts. 
of  social  influence  which 

II  this  lirief  article,  is  the 
in  is  one  of  the  ih^epest 
ilure,  the  influence  urisinjr 
if  wonderful  j)ow!  r.  Kach 
lis  w(5  have  Hi'!!iluned  af- 
:)inotiug  mental  and  spirit- 
hut   thi"     being   founded 

lities,  allords  the  most  de- 
'3  for  ojierating  upon  other 
and  sacred  is  this  relation, 
humblest  member  with  a 
tion,  and  secures  a  defei- 
is  and  wishes,  which  lie 
a  attain  :  while  every  one 
here,  and  open  hearts,  to 
|iressions  he  may  have  the 
to  make. 

arge  upon  these  various 
luence;  They  are  all  in- 
all  imjioirtant. ;  they  are  all 


THE  LONDON  QIN-PALACE. 


ISA 


\  ..... 

utteridnd  with  very  wcinhty  rpspon«ihiIitie«. 
In  th"  family,  the  sociiil  circle,  the  neiKhbor- 
h.Mid,  the  state,  the  church,  Uod  has  nsslKiied 
t(  r,»  ilie  nvwt  imjMirtant  trusts,  and  i^ven  u^ 
the  inean«,  ay,  even  no  appointeil  our  condi- 
tion that  we  can  not  tvoid  being  in-fumentul 
to  the  uccumplUhmLnt  of  mucli,  either  ginxl 
or  evil. 


THE  LONDON  GIN-PALACE. 

TiiK  gin-palace  i«  generally  at  the  comer  of 
two  inters(;cting  streets  in  a  gin-drinkiligneigh- 
iMirhixxl :  it  towers,  in  all  the  majesty  of  stuc- 
co pilasters,  in  genuine  cockney  splendor,  over 
the  dingy  mansions  thot  support  it,  like  a  ra- 
paei(nis  tyrant  over  his  impoverished  sulyects. 

The  (Uiors  are  large,  swinging  easily  upon 
patent  hinges,  and  ever  half-and-half — half- 
open  and  half-slmt,  so  that  the  most  undecided 
toucli  of  the  dram-drinker  adiriits  him.  The 
windows  arc  of  jilate-glass,  set  in  lirass  sashes, 
and  are  tilled  with  flaming  announcements  in 
large  letters,  "  The  Cheapest  House  in  Lon- 
dim" — "Cream  o(  the  Valley" — "Creaming 
Stout"— "Brilliant  Ales"— "Old  Tom,  four- 
nence  a  quartern" — "  Ilinlge's  Best  for  mix- 
ing"—and  a  variety  of  other  entertainments 
for  the  men  and  beasts  who  make  the  gin- 
|)alace  their  home.  At  night  s])lendid  lights 
irradiate  the  surrounding  gloom,  and  an  illu- 
minated clock  serves  to  remind  the  toper  of 
the  time  he  throws  away  in  throwing  away 
his  reason. 

Within,  ihe  splendor  is  in  keeping  with  the 
splendo  without;  rounters  fitted  ^>  th  zinc, 
and  a  loig  array  of  brass  tups  ;  fittings  of  the 
finest  Spanish  tiiahogany.  beautifully  polished ; 
bottles,  containing  conlials,  and  other  drugs, 
gilded  and  labelled,  as  in  the  apothecaries' 
shop«.  At  one  siclc  is  tlie  bar-parlor,  an 
apari  iicnt  fitted  up  with  congenial  taste,  ond 
usually  occupied  by  the  family  of  the  publi- 
can ;  in  the  distance  are  vistas,  and  sometimes 
galleries,  formed  altogether  i  it  huge  vats  of 
the  various  sorts  of  liquor  dispensed  in  the  es- 
tablishment. Behind  the  counter,  which  is 
usually  raised  to  a  level  with  the  breasts  of 
the  topers,  stand  mm  in  their  shirt-sleeves, 
well-dressed  ferrn'  m,  or  both,  dispensers  of 
the  "short"  and  "heavy;"  the  under-sized 
tipplers,  raisii.g  themselves  on  tiptoe,  deposit© 
the  three  halfpen"e  for  the  "  drop"  of  gin,  or 
whatever  else  they  require,  and  receive  their 
quantum  of  the  poison  in  return  ;  ragged  wo- 
men, with  starveling  .  'lildren,  match  and  bal- 
lad vendets,  fill  up  the  foreground  of  the  pic- 
ture. There  are  no  seats,  nor  any  accommo- 
dation for  the  oust  iraers  in  the  regular  gin- 


m 


palace;  every  exertion  is  used  to  make  the 
place  as  uneomfortablt;  to  the  consumers  as 
{M)ssii)le,  so  that  they  shall  only  step  'n  to 
drink,  and  pay  ;  step  out,  nnd  return  to  drink 
and  [lay  again.  No  f(H)d  of  any  kind  is  pro- 
vided at  the  gin-palace,  save  u  f(!W  biscuits, 
which  are  exliibited  in  a  wire  cage  for  protec- 
tion against  the  furtive  hand;  drink,  ttrrnal, 
j)oisonous  drink,  is  the  sole  provision  of  tliia 
whited  sepulchre. 

There  is  not  in  nil  London  a  more  melan- 
choly and  spirit-de|)ressing  sight  than  tilt!  area 
of  one  of  the  larger  gin-pulaces  on  a  vet 
night.  There  thi;  homeless,  hous(.'lcss,  mis- 
erubles  of  both  sexes,  whether  they  havf 
money  or  not,  resort  in  numbers  for  a  tern 
])orary  shelter;  aged  women  selling  ballads 
and  nintches,  cripples,  little  beggar-boys  and 
girls,  slavering  idiots,  jiic-men,  sandwich-men, 
apple  and  orange  women,  shell-fishinongers, 
hii'ldled  p(!ll-mell,  in  dragglotailed  confusion. 
Never  can  human  nature,  one  would  imagine, 
take  a  more  abject  posture  than  is  exhiliited 
hero;  there  is  a  character,  an  individuality,  a 
fomily  likeni!8s,  common  to  the  whole  race  of 
sots ;  the  pole,  clayey,  flaccid,  clammy  face, 
jiinchcd  inevery  feature  :  the  weeping,  fern^t- 
like,  lack-lustre  eye,  the  unkempt  hair,  the 
slattern  shawl,  the  untidy  dress,  the  slijishod 
gait,  too  well  betray  the  confinmM'  dninkard. 

The  noises,  t(X),  of  the  asst'inbled  topers  are 
hideous;  appalling  even  when  heard  in  an 
atmosphere  of  gin.  Imprecations,  execrations, 
oil  irgtttions,  a])plications,  until  at  length  the 
patience  of  the  publican,  and  the  last  copper 
of  his  customers  are  exhausted,  when,  rush- 
ing from  behind  his  counter,  assisted  by  his 
shopmen,  he  expels,  vi  et  armis,  the  dilatory 
mob,  dragging  out  by  the  heels  or  collars  the 
dead  drunkards,  to  nestle,  as  best  they  may, 
outside  t'ne  inhospitable  door. 

Here,  unobserved,  may  you  contemplate 
the  infinite  varieties  of  men  self-mctaphorsed 
into  beasts;  soaker,  tippler,  toper,  muddler, 
dram-drinker,  beer-swillcr,  cordial-tinpler,  sot. 

Here  you  may  behold  the  barefiiot  child, 
hungry,  naked,  clay-faced,  handing  up  on  tip- 
toe that  infernal  bottle,  which  made  it  nnd 
keeps  it  what  it  is,  and  with  which,  when 
filled,  it  creeps  home  to  its  brutal  father  or 
infamous  mother,  the  messenger  of  its  own 
misery. 

Here  the  steady  respectahle  sot,  the  good 
customer,  slides  in,  andjlings  down  his  throat 
the  frequent  dram :  then,  with  an  emphatic 
"hah!"  of  gratification,  drops  his  money, 
nods  to  his  friend,  the  landlord,  and  for  a  short 
interval  disappears. 

Here  you  may  behold  with  pity  and  regret, 
and  as  much  superadded  virtuous  indignation 
as  the  inward  contemplation  of  your  own  con- 
tinence may  inspire,  the  flaunting  Cyprian,  in 


■  1       5 

'  -  f'    > 

(,  "llfl^J 

StlliTl 


■*'l»(l>  I 
i 


130 


AMERICA. 


ovc*-drePsed  tawflritics?,  calling,  in  shnmelcss 
voice,  for  a  (luarterii  of  "  ijlcasant-driiiking" 
gin,  which  she  liberally  shares  with  two  or 
three  gentlptnen,  wlio  are  being  educated  for 
the  bar  of  the  criminal  court.  You  may  con- 
trast her  short-lived  hey-day  of  j)ros|)erou3 
sin  with  that  row  of  miserablcs  seated  by  the 
wall,  whose  charms  arc  lied,  and  whose  voices 
arc  husky,  while  they  implore  you  to  treat 
thcin  with  a  glass  of  ale,  or  supplicate  for  the 
coppers  they  see  you  receive  in  change  from 
the  barman;  and  "who  arc  only  i)ermitted  that 
wretched  ])lace  of  rest  that  they  may  beg  for 
the  benefit  of  the  i)ublican,  and  f  r  his  profit 
poison  themselves  with  the  alms  of  others. 


AMERICA. 

Our  eastern  borders  behold  the  sun  in  nil 
its  sjjlendor  rising  from  the  Atlantic,  while 
the  western  shores  are  embraced  in  darkness 
by  the  billows  of  the  Pacific.  Our  c.nmtry 
hiis  indeed  a  vast  extent  of  ieiTitJ>ry,  with  the 
diversified  climates  of  the  globe.  On  the  one 
hand,  is  the  ever-smiling  verdure  of  the  beau- 
tiful and  balmy  south,  and  on  the  f)ther,  the 
sterile  hills  and  sombre  pine  forests  of  the 
dreary  north;  and  intermediate,  the  out- 
stretched region  where  the  chilling  blasts  of 
winter  are  succeeded  by  the  zephyrs  and  the 
(lowers  of  summer. 

The  snow-clud  summits  of  her  mountains 
look  down  upon  the  elemental  war  of  the 
stonn-clouds  floating  above  the  shrubless 
prairie,  that  realik^es  the  obsolete  notion  of 
the  earth  being  an  immense  plain  ;  and,  tow- 
ard the  ocean  on  the  east  and  the  west,  upon 
the  broad  rich  valleys  where  the  father  of 
waters,  the  "  endless  river,"  and  the  majestic 
Columbia  with  its  hundred  branches  gently 
winds  along,  or  rapidly  rush  on  to  mingle  thefr 
waters  with  the  waves  of  the  Pacific,  the  gulf 
of  Mexico,  or  the  magnificent  expanse  of  our 
northwestern  Caspian  seas. 

Could  the  pow  3r  of  vislcm  at  once  extend 
over  our  whole  w  idc  domain,  wliat  a  grand, 
euiiobling  scene  would  be  presented  to  a 
spectator  standing  upon  one  of  the  lofty  peaks 
of  the  Rocky  tr.ountuins,  or,  as  Washington 
Irving  aptly  dei'ominates  it,  "  the  crest  of  the 
world."  And  then  to  take,  upon  a  summer 
day,  a  bird's-eye  view  of  all  our  roads,  canals> 
railroads,  lakes  and  rivers — the  innumerable 
jKisteonches  v/hirling  along  over  our  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty  thousand  miles  of  jioslroad  ; 
or  steamers  gliding  magically  along  our  wa- 
ters ;  our  locomotives  shootmg  oft'  like  the 
comet  upon  its  track;  our  ra))id  intercourse 
between  tfie  seabijard  and  the  inland  mari- 


time cities;   and  our  8hi))s  apjiroaching  and 

departing  with  the  commerce  of  the  world  ; 

with  all  the  various,  comjilicated  movements 

of  the  country,  town  and  city ;  and  then,  like 

I  Prior  on  Gronger  hill,  to  hear  all  tiie  ditieriiit 

musical  and  iliscmilant  sounds  coming  u\)  to 

'  this  "  crest  of  the  world,"  if  they  could  coni- 

I  prehend  the  entire  scene,  from  tlie  bellowing 

of  the  bufralo,  leading  his  shaggy  hundreds 

over  the  prairie,  to  the  roar  of  the  cataract  as 

it  shidtes  the  earth  with  its  stupendous  plunge, 

with  all  this  !)eiu'uth  the  eye  and  upon  the 

!  car  well  might  tht;  enraptured  spectator  ex- 

!  claim,  what  a  sublime  panorama ! 

For  variety,  Iteauty,  grandeur,  and  sublim- 
ity of  scenery,  what  country  can  surpass  our 
own ;  what  country  can  eipial  the  life-sustain- 
ing power  that  slumbers  in  her  soil!  With 
nil  lier  wealth,  imjiro'cments  and  intelligence, 
and  with  our  twenty  millions  of  inhabitants, 
I  still  we  have  but  jusr,  commenced  the  scttle- 
I  ments  of  our  country,  and  are  only  on  the 
borders  of  the  mighty  wilderness.  Her  uii- 
,  develoi)cd  resources  are  (?apable  of  sustaining 
J  a  free  population  of  more  than  one  hundred 
:  millions.  A  century  hence,  if  permitted  to 
j  enjoy  the  blessings ot  peace,  the  United  States 
j  of  America,  with  fifty  stars  upon  her  banner, 
may  welcome,  at  the  dawning  of  that  New- 
Year's  morn,  no  less  than  one  hundred  and 
twenty  millions  of  happy  freemen.  How 
exalted  may  then  be  the  intelligence  and  vir- 
tue of  the  people.  The  success  of  our  efforts 
in  the  im|)r(weinent  of  our  schools,  and  the 
1  general  difl'usion  of  knowledge,  enables  us  to 
!  make  an  estimate  of  what  our  ])08terity  of 
I  the  third  generation  are  likely  to  become. 

Active  must  be  the  ardent  imagination  that 
can  picture  the  scene  at  a  glance.     The  ideal 
I  laiidsca))e  can  not  c([ual  the  reality,  however 
j  liv(dy  may  be  the  fancy.     The  idea  of  such 
I  a  view  as  we  have  fancied  to  be  beheld  from 
i  the  mountain  toj>  a  hundred  years  frixn  this 
day,  can  never  be  c(jnveyed  by  words,  the 
j)icture  must  be  painted  by  the  wonder-work- 
nig  power  of  the  i)(!ncil  ot  ideality. 
.Our  country  !     Such  is  thy  physical  great- 
ness,   and   such    the   intellectual   and   moral 
])Ower  that  now  gives  i)romisc  of  a  glorious 
destiny,  fur  beyond  all  parallel  in  the  annals 
of  the  world.     For  such  a  destiny  may  thy 
institutions  be   well   sustained ;  and    may  a 
halo  of  glory  play  around  the  name  of  every 
man  who  hiincstly  kl)ors  in  behalf  of  his  fel- 
lows and  posterity,  to  uphold,  purify,  per- 
jHitnate  and  extend  them. 

Ue.n'evolknck. — Benevolence  is  always  a 
virtuous  principle.  Its  operations  always  se- 
cure to  others  their  natural  rights;  and  it  lib- 
erally superadds  more  than  they  are  entitled 
to  claim. 


ir  ships  ap])ronchiii}r  nml 
commerce  of  tlie  wurlil ; 
,  coin|)linate()  inovcrnr'iits 
1  ami  city;  mid  tlicn.  like 
11,  to  lieur  all  tlit;  dilU'rciit 
laiit  sounds  coniiri;;  u])  to 
iorld,"  if  tlicy  could  cojii- 
ccue,  from  tlie  bcllowiiii,' 
ling  his  shuiijiy  hundreds 
the  roar  of  the  caturnct  as 
rith  its  stupendous  plunpe, 
ith  the  eye  and  up(jn  the 
!  enraptured  spectator  cx- 
iic  panorama ! 
ity,  grandeur,  and  sublim- 
t  country  can  surpass  our 
can  C(pial  the  life-sustain- 
iibers  in  her  soil!  With 
o'cments  and  intelligence, 
y  millions  of  inhabitants, 
ISC  eonnnenced  the  settle- 
:ry,  and  are  only  on  the 
:'Cy  wilderness.  Ilcr  un- 
i  are  capable  of  sustaining 
f  moio  than  one  hundred 
■y  hence,  if  permitted  to 
t  peace,  the  United  States 
fty  stars  upon  her  banner, 
he  dawning  of  that  New- 
ss  than  one  hundred  and 
ha))py  freemen.  How 
e  the  intelligence  and  vir- 
Tlic  success  of  our  etForts 
It  of  our  schools,  and  the 
knowledge,  enables  us  to 
of  what  our  jiosterity  of 

I  are  likely  to  become. 

lie  ardent  imagination  that 

10  at  a  glance.     The  ideal 

((uqI  the  reality,  however 

"ancy.     The  idea  of  such 

fancied  to  be  beheld  from 

hmidreil  years  {rum  this 

conveyed  by  words,  the 

nted  by  the  wonder- work- 

■ncil  of  ideality. 

inch  is  thy  physical  grcat- 

le   intellectual   and  moral 

/es  jmimisc  of  a  glorious 

all  ])arullel  in  the  annals 

r  such  a  destiny  may  thy 

II  sustained  ;  and  may  a 
around  the  name  of  every 
labors  in  behalf  of  his  fcl- 
,  to  uphold,  purify,  per- 
them. 


-Benevolence  is  always  a 
Its  operations  always  se- 
natural  rights;  and  it  lib- 
ore  than  tney  are  entitled 


:'\  I 


i-S.li.l  I 


*"'f^«n 


a^'*p.  i-  >-mBje_iiitm  ,mivj--«i 


138 


EXPULSION  OF  THE  ACADIANS. 


THE  WESTERN  EMIGRANT. 

BT  URS.  L.  H.  8I00URNET. 

Amid  tliosc  forest  ahndea  that  proudly  reared 
Tlieir  nnsliorn  beauty  toward  tlie  favoring  okiea, 
An  axe  rang  sharply.    There,  with  rigorous  arm, 
Wrought  a  bold  emigrant,  while  by  his  side 
His  little  son  with  question  and  response 
Beguiled  the  toil. 

"  Boy,  then  hast  never  leeii 
Such  glorious  trees,  and  when  their  giant  tmnka 
Fall,  how  the  firm  earth  groans !    Rememberest  thoa 
The  mighty  river  on  whose  breast  we  sailed 
So  many  days  on  toward  the  setting  son  T 
Compared  to  that,  our  own  Connecticut 
Is  but  a  creeping  stream." 

"  Father,  the  brook 
That  by  onr  door  went  singing,  where  I  launched 
My  liny  boat  with  all  the  sportive  boys. 
When  school  was  o'or,  is  dearer  far  to  me 
Than  all  these  deep,  broad  waters.    To  my  eye 
They  are  as  strangers.    And  those  little  trees 
My  mother  planted  in  the  garden  bound 
Of  our  first  home,  from  which  the  fragrant  peach 
Fell  in  its  ripeniag  gold,  were  fairer  sure 
Than  this  dark  forest  shutting  out  the  day." 

"  What  ho  I  my  little  girl,"— and  with  light  step, 
A  fairy  creature  hasted  toward  her  sire, 
And  setting  down  the  basket  that  contained 
The  noon's  repast,  looked  upward  to  hij  face 
With  sweet,  confiding  smile. 

"  See,  dearest,  see 
Yon  bright-winged  parroquet,  and  hear  the  song 
Of  that  gay  red-bird  echoing  through  the  trees, 
Making  rich  music.    Didst  thou  ever  hear 
In  fabr  New  England  such  a  mellow  tone  T" 

"  I  had  a  robin  that  did  take  the  cmmba 
Each  night  and  morning,  and  his  chirping  voice 
Did  make  me  joyful,  as  I  went  to  tend 
My  snow-drops.    I  was  always  laughing  there. 
In  that  first  home.    I  should  be  happier  now, 
Methinks,  if  I  could  find  among  these  dells 
The  same  fresh  violets." 

Slow  night  drew  on. 
And  round  the  rude  hot  of  the  emigrant. 
The  wrathful  spirit  of  the  autumn  storm 
Spake  bitter  things.    His  wearied  children  slept, 
And  he,  with  head  declined,  sat  listening  long. 
To  tffe  swollen  waters  of  the  Illinois, 
Dashing  against  tlieir  shores.    Starting,  he  spake : 

"  Wife  !  did  I  see  thee  brush  a-vay  '»  tear  ? 
Say,  was  it  so  ?    Thy  heart  was  with  the  balls 
Of  thy  nativity.     Then-  sparkling  lights. 
Carpets  and  sofas,  and  admiring  guests. 
Befit  thee  better  than  these  rugged  walla 
Of  shapeless  logs,  and  this  lone  bormit-bome." 


"  No— no  I    All  was  so  still  around,  methought, 

Upon  my  ear  that  echoed  hymn  did  steal. 

Which  'mid  the  church  where  erst  we  paid  our  vows 

So  tuneful  pealed.    But  tenderly  thy  voice 

Dissolved  the  illusion :" and  the  gentle  smile 

Lighting  her  brow,  the  fond  caress  that  soothed 
Her  waking  infant,  reassured  his  soul, 
That  wheresoe'er  the  pure  affecMLnH  dwell 
And  strike  a  healthful  root,  is  happiness. 

Placid  and  grateful  to  his  rest  he  sank ; 

But  dreams,  those  wild  magicians,  which  do  play 
Such  pranks  when  Reason  slumbers,  tireless  wrought 
Their  will  with  him.    Up  rose  the  busy  mart 
Of  bis  own  native  city,  roof  and  spire, 
All  glittering  bright,  in  Fancy's  frostwork  ray. 
Forth  came  remembered  forms ;  with  curving  neck, 
'''be  steed  his  boyhood  nurtured  proudly  neighed — 
i'he  favorite  dog.  exulting  round  his  feet. 
Frisked,  with  shrill,  joyous  bark  i  familiar  doors 
Flew  open— greeting  hands  witli  his  were  linked 
In  friendship's  grasp— he  heard  the  keen  debate 
From  congregated  haunts,  where  mind  with  mind 
Doth  blend  and  brighten— and  till  morning  roved 
'Mid  thj  loved  scenery  of  his  fiitberland. 


EXPULSION  OF  TFv    ^CiBIANS. 

Some  dispute  existing  between  the  English 
and  the  French,  respecting  the  territorial  lim- 
its of  both  parties,  the  region  about  Hudson's 
bay,  and  the  province  of  Acadie,  since  called 
Nova  Scotia,  to  settle  the  matter,  were  ceded 
to  Great  Britain  in  1713. 

Acadie  was  inhabited  by  an  excellent  French 
population.  WHien  these  good  peoide  found 
their  country  yielded  to  England,  and  tl'.em- 
selves  no  longer  subjects  of  the  French  king, 
they  were  grieved  to  be  forced  to  acknowledge 
another  master.  They  knew  that  the  French 
and  English  were  hostile  to  each  other,  and 
they  dreaded  to  be  compelled,  some  time  or 
other,  to  take  up  arms  against  Frenchmen ; 
they,  therefore,  entreated  the  Engli.sh  that 
they  might  never  be  forced  to  so  painful  a  ser- 
vice, and  might  be  excused  from  taking  the 
oath  of  allegiance. 

This  request  received  no  special  attention, 
but,  for  a  time,  a  kind  forbearance  was  exer- 
cised toward  them.  After  a  period  of  forty 
years,  the  English  goveniment  cnine  to  the 
conclusion  that  these  neutral  French,  as  they 
were  called,  might  become  dangerou.s  to  their 
interests  by  taking  part  with  the  Canadian 
French,  their  active  enemies.  On  account  of 
this  presumed  danger,  without  the  least  al- 
leged provocation,  or  the  least  show  of  justice, 
they  took  upon  themselves  to  drive  out  of 
their  possessions  this  peaceable,  prosperous, 
and  unoffending  people. 


W.^.^ 


%fe,#S'W.J^a.  iS-S^m0^^^^m^&mm^^J^4imi!S^^4 


was  so  still  around,  niethoagbt, 
hoed  hymn  did  stcnl, 
ch  where  erst  we  paid  oor  vows 
But  tenderly  thy  voice 

1 :" and  the  gentle  smile 

hn  fond  caress  that  soothed 

caasured  his  soul, 

3  pure  afFectitnH  dwell 

il  root,  is  happiness. 

ateful  to  his  rest  he  sank ; 

ild  magicians,  which  do  play 

eason  slambers,  tireless  wrought 

Up  rose  the  busy  mart 
ty,  roof  and  spire, 
In  Fancy's  frostwork  ray. 
Bred  forms ;  with  curving  neck, 
>d  nurtured  proudly  neighed — 
illing  round  his  feet, 
oyous  bark  j  familiar  doora 

hands  with  his  were  linked 
-he  heard  the  keen  debate 
lonts,  where  miud  wiili  mind 
iten — and  till  morning  roved 
J  of  bis  ihtherland. 


OF  TF 


iDIANS. 


dstin^  between  tlie  English 
specting  the  territorial  lim- 

the  region  about  Hudson's 
nee  of  Acadie,  since  called 
ttle  the  matter,  were  ceded 

1713. 

jited  by  an  excellent  French 
a  these  good  peojile  found 
ed  to  England,  and  them- 
ibjects  of  the  French  king, 
»  be  forced  to  acknowledge 
^hey  knew  that  the  French 

hostile  to  each  other,  and 
e  compelled,  some  time  or 
arms  against  Frenchmen ; 
itreated  the  English  that 
3  forced  to  so  painful  a  ser- 
3  excused  from  taking  the 

sived  no  special  attention, 
ind  forbearance  wns  exor- 
After  a  period  of  forty 
government  cnme  to  the 
se  neutral  French,  as  they 
become  dangerous  to  their 
;  part  with  the  Canadian 
B  enemies.  On  account  of 
ger,  without  tlie  least  al- 
>r  the  least  show  of  justice, 
emselves  to  drive  out  of 
lis  pea,ceable,  prosperous, 
)ple. 


EXPULSION  OF  THE  ACADUN8. 


139 


The  Acndians  had  no  warning  of  their  fate. 
At  harvest-time  they  were  ordered  to  assem- 
ble in  a  certain  district,  and  being  collected, 
were  informed  they  were  prisoners — that  their 
lands,  cattle,  and  moveables,  were  no  longer 
their  own,  but  were  confiscated  by  govern- 
ment— that  they  might  take  wliat  tliey  could 
convey  away,  but  must  immediately  ijuit  the 
province. 

In  one  single  district,  twohundredand  fifty- 
five  housi.'s,  as  many  barns,  eleven  mills,  and 
one  church,  were  destroyed.  Shijjs  were  in 
rcaiiincss  to  convey  the  persecuted  Acadinns 
to  ditrurcnt  parts  of  the  continent — to  Lcniis- 
iana,  to  French  Guiana  in  South  America, 
and  to  distant  places  in  the  then  British  prov- 
inces on  tlie  Atlantic. 

These  pcofile  Lad  been  remarkable  for  their 
industry,  their  sliilful  husbandry,  their  (Hire 
morals,"  and  their  exemplary  ])iety.  Their 
lands  produced  wheat  and  corn,  potatoes  and 
llax,  abundantly.  Their  houses  were  con- 
venient, and  furnished  witli  all  things  neces- 
sary to  comfort.  Their  numerous  flocks 
allbrded  the  wool  which  was  manufactured 
in  the  family  for  their  clothing.  They  had 
no  paper-money,  anil  little  silver  or  gold; 
and  lived  by  simple  exchange  of  commodities. 
So  little  contention  arose  among  them,  that 
courts  and  lawyers  were  needless ;  the  wise 
and  experienced  decided  their  small  diirereii- 
ces.  They  were  catholics  ;  the  priests  drew 
up  their  public  acts,  wrote  their  wills,  and 
kept  pf)ssessi<  i  *"  he  documents,  until  death 
called  for  t.-  :  e^  ..-v  ion  of  them.  To  re([uite 
these  serviceb,  the  inhabitants  allowed  thein 
one  twenty-seventh  of  the  harvest  for  their 
subsistence. 

At  the  time  of  the  dispersion,  the  Acadians 
were  18,000  in  number.  No  want  existed 
among  them;  the  poor  were  few,  and  the 
prosperous  cheerfully  supported  those.  These 
unfortunate  people  were  the  victims  of  their 
own  integrity.  Had  they  taken  the  oath 
which  demanded  of  them  to  violate  the  best 
aftections,  they  might  have  retained  their 
houses,  th(;ir  fields,  and  their  flocks._  Their 
good  feelings  demanded  only  the  innocent 
liberty  of  neutrality. 

In  September,  175.5,  Colonel  Winslow,  an 
officer,  usually  resident  at  Marshfield,  Ply- 
mouth county,  Massachusetts,  was  sent  with 
the  king's  commission,  to  demolish  the  prop- 
erty of  the  neutrals,  and  to  expel  them,  with- 
out exception,  from  the  province.  Colonel 
Winslow  deeply  regretted  that  he  should  be 
employed  in  this  cruel  service.  He  knew, 
80  he  said,  that  they  were  of  "the  same 
,  species"  with  himself,  and  "  it  was  disagree- 
able to  his  make  and  temper"  to  inflict  pain. 
His  first  measure,  on  landing  at  St.  Pre,  was 
to  moke  prisoners  of  several  hundreds  of  the 


10 


most  considerable  of  the  men  of  the  settle- 
ment. "  In  consequence  of  their  earnest  en- 
treaties, the  prisoners  were  permitted,  ten  at 
once,  to  return  to  visit  their  wretched  families, 
and  to  look,  for  the  last  time,  upon  their 
beautiful  fields,  and  their  loved  and  lost 
homes." 

These  unhappy  men  bore  their  misfortune 
with  firmness,  until  they  were  ordered  on 
board  the  transixirt-slii]),  to  be  dispersed 
among  ])eo|)le  whose  customs,  htnguau'e,  and 
religion,  were  opposed  to  all  they  held  dear 
and  soered. 

On  the  lOth  of  September,  the  prisoners 
were  drown  up  six  deep;  and  the  young  men, 
one  hundred  and  sixty  in  number,  were  order- 
ed to  go  on  board  the  vessels.  They  refused 
to  do  this,  unless  iheir  families  might  be  per- 
mitted to  accompany  them.  This  was  denied, 
and  the  soldiers  were  ordered  to  do  their  duty. 
The  wretched  Acadians  no  longer  resisted, 
but  inarched  from  their  chapel  of  St.  Pre  to 
the  ships. 

The  road  from  the  chapel  to  the  shore,  just 
(/lie  mile  in  length,  was  crowded  with  women 
and  children,  who,  on  their  knees,  an<l  with 
eyes  and  hands  raised  to  Heaven,  entreated 
blessings  on  their  young  friends,  so  unmerci- 
fully torn  from  them.  Some  of  the  latter 
broke  out  into  bitter  lamentations ;  others 
prayed  aloud ;  and  another  portion  sang 
mournful  hviniis,  as  they  took  their  way  to 
the  ships.  The  seniors  formed  another  detach- 
ment, and  their  departure  occasioned  a  similar 
scene  of  distress.  Other  vessels  arrived,  and 
their  wives  and  children  followed.  Their 
dwellings  were  burnt  before  their  eyes,  and 
the  workof  ilestruction  was  complete.  Eigh- 
teen thousand  soids  were  cast  forth  upon  the 
pitiless  world.  Desolate  and  depopulated 
was  the  beautiful  tract  they  had  occupied : 
their  homes  lay  smoking  in  ruins  ;  the  cattle, 
abandoni'd  by  their  protectors,  assembled 
about  the  forsaken  dwelhng-places,  anxious- 
ly seeking  their  wonted  masters;  and  all  night 
long  the  faithful  watch-flogs  howled  for  the 
hands  that  had  fed,  and  the  roofs  that  had 
sheltered  them. 

The  distress  of  one  family  will  serve  to  ex- 
hibit the  sutFerings  of  these  refugees.  There 
was  among  them  a  notary-public,  named  Rene 
Le  Blanc.  He  loved  the  Eiiglisli.  On  one 
occasion,  the  Indians  would  have  jiersuaded 
him  to  assist  them,  in  an  attempt  upon  the 
English.  He  refused,  and  the  Indians,  in 
resentment,  made  him  prisoner,  and  detained 
him  four  years. 

At  the  time  of  the  expulsion,  Le  Blanc 
was  living  at  an  advanced  age.  His  fidelity 
to  the  English,  and  his  suflTerings  on  that  ac-. 
count,  deserved  favor,  but  he  found  none. 
Le  Blanc  had  twenty  children,  and  about  one 


. ...  ..i 

*■-.{ 

p 

li 

«.i^ 

\  m 

1    .♦ 

'""lilKW'* 


•*^\'i. 


!>.».  .V. 


140 


AGRICULTURAL  SCIENCE. 


humlred  anrl  fifty  p;rand-cliil<lren.  These 
were  eml)nrked  in  did'erent  vessels,  and  scat- 
tered in  (litT'erent  provinces.  The  unfortunate 
old  iniin  was  set  ashore  in  New  York,  with 
his  wife,  and  the  two  youngest  of  their  chil- 
dren. Love  for  those  that  were  scattered, 
led  him  from  one  strange  city  to  another.  He 
reached  Philadelphia.  There  he  found  three 
of  his  children,  and  there,  despairing  to  re- 
cover the  rest,  in  penury  and  sorrow,  he  sank 
into  his  grave.  It  may  be  questioned,  if  the 
history  of  the  world  exhibits  a  more  hcart- 
reniling  incident  than  the  exile  of  this  amiable 
and  unhappy  people.  When  the  traveller 
contemplates  the  noble  dikes  reared  by  their 
industry — while  he  walks  beneath  the  shade 
of  their  abundant  orchards,  and  stands  over 
the  ruins  of  their  cottoges,  or  muses  among 
their  graves,  his  imagination  goes  back  to  a 
scene  of  rural  felicity  and  purity  seldom  seen 
in  the  world,  and  his  heart  melts  at  the  sud- 
den and  dreadful  fate  of  the  Acadians. 


AGRICULTURAL  SCIENCE. 

The  great  mountain  chains  which  ridge 
and  furrow  the  earth's  surface,  consist  of  one 
and  the  same  material,  viz.,  granite.  It  is  of 
the  oldest  or  primary  formation ;  it  is  also  one 
of  the  hardest  and  most  durable  rocks ;  yet 
a  very  great  portion  of  all  soils  have  been 
derived  from  the  disintegration  of  granite. 
Rocks,  originally  of  many  tons'  weight,  have 
been  reduced  to  pebbles — pebbles  to  sand — 
sand  to  impalpable  powder. 

Granite  is  composed  of  three  minerals,  viz., 
quartz,  felspar,  and  mica.  Quartz  is  the  very 
hard  llinty  part  of  granite,  it  is  often  found 
alone  and  pure,  and  is  frequently  called  rock 
crystal,  white  flint  rock,  &c.  It  is,  howev- 
er, of  diflTcrcnt  colors — white,  rose,  and  smoky. 
In  its  chymical  qualities  it  is  considered  of  an 
acid  nature.  It  composes  much  the  larger 
portion  of  most  soils,  and  is  found  nearly  pure 
in  the  form  of  beautiful  white  sand  upon  the 
shores  of  seas,  lakes,  and  many  ponds.  In 
agricultural  chyrnistry,  it  is  termed  silex,  or 
silica. 

Silex  (quartz)  enters  into  the  composition 
of  all  plants ;  were  it  not  for  this  mineral  sub- 
stance, to  give  strength  or  stamina  to  trees 
and  upright  plants,  they  would,  if  they  could 
grow  without  it,  all  be  trailing  plants,  unable 
to  rear  themselves  from  the  ground,  and  hava 
as  little  substance  in  them,  as  the  potato-plant 
has,  that  vegetates  and  grows  in  the  darkened 
cellar.  The  ashes  of  land-plants  yield  silex  in 
large  quantity,  and  it  is  evidently  essential  to 
the  growth  of  plants,  as  it  forms  the  skeleton 


for  the  sap-vessels,  and  it  also  forms  the  entire 
skin  (glaze)  of  th^  corn-stalk,  the  stems  of 
grapes,  the  straw  of  wheat  and  other  grains, 
and  on  some  of  the  ratans  and  bamboos,  there 
is  such  a  hard  coating  os  to  emit  sparks  when 
struck  by  a  flint. 

Silex  is  not  fusible  alone  in  the  hottest 
fire,  nor  soluble  in  pure  woler,  and  but  slight- 
ly soIul)le  in  strong  acids;  but  if  mixed  in 
certai'.  proportions  with  potash  or  soda,  and 
subjected  to  a  strong  heat,  it  readily  melts  and 
forms  the  well-known  substance,  glass.  If 
mixed  in  the  proportion  of  one  part  silex  and 
two  parts  potash,  it  can  be  easily  melted,  ond 
fornix  a  soluble  glass,  that  is,  it  cun  be  readily 
di-ssolved  in  boiling  water  like  sufjar  or  suit; 
in  this  way  silex  is  artificially  rendered  solu- 
ble. 

Nature,  also,  has  a  way  of  her  own,  in  dis- 
solving the  "white  flint  rock"  so  ns  to  ])re- 
paro  it  to  be  taken  up  by  the  rofjts  of  plants, 
for  the  purpose  of  forming  the  skeleton,  for 
the  support  of  the  sap-vessels,  and  for  making 
the  glaze  uj)on  the' straw  of  wheat,  &c.,  which 
is  affected  by  the  laws  of  crystallization, 
and  in  \m\nt  of  fact  is  a  perfect  coating  of 
glass ;  the  object  of  this  coating  is  to  jmjtcct 
the  plant  against  the  attacks  of  insects,  ond 
to  give  strength  to  the  stem. 

It  has  been  observed,  glass  is  only  a  com- 
position of  silex  or  sand  and  soda  or  potash, 
fused  in  the  hot  fire  of  a  glass  manufactory. 
That,  coating  the  stems  of  grain,  grass,  dec, 
is  produced  in  the  soil,  simply  by  a  chymical 
union  of  silica  and  potash  or  soda.  The  ])ot- 
ash  and  soda  are  derived  from  felspar.  Felspar 
is  one  of  the  constituents  of  granite.  It  is  not 
so  hard,  although  it  very  much  resembles 
quartz,  but  it  dilFers  widely  from  it  in  its 
chymical  qualities,  being  a  comjMinnd  of 
silex,  alumina  (clay),  and  potash;  there  is 
from  twelve  to  fifteen  per  cent,  of  potosh  in 
felspar,  that  is,  a  chymist,  by  analyzing 
100  lbs.  of  felspar,  can  obtain  12  or  15  lbs. 
of  potash,  or  soda,  as  some  kinds  yield  jKitash, 
others  soda.  The  potash  of  commerce  is  de- 
rived from  wood-oshcs — soda  from  the  asa  of 
sea-plants ;  potash  and  grease  make  soft  soap 
— soda  and  grease  hard  soap ;  they  have  many 
qualities  in  common:  both  will  unite  with 
oils  or  fat — both  will  neutralize  acids — both 
will  dissolve  silex — and  both  are  alkalies. 
Mica,  the  other  constitutent  of  granite,  con- 
tains six  or  seven  per  cent,  of  potash.  These 
three  minerals,  as  mixed  up  in  our  granite 
rocks,  yield  about  seven  per  cent,  of  potash 
when  analyzed. 

Acids  and  alkalies  react  uixm  each  other; 
the  decomposition  or  rotting  of  vegetable  mat- 
ters always  produces  carbonic  and  vegeta- 
ble acids;  in  our  forests  this  process  is  always 
going  on  from  the  rotting  of  the  fallen  leaves, 


I,  and  it  also  forms  the  entire 
\fi  oom-stalk,  the  stems  of 
of  wheat  and  other  grains, 

•  ratans  and  bamboos,  there 
ting  as  to  emit  sparks  when 

isible  alone  in  the  hottest 
pure  water,  mid  but  slij^ht. 
ng  acids;  but  if  mixed  in 
^  with  potash  or  sodu,  and 
ng  heat,  it  readily  melts  and 
lown  substance,  glass.  If 
!)rtion  of  one  part  silex  and 
it  can  be  easily  melted,  and 
jss,  that  is,  it  cun  be  readily 
ig  water  like  sugar  or  salt ; 
s  artificially  rendered  solu- 

is  a  way  of  her  own,  in  dis- 
te  flint  rock"  so  ns  to  ])ro- 
n  u])  by  the  roots  of  jdants, 
f  forming  the  skeleton,  for 
sap-vessels,  and  for  making 
•straw of  wheat,  &c.,  wliicli 
e  laws  of  crystallization, 
let  is  a  perfect  coating  of 
)f  this  coating  is  to  protect 
tlie  attacks  of  insects,  and 

•  the  stem. 

served,  glass  is  only  a  com- 
ir  sand  and  soda  or  potash, 
ire  of  a  glass  manufactory, 
stems  of  grain,  grass,  <!cc., 
soil,  simply  by  a  chymical 
1  potash  or  soda.  Tlie  pot- 
rived  from  felspar.  Felspar 
ituents  of  granite.  It  is  not 
1  it  very  much  resembles 
fers  widely  from  it  in  its 
s,  being  a  comjionnd  of 
ay),  and  potash;  there  is 
:een  per  cent,  of  potash  in 
a  chymist,  by  analyzing 
,  can  obtain  12  or  15  lbs. 
as  some  kinds  yield  potash, 
'  jiotash  of  commerce  is  de- 
shcs — soda  from  the  asli  of 
I  and  grease  make  soft  soap 
hard  soap ;  they  have  many 
ion:  both  will  unite  witn 
will  neutralize  acids — both 
X — and  both  are  alkalies, 
onstitutent  of  granite,  con- 
percent,  of  potash.  These 
I  mixed  up  in  our  granite 
seven  per  cent,  of  potash 

iea  react  upon  each  other; 
or  rotting  of  vegetable  mat- 
ices  carbonic  and  vegeta- 
(rests  this  process  is  always 
rotting  of  the  fallen  leaves, 


RESEAHCHE3  ON  FOOD. 


Ml 


twigs,  branches,  and  trunks  of  trees.  The 
water  of  the  soil  holding  these  acids  in  solu- 
tion, they  act  ujion  and  dissolve  the  potash 
in  the  felspar  and  irica  porti(jn  of  the  soil ; 
and  as  m.ich  the  larger  portion  of  our  soils  are 
derived  from  the  disititcgrated  and  finely- 
pulverized  granite,  it  contains  a  large  amount 
of  potash  in  the  stones,  [)ebbles,  and  finer  parts 
of  the  soil.  The  potash  lieing  thus  lilierated 
or  dissolved  by  the  acids,  in  turn  acts  upon 
and  dissolves  a  portion  of  the  silex ;  and  in 
solution  they  are  taken  up  by  the  rootlets  of 
l)lunts,  and,  as  has  lieen  already  ol)serveii, 
by  the  laws  of  segn^galion  and  crystallization, 
till'  silex  is  deposited  u|)on  the  surface  of  nnuiy 
plants,  in  a  hard  coating  or  glaze,  and  <;v('ry 
tube  or  sap-vessel,  in  the  trunks  ond  branches 
of  trees  and  plants,  is  lined  with  a  coating  of 
the  .sani(!  material. 

It  is  in  this  way,  the  potash,  and  the  sandy 
or  gritty  portion  we  find  left  after  burning 
wood,  are  derived  from  the  soil. 

One  of  the  most  indispensable  inorganic 
constituents  of  all  land-plants,  is  potash. 
There  is  not  a  single  ])lant  in  the  field  or  t!ie 
wood,  the  ashes  of  which  does  not  contain  it 
in  one  state  of  combination  or  another,  and 
often  in  very  large  ([uantity — so  much  so,  that 
the  belief  was  once  entertained  that  ])lants 
I.ud  the  power  of  generating  it  within  them- 
selves; but  more  modern  researches  have 
most  clearly  pointed  out  the  source  whence 
it  is  derived,  and  the  manner  in  which  plants 
obtain  it. 

The  following  are  a  few  familiar  illustra- 
tions of  the  solvent  properties  of  potash.  Vats 
and  tubs,  that  have  long  been  used  for  leach- 
ing ashes,  have  the  silica  that  lined  every  sap- 
vessel  of  the  wood,  and  gave  strength  and 
solidity  to  it,  dissolved  out  by  the  action 
of  the  potash.  The  woody  fibre  being  insolu- 
ble by  the  alkali  is  left  behind,  and  very 
much  resembles  flax,  and  it  is  nearly  identical 
with  the  fibre  of  flax  and  cotton.  Chymists 
have  given  to  this  woody  fibre,  the  name  of 
lignin.  Paper-makers,  in  manufacturing  pa- 
pet  from  straw  and  coarse  grasses,  &c.,  take 
advantage  of  the  solvent  powersof  the  alkalies, 
potash,  soda,  or  lime,  to  decompose  the  silica 
or  hard  coating  upon  the  straw.  Sec.  Thread 
and  yarn  spun  from  flax,  are  boiled  in  lye  to 
dissolve  the  gritty  matter  and  soften  the 
threads. 

Goodness  does  not  more  certainly  make 
men  happy,  than  happiness  makes  them  good. 
We  must  distinguish  between  felicity  and 
prosperity  ;  for  prosperity  leads  often  to  am- 
bition, and  ambition  to  disappointment;  the 
course  is  then  over,  the  wheel  turns  round  but 
once ;  while  the  reaction  of  goodness  and  hap- 
piness is  perpetual. 


UKSEARCHliS  ON  FOOD. 

Nothing  but  accurate  scientific  investiga- 
tion can  ever  t^  ach  the  proper  treatment  of 
the  human  system  either  in  heullh  or  iu 
disease.  No  length  of  ex[)erience  of  vague 
sen.iations,  following  up  the  taking  of  certain 
kinds  of  food,  exercise,  or  drugs,  is  enough  to 
detemiine  the  precise  virtues  of  these  a))pli- 
ances.  There  is  only  one  sure  way  of  (ind- 
ing  out  the  exact  uses  and  functions  of  what 
we  eat,  or  what  acts  on  our  boiiics ;  and  iliut 
is,  to  determine  precisely  on  tin;  one  hand  the 
substances  used  by  nature  in  ihi-  vital  pro- 
cesses, and  on  the  other,  the  composition  of 
the  materials  that  we  supjily  to  the  system. 
If  we  delcniiinc!  first  tin;  wants  of  tin;  body, 
anil  next  the  resources  of  the  world,  uud  select 
the  latter  exactly  to  meet  the  former,  we  will 
learn  on  truly  rational  grounds  tin;  way  of 
kee])ing  up  the  vigor  of  our  physical  frame- 
work. 

Baron  Liebig  is  at  present  conducting  a 
series  of  researches  on  the  nutrition  of  animals, 
on  exactly  the  same  jirinciple  that  he  and  oth- 
ers have  proceeded  with  respect  toihe  nourish- 
mentof  ])lants.  Aplunt  is  analyzed,  and  fouml 
to  contain  certain  constant  elements ;  some 
of  these  derived  fnmi  air  and  v/ater.  others 
I  of  an  earthy  kind  derived  from  the  solid  soil. 
The  requirements  of  the  plant  being  thus  laid 
open,  it  can  be  seen  by  a  similar  investiga- 
tion if  a  soil  contains  in  projjcr  form  these 
precise  elements.  If  it  contain  some  of  them, 
and  not  others,  then  what  is  wanting  is  com- 
municated, and  no  more.  This  is  true  insight 
and  rational  ])ractice.  All  other  schemes, 
founded  on  what  is  called  "farming  experi- 
ence," can  be  at  best  mere  probabilities. 

Liebig  has  just  presented  to  the  world  his 
researches  on  the  chymistry  of  food,  which 
is  a  most  valuable  contribution  to  the  accurate 
knowledge  of  the  action  of  food  on  the  sys- 
tem. It  is  wholly  devoted  to  the  constitution 
of  the  flesh  or  muscles  of  the  body,  which 
form  one  of  the  largest  and  most  iuiixirtant 
constituents  of  the  system.  The  flesliy  mas- 
ses, which  make  the  soft  parts  between  the 
skin  and  the  deep-lying  bones  of  the  skeleton, 
are  the  prime  forces  of  the  moving  organs — 
the  source  of  strength,  energy,  and  every  form 
of  bodily  activity.  The  first  consequence  of 
derangement  in  the  constitution  of  the  flesh 
is  a  loss  of  working  vigor:  and  this  is 
apt  to  be  followed  up  with  disorders  in  the 
other  parts  of  the  system — the  stomach,  lungs, 
brain,  Sec.  It  is  of  prime  importance,  there- 
fore, that  we  should  know  in  a  rigorous  sci- 
entific way  (which  means  in  the  one  perfect 
way)  what  is  necessary  for  preserving  or 
restoring  the  elements  which  enter  into  healthy 
flesh. 


il! 


mi « 


142 


IIESEAIICHKS  ON  FOOD. 


.^'■ 


LinbiiT,  accordingly,  lias  set  to  work,  by 
chymicnl  analysis,  to  find  what  arn  the  sub- 
Hta"nct;a  that  are  combineil  together  in  animal 
muscle.  Some  of  the  substances  that  he  has 
found  are  entirely  new;  and  he  confesses  that 
there  vet  remam  one  or  two  constituents 
which  lie  has  not  sufficiently  investigated,  so 
as  to  b(>  al  ie  ^o  say  what  they  are. 

Flesh  is  "'r>lc  up  of  solid  fibres,  cells,  mem- 
l)runes— all  of  an  organized  structure— with 
fat ;  it  also  contains  a  very  large  (lunntity  of 
liiiuid  matter,  called  the  juice  of  the  flesh. 
Tliis  juice  is  a  solution  of  a  great  many  ele- 
ments or  substances  in  water  ;  the  weight  of 
tlie  water  itself  being  many  times  that  of  all 
the  dissolved  substances  put  togethir.     Lie- 
bin's  investigations  have  been  directed  to  the 
analysis   of  these  substances.     He   takes  a 
muss  of  ten  jxmnds  of  newly-kilhd  flesh,  re- 
duces it  to  a  fine  mince,  mixes  it  with  water, 
and  sijuee/.es  the  whole  moss  through  a  linen 
bus,  wiit'l  lie  1'""  <  xtracted  as  much  of  the 
li(lTiid  contents  as  possible,  and  left  only  the 
s<iliil  portions  behind.     When  the  fluid  thus 
obtoincd  is  heated  up  to  a  certain  tem])era- 
ture,  the  alhumrn,  which  is  one  constituent, 
coagulates,  and  can  be  separated.     At  a  still 
higher  temperature,  the  coloring  matter,  which  ^ 
makes  the  redness  of  raw  flesh,  also  coagu- 
lates,  ond  is  reiiioved.     The  separation  of 
these  simjjlifies  the  compound.     The  remain- 
inir  fluid  is  always  of  an  acid  character,  show- 
ing that  it  contiifns,  with  its  other  ingredients, 
one  or  more  acid  substances,  in  a  free  or  un- 
ncutralized  state.     A  part  of  the  inquiry  is  to 
find  what  these  acids  arc  :   accor.lingly,  an 
alkali  (barvta)  is  poured  in  to  combine  with 
and    precipitate   them.      The   precipitate   is 
withdrawn  ar.d  examined,  and  found  to  con- 
sist oi phosphatci,  which  jihosjihates  have  the 
double  base  of  baryta  and  magnesia,  which 
last,  therefore,  must  have  been  jiresent  in  the 
juice.     It  is  thus  shown  that  j'hoaplioric  add 
is   an   essential   constituent  of  the  juice  of 
muscle. 

The  li(piid  that  is  freed  from  filtration  from 
these  precipitated  phosphates  is  slowly  evaj)- 
orated,  until  at  last  crystals,  in  the  form  of 
colorless  needles,  apjiear  at  the  bottom.  These 
crystals,  when  examined  by  chymical  tests, 
arc  found  to  be  an  entirely  new  substance, 
with  distinct  and  specific  properties,  which 
Liebig  has  fully  investigated  ;  and  it  has  re- 
ceived the  name  of  Jcreatine,  from  the  Greek 
word  for  flesh.  This  kreatine,  therefore,  is 
an  invariable  constituent  of  the  muscular 
fluid.  Its  amount  in  any  animal  is  greatest 
when  tter»  is  least  fat;  as  fat  accumulates, 
it  dimmishes. 

The  physical  properties  of  a  substance  are 
its  specific  gravity,  texture,  color,  and  ap- 
[♦earancc.     The  ctiymical  properties  are  its 


composition,  ot  the  proportions  of  its  element- 
ary constituents,  anil  its  chymical  action  n|«)n 
other  bodies,  such  as  acids,  alkalies,  and  tests 
of  all  sorts.  These  |>roperties  Liebig  has  de- 
tailed in  reference  to  the  new  substance,  and 
by  them  a  key  will  be  found  to  its  uses  in  the 
living  body. 

The  action  of  a  strong  acid  on  kreatine 
creates  a  second  substance  hitherto  unknown 
•to  chymists,  which  is  alkaline  in  its  nature, 
called  by  Liebig  A-rM//«//ir.  This  sui>staii(:c. 
liowever,  may  not  only  be  i)rodnecd  from 
kreatine,  but  it  is  founif  in  tin  system  of  an- 
other jiennanent  constituent,  and  as  such  its 
])roperties  deserve  and  have  received  a  dis- 
tinct investigation. 

The  original  kreatine,  resolved  by  an  ocid 
into  kreotiiiine,  is  next  resolved  by  l)oryta 
into  two  oth(;r  eU'ment^^  one  of  them  urta, 
already  well  known;  but  the  other  is  a  com- 
pletely new  siilistance  of  the  alkaline  chnriic- 
ter,  named  sarcosinr,  and  aiipiirently  worthy 
of  being  stu<lied.  Here,  therefore,  from  one 
crystralline  deposite  there  arises  three  orsiniic 
compounds,  tliot  have  all  siunething  toilo  with 
human  vitality.  _  _  _  ♦ 

We  are  not  yet  done  with  the  original 
li(pii(l.  After  the  crystals  of  kreatine  are  de- 
])osiri'd,  there  is  a  liipior  still  remaining.  By 
odding  alcohol  to  it,  it  is  made  to  give  a  now 
de|iosite  in  white  foliated  crystals.  These 
are  separated  by  filtration,  and  examined,  and 
yield  a  fourth  new  substance  of  an  acid  char- 
acter, called  by  Liebig  inosinic  orid.  This 
is  a  very  remarkable  element.  The  flavor 
of  the  meat  seems  to  reside  in  it :  when  it  is 
acted  on  by  a  high  heat,  it  gives  olF  the  very 
smell  of  roasting  meat. 

Recurring  again  to  the  unexhausted  mollicr 
li(piid,  and  adding  more  alcohol,  a  new  sep- 
aration tokes  place  ;  a  thick  sirupy  substiince 
falls  to  the  bottom,  and  a  lighter  \v\mA  flouts 
above.  The  separate  examination  of  these 
brings  out  additional  elements.  Here  is  found 
the  kreatinine  natural  to  the  muscle.  There 
is  also  now  found  lactate  of  potash  ;  and  it 
turns  out  that  lactic  acid,  or  the  acid  of  sour 
milk,  is  a  constant  element  of  muscular  juice, 
as  well  as  the  jihosphoric  acid  that  came  out 
at  an  earlier  stage.  Tl  e  lactates  of  flesh  re- 
ceive from  Liebig  a  sejjirate  investigation. 

After  settling  the  characters  of  these  great 
organic  constituents — kreatine,  kreatinine, 
sarcosine,  inosinic  acid — and  the  compounds 
of  lactic  acid,  he  now  tunis  to  what  are  call- 
ed the  inorganic  elements,  such  as  phosphoric 
acid,  potash,  ond  other  alkalies,  and  founds  a 
curious  speculation  upon  the  presence  and 
mutual  actions  of  the  lactic  and  phosphoric 
acids.  The  great  idea  of  the  speculation  is, 
that  lactic  acid  is  the  substance  the^  directly 
supports  respiration,  or  whose  consutniition 


"m 


jirnportions  of  its  elctnrnt- 
1(1  its  chyniicol  action  npon 
as  acids,  nlkalics,  and  tests  , 
c  ])ro]M'rtics  Licbi;;  has  dc- 

tii  the  new  siibstuncc,  mid 
1  be  found  to  its  uses  in  the 

a  strong  acid  on  krentino 
ibstance  hitherto  unknown 
h  is  alkaline  in  its  nature, 
rrntininr.  This  snbstnnce. 
It  only  be  jiroduccd  from 
founif  in  th<  system  of  iin- 
constitiicnt,  nml  as  such  its 
)  and  have  received  a  dis- 

eatine,  resolved  by  an  acid 
=1  next  r<'solved  by  baryta 
I'lnerits,  one  of  tlieni  urra, 
vn ;  but  the  other  is  a  coin- 
[incc  of  the  nlkalino  chanie- 
inr,  and  aiipiircntly  worthy 
Ifere,  therefore,  from  one 
te  there  arises  three  orisiniie 
ittve  all  something  to  do  wiiii 

■et  done  with  the  original 
crystals  of  krentine  are  lie- 
li(|U()r  still  remaining.  By 
it,  it  is  made  to  give  a  new 
1  foliated  crystals.  These 
nitration,  and  examined,  and 
V  substance  of  an  acid  clinr- 
Liiebig  inosinic  vhl.  This 
Lablc  element.  The  flavor 
s  to  reside  in  it :  when  it  is 
h  hi-at,  it  gives  olF  the  very 
ineat. 

n  to  the  unexhausted  mother 
g  more  alcohol,  u  new  xep- 
;e  ;  a  thick  sirupy  substinice 
n.  and  a  lighter  liquid  flouts 
lunite  examination  of  these 
aal  elements.  Here  is  found 
tural  to  the  muscle.  There 
id  lactate  of  potash. ;  and  it 
:lic  acid,  or  the  acid  of  sour 
It  element  of  muscular  juice, 
osphoric  acid  that  came  out 
e.  T>  e  lactates  of  flesh  rc- 
g  a  sejjirate  investigation, 
the  characters  of  these  groat 
ents — krcatine,  kroatinine, 
ic  acid — and  the  compounds 
R  now  turns  to  what  are  cnll- 
elements,  such  as  phosphoric 
I  other  alkalies,  and  founds  a 
:ion  upon  the  presence  and 
jf  the  lactic  and  phosphoric 
It  idea  of  the  speciJation  is, 
s  the  substance  ths^  directly 
ition,  or  whose  consutniition 


RESEAHCHES  ON  FOOD. 


143 


gives  the  animrd  heat;  and  that  the  sugar  and 
starch  taken  in  our  food  are  changed  into  lac- 
tic acid,  in  order  to  become  respiratory  ele- 
ments. In  tact,  the  use  of  sugar  is  to  supply 
the  laeti<;  aci  1  constituent,  which  has  to  serve 
I  his  and  other  purposes  in  the  body.  Another 
verv  refined  sjieculation  is  olVcred  by  the 
nulfinr,  founded  on  the  fact,  that  the  alkali 
contiiinod  in  the  llesh  is  |)otush,  and  the  alkali 
crintiiined  in  the  blood  is  soda.  Me  shows 
how  the  chymical  properties  of  jihosphoric 
acid  and  soda,  which  go  together  in  the  blood, 
would  expliiin  the  process  whereliy  nature 
makes  the  exehunge  of  carbonic  acid  for  jiure 
oxyg<Mi,  in  the  ihiul  act  of  ihe  resjiiratory 
jirocess. 

These  elements  do  not  exhaust  the  con- 
stituents of  muscle,  and  it  will  take  much  ad- 
ditioual  study  to  follow  out  all  tlit'ir  functions 
ill  the  luimiin  body.  INIoreover,  muscle,  al- 
though a  very  iiiijiortaiit  tissue,  is  only  one 
out  of  many  ;  and  it  will  be  necessary  to  go 
through  a  similar  examination  of  nerve  aii<l 
other  tissues  before  the  chvmical  actions  in- 
volved in  the  animal  system  are  fully  known. 
But  in  the  meantime,  tjiebig  draws  snine  very 
important  )>ra(-tical  inferences  from  the  dis- 
coveries already  made. 

In  the  first  )iTace,  he  shows  how  the  boiling 
of  meat  acts  upon  the  various  constituents  of 
the  jui('e.  We  reiptire,  for  the  support  of  our 
ninscle,  not  merely  the  fibrous  matter  of  ani- 
mal ilesh,  but  all  the  array  of  the  albumen, 
lactates,  phosphates,  kreatine,  &c.,  already 
mentioned  :  if  any  of  these  arc  allowed  to 
escape,  we  are  deprived  of  some  needful  cle- 
ment, and  our  system  sutlers.  Now,  cold 
water  can  dissolve  the  great  mass  of  these 
important  ingredients,  so  that  if  meat  is  ])ut 
into  cold  water,  and  slowly  boiled  up,  the 
wnter  will  have  carried  oil  all  the  albumen 
and  sev(;ral  other  substances,  and  the  remain- 
ing beef  will  be  u  kind  of  husk,  iiisullicient 
to- nourish  the  system,  unless  the  water  it 
has  been  boiled  in  is  taken  at  the  same  time 
in  the  form  of  soup.  To  boil  beef  without 
losing  the  nutritious  and  savory  elements, 
Lit" big  gives  the  following  directions  :  the 
water  is,  in  the  first  place,  to  be  put  into  a 
brisk  boiling  state ;  iiito  this  boiling  water 
the  meat  should  be  plunged,  and  allowed  to 
lie  for  a  few  minutes;  it  is  then  taken  out, 
and  cold  water  is  to  be  poured  into  the  boiler 
fill  the  heot  lie  reiluced  far  below  boiling,  or 
to  about  1(50 degrees;  the  meat  is  then  ]nit  in 
again,  and  kept  in  the  water  at  this  tempera- 
ture for  two  or  three  hours.  Everything  i  ■ 
in  this  way  effected  that  can  render  the  flesh 
jileasant  and  wholesome  as  food.  The  con- 
tuct  with  the  boiling  water  at  the  outset  co- 
agulates the  albumen  of  the  flesh  all  round 
the  surface  of  the  meat,  and  closes  up  its  pores 


with  a  solid  wall,  that  none  of  the  internal 
juices  can  pass  through,  and  the  meat  is 
preserved  in  all  its  integrity  while  undergoing 
the  action  of  the  heat. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  we  wish  to  hav(i 
a  rich  soiij),  we  must  take  means  for  thorough- 
Iv  extracting  the  various  elements  of  the 
fleshy  juice,  for  these  elements  are  the  essen- 
tial portion  of  a  soup.  A  perfect  soup  would 
be  a  mixture  of  all  the  soliiide  consliiueiits 
of  the  muscle — in  fact,  Liebi^'s  original 
mother  licpifir,  which  he  wrought  ujuin  to 
bring  out  all  the  variims  substances  already 
enumerated.  Accordingly,  the  plan  of  ma- 
king soup  is  as  follows  : — 

'•  When  one  ])ouiid  of  lean  beef,  free  of 
fat,  and  separated  from  the  bones,  in  the  fine- 
ly-ehoi)])ed  state  in  which  it  is  used  for  becf- 
sausnges  or  mince-meat,  is  unifonnly  mixed 
with  its  own  weight  of  cold  water,  slowly 
heated  to  lioiling,  and  the  liquid,  after  boiling 
briskly  for  a  minute  or  two,  is  strained  through 
u  clotfi  from  the  coagulated  albumen  and  the 
lil)rine,  now  become  hard  and  homy,  we  ob- 
tain an  erpial  weight  of  the  most  aromatic 
soup,  of  such  strength  as  can  be  obtained  even 
by  boiling  for  hours  from  a  ])iecc  of  flesh. 
When  mixed  with  salt,  and  the  other  usual 
adilirions  by  which  soup  is  usually  seasoned, 
and  tinged  somewhat  darker  by  means  of 
roast(Ml  onions  or  burnt  sugar,  it  forms  llic 
very  best  soup  that  can  be  prejiared  from  one 
pound  of  flesh." 

An  extract  of  meat  thus  prepared  :s  found 
to  be  an  invaluable  provision  for  un  army  in 
active  service.  Administered  along  with  a 
little  wine  to  wounded  soldiers,  it  immediate- 
ly restores  their  strength,  exhausted  by  loss 
of  lilood,  and  enables  them  to  sustain  the 
fatigue  of  removal  to  the  nearest  hospital. 
Of  course  what  is  so  useful  in  this  extreme 
case  must  be  nijaful  in  thousands  of  minor 
occasions  of  bodily  j'Tostration.  The  loss  of 
strength  means  the  los  of  the  substances  that 
support  vitality,  such  as  these  very  ingredients 
of  fleshy  juice.  The  fleshy  fibre  itself  is 
wasted  more  slo.vly  than  the  substances  that 
float  in  the  liquid  that  invests  it;  so  that,  in 
fact,  a  supjily  of  these  mutters  has  a  more 
instantaniMius  ac".I^>i.  than  any  other  refresh-  ^ 
ment.  We  can  thus  exp'-in  the  effect  of  | 
sonjis  upon  convalescent  potients.  No  doubt 
the  jicrfect  soup  of  Liebig's  description  would 
be  found  to  have  a  far  greater  strengthening 
])ower  than  the  generality  of  those  in  com- 
mnn  use. 

There  is  one  other  principle  of  very  great 
consequence  stated.  It  is,  tliat  the  gastric 
juice  of  the  stomach,  which  dissolves  the 
solid  food  into  a  liquid  jnilp,  has  nearly  the 
same  ingredients  as  the  juice  of  flesh  ;  so  that 
the   power  of  digestion  will  be  very  much 


m   f 


km.1 


'W ! 


.  'iS=:~'phi.^Vii^WStH!iefM^fEimiifi^' 


144 


THK  HINDOO  SCHOLAR.— LYCUH0U8. 


iti  a 

scholar  :  the  sight  of  a  girl  witii  u  book  in  her 
Iminl,  however  common  ninong  n»,  was  tCli 
lately  very  unusual  in  India,  In  her  left  hand 
she  liolds  one  of  the  work-bags  sent  out  by 
the  ladie*  of  England  as  rewords  for  the  best 
behoved  girls. 

The  couteinjilation  of  this  subject,  will  sug- 
gest to  every  one  some  of  the  achantoges  to 
be  derived  from  Chri8tiani7.ing  Indio  ;  and  we 
hope  the  time  is  not  far  distant,  when  schools 
in  India  will  be  as  common  as  they  are  among 
us.  Such  a  state  of  things  would  gloddrn 
the  heart  of  every  philanthropist,  and  wotild 
elevate  and  ennoble  a  people  who  only  wants 
proper  education  and  mstruction  to  bo  great 
and  good. 


alFected  by  the  supply  of  the  constituents  of  |  thrown  over  the  head  and  shouhlers.  The 
juice  to  the  system"  Hence  a  gixA  flesh-  i  book  in  her  right  liund  shows  that  she 
extract  soup,  besides  giving  matrriuls  to  the 
muscle,  provides  the  solvent  liijuiil  of  the 
stoMiiich,  and  facilitotes  digestion.  To  jwoplc 
sullering  from  indigestion  in  the  sense  ot  de- 
Hciency  in  the  gastric  juice,  the  supply  of  this 
materiol  is  the  natural  remedy.  Another 
useful  hint  is  also  suggested  by  this  connexion 
of  stomach  and  muscle.  The  digestion  of 
the  fo(Ml,  and  the  exertion  of  the  muscles, 
consume  the  same  ingredients,  so  that  both 
operations  can  not  well  be  sustained  together 
beyond  a  certain  limit.  Moreover,  it  natural- 
ly'follows  that  rest  durinjj;  one  operation  will 
cause  increase  of  energy  m  the  other.  Dur- 
ing the  height  of  the  digestive  action,  muscu- 
lar exertion  can  not  well  be  afforded,  unless 
there  is  a  great  overplus  of  the  common  ali- 
ment. It  is  well  known  that  when  digestion 
is  V  "ak,  rest  after  meals  is  necessary,  and 
that  excessive  exercise  unfits  the  stomach  for 
its  work.  The  explanation  now  afforded  may 
supply  practical  wisdom  on  this  head  to  all 
men. 

Liebig  has  also  pointed  out  the  effect  that 
the  salting  of  meat  has  on  the  precious  con- 
stituents of  its  juice.  The  8al|;  withdraws  a 
great  portion  of  these  dissolved  matters,  which 
are  thrown  away  with  the  brine.  The  in- 
jatiousness  of  a  long  course  of  salt  provisions 
19  thus  distinctly  accounted  for. 

In  these  investigations,  Liebig  has  made  use 
of  flesh  derived  from  a  great  range  of  animaU, 
and  has  determined  the  comparative  richness 
of  each  in  the  various  substances  in  question. 
He  has  tried  the  flesh  of  ox,  roedeer,  horse, 
hare,  fox,  fowls,  fishes,  (Sec.  In  this  way  he 
is  likely  to  furnish,  what  has  been  sought  for 
in  vain  by  other  methods,  a  eomporiaon  of 
the  nutritive  qualities  of  the  different  kinds 
of  foo<l.  No  man  that  understands  the  real 
difficulty  of  settling  such  a  point,  can  put  the 
slightest  faith  in  any  of  the  tables  of  the  com- 
parative digestibility  or  nutritiveness  of  sub- 
stances that  have  hitherto  been  put  forth  in 
books  of  medicine  or  dietetics. 


L 


THE  HINDOO  SCHOLAR. 

Our  engraving  represents  one  of  those  little 
girls  in  India  who  are  receiving  Christian  ed- 
ucation in  the  female  schools  which  have  been 
established  in  that  country.  The  engraving 
is  taken  from  a  portrait  of  one  of  the  scholars 
attending  the  schools  in  Calcutta :  she  is  rep- 
resented in  the  native  female  dress,  which  is 
called  a  ■'  sarrie."  The  sarrie  is  a  long  piece 
of  white  muslin,  folded  round  the  body  and 


LYCURGUS. 

No  man  ever  more  truly  deserved  th»  title 
of  reformer,  than  did  Lycurgns,  the  Spartan 
lawgiver;  and  there  have  lived  few  men 
whose  lives  and  actions  were  of  a  more  inter- 
esting character. 

Lycurgus  flourished  obout  900  years  before 
the  "Christian  era,  or  about  2.700  years  ago. 
As  may  be  supposed,  the  incidents  of  his  life 
are  neither  so  numerous  nor  so  well  authen- 
ticated as  would  be  desirable :  but  if  there  be 
doubts  in  regard  to  his  personal  history,  there 
can  be  none  in  regard  to  the  reforms  he 
brought  about,  and  the  institutions  he  estab- 
lished. 

Lycurgns  is  commonly  believed  to  have 
been  a  son  of  Eunomus,  of  the  royal  house  of 
Laccdsmon,  but  not  in  the  line  of  direct  suc- 
cession. The  death  of  his  brother  appeared 
to  give  him  a  title  to  the  crown;  but  his 
widow  giving  promise  of  an  heir  to  the  throne, 
Lycurgus  assumed  the  government  as  regent. 
The  brother's  widow  preferring  the  queen- 
ly dignity  to  that  of  queen-mother  proposed 
to  destroy  tho  yet  unborn  heir  to  the  throne 
of  Sparta,  and  share  the  crown  with  Lycur- 
gus. Stifling  his  indignation  at  8uch_  an  in- 
famous proposal,  he  yielded  a  seeming  as- 
sent; but  as  procuring  an  abortion,  though 
sometimes  practised,  was  attended  with  se- 
rious danger  to  the  health  of  the  mother,  Ly- 
curgus persuaded  her  to  do  no  violence  to  the 
course  of  nature — since,  if  bom,  tho  infant 
might  be  easily  disposed  of. 

As  the  time  for  the  birth  of  the  child  drew 
nigh,  Lycurgus  placed  trusty  attendants 
around  the  person  of  the  queen,  with  orders 
to  bring  him  the  child,  if  it  proved  a  son,  as 
soon  as  bom.     This  happened  while  he  was 


"%% 


^l^igl 


mmmm 


mm 


pari  anil  Bhoultlers.  The 
liuiid  hIiowm  that  nhn  in  a 
if  li  j;irl  witii  n  hook  in  her 
iiinon  ninong  ns,  was  till 
in  India.  In  her  luft  hand 
)c  work-bojis  sent  out  by 
nd  as  rewards  for  the  best 

on  of  this  Bubjcrt,  will  snj;- 
ome  of  the  advantages  to 
ristianizing  India  ;  and  we 
it  far  distant,  when  8ch(K)l8 
lommon  as  they  are  anK)ng 
of  things  would  glodden 
philanthropist,  and  would 
a  a  people  who  only  wants 
nd  instruction  to  be  great 


XURGUS. 

ire  trnly  deserved  th»  title 
lid  LycurgBs,  the  Spartan 
lere  have  lived  few  men 
tions  were  of  a  more  inter- 
shed  about  900  yeors  before 
or  about  2,700  years  ago. 
ed,  the  incidents  of  his  life 
erous  nor  so  well  anthen- 
e  desirable :  but  if  there  be 
»  his  personal  history,  there 
regard  to  the  reforms  he 
J  the  institutions  he  estab- 

mmonly  believed  to  have 
omus,  of  the  royal  house  of 
lot  in  the  line  of  direct  suc- 
th  of  his  brother  appeared 
tie  to  the  crown;  but  his 
nisc  of  on  heir  to  the  throne, 
1  the  government  as  regent, 
fidow  preferring  the  qnoen- 

of  ()ueen-mother  proj)osed 
t  unborn  heir  to  tlie  throne 
lare  the  crown  with  Lycur- 

indignation  at  such  an  in- 

he  yielded  a  seeming  as- 
curing  an  abortion,  though 
led,  wos  attended  with  se- 
e  heolth  of  the  mother,  Ly- 
her  to  do  no  violence  to  the 
—since,  if  bom,  the  infant 
isposed  of. 

the  birth  of  the  child  drew 

ploced    trusty    ottendants 

n  of  the  (juecn,  with  orders 

child,  if  It  proved  a  son,  as 

lis  happened  while  he  was 


i 


thvi 


I 


•^iri 


:^.,^^i^'S-.-^it^m^.,affiivv^amii^afmm>!^9^-^-  •i-t.^-j.t 


■fcit?-;..' 


146 


LYcuaaus. 


sittinR  nt  tnblc,  with  the  mogistrntrs  r.f  Spnrtn.  |  diil  not  number  more  than  two  or  three  hun- 

Thc  lu•\^^M)^l  i)riiirc  wns  brought  to  hiui.  mid  ,  tired  tliousoiid. 

takiiip  llic  ii.funt  in  his  arms,  Ik;  inim.diuti'ly  |      Rctuniiiig   from  the  frrt  of  the   Brnnuns 


iiaincd  ii  (Jliiirilttus,  mid  procluimfd  liim  kiiia 
of  Spuria — ufur  which,  os  njirnt,  he  provided 
for  his  proper  cure  and  ('(hication. 

Tlicru  was  tlius  thrown  u|Min  this  noble 
prime  two  great  cares — the  govcnimciit  of 
the  reahii  us  resent,  nnd  the  protcrlioii  of  the 


and  the  teinpli  s  of  Kgypt,  Lycurnus  set  him- 
(lelf  tsteadily  at  the  great  woA  of  reform. 
First  he  visited  the  Delphio  oracle,  nnd  the 
Spartans  heard  with  veneration,  n  sentence 
they  were  Blrea<ly  well  disposed  to  believe — 
that  Lyeurgus,  m  wisdom,  transcended  the 


lawful   sovereign.     With   these   cares  tamo  '  conutiuii   level   of  humanity.     He   thin   «c 


also  a  danger  from  which  the  p(  nsitive  soul 
of  Lyeurgus  Bhrunk  w.lli  dread.  The  life 
of  this  inl.mt  olone  sKhhI  between  him  ond 
the  Bupremc  power.  If  the  child  should  die, 
he  would  doubtless  be  accused  of  its  mur- 
der, from  motives  of  ambition. 

Lyeurgus  resolved  to  avod  this  donger, 
and  do  his  country  a  great  servce  ut  the  same 
time.  During  the  minority  of  the  king,  leav- 
ing the  administration  of  the  state  in  the  himds 
of  proper  ollicers,  he  became  a  voluntary 
exile,  travelling  in  various  parts  of  Greece, 
in  Kgv|i  ,  and,  if  we  believe  m  f'li;  historians, 
in  India — for  P-gypt  and  India  were,  in  the 
early  uses  of  Greece,  considered  as  the  fount- 
ains of  science  ar.d  wis<lom. 

During  this  exile,  and  these  travels,  Lyeur- 
gus perfected  o  plan  for  the  refonnation  of  the 
institutions  of  his  ccmntry,  which,  when  Chn- 
rilaus,  his  ward,  had  arrived  at  maturity,  he 
returned  to  put  in  practice.  And  reforms 
were  greatly  needed.  Sparta  had  fallen  into 
a  depioruble  situation. 

The  soil  had  become  gradufilly  monopolized 
by  the  rich  landlords  who  lived  in  luxury, 
while  the  great  mass  of  the  jieoplc.  being 
without  land,  were  ixKir,  oppressed,  and  de- 
graded ;  and  were  often  in  danger  of  storva- 
tion.  Such  an  unnatural  stote  of  things  ener- 
vated the  rich,  crushed  down  and  dispirited 
the  poor,  provoked  discontent,  outrages,  and 
rebellions,  which  produced  despitism  ond  tyr- 
anny, and  threatened  the  entire  ruin  of  the 
country. 

Writers  have  uniformly  cxjiressed  astonish- 
ment that  Lyeurgus  should  have  had  suffi- 
cient ])ower  and  inlluence  to  correct  these  greot 
abuses  in  the  state.  But  when  it  is.  consider- 
ed that  he  wax  the  uncle  of  the  king;  that  he 


cured  a  consideralile  party  of  thi;  best  citizens 
of  Sparta,  and  though  ]w  met  with  on  oppo- 
sition so  violent  as  nt  tijncs  to  threaten  his 
life,  his  firmness  and  courage  at  length  tri- 
umphed over  every  obstacle,  and  he  esiob- 
lished  laws  ami  institutions  for  Sparta,  which 
remained  for  many  centuries,  and  which  gave 
her  great  renown  in  all  succeeding  times. 

The  tirst  object  was  to  reform  the  great  nnd 
fundomental  evil,  the  monopoly  of  wealth  by 
a  few,  which  necessarily  reduced  the  great 
b(Kly  of  tht  people  to  extreme  poverty.  At 
a  single  blow,  aided  by  the  king,  a  senate 
which  he  had  established,  consisting  of  the 
most  jiopular  men  in  the  state,  ond  tlie  voire 
of  the  people,  Lyeurgus  destroyi  d  the  exist- 
ing titles  to  lorge  tracts  of  land,  vested  in 
a  few  individuals,  and  the  soil  of  Lacedjemon, 
as  the  property  of  the  state,  wos  divided 
among  the  people,  and  their  rights  in  tlie  soil 
were  guarded  by  such  provisions  that  no  fam- 
ily could  be  deprived  of  the  uienns  of  su|)- 
port.  We  are  not  particularly  informed  of 
the  difficulties  which  attende(l  this  reform, 
but  it  made  the  way  easy  for  every  other. 

In  the  government,  the  o'^ho  of  king  wn 
retained.  It  was  one  of  dignity  and  respect 
— but  that  was  paid  to  the  office,  rather  thnn 
the  mon.  The  monarch  assumed  none  of  the 
trappings  or  state  of  royalty — he  dressed  like 
the  common  people,  and  dined  with  them  at 
the  common  public  table.  As  commander-in- 
chief  of  the  army  he  exercised  the  greatest 
authority. 

Thirty  senators  were  chosen  by  a  free 
election,  which  was  curiously  managed.  Sev- 
eral judges  were  placed  in  a  room  where  ihey 
could  hear  but  not  see  the  whole  assembly 
of  the  people.     The  candidates  then  pre-ent- 


had  governed  the  countrv  us  regent;  that  he  1  ed  themselves  successively  before  the  people, 
was  entitled  to  the  gratitude  of  the  sovereign  I  and  he  who  got  the  greatest  opplausc,  the 
and  of  the  people,  on  account  of  the  conduct    juilges  declared  to  be  elected. 
we  have  narrated  ;  and  that,  bv  his  foreign        The  grand  reform  of  a  fair  division  of  the 

soil  among  the  people  having  been  carried 
out,  the  artificial  distinction  of  wealth  was 
at  once  abolished,  and  poverty  was  unknown. 
The  whole  country  looked,  as  Lyeurgus  him- 
self of  ''rved,  !  ke  a  heritage  newly  shared 
among  many  brethren.  The  removal  of  pov- 
erty and  riches,  in  real  estate,  was  made  the 
more  complete  by  banishing  useless  arts  and 
luxuries,    and  even   money — for    Lyeurgus 


we 

travels  and  study,  he  had  required  tln>  re- 
spect due  to  8Ui)erior  wisdom  :  and  when,  to 
these  consli,  rations,  we  add  the  fact  that  in 
common  with  all  the  reformers  and  legislators 
of  pa^t  ages,  he  invoked  the  authority  of  re- 
ligion, we  shall  not  be  astoni.shed  at  the  re- 
sult of  his  efforts  in  remodeling  the  institu- 
tions of  his  country.  We  must  consider, 
also,  that  the   free  citizens  of  Lacedsemon 


^ 


re  than  two  or  three  hun- 

the  frpt  of  the  Brnnn"* 
Kgypt,  Lyciirgus  »pt  him 
le  HTvat  wortt  of  reform. 
•'  Drlphii";  oruclf,  mid  the 
th  vriifrntioii,  n  Hciitrnce 
well  (liH|M)8C(l  to  hclirvc — 

wii'dotii,  transccndiM.!  the 
humanity.  He  tlirn  nv 
V  pnrty  of  the  best  citizens 
ugh  lu-  inet  with  an  o\}])U' 
i  Ht  tiiiics  to  fhrenten  his 
ind  courage  at  h'njjth  tri- 
•y  olistaclc,  and  he  estab- 
fiiutioim  for  Spurta,  which 
centuries,  and  which  gave 
II  all  succeediiia:  times, 
vas  to  reform  the  great  and 
he  monopoly  of  wealth  by 
'.ssarily  fduced  the  greot 

to  extreme  i)overty.  At 
ed  by  the  kmp,  a  senate 
ablished,  ccmsiHting  of  the 
in  the  state,  and  the  voire 
;urgU8  destroy!  d  the  exist- 

tracts  of  land,  vested  in 
Hid  the  soil  of  Laccdicmon, 
>i  the  state,  was  divided 
and  their  rights  in  the  soil 
ach  provisions  that  nofim- 
veil  of  the  irienns  of  sup- 
l  iiarticularly  informed  of 
lich  attendeil  this  r<?fonn, 
ly  easy  for  c\'cry  other, 
nt,  the  ()*^i-e  oT  king  wo<' 
nne  of  dignity  and  res|)ect 
d  to  the  otTice,  rather  than 
march  assumed  none  of  the 
Df  royalty — he  dressed  like 
le,  and  dmed  with  them  at 
:  table.     As  commaiider-in- 

he  exercised  the  greatest 

I  were  chosen  by  a  free 
8  curiously  managed.  Sev- 
laced  in  a  room  whetL'  I  hey 
)t  see  the  whole  assembly 
he  candidates  then  pre-^int- 
cessively  before  the  pei  'plc, 
the  greatest  applanse,  the 
» be  elected. 

rm  of  a  fair  division  of  the 
icople  having  been  carried 
distinction  of  wealth  was 
and  jjoverty  was  unknown. 
■y  looked,  as  Lycurgus  him- 
e  a  heritage  newly  shared 
liren.  The  removal  of  pov- 
ri  real  estate,  was  made  the 
r  banishing  useless  arts  and 
ren  money — for    Lycurgus 


LYCUllOUS. 


147 


established  a  currency  of  iron,  which,  while 
it  serM  (I  in  no  »inull  u  state  the  common  pur- 
|Ki»«'s  of  u  circulating  iiiediuin,  or  measurt;  of 
exclmiige,  presented  no  temptation  to  hoard 
or  uci'iuiiulutc. 

Lei  us  look  now  at  the  custoinii  and  insti- 
tutions which  lliisextruordinary  man  foundcrd. 
The  S|i(irtim  iastitntioiis  were  iiervmled  by 
one  principle.  The  citizen  in  born,  live*,  and 
is  ready  to  die,  for  the  state.  His  substance, 
time,  Mrengtli,  luculties,  and  alTections,  art; 
dedicated  to  its  service.  Its  welfare;  is  his 
hupi/niesH,  its  glorv,  his  honor.  Patriotism 
was  iln!  Spiirtioi's  hailing  virtue. 

When  u  child  was  l)oni,  he  was  not  alhiw- 
ed  to  live  if  so  weakly  or  deformed  as  not 
likely  to  be  capiiliic  of  ]ierforiiiing  all  thi; 
duties  of  li  citizen,  and  transmitting  the  full 
vigor  of  niiinluHid  to  his  posterity;  and  as 
much  puins  Mere  taken  to  insure  a  gixnl  breed 
of  men,  as  are  now  employed  in  improving 
the  races  of  inferior  animals. 

'Pile  infant,  until  the  age  of  seven,  was  left 
to  the  ciiri-  of  its  parents,  under  certoin  estab- 
lished rules  of  trenlmeiit,  calculated  to  [irotect 
them  from  the  mischievous  indulgence  of 
parental  tendcniess. 

At  seven,  they  were  scut  to  the  public 
schools,  which  were  nniler  the  superintenrl- 
ence  of  the  elders,  who  were  assisted  y  the 
picked  young  men  of  the  nation.  The  edu- 
cation i.f  the  boys  consisted  of  various  gym- 
nastic and  militury  exercises;  they  were  nls-i 
taught  music  andduucing.  The  songs  of  the 
Spartans  contained  the  greater  part  of  their 
literature,  their  history,  and  p.-rhaps  their  re- 
Hgion.  Their  exercises  were  conducted  with 
all  the  rigor  of  militury  discipline,  and  were 
such  as  to  give  them  strength,  energy,  and 
the  greatest  powers  of  endurance.  They 
were  taught  habitually  to  de.s|)'se  danger,  to 
exercise  caution,  to  endure  fatigue,  and  to 
brave  torture  and  death  with  unflinching 
fortitude.  There  has  never  been  seen  a  finer 
race  of  men,  gifted  with  more  vigor,  grace, 
and  ogility,  than  the  Spartans ;  and  they  were 
coiise(|uently  invincible  as  soldiers. 

From  ''le  time  the  young  Spartan  left  the 
lap  of  hi-,  mother  for  "the  public  schools,  his 
lite  was  a  continued  exercise  tor  the  develop- 
ment of  Sjjartan  qualities.  He  lived  on 
coarse  and  scanty  fare,  and  this  was  often 
withheld  ;  he  wore  a  thin  dress  in  the  depth 
of  winter  ;  slept  on  a  bed  of  reeds,  gathered 
by  h  mself  from  the  Eurotas ;  fought  with 
hts  comrades;  received  stripes  from  his  jjov- 
emors,  as  an  exercise  rather  than  a  punish- 
ment ;  foraged  for  himself,  in  spite  of  the 
vigilance  used  to  prevent  or  detect  him,  and 
was  known  to  die  rather  than  discover  hii 
plunder,  or  submit  to  a  publi(  tlogging  at  the 
shrine  of  Diana. 


The  cultivation  of  music,  poetry,  and  a 
sharp  and  ready  wit ;  and  extn-mc  m<Mlestv, 
obedience,  and  reverence  for  ii;:e,  were  the 
intellectual  and  moral  characteristics  of  this 
nation. 

All  the  Spartans  dineil  at  public  fables,  to 
wliich  each  n.un  s«nt  his  contribution  of  jiro- 
visions.  Men  were  udinilted  to  these  daily 
jiiiMic  feasts  by  ballot,  recpiiring  unanimous 
con- lit,  and  no  one  elected,  not  even  the  king, 
could  dine  at  iiomc  without  incurring  a  fine. 
These  feasts  were  enlivened  by  pleasantry 
and  mirth,  but  never  profaned  by  impure  con- 
Mrsation.  At  tins  age  of  sixty,  the  military 
life  closed  ;  and  the  aged  men  either  employ- 
ed themselves  in  superintending  the  ull'airs 
of  education,  or  passed  their  time  pleasantly 
in  social  ciuiversation. 

"  Victory  or  death"  was  the  Spartan's 
watch-word.  The  Spartan  nioiher  sent  her 
son  to  battle,  with  th<;  injunction  to  bring  his 
shield  home,  or  be  borne  home  U|)on  it.  No 
matter  what  th(!  cKldsof  numbers,  the  Sportun 
never  tunicd  his  bock  to  an  enemy.  lie  who 
did  so  was  publicly  disgraceil — excludeil  from 
all  society,  and  forced  to  wear  in  public  a 
ridiculous  costume,  and  be  o  mark  forsconi  and 
insult — a  disgrace  worse  thiin  death. 

Sparta  wos  at  all  times  like  a  camp — all 
her  men  were  soldiers.  War  was  the  element 
in  which  the  Spartan  breathed  most  freely, 
and  enjoyed  the  fullest  consciousness  of  his 
existence.  He  dressed  for  battle  as  for  a 
feast — he  went  into  action  singing  martial 
songs,  ond  with  every  appearance  of  gay  en- 
thusiasm, as  if  joining  in  a  jiublic  festival. 

The  Spartan  women  were  held  in  peculiar 
esteem,  and  enjoyed  a  degree  of  freedom  and 
social  consideration  contrasting  strongly  with 
the  general  condition  of  the  sex  in  the  eastern 
world.  Their  education  was  intended  to  pro- 
mote the  highest  physical  development,  and 
to  fit  them  to  be  mothers  to  heiics.  The 
Sjiartan  women  were  celebrated  for  chastity, 
and  their  matrons  appi  J  seldom  in  public, 
but  yet  exercised  a  »  mg  influence  in  all 
public  affairs. 

The  Spartans  were  very  religious,  and  the 
luxuries  they  denied  themselves,  they  lavished 
on  the  temples  of  the  gotls,  and  displayed  in 
processions  in  their  honor ;  for  in  no  part  of 
Greece  were  religious  ceremonies  more  splen- 
did, or  temples  more  magnificent. 

Such  were  the  institutions  and  manners 
formed  by  Lj.curgu8.  When  he  had  seen 
them  in  fair  and  successful  operation,  in  his 
Id  age,  he  told  his  assembled  countrymen 
that  there  was  yet  one  thing  upon  which  he 
wished  to  consult  the  sacred  and  infallible 
oracle  at  Delphos ;  and  he  made  them  take 
a  solemn  oath  to  keep  u.i  laws  until  he  re- 
turned to  Sparta.     Arrived  at  Delphos,  ho 


■It  II 


ttte: 


Tiwi 


^••IV    s 


■■^1' 


148 


THK  NKdTH  OV  VISIIES. 


Mnt  buck  wnnl  that  the  nraclo  hn<1  «alil  that 
S|)orta  dliDiiliI  III-  |)r(W|)iT(iu»  n»  loiin  un  lirr 
l)c(i|)le  obscrvi'd  Inn  liiw».  Then,  thnt  iIib 
oQth,  taken  ut  hi'<  (l<|mrtiire,  mijilit  liiiid  thtrii 
for  ever,  ho  ilcffrtnitioil  ru'ver  to  return. 

Lycuffjiis  <li«<l  in  I'xilo ;  when  iinil  whore 
in  nut  known;  though  it  ia  sai<l  that  he  ended 
his  life  by  voluntary  utarvotion. 


"«i»w 


THR  NKSTS  OF  FISHES. 

Almost  all  the  higher  rlosses  of  niiimnU, 
assiduously  prrf<iriii  thcMluties  of  |>nrent9  to 
their  young.     They  nurse,  and  feed,  and  pro- 
tect tiienn   till  they  arc  oble  to  provide  for 
themselves.     But  many  of  the  inferior  ani- 
mals, on  the  other  hand,  never  know  or  care 
for  their  ollspriug.    Not  a  few  of  them  indeed, 
as  the  insect  tribe,  bestow  great  poins  in  con- 
structing nests  for  the  pj{g«  of  their  future 
young,  an<l  even  provide  and  store  up  the  fiKxl 
necessary  for  them  :  but  hnre  all  their  solici- 
tude ends  ;  and  in  mnn\    astances  the  parents 
are  dead,  before  their  V'ung  come  into  exist- 
ence.    Aquttlic  animals  exhibit,  what  on  n 
casual  view,  would  njipear  great  carelessness 
in  this  respect.    Fish  deposite  their  spawn  al- 
most ut  random,  and  leave  th(!ir  ova  to  be 
hatcheii  by  the  i  'I'ments,  ond  their  yoimg  to 
provide  for  thcmselvet.     They  form  no  nest, 
or  a  very  rudeom — the  sand  of  the  seashore, 
the   small   nebblcs  of  the    river  or  lake,  or 
leaves  of  plllnt^<,  or  sea-weeds,  receive  their 
minute  eggs.     These  are  hurriedly  and  rude- 
ly covered  up,  if  deposited  in  furrows  of  the 
sand,  or  they  adhere  to  stones  or  weeds,  by 
means  of  a  gtuey  muinlage  by  which  they  are 
enveloped.     When  the  young  fry  are  devel- 
oped, they  associate  together  in  shoals,  an<l 
roam  al)out  amid  the  shallow  waters  untendcd 
and  unprotected  by  the  larger  fish,  nay,  some- 
limes  even  preyed  upon  by  their  own  progen- 
itors.    This  we  might  be  apt  to  think  extreme 
indilference,  and  an  outrage  on  the  great  low 
of  paternal  endearment ;  but  a  little  reflection 
will  show  that  it  is  a  wise  adjustment  of  na- 
ture.    In  such  an  unstable  element  as  water, 
continually  agitated  by  currents  and  incessant- 
ly changing  its  place,  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible for  a  parent  fish,  to  have  kept    its 
young  family  around  it,  or  even  if  it  could,  to 
nave  afforded  them  any  protection.     Think 
too,  of  a  codfish  surrounded  by  several  mil- 
lions of  its  young — the  offspring  of  one  single 
season  !    Or  of  nn  immense  shoal  of  herrings, 
with  each  parent  taking  charge  of  its  two  or 
three  millions  of  young,  and  distinguishing 
each  among  the  surrounding  myriads  !     The 
salmon  comes  into  fresh-water  nvers  to  depos- 


ite its  spawn  high  nn  the  ntreamt  but  Ht  na- 
ture reipiires  that  itsnould  retiim  to  the  ocean 
again  long  before  itsyoiinn  are  able  to  travel : 
and  the  sanio  reinork  opplies  to  many  migra- 
tory fishes,  whiidi  leave  the  deep  waters — 
their  usuid  haunt — and  come  for  a  short  mmro 
to  the  shallow  water  to  spawn. 

Yet  fishes,  obedient  to  the  great  law  of  na- 
ture, show  much  solieitudo   about   selecting 
the  pro|H'r  place  for  lb'  ir  spawn  and  future 
young.     Kvery  year  the  herring  in  countless 
shoals  mokes  a  long  journey,  it  is  suppof.ed, 
from  the  deep  sens,  to  the  shallow  buys  and 
itdets;  onil  the  salmon  leaves  the  sea,  toils  up 
the  current  of  the  river  with  incredil)le  perse- 
veronce  ond  force,  overleaping  the  fuils  and 
rapids,  till  it  gains  the  smrMith  ond  shallow 
ource  where,  oniid  the  sand,  the  spawn  is  de- 
[Mwiteil,   ond  where   the   future  young   may 
sport  in  safety  amid  the  sunny  rills,  till  they 
giiin  sufficient   strength  to   swim  down   th« 
stream.     Some  fishes,  however,  really  make 
a  kind  of  nest  in  the  water,  and  assiduously 
tend  their  ova  till  they  are  hatched      This  is 
the  case  with   the   stickleback,  which  con- 
structs a  nest  made  of  pieces  of  grass,  and 
straw,  fixed  among  the  pebbles  of  the  stream 
whit  h  they  inhobit.     M.  Coste  j)rocured  some 
of  these  hshes,  and  i)Utting  them  int,)  basins 
filled  with  water,  ond  the  proper  materials  c.f 
their  nejts,  watched  their  progress,  a  min- 
ute and  very  curious  detail  of  which  he  lately 
submitted   to  the   Academy  of  Sciences  at 
I'aris.     The  sticklebacks  having  selected  a 
proper  spot,  set  about  constnicting  their  nests. 
"I  saw,"  says  he,  "each  of  the  males  that 
were  engaged  in  this  work,  heap  up  in  the 
place,  the  selected  pieces  of  grass  t>f  ewry 
kind,  which  he  often  brought  from  o  great  dis- 
tance, seizing  them  with  his  mouth ;  and  of 
these  he  began  to  form  a  kind  of  carpet.     But 
ns  the  materiols  which  form  the  first  part  of 
his  edifice  might  be  carried  away  by  the  move- 
ments, or  oscillation  of  the  water,  he  hod  the 
precaution  to  bring  some  sand,  with  which  he 
filled  his  mouth,  and  deposited  it  on  the  nest, 
in  order  to  keep  it  in  its  ploce.     Then,  in  or- 
der to  moke  all  the  substances  thus  brought 
together  adhere  to  each  other,  he  pressed  his 
b<Kly  against  them,  sliding  slowly,  as  if  by  a 
kind  of  vibratory  creeping,  and  in  this  way 
glued  them  together  by  meons  of  the  mucus 
which  exudes  from  his  skin.     By  this  opera- 
tion, the  first  collected  materials  form  a  kind 
of  foundation  or  solid  floor,  on  which  the  rest 
of  the  edifice  is  to  be  reared.     The  execution 
of  this,  he  continues  with  a  feverish  perseve- 
rance and  agitation.     In  order  to  satisfy  him- 
self that  all  the  parts  are  sufficiently  united, 
he  agitates  his  pectoral  fins  with  great  rapid- 
ity, in  such  a  manner  as  to  produce  currents 
directed  against  the  nest;  and  if  he  notices 


•SD, 


m  t1>e  Htrrnni ;  but  \tn  na- 
Uioulil  return  t"  vlif  m-fon 
youiii'  nrc  oIiIp  to  Iravrl : 
k  a|)|)lifN  to  rrinny  ini^ra- 
cavo  tlm  <lrp|)  wtilf-rs — 
111(1  ninif  for  a  ihort  »])are 
r  to  Hpnwn. 

lit  to  the  fir^'ftt  law  of  na- 
olicitiiiln  u))otit  Rclrrting 
•  llirir  sjmvvii  anil  fiitiiro 
r  the  ht'rrinj{  in  countlcus 
[  jonrncy,  it  i»  siiiiiionnJ, 
,  to  th(!  fhnllow  i)uy«  nnil 
on  Irnvi  -•  tlin  Hra,  toils  up 
vnr  with  inirriMlililr  prrno- 
innrli'iipini.'  the  fiilb  and 

th<'  sdKMith  ami  shallow 
the  Kiiiid.  th(!  Kpawn  is  do- 
I   thf  futurf!  yonnj;  may 

the  ttuiiny  rills,  till  they 
npth  to  swim  down  the 
P8,  however,  really  make 
le  water,  mid  iissiduoiisly 
hey  arc  haiehed      This  is 

Mticklebaek,  which  eon- 
e  of  pieces  of  jirass,  and 
thn  pelibles  of  the  stream 
M.  Coste  jiroeureil  lome 
I  piittin/i;  them  into  basins 
n(i  the  proper  rnateriaU  <;f 
>d  their  progress,  a  min- 
s  detail  of  which  he  lately 
Academy  of  Sciences  at 
ebai^ks  iiaving  selected  a 
lut  constructing  their  nests. 

"  each  of  the  males  that 
lis  work,  heap  up  in  the 

pieces  of  uraea  of  every 
1  brought  from  a  great  dis- 
i  with  his  mouth ;  and  of 
)rm  a  kind  of  carpet.  But 
lich  form  the  first  part  of 
carried  away  by  the  move- 
1  of  the  water,  he  had  the 
some  sand,  with  which  he 
d  deposited  it  on  the  nest, 
in  its  place.  Then,  in  or- 
tie  substances  thus  brought 
each  other,  he  pressed  his 
I  sliding  slowly,  as  if  by  a 
creeping,  and  in  this  way 
;r  by  means  of  the  mucus 

his  skin.  By  this  opera- 
;ted  materials  form  a  kind 
lid  floor,  on  which  the  rest 
be  reared.  The  execution 
•8  with  a  feverish  perseve- 
.  In  order  to  satisfy  hira- 
irts  are  sufficiently  united, 
toral  fins  with  great  rapid- 
iner  as  to  produce  currents 
le  nest;  and  if  he  noticet 


TliK  LAMA. 


149 


that  the  pieces  of  grans  ore  moved,  h«  prnsse* 

liieiii  diiwii  with  hi'*  Hiiout,  hi'upH  «ntid  noon 
theni.  (Iritt.Ti'*  thim,  mid  uiue-.  tlinn  tiejether 
ii^iiiii.     When   ihr'  priH-es^  Iiiim  piiched   this 
point,    he   eliiHWH   iimre   Milid    niiiteiialH— he 
Hci/eH  iinall  ])iei'es  of  woimI  .if  slruwMiii  his 
moiilti,  Hill  presses  them  into  the  !hi<:k  places, 
or  on  lite  surface  of  the  lirsl  c  m-itriieiimi.     It 
he  tiii'ls,  whi-n  attempiiii;.'  to  iritroduee  thitn, 
ihiit  the  position  doi's  not  4ii»Vi(ieiitly  answer 
the  piirpnse.  he  draw*  tliem  "Ut  numii,  seizes 
thrill  lit  another  part,  aiiiiiii  'inerls  them,  and 
imijies  them  forward,  luilii  he  ascertain    that 
he   hi-i  made  the  best   possilile  use  of  them. 
OccaMOtially,  however,  in  spite  of  all  his  cure, 
there  are  portions  whiidi  owinic  to  their  slnipe, 
will  not  ccmlbrin  to  tlu-  u.neral  plan.     These 
he  draws  out,  carries  to  a  di-tiiiiee,  and  aban- 
dons anil  jirocee.ls  to  select  others.     When 
he   has  succeeded  in  buildini;  the  (loort  and 
side- walls,  he  then  underiakestlie  rocd",  which 
is  constructed  of  the  same  ni  iterials,  carefully 
glued  and   compacted  togetlier,  by  the  same 
viliratory  pressure  of  his  body.     Meanwhile 
he  takes  care  to  secure  an  opening  in  the  ceii- 
,    tre  of  the  nest,  by  reiieatedly  thrusting  in  his 
I)  head,  and  the  greater  part  of  liis  biidy."     The 
'  nt!st  being  thus  finished,  tlie  male,  which  is 
I  distinguished  by  his  vivid  coloring,  darts  out 
I  and  invites  a  female  todcposite  her  eggs  in  the 
I   place  wii'  -h  lie  has  just  prepare. I  tor  tlieir  re- 
{  i.eption.     The  female  enters,  ami  having  ile- 
!  posited  her  ova  in  the  cavity,  darts  out  at  the 
opposite  side  at  which  she  entered,  and  thus 
I  makes  an  open  passage  through  both  sides  ol 
I  the  iiest.     Several  females  in  succession  are 
I  thus  invited  todcposite  their  spawn  ;  and  thus 
the   nest   becomes   a  rich  magazine  of  ova. 
I  The  male  now  becomes  the  sole  guardian  of 
this  deposito  ;  for  not  only  do  the  females  take 
no  care  of  it,  but  they  become  its  formidalile 
,.,„,inios — forming  part  of  those  numerous  co- 
alitions which  attempt  to  jdundrr  it,  and  satis- 
fy their  voracious  appetite,  by  devouring  the 
1  ova.     In  his  defensive  exertions,  no  obstacle 
can  divert  him,  or  daunt  his  courage,  during 
the  whole  month  requisite  for  the  develop- 
ment of  the  ova.     In  order  to  strengthen  the 
nest,  he  now  covers  it  with  stones,  the  size  of 
which  is  sometimes  eipiul  to   half  his  body, 
and  which  he  raovs  along  with  great  labor. 
In  this  process  he  alw  iys  reserves  one   or 
more  openings,  through  which  he  ot>en  drives 
currents  of  water,  by  the  rapid  motions  of  his 
fins — these  currents  seem  to  be  necessary  in 
clearing  away  objects  from  the  eggs,  for  if  not 
thus  cfeaiised.  they  are  found  all  to  perish. 
It  is  wonderful  to  see  with  what  courage  he 
beats  away  successive  numbers  of  his  foes, 
striking  them  with  his  snout,  and  erecting  his 
i  long  sharp  spines.     Sometimes,  when  about 
I  to  be  overpowered  with  numbers,  he  resorts 


tn  »tr»tagem,  and  ilurts  suddenly  ont  of  his 
nest,  as  if  in  iiursu't  of  some  |>rey.  This  fre 
ipiently  deceives  tlie  atfaekiiig  stiekli  liiu  ks, 
and  ili'ey  nis-h  after  him,  in  hopes  of  sharing 
tli>  prey  ;  »■"'  tbustlle^  are  decoyed  rnun  tlie 
nest.  \s  the  |»<riod  of  hatching  draws  to  a 
close,  his  assiduity  increases;  lie  reiiiov,  s  the 
stone*,  to  give  more  v-ity  access  to  ilie  water, 
enlarges  I'le  openings,  increases  the  freipieney 
of  the  .Mirrents,  and  moves  the  eggs  nearer  the 
Murfii  e.  or  carries  them  deeper,  aeeordiiig  as 
circiiiiistiiiiees  reiiuire.  Finally,  ul m  the 
eggs  are  hatched,  tie  still  continues  to  watch 
over  the  vouiig  in  his  nest,  and  does  not  allow 
them  to  go  at  liberty,  till  they  have  become 
siiniciently  active  to  provide  the  means  of 
their  owii'prcservation. 


THE  LAMA. 

TiiK  lama  is  the    Mily  animal  associated 
with  man,  and   nndi  based   by   the   contact. 
The  lama  will  bear  neither  beating  nor  ill- 
treatment.     The  '  go  in  troojis,  an  Indian  go- 
ing a   long    disi"-.^e    ahead   as  a   guide.     If 
tired,  they  stop,  a-id  the  Indian  stops  also.     If 
the  diday  is  great,  the  Indian,  becoming  un- 
easy toward  sunset,  resolves  on  Hup[>lieating 
the  beasts  to  resume  their  jcmrney.     If  thn 
lamas  are  disjiosed  to  continue  their  course, 
they  follow  the  Indian  in  good  order,  at  a 
regular  pace,  and  very  fast,  for  their  legs  lire 
exUemely  long;  but  when  they  are   in   ill- 
humor,   thev  do  not   even  turn   their  heads 
toward  th(!'s[ieaker,  but  remain  motionless, 
standing  or  lying  down,  and  gazing  on  heaven 
witli  looks  80  tender,  so  melancholy,  that  we 
might  imagine  these  singular  animals  had  the 
consciousness  of  another  life,  of  a  hiipjiier  ex- 
istence.    The  straight  neck,   and  its  gentle 
majesty  of  bearing,  the  long  down  of  their 
always  clean  and  glossy  skin,  their  supjile 
and  'timed   motions,    all   give   them   an    air, 
at  once  timid  and  sensitive.     It  must  be  so 
in  fact,   for  the   lama  is  the  only   creature 
employed  by  man,  that  he  dares  no-^  atnke. 
If  it  happens  (which  is  very  seldom),  that  an 
Indian  wishes  to  obtain,  either  by  force  or 
threats,  what  the  lama  wll  not  willingly  per- 
form, the  instant  the  animal   finds  himself 
affronted  by  words  or  gesture,  he  raises  his 
head  with  dignity,  or  without  attempting  to 
escape  ill-treatment  by  flight,  he  lies  down, 
turning  his  looks  toward  Heaven,  large  tears 
flow  fTeely  from  his  beautiful  eyes,  and  m 
half  or  three  quarters  of  an  hour,  he  expires. 
Happy  creatures,  who  appear  to  have  accept- 
ed lite  on  condition  of  its  being  happy. 


•tij 


v.m  I 


A 


^^K 


TIIAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND.-NO.  4. 

BY  HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 

Wf.  mnde  an  excursion  from  Jerusalem,  to 
the  Jonlim  and  the  Dead  sea  ;  poing  by  way 
of  ]J(."thuiiy  and  Jericho,  and  retuniinj;  l)y  the 
convent  ot  St.  Saba.  There  is  at  this  day, 
so  mucli  danger  of  falling  among  thieves,  m 
going  d(jK'n  from  Jerusalem  to  Jericho,  that 
travellers  join  parties  when  they  can,  and 
unite  their  guards  into  a  corps  of  armed  men. 
Our  own  party  of  four,  joined  the  ten  with 
whom  we  had  travelled  in  the  desert :  and 
four  stnmgcrs — European  gentlei.''en — re- 
([uested  permission  to  ride  with  us.  Thus  we 
were  eighteen :  and  the  dragomen,  cooks, 
horsekeeiicrs,  and  mule-drivers,  who  took 
charge  of  our  tents  and  baggage,  and  ten  armed 
guar.is,  swelled  our  number  to  that  of  a  cara- 
van which  no  robljcrs  were  likely  to  attack. 
Indeed  we  scarcely  saw  anybody  the  whole 
way.  The  dangerous  part  of  the  road  ap- 
peared deserted,  and  the  plain  of  Jericho,  once 
studded  with  towns,  and  filled  with  fertility, 
lay  before  us  almost  as  lifeless  as  the  basin  of 
the  Dead  sea.  I 

We  left  Jerusalem  bj'  St.  Stephen's  gate,  ! 
— my  three  friends,  myself,  and  our  servants  j 
and  baggage,  and  met  the  rest  of  the  travel- 
ling party  at  the  bridge,  in  the  valley  of  Je-  I 
hoshaphat,  at  9  >  .  M.     We  proceeded  by  the  | 
camel  road  to  Bethany,  which  winds  up  the  | 
side  of  Olivet,  and  crosses  its  ridge  to  the  east. 
As  soon  as  we  had  passed  the  ridge,  Bethany 
came  in  view,  lying  on  the  eastern  slope  of 
the  mount  of  Olives,  and,  as  we  all  know, 
"  fifteen   furlongs"  distance  from  Jerusalem. 
It  is  now  a  village  inhabited  by  about  twenty 
families ;  a  very  poor  place  ;  but  looking  less 
squalid   than  might   be    expected,   from   its 
houses  being  built,   as  everywhere  in  that 
country,  of  stone — square,   substantial,   and 
large,  compaied  with  cottages  in  England. 
Its  position  on  the  side  of  the  hill  is  very  fine, 
seen  from  below. 

Fyfore  descending  the  hill,  however,  we 
alighted  from  our  horses  to  visit  an  old  tomb, 
which  is  called  the  tomb  of  Lazarus.  No  en- 
lightened traveller  believes  this  to  be  really 
the  place  where  Lazarus  was  buried  :  but  to 
see  any  ancient  tomb  on  that  spot,  was  an 
opportunity  not  to  be  missed  ;  and  we  gladly 
went  down  the  dark  rock-hewn  steps,  to  the 
little  chamber,  where  some,  corpse  had  once 
been  laid.  I  have  often  wished  thot  the  old 
painters  had  enjoyed  such  opportunities ;  and 
then  we  should  have  had  representations  of 
Lazarus  coming  forth  from  chambers  in  the 
rock,  anil  not  rising  from  such  a  grave  as  is 
dug  in  fluropean  churchyards.  The  lime- 
stone rocks  of  Judea,  are  full  of  holes  and  cav- 


erns ;  and  we  know  from  the  Scriptures  how 
abundantly  these  were  used  by  the  old  inhab- 
itants, as  dwellings  for  themselves  and  tlu'ir 
cattle,  as  a  shelter  to  the  wayfarer,  a  refuge 
to  the  fugitive,  a  hiding-jilace  for  robbers,  and 
a  jjlo'^e  of  deposite  for  the  dead.  Where  a 
cavern  was  found  with  holes  or  recesses  in  its 
sides,  a  little  labor,  would  make  it  an  exten- 
sive place  of  burial.  By  squaring  the  entrance, 
and  giving  some  regularity  to  the  arch  of  the 
roof,  a  handsome  vestibule  was  obtained  ;  and 
then  the  recesses  were  hewn  into  form  for  the 
reception  of  bodies.  Sometimes  these  reces- 
ses had  j)its  ;  sometimes  niches  in  their  walls, 
so  that  each  recess  would  contain  several  bod- 
ies :  and  sometimes  they  were  small,  so  as  to 
contain  only  one  each.  Sometimes  the  vesti- 
bule opened  out  into  passages,  which  had  re- 
cesses on  each  hand ;  so  that  a  large  comj)any 
of  the  dead  might  lie  hidden  in  the  heart  of 
the  mountain.  The  whole  was  secured  from 
wild  beasts  and  other  intrusion,  by  a  stone 
door  fitted  to  the  entrance,  or  a  large  block 
rolled  up  against  it.  Those  who  have  seen 
these  Eastern  tombs  can  never  again  be  puz- 
zled, as  I  was  in  my  childhood,  when  reading 
of  "  the  chambers  of  the  grave,"  and  of  the 
dead  calling  to  one  another  in  the  house  of 
death,  and  of  the  stone  being  rolled  away  from 
the  mouth  of  the  sepulchre.  Many  a  child 
wonders,  as  I  did,  how  the  way  was  made 
clear  for  La/.arus  to  come  forth,  merely  by 
the  removal  of  a  stone  :  but,  once  having  stood 
looking  in  at  tlie  door  of  n  se])ulchre,  how  viv- 
id becomes  the  jncture  of  Jesus  standing  there, 
and  calling  to  Lazarus  with  "  a  loud  voice,"  to 
come  forth  !  How  one  hears  that  voice  echo- 
ing through  the  chambers  of  the  tomb,  and 
sees  the  dead  man  in  his  ceremcn  aijpenr- 
ing  from  the  ste])s  of  the  vault,  or  the  shadow 
of  the  recess ! 

In  the  toinb  which  we  explored  at  Bethany, 
the  vaults  went  down  a  considerable  way,  in- 
to the  rock.  One  flight  of  deep,  narrow  steps 
led  us  into  a  small  vaulted  chamber ;  and  two 
or  three  or  more  steps,  narrower  still,  into  the 
lowest  tomb,  which  had  little  more  than  room 
for  one  body.  The  monks,  when  taken  as 
guides,  show  in  the  village,  what  they  call 
the  house  of  Martha  and  Mary,  and  that  of 
Simon  the  Leper  :  but  we  did  not  incjuire  for 
these,  having  no  wish  to  mix  up  anything  fab- 
ulous, with  our  observations  of  a  place  so  in- 
teresting as  Bethany, 

We  looked  back  upon  the  village  again  and 
again,  as  we  descended  into  the  valley  ;  and 
it  was  painful  to  lose  sight  of  the  place  where 
Jesus  was  wont  to  go  to  solace  himself  with 
the  friendship  of  Lazarus  and  his  sisters,  and 
rest  from  the  conflicts  which  beset  him  in  the 
great  city  over  yonder  ridgd.  But  we  are  now 
on  the  road  from  Jerusalem  to  Jericho,  and 


from  the  Scriptures  how 
re  used  by  the  old  inhab- 
for  themselves  and  their 
o  the  wayfarer,  a  refu^(! 
ing-))lace  for  robbers,  and 
for  the  dead.  Where  a 
ith  holes  or  recesses  in  its 
would  make  it  an  exten- 
By  squaring  the  entranre, 
alarity  to  the  arch  of  the 
stibulo  was  obtained ;  and 
re  hewn  into  form  for  the 

Sometimes  these  reces- 
nies  niches  in  their  walls, 
'ould  contain  several  bod- 
they  were  small,  so  as  to 
h.  Sometimes  the  vesti- 
jiassoges,  which  had  re- 
;  so  that  a  large  company 
e  hidden  in  the  heart  of 
whole  was  secured  from 
ler  intrusion,  by  a  stone 
itrance,  or  a  large  block 

Those  who  have  seen 
can  never  again  be  puz- 
ehildhood,  when  reading 
f  the  grave,"  and  of  the 
another  in  the  house  of 
lie  being  rolled  away  from 
jpulchre.  Many  a  child 
low  the  way  was  made 
o  come  forth,  merely  by 
le  :  but,  once  having  stood 
r  of  a  sepulchre,  how  viv- 
■e  of  Jesus  standing  there, 
is  with  "  a  loud  voice,"  to 
me  hears  that  voice  echo- 
imbcrs  of  the  tomb,  and 
n  his  cereme.i'i  a))pear- 
"  the  vault,  or  the  shadow 

we  explored  at  Bethany, 
n  a  considerable  way,  in- 
ght  of  deep,  narrow  steps 
aulted  chamber ;  and  two 
)s,  narrower  still,  into  the 
liad  little  more  than  room 
monks,  when  taken  as 
village,  what  they  call 
.  and  iVIary,  and  that  of 
lut  we  did  not  in(iuire  for 
li  to  mix  up  anything  fab- 
rvations  of  a  place  so  in- 

ipon  the  village  again  and 
led  into  the  valley ;  and 
:  sight  of  the  place  vi'hcre 
■)  to  solace  himself  with 
zarus  and  his  sisters,  and 
8  which  beset  him  in  the 
r  ridgd.  But  we  are  now 
;rusalem  to  Jericho,  and 


Defile  between  Jerasalem  aod  Jericbiv 


J. 


.:,.) 


I«''ib 


ii 


I 


■  ■,iiff:iiSV:rKiif^?^-  '■:---' 


Ruins  of  Jericho. 


alinut  to  pass  amonj;  tlie  fastnesses  of  the 
thieves,  who  seem  to  iiavc  infested  this  region 
ill  nil  times.  After  ridinp;  along  the  valley, 
sometimes  on  the  one  hill  ami  sometimes  on 
the  other,  for  three  or  four  miles,  we  left  be- 
liiud  us  the  scanty  tillage  spread  along  the  bot- 
tom of  the  valley,  and  began  to  ascend  to  the 
hollow  way  which  is  considered  the  most  dan- 
gerous spot  of  all.  Here  Sir  Frederick  Hen- 
niker  was  stripped  and  left  for  dead,  by  rob- 
bers in  1820.  His  servants  fled  and  hid  them- 
selves on  the  first  alarm.  When  they  return- 
ed, he  was  lying  naked  and  bleeding  in  the 
sultry  road.  They  put  him  on  a  horse,  and 
carried  him  to  .lericho,  where  he  found  suc- 
cor. Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  the  parable 
of  the  Samaritan  when  this  accident  befell  him. 
I  was  thinking  of  it  most  of  the  way. 

Another  story  was  presently  after  "full  in  my 
mind  ; — a  beautiful  catholic  legend  which  was 
told  me  by  a  Gennan  friend  in  America,  when 
I  little  dreamed  of  ever  travelling  over  this 
spot.  Our  road  now  gradually  ascended  the 
high  ridge  from  which  we  were  soon  to  over- 
look the  plain  of  Jericho.  The  track  was  so 
stony  and  difficult,  as  to  make  our  progress 
very  slow :  and  the  white  rocks  under  the 
mid-day  sun  gave  out  such  heat  and  glare  as 
made  me  enter  more  thoroughly  into  the  story 
of  Peter  and  the  cherries,  than  rny  readers 
can  perhaps  do.  And  yet  the  many  to  whom 
I  have  told  the  legend  in  conversation  have  all 
felt  its  beauty.    It  is  this. 

Jesus  and  two  or  three  of  his  disciples  went 
dowTi,  one  summer-day,  from  ,'erusalera  to 
Jericho.  Peter — the  ardent  and  ea^er  Peter 
— was,  OS  usual,  by  the  Teacher's  side.    On 


the  road  on  Olivet  lay  a  horseshoe,  which  the 
Teacher  desired  Peter  to  pick  up :  but  which 
Peter  let  lie,  as  he  did  not  think  it  worth  iIk 
trouble  of  stooping  for.  The  Teacher  stoo])t'd 
for  it,  and  exchanged  it  in  the  village  for  a 
measure  of  cherries.  These  cherries  he  car- 
ried (as  eastern  men  now  carry  such  things) 
in  the  bosom-folds  of  his  dress.*  When  they 
iiad  to  ascend  the  ridge,  and  the  road  lay  be- 
tween heated  rocks,  and  over  nigged  stones, 
and  among  glaring  white  dust,  Peter  became 
tormented  with  heat  and  thirst,  and  fell  behind. 
Then  the  Teacher  dropped  a  ripe  cherry  at 
every  few  steps ;  and  Peter  eagerly  stooped 
for  them.  When  all  were  done,  Jesus  turned 
to  him,  and  said  with  a  smile,  "  He  who  is 
above  stooping  to  a  small  thing,  will  have  to 
bend  his  back  to  many  lesser  things." 

From  the  ridge  we  had  a  splendid  view  of 
the  plain  of  the  Jordan — apparently  as  flat  as 
a  table  to  the  very  foot  of  the  Moab  mount- 
ains, while  the  Dead  sea  lay,  a  blue  and  mo- 
tionless expanse,  to  the  right — (the  south) — 
and  barren  mountains  enclosed  the  whole. 
The  nearer  mountains  were  rocky,  brown,  and 
desolate,  with  here  and  there  the  remains  of 
an  aqueduct,  or  other  ancient  buildings  mark- 
ing the  sites  cf  settlements  which  have  passed 
away.  The  distant  mountains  were  clothed 
in  the  soft  and  lovely  hues  which  can  be  seen 
only  through  a  southern  atmosphere.  The 
plain  was  once  as  delicious  a  region  as  ever 
men  lived  in.    Josephus  calls  it  a  "  divine  re- 

•  "  Give  and  it  shall  be  given  nnto  jron ;  good 
measare,  pressed  down,  and  shaken  together,  and 
running  over,  shall  men  gi»e  into  your  bosom."— 
Luke  VI.  38. 


"%.. 


lay  a  horseshoe,  which  tlio 
iter  to  pick  up :  but  whicli 

(lid  not  think  it  worth  lh>. 
for.  The  Teacher  stoo])ed 
;ed  it  in  the  village  for  a 
3.  These  cherries  he  car- 
!n  now  curry  such  things) 
:)f  his  dress.*  When  they 
idge,  and  the  road  lay  be- 
;,  and  over  nigged  stones, 
white  dust,  Peter  became 
t  and  thirst,  and  fell  behind. 

dropped  a  ripe  cherry  at 
ind  Peter  eagerly  stooped 
ill  were  done,  Jesus  turned 
vith  a  smile,  "  He  who  is 

small  thing,  will  have  to 
any  lesser  things." 
ve  had  a  splendid  view  of 
■dan — apparently  as  flat  as 
■  foot  of  the  Moab  mount- 
ad  sea  lay,  a  blue  and  mo- 
[1  the  right — (the  south) — 
ains  enclosed  the  whole, 
ins  were  rocky,  brown,  and 
!  and  there  the  remains  of 
ler  ancient  buildings  mark- 
lements  which  have  passed 
It  mountains  were  clothed 
dy  hues  which  can  be  seen 
uthem  atmosphere.  The 
delicious  a  region  as  ever 
ephus  calls  it  a  "  divine  re- 

tiall  be  given  nnto  yon ;  good 
^rn,  and  shaken  together,  and 
en  give  into  yoar  bosom."— 


154 


TRAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND. 


The  River  Jordan. 


gion ;"  and  tells  of  its  miles  of  gardens  and 
palm-{!Toves :  and  here  grew  the  balsam 
which  was  worth  more  than  its  weight  in  sil- 
ver, and  was  a  treasure  for  which  tlie  kings 
of  the  Ea.st  made  war.  Jericho  is  called  in 
the  Scriptures  the  city  of  palm-trees ;  and 
Jericho  was  bnt  one  of  a  hundred  to\vns 
which  peoj)led  the  plain.  Now,  all  near  was 
barren  ;  an<l  ecpially  bare  was  the  distant  tract 
at  th(>  foot  of  the  mountains  ;  but  in  the  midst 
was  a  strip  of  verdure,  broad, sinuous,  and 
thickly  wooded,  where  we  knew  that  the  Jor- 
dan flowed.  The  palms  are  gone ;  and  the 
sycamores,  and  the  honey  which  the  wild  bees 
made  in  the  hollows  of  their  stems.  The 
balsam  which  Queen  Cleopatra  so  coveted  as 
to  send  messengers  from  Egypt  for  plants  to 
grow  at  Ileliopolis,  has  disappeared  from  the 
face  of  I  he  earth:  and,  instead  of  these,  and  the 
fruits  and  sugar-canes  which  were  renowned 
in  far  countries,  we  find  now  little  but  tall 
reeds,  thorny  acacias,  and  trees  barren  of  blos- 
som or  fruit.  Tfie  verdant  strip,  however, 
looks  beautiful  from  afar,  and  shows  that  the 
fertility  of  the  plain  has  not  departed.  There 
is  enough  for  the  su]iport  and  luxury  of  man, 
were  man  but  there  to  wish  for  (>nd  enjoy 
them. 

We  descended  by  a  road,  like  an  irregular 
staircase,  the  steepest  hill  I  ever  rode  down. 
The  gentlemen  dismounted ;  but  the  heat  was 
so  excessive  that  I  ventured  to  keep  my  seat. 
When  I  glanced  up  from  the  bottom,  and  saw 


the  last  of  the  party  beginning  the  descent,  it 
looked  so  fearful  that  I  was  jzliid  to  tiini  away. 
AVe  were  now  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
called  Quaruntania,  supposed  by  the  monks 
to  be  the  scene  of  the  TiMnptati<in.  A  few 
pilgrims  come  from  afar,  every  year,  to  sjieiid 
forty  days  on  this  mountain,  barely  siippuitin!; 
life  during  the  time  by  the  licrhs  they  tind 
there.  I  need  hardly  say  tliat.  tiicre  can  be 
no  good  reason  for  fixing  on  this  tnoinituiii  as 
the  place,  and  that  the  choice  of  it  is  proba- 
bly owing  to  its  commanding  the  pluiu  of  tlie 
Jordan  and  its  cities — once  no  uiifair  speci- 
men of  the  "  kingdoms  of  tlie  enrlh,  and  tlie 
glory  of  thejn."  The  caverns  in  the  face  of 
this  mountain,  once  used  as  dwcllin';*  or  tombs, 
arc  now  the  abodes  of  robbers.  Wlien  som« 
of  our  party  showed  a  desire  to  reach  ilie  low- 
er ones,  the  Arab  sheikh  who  wa-i  rcs|)onsi. 
ble  for  the  safety  of  our  I'arty,  drew  his  sword 
across  his  throat,  to  show  the  danger,  and 
barred  the  way. 

It  may  be  remembered,  that  the  men  of 
Jericho  complained  to  Elisha  the  pro{)het,  that 
the  water  of  their  spring  was  not  gixnl,  either 
to  drink,  or  to  water  their  land  for  tillage 
(2  Kings:  ii.  19),  and  that  though  their  city 
was  pleasant,  they  could  not  enjoj'  it  for  this 
reason :  and  that  Elisha  purified  the  spring, 
"  so  that  the  waters  were  healed  unto  this 
day."  Beside  this  spring,  now  called  Ain 
Sultan,  we  encamped  in  the  afternoon,  and 
found  its  waters  truly  delicious.     Nothing 


tm 


1  •■.■-  ■' )-  jv 


J§^.y';>-;r^; 


y  hejn;innin2;  the  descent,  it 
It  I  was  i^liid  to  turn  away, 
the  fodt  oF  tlio  moimtain 
.,  supposed  by  the  iMouks 
the  Teinptutii)ii.  A  few 
afar,  every  year,  to  spend 
lountaiu,  barely  siipporliiii; 
ic  by  the  hi>rbs  they  tiiid 
rdlv  sav  tliat  there  cati  be 
fixinc  on  this  mounlaiii  as 
the  choice  of  it  is  jiroba- 
mmanding  the  |i!aiii  of  tlte 
es — onre  no  niifair  speei- 
loms  of  tlie  earlli,  and  the 
rhe  caverns  in  the  face  of 
used  as  dweliiii'i*  or  tombs, 
I  of  robbers.  When  some 
:1  a  desire  to  reaili  the  low- 
iheikh  who  was  responsi- 
'  our  ])arty,  drew  lils  sword 
to  show  the   dagger,  and 

!mbered,  that  the  men  of 
to  Elisha  the  pro[)hef ,  that 
;prin!i  was  not  goml,  either 
Iter  their  land  for  tillage 
ind  that  though  their  city 
could  not  eni')y  it  for  tbi8 
Slisha  purified  the  sprinja;, 
irs  were  healed  unto  this 
5  spring,  now  called  Ain 
ped  in  the  afternoon,  and 
truly   delicious.     Nothing 


l-Pl 


TKAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND. 


155 


could  be  prettier  than  this  encampment,  m  a 
spot  so  forest-like  us  to  contrast  strongly  with 
all  we  had  seen  for  many  weeks  past.     Our 
tent  was  cl(«e  upon  the  brink  of  the  clear 
rushing  brook  :  but  the  heat  was  so  excessive 
•hat  we  could  not  endure  the  tent,  and  had 
our  dirmer  table  placed  under  a  tree,  whose 
roots  wer<^  wash*  1  by  the  stream.      Broad 
lights  glanced  upon  the  rippling  waters,  and 
deep  green  shadows  lay  upon  its  pools.     Our 
horses  were  feeding  in  the  thicket  beyond : 
and  the  Arabs  sot  in  groups  near  the  tents. 
Other  parties  of  our  compony  were  dining  or 
lying  on  the  brink  of  the  stream.     Every  en- 
campment of  travellers  in  these  places  is  beau- 
tiful ;  but  I  never  but  once  saw  one  so  beau- 
tiful as  this.     After  a  walk  to  the  remains  of 
an  a(iueduct,  and  other  traces  (mere  traces)  of 
former  habitation  in  the  days  when  Jericho 
was  a  great  city,  I  went,  with  one  companion, 
to  see  the  spring,  which  was  but  a  short  way 
from  our  tents.     The  water  bubbled  up  from 
under  some  bushes,  and  spread  itself  clear  and 
shallow,  among  some  squared  stones,  which 
seemed  to  show  that  the  source  had  once  been 
enclosed.    By  this  time  it  was  dusk :  the  even- 
ing star  hung  obove  the  nearest  hill.     All  was 
silent  about  us,  except  the  rustle  and  dip  of 
the  boughs  which  hung  above  the  water.     My 
companion  and  I  found  the  temptation  to  bathe 
quite  irresistible.     Under  the  shadow  of  a 
large  overhanging  tree  there  was  a  pool  deep 
enough  for  the  purpose,  and  there  we  bathed, 
rejoicing  with  the  people  of  Jericho  in  the 
sweetuf-ss  of  the  water.  . 

The  eastern  traveller  feels  a  strong  incli- 
nation to  bathe  in  every  sucred  sea,  river,  and 
spring.  How  great  the  interest  is,  and  how 
like  that  of  a  new  baptism,  those  at  home  may 
not  be  able  to  imagine ;  and  such  may  de_spi8e 
the  superstition  which  leads  hundreds  of  pil- 
grims every  year  to  rush  into  the  Jordan. 
But,  among  all  the  trovellers  who  visit  the 
Jordan,  is  there  one,  however  far  removed 
from  superstition,  who  is  willing  to  turn  away 
without  having  bowed  his  head  in  its  sacred 
waters] 

There  was  no  moon  to-night :  but  the  stars 
were  glorious  when  I  came  out  of  our  tent  to 
take  one  more  look  before  retiring  to  rest. 
Here  and  there  the  watch-fires  cast  yellow 
gleams  on  the  trees  and  waters:  but  there 
were  reaches  of  the  brook,  still  and  cool, 
where  the  stars  glittered  like  fragments  of 
moonlight.  This  day  stands  in  my  journal 
as  one  of  the  most  delicious  of  our  travels. 

In  the  early  morning,  about  five  o'clch  L 
ascended  a  steep  mound  near  our  encampir '  r  t, 
and  saw  a  view  as  ditferent  from  that  of  \m 
preceding  day,  as  a  change  of  lights  could 
make  it.  The  sun  had  not  risen ;  but  there 
was  a  hint  of  its  approach,  in  a  gush  of  pale 


light  behind  the  Moab  mountains.  The  strip 
of  woodland  in  the  middle  of  the  plain  looked 
block  in  contrast  with  the  brightening  yellow 
precipices  of  Quarantaniaon  the  west.  South- 
ward, the  Dead  sea  stretched  into  the  land, 
gray  and  clear.  Below  me,  our  tents  and 
horses,  and  the  moving  figures  of  the  Arabs, 
enlivened  the  shadowy  banks  of  the  stream. 

We  were  ofl'  sinm  after  six,  and  were  to 
reach  the  banks  of  the  Jordan  in  about  two 
and  a  half  hours.    Our  way  lay  through  the 
same  sort  of  forest-land  as  we  had  encamped 
in.    It  was  very  wild ;  and  almost  the  only 
tokens  of  habita'tion  that  we  met  with,  were 
about  Ribhah— by  some  supposed  to  be  the 
exact  site  of  the  ancient  Jericho.    This  is  now 
as  miserable  a  village  as  any  in  Palestine ;  and 
its  inhabitants  are  as  low  in  character  as  in 
wealth.    No  stranger  thinks  of  going  near  it 
who  is  not  well  aiTned.     Yet  there  is  need  to 
resort  to  no  means  but  honest  and  veir  mod- 
erate industry,  to  obtain  a  comfortable  sub- 
sistence here— if  only  honesty  were  encour- 
aged, and  industry  protected  by  a  good  social 
state.     The  fine  fig-trees  that  ore  scattered 
around,  and  the  abundant  promise  of  the  few 
crops  that  are  sown,  show  that  the  soil  and 
climate  are  not  to  blame.     At  this  place  there 
is  a  8(piare  tower,  conspicuous  afar  above  the 
trees,  which  some  suppose  to  be  the  sole  rem- 
nant of  the  great  city :  but  it   can  hardly  be 
ancient  enough  to  have  belonged  to  the  old 
Jericho.  -  ,     ,       ,         , 

On  a  hillock  in  the  midst  of  the  brushwood, 
we  saw  a  few  birds  of  such  size,  that  one  of 
the  party  in  a  moment  of  forgetfulness,  cried 
out  "  ostriches  !"  There  are  no  ostriches  in 
this  country;  but  these  cranes  looked  very 
like  them,  while  on  their  feet.  One  by  one 
they  rose,  stretching  out  their  long  legs  behind 
them— certainly  the  largest  birds  I  ever  saw 
fly — or  probably  shall  ever  see. 

Though  we  had  been  told,  and  had  read, 
that  the  river  could  not  be  seen  till  the  travel- 
ler reached  its  very  banks,  we  could  not  help 
looking  for  it.     Three  broad  terraces  have  to 
be  traversed ;  and  then  it  is  sunk  in  a  deep 
bed,  where  it  rushes  hidden  among  the  wood- 
land.   Its  depth  of  water  varies  much  at  dif- 
ferent seasons ;  though  less  now  than  former- 
ly.   The  Scriptures  speak  so  much  ot  the 
overflow  of  Jordan ;  and  of  the  lion  coming 
up  at  the  swelling  of  Jordan,  that  it  is  sup- 
posed  that  fomieriy  the  river  was  subject 
to  inundations  which  may  hove  formed  the 
three  terraces  abovementioned,  ana  oauB.^d  the 
extraordinary  fertility  of  the  plain  ii  -  .i  vlmes: 
and  that  the  virild  beasts  which  theu  r.arbored 
in  the  bral  >"'■■  come  up  to  terrify  the  dwellers 
in  the  fields.     However  this  may  have  been 
it  is  ».  „  so  now.     The  cbanv-.i  la  no  doubt 
deepened;  and  the  river  ncv;  in  the  fullert 


IB- 


fi 


it  (1' 

if 

It' 

J* 

Mi 


ii 


sil 


»Jia 


156 


TRAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND. 


season,  only  brims  over  its  banks  into  the 
brakes,  so  as  to  stand  among  the  canes,  antl 
never  reaches  the  terraces. 

Though  we  were  all  on  the  Ifwkout,  and 
thonirh  we  reached  the  river  at  the  spot  which 
is  cleared  for  the  approach  o(  I  he  Easter  oil- 
primi,  we  could  not  see  the  wat^'T  till  wo  "o.-M 
almost  touch  it.  The  Unit  n<  'i.ie  to  me  of 
where  it  was,  was  from  soan!  oi'  the  party  dis- 
mounting on  the  Pilgrim,  i'  beui'h  — Whf-n  I 
came  rp — O!  how  beaii.if'n!  it  '/as!-  iiow 
much  more  bentJtiful  than  all  piciares  ai.d  all 
descriptions  had  led  me  to  r -nect !  The  only 
drawback  was  thi.t  the  stream  was  turbid  ; — 
not  only  whitish,  from  n  sulphuroiis  admixture 
but  .'nu(!oy.  But  it  swept  nobly  along,  with 
a  strcJiy;  >ind  rapid  current,  and  many  eddies, 
gushing  through  the  thicli  woodland  ard  flow- 
ing in  amt  !ig  tl^i  tall  reed-i,  now  smiting  the 
white  rocks  of  ihe  o;>posicc  shor^,  imd  now 
winding  away  out  of  sight,  behind  the  pop- 
lars and  acacitis  an  1  lall  reeii-  which  crowd 
its  banks.  It  is  i.v  t  a  iiroad  rive  ;■ ,  but  it  is  full 
of  majesty  from  its  force  and  loveliness.  The 
vigorous,  up-springing  character  of  the  wrwd 
along  its  margin,  struck  me  much;  and  w 
saw  it  now  in  its  viv-d  Spring  green. 

The  pilgrims  rush  into  the  sacred  river  in 
such  numbers,  and  wi)l\  so  little  precaution  as 
to  the  strength  of  the.  current,  that  no  year 
passes  without  some  h;  s  of  life  ;  and  usually 
several  perish.  Th.s  year  only  one  was 
drowned.  "Whatever  superstition  there  might 
have  been  among  our  company,  it  was  not  of 
this  wild  sort ;  and  we  batiied  m  safety.  The 
ladies  went  north ;  the  ;;entlemen  south.  I 
made  a  way  through  the  thicket  with  difficul- 
ty, till  I  found  a  little  cove  which  the  current 
(Ed  not  enter,  and  over  which  hung  a  syca- 
more, whose  lower  branches  were  washed  hy 
the  ripple,  which  the  current  sent  in  as  it 
passed.  On  these  branches  the  bather  might 
stand  or  sit,  without  touching  the  mud,  which 
lay  soft  and  deep  below.  The  limestone  pre- 
cipice ond  wooded  promontory  opposite,  made 
the  river  particularly  beautiful  here ;  and  sor- 
ry I  was  to  leave  it  at  last. 

It  is  useless  to  attempt  to  make  out  where 
the  baptism  of  Jesus  took  place,  or  where  his 
disciples  and  John  administered  the  rite.  And 
on  the  s[)ot  one  has  no  pressing  wish  to  know. 
The  whole  of  this  river  is  so  sacred  and  so 
sweet  that  it  is  enough  to  have  saluted  it  in 
any  part  of  its  course. 

The  belt  of  woodland  soon  turned  away 
eastward,  and  we  found  ourselves  exposed  to 
extreme  heat,  on  a  desolate  plain  crusted  with 
salt  and  cracked  w'u  irought.  There  had 
been  a  closeness  anc  "^-'Wness  in  the  air  all 
the  momfr.^,  whic'^;  v*  as  very  oppressive ;  and 
now  it  was  V  orr  •  ual  slow  pace  almost  in- 
1  tolerable.    T  t  .'   tiy  horse  to  a  fast  canter. 


and  crossed  the  plain  as  quickly  as  possible, 
finding  this  pace  o  relief  to  my  horse  as  well 
as  myself.  The  drift  on  the  beach  of  the  sea 
looked  dreary  enough  ;  ridges  of  broken  canes 
and  willow  twigs,  washed  up,  and  lying  among 
the  salt  and  the  little  unwholesome  swumps  of 
thf.  shore  ;  but  the  water  looked  bright  and 
clcrir,  and  so  tempting,  that  our  horses  put 
'he'f  noses  down  repeatedly,  always  turning 
,-'  \'.  iiy  in  disgust.  I  tasted  the  water — about 
t  '-ii "drops — and  I  almost  thought  I  should  nev- 
er ;..jt  the  taste  out  of  my  mouth  again.  And 
thir'.  is  the  water  that  ixxjr  Costigan's  cofl"ee 
was  made  of ! 

Costigan   was   a  young  Irishman,    whose 
mind  was  possessed  with  the  idea  of  exjjlo- 
ring  the  Dead  sea,  and  giving  the  world  the 
benefit  of  his  discoveries.    It  would  have  been 
a  useful  service ;  and  he  had  zeal  and  devo- 
teiiness  enough  JFor  it.     But  he  wanted  either 
knowledge  or  prudence  ;  and  he  lost  his  life 
in  the  adventure,  without  having  left  us  any 
additional  information  whatever.     He  had  a 
small  boat  carried  overland  by  camels ;  and 
in  this  he  set  forth  (in  an  open  boat  in  the 
month  of  July ! )  with  only  one  attendant,  a 
Maltese  servant.     They  reached  the  south- 
em  end  of  the  lake — not  without  hardship  and 
difficulty ;  but  the  fatal  struggle  was  in  get- 
ting back  again.    The  wind  did  not  favor  them, 
and  once  blew  such  a  squall  that  they  had  to 
lighten  the  boat,  when  the  servant  stupidly 
threw  overboord  the  only  cask  of  fresh  water 
that  they  had.     They  were  now  compelled 
to  row  for  their  lives,  to  reach  the  Jordan  be- 
fore they  perished  with  thirst ;  but  the  snn 
scorche(f  them  from  a  cloudless  skjr,  and  the 
air  was  like  a  furnace.     When  Costigan  could 
row  no  longer,  his  servant  made  some  cofl'ee 
from  the  water  of  the  loke,  and  then  they  lay 
down  in  the  boat  to  die.    But  the  man  once 
more  roused  himself,  and  by  many   efforts 
brought  the  boat  to  the  head   of  the  lake. 
They  lay  helpless  for  »  whole  day  on  the 
burning  shore,  unable  to  do  more  than  throw 
the  salt  water  over  each  other  from  time  to 
time.    The  next  morning,  the  servant  crawled 
away,  in  hopes  of  reaching  Ribhah,  which  he 
did  with  extreme  difficulty.     He  sent  Costi- 
gan's horse  down  to  the  shore,  with  a  supply 
of  water.    He  was  alive,  and  was  carried  to 
Jerusalem  in  the  coolness  of  the  night.     He 
was  taken  care  of  in  the  Latin  convent  there  ; 
but  he  died  in  two  days.     Not  a  note  rela- 
ting to  his  enterprise  was  ever  found  ;  and  du- 
ring his  illness  he  never  spoke  on  the  subject. 
Any  knowledge  that  he  might  have  gaineil, 
has  perished  with  him  ;  and  no  reliable  infor- 
mation could   be  obtained  from  his  servant. 
Costigan's  grave  is  in  the  American  burying- 
ground  ;  and  there  I  saw  the  stone  which  tells 
his  melancholy  story.    He  died  in  1835. 


plain  OS  quickly  as  possible, 
0  relief  to  my  horse  as  well 
drift  on  the  beach  of  the  sea 
ough  ;  ridges  of  broken  canes 
.  washed  up,  and  lying  among 
ittle  unwholesome  swamps  of 
;he  water  looked  bright  and 
mpting,  that  our  horses  j)ut 
n  repeatedly,  always  turning 
I  tasted  the  water — about 
[  almost  thought  I  should  nev- 
)Ut  of  my  mouth  again.  And 
r  that  poor  Costigan's  cofl(;e 

a  young  Irishman,  whose 
ssed  with  the  idea  of  explo- 
ea,  and  giving  the  world  the 
Mveries.  It  would  have  been 
;  and  he  had  zeal  and  devo- 
for  it.  But  he  wanted  either 
■udence  ;  and  he  lost  his  life 
!,  without  having  left  us  any 
nation  whatever.  He  had  a 
ed  overland  by  camels  ;  and 
irth  (in  an  open  boat  in  the 
)  with  only  one  attendant,  a 
.  They  reached  the  south- 
ke — ^not  without  hardship  and 
the  fatal  struggle  was  in  get- 

The  wind  did  not  favor  them, 
uch  a  8(iuall  that  they  had  to 
t,  when  the  servant  stupidly 
I  the  only  cask  of  fresh  water 

They  were  now  compelled 
lives,  "to  reach  the  Jordan  be- 
hed  with  thirst ;  but  the  sun 
'rom  a  cloudless  sky,  and  the 
mace.  When  Costigan  could 
lis  servant  made  some  coflee 
of  the  lake,  and  then  they  lay 
It  to  die.  But  the  man  once 
imself,  and  by  many  efforts 
at  to  the  head  of  the  lake, 
less  for  »  whole  day  on  the 
mable  to  do  more  than  throw 
ver  each  other  from  time  to 
t  morning,  the  servant  crowled 
of  reaching  Ribhah,  which  he 
le  difficulty.  He  sent  Costi- 
Ti  to  the  shore,  with  a  supply 
was  alive,  and  was  carried  to 
le  coolness  of  the  night.  He 
of  in  the  Latin  convent  there ; 
two  days.  Not  a  note  rela- 
prise  was  ever  found  ;  and  du- 
he  never  spoke  on  the  subject, 
i  that  he  might  have  gained, 
ith  him  ;  and  no  reliable  infor- 
1)6  obtained  from  his  servant, 
e  is  in  the  American  burying- 
ere  I  saw  the  stone  which  tells 
story.    He  died  in  1835. 


There  appears  to  be  no  satisfactory  evi- 
di'nce,  as  to  wliether  uny  lish  are  to  be  found 
ill  the  Dfad  sea.     Our  guides  said,  that  some 
sniall   bliick-tish  have  i)ci'n  seen  there  ;  but 
others  deny  this.     A  dead  fish  has  been  found 
'  1  the  shore,  near  the  spot  where  the  Jordan 
enters  the  lake  ;  but  this  might  have  been  cast 
up  by  the  overllow  of  the  river.     It  is  said, 
lliat  sinull  birds  do  not  lly  over  this  lake,  on 
account  of  the  deleterious  nature  of  its  atmo- 
sphere.    About  small  birds  I  can  not  speak  ; 
but  I  saw  two  or  three  vultures  winging  their 
way  down  it  obli(piely.     The  curious  lights 
which  hung  over  the  surface,  struck  me  as 
showing  an  unusual  state  of  the  atmosphere 
—the  purple  musky  light  resting  on  one  part, 
and  the  line  of  silvery  refrui-tion  in  another. 
Though  the  sky  was  clear  after  the  morning 
clouds  had  jiassed  away,  the  sunshine  appeared 
dim  ;  and  the  heat  was  very  opnressive.    The 
gentlemen  of  the  party  who  stayed  behind  to 
DUthe  declared,  on  rejoining  us  at  lunch- time, 
that  they  had  found  the  common  report  of  the 
buoyancy  of  the  water  of  this  sea,  not  at  all 
exaggerated,  and  that  it  was  indeed  an  easy 
matter  to  float  in  it,  and  very  difficult  to  sink. 
They  also  found  their  hair  and  skin  powdered 
with  salt  when  dry.     But  they  coiild  not  ad- 
mit the  greasiness  or  stickiness  which  is  said 
to  adhere  to  the  skin  after  bathing  in  the  Dead 
sea.     They  were  very  positive  about  this; 
am'  they  certainly  did  observe  the  fact  verj, 
carefully.    Yet  I  have  seen  since  my  return, 
a  clergyman  who  bathed  there,  and  who  de- 
clared" to  me  that  his  skin  was  so  sticky  for 
some  "ays  after,  that  he  could  not  get  rid  of 
it,  even  from  his  hands.     And  the  trustworthy 
Dr.  Robinson,  a  late  traveller  there,  says : 
"  After  coming  out,  I  perceived  nothing  of  the 
salt  crust  upon  the  body,  of  which  so  many 
speak.     There  was  a  slight  pricking  sensa- 
tion, especially  where  the  skin  had  been  cha- 
fed ;  and  a  sort  of  greasy  feeling,  as  of  oil, 
upon  the  skin  which  lasted  for  several  hours." 
The  contrast  of  these  testimonies,  and  the  di- 
versity which  exists  among  the  analyses  of 
the  waters  which  have  been  made  by  chym- 
ists,  seem  to  show  that  the  quality  of  the  wa- 
ters of  the  Dead  sea  varies.    And  it  appears 
reasonable  that  it  should  ;  for  it  must  make  a 
great  difference,  whether  fresh  waters  have 
been  pouring  into  the  basin  of  the  lake,  after 
the  winter  rains,  or  a  great  evaporation  has 
been  going  on,  under  the  summer's  sun.     In 
following  the  margin  of  the  sea,  we  had  to 
cross  a  creek,  where  my  skirt  was  splashed. 
These  splashes  turned  presently  to  thin  crusts 
of  salt ;  and  the  moisture  and  stickiness  were 
as  great  a  week  afterward  as  at  the  moment. 
We  wound  among  salt  marshes  and  brakes, 
in  and  out  on  the  desolate  shore  of  this  sea— 
this  sea  which  is  not  the  le*s  dead  and  dreary 


for  being  as  clear  and  blue  as  a  fresh  mount- 
ain tarn.  As  we  ascended  the  ranges  of  hills 
which  lay  between  us  and  the  convent  where 
we  were  to  rest,  the  Jordan  valley  opened 
northward,  and  the  Dead  sea  soutliward,  till 
the  extent  traversed  by  the  eye,  was  really 
vast.  How  beautiful  must  it  have  been  once, 
wl:  .n  the  Jordan  valley,  whose  verdure  was 
now  shrunk  into  a  black  line  amid  the  sunds, 
was  like  an  intenninuble  garden ;  and  when 
the  "  cities  of  the  plain,"  stood  bright  and 
busy,  where  the  Dead  sea  now  lay  blank  and 
gray  !  As  I  took  my  last  look  back,  from  a 
great  elevation,  I  thought  that  so  mournful  a 
landscape,  for  one  havmg  real  beauty,  I  had 
never  seen. 


CULTIVATION  OF  THE  MIND. 

It  has  sometimes  been  thought  that  the 
cultivation  of  the  mind  would  be  an  injury  to 
those  who  obtain  their  livelihood  by  manual 
labor ;  that  supposing  every  man,  be  his  oc- 
cupation what  it  may,  were  to  have  his  mind 
highly  cultivated,  it  would  render  him  uneasy 
in  his  lot.  Nothing  can  be  wider  from  the 
truth.  A  single  word  will  exjjlain  it— and 
that  is,  that  as  vou  raise  men  toward  equality 
in  intellect  anif  education,  you  bring  them 
nearer  actual  ecjuality — and  the  distinctions 
of  ])roperty  and  occupation  will  sink  away  to 
nothing.  Was  Washington  any  less  respect- 
ed when  he  became  a  practical  farmer,  than 
when  at  the  head  of  the  nation  1  No  culti- 
vated, intellectual  man,  can  be  degraded  by 
his  employment.  It  is  the  mind  that  makes 
the  man,  and  that  makes  one  man  e(|ual  to 
another ;  and  if  we  were  to  solve  the  problem 
how  to  make  a  whole  community  contented, 
we  would  raise  them  as  near  to  an  eijuality 
in  education  as  possible.  The  two  best-edu- 
cated nations  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  are,  it 
is  supposed,  Denmark  and  the  United  States. 
The  government  of  the  one  is  despotism,  and 
that  of  the  other,  its  opposite,  republicanism. 
And  yet  the  inhabitantsof  these  two  countries 
are  probably  the  best  contented  of  any  in  the 
world. 

An  educated  mind  has  so  many  resources 
within  itself,  that  it  has  not  to  depend  upon 
outward  circumstances  for  happiness.  A 
man  with  a  cultivated  intellect  would  feel 
neither  disgrace  nor  uneasiness  to  have^  you 
find  him  at" the  anvil;  nor  would  you,  if  you 
had  a  mind  rightly  educated,  respect  him  any 
the  less.  "I  well  recollect,"  says  a  celebra- 
ted statesman,  "  calling  in  my  college-days, 
to  deliver  a  letter  of  introduction,  to  a  gentle- 
man whom  I  found  cleaning  out  hi«  bam- 


f'i  1 


M 


"■it..». « 


sJis 


168 


CULTIVATION  OP  THB  MIND. 


yard,  with  his  leather  apron  girded  round 
him  and  his  team  his  only  helpers.  I  knew 
that  ho  had  led  men  in  bottle  in  other  days, 
and  that  then  ho  was  the  honored  governor 
of  one  of  the  New  England  states:  and  I 
received  a  lesson  from  him  by  the  call,  which 
I  trust  I  shall  never  forget.  The  interview 
made  a  deep  impression  on  my  heart."  What 
must  be  the  contentment  of  a  community  who 
needed  so  little  of  government  that  their  chief 
magistrate  might  till  his  own  little  farm,  and 
gain  his  bread  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow ! 

A  very  great  number  of  our  most  valuable 
inventions  and  improvements  ore  to  be  traced 
to  intelligent  men  in  the  common  walks  of 
life.  And  there  can  bo  no  doubt  that  in  pro- 
portion to  the  intelligence  of  the  mass  of  com- 
munity will  be  the  advancement  of  the  world 
toward  its  final  glory. 

An  intelligent  man  was  a  soap-maker.  He 
noticed  that  after  all  the  alkali  had  been  ex- 
hausted, the  ley  would  rapidly  corrode  his 
copper  kettles.  Unable  to  explain  tho  phe- 
nomenon, he  took  some  of  it  to  an  eminent 
chymist.  On  analyzing  it,  the  chyniist  dis- 
covered a  new  substance,  hitherto  unknown, 
viz. :  the  metal  called  iodine.  Further  in- 
vestigation traced  thu^  to  the  ashes,  then  to 
the  sea-weed  from  whici\  the  ashes  had  been 
made — then  to  the  ocean,  to  salt  springs  and 
to  all  marine  substances.  A  physician  in 
Germany  reads  the  account,  and  recollects 
that  he  had  heard  ihat  burned  sponge  had 
been  known  to  cure  the  horrible,  and  till  then 
incurable,  disease  called  the  goi/re— which 
afflicts  whole  districts  in  the  south  of  Europe. 
He  conjectures  that  it  is  the  iodine  in  the 
sponge  which  effects  the  cure,  and  he  accord- 
ingly applies  the  iodine  to  the  goitre,  and  it  is 
foiind  that  it  is  almost  on  infallible  cure. 
Thus  a  world  of  misery  is  prevented  by  the 
shrewdness  of  the  soap-boiler. 

A  few  years  since,  the  s.  nrvy  was  the  ter- 
ror of  the  seas.  Whole  cf  ows  were  cut  do^vn, 
and  more  than  once  the  case  has  been  known, 
in  which  the  bodies  of  the  dead  sewed  up  in 
sail-cloth,  have  laid  rolling  on  the  deck,  day 
after  day,  because  the  crew  were  too  much 
withered  to  raise  them  over  the  nettings  and 
commit  them  to  the  deep.  Admiral  Hosier, 
who  sailed  for  the  West  Indies  with  seven 
ships-of-the-linc,  during  the  last  century,  lost 
all  his  men  twice  over,  during  the  single 
voyage,  and  himself  died  of  a  broken  heart 
before  he  reached  home.  What  a  blessing 
did  that  man  bestow,  who  informed  the  world 
that  the  simple  acid  of  the  lemon  taken  daily 
would  banish  this  fearful  disease !  It  is  now 
almost  unknown  even  in  the  most  crowded 
ships.  , 

The  discovery  of  Franklin,  a  mon  at  taat 
time  in  common  life,  by  which  the  lightnings 


of  Heaven  are  brought  under  the  control  of 
man,  is  on  example  m  jioint.  In  Franco  and 
Germany,  where  the  lightnings  ore  far  more 
destructive  than  with  us,  this  discovery  is 
valued  as  it  ought  to  be. 

We  might  l(H)k  at  the  lighthouse  as  it  was, 
ond  as  it  now  is,  to  see  the  immense  imjirove- 
ments  which  have  been  made,  and  in  conse- 
quence of  which  life  is  saved  in  multitudes 
of  instances.  We  might  point  to  the  Hfe- 
boot,  which  will  now  shoot  out  in  the  howl- 
ing storm,  and  which  will  ride  over  any  raging 
of  the  deep,  and  show  that  it  is  to  the  iiittl- 
ligence  of  every-dny-loboring  mechanics,  that 
we  owe  this  valuable  machine  for  saving  hu- 
man life.  We  might  mention  the  sections 
of  Europe  where  the  at.nosphere  is  poisoned 
by  malarious  exhalations,  and  show  what  an 
amount  of  sickness  and  death  has  been  pre- 
vented by  quinine — a  simple  discovery,  but 
one  of  immense  value. 

It  was  found  that  the  steel  dust  which  was 
created  by  grinding  needles,  and  which  is  in- 
expressibly minute,  filled  the  atmosphere, 
and  the  eyes  and  the  lungs,  and  invariobly 
caused  consumption.  Gauze  veils  of  the 
finest  texture  were  tried,  but  oil  to  no  pur- 
pose. No  veil  could  prevent  it  from  entering 
the  eyes  and  the  lungs.  At  last  a  workman 
notices  a  child  playing  with  a  magnet— draw- 
ing the  needles  and  steel  dust  after  it — as  we 
have  all  done  in  childhood.  The  discovery  is 
now  mode.  A  veil  of  fine  mo^etic  wire  is 
drawn  over  the  face — and  the  air  is  strained 
pure — all  the  dust  of  the  steel  being  attracted 
and  held  by  the  wire,  and  the  labor  of  grind- 
ing needles  is  now  hardly  more  dangerous  than 
any  other  business. 

These  examples  have  been  adduced  (and 
they  might  be  greatly  extended)— and  won- 
ders, like  those  achieved  by  the  cotton-gin 
and  by  vaccination,  might  be  dwelt  upon  al- 
most indefinitely— not  because  they  are  of 
course  new,  but  because  they  show  that  mind 
and  intelhgence  in  the  workshop  are  as  valu- 
able, and  of  as  much  use  to  the  human  family, 
as  if  they  were  employed  in  writing  folios. 
One  single  fact  brought  into  notice — one 
single  phenomenon  brought  into  view,  and  its 
explanation  obtained,  may  be  unmeasured  in 
its  results  upon  the  world.  Usefulness  and 
respectability  come  from  the  union  of  a  good 
heart  and  an  intelligent  mind,,  and  are  to  be 
monopolized  by  no  station  or  occupation. 

While  Scotland  sends  more  of  her  sons  to 
college,  in  proportion  to  her  population,  than 
any  other  country  ;  two  of  the  New  England 
states,  Massachusetts  and  Connecticut,  are 
next  to  her  in  this  respect,  and  all  New  Eng- 
land, and  also  New  York,  far  before  her,  in 
giving  their  children  the  blessings  of  free 
schools.    We  feel  that  these  schools,  far  in 


:=yB 


"«&- 


M»L. 


)ucht  under  the  control  of 
e  in  point.  In  France  onj 
the  hghtnincs  are  far  more 
with  U8,  this  Ji«covery  i» 

to  be. 

at  the  lighthouse  as  it  was, 
}  see  the  immense  improve- 
s  been  made,  and  in  conse- 
life  is  saved  in  multitudes 
e  might  point  to  the  life- 
low  shoot  out  ill  the  howl- 
ich  will  ride  over  any  ruging 
show  that  it  is  to  the  iiitol- 
ay-luboring  mechanics,  that 
ible  machine  for  saving  hu- 
night  mention  the  sections 
the  at.nospherc  is  poisoned 
alations,  and  show  what  an 
f)3  and  death  has  been  pre- 
;c — a  simple  discovery,  but 
alue. 

lat  the  steel  dust  which  was 
ng  needles,  and  which  is  in- 
ite,  filled  the  atmosphere, 
[1  the  lungs,  and  invariably 
ion.  Gauze  veils  of  the 
ire  tried,  but  all  to  no  pur- 
nild  prevent  it  from  entering 
lungs.  At  last  a  workman 
ayingvnth  a  magnet — draw- 
nil  steel  dust  after  it — as  we 
:hildho<jd.  The  discovery  is 
'eil  of  fine  ma^etic  wire  is 
ice — and  the  air  is  strained 
It  of  the  steel  being  attracted 
(vire,  and  the  labor  of  grind- 
V  hardly  more  dangerous  than 
ss. 

les  have  been  adduced  (and 
;reatly  extended) — and  won- 

achievcd  by  the  cotton-gin 
on,  might  be  dwelt  upon  al- 
f — not  because  they  are  of 
because  they  show  that  mind 
in  the  workshop  are  as  valu- 
luch  use  to  the  human  family, 

employed  in  writing  folios. 
t  brought  into  notice — one 
ion  brought  into  view,  and  its 
lined,  may  be  unmeasured  in 

the  world.  Usefulness  and 
ime  from  the  union  of  a  good 
lelligent  mind,,  and  are  to  be 
no  station  or  occupation, 
nd  sends  more  of  ner  sons  to 
ortion  to  her  population,  than 
ry  ;  two  of  the  New  England 
lusetts  and  Connecticut,  are 
lis  respect,  and  all  New  Eng- 
New  York,  far  before  her,  in 
lildren  the  blessings  of  free 
eel  that  these  schools,  far  in 


idiB 


I 


advance  of  anythinj?  of  the  kind  on  the  face 
of  the  earth,  arc  the  glory  and  the  safety  <)f 
our  institutions.  We  feel  that  we  may  safely 
commit  the  dear  interests  of  liberty  to  an  e(f- 
ncftted  community :  and  that  next  to  the  re- 
ligion of  the  b(K)k  of  0(h1,  there  is  no  such 
safeguard  to  these  institutions.  Every  in- 
crease of  intelligence  in  our  land,  gives  an 
increase  of  r<infidcnce  in  the  stability  and 
p-rmnnence  of  our  institutions. 

The  objects  to  be  obtained  by  cultivating 
the  mind,  and  for  the  sake  of  which  we  have 
referred  to  various  examples  to  encourage 
others  in  the  cultivation  of  their  minds,  arc 
these ; — 

1.  To  possess  the  power  of  fixing  the  miml 
on  any  subject  wished,  and  holding  the  atten- 
tion upon  it  as  long  a  time  as  is  desired.  This 
is  a  very  important  thing,  and  he  who  has  ac- 
(|niro<l  this  power,  has  done  a  great  work  for 
himself.  It  can  not  be  acquired  without  many 
and  long  ellorts, 

2.  To  fix  in  the  mind  the  elementary 
jirinciples  of  all  that  pertains  to  life  :  such  as. 
the  principles  of  science,  of  business,  of  poli- 
tics, government,  laws,  and  religion. 

3.  To  give  the  mind  precision  of  thought. 

4.  To  give  the  power  of  using  language, 
and  defining  what  is  meant  by  such  terms  as 
we  commonly  use  when  we  sneak  or  think. 

5.  To  fill  "the  mind  with  the  materials  of 
thought,  such  as  facts  which  we  read,  observe, 
and  hear. 

6.  To  teach  the  mind  where  to  go  for  in- 
formation— that  is,  from  whot  sourcLS  it  may 
draw. 

7.  To  teach  the  mind  how  to  take  up  a 
subject,  investigate  it,  and  draw  conclusions 
on  which  it  may  rely. 

8.  To  cultivate  the  judgment  as  to  what 
facts  are  worth  preserving,  and  what  are  ap- 
plicable in  proving  or  illustrating  a  particular 
subject. 

9.  To  cultivate  the  memory  so  that  the 
materials  which  are  gathered,  may  not  be  dis- 
sipated and  lost  as  fast  as  gathered. 

It  may  be  thought  that  we  have  laid  out 
the  work  of  a  life  here,  and  so  we  have  in- 
tended to  do;  but  if  the  objects  to  be  accom- 
plished are  considered,  it  will  he  found  that 
no  one  of  these  can  be  omitted  in  cultivating 
the  mind  in  a  proper  manner.  We  cim  not, 
of  course,  have  all  these  objects  specially  be- 
fore the  mind  whenever  we  exercise  it ;  but 
they  are  to  be  the  points  to  which  we  should 
bring  the  mind  in  all  its  wanderings,  and  in 
a  cultivated  mind  these  several  points  will 
unconsciously  receive  attention. 

All  this  discipline  of  the  mind  only  looks 
to  a  high  and  noble  object — which  is  to  pre- 
pare the  mind  to  be  the  receptacle  of  light 
and  knowhidge,  the  image  of  God,  and  the 


unseen  glories  of  an  eternal  state.  In  all  our 
contemplations  of  the  mind,  we  liK)k  upon  it 
as  an  immortal  existenci-,  and  that  it  is  for 
that  state  of  immortolity  it  is  now  to  be  pre- 
pared. Educotion  docs  not  mean  going  to 
scluxil  during  our  boyhood,  or  going  U)  college 
in  youth,  but  it  means  the  power  to  take  our 
mind  and  make  it  an  instrument  of  conveying 
knowledge  and  good  impressions  upon  other 
minds,  as  well  as  being  itself  made  happy. 
To  cultivate  the  mind,  then,  does  not  mean 
to  reod  much  or  little,  to  converse  and  to  ob- 
serve, but  to  discipline  it  in  all  ways  in  our 
j)owcr.  We  do  not  expect  that  every  one 
will  discipline  his  mind  so  that  he  can  observe 
and  think  as  well  as  Franklin — but  what  then? 
Is  this  a  reason  why  we  should  not  do  what 
we  can?  Neither  could  BVanklin  reason  like 
Isaac  Newton,  and  bring  the  universe  at  his 
feet.  What  then  ?  Was  this  a  reason  why 
he  should  not  do  all  he  could  ? 


BEAUTY  OF  A  BENEVOLENT  LIFE. 

Without  an  enlarged  consideration  of  the 
nature  of  things,  it  might  be  supposed  that 
every  man  should  devote  himself  to  his  own 
welfare,  and  never  feel  obliged  to  rendi-r  as- 
sistance to  others.  Can  not  every  one  attend 
to  his  own  interests  better  than  a  second  per- 
son can  ottend  to  thrm  ?  And  does  not  evil 
rather  than  good  ensue,  when  each  man  neg- 
lects his  own  individual  concerns  and  devotes 
himself  to  the  afTairs  of  his  neighbor?  But 
the  Author  of  our  constitution  has  not  proceed- 
ed on  the  principle  of  concentrating  the  ac- 
tivities of  every  individual  upon  himself.  He 
has  chosen  to  diffuse  them  from  each  person 
as  a  centre,  through  the  area  of  a  large  circle. 
He  has  not  made  the  human  eor  so  that  it 
shall  be  turned  inward  for  hearkening  to  the 
circulation  of  the  blood,  and  to  the  sound  of 
every  movement  of  a  muscle  or  a  nerve ;  but 
he  has  made  it  so  that  it  shall  turn  its  atten- 
tion outward,  and  shall  take  in  the  music  that 
floats  along  the  air,  and  open  itself  to  the 
whispering  zephyrs  and  the  roar  of  the  water- 
falls. Gotl  has  not  made  the  human  eye  so 
that  it  shall  introvert  its  gaze  and  look  behind 
itself  at  the  curious  play  of  the  nerves  and 
tendons,  and  the  network  of  veins  and  arte- 
ries ;  but  he  has  so  made  the  eye  that  it  shall 
look  outward,  and  extend  its  range  over  long 
drawn  valleys  and  the  winding  course  of  rivers, 
and  along  the  sweep  of  thefieavens.  Neither 
has  he  made  the  human  heart  so  that  it  shall 
find  its  true  repose  in  clustering  its  afTections 
around  itself;  but  the  mother  will  cling  to 
her  child,  and  the  child  will  reach  out  its  arms 


III 


ifc'    t 


IbO 


THK  WASP  KAMILY, 


tn  hid  mothrr ;  th*-  iinrent  difruses  chrorfiil- 
ness  tlir  iiifih  iIk-  I'liinily  circle,  tiiiil  one  tiiniily 
iinpiiiN  >f'n»  iilciisuros  to  thr  tnni:lil>i>rlnx)'l. 
anil  till'  iiciuhborhoiKl  lufl  iiii  intercut  in  llie 
town,  nnil  the  town  in  the  nation,  nntl  the 
nuii'ii  in  other  ■  oniitrips  of  the  world.  I)>'- 
praveil  us  is  the  hcnrt  ot  mnn,  it  wa«  yet  mude 
for  hcnovoh'iit  Bcl  m,  nod  will  never  be  in 
its  due  111  .'ill  iind  vijjor  unless  it  «xerci*o 
its(df  for  I  he  welfiire  of  the  worlil.  As  the 
iuminnrv  of  duy  wiis  not  crented  so  that  all  its 
rays  will  converge  to  one  ])oint,  but  riUher 
m  that  they  will  diverge  throus;hout  the  whole 
system  of  jdanets;  mid  as  it  R.ves  liKht  to  the 
moon,  but  the  moon  instantly  imnorts  the 
bright  gift  to  the  earili,  nnd  the  ciirtli  redects 
it  ^»  thr.  ,me  of  man;  so  the  human  constuii- 
lio.i  %v  .  .1  ver  designed  for  contracting  its 
agencies  within  the  sphere  of  its  own  ginnl,  but 
for  ditTusing  its  radiance  throughout  the  whole 
family  to  which  it  belonois. 

Benevolence  is  a  fundomental  law  of  our 
moral  being;  and  the  man  who  labors  for  his 
fellow-men  secures  thereby  the  gratification 
of  his  most  commanding  pniirii.les  of  action; 
but  he  who  lalwrs  for  himselt  alone,  stirs  up 
against  his  own  peace  some  of  the  most  ope- 
rative elements  of  his  nature.     The  Deity 
knew  well  that  a  disposition  to  labor  for  sel- 
fish ends  is  destructive  of  man's  true  interests ; 
and  that  a  disposition  to  labor  for  the  common 
good,  is  the  only  sure  way  of  securing  g(Kxl 
for  self;    thereiore  has  he  devolved   on   us 
many  acts  of  beneficence  which  be  might  him- 
self have   performed   as  e;     ,y   as  omitted. 
He  miaht  speak  a  single  word  to  the  Hindixi 
widuw  as  she  ascends  the  funeral  pile  of  Iwr 
hi''    ind,  and  she  would  p.  down  again  in       r 
ri     .  riiind  ;  but  he  chooses  to  set  the  sp 
cle  before  our  own  eye.-,  and  to  U  t  us  hear  the 
ohrieks  of  the  si ""immi  luting  woman,  s.   that 
our  compassion  imy  be  moved  ni  '  om-  ener- 
gJBS  enlisted  in  her  service.     He     alls  us  to 
the  bank«  of  the  Oonges,  and    bids  us  look 
pon  the  mother  forcing  from  her  breasts  the 
hild  that  w-^eps  and  8truggk.M  to  remain  with 
..■r,  and  thi   wing  it  into  tiie  stream  where 
the  eager  alligators  are  gamboling  for    ''RJr 
prey.     He  could  easily   rebuke   the  fr    ,tic 
mother,  and  she  woukl  pr^ss  her  loved  one 
'loser  to  her  \> .-  im;  but  he  chooses  to  touch 
our  i>iry,  and  uppeal  to  our  benevolerv^e,  and 
to  command  us  to  send  bi^  gospel  into    '1  the 
wo  1.1.  that  it  may  ca.^t  out  the  dem     s  of 
jiiKerstitinn  and  may  let  iht    bond-sl 
he'e'heuism  go  tree.     He  bid:-   i-;  walk  i 
nations  over  thi-  dolorou ,  way  tra' 
(le  oar  of  .Tuggern.    t,  and  walled  on  t 
nith  the  bones  ot     rushed  victim 
set    Hefore  our  eyes  I      dreds  and  thousands 
of  living  men,  hanging        n  transverse  beams 
upon  hooks  that  have  y>   >  jraied  their  n-us- 


'  rles,  ntid  swinging  round  ond  rotmtl  in  torture  ; 
I  He  jiiiices  all  these  Imrliarous  scenes  brfnrp 
j  our  visioi\,   so  that  the   eye  may   utiiiet    the 
I  heart,  atid  the  heart  may  be  roused  to  a  r.oly 
•purjMwe.     For  un  to  do,  the  work  is  left ;  for 
our  g(K)d  it  is,  that  we  address  oursflves  to 
the  w(trk  in  earnest;  for  the  higln  -it  good  of 
our  whol'   character,  the  good  of  benevolence 
encourage, I,  of  philanthropy   developed,   of 
a  spiritual  temper  cherished  and  strengthen- 
ed; a  giKxl  purchased  at  threat  f.ipmM,  even 
til     miseries  of  our  own   fellow-men — they 
811     ring  80  that  we  may  be  made  more  com- 
poasiunaie. 


^  of 
our 
lied 

iher 
He 


THE  WASP  FAMILY. 

Poets  and  essnyists  are  in  the  habit  of 
likening  the  wasp  to  fops  of  another  genus,  and 
vice  versa.  Thi.s  (juestionablc  sort  of  reputa- 
tion these  insects  must  ascribe  to  tlicir  sjden- 
did  caparis.  n,  and  to  their  apparently  useless 
position  in  the  world.  The  simile  is  more 
true  in  a  more  curious  respect ;  for  there  are 
onnual  reunions  of  these  elittering  creatures, 
ju.st  as  in  the  fashionobli  v-nHd — a  fashiona- 
ble season  of  a  few  moulli  and  then  all  dis- 
perse again.  Tl  economy  of  the  wasp  fami- 
ly possesses  considerable  interest,  and  deserves 
far  more  attention  than,  in  our  hostile  state  f 
fceliii'  toward  the  race,  we  are  readily  (I  - 
posed  io  believe.  Tt  is  only  necessary  that 
the  real  ;;haractf  r  of  the  tribe  should  be  known, 
to  remove  at  least  l'  bl  of  laziness  from  it. 
That  thev  are  a  set  Id,  insolent,  daring 

robbers,  lio  one  can  il  ^   t  give  them  their 

due,  and  we        il  admit    Imi  there  is  much  in 
their  habit  -vingouradmir  itioii,  and  that 

even  their  ..  ..iaciOUBth  "shave  theirrcdeem- 
ing  points. 

The   genera'    aspt  'ho    i  tsy  dtt,   or 

wasps,  is  sutSciently  Ju  <      ir        obviate  the 
necessity   <it'  description,     'i   .        black   ond 
gold-painted     idies,  their  powerful  .nandibles, 
formide''le  snugs,  and        sr  surface  destitute 
of  hairs,  are  present  to  the  eye  at  the  very 
mention  of  the  word.     The  si .ciety  consists  of 
mules,  fe!'  ales,  ond  tieuters,  <  ich  having  th'^ir 
appropriate  functions  ;  but  i  be  males,  on  the 
whole,  leading  the  quietest  and  least  arduous 
lives.     The  females  ere  the  hurd-working 
foundr    ses  of  the  colony,  and  the  neuters  are 
wasps       all-work— robbing,  fighting,  defend- 
ing, nurning,  and  building,  indifferently  and   ly 
turns.     Their  histor  commences  most  cotive- 
j  nient  iy  for  our  purpo-cs  in  the  spnng.     At  the 
conclusion  of  the  preced-ng  summer,  the  mules, 
ter  pairins:,  all  died,  and  the         mained  i  it 
la  f'  V  fen,  ''s  behind  of  a"  the  busy  ranks 


rouml  mill  ntnnd  in  tortiirp  ; 

so  liiirli;irnijn  srciicM  hrl'ure 
It  the  (-y<!  niny  iilllii't   tUo 
irt  limy  \»'  rmiNiMl  tn  it  v.oly  ] 
to  do,  the  w'lrk  is  left ;  tiir 
ut  we  orlilrc-o'  nursi'lvc*  to  j 
lit;  tiir  the  hisln  -t  'fi«n\  of  I 
cr,  tile  goiHl  III"  l)C]icv(»l)'iic(! 
hiluiitludpy   (1ov('1(»|)(mI.   of 
r  chfirinhfil  and  strciiKtln'ii- 
aned  at  grenl  f.xprnsr.,  cvtm 
)ur  own   I'pllow-nicii — they 
ve  may  be  made  more  com- 


^ASP  FAMILY. 

inyists  are  in  the  habit  of 
to  fops  of  another  genus,  and 
(puwtionable  sort  of  reputa- 
mijst  ascribe  to  their  splen 
1  to  thiir  apparently  useles'* 
irorld.  The  simile  is  more 
ridim  respect:  for  there  ore 
)f  these  elittcring  creatures, 
ihionablf  ^vorld — a  fashiomi 
\v  inoiitli  and  then  all  dis- 
economy of  the  wasp  fami- 
b^rable  interest,  and  deserves 
1  than,  in  our  hostile  state  f 
he  race,  we  are  readily  d 

It  is  only  necessary  that 
of  the  tribe  should  be  known, 
t  \}'-  bi  of  laziness  from  it. 
set  id,  insolent,  daring 

m  di  •  vft  cive  them  their 
1  admit  ;hn'  there  is  much  in 
ving our admirUion,  and  that 
loustb  ''shavt  •heirrcdeera- 

aspt .  the    /'iv  7<«,  or 

;iitly  lain  lar  *  obviate  the 
icription.  '1  ,  black  and 
les,  tlii'i'  powerful  fnandibles, 
I,  and  ir  surface  destitute 
ssent  to  the  eye  at  the  very 
ord.  Th(!  snciety  consists  of 
ml  neuters,  i  ich  having  th-'ir 
tions;  but  ilie  males,  on  the 
de  quietest  and  least  anluous 
nales  ere  the  hard-working 
»e  colonv,  and  the  neuters  are 
ik— robbing,  fighting,  defend- 

building,  indifferently  and  )y 
istor  commences  most  conve- 
urpoes  in  the  spnng.     At  the 

preceding  sumrnf-r,  the  nuile-*. 
I  died,  and  thi  -mained  lut 
behind  of  a'^  tlie  busy  ranks 


T-^ 


I 


THB  WASP  FAMILY. 


161 


»hich  crowded  the  vespiary.    These  are  awa- 
.^eiied  liy  the  return  ot  spring.     The  solitary 
wasj)  finds  herself  immediately  snintnoned  to 
active  duties.     She  has  to  construct  the  car- 
coss,  and  to  excavate  the  earthwork,  for  her 
future  pi'oplo  and  city-     Serious  us  is  the  task, 
»he  has  to  elli-ct  it  all  alone  ;  not  a  single  com- 
panion to  cheer  her  hours  of  incessant  toil,  or 
to  lighten  her  labor  by  a  single  loud !     Her 
energies  are  equal  to  tlie  undertaking  :  she  is 
to  be  seen  bu//inj^  about  in  the  sunny  morn- 
ings, liKiking  out  tor  a  site.     It  is  sinm  found : 
it  is  some  dry,  warm  bank  ;  ond  here  sb    sets 
to  her  work.     She  perforates  it,  and  f    ins  a 
long  circuitous  tunnel,  at  the   extremity  of 
which  she  digs  out  a  vault  of  considerable  di- 
mensions.    This  task  is  pi;rformed  in  no  care- 
less or  slovenly  manner  ;  although  every  par- 
ticle of  rubbish  which  the  little  excovator  teors 
from  the  walls  of  her  cavern  niu-.t  be  carried 
in  her  jaws,  she  dot'S  not  leave  it  at  the  en- 
trance, but  voluntarily  entails  upon  herself  the 
vast  additional  labor  of  casting  it  away  to  some 
distance.     Her  di  sign  in  so  doing  appears  to 
be  principally  to  ovoid  the  risk  of  her  cell  be- 
ing discovered  by  a  heap  of  rubbish  at  the  fixit 
of  the  bunk.     After  the  labor  of  excavation  is 
ended,  the  walls  are  to  be  jiliistered,  and  to 
this  fresh  duty  she  at  once  addresses  herself. 
Surely  every  person  has  seen  the  nest  of  the 
wasp,  and  wondered  at  its  exquisite  and  deli- 
cate architecture  of  celled  paper  ?     Behold  the 
architect !     The  nest  is  really  made  of  paper  : 
it  was  for  some  time  a  puzzle  to  our  philoso- 
phers.    Reaumur  appears  first  to  have  de- 
tected the  wasp  in  the  very  act  of  this  manu- 
facture.    He  beheld  her  alight  on  a  deal  win- 
dow-frame ;  and  watching,  saw  her  tear  a  bun- 
dle of  delicate,  hair-like  fibres,  about  an  inch 
in  length,  from  it,  bruising  the  woody  fibre 
with  her  mandibles  until  it  became  like  a  fine 
lint.     This  is  the  material  from  which  the 
papyraceous  plaster  is  to  be  prepared.     Fly- 
ing away  with  it  to  her  abode,  it  is  there  made 
into  a  proper  consistence  by  the  addition  of  her 
tenacious  saliva ;  and  when  this  part  of  the 
process  is  complete,  it  forms  a  fine,  smooth, 
adhesive    paste,    precisely   analogous  to  the 
product  of  our  cumbrous  and  costly  mechan- 
ism papier  marhe.     Rolling  it  into  a  sort  of 
pellet,  she  conwy         I.'  the  summit  of  the 
dome,  plasters  it  on  the  ^    •■'•''   and  spreads  it 
out,  by  means  of  her  k(;  iws,  into  a  very 

thin  lamina,  which  is  vt  ;.iii  ;)le  paper.  Leaf 
after  U  iif  must  be  added,  until  the  whole  cav- 
ity is  thus  papered  or  plastered  over,  and  not 
with  one  coat  alone ;  generally  the  insect  lays 
down  fif(  en  or  sixteen,  leaving  spaces  be- 
tween eu  layer,  for  the  advantages  of  inward 
lightness  nd  strength  to  her  ceiling.  Her  la- 
UofK  do  n<  I'nd  here.  She  has  built  the  walls 
01        city  :  it  remains  for  her  to  commence  the 


edifices,  and  supply  the  population.  She  builds 
a  terrace  of  hexagonal  cells,  of  marvellous  ex- 
actness, and  suspends  it  bv  papff  pulars  from 
the  r(K)f  of  her  texture.  These  terraces  emu- 
late in  elegance  and  artistic  skill,  and  far  sur- 
pass in  utility,  the  famous  hanging  gardens 
and  terraces  of  the  renowned  city  of  old.  A 
f>>w  hundred  cells  are  thus  constructed,  and  at 


;th  an  interval  of  comparative  repose  awaits 
tl.r  laborer,  while  she  priMX'cds  to  fulfil  her 
more  proper  duties  as  a  parent.     Single-liaiid- 
ed,  she  has  laid  the  foundation  of  the  vtsp- 
polis,  and  has  marked  out  the  general  design 
if  its  future  buildings  ;  but  she  must  have  fur- 
ther    -Histuiice  before  the  city  will  beiimipletc. 
Till   walls,  ot  present  bare  and  desolate,  the 
palace  empty  and  still,  are  soon  to  resound 
with  the  hum  of  life,  and  with  the  busy  labors 
of  a  new  generation.     In  the  cells  the  insect 
deposites  her  ova,  gluing  them  to  the  walls  by 
an  adhesive  substance;  these  are  soon  hutched, 
they  become  Inrvic,  and  are  for  -iome  time  en- 
tirely dependent  upon  their  pai   nt's  exertions 
for  their  supply  of  food.     Shi      is  to  forage 
for  this  numerous  u>»\  voracio-   ■  oro:        ,  and 
runs  about  from  cell  to  cell  ^^  itn  thi   utmost 
solicitude,  while   the   grubs   put  forth   their 
mouths,  and  are  fed  by  her  just  as  the  "  <  ol- 
low  brood"  of  a  bird  is  fed.     Most  pleasing  is 
it  to  ibserve  the  anxious  mother  keeping  watch 
ovei    lier  otrspring.  ond  apparently  many  a 
neeiile."-  time  popjiing  her  head  into  their  snug 
cots,  as  if  to  see  how  they  do,  and  to  give  a 
mouthful  of  food  now  and  then  to  some  render 
young  larva  not  yet  big  enough  to  ))ut  its  head 
out  to  be  fed  !     A  few  weeks  slip  by — a  great 
change  has  come  over  the  vespiary  :  it  is  re- 
plete with  life ;  hundreds  of  workers  hove  been 
bom  in  the  interim,  and  ore  now  laboring  might 
and  main,  with  the  cmperess  at  their  head,  to 
extend  the  buildings,  and  enlarge  the   city. 
When  complete,  a  vespiary  has  been  calcu- 
lated to  contain  obout  fifteen  or  sixteen  thou- 
sand cells,  each  of  which  is  thrice  a  cradle  ; 
and  therefore,  in  a  single  season,  each  iiest 
will  probably  be  the  birthplace  of  full  thirty 
thousand  wasps  ! 

Such  is  the  birth  and  development  of  this 
insect  colony — a  lesson  to  states,  and  nations, 
and  individuals,  of  the  certain  results  of  in- 
domitable perseverance.  Let  us  trace  out  its 
government  and  destinies.  The  enqieress — 
the  protoplast  of  this  interesting  microcosm, 
the  foundress  of  this  bustling  republic — is  an 
exaggerated  type  of  the  duties  of  its  female 
members.  These  are  produced  in  compara- 
tively small  numbers ;  they  perform  the  prop- 
er duties  of  wives  and  mothers ;  they  stay  at 
'uime,  feed  the  children,  and  attend  to  the 
. .  urseries ;  they  mostly  perish  before  >vinter ; 
but  a  few,  more  hardy  than  their  fellows,  en- 
dure its  cold,  and  become  the  perpetuators  of 


•  ill 


i  * 


.4.        . 


the  rocc  in  the  eniuing  Bpring.    The  innlri, 
according  to  iho  youngiT  Hubcr,  are  far  more 
imluntriou*  thon  th«  inalf?  t>co«t,  or  drones,  but 
ttro  h»»  active    iv  tar  than  the  nfutrrn,  or 
working-wa»pM.    Thoy  have  the  peace  lul  <i(  ■ 
cupuiion  of  scavenBirinn  the  utrects :  they 
»wi;ei>  tho  floors  of  the  tcrnices  and  avenues, 
and  Jilijjfntly  carry  off  cviry  ^article  of  rub- 
bish.    They  also  undertake  tno  funerals  of 
ony  deceased  componions,  and  spet^dily  cast 
the  deod  b(Kli(  <  out  of  the  vespiarj^.     On  the 
wbilo,  they  ore  useful  members  of  the  com- 
munity i  and  they  probably  owe  their  permis- 
•ion  to  livi!  U)  their  diliKence.    The  "  work- 
era"  are  the  most  interesting  class  :  they  arc 
•mailer  in  size  than  either  male  or   female 
wasps,  but  are  wonderfully  energetic,  and  in- 
defati jiitbly  lal"  )riou8.     Some  arc  builders  and 
repairers  of  tin   breach  ;  they  receive  a  com- 
mission to  make  excursions  for  building-mate- 
rials; and  returning  home  with  their  bundles 
of  lint,  set  themselves  to  the  repairs  and  ex- 
tension of  the  city.    Others  are  the  commis- 
sariats :  the  issues  of  life  at  home  are  intimate- 
ly connected  with  their  expeditions.     They 
roam   over   fields  and   meadow*,   frequently 
catching  flics  nnd  weaker  insects,  and  carry- 
ing the  gurno  home  often  with  no  inconsidera- 
ble dilficulty.     Dr.  Darwin  says  he  once  be- 
held a  curious  act  of  a  wasp  :  it  had  caught  a 
large  fly,  und  in  rising  with  it  into  the  iiir,  the 
breeze  caught  its  wings,  and  nearly  wrenched 
it  from  the  wasp's  clutches.     The  insect  im- 
medidtely  alighted,  and  deliberately  sawed  off 
the  wings  of  its  victim,  when  it  was  able  to 
carry  it  in  safety  away.     There  was  a  some- 
tiling  nobler  than  instinct  in  this  action,  nor  is 
it  by  any  means  on  isolated  example  of  insect 
sagacity".    Others  seek  our  orchard  ,  select  the 
ripest,  sweetest  fruits,  suck  their  juices,  ond 
convey  home  the  luscious  treasure,  of  which 
but  0  small  portion  is  for  themselves.     These 
foragers  will  even  enter  and  rob  beehives. 
Those  that  tarry  at  home,  in  every  instance 
share  the  spoil.    Our  grocery-stores  and  butch  - 
era'  stalls  are  equally  attractive  to  the  forager- 
wasps.     Surely  it  is  some  palliation  of  the  rob- 
bery to  remember  the  claims  of  hungry  kins- 
folks, friends,  and  acquaintance,  and  httle  ones 
at  home !     There  is  no  sciuabbling  at  their  or- 
derly meal-times ;  no  fighting  for  the  '*  lion's 
shore ;"  each  expectant  insert  receives  its  due 
portion,  and  is  content  therewith.     "  I  have 
seen,"  writes  the  fascinating  obt..  rvrr  Reau- 
mur, "a  worker,  after  returning  home  with 
spoil,  on  entering  the  ni^t,  quietly  \-  reh  at 
the  top,  and  protrude  o  clear  drop  of  fluid  from 
its  mouth.    Several  wasps  drank  together  from 
this  crystal  drop  until  it  wos  all  swallowed ; 
then  the  worker  would  cause  o  second,  and 
sometimes  a  third  drop,  to  exude,  the  conter.8 
of  which  were  distributed  in  peace  to  other 


waips."     Here  in  a  lesson  for  our  young  read- 
ers to  observe  ond  practise ! 

The  minle  of  covernment  is  reimblicon . 
then;  is  no  recognised  head,  as  with  the  bees; 
vet  on  amount  of  even  military  discipline,  and 
the  utmost  order,  ore  to  be  found  among  the 
subjects.  The  ijood  of  the  commonwealth 
seems  to  be  the  prevailing  (jbject  of  each  in- 
sect. If  the  workers  ore  building,  eoc  h  hos  its 
own  f>\"'i,  obout  on  inch  8()uorc,  assigned  to  it, 
OS  the  .  tiount  of  work  it  is  exjwcted  to  exe- 
cute.  It  WOS  on  interesting  discovery  of  Mr. 
Knight,  that  wosps  olso  hove  sentinels :  these 
are  placed  at  the  entronre  of  the  vespiary ; 
they  run  gently  in  ond  out  of  it,  and  give  im- 
mediate notice  of  the  opprooch  of  danger.  To 
their  rr)mmimications  olone  does  the  commu- 
nity give  heed ;  ond  on  their  giving  the  alarm, 
will  issue  in  an^'ry  hosts  to  avenge  the  injury, 
ond  defend  their  home  to  the  lienth.  Some- 
times, however,  but  rorely,  intestine  combats 
toke  place ;  and  there  ore  terrific  duels  be- 
tween the  workers,  or  between  o  worker  and 
a  mole.  This  is  a  bad  offoir  for  the  latter,  os 
'  !■  hos  no  sting  :  his  fote  is  generolly  to  die. 

One  of  the  most  striking  focts  in  the  notu- 
ral  history  of  the  Vespidte  is  the  occurrence 
of  an  annual  ma.ssacre  in  October.     Then  the 
vespiory  is  indeed  o  scene  of  horrible  atroci- 
ties ond  profuse  carnage.     The  wosjis,  whose 
offection  for  their  young  is  generally  remark- 
ably strong,  seem  then  to  be  possessed  with 
phrensied  rage  against  them.     They  cease  to 
feed  their  larvae:  "they  do  worse,"  angrily 
writes  Reaumur ;  "  the  mothers  become  im- 
placable murderesses  ;  they  drag  the  helpless 
lorvsB  out  of  their  cells,  slay  them,  and  scotter 
them  outside  the  nest,  strewing  the  very  earth 
with  their  dead  corcosses.-    There  is  no  com- 
punction :  the  massacre  is  universol."    A  wise 
purpose  is  fultilled  by  this  opporer.t  cruelty. 
The  coming  winter  would  ropidly  destroy,  by 
a  for  more  miserable  deoth,  oil  that  are  killed 
on  tin    rM'usion ;  and  it  is  o  stroke  of  mercy  to 
temii    ite  th<ir  sufferings  by  a  blow.     The 
early  frosts  destroy  the  murderers  themselves. 
The  scene  is  now,  in  truth,  oltered ;  "  the  pop- 
ulous city  has  become  waste,  and  without  in- 
habitant," soving  some  one  or  two  femoles, 
which  spend  the  winter  in  the  depths  of  the 
vespiary.     The  complicated  galleries,  cells, 
and  hanging  terraces,  ond  the  entire  frame- 
work of  the  nest,  are  for  ever  vocoted  when 
the  female  leaves  them  in  the  spring ;  and  this 
exquisite  specimen  of  insect  orchitecture  is 
abandoned  to  the  destroying  influences  of  time 
and  Occident.    These  mteresting  feotures  of 
the  history  of  the  Vespidae  ore  full  of  subject- 
matter  for  our  meditation  ond  admirotion,  in- 
dicating, so  clearly  as  they  do,  that  the  "  Hand 
that  mode  them  is  divine  ;"  yet  all  these  mar- 
vellous sagacities,  contrivances,  and  governing 


^ 


Iciwn  for  our  young  rcnd- 
practiM ! 

nvi-mnipnt   is  reimblicnn . 
C(l  hrnd,  M  will)  the  l)ee«; 
von  military  discipHne,  an<l 
re  to  br  found  among  the 
[m]   of  the   commoriwpalth 
nvailinjz  objnct  of  mrh  in- 
jH  are  building,  each  hit^i  it* 
inch  wjuare,  assigned  to  it, 
rork  it  is  pxpected  to  pxe- 
itornsting  discovery  of  Mr. 
1  nliio  have  scntincln  :  thesp 
entrance  of  the  vcspiory  j 
ond  out  of  it,  and  give  im- 
10  approach  of  danger.    T(» 
ms  alone  does  the  commu- 
1  on  their  giving  the  alarm, 
hosts  to  avenge  the  injury, 
ionic  to  the  denth.     Some- 
it  rarely,  intestine  combats 
here  are  terrific  duels  be- 
,  or  between  a  worker  and 
had  affair  for  the  latter,  as 
is  fote  is  generolly  to  die. 
t  striking  facts  in  the  natu- 
VespidiB  is  the  occurrence 
tcre  in  October.     Then  the 
a  scene  of  horrible  atroci- 
imoge.     The  wosps,  whose 
young  is  generally  remark- 
then  to  be  possessed  with 
linst  them.     They  cease  to 
"  they  do  worse,"  angrily 
"  the  mothers  become  im- 
ses  ;  they  drag  the  helpless 
cells,  slay  them,  and  scotfer 
est,  strewing  the  very  eorth 
ircasses.-    There  is  no  com- 
sacre  is  universal."    A  wise 
J  by  this  ajjparcnt  cruelty, 
sr  would  rapidly  destroy,  by 
jle  death,  all  that  are  killed 
md  it  is  a  stroke  of  mercy  to 
uHerings  by  a  blow.     The 
y  the  murderers  themselves, 
in  truth,  altered ;  "  the  pop- 
ome  waste,  nnd  without  in- 
some  one  or  two  females, 
ivinter  in  the  depths  of  the 
;omplicated  galleries,  cells, 
aces,  and  the  entire  frame- 
,  ore  for  ever  vacated  when 
them  in  the  spring ;  and  this 
;n  of  insect  architecture  is 
destroying  influences  of  time 
'hese  interesting  features  of 
VespidsB  are  full  of  subject- 
iditation  and  odmiration,  in- 
Y  as  they  do,  that  the  "  Hand 
9  divine  ;"  yet  all  these  mar- 
,  contrivances,  and  governing 


I 


NBV  ZEALAND. 


16;j 


principles,  present  us  with  but  dim  and  broken 
rerti'ctions  of  the  far-seeing  Wisdom  that  ere- 
atid  nil  things,  "ond  for  whose  pleasure  they 
ore  and  were  created." 

A  few  more  parli'ulori  will  make  the  histfv 
ry  of  this  fomily  a  little  more  complete.     The 
preceding  sketch  has  dealt  only  with  the  com- 
mon wasp,  Feapa  viUfiarii.    The  moson-waHp 
is  o  solitary  insect,  ond  builds  its  nest  in  Hond 
and  lirick— being  oble,  by  meons  of  its  strong 
mandibles,  to  break  oir  pieces  of  brick  with 
ease,  iifid  to  burrow  tr)  a  considerable  depth  in 
its  substonce.     It  has  the  ()eculittrity  of  storing 
up  ten  or  twelve  green  lurvic,  as  iihhI  for  its 
own,  and  resorts  to  a  curious  contrivance  to 
prevent  them  from  moving  out  of  its  reach. 
The  hornet,  Fespa  craho,  selects  for  its  habi- 
tation commonly  some  decoyed,  hollow  trunk, 
or  the  eaves  of  old  buildings,  where,  construct- 
ing its  nest,  it  forms  a  tortuous  giiU'-ry  of  en- 
trance.    Our  farmers  sometimes  make  use  of 
these  nesta  to  destroy  domestic  flies,  hanging 
them  up  in  their  rtxims,  where  they  do  not 
molest  the  family,  but  full  entirely  upon  the 
flies.  Another  species,  the  Vcspa  Britannica, 
forms  a  curious  oval  nest,  sometimes  to  be  seen 
hanging  from  the  bronches  of  trees.     Others 
form  elegant  nests,  like  half-open  flowers,  with 
a  plotform  of  cells  ot  the  bottom.     A  foreign 
species  constructs  a  beautiful  nest,  of  o  sub- 
stance  identical  with   the  very  finest  cord- 
board,  suspending  it,  like   a  watch  from  o 
guard-chain,  by  a  ring  at  the  extremity  of  the 
bough,  out  of  the  reach  of  monkeys.     Some- 
times these  nests  grow  to  an  enormous  size : 
the  London  Zoological  Society  has  one  six 
feet  long.     A  South- American  species  of  wasp 
imitates  the  bee,  and  is  a  collector  of  honey. 

Bold  as  are  the  Vespidse,  great  as  is  their 
fecundity,  they  are  mercifully  kept  in  check. 
The  ichneumon  is  their  ferocious  foe ;  in  the 
West-Indian  islands  they  are  the  victims  of  a 
parasitic  plant,  which  vegetoti-s  in  their  inte- 
rior ;  man  leagues  his  forces  against  them  ;  and 
nature  ittelf,  in  a  deluging  season  or  severe 
winter,  destroys  thousonds,  ond  prevents  the 
plague  becoming  greater  than  we  are  able  to 
bear. 


NEW  ZEALAND. 


\i  I '!  I  South-Pacific  ocean. 
i,   I"  i)i/n  OS  New  /calami, 
I  Dy  Tosman.    In  the  veor 


Reasoi*. — It  is  the  pilot  of  human  life,  and 
•teers  it  steadily  through  wild  and  tempestu- 
ous seas,  amid  the  rocks  and  shelves  of  for- 
tune and  folly,  ignorance  and  error,  and  the 
thousand  snares  of  the  world.  It  is  this  alone 
that  enables  man  to  despise  imaginary  evils, 
and  vamiuish  real  ones.  It  orms  the  mind 
with  true  and  lasting  magnanimity,  furnishes 
it  with  solid  comforts,  ainl  teaches  it  to  extract 
life  ond  health,  virtue  and  wisdom,  out  of  the 
madness  ond  mutability  of  men  and  fortune ; 
like  antidotes  and  cordials,  out  of  things  poi- 
sonous and  baneful  in  their  nature. 


Tiir.  two  islan 
constituting  whi- 

were  first  disco'  tcw  by  Tosman.    In  tlit   , . .. 
1642,  he  traverfx  i  ^he  eastern  coast  from  lati- 
tude thirty-fimr  ti-  fortv-three  degrees,  and  en- 
tered the  strait,  called  C(K)k'8  strait.     It  was 
•upjKised,  from  the  periml  of  iu  first  discovery 
to  the  time  of  the  enterprising  captain  CiMik, 
thot  the  strait  entered  by  Tosmon  seporoted 
on  island  from  stime  vast  southern  continent ; 
but  the  British  novigotor,  who  sail(!d  round 
both  islands  in  the  years  1769  ond  1770,  com- 
pletely removed  this  error.     The  two  islands 
that  go  by  the  name  of  New  Zeoland  are  sit- 
uated between  thirty-four  degrees  twenty-two 
minutes  and  forty-seven  degrees  twenty-five 
minutes  south  lotUude,  and  between  one  hun- 
dred and  sixly-six  and  one  hundred  ond  eighty 
legrces  cost  longitude.     The  northernmost  of 
these  isloiids  is  colled  by  the  natives  Eahcino- 
mouwc,  and  the  southenimost  Tuvai,  or  Tovy 
Poenonimoo.     Upon  referring  to  the  mop  of 
this  country,  it  will  be  seen  tlmt  Enbeinomau- 
we,  or  the  northern  islond,  running  from  the 
North  cape,  which  is  in  latitude  thirty-four 
degrees  twenty  minutes  south,  to  Cope  Poliser, 
iu  forty-one  degrees  thirty-six  minutes  south, 
contoins  four  hundred  omf  thirty-six  miles  in 
length  ;  ond  taking  the  medium  brcndth,  which 
vories  from  five  miles  at  Sandy  bay  to  one 
hundred  ond  eighty  ot  the  East  cope,  at  about 
sixty  miles,  this  extent  will  include  twenty-six 
thousand  one  hundred  and  sixty  sijuore  miles; 
while  Tovoi  Poenammoo,  the  southern  island, 
extending  from  forty-one  degrees  thirty  min- 
utes to  forty-seven  degrees  twenty-five  min- 
utes south,  str.  tches  three  hundred  and  sixty 
miles  in  length,  and  estimating  its  medium 
breadth  at  one  hundred  miles,  contoins  not  lesa 
than  thirty-six  thousond  square  miles. 

Several  missionary  stations  have  been  es- 
tablished here,  for  the  double  purpose  of  civ- 
ilizing the  natives,  and  instr  icting  them  in  the 
truths  of  the  Chrisrion  religion  ;  ond  the  mis- 
sionaries continue  struggling  against  '^'e  seri- 
ous obstacles  opposed  to  their  progr  .,  from 
the  ferocious  hobits  and  superstitions  of  the 
norives.  It  was  in  the  yeor  1814  thot  the  first 
missionary  settlers  were  established  among  the 
New-Zealanders,  on  the  bay  of  Islands,  by  the 
Rev.  Samuel  Marsden. 

Several  New-Zealanders,  who  were  brought 
to  New  Hollond,  and  had  there  an  opportunity 
of  witnessing  the  arts  and  improvements  of  civ- 
ilized life,  hove  been  of  greot  service  to  the 
missions.  The  features  of  these  islanders  are 
better  known  to  us  thon  those  of  any  others  in 
that  distant  region,  in  consefjuence  of  the  prac- 
tice which  exist*  of  partially  embalming  their 
dead  ;  and  the  head  of  a  New-Zealand  chief 


*i.l 


..m 


^ 


**.,!, 

^i:^ 


■■■.'.-sti;  - 


^^. 


3 

1 

.3 


ba 

a 

a 

o 


ASTRONOMV. 


165 


71 


is  as  frequently  seen  in  our  museums  as  any 
coiiiiaon  specimen  of  stuH'ml  uniiiials. 

Our  engraving  represents  a  i)ariy  ol  devo- 
ted missionaries,  accompanied  by  natives,  pas- 
sin-  through  a  swam))— an  occurrence  not  un- 
trnnuait  in  travelling  in  New  Zealand.     Ihe 
Kciue  here  represented  took  place  in  the  jour- 
ney of  the  missionaries  to  iMatamata,  one  of 
the  southern  stations.     The  European  (o  the 
left  is  intended  for  the  Rev.  Henry  Williarns  : 
the  one  on  the  right,  for  Mr.  Morgan,  who. 
having  slipped  into  a  hole,  is  being  helped  out 
bv  the  natives ;  the  two  in  the  centre,  for  the 
liev.  A.  N.  Brown  and  Mr.  Fairbum.     Diffi- 
culties like  these,  however,  are  fur  less  serious 
than  many  others  which  the  missionaries  have 
to  encounter  in  New  Zealand.     The  baggage 
required  by  the  missionaries  in  these  journeys 
is  carried  by  the  natives  on  their  backs,  as 
shown  in  the  engraving. 


LECTURES  ON  ASTRONOMY.-No.  3. 

BY    PROrESSOft   O.  M.  MITCHELL. 

In  the  examination  of  the  structure  of  the 
universe,  we  are  very  apt  to  adopt  the  idea 
that  it  is  impossible  that  any  other  system, 
than  the  system  which  we  now  know,  does  or 
could  exist.  We  go  even  farther,  and  con- 
ceive the  idea,  that  the  great  laws  which  now 
govern,  are  the  only  laws  that  could  govern- 
that  the  law  of  motion,  for  example,  is  a  ne- 
cessary law  of  matter,  and  that  the  law  of 
gravitation  is  a  principle  inherent  in  matter, 
which  can  not  be  severed  from  it.  These  are 
views  which  are  too  generally  entertained  ; 
and,  in  the  outset  of  what  I  am  about  to  say, 
I  beg  to  be  understood  as  to  my  own  concep- 
tions, with  regard  to  these  important  points. 

I  believe  that  "  In  the  beginning,  God  cre- 
ated the  heavens  and  the  earth  ;"  that  he  se- 
lectee the  laws  by  which  he  would  govern  the 
universe,  and  that  these  laws  are  the  nerpet- 
ual  and  unchangeable  expression  of  his  al- 
mi'^hry  will.    But,  do  you  ask  the  question : 
Could  this  system  of  ours,  upon  which  we 
look  with  so  deep  an  interest,  have  been  dif- 
ferently arranged,  and  yet  have  accomplished 
the  grand  objec  ;  which  it  seems  designed  to 
accoini)lish  ?     That  depends  entirely  upon 
what  wc  conceive  to  have  been  the  grand  ob- 
ject.   I  contend  it  could  not  have  been  dif- 
ferently arranged  with  the  objects  in  view, 
which  we  have  reason  to  believe  were  had  at 
the   time   of  ita  contemplated   organization. 
But  do  we,  on  the  way  through  our  examina- 
tion, conceive  fully  and  entirely— or  even  ap- 
proximately—the grand  object  of  this  scheme 

1' 


by  which  we  are  surrounded  ]  I  know  it  is 
difficult  to  touch  this  subject :  it  is  hard  to 
make  myself  understood  :  but  a  very  few  mo- 
ments of  explanation,  I  trust,  will  be  sulli- 
cient— and  then  I  will  pr()ceed  to  the  appli- 
cation of  the  laws  of  gravitation. 

In  the  first  place,  the  great  design  in  con- 
stituting the  system  by  which  we  are  ^u  - 
rounded,  and  with  which  we  are  associated, 
was  to  give  to  it  perpetuity,  so  that  it  may 
not  have  the  elements  of  its  o^vn  dissolution, 
and  decay  within  itself. 

Let  us  stop  here  for  a  moment,  and  see 
whether  this  object  could  have  been  attained 
in  any  other  way.     I  believe  that  it  could 
have  been  attained  in  a  much  simpler  way 
than  it  now  is.     Do  not  misunderstand  mc, 
for  I  use  the  expression  with  all  reverence. 
If  the  law  of  gravitation  had  been  a  httle  dif- 
ferent ;  if  instead  of  every  particle  of  matter 
attracting  every  other  particle  in  the  universe, 
this  law  had  been  announced  thus :  The  sun 
shall  attract  the  planets,  but  they  shall  not  in- 
fluence each  other— the  planets  shall  attract 
their  satellites,  but  these  revolving  satellites, 
shall  have  no  attractive  influence  upon  each 
other— the  sun  shall  draw  the  comets  from  the 
depths  of  space,  and  shall  bring  them  to  itself, 
and  throw  them  of!' again,  without  their  being 
influenced  in  any  degree  by  approximation  to 
the  planets  among  which  they  move— then  we 
should  have  had  a  stable  system— one  that 
would  have  endured  throughout  the  ceaseless 
aaes  of  eternity  itself.     And  how  simple  this 
system  would  have  been  in  companson  to  the 
one  which  now  exists.    In  the  one  by  which 
we  are  surrounded,  we  find  perturbation  upor 
perturbation,   disturbance  upon  disturbance, 
causing  reaction  throughout  the  whole,  till  ev- 
ery movement  becomes  so  complicated  and  in- 
volved that  it  seems  almost  impossible  to  un- 
derstanf^"  n'  fo  bw  their  devious  operations. 

On  the  contrary,  had  the  other  system  been 
adopted,  so  soon  as  we  should  have  attained 
to  the  true  position  occupied  by  one  of  these 
beautiful  orbs  in  its  revolution  above  us— its 
uniform  movement  being  fully  understood— 
from  centurv  to  century,  from  age  to  age,  as 
far  as  the  imagination  can  stretch  in  jioint  of 
time,  no  change,  not  a  solitary  deviation,  ev- 
er would  have  been  made  from  the  route 
which  it  first  pursued.  , 

But  there  was  a  higher  obiect  to  be  attained 
in  the  structure  of  the  universe,  than  inere 
stability.  We  have  shown  how  that  might 
have  been  done.  But  this  complicated  sys- 
tem was  given  for  our  instruction,  as  a  grand 
problem  which  would  lead  us  in  our  investi- 
gations onward  and  upward  to  Him  whobmlt 
the  universe  in  wisdom  and  with  power.  And 
hence  we  find  the  complicati(^n  by  which  we 
are  surrounded- -and  in  this  complication  wo 


11^ 


m 


kMBS 


i^ 


166 


ASTRONOMY. 


find  that  which  stimulates  and  excites  the  hu- 
man intellect  to  its  h'^he'.i,  possible  attain- 
ments. 

With  this  explanation,  allow  me  to  refer, 
to  the  concluding  part  of  my  last  lecture.  I 
attempted  to  exhibit  the  process  of  reasoning 
by  which  Newton  accomplished  the  demon- 
stration of  the  law  of  Gravitation — to  show 
how,  by  the  examination  of  the  movements 
of  the  moon  in  its  orbit,  and  the  amount  of 
space  through  which  it  fell  toward  the  earth, 
under  the  influence  of  some  attractive  force 
there  located,  he  found  that  force  varied  ac- 
cording to  a  certain  law,  to  wit :  The  inverse 
ratio  of  the  Square  of  the  Distance. 

The  next  pomt  made — after  he  had  attained 
this  first  one — by  which  he  became  convinced 
that  this  law  was  true,  was  to  extend  his  ex- 
aminations onward  to  see  whether,  in  all  oth- 
er instances,  this  might  be  applied  with  suc- 
cess, and  if  the  movements  of  the  other  heav- 
enly bodies  could  be  accounted  for,  on  this 
hypothesis.  He  therefore,  commenced  the 
examination  of  the  great  problem,  of  which 
this  was  to  be  merely  ?v  corollary.  He  pro- 
pounded to  himself  this  vast  nuestion  :  Sup- 
pose a  body  to  exist  in  space,  located  in  such 
a  manner  as  in  a  sense  to  be  isolated.  Now, 
as  this  body  is  endued  with  this  power  of  at- 
traction which  shall  follow  in  the  inverse  ra- 
tio of  the  square  of  the  distance :  What 
would  be  the  nature  of  the  curve,  described 
by  the  body  revolving  about  this  centre,  when 
under  the  influence  of  force  varying  as  did 
the  force  of  gravity  ? 

As  I  have  already  related,  Kepler  had  found 
that  the  planets  described  elliptical  orbits,  hav- 
ing one  axis  passing  through  the  centre,  long- 
er than  all  the  others,  and  another  axis  per- 
pendicular to  this,  shorter  than  all  the  others. 
Inasmuch  as  they  did  thus  revolve,  Newton 
hoped  and  believed  that  v/hen  he  should  have 
arrived  at  the  truth  in  the  investigation  of  this 
problem,  as  to  the  curve  described,  that  it 
would  prove  to  be  an  ellipse,  inasmuch  as  they 
were  known  to  revolve  in  these  curves.  He 
takes  the  analysis  which  he  had  conjured  up 
for  his  aid,  brings  all  his  intellectual  jiower  to 
bear  ufion  the  problem,  and  subjects  it  to  an 
irresistible  analytical  reasoning,  of  which  all 
the  data,  were  perfectly  within  his  grasp. 
The  result  comes  out — in  a  kind  of  cabalistic 
algebraic  characters  which  I  can  not  explain 
at  this  time.  But  it  is  sufficient  to  say,  that 
there  was  an  additional  meaning;  and  the 
query  woa,  Wliat  was  that  meaning  ?  Was 
it  an  expression  exhibiting  the  curve  of  the 
eclipse  ?  It  was  strange,  even  to  Newton, 
what  that  expression  was ;  it  did  not  look 
familiar ;  it  did  not  exhibit  the  proportions  of 
this  elliptical  curve — and  what  could  it  be  ? 
With  much  labor  he  unravelled  +  3  mystery, 


and  t«  his  astonishment  he  found  that  instead 
of  being  the  equation  of  the  ellipse,  as  it  ia 
called,  it  was  the  enuation — the  general  ex- 
pression—of no  less  man  four  curves  :  the  cir- 
de,  the  ellipse,  the  parabola,  and  the  hyper- 
bola, were  all  in  like  manner  involved  ;  each 
and  every  one  of  these  curves  being  the  ex- 
pression to  which  he  arrived  as  the  result  of 
his  examination.  But  what  could  be  the 
meaning  of  all  this  ?  He  looks  out  upon  the 
system  for  an  answer ;  and  lo !  a  comet,  com- 
ing in  from  the  distance,  sweeps  round  the 
sun  in  a  curve,  called  the  parabola  ;  another 
describes  the  hyperbola ;  the  planets  revolve 
in  ellipses,  and  their  satellites  describe  cir- 
cles. 

Here  you  perceive  was  a  very  unlooked-for 
result,  and  it  became  evident  that  either  one 
of  these  four  curves  might  be  described  about 
a  body  revolving  about  a  centre,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  law  of  gravity. 

When  this  result  was  reached,  the  next  in- 
quiry was  this :  Is  it  true  now  that  every  par- 
ticle of  matter  attracts  every  other  particle, 
according  to  this  law  ?  The  examination  of 
this  question  presented  many  difficulties. 
How  was  it  to  be  resolved  ?  How  could  he 
tell  whether  the  force  of  attraction  in  the 
earth  for  example,  was  located  in  the  central 
point  of  the  globe,  or  distributed  throughout 
the  whole  mass,  existing  equ'.lly  in  every  par- 
ticle of  that  mass.  He  commences  by  exam- 
ining the  figure  of  the  earth — applies  the  law 
upon  the  hypothesis,  that  every  particle  did 
attract  every  other  particle — he  finds  the 
earth  revolving  upon  an  axis,  and  perceives 
what  is  produced  by  the  operarion  of  this  law 
upon  the  earth.  If,  in  the  outset,  the  earth 
were  created  perfectly  spherical,  he  finds,  un- 
der "he  influence  of' the  swift  rotation  upon 
the  axis',  it  can  not  maintain  that  figure  ;  its 
form  must  be  changed,  and  another  given  it  in 
process  of  time  ;  and  he  even  predicted  before 
the  measurement  had  been  made,  what  it  must 
be,  and  determined  what  should  be  the  ratio 
of  fhe  polar  and  the  equatorial  dinmeters  of 
the  earth. 

But  if  the  figure  of  the  sphere  were  changed 
from  the  acrion  of  these  laws,  might  not  the 
process  go  on,  and  the  globe  at  length  become 
so  entirely  changed,  that  the  particles  of  mat- 
ter at  the  equator  should  fly  off*,  a..d  thus  'he 
whole  mass  be  disintegrated  and  diffused  in 
space  ? 

Let  us  look  at  this  for  a  mompr.'i,.  You  are 
all  aware  of  the  fact  that  the  er,;th  is  depressed 
at  the  poles,  and  protuberant  at  the  e(|uator — 
that  the  mass  of  matter  composing  the  body 
of  orr  planet,  is  heaped  up,  as  it  were,  at  the 
equator,  and  at  the  radius  of  the  earth  at  that 
point,  is  thirteen  miles  lon^r  than  at  the  jwles. 
How  was  this  figure  obtained,  and  how  comes 


ent  he  found  that  instead 
in  of  the  ellipse,  as  it  i« 
luation — the  general  ex- 
man  four  curves :  the  cir- 
mraoola,  and  the  hyper- 
e  manner  involved  ;  each 
ese  curves  being  the  ex- 
3  arrived  as  the  result  of 
But  what  could  be  the 
He  looks  out  upon  the 
r ;  and  lo  !  a  comet,  com- 
tance,  sweeps  round  the 
;d  the  parabola ;  another 
)ola ;  the  planets  revolve 
ir  satellites  describe  cir- 


B  was  a  very  unlooked-for 
3  evident  that  either  one 
might  be  described  about 
jut  a  centre,  under  the  in- 
f  gravity. 

was  reached,  the  next  in- 
t  true  now  that  every  par- 
cts  every  other  particle, 
V  ?  The  essmination  of 
inted  many  diflRculties. 
jsolved  ?  How  could  he 
irce  of  attraction  in  the 
i^as  located  in  the  central 
w  distributed  throughout 
ting  eqn'.lly  in  every  par- 
He  commences  by  exam- 
be  earth — applies  the  law 
J,  that  every  particle  did 
r  particle — he  finds  the 
)n  an  axis,  and  perceives 
'  the  operation  of  this  law 
',  in  the  outset,  the  earth 
:ly  spherical,  he  finds,  un- 
fthe  swift  rotation  upon 
maintain  that  figure ;  its 
ed,  and  another  given  it  in 
d  he  even  predicted  before 
[1  been  made,  what  it  must 
what  should  be  the  ratio 
5  equatoriul  dinmeters  of 

if  the  sphere  were  changed 
hese  laws,  might  not  the 
he  globe  at  length  become 
that  the  particles  of  mat- 
lould  fly  off,  a..d  thus  'he 
ntcgrated  and  diffused  in 

Is  for  a  momenl.  You  are 
that  the  er.r^h  is  depressed 
jtuberant  at  the  e(|uator — 
itter  composing  the  body 
iped  up,  as  it  were,  at  the 
radius  of  the  earth  at  that 
es  lon^r  than  at  the  jwles . 
3  obtained,  and  how  comes 


ASTRONOMY. 


167 


it  that  it  is  not  destroyed  T     I  will  attempt  an 
exi>lanation. 

By  the  rotation  of  every  revolving  body, 
there  is  a  force  created,  called  centrifugal 
force.  This  you  see  verified  every  day  :  not 
a  carriage  rolls  along  the  streets,  but  you  see 
particles  of  dust  flying  off  the  revolving 
wheels.  The  same  force  is  produced  in  the 
mass  of  the  earth  itself.  Now  suppose  we 
pass  from  the  equator  toward  the  poles. 
When  we  reach  the  poles  we  find  there  is  no 
tendency  to  fly  off  from  that  point,  in  conse- 
quence of  centrifugal  force,  because  there  is 
no  velocity  of  rotation.  But  as  we  recede 
from  the  axis  of  rotation,  and  as  the  radius  be- 
comes greater,  the  centrifugal  force  is  increas- 
ed in  consequence  of  the  velocity  of  rotation 
being  accelerated. 

Now  let  us  take  the  fluid  particles  upon 
the  earth's  surface.  What  will  be  the  conse- 
quence if  it  remain  stationary,  or  if  it  move 
upward  toward  the  equator  and  downward  to- 
ward the  poles  ? — for  the  solution  of  this  ques- 
tion will  determine  the  figure  of  the  earth, 
under  certain  limits  of  calculation.  These 
particles,  under  the  influence  of  the  centrifu- 
gal force,  have  a  tendency  to  fly  off  in  a  per- 
pendicular direction,  and  the  force  of  gravity 
has  a  tendency  to  draw  them  to  the  centre  of 
the  earth.  Under  the  action  of  these  two 
forces,  we  find  the  particle  does  not  remain 
stationary,  but  is  moving  upward,  along  a  cen- 
tral line  upon  the  surface  of  the  earth,  toward 
the  equator,  and  thus  particle  after  particle  is 
impelled  upward.  But  how  is  it  possible  that 
this  operation  should  ever  cease  ?  I  will  ex- 
plain the  reason. 

When  a  body  rests  upon  an  inclined  plane, 
the  action  of  gravity  tends  to  bring  it  down 
that  plane,  anc  it  requires  a  certain  amount  of 
force  to  heave  it  upward  against  the  action  of 
gravity.  Now,  when  the  particle  of  matter, 
under  the  influence  of  the  combined  forces  al- 
ready described,  is  heaved  up  and  locates  it- 
self at  the  equator,  still  other  particles  are 
heave il  up,  till  the  whole  figure  of  the  earth 
is  swelled  out ;  and  the  next  particles  to  be 
thrown  up,  will  ascend  in  some  sense  an  in- 
clined plane.  Recollect  there  is  here  a  heap- 
ing up  of  matter — a  swelling  out — and  the 
great  level  of  the  earth  is  changed,  and  the 
time  finally  comes  when  the  gravity  due  to  the 
inclined  plane,  upon  which  the  particle  rests, 
is  precisely  balanced  by  the  force  which  tends 
to  throw  it  up ;  and,  this  equilibrium  once  ob- 
tained, any  further  change  m  the  figure  of  the 
earth  for  etrer  ceases. 

We  now  take  up  the  telescope,  and  with  an 
inquiring  gaze,  examine  the  other  planets. 
They,  too,  are  moving  upon  their  axes  :  But 
with  the  same  velocity  with  which  the  earth 
moves  1     No ;  they  all  have  different  veloci- 


ties. Are  their  figures  in  like  manner  chan- 
ging by  this  rotation  ?  I  answer :  they  are  ali 
changing ;  or,  if  not,  they  still  possess  a  fig- 
ure of  equilibrium  heretofore  obtained.  And 
we  find,  moreover,  that  there  are  certain  nar- 
row limits  within  which  a  figure  of  this  char- 
acter must  be  circumscribed — that  if  the  velo- 
city of  rotation  given  to  any  body  shi/uld  ex- 
ceed a  certain  amount,  this  equilibrium  is  de- 
stroyed, the  figure  is  changed,  and  even  its 
solid  substance  disintegrated  and  broken  up. 
But  in  all  the  examinations  we  have  been  able 
to  make,  we  find  these  narrow  limits  nicely 
resolved,  and  no  one  of  these  falling  bodies 
has  exceeded  the  limits  of  stability  and  per- 
petuity. 

Having  examined  the  effect  of  gravitation, 
I  propose  to  trace  out,  for  a  short  time,  some 
of  the  effects  produced  by  this  extraordinary 
change  of  figure,  if  I  may  call  it  a  change. 
(I  do  not  know  if  it  ever  were  different.)  It 
is  found  that  a  globe  will  attract  precisely  as 
if  the  matter  belonging  to  it  were  compacted 
at  its  centre  ;  and  were  all  the  planets  precise 
spheres,  then  the  problem  of  the  solar  system 
would  have  been  merely  to  ascertain  what 
shall  be  the  relative  influence  of  one  of  these 
bodies  uport  the  other,  pll  being  regarded  as 
simple  material  points.  But  this  is  not  the 
fact :  they  are  spheroids,  flattened  at  the  poles; 
in  consequence  of  which  we  find  a  train  of 
results  of  a  curious  and  complicated  character. 

When  you  look  out  upon  the  north  star, 
you  find  that  object  apparently  fixed  and  per- 
manent— and  if  the  idea  of  fixity  has  ever 
entered  your  minds,  you  can  get  no  stronger 
conception  of  it  than  that  which  results  from 
the  fixity  of  this  star.  "  As  unchangeable  as 
the  north  star,"  has  grown  into  a  proverb. 
But  if  you  could  reviiit  this  earth  twelve  thou- 
sand years  hence,  and  look  for  your  favorite 
bright  and  beautiful  star — lo !  it  has  changed 
its  position — it  has  wandered  to  a  distant  re- 
gion of  the  heavens — it  is  no  longer  in  that 
point  to  which  the  earth's  axis  is  directed,  or 
near  it ;  but  some  other  has  taken  its  place. 
What  can  be  the  meaning  of  this  ?  I  answer 
it  depends  upon  the  figure  of  the  earth,  and 
upon  the  action  of  the  sun  and  moon,  upon 
the  protuberant  matter  girdling  the  earth's 
equator.  Now  for  the  explanation  of  this 
curious  phenomenon. 

If  it  were  po^ible  for  us  to  extend  the  equa- 
tor of  the  earth,  till  it  met  the  sphere  of  the 
heavens,  then  t.i  describe  around  the  heavens 
a  circle  of  fire  that  we  could  discern,  running 
all  the  way  around  among  the  fixed  stars,  we 
should  liave  the  curve  called  the  equinoctial 
in  the  heavens.  Now,  if  we  could  trace  out 
the  track  of  the  sun  among  the  fixed  stars,  <ve 
should  find  another  circle,  but  one  not  coinci- 
ding with  the  one  we  have  already  locateo — 


ii'f 


w 


w 


m 


^i3!'  I 


^^ 


'*mi 


"i^t 


they  would  form  a  certain  bhrIc,  crossing  caoli 
other  at  opposite  points.  The  first  of  these 
is  the  equator,  the  second  the  ecliptic ;  and 
their  intersections  at  their  opposite  ])oints  are 
called  the  ecpiinoctial  points.  These  points 
have  been  and  will  be  examined  with  the  ut- 
tnost  scrutiny.  The  attention  of  the  earliest 
astronomer  was  directed  to  their  position  in 
the  heavens ;  and  upon  the  day  in  which  the 
sun,  sweeping  arouml  in  its  orbit,  crossed  this 
other  circle,  called  the  equinoctial — on  that 
day,  if  was  found  that  the  length  of  the  day 
anil  the  wight  was  precisely  etpial.  Upon  no 
oth(!r  day  did  this  occur,  except  on  the  two 
occasions,  when  the  sun  was  in  the  act  of  pas- 
sing through  one  or  the  other  of  these  points. 
It  became,  then  a  matter  of  the  deepest  inter- 
est to  locate  this  point  among  the  fixed  stars. 
I  shall  not  attempt  to  point  out  the  manner  in 
which  it  was  accomplished.  It  was  simply 
with  the  brazen  circles  they  had  made  for  that 
purpose,  that  they  accomplished  this  most  de- 
sirable object.  In  Egypt,  great  attention  was 
given  to  this  point,  in  conse(piencs  of  the  fact 
that  they  marked  some  great  events,  such  as 
the  overflowing  of  the  Nile,  by  the  heliacal 
rising  of  a  certain  bright  star.  In  centuries 
after,  by  referring  this  star  to  the  etjuinoctial 
])oint8,  the  overflowing  of  the  Nile  came,  bui 
the  star  which  always  announced  it,  did  not 
come  do\vn  in  the  horizon. 

What  could  be  the  meaning  of  this  ?  Ei- 
ther one  of  two  conclusions  must  follow.  The 
star  itself  had  moved,  or  the  equinoctial  point 
to  which  it  was  referred  was  moving ;  and  it 
was  found,  by  referring  all  the  stars  to  this 
point,  that  it  was  actually  moving  in  the  heav- 
ens, going  backward,  as  it  were,  to  meet  the 
sun ;  and  in  consequence  of  this  movement, 
the  sun  reached  the  etjuinoctialpoint  before  it 
otherwise  would.  Thus  the  difference  of  time 
in  the  sun's  orrival  at  the  equinoctial  point, 
exceeded  their  compulations,  obliging  them  to 
carry  forward  the  equinoctial  points :  and 
hence  the  lenn — Precession  of  the  Equinoxes. 
You  may  ask  what  has  this  to  do  \n  ith  the 
movement  of  the  north  star,  or  the  pole  of  the 
earth.  T  will  explain :  The  point  calied  the 
north  pole  is  that  through  which  the  earth's 
avis  would  pa8s  if  it  were  protracted  so  far 
8-5  to  meet  the  celestial  sphere.  This  imagi- 
nary axis  of  the  earth,  is  as  fixed  and  perma- 
nent, as  if  it  were  a  bar  of  iron  driven  liter- 
ally tbrough  the  earth,  and  extending  out  to 
the  heavens  in  such  a  manner,  that  its  extrsm- 
ities  -bould  rest  in  sockets,  and  upon  it  the 
earth  should  revolve.  Now  follow  me  :  takvj 
holil  of  this  iron  axle  and  heave  it  up,  so  as 
to  change  ts  position.  What  is  the  effect  ? 
The  equator  l;i  always  perpendicular  to  this 
axle,  and  if  we,  shift  the  latter  in  the  slii^htest 
degree  we  will  in  like  degree  shift  the  plane 


of  the  equator;  and  this  first  circle  of  liuhf, 
which  we  have  su|)posed  across  the  hrave.is 
— the  equinoctial — is  ever  changed  as  you 
change  the  earth's  axis.  And  whiitever 
change  is  exhibited  in  the  position  of  the  eipii- 
noctial,  in  like  manner,  will  be  exhibited  in 
the  movements  of  that  point  called  the  pole 
of  the  heavens.  But,  in  the  process  of  time, 
we  find  that  the  point  which  the  circle  of  the 
sun  describes  through  space,  intersecting  the 
ecli))tic,  revolves  entirely  around  ;  and  it'tliut 
be  the  case,  then  must  the  earth,  in  like  man- 
ner, be  governed  and  guided  by  this  move- 
ment and  revolve  entirely  around  the  ecliptic. 
And  such  is  the  fact.  "No  less  than  %,8(iO 
years  are  necessary  to  accomplish  this  niiyhty 
revolution!  But  it  is  moving  on;  and,  ijum 
the  earliest  period  down  to  the  present  time, 
we  find  this  motion  has  been  subjected  abso- 
lutely to  the  law  of  gravitation,  and  that  oil  this 
complicated  result  is  a  consequence  of  the  ob- 
late figure  of  the  earth.  Had  our  globe  been 
an  exact  sphere,  no  precession  of  the  e(iuinox- 
es  would  have  been  known — no  change  of  jio- 
sition  of  the  pole  ever  would  have  been  mark- 
ed ;  but  from  century  to  century,  it  would 
have  held  its  ])lace — permanent — unchangea- 
ble— fixed  as  the  seal  of  fate. 

But  for  the  explanation  of  the  causes  of 
these  changes  :  The  sun  and  the  m(X)n  exert 
a  constant  force  of  attraction  upon  the  earth, 
according  to  their  masses  and  their  distance. 
Were  the  earth  a  perfect  sphere,  the  etfect 
of  these  forces  would  be  equable  and  produ- 
cing no  perfirbation  in  the  earth's  move- 
ments; but  the  prepondering  matter  heaped 
up  at  the  earth's  equator,  and  standing  in  a 
position  which  brings  it  at  an  oblique  angle  to 
the  forces  of  the  sun  and  the  moon  produces  a 
disturbance  of  the  rotation  and  a  tendency  to 
draw  down  the  equatorial  ring  to  a  coincidence 
with  the  plane  of  the  ecliptic.  But  this  fores 
is  counterbalanced  by  the  rotary  motion  of  the 
earth,  and  while  the  equatorial  ring  endeavors 
to  revolve  about  an  axis  in  its  plane,  it  is  also 
forced  toward  a  revolution  around  an  axis  per- 
pendicular to  that  plane.  The  result  is,  it  re- 
volves around  neither  of  these  axes,  but  on 
one  which  divides  the  angle  between  the  two ; 
and  by  this  revolution  the  pole  of  the  earth  is 
as  it  were  vibrated,  and  describes  a  sniall  cir- 
cle in  the  heavens.  This  nutation  or  vibration 
of  the  earth  has  the  effect  of  retarding  it  in 
its  orbit,  80  that  at  the  end  of  the  year  it  has 
not  completed  its  journey  arouncl  the  sun.  nri^. 
therefore,  does  not  cross  the  ecliptic  in  ;  f.«:.- 
ly  the  same  place  it  did  before.  The  eraise- 
quence  is,  the  neavens  and  all  the  hos'-  iif  -rii;  i 
appear  to  us  to  be  rolling  slowly  forv.t.rd— 
that  the  efjuinox  goes  forward  to  meet  he  sun 
— and  hence  the  term  precession  of"  lite  equi- 
noxet.     The  fact  is,  the  earth  falis  short  of 


ASTRONOMY. 


169 


I  this  first  circle  of  licht, 
iposecJ  across  the  hravf.is 
is  ever  changed  q.s  you 
s  axis.  Aiul  whiitcver 
in  tho  position  of  tVie  e(iui- 
iiicr,  will  1)0  exhibitfil  in 
hat  i)oint  called  the  pole 
lit,  in  the  process  ot"  time, 
nt  which  the  circle  of  the 
gh  space,  iiitcrsccting  the 
itirely  arounil ;  and  if  that 
list  the  earth,  in  like  iiuin- 
nd  guided  by  this  rnove- 
itirely  around  the  ecliptic, 
let.  No  less  than  'i'j.PHO 
to  accomplish  this  miiihty 
;  is  moving  on;  and,  from 
lown  to  the  presoiit  time, 
has  been  subjected  abso- 
rravitation,  and  that  nil  this 
s  a  consequence  of  the  ob- 
;rth.  Had  our  globe  been 
precession  of  the  ecjuinox- 
known — no  change  of  po- 
er  would  have  been  mark- 
ury  to  century,  it  would 
— permanent — unchangea- 
al  of  fate. 

lanation  of  the  causes  of 
e  sun  and  the  moon  exert 
attraction  upon  the  earth, 
masses  and  their  distance, 
perfect  sphere,  the  effect 
lid  be  etiuable  and  produ- 
on  in  the  earth's  move- 
■epondering  matter  heaped 
;quator,  and  standing  in  a 
gs  it  at  an  oblifjue  angle  to 
n  and  the  moon  produces  a 
rotation  and  a  tendency  to 
tttorial  ring  to  a  coincidence 
ae  ecliptic.  But  this  force 
by  the  rotary  motion  of  the 
le  equatorial  ring  endeavors 
i  axis  in  its  plane,  it  is  also 
rolution  around  an  axis  per- 
jlane.  The  result  is,  it  re- 
tlier  of  these  axes,  but  on 
the  angle  between  the  two ; 
ion  the  pole  of  the  earth  is 
,  and  describes  a  sniall  cir- 
This  nutation  or  -vibration 
he  effect  of  retarding  it  in 
the  end  of  the  year  it  has 
)umey  around  the  su*.  nnfl. 
cross  the  ecliptic  in  s  S-ac- 
it  did  before.  Tho-  ccnse- 
ens  and  all  the  hos*.  of  -» ;;  • 
e  rolling  slowly  fo.'..;. re  — 
)eB  forward  to  meet  he  sun 
crm  precession  of  Ike  equi- 
is,  the  earth  falis  uhort  of 


her  full  revolution  fifty-two  and  one  tenth  sec-  | 
onds  in  a  year ;  and  as  there  are  3.000  seconds  ' 
in  a  (U'.'ree,  and  300  degrees  in  the  great  cir- 
cle of  the  ecliptic,  it  follows  that  25,808  years 
must  roll  round,  before  the  ecpnnox  will  make 
u  complete  revolution  of  ecliptic,  producing 
within  tliat  i)eriod  the  longest  and  shortest  day 
in  the  year,  on  every  day  from  the  1st  ot  Jan- 
uary to  the  31st  of  December.  This  surpri- 
sing ellect  is  all  produced  by  the  comparaiive- 
Iv  nisignilicant  superabundance  of  mutter  ag- 
greirated  ujion  the  earth's  eipiator. 

But  let  us  look  at  another  point.     We  find 
that  the  earth  is  not  entirely  solid,  its  surface 
is  covered  by  a  fluid,  within  certiiin  limits— 
and  the  inquiry  arises  whether  this  lluid  is 
stable  !— whether  there  are  fixed  bounds  be- 
yond which  the  ocean  can  not  pass,  or  wheth- 
er it  may  not  occur  that  under  the  influence 
of  the  coml)ined  action  of  the  planets,  tides 
may  arise  wliich  shall  sweep  over  and  sub- 
merge  the   entire   surfuce   of  the   habitable 
globe  ?    I  answer  ogain,  there  are  here  provis- 
ions which  mark  tlie  wisdom  of  Him  who 
built  the  heavens.     If  it  were  possible  to  take 
up  our  ocan  and  to  empty  it  into  the  cavity 
of  the  pla.iet  Saturn,  no  stability  would  ensue 
—the   ocean  would   ove'leap  the   bounds  to 
which  we  would  attempt  to  confine  it,  and 
ni^li  from  one  (juarter  to  the  other,  carrying 
destruction  in  its  jinth ;  but,  owing  to  the  re- 
liitinns  existing  between  the  specific  gravity 
of  the  earth  and  ocean,  we  find  the  stability 
here  complete  ;  and  although  the  action  is  go- 
ing on  constantly— although   the  waves  are 
caused  to  leap  u|)  in  some  sense,  toward  the 
moon  and  the  sun,  yet  there  is  a  limit  beyond 
which  they  can  not  pass. 

There  are  many  who  find  it  exceeding  dif- 
ficult to  understand  the  nature  of  tides,  and 
how  it  is  that  the  moon  and  sun  should  pro- 
duce them.     The  heaving  up  of  the  water  on 
the  side  next  to  the  sun  and  moon,  is  a  matter 
easily  comprehended ;  yet  how  they  shotild 
produce  a  tide  on  the  opposite  side,  is  quite 
mysterious.    But  let  us  examine  this  questio.  ■ 
and  see  whether  on  -explanation  can  not  be 
had.     The  cause  of  tides  is  the  attraction  of 
the  moon   upon  the  mass  of  water  on  the 
earth's  surface,  drawing  it  upward  toward  it- 
self.    If  every  particle  were  equidistant  from 
the  moon,  then  would  the  ac'.um  be  the  same 
on  every  one,  and  there  would  be  no  change 
of  figure  ;  but  the  truth  is,  the  earth's  diam- 
eter is  a  very  sensible  quantity,  compared  to 
the  moon's  distance  ;  the  distance  of  the  moon 
is  but  thirty  times  the  diameter  of  the  earth  : 
hence  the  water  on  the  side  next  to  the  moon 
is  closer  than  that  on  the  opposite  side,  and 
hence  there  is  a  stronger  attraction  ejierted 
upon  that  side  nearest  the  moon. 

But  to  render  the  explanation  more  perfect, 


let  us  go  back  to  the  position  we  took  some 
time  »incr,  with  regnrd  to  the  fact  that  the 
moon  was   ev(!r   falling    toward    the   earth. 
This  I  have  attempted  to  ex])lain,  and  I  hojie 
it  was  cornpreheniied.     You  will  understand 
also,  that  the  earth  is  always  falling  toward 
the  moon,  under  the  action  of  precisely  the 
same  ]iowcr.     Now  if  we  could  see  a  mass 
of  fluid  in  the  act  of  falling  toward  a  body, 
we  would  observe  the  attracting  body  ojierate 
more  strongly  upon  the  particles  next  to  itself, 
and  draw  them  o.wuy  from  the  rest,  leaving 
them  behind  in  their  race  to  the  centre  ;  hence 
we  see  why  it  is  that  the  waves  next  to  the 
infxm  should  be  protuberant.     But  how  is  it 
that  those  on  the  opposite  side  are  swelled 
out?     Because  the   .:'\rth  being  nearer  the 
moon  than  the  ocean  oi;  the  opposite  side,  is 
drawn  away  toward  the  moon,  and  leaves  the 
ocean  behind  ;  hence  it  is  protuberant  in  both 
directions.     But  I  do  not  int(-nd  to  go  into  a 
full  exposition  of  the  tides  ;  I  must  pass  on  to 
other  matters.     This  has  been  a  most  difficult 
problem  for  the  mathematician.     The  com- 
bined action  of  the  moon  and  sun,  and  their 
corning  in  opimsite  directions,  producing  ex- 
traordinary changes — then  the  fact  that  tliese 
are  not  revolving  in  the  5ame  plane  and  not 
at  all  in  the  plane  of  the  earth's   etiuator, 
causes  them  to  sink  on  one  side,  and  bear  up 
upon  the  other  side.     In  all  the  computations 
of  these  varying  influences,  the  results  have 
nearly  coincided  with  the  actual  facts. 

I  propose,  in  the  next  place,  to  examine  ef- 
fects prodr  rod  upon  the  moon's  orbit,  by  the 
disturbing  action  of  the  earth.  And  here  I 
shall  have  occasion  to  reveal  some  extraordi- 
nary movements  that  belong  to  the  wliole  sys- 
tem by  which  we  are  surrounded.  There  ore 
j  certoin  elements,  as  they  ore  called,  which  fix 
'  and  detennine  the  nature  of  the  orbit  of  any 
licavenly  body,  in  order  to  understond  which 
it  becomes  necessary  to  explain  what  these 
elements  are. 

In  the  first  place,  the  elliptic  orbit  is  a  cer- 
tain figure  detennii:":!  by  a  longer  diameter, 
coiled  its  longer  axis,  aw\  a  shorter  called  its 
■■shorter  a.vis.  Wlien  their  lengths  were  given, 
the  figure  of  the  ellipse  con  be  'lescribed. 
This  IS  the  first  thing— to  get  the  magnitude 
of  the  orbit— but  when  that  is  obtained,  we 
do  not  yet  know  what  location  it  takes  with 
regard  to  other  surrounding  objects.  In  order 
to"  fix  it  in  space,  we  must  get  the  direction 
of  this  longer  line  called  the  longer  oxis. 
Now  the  sun  is  always  locoted  at  the  focus, 
and  the  distance  of  the  urn  to  the  extreme 
longer  axis,  is  on  one  side  the  shortest,  and  on 
the"  o'.her  the  longest  possible  distance.  Hav- 
ing then,  the  position  of  that  line  and  havin? 
the  inclination  to  the  fixed  plane,  we  ore  en- 
abl-'d  to  locate  the  orbit  in  space.     We  have 


i|ii 


"'  ■■'I-"-' 


.IMfiW' 


t-,t)„  I 


**!!!.■'      * 


170 


ASTRONOMY. 


yet  to  obtain  the  periodical  time,  and  not  only 
the  precise  position  of  the  planet  in  some  one 
known  point  in  its  orbit,  but  the  particular 
(late ;  after  which  we  are  enabled  to  follow  its 
movements  in  all  its  wanderings. 

When  we  have  accomplished  this,  the  ques- 
tion arises :  Are  there  no  subsequent  changes  ? 
There  are  changes  of  a  most  curious  and  com- 
plicated kind,  and  which  in  the  outset  would 
seem  to  destroy  absolutely  the  nature  of  the 
orbit,  and  lead  to  the  ultimate  destruction  of 
the  entire  system.     In  the  m(K)n'8  orbit,  we 
find  that  the  point  nearest  to  the  earth,  celled 
the  moon's  perigee,  is  never  fixed  and  perma- 
nent, but  always  varying  its   position,  and 
finally  performing  an  entire  revolution.     This 
is  a  point  to  which  Newum  directed  his  mind, 
attempting  to  account  for  the  rapidity  wi*^'' 
which  this  line  was  revolving  in  the  heavens 
upon  the    hypothesis    of  gravitation.      He 
brought  into  account,  lis  he  supposed,  every 
point  that  could  bear  upon  the  result,  and 
when  he  reached  it,  he  found  the  amount  of 
change  was  not  coincident  with  that  actually 
exhibited  in  nature.     Here  the  law  of  gravi- 
tation seemed  at  fault ;  and  after  many  tedious 
efforts,  this  great  man  actually  died  without 
solving  its  mystery.     It  was  taken  up  after- 
ward by  his  successors,  and  in  every  instance 
it  seemed  that  Newton's  results  were   con- 
firmed most  absolutely.    It  was  finally  given 
up  to  Clairaut,  who  grappled  it  with  all  the 
power  of  analysis ;  but  in  spite  of  all  he  could 
do,  he  reached  just  the  results  attained  by  all 
his  predecessors ;  and,  for  a  moment,  he  de- 
clared it  was  impossible  to  accou      for  this 
curious  exhibition  in  the  heavens.    Bat  strange 
as  it  may  appear,  an  individual  without  edu- 
cation in  astronomy,  with  simply  a  knowledge 
of  mathematics,  stepped  forth,  and  ventured  to 
defend  the  law  of  gravitation — and  there  was 
a  long  dispute  between  the  two — one  of  them 
a  metaphysical  philosopher,  and  the  other,  one 
who  had  devoted  his  best  energies  to  the  cul- 
tivation of  pure  abstract  science.     Clairaut 
determined  to  prove  himself  right ;  revieweJ 
his  entire  investigation,  and  finally  in  the  ex- 
amination of  a  mathematical  series,  entering 
into  the  result,  which  at  each  successive  term 
had  grown  less  and  less,  till  it  seemed  that 
they  were  ab.solutelv  to  disappear,  and  he  be- 
lieved they  would  disappear,  and  that  the  re- 
maining ones  might  be  neglected ;  he  found, 
on  pursuing  the  problem  a  little  further,  that 
the  character  of  the  terms  began  to  change, 
and  instead  of  diminishing,  they  began  to  in- 
crease, so  that  when  he  had  added  together 
all  the  terms  and  completed  the  result,  he 
found  the  law  of  gravitation  was  confirmed  in 
the  most  absolute  manner — theory  and  obser- 
vation coinciding  precisely. 
I  would  call  your  attention  to  another  single 


L 


investigation,  which  has  in  like  manner  de- 
monstrated, not  only  how  far  the  human  mind 
can  carry  its  researches,  but  how  absolutely 
applicable  this  one  eolitary  law,  is  to  all  the 
changes  and  phenomena  which  are  exhibited 
by  these  heavenly  bodies.  I  have  already 
stated,  that  we  have  records  of  eclipses  ex- 
tending back  S.L^O  years.  Now,  when  we 
come  to  examine  t  e  velocity  with  which  the 
moon  was  moving  at  that  time,  we  find  that 
it  is  not  the  same  with  which  it  is  now  mov- 
ing ;  that  it  is  actually  in  advance  of  the  posi- 
tion it  should  occupy — on  the  hypothesis  that 
iti  motion  is  uniform,  and  was  accurately  de- 
termined at  that  time — by  an  amount  equal  to 
nearly  four  times  its  diameter.  It  seemed 
impossible  to  account  for  this  acceleration  of 
motion.  Every  effort  was  made  to  reduce  it 
to  the  law  of  gravitation ;  but  it  seemed  to 
evade  every  attempt.  Some  were  disposed 
to  reject  the  early  observations ;  others  be- 
lieved that  there  was  a  resisting  medium 
which  imjjeded  its  motion,  diminishing  its  dis- 
tance from  the  earth,  and  accelerating  its  mo- 
tion around  the  earth,  describing  a  spiral  line, 
and  that  slowly  and  surely  it  would  at  length 
approach  our  globe,  and  bring  destruction  to 
the  whole  system. 

In  this  dilemma,  Laplace  comes  in  to  the 
rescue  of  physical  astronomy.  He  took  up 
this  problem,  and,  with  the  aid  of  the  accura- 
cy he  had  obtained  in  his  previous  investiga- 
tions, Le  finds  himself  able  to  master  it,  and 
not  only  to  do  this,  buf  to  tell  the  reason  why 
it  was,  that  this  accelerated  motio-  ;if  the 
moon  was  going  on.  I  will  attempt  h^-i  ex- 
planation. 

It  is  found,  on  examination  of  the  elemeuli. 
of  the  orbits  of  the  planets,  that  this  longer 
axis,  which  has  been  described,  is  invariable 
— it  never  changes — while  the  shorter  axis  is 
subject  to  fluctuation,  according  to  the  config- 
urations of  the  heavenly  bodies.  It  is  found, 
that  the  earth's  orbit  is  changing  its  figure. 
It  is  now  elliptical ;  but  this  is  slowly  disap- 
pearing. It  has  bf  en  going  on  for  centuries, 
and  must  continue  for  centuries  to  come,  till 
finally,  the  shorter  axis  becomes  equal  to  the 
longer,  the  eccentricity  of  the  orbit  disappears, 
and  the  earth  revolves  in  a  perfect  circle 
atouml  the  sun.  When  this  point  shall  have 
been  reached,  analysis  demonstrates  the  truth 
that  a  change  begins,  and  the  figure  then  cir- 
cular, slowly  begins  to  come  back  agaii.  to 
its  elliptical  figure :  and  thus,  in  per.ods  so 
great,  that  the  human  mind  can  not  stretch 
euflSciently  far,  to  comprehend  them,  we  find 
these  mighty  oscillations  sweeping  backward 
and  forward  in  the  narrow  limits  witMn  which 
Infinite  Wisdom  has  confined  them. 

But  what  effect  shoujd  this  •  hange  have 
upon  the  motion  of  the  moon  ?     I  will  answ^er. 


rjrr-Ml 


^^'^^WTOWiMiliWiiiiM 


J  has  in  like  manner  ile- 
r  how  far  the  human  mind 
rches,  but  how  absolutely 
solitary  law,  is  to  all  the 
tnena  which  are  exhibited 

bodies.  I  have  already 
ire  records  of  eclipses  ex- 
I  years.  Now,  when  we 
e  velocity  with  which  the 
It  that  time,  we  find  that 
vith  which  it  is  now  mov- 
illy  in  advance  of  the  posi- 
ly — on  the  hypothesis  that 
m,  and  was  accurately  de- 
ie — by  an  amount  equal  to 
its  diameter.  It  seemed 
nt  for  this  acceleration  of 
brt  was  made  to  reduce  it 
ntation ;  but  it  seemed  to 
ipt.     Some  were  disposed 

observations ;  others  be- 
was  a  resisting  medium 
motion,  diminishing  its  dis- 
h,  and  accelerating  its  mo- 
th, describing  a  spiral  line, 
1  surely  it  would  at  length 
,  and  bring  destruction  to 

Laplace  comes  in  to  the 
astronomy.  He  took  up 
with  the  aid  of  the  accura- 
in  his  previous  investiga- 
self  able  to  master  it,  and 
but  to  tell  the  reason  why 
accelerated  motio-  of  the 
a.    I  will  attempt  ^^t  >x- 

camination  of  the  elemenib 
e  planets,  that  this  longer 
;en  described,  is  invariable 
— while  the  shorter  axis  is 
Dn,  according  to  the  config- 
ivenly  bodies.  It  is  found, 
'bit  is  changing  its  figure, 
;  Out  this  is  slowly  disap- 
f  en  going  on  for  centuries, 
for  centuries  to  come,  till 
axis  becomes  equal  to  the 
city  of  the  orbit  disappears, 
volves  in  a  perfect  circle 
IVhen  this  point  shall  have 
ysis  demonstrates  the  truth 
as,  and  the  figure  then  cir- 
ns  to  come  back  agaii.  to 
i :  and  thus,  in  per.ods  so 
man  mind  can  not  stretch 
comprehend  them,  we  find 
lations  sweeping  backward 
narrow  limits  within  which 
as  confined  them. 
;  shoujd  this  hange  have 
the  moon  ?    I  will  answer. 


ASTRONOMY. 


171 


The  moon  is  revolving  about  the  earth,  and 
its  motion  is  impressed  u[)on  it.    Now,  if  no 
other  object  existed  outside  the  moon's  orbit, 
the  earth  would  be  able  to  draw  the  moon 
closei  to  itself,  and  impress  upon  it  a  central 
movement.     But  all  the  other  heavenly  bod- 
ies, are  on  the  outside  of  the  moon's  orbit, 
drawing  it  away  from  the  earth,  taking  it 
partly  from  under  the  inlluence  of  the  earth, 
and  e.<rrtii;g  their  influence  upon  it.     Hence, 
if  it  were  possible  to  remove  the  earth  and 
the  moon  further  from  these  disturbing  influ- 
ences, then  will  the  moon  CDmu  entirely  under 
the  influence  of  the  earth,  and  its  motion  will  i 
be  increased.     Now  this  is  the  exact  case  in  ' 
nature ;  it  is  precisely  what  is  going  on,  in  j 
consetpience  of  the  changes  on  the  figure  of  j 
the  earth's  orbit.     Its  orbit  is  becoming  more  I 
nearly  a  circle,  not  bringing  the  moon  so  near 
the  sun  as  it  once  did  ;  hence  it  is  able  now 
more  etlectually  to  master  its  own  satellite, 
and  thus  impress  upon  it  a  more  circular  orbit. 

But  is  this  to  go  on  throughout  eternity  ? 
I  answer,  no.  For  when  an  orbit  shall  have 
attained  a  circular  form,  and  begins  to  recede 
back  to  an  elliptic  figure,  then  will  these 
changes  again  take  place  in  the  motion  of  the 
mo"'-  ind  that  which  was  once  acceleration 
becoin'  3  retardation,  and  from  the  effect  of  the 
very  same  cause,  the  sun  will  begin  to  take 
hold  of  the  moon,  with  greater  and  still  great- 
er power.  Now  what  the  period  of  these 
changes  may  be — although  possibly  within 
the  limits  of  calculation — we  have  not  yet 
computed.  One  thing,  however,  we  do  know 
— they  are  not  to  be  reckoned  by  hundreds  or 
thousands — they  must  expand  to  millions  of 
years  before  the  exact  conformation  of  the  sys- 
tem can  be  brought  about  again. 

Though  I  have  presented  you  demonstration 
upon  ;'iiuir>nstration,  you  will  pardon  me  if 
I  occupy  a  little  more  than  my  allotted  time, 
■n  giving  "ome  account  of  the  telescopic  ap- 
T't  ^''ancc  of  the  moon's  surface.  Those,  who 
..  •  iLe  f.rst  time,  behold  the  moon's  surface 
'h  ciugh  a  powerful  instrument,  will  always 
be  disappointed  in  its  ai)pcarance.  There  are 
mighty  mountains  on  its  surface;  there  are 
deep  bleak  cavities,  some  perhaps  fifteen, 
twenty,  forty,  and  even  sixty  miles  in  diame- 
ter and  sinking  below  the  surface,  seven  and 
eight  thousand  feet.  Out  of  these,  mighty 
rocks  ari-se  two  thousand  feet  above  the  level 
of  the  valley,  casting  their  deep  black  shad- 
ows upon  the  plains  b  jIow.  All  these  thing:? 
are  very  fine ;  and  yet  on  looking  at  them 
through  the,  telescope,  for  the  first  time,  one 
is  invariably  disappointed.  You  can  not  see 
mountains  at.  you  see  them  in  the  highlands  of 
New  York :  you  can  not  see  the  gray  rocks 
projecting  so  beautifully  as  you  behofl  them 
on  some  earthly  mountaiu  height.     Remcm- 


V2. 


bcr  after  your  telescope  has  carried  you  out 
as  far  as  it  can  reach,  there  is  yet  u  whole 
hundred  miles  to  be  overcome.  So  in  spite 
of  all  you  can  do,  and  with  all  the  aid  you 
can  bnng,  you  are  a  hundred  miles  from  the 
object. 

But  do  we  know  nothing  of  the  moon? 
Are  we  so  far  ofl',  that  we  can  tell  nothing  of 
the  charaetcil  -tics  of  its  surface  ?  I  answer : 
"We  know  t'-.ai,  towering  mountains  lift  rficir 
lofty  heads,  deep  caverns  yawn,  and  there  are 
vast  circular  elevations,  resembling  the  usual 
productions  of  volcanic  action.  And  how  do 
we  determine  these  things?  By  the  lights 
and  shadows  which  show  themselves  to  the 
eye,  we  measure  the  height  of  these  mount- 
ains, by  remarking  the  relative  ))osition  of  the 
sun  and  the  earth.  We  mark  the  extremities 
of  their  long  deep  shadows,  and  find  that  as 
the  sun  slowly  rises,  the  shadows  by  degrees 
recede  toward  the  base  of  the  mountains; 
and,  when  noonday  arrives,  they  entirely  dis- 
appear. Then  as  the  sun  begins  to  decline 
on  the  other  side,  the  same  dark  shadows  are 
cast  in  the  opposite  directions.  We  watch 
these  movements  till  we  ascertain  with  per- 
fect certainty  the  character  of  the  object 
which  casts  the  shadow,  and  we  measure  its 
height.     These  are  reliable  facts. 

But  the  question  next  comes ;  How  is  it 
possible  to  measure  the  depths  of  those  deep 
cavities?  It  appears  as  if  immense  lakes 
had  once  filled  them,  and  by  some  extraordi- 
nary means,  the  water  had  been  evaporated, 
leaving  the  interior  dry,  hard,  and  sterile.  We 
find  these  depths  in  like  manner  as  we  ascer- 
tain the  height  of  mountains.  When  the 
sun  is  first  rising,  it  casts  its  lifjht  into  these 
cavities  of  the  moon ;  we  sin  shadows  cast  by 
the  sunward  sides,  and  the  limits  of  the  cavi- 
ties are  defined  with  a  degree  of  accuracy  sur- 
passing anything  upon  the  surfnoo  of  the 
earth.  For  the  shadows  are  not  here  so  black 
as  upon  yonder  orb.  They  art;  mitis^HMi  and 
dispersedl  through  the  influence  ot  our  atmo- 
sphere. But  on  the  moon  there  is  no  atmo- 
sphere, at  least  not  .such  a  one  as  will  eompure 
at  all  with  ours.  The  moon's  atmosphere,  if 
indeed  it  have  one,  can  1  e  no  denser  than  the 
extremely  rarified  air  left  in  the  most  perfect 
vacuum  yet  produced  in  an  exhausted  re- 
ceiver. It  can  not  sustain  animal  life — it  can 
not  support  clouds,  nor  can  it  sustain  combus- 
tion. And  for  the  reason  that  the  moon  has 
no  atmosphere,  there  is  no  gradual  fading 
away  of  the  light  as  the  sun  sinks  deeper  be- 
low the  horizon — no  soft,  mild,  and  lovely 
twilight,  such  as  sheds  a  holy  serenity  over 
our  favore<l  globe — but  instantaneous  and  ap- 
palling darkness  follows  the  setting  of  the  sun, 
drear  as  the  night  of  death ;  and  broken — not 
by  the  "  rosy-fingered  morn,"  slowly  waxing 


■'  i 


IliS-l 


i'vltis:- 


">»"»W»»' 


172 


SIERRA  LEONS. 


from  faint  streaks  of  light,  to  thn  fullness  of 
the  day-spriiif; — but  startled  from  the  very 
depth  of  bliickness  by  the  lightning-flash  of 
the  sun's  lueridian  glory. 


SIERRA  LEONE. 

Sierra  Leone  is  a  considerable  country 
of  Western  Africa,  on  the  Atlantic,  distinj;uish- 
ed  for  the  colony  formed  there  by  the  British 
nation,  rather  from  motives  of  philonthropy 
than  from  those  of  commercial  advantage. 
It  is  traversed  by  a  considerable  river,  called 
the  Miiomba  or  Sierra  Leone.  Its  name  is 
derived  from  a  ridge  of  mountains,  which  rises 
near  the  southern  bank  of  the  river.  This 
country  equals,  in  fertility  and  popnlousness, 
any  other  in  this  part  of  Africa.  It  consists 
generally  of  one  vast,  almost  impenetrable 
fore.st,  only  particular  spots  of  which  have 
been  cleared  and  cultivated.  Rice  is  raiseil 
wherever  the  ground  is  sutficiently  watered 
for  its  production,  and  forms  the  constant  food 
of  the  rich  ;  but  the  poor  content  themselves 
with  millet,  yams,  and  plantains.  There  is  a 
great  abundance  of  the  most  delicate  fruits. 
Elephants'  teeth  and  civet  are  brought  to  the 
coast.  The  woods  and  mountains  are  infested 
with  wild  animals,  particularly  lions,  from 
the  multitude  of  which  the  country  ap])ears 
to  have  derived  its  name.  There  are  swarms 
of  insects,  flies,  musquitoes,  and  particularly 
ants,  the  white  species  of  which  commit  ex- 
traordinary devastation.  The  serpent  species 
are  also  very  numerous,  and  the  rivers,  be- 
sides yielding  an  ample  supply  of  fish  for 
food,  contain  large  alligators,  and  the  manata 
or  sea-cow. 

The  natives  cf  this  country  are  not  of  so 
deep  black  a  complexion  as  those  of  Cape 
Verd,  nor  have  tliey  the  flat  nose  of  the  negro 
race  to  such  a  degree,  but  the  character  of 
the  ditTerent  tribes  varies  very  considerably. 
The  Portuguese  were  the  first  who  discovered 
and  form((l  settlements  on  the  river  Sierra 
Leone.  Toward  the  close  of  the  eighteenth 
century  the  British  began  to  turn  their  views 
toward  Sierra  Leone,  with  a  view  to  coloni- 
zation, for  the  more  effectual  abolition  of  the 
slave-trade,  by  raising  up  an  African  colony, 
whither  the  slaves  might  be  senr  as  freemen. 
Lord  Mansfield  having  decided,  in  1772,  that 
a  slave  w'io  sets  foot  in  Britain  becomes  free, 
a  number  of  blacks  in  this  country  left  their 
masters,  and  were  wandering  about  in  a 
desolate  condition.  Granville  Sharp  formed 
the  plan  of  transporting  them  to  Africa;  and, 
the  aid  of  the  government  having  been  ob- 
tained, they  were  landed,  in  1787,  upon  a 


district  jnirchascd  from  the  king  of  Sierra 
Leone.  These  negroes  and  the  white  feinulea 
sent  with  them  were  mostly  of  indilVcriMit 
characters,  and  a  severe  mortality  ensued 
among  them.  In  17!)-2,  about  1,',M)0  negroes, 
who  had  left  their  masters  in  the  Utiiteil 
States,  dining  the  revolutionary  v.ar,  wer 
also  landed  at  Sierra  Leone;  and  sever'; 
years  later  the  colony  was  increased  by  ,050 
Maroons  from  Nova  Scotia.  Little  [irogress, 
however,  had  been  made  in  the  objects  for 
which  the  colony  was  formed,  and,  in  1807, 
it  was  surrendered  into  the  hands  of  the  crown. 
At  the  j)eriod,  Great  Britain  received  permis- 
sion from  several  powers  to  treat  as  pirates 
such  of  their  subjects  as  should  be  found 
engaged  in  the  slave-trade  north  of  the  line; 
and  the  liberated  negroes  seized  by  her  cruis- 
ers were  placed  at  Sierra  Leoni>.  For  the 
first  six  months  they  reeeivi;  a  daily  iillowauee 
from  the  government,  after  which  Imids  are 
assigned  them,  and  they  are  left  to  sujiport 
themselves.  The  number  thus  lilierated  has 
been  about  20,000 ;  and  although  iheir  wild 
and  improvident  habits  have  thrown  many 
difficulties  in  the  way  of  the  benevolent  ex- 
ertions of  the  British  authorities,  recent  ac- 
counts give  decided  proofs  of  great  imjjrove- 
ments  in  the  spirit  and  condition  of  the  colon- 
ists. Freetown,  the  princi|)al  place  of  the 
colony,  has  an  excellent  harbor  on  the  river 
Sierra  Leone,  about  six  miles  from  the  seu, 
and  upward  of  6,000  inhobitants.  Kegent's 
town,  six  miles  south  of  Freetown,  founded 
in  1816,  has  a  population  of  1.300;  and  in 
the  vicinity  are  several  villages,  with  a  more 
distant  stations  of  "Waterloo,  Wellington,  and 
Hastings.  Bathurst,  on  thi;  (Tunibiii,  is  a 
settlement  also  connected  with  this  colony. 

Our  cut  represents  ])art  of  Regent's  town 
in  the  colony  of  Sierra  Leone.  It  !■<  inhabit- 
ed by  negroes  of  many  ditlerent  nations  in 
Africa,  whom  piraticafdealcrs  were  carrying 
into  slavery.  The  ships  in  which  they  had 
been  crowded  together  were  tnkcn  by  the 
English  cruisers,  and  the  negroes  set  at  liberty 
Here,  and  in  other  towns  in  the  colony,  these 
injured  negroes  are  placed  in  safety. 

On  the  right  of  the  view,  a  part  of  the 
{own  is  seen:  it  extends,  liowever,  a  consider- 
able way  further  than  is  shown  in  our  en- 
gravmg.  It  is  laid  out  with  regularity,  pos- 
sesses several  streets,  and  is  iidinbited  by 
nearly  2,000  negroes  old  and  young.  V  stone- 
bridge,  built  by  the  negroes,  leads  from  the 
town  to  the  side  of  the  brook  where  the 
principal  buildings  are.  These  consist  chiefly 
of  the  church,  the  mission  or  parsonage  house, 
and  a  house  for  the  governor.  TJiese  and 
other  buildings  are  all  of  stone.  This  place 
is  now  a  beautifully-cultivated  and  well-gov- 
erned spot ;  and  yet,  only  a  few  yea'«  since, 


ed  from    th(>  kirif;  of  Sierra 
n.'^nrocs  Qiiil  till"  wliirt!  fcinulcs 

were   inoxlly  of  imlilU'rciit 

a  severe  mortiility  ensued 
ji  17!)'3,  nbout  l.'.'OO  ncgnjes, 
heir  musters  in  llie  United 
lie  revolutionury  v.iir,  wer 
Sierra  Lconi!;  and  sRvef: 
•olony  wus  inen'iised  l)y  550 
ovaScotin.  Little  [iro;iiress, 
ecn  made  in  the  olijects  for 
y  was  formed,  mid,  in  ifl07, 
:d  into  the  bunds  of  flie  crown, 
reat  Britain  rceeived  jtermis- 
il  ])r)wcrs  to  treiit  as  pirates 
uhjects  ns  shoidd  Ijc  found 
lavo-tra(h;  north  of  tlie  line; 
I  ncn;roe9  seized  by  her  eruis- 

at  Sierra  Leone.  For  tlic 
hey  re(;rive  a  daily  idlownncc 
ment,  after  whicli  lamls  are 
md  they  are  left  to  support 
le  number  thus  liberated  has 
i)0;  and  ullhouj;h  iheir  wild 
t  habits  have  tlirown  many 
>  way  of  the  benevolent  ex- 
iritish  aiithcn'ilies,  recent  ac- 
:led  jiroofs  of  great  im])rove- 
•it  and  condition  of  the  colon- 

tho  j)rinci))al  jdace  of  the 
xcellent  harbor  on  tlie  river 
Jirat  six  miles  from  the  sea, 
6,000  inhabitants.  Kegent's 
south  of  Freetown,  founded 
population  of  1.300;  and  in 
several  vilhii,'es,  with  a  more 
)f  Waterloo,  Wellington,  and 
lurst,  on  the  (Tumbia,  is  a 
:onnected  with  this  colony, 
sents  part  of  Regent's  town 
Sierra  Leone.  It  is  iidiabit- 
jf  many  ditlerent  nations  in 
iratical  dealers  were  carrying 
Phe  shif)s  in  wuieh  they  "had 
ogcther  were  tnken  by  the 
and  the  negroes  set  at  liberty 
ler  towns  in  the  colony,  these 
ire  placed  in  safety, 
of  the  view,  a  part  of  the 
extends,  howevcn-,  a  consider- 
er  than  is  shown  in  our  en- 
laid  out  with  regularity,  pos- 
itreets,  and  is  inhabited  by 
roes  old  and  young.  V  stone- 
the  negroes,  leaij.s  from  the 
le  of  the  brook  where  the 
gsare.  These  consist  chiefly 
le  mission  or  parsonage  house, 
•  the  governor.  These  and 
are  all  of  stone.  This  place 
ully-cultivttted  and  well-gov- 
yet,  only  a  few  yeo's  since, 


rp-t: 


;.^ 


m 


i 


^■,*«i 


174 


THK  AMfc-'UCAN  CONTlNKNT. 


the  whole  was  ti  %\  id  desert.     Another  view 
of  thu  town  is  prcscnteil  (.n  the  oi»po8ito  page. 

The  clinDttte  of  Sierra  Lediio  fi)nns  so  pe- 
nuliar  a  ft  iture  of  its  geogra])Iucal  charncter, 
that  wo  gladly  avail  oursi  Ivea  of  Major  ilick- 
ett'.<  acrouiit,  |)reli.\e(l  i  his  ioumnl  of  the 
Ashiiiiteo  wiir : — 

"  On  landing  at  FreeV  vn,  u  'iger  is  not 
a  liitif  surprised  to  behold  a  plu  so  far  su- 
jx-rior  to  wliut  he  ha<l  In  en  induci  1  to«(pt.H;l  : 
ami  if  ho  should  urrive  in  the  herniitan  season 
wiien  resident  Kuropeans  an-  imtrnlly  in  li 
ter  health  than  at  othci  ,ienod9  (if  the  year, 
from  its  suhihrious  elVects,  ho  will  be  nlii  d 
with  an  agreeable  s*melI,Himilar  to  tha'  if  new 
hay,  and  will  wonder  how  it  w"*"  [MWMble  tiie 
))laee  eoiild  be  so  inihealltiy  as  refiresented ; 
but  on  the  approach  of  the  ras  ly  season,  his 
wonder  begins  to  cease. 

"  The  hermitau  is  u  very  dry  e-^-t.  :  ly  wind, 
which,  in  a  few  days,  dries  up  uU  vegetation, 
except  trees;  ii  sets  in  about  December,  and 
continues  at  intervals  for  severtd  days  togeth- 
er: such  is  the  nature  of  the  henni'    i,  that 
the  flooring  of  the  houses,  window-sli  itters, 
and  other  wood  work,  shrink  and  separate  more 
than  an  inch  asumler;  the  glass  is  broke. 
and  the  furniture  is  warped,  but  at  the  n 
proach  of  the  rains,  the  open  seams  gradual, 
close  again. 

"  After  the  absence  of  rain  for  many  inon»h^, 
the  parched  surface  of  the  earth,  all  its  \ 
tation,  e^  cept  trees,  having  been  dried  up  by 
the  hermitan,  and  then  scorched  by  the  in- 
tense heut  of  a  tropical  sun,  is  suddenly  cov- 
ered with  verdure.  The  day  after  the  first 
shower,  the  force  of  vegetation  is  so  great, 
that  the  face  of  nature  is  completely  changed, 
and  it  may  literally  be  said  that  the  grass 
and  weeds  maybe  seen  to  grow;  yet,  how- 
ever strange  it  may  appear,  although  these, 
as  well  as  the  indigo  plant,  prow  spontaneous- 
ly everywhere,  new  land  will  not  satisfactori- 
ly produce  the  usual  articles  of  consumption 
nir  three  successive  years,  and  some  land 


will  not  even  yield  the  second  year.  The 
dry  season  is  preceded  by  dry  tornadoes, 
which,  toward  the  latter  end  of  May,  are  ac- 
companieJ  by  rain ;  they  last  generally  about 
an  hour,  sometimes  not  so  long.  They  very 
mr.ch  resemble  the  hurricanes  in  the  West 
Indies,  but  are  not  so  furious;  they  vary  from 
southeast  to  northeast.  A  dark  cloud  in  the 
easteni  hori.-on  foretells  the  approach  of  a 
tornado;  it  advances,  accompanied  by  tre- 
mendous thunder  and  vivid  flashes  of  light- 
ning, whicli  at  first  are  distant  and  faint,  until 
the  whole  heavens  gradually  become  obscured 
by  one  black  cloud.  It  frequently  happens 
that,  from  the  quarter  opjiosite  to  that  where 
i  the  cloud  first  appears,  there  previously  arises 
a  breeze,  which  dies  away   as  the  tornado 


gathe'b!  the  utmosphcrc  then  becomes  very 
sultry,  and  the  tornado  advances,  with  a  great 
rush  of  wind,  bursts,  sweeping  bt  •  "  it  (if  no 
rain  has  previously  fallen)  inimcn-  louds  r)f 
dust.  The  wet  tort!  idoes  are  suci  edcd  by 
a  beautifnl  serene  sky,  and  thi'  air  is  (greatly 
refreshed;  tin'  frame  b< comes  ij(oratea, 
and  the  mind  m  ii-  cheerful.  Ah  ihe  rainy 
season  advano  ,  the  tormidocs  gradually 
cease,  and  art  ^ucceedi  ■'  liy  abnost  eonstant 
heavy  rain;  ut  tln>  tfrminai  of  tin  nin^, 
the  tomiid(WH  again  'lake  their  appi  aruncp, 
becoming  weaker  as  .le  dry  season  approach- 
es, un'  1  they  cease  altogether. 

"  At  interval*  durincr  the  day  in  the  rainy 
season,  the  action  of  itensely  hot  sun  on 

the  earth,  covered  wiu.  a  luxuriant  vegeta- 
tion, and  sn'i  'id  with  moisture,  produces  a 
disagreeabii;  bK:kening  si  ell,  which  is  prob- 
nlily  one  of  the  causes  oi  the  fever  that  prc- 
ails  at  this  perioiJ  of  the  vear,  as  persons 
recently  arrivcl  are  generallv  taki  ill  in  July 
or  August;  some,  however,  hi.yr  been  known 
to  Tc-ide  in  the  coh  about  two  years  with- 
out having  been  ati'ect(  by  it.  If  they  re- 
maii  yond  this  time,  they  are  certain  not 
to  je  it  much  lont"r ;  and  when  at  length 
i'    J  take  the  fever,  it  gen      "ly  proves  fatal 

them.     It  is  considered  ire  favorable 

/mptom  for  a  stranger  to  '       .  /cd  with  the 

'•■  ver  soon  after  his  arrival      The  havoc  which 

is  dreadful  disease  has  mi  1e  among  the 
i:.uropean8  who  have  gone  out,  or  have  been 
sent  to  the  colony,  is  well  known.  On  the 
first  arrival  of  European  troops,  in  1825,  they 
died  in  greater  numbers  than  at  any  subse- 
quent period  ;  the  cause  was  attributed  much 
to  the  incomplete  state  of  the  barracks,  which 
had  been  hastily  erected,  the  materials  arri- 
ving from  England  at  the  same  time  with  the 
troops,  the  barracks  could  not,  consequently, 
be  covered  in  before  the  rains.  From  the 
wnnt  of  occonnnodation  on  shore,  most  of  the 
troops  were  kept  on  board  the  transports  for 
some  months.  After  the  completion  of  the 
barracks,  and  the  walls  had  become  dry,  the 
troops  enjoyed  better  health,  hut  they  drank 
freely,  and  it  was  very  difficult  to  keep  them 
sober.  This  no  doubt  tended  much  to  bring 
on  sickness  among  them;  the  officers  died, 
however,  in  proportion." 


THE  AMERICAN  CONTINENT. 

Had  not  Columbus  discovered  America  in 
1492,  it  would  not  have  much  longer  remain- 
ed unknown  to  Europe,  as  the  continent  was 
found  by  Cabot,  a  Portuguese  navigator, 
about  1500.     He  was  on  a  voyagfe  to  the  East 


DspliiTi'  then  becomes  very 
tiailo  uilvuiicps,  with  a  great 
Its,  Hwecping  hi  "  it  (if  iii> 
y  fallen)  iniinon  ionds  of 
tori^  'li>e8  arc  suci  eilcd  by 
»ky,  anil  the  air  i«  jjreatly 
ame  hi  lomrs  ig«»rated, 
ri'  cheerful.  Ah  ihe  rainy 
the  tornmlors  fjrii.lually 
ccedi"!  by  almost  ci instant 
u"  tprtiiinati  of  lb'  uin 
lin  nake  their  oppi  miner, 
M  i  lie  dry  seaxon  ainiron.-h- 
*e  altogether. 

durimx  the  day  in  the  rainy 
oi  itensnly  hot  sun  on 

i  wiiii  u  hixnriunt  ven;eta- 
.1  with  moisture,  produces  a 
Bniiif{  siiudl,  which  is  jirob- 
»use8  oi  the  fever  that  pre- 
od  of  the  vear,  as  persons 
n;  generally  takr  ,  ill  in  July 
however,  ^I.^•(>  been  known 
il(  . ,  about  two  vears  with- 
ifl'ecti  '  by  it.  If  they  re- 
time, they  are  certain  not 
Ion     r ;  and  when  at  length 


er,  U  yer 
insidered 
'anger  to 
9  arrival 
ease  has 


'v  |)roves  fatal 
re  favorable 
/cd  with  the 
rhe  havoc  which 
mil  Id  among  the 
ave  gone  out,  or  have  been 
y,  is  well  known.  On  the 
iropean  troops,  in  1825,  they 
lumbers  than  at  any  subse- 
!  cause  was  attributed  much 
state  of  the  barracks,  which 
erected,  the  materials  nrri- 
id  at  the  same  time  with  the 
;ks  could  not,  consequently, 
sfore  the  rains.  From  the 
dation  on  shore,  most  of  the 
on  board  the  transports  for 
^fter  the  completion  of  the 
I  Willis  had  become  dry,  the 
3tter  health,  but  they  drank 
i  very  difficult  to  keep  them 
lioubt  tended  much  to  bring 
ng  them ;  the  officers  died, 
ortion." 


RICAN  CONTINENT. 

mbu3  discovered  America  in 
)t  have  much  longer  remain- 
lurope,  as  the  continent  was 
t,  a  Portuguese  navigator, 
5  was  on  a  voyagfe  to  the  East 


1 


I 


B 
f 


9 


T5 


il 


'11 


« 


iii 


'itj!/' 


'#! 


<ti 


Mfi 


176 


TlIK  AMKHICAN  CONTINENT. 


Iiiilie*.  liiit  ntnndinjr  far  to  tlir  wrut.  lit-  fell  in 
witli  IiiimI  ;  lifiiiK  II  portiiili  of  what  i-*  imw 
ciillfd  Hra/.il.  My  wlint  iimy  ''<•  <•""''''  n 
'•Hiri«uliir  (•(pincidcnop,"  tlii»  liiml  liiy  within 
till'  liinit->  iiMsij,'niil  l>y  rlir  I'lill  of  I'oPf  AlfX- 
iihilrr  VI.  to  till'  I'oVtimui'Kc.  wlirn  In-  imiti- 
tionid  worliU  to  he  discos i-rcil  or  sfi/.cd  by 
Portii,i,ml  imd  Si-uii,.  Tiiis  wii^  vfry  mnioy- 
iiij;  to  tln'  Siiaiiinrds,  who  ttiii^  hud  to  nhoro 
tliu  contincnl  with  iinothcr  timi  a  rival  power. 
Tiiux,  without  di'tractini;  from  the  alory  thfit 
justly  hi'loiigs  to  (,'olinnlnis.  sve  hvv-  that  urci- 
dcnl  would  have  ttU'rtfd  the  iL'riiit  end,  to  the 
rt-ali/ation  of  whi(di  iif  di^xottd  his  lilo ;  so 
cupriciMirt  are  the  deerees  of  fortune. 

Thr  tirst  peiHon  who  visited  the  Atnericon 
contimnt,  was  John  <'ubot,  a  Veuetiuii  iner- 
ehant,  who  resided  \u  Bristol,  Kn-ilaiid.  He 
made  the  discovery  m  1497,  somewhere  on 
the  eoast  of  Lulirador.  He  was  aeeon>|)nnied 
bv  his  more  famous  son,  Sebu.sinin  Cabot. 
"  So  long  ago  us  the  rei^iU  of  Pliilii.  II.,  it 
WOH  proposed  to  cut  b  canal  throujjh  the  isth- 
mus at  Panama,  for  ship  navigation,  and  en- 
gineers were  sent  to  examine  the  coinitry. 
"They,  however,"  says  a  Sjiaiiish  writer, 
"  found  the  obstacles  insuperable  ;  and  the 
council  of  the  Indies  at  the  same  time  re])re- 
sented  to  the  king  the  injuries  which  such  a 
canal  wotdd  occasion  to  tlio  monarchy ;  in 
conseciuenee  of  which,  his  majesty  decreed 
that  no  one  should  in  future  attempt,  or  even 
propose,  such  an  undertaking  under  pain  of 
death."  The  injuries  feared  were  the  ?"/»/rM- 
sion,  as  Spain  considered  it.  of  foreigners  into 
the  '•  South  sea,"  and  the  conse(pient  weak- 
ening of  ;]ie  monopoly  she  then  had  of  that 
portion  of  the  world.  The  only  human  ac- 
cess to  the  Pacific  at  that  time  from  the  west, 
was  through  the  strait  of  Magellan,  the  diffi- 
culty of  navigating  which  was  great.  In 
l(i(i(i,  eighteen  years  after  the  death  of  Philip 
II.,  the  passage  into  the  Pacitic  by  the  way 
of  Cape  Horn  was  discovered  by  two  Hol- 
landers, named  Lemaire  and  Van  Schonten, 
who  named  the  promontory  after  their  native 
place. 

The  first  Englishman  who  entered  the  Pa- 
cific, was  John  Oxenham,  who,  in  1555,  cross- 
ed the  isthmus  of  Panama,  at  ^the  head  of  a 
party  of  his  countrymen,  a  botly  of  semi- 
freebooters — built  a  ship,  and  made  jirizes  of 
many  Spanish  ships.  They  were  finally 
captured  by  the  Spaniards,  and  most  of  them 
ignominiously  executed  at  Panama.  Drake 
was  fortunate.  He  entered  the  Pacific  by 
the  strait  of  Magellan,  and  though  he  had 
but  one  small  vessel— a  schooner  of  a  hun- 
dred tons,  and  sixty  men,  he  inllicted  great  in- 
jury on  the  Spanish  settlements,  and  com- 
merce. This  was  in  1578-'9.  The  third  of 
these  Jreebooters,  as  they  called  themselves, 


was  Thonnis  Cavendish,  who,  in  IIH?,  rnv. 
aged  the  western  roast  of  Aliierini,  iiliil  rap- 
tured among  other  vessels  the  (Jalleoii,  that 
was  on  iier  way  from  iMaiiilia  to  Aeamiieo. 
Tliese  "genlleinaii-rovers"  wete  the  illustri- 
ous predecessors  of  the  liuraiiiers  of  the  next 
century,  and  held  that  lliere  was  "  no  law  be- 
yond trie  line." 

The  first  •  peilition  ever  undertaken  by 
the  English  expressly  in  seurch  of  a  north- 
west passagi'  in  the  Pacific,  was  sent  out  in 
1576,  under  the  command  of  Martin  Krobish- 
er,  a  celebrated  navigator  in  un  age  Mlxniitdihg 
in  daring  and  accomplished  iiiariners.  Sixty 
years  before,  Sebastian  Cabot  discovered 
Hudson's  strait. 

The  name  America  wos  first  applied  to  this 
continent,  or  division  of  the  globe,  in  1507, 
ill  a  work  published  by  one  Martin  Waldre- 
mullen,  at  St.  Die,  in  Lorraine.  The  Span- 
iards never  called  their  possessions  liy  the 
name  of  America  until  about  the  inidille  of 
the  18th  c.:ntury.  They  gave  them  the  name 
of  the  West  Indies.  The  continent  should 
be  called  Colonia,  or  Colonica,  frotn  the  Iti.l- 
ian  name  of  its  discoverer.  This  would  do 
honor  and  justice  to  both  his  name  and  race. 
The  first  person  of  the  Anglo  Saxon  race, 
bom  within  the  limits  of  the  United  States, 
was  Virginia  Dare.  She  was  bom  on  the 
18th  of  August,  1587.  Her  ])arents  belonged 
to  the  company  sent  over  by  Rahiigh,  and  who 
IKWsessed  the  colony  of  Ilounoke.  The  name 
of  Virginia  was  given  her  from  that  of  the 
country  in  which  the  colony  was  situated. 
Her  fate,  together  with  that  of  the  entire 
po|)ulation  of  the  colony,  is  unknown.  All 
perished,  and,  as  Bancroft  beautifully  has  it : 
"If  America  had  no  English  town,  it  soon 
had  English  graves." 

The  French  early  reached  this  country, 
and,  within  seven  years  of  the  discovery  of 
the  continent,  the  ftsHeries  of  Newfoundland 
were  known  to  the  hardy  mariners  of  Brit- 
tony  and  Normandy.  In  1534,  Verrazam, 
an  Italian  in  the  service  of  Francis  I.,  ran 
along  ahead  the  whole  coast  of  Ntmh  Amer- 
ica, to  the  60th  degree  of  latitude.  He  saw 
the  harbor  of  what  is  now  New  York,  and 
noted  its  convenience  and  pleasontness ;  and 
for  fifteen  days  his  vessel  lay  in  the  beautiful 
haven  of  Newport.  Jaijues  Cartier  was  the 
first  person  who  sailed  uj)  the  St.  Lawrence, 
which  he  did  in  August,  1534.  The  next 
year,  he  made  a  second  voyf  ge  to  the  K-rrie 
(|uarter,  and  sailed  up  the  rive'  to  the  siif  of 
the  present  city  of  Montreal.  He  took  p<)S- 
j  session  of  the  ',e  h  gions  for  Fra.-.rs.  All  the 
I  earlifi  un-^iip's  t.t  colonization  failed,  and  it 
wa'i  net  jnlil  ih'.  beginning  of  the  17th  cen- 
tury.  :ha^,  under  the  direction  of  the  celebra- 
I  ted  Champlain,  they  supceeded 


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iiilisti,  >vliii,  ill  KiM?,  rnv. 
iiust  <>t  Ami'ricii,  iiinl  ciiii- 

VCHNcU    llll-    <illll)'llll,    tllllt 

om  iMiinillit  III  Aciipiilni. 

thti  liurniiicrM  of  lh»>  next 
tiut  lluTe  WU.1  "  no  luw  lie- 

ition  ever  umlertnkfn  by 
inIv  in  ttearch  <>l'  n  iiorfh- 
B  f'licitii',  wan  sent  out  in 
iimiiml  of  Mnriiii  Krobish- 
i^ittor  ill  tin  nijr'  ulxxiniliii^ 
niilinhc'd  mariners.  Sixty 
t>UHtiun    CuImjI    iliHCovtTfil 

iea  was  first  applifil  to  this 
ion  of  thfi  piobc,  in  ITjO?, 
m1  liy  one  Martin  Walilro- 
in  Lorraine.  Th<"  Spnn- 
tlieir  j)o«seH.si(ina  liy  the 
until  about  the  iniilille  of 
They  gave  them  tlie  name 
»8.  The  continent  should 
or  Colonica,  from  the  Iti.l- 
Bcoverer.     This  woultl  ilo 

0  both  his  name  aw\  roee. 
of  the  Anglo  Suxon  race, 
nits  of  the  United  States, 
e.  Sht!  was  bom  on  the 
87.  Her  ))arents  belonged 
It  over  by  Raleigh,  iinil  who 
ly  of  Ivounoke.  The  name 
;iven  her  from  that  of  the 

the  colony  was  situated, 
r  with   that  of  the   entire 

colony,  is  unknown.  All 
3ancroft  beautifully  has  it : 

no  English  town,  it  soon 

8." 

irly  reached  this  country, 
years  of  the  discovery  of 
fisheries  of  Newfoundland 
le  hardy  mariners  of  Brit- 
ndy.  In  ]r)24,  Verrazam, 
service  of  Francis  I.,  ran 
■hole  coast  of  North  Amer- 
■gree  of  latitude.  He  saw 
at  is  now  New  York,  and 
mce  and  pleasantness ;  and 
8  vessel  luy  in  the  beautiful 
t.  .Ta(iues  Cartier  was  the 
aileil  up  the  St.  Lawrence, 
August,  1534.  The  next 
second  voyf  ge  to  the  F-rae 

1  up  the  rive'  to  the  si:»  of 
f  Montreal.  lie  took  p<i8- 
f  gions  for  Fro....  s.  All  the 
t  eolnnization  failed,  and  it 
bfiginning  of  the  17th  cen- 
he  direction  of  the  celebra- 
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FOUNDER  OF  THE  CITY  OF  BOSTON,  AND  FIRST  GOVERNOR  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


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178 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  JOHN  WINTHROP. 


BIOGRArHY  OF  JOHN  WINTHROP, 

FIRST    OOVKRNOR   OF   MASSACHUSETTS. 

Wf,  know  of  nothing  in  the  history  of 
colonies  marked  with  80  many  peculiarities, 
as  the  first  settlement  of  New  England.  No 
others  were  ever  founded  for  purposes  strictly 
religious.  Christian  faith  gave  a  tone  to  so- 
ciety that  is  still  felt  throughout  the  commu- 
nity. The  belief  of  a  special  Providence  di- 
recting all  matters  of  government,  and  order- 
ing its  changes,  visiting  vice  with  temporal 
calamitie*.  and  giving  peculiar  aid  to  right 
motives,  seemed  to  bring  man  into  more  im- 
mediate cimimunictttion  with  his  Maker,  and 
to  insi)ire  him  with  high  resolves.*  It  was 
in  this  way  that  the  colonists  sustained  them- 
selves through  the  ditliculties  and  dangers 
which  met  them  at  every  step,  and  which  it 
was  the  daily,  constant  occupation  of  their 
lives  to  surmount.  But  for  this  principle,  it 
would  not  be  easy  to  understand  felly  the 
prevailing  character  of  the  early  period  of  their 
history,  and  to  judge  aright  of  the  principles 
which  supported  the  fathers  of  New  England 
in  their  struggles,  situated  as  we  are  in  the 
midst  of  ease  and  prosperity.  Indeed  the 
whole  character  of  those  who  influenced  and 
directed  their  councils,  has  never  been  cor- 
rectly estimated.  By  some  it  has  been  view- 
ed as  a  model  for  the  present  generation,  jjos- 
sessed  of  every  virtue,  without  blemish  or 
reproach.  Others  have  seen  nothing  but  bigo- 
try, hy|)()crisy,  a  spirit  of  persecution,  gloomy 
superstition,  and  an  absence  of  the  social 
graces  and  virtues.  Both  of  these  views  do 
violence  to  human  nature,  history,  and  truth. 
There  is  a  manifest  wantof  jus'ice  in  deciding 
upon  au}'  ]iortion  of  history  in  th'5  abstract,  or 
by  views  which  are  obtained  in  a  more  refined 
and  cultivated  state  of  society,  where  ques- 
tions of  uiitnral  right  are  better  understood. 
A  more  correct  judgment  may  be  formed  by 
takin"'  into  the  estimate  the  general  state  of 

*  OuiiPiT.oRiM  Fathkhs. — When  our  fatliers  fled 
from  peiseculiuri  in  KrialiiiK),  and  s<iUi;ht  rin  apyluin 
in  this  coniilry,  tliey  at  lirst  depended  much  upon  tlie 
supplies  ol  loud  iVom  llic  motlier-country.  A  com 
pany  of  lliora  Imving  at  one  time  yono  to  the  sea- 
shore,  after  looliinj;  anxiouHly  for  a  vessel  which  was 
to  bring  llicni  corn^  and  being  disappointed,  hunger 
induced  them  to  search  among  the  pebbles  for  8onie- 
thing  to  satisfy  the  craving  demands  of  nature — And 
sincove  was  their  gratitude  to  Him  who  'Mipenelh  his 
hand  and  satislieth  tlie  desire  of  every  living  thing," 
when  they  found  in  the  sand  a  kind  of  muscle,  of 
which  they  partook,  and  found  to  be  wholesome  and 
nutricious.  One  day,  after  they  liad  finislied  a  hearty 
meal  of  tliis  kind,  a  venerable  old  man  stood  up  and 
returned  thanks,  by  blessing  God  that  ho  had  ful- 
filled to  them  tlie  promise  made  to  Zebulon,  Ukut. 
xxxiii ,  19  :  "  Tliey  shall  ofter  sacrifices  of  righteous- 
ness, for  they  shall  suok  of  tlie  abundance  of  the  teas, 
■nd  of  treasurer  hid  in  the  sand." 


society  at  the  time,  and  any  peculiarities  in 
the  combination  of  circumstances  that  go  to 
form  the  aggregate.  If  we  apply  this  rule  to 
the  early  settlers  of  New  England,  we  may 
lament  the  severities  with  which  they  visited 
dilfering  shades  of  o])inion  and  disrespect  of 
authority,  the  readiness  which  they  manifest- 
ed to  believe  that  the  calamities  which  befell 
the  eriing,  and  their  enemies,  were  instances 
of  the  Divine  indignation.  We  c<»ild  wish 
that  sqme  things  had  been  otherwise,  some 
we  would  blot  out;  but  we  can  not  join  with 
tliose  who  tread  with  contempt  n|)on  their 
ashes,  and  condemn  the  ]>rincipal  feuluros  of 
their  character.  They  were  no  common 
men  who  guided  the  suirerers  from  the  ven- 
geance of  power  to  these  shores.  Virtue  was 
strong  ;  religion  found  her  votories,  who  were 
willing  to  quit  the  hearths  and  altars,  the  re- 
finement and  luxury  of  the  old  world,  to  erect 
temples  to  the  Most  High  in  the  deep  .=ilence 
of  our  forests.  We  can  not  join  in  a  general 
condemnation  of  those  who  fostered  the  good 
institutions  that  have  descended  to  us ;  strength- 
ened them  against  the  violence  of  opposition ; 
planted  the  seeds  of  liberty,  now  in  full  fruit ; 
and  cherished  religion,  till  it  became  an  es- 
sential element  in  the  constitution  of  society. 
Surely  it  is  some  praiso  that  they  planted 
churches  in  every  villoge ;  thot,  by  the  sys- 
tem of  free  schools,  established  in  many  towns 
so  early  as  1C45,  and  by  law  in  1648,  they 
sent  the  kindly  influences  of  learning  to  the 
fireside  of  the  humblest  citizen  ;  and,  t(j  crown 
all,  founded  that  venerable  university,  which 
for  two  centuries  has  been  the  direct  source 
of  incalculable  goml  to  the  peojile,  and  may 
be  regarded  as,  in  an  important  sense,  the 
parent  of  many  of  the  similar  institutions  in 
our  land ;  anti  all  this  at  a  time  when  the 
people  were  few,  anil,  by  reason  of  theii  pov- 
erty, were  obliged,  for  one  year,  to  forbear 
laying  the  usual  tax. 

From  a  general  view  of  our  early  hi.story, 
we  are  satisfied,  that  the  fathersof  New  Eng- 
land were  upright,  intelligent,  and  )(ious  men, 
whose  main  endeavor  was  to  strengthen  the 
colonics  they  had  planted,  accorditig  to  llieir 
ability ;  and  that  even  their  errors,  in  most 
instances,  were  the  result  of  good  motives, 
and  an  ardent  desire  to  promote  religion, 
learning,  purity,  and  all  the  best  interests  of 
the  community. 

Governor  Winthrop,  the  subject  of  this 
biography,  was  born  at  Groton,  in  Sullblk, 
England,  June  12,  1587;  and  was  descended 
from  an  ancient  and  honorable  family.  His 
grandfather  was  an  eminent  lawyer,  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  and  attached  to  the 
reformation.  His  father  was  of  the  same  pro- 
fession, and  the  governor  himself  was  bred 
a  lawyer,  in  which  character  he  was  eminent 


,  nnd  any  peculinritiea  in 
circ'uinstaiiccs  that  go  to 
If  we  ni)i)ly  this  rule  to 
f  New  KriKlaiiil,  we  may 
s  with  which  they  visited 
o])iiiii)n  nnd  disrespect  of 
ness  which  they  manifest- 
he  calamities  which  befell 
r  cnoiHies.  were  instances 
^nation.  We  could  wish 
lad  heen  otherwise,  some 

bnt  we  can  not  join  with 
k'ith  contem|)t  n|K)n  their 
I  the  |)rincipul  feuluros  of 
They  were  no  common 
be  sulFerers  from  the  ven- 
thesB  shores.  Virtue  was 
nd  her  votaries,  who  were 
hearths  and  altars,  the  re- 
f  of  the  old  world,  to  erect 
t  High  in  the  deep  silence 
8  can  not  join  in  a  general 
ose  who  fostered  the  good 
5  descended  to  us ;  strength- 
he  violence  of  opposition; 
'  liberty,  now  in  full  fruit ; 
on,  till  it  became  an  es- 
he  constitution  of  society, 
praiss  that  they  planted 
village ;  that,  by  the  sys- 
estaMished  in  many  towns 
nd  by  law  in  1648,  they 
luences  of  learning  to  the 
lest  citizen  ;  nnd,  to  crown 
■nerable  university,  which 
18  been  the  direct  source 
d  to  the  pcojile,  and  may 

an  important  sense,  the 
the  sin)ilar  institutions  in 
this  at  a  time  when  the 
ad,  by  reason  of  theii  ])ov- 
,  for  one  year,  to  forbear 

view  of  our  early  history, 
U  the  fathers  of  Kew  Eng- 
intelligent,  and  jiious  men, 
\'n\  was  to  strengthen  the 
planted,  according  to  their 
sven  their  errors,  in  most 
e  result  of  good  motives, 
'sire  to  promote  religion, 
id  all  the  best  interests  of 

HROP,  the  subject  of  this 
)rn  at  Groton,  in  Sutlidk, 
1587;  and  was  descended 
1  honorable  family.  His 
1  eminent  lawyer,  in  the 
III.,  and  attached  to  the 
father  was  of  the  same  pro- 
[overnor  himself  wns  bred 
I  character  he  was  eminent 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  JOHN  WINTHROP. 


179 


for  both  integrity  nnd  abilities.  Indeed,  he 
must  have  liad  the  fairest  reputation,  for  he 
was  appointed  a  justice  of  the  pence  at  eigh- 
teen y<'iirs  of  age. 

Wliru  the  design  of  settling  a  colony  in 
New  England  was  undertaken,  Mr.  Wintlinjp 
was  chosen,  with  general  consent,  to  conduct 
the  enterjirise.  His  estate,  amounting  to  tin; 
value  of  six  or  seven  hundred  pounds  sterling 
a  year,  he  converted  into  money,  and  em- 
barked his  all  to  jiromote  the  settlement  of 
New  England.  When  he  left  Groton  he  wns 
in  the  forty-third  yenr  of  his  age.  He  ar- 
rived at  Salem  with  the  Massacliusetts  char- 
ter, June  ISJ,  1()30. 

To  no  one  are  wo  more  indebted  than  to 
WiNTHRor,  not  only  for  the  manifold  good 
which  he  did  in  his  own  day,  but  ulso  for  the 
history  he  has  left  us  of  the  early  transactions 
in  church  and  state  in  New  England,  and 
especially  in  Massachusetts.  His  work, 
which,  as  we  gather  from  him,  was  intended 
for  publication  and  for  posterity,  was  left  by 
him  in  raanuscrijit.  in  three  parts.  Those  hud 
all  been  in  the  hands  of  Hubbard,  Mather, 
and  Prince,  who  it  seems,  had  derived  more 
assistance  from  them  than  they  were  ready  to 
acknowledge.  The  first  two  parts,  bringing 
the  histo.N  \)wn  to  1644,  were  published  at 
Hartford  lu  Connecticut,  in  1790.  The  third 
part  was  discovered  in  the  tower  of  the  old 
South  ehuich  in  IJoston,  in  1816.  On  colla- 
ting the  nmnus(Tipt  of  the  first  two  parts  with 
the  printed  volume,  the  latter  was  found  to 
contain  many  errors;  and  the  whole  work  has 
been  published  1-y  the  Massachusetts  Histori- 
cal Society,  with  tb-  sistance  of  the  legis- 
lature of  tlmt  state  'hi'd  i)art  had  never 
before  been  ])ublishe(l.  ontinues  the  his- 
tory down  to  the  time  ol  his  death.  Much 
interesting  matter,  and  many  important  facts, 
are  containeil  in  this  part.  Of  these,  are  re- 
lations of  the  various  discussions  between  the 
magistrates  and  deputies  relative  to  their 
respective  powers  ;  an  account  of  the  synod 
that  met  at  Cambridge  to  establish  the  platfonn 
of  church  disci[)line  and  government ;  a  de- 
fence against  the  charges  which  were  raised 
to  the  prejudice  of  the  colonists,  by  their  ene- 
mies, nnd  preferred  before  the  commissioners 
in  England.  These  all  serve  to  fill  up  the 
delineation  of  the  character  of  the  fathers  of 
New  England  to  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth 
century. 

The  contents  of  Winthuop's  "  History  of 
New  England,"  are  so  various,  that  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  make  an  extract  that  will  do  justice 
to  the  author.  But  we  select  at  a  venture 
his  "little  speech,"  as  he  terms  it.  In  1645, 
when  he  was  de])uty  governor,  he  was  singled 
out  from  the  rest  of  the  magistrates,  who 
had   acted  with  him,  to  defend  the  legality 


of  his  proceedings,  in  committing  to  prison 
certain  persons  in  Hingham,  who  had  been 
concerned  in  some  disturltanee  of  the  ])eace, 
and  who  refused  ti'  find  sureties  f(T  their  ap- 
pearance at  court.  The  day  of  \Vi.N'riiRoi''3 
trial  came,  and  he  declined  taking  his  sent 
upon  the  bench.  Sjjcaking  of  himself,  ns  he 
does  throughout,  in  the  third  jierson,  he  says : 
'■  Th(!  day  ai)])ointed  being  come,  the  court 
assembled  in  the  meetinghouse  nt  Boston. 
Divers  of  the  elders  were  jiresent,  and  n  great 
assembly  of  the  peojile.  Thede])uty  g(»vern- 
or,  cominu  in  with  the  rest  of  the  magistrates, 
placed  himself  beneath,  within  the  bar,  and 
so  sats  uncovered.  Some  question  was  in 
court  about  his  being  in  that  jilace  (for  many 
both  of  the  court  and  assembly  were  grieved 
at  it).  But  the  deputy  telling  them,  th  .t, 
being  criminally  accused,  he  might  not  sit  as 
a  judge  in  that  cause,  and  if  he  were  upon  the 
bench,  it  would  be  a  great  disadvantage  to 
him,  for  he  could  not  take  that  liberty  to  jilead 
the  cause,  which  he  ought  to  be  allowed  at 
the  bar ;  upon  this  the  court  was  satisfied." 

Winthroj)  wns  fully  and  honorably  acquitted 
of  all  the  charges  brought  against  him.  The 
governor  (Dudley)  read  the  sentence  of  the 
court.  "  Then  was  the  deputy  governor  de- 
sired ijy  the  court  to  go  np  and  take  his  place 
again  upon  the  bench,  which  he  did  accord- 
ingly, nnd  the  coiirt  being  n!)out  to  nrise,  he 
desired  leave  for  a  little  speech,  which  was  to 
this  eifect : — 

"  I  supixjse  something  may  be  expected 
from  me,  upon  this  charge  that  is  befallen 
me,  which  moves  me  to  sjienk  now  to  you ;  yet 
I  intend  not  to  intermeddle  in  the  proceedings 
of  the  court,  or  with  nny  of  the  persons  con- 
cerned therein.  Only  I  bless  (}od,  thnt  I  see 
nn  issue  of  this  troublesome  business.  I  also 
acknowledge  the  justice  of  the  court,  and,  fo' 
mine  own  part,  I  am  well  satisfied,  I  wns 
publicly  charged,  and  I  am  puliliely  Hud  legal- 
ly acquitted,  which  is  nil  I  did  expect  or  de- 
sire. And  though  this  lie  siitlieient  for  my 
justification  before  men,  yet  not  so  before  the 
God,  who  hath  seen  so  much  amiss  in  my  dis- 
pensations (and  even  in  this  iitfiiir)  as  calls 
me  to  be  humble.  For  to  be  ])ubliely  nnd 
criminally  charged  in  this  court,  is  matter  of 
humiliation  (nnd  I  desire  to  mike  a  ri^lit  use 
of  it),  notwithstanding  I  be  thus  acquitted. 
If  her  father  had  spit  in  her  face  (saith  the 
Lord  concerning  Miriam),  should  she  not  have 
been  ashamed  seven  days  ?  Shame  had  lien 
U|)on  her,  whatever  the  occasion  had  been. 
I  am  unwilling  to  stay  you  from  your  urgent 
aifiiirs,  yet  give  me  leave  (upon  this  special 
occasion)  to  speak  a  little  more  to  this  assem- 
bly, it  may  be  of  some  goo<l  use,  to  inform 
nnd  rectify  tiie  judgment  of  some  of  the  people, 
and  may  prevent  such  distempers  as  have 


■•«« 


:t 


^ 


V^S 


If" 


180 


BIOGRAPIIY  OF  JOHN  WINTHllOP. 


arisen  am()iif;st  us.  TIiP  gront  (jiiostions  fhat 
Imve  tnmlilcd  llt>  ((Hiiitry,  uri!  alioiit  the 
uulliority  ot'  the  inimislriilfs  ami  the  lilicrty 
of  the  people.  It  is  yourselves  who  have 
culled  us  to  tills  oHice,  and  beinn;  called  l)y 
you,  wo  have  our  ui'.tV"irity  Ircin  (Jod,  in  way 
of  an  ordinance,  such  as  hath  the  image  of 
(Jod  eminently  stamped  u|)on  it,  the  contempt 
QJid  vi(iluli(in  whereof  hath  heen  vindicated 
with  examples  of  divine  ven,;,'euncc.  I  en- 
treat you  to  consider,  that,  when  you  choose 
magistrates,  y(ni  take  them  from  union;,'  your- 
selves, men  subject  to  like  [lassions  a.s  you 
are.  Therefore  when  you  see  inlinnities  in 
us,  you  should  reflect  upon  your  own,  and 
that  would  make  you  hear  the  more  with  us, 
and  not  lie  severe  ceusurers  of  the  failinp;s  of 
your  mai^is^rates,  when  you  have  continual 
experience  of  tlie  like  inlinnities  in  yourselves 
and  others.  We  account  him  a  good  servant, 
who  breaks  not  his  covenant.  The  covenant 
between  you  ami  us  is  the  oath  you  have 
taken  of  us,  which  is  to  this  purjiose,  that 
we  shall  govern  you,  and  judge  your  causes 
by  the  rules  of  God's  laws  and  our  own,  ac- 
cording to  our  tiest  skill.  When  you  agree 
with  a  Workman  to  build  you  a  shi|)  or  house, 
ice,  he  undertakes  as  well  for  his  skill  as  for 
his  faithfulness,  for  it  is  his  iirofestion,  and 
you  pay  him  for  both.  But  when  you  call 
one  to  be  a  magistrate,  he  doth  not  profess 
nor  undertake  to  have  sufficient  skill  for  that 
ollicp,  nor  can  you  furnish  him  with  gifts, 
&(;.,  therefon;  you  must  run  the  hazard  of  his 
skill  and  ability.  But  if  he  fail  in  faithfulness, 
which  by  his  oath  he  is  bound  unto,  that  he 
must  answer  for.  If  it  full  out  that  the  case 
be  clear  to  common  apprehension,  and  the 
rule  clear  also,  if  he  transgress  here,  the  error 
is  not  ill  the  skill,  iiut  in  the  evil  of  the  will ; 
it  must  be  re(]uired  of  him.  But  if  the  cause 
lie  doubtful,  or  the  lulc  doubtful,  to  men  of 
such  understanding  and  parts  as  your  magis- 
trates are,  if  your  magistruies  should  err  here, 
yourself  must  bear  it. 

"  For  the  othi^r  point  concerning  libertVi  I 
observe  a  great  mistake  in  the  country  about 
that.  There  is  a  twofold  liberty,  natural 
(I  mean  as  our  nature  is  now  corrupt)  and 
civil  or  federal.  The  first  is  common  to  man 
with  beasts  and  other  creatures.  By  this, 
man,  as  he  stands  in  relation  to  man  simply, 
hath  liberty  to  do  what  he  lists;  it  is  a  liberty 
to  evil  as  well  as  to  good.  This  liberty  is  in- 
compatible and  inconsistent  with  authority, 
ond  can  not  endure  the  least  restraint  of  the 
most  just  authority.  The  exercise  and  main- 
toining  of  this  lilierty  make  men  grow  mf)re 
evil,  anl  in  time  to  be  worse  than  brute 
beasts :  omnes  sumus  licentia  deteriores.  This 
is  that  great  enemy  of  truth  and  peace,  that 
wild  beast,  which  all  the  ordinances  of  God 


are  bent  against,  to  restrain  and  subdno  it. 
The  other  kind  of  lilierty  I  call  civil  or  federal, 
it  may  also  be  termed  moral,  in  reference  to 
the  covenant  between  God  and  man,  in  the  moral 
law,  and  the  politic  covenants  and  constitu- 
tions, amongst  men  thein-;(lves.  Tliis  liberty 
is  the  proper  end  and  object  of  authority,  and 
cannot  subsist  without  it:  and  it  is  liberty 
to  that  only  which  is  good,  just,  and  honest. 
This  liberty  you  arc  to  stnml  for,  with  the 
liu/.ard  (not  only  of  your  goods,  but)  of  your 
lives,  if  need  be.  VVhatNoever  erosseth  this, 
is  iiot  authority,  but  a  distemper  thereof. 
This  liberty  is  maintained  and  exercised  in  a 
way  of  subjection  to  authority  ;  it  is  of  tlie 
same  kind  of  liberty  where wi'ili  Christ  huth 
made  us  free.  The  woman's  own  choice 
makes  such  a  man  her  husband  ;  yet  being 
so  chosen,  he  is  her  lord,  and  slie  is  to  be  sub- 
ject to  him,  yet  in  a  way  of  liberty,  not  of 
bondage  ;  and  a  true  wife  nccounts'her  sub- 
jection her  honor  ond  freedom,  and  would  not 
think  her  condition  safe  and  free,  but  in  her 
subjection  to  her  husband's  authority.  Such 
is  the  liberty  of  the  church  under  tlie  author- 
ity of  Christ,  her  king  and  husband ;  his  yoke 
is  so  easy  and  sweet  to  her  as  a  bride's  orna- 
ments ;  and  ii,  through  frowardness,  or  wan- 
tonness, (kc,  she  shaite  it  off",  at  any  time,  she 
is  at  no  rest  in  her  spirit,  until  she  take  it  up 
again;  and,  whether  her  lord  smiles  upon  her, 
and  embraceth  her  in  his  arms,  or  whether 
he  frowns,  or  rebukes,  or  <  uites  her,  she  ap- 
prehends the  sweetness  of  his  love  in  all,  and 
is  refreshed,  supported,  and  instructed,  by  ev- 
ery such  dispensation  of  his  authority  over 
her.  On  the  other  side,  ye  know  who  they 
are  that  complain  of  this  yoke,  and  say,  '  Let 
us  break  their  bands,  &c.,  we  will  not  have 
this  man  to  rule  over  us.'  Even  so,  brethren, 
it  will  be  between  you  and  your  magistrates. 
If  you  stand  for  your  natural  corrupt  liberties, 
and  will  do  what  is  good  in  your  own  eyes, 
you  will  not  endure  the  least  weight  of  au- 
thority, but  will  murmur,  and  opjiose,  and  be 
always  striving  to  shake  off* that  yoke;  but  if 
you  will  be  satisfied  to  enjoy  such  civil  and 
lawful  liberties,  such  as  Christ  allows  you, 
then  will  you  quietly  and  cheerfully  submit 
unto  that  authority  which  is  set  over  you,  in 
all  the  administrations  of  it,  for  your  good. 
Wherein,  if  we  fail  at  any  time,  we  hope  we 
shall  be  willing  (by  God's  assistance)  to 
hearken  to  good  advice  from  any  of  you,  or 
1  any  other  way  of  God  ;  so  shall  your  liber- 
iics  be  preserved,  in  upholding  the" honor  and 
power  of  authority  amongst  you." 

It  is  a  very  full  evidence  of  the  esteem  in 
which  he  was  held,  that,  when  mony  gentle- 
men of  character,  some  of  them  of  noble  al- 
liance, were  concerned  in  the  same  under- 
taking with  him,  he,  by  a  general  voice,  was 


!)  rostrnin  and  subline  it. 
K-rty  I  cull  civil  or  federal, 
od  mornl,  in  rercrciicc  to 
ri  Gi)d  uiid  man,  in  themoral 
:  covoiinntst  luid  (•onstitu- 
hciimlvcs.  This  liberty 
d  (ilijeec  of  nuiiiority,  and 
Kiut  it:  ami  it  is  lil)erty 
is  good,  in>t,  and  honest. 
R  to  stand  for,  with  the 
vour  goods,  lint)  of  your 
iVlmtwopvor  crosseth  this, 
ut  n  <li.st('tri|)('r  thereof, 
lainod  and  exercised  in  a 
o  niithorii y  ;  it  is  of  the 
f  wlierewitli  Christ  hath 
be  woman's   own   choice 

her  husband  ;  yet  being 
lord,  and  she  is  to  be  sub- 

a  way  of  liberty,  not  of 
le  wife  accounts  her  sub- 
d  freedom,  and  would  not 
safe  and  free,  but  in  her 
'Ijand's  authority.  Such 
t'hurch  under  the  author- 
ig  and  husi)and ;  his  yoke 

to  lier  as  a  bride's  orna- 
igh  fruwanlness,  or  wan- 
ike  it  oH",  at  any  time,  she 
pirit,  until  she  take  it  up 
•her lord  smiles  upon  her, 

in  his  arms,  or  whether 
;s.  or  '  iiites  her,  she  ap- 
ess  of  his  love  in  all,  and 
cd,and  instructed,  by  ev- 
Dn  of  his  authority  "over 
mh,  ye  know  who  they 
this  yoke,  and  say,  '  Let 
s,  &c.,  we  will  not  have 

us.'  Even  so,  brethren, 
ou  and  your  magistrates, 
•natural  corrupt  liberties, 
good  in  your  own  eyes, 
!  the  least  •weight  of  au- 
"mur,  and  oppose,  and  be 
lake  off  that  yoke;  but  if 

to  enjoy  such  civil  and 
h  as  Christ  allows  you, 
y  and  cheerfully  submit 
vhich  is  set  over  you,  in 
ns  of  it,  for  your  good, 
at  any  time,  we  hope  we 
>y  God's  assistance)  to 
ice  from  any  of  you,  or 
God ;  so  shall  your  liber- 
upholding  the  honor  ond 
mongst  you.'* 
.•idence  of  the  esteem  in 
that,  when  many  gentle- 
me  of  them  of  nolale  al- 
leil  in  the  same  under- 
,  by  a  general  voice,  waa 


BKJIillAlMlV   OK  JDII.N    U  IN  lil.KM' 


LSI 


The  Dentil  Bed  of  Winthrop. 


placed  at  their  head.  He  says  himself,  in 
his  excellent  journal,  which  is  indeed  a  treas- 
ure to  all  who  revere  the  memory  of  their 
ancestors:  "I  was  first  chosen  to  be  govern- 
or without  my  seeking  or  expectation,  there 
being  then  divers  other  gentlemen,  who,  for 
their  abilities,  every  way  were  far  more  fit." 
He  was  eleven  times  chosen  governor,  and 
epent  his  whole  estate  in  the  public  service. 
His  son  John,  lind  his  grondson,  Fitz-John 
(who  was  a  captain  in  Col.  Reed's  regiment 
at  the  Restoration  in  1660),  were  successively 
governors  of  Connecticut  colony,  and  Wait- 
Still,  another  grandson,  was  chief  justice  of 
Massachusetts.  Stephen,  another  son  of  the 
elder  Winthrop,  went  to  England  in  1645  or 
1046,  had  the  command  of  a  regiment,  and 
succeede  1  Harrison  in  his  msjor-gencralship, 
was  a  member  of  parliament  for  Scotland  m 
1656,  and  wasmuch  trusted  by  the  Protector. 
The  family,  in  every  generation,  have  occu- 
pieii  high  stations,  and  been  deservedly  held 
in  great  respect.  Its  character  is  now  most 
worthdy  sustained  by  the  Hon.  Robkut  C. 
Winthrop,  the  distinguished  and  eloquent 
speaker  of  the  house  of  representatives,  in 
the  United  States'  Congress ;  and  the  Hon. 
David  Sears,  of  Boston.  This  latter  gen- 
tleman has  been  repeatedly  a  member  of  the 
legislature  of  Massachusetts,  as  both  repre- 
sentative and  senator,  between  the  years  1816 


and  18-26.  Governor  Winthrop  died  March 
26,  1649,  in  the  62d  year  of  his  age,  and 
was  buried  April  3d,  in  the  northern  comer 
of  the  King's  chapel  burying-ground.  Wo 
may  truly  say  of  him,  as  he  finely  said  of  the 
husband  of  Lady  Arabella  Johnson,  "  He  was 
a  holy  man  and  wise,  and  died  in  sweet 
peace."  He  conducted  himself  with  such  ad- 
dress and  unshaken  rectitude,  as  to  render 
his  character  universally  respected  among 
his  contemporaries,  and  his  memory  dear  to 
posterity.  In  his  magnanimity,  disinterested- 
ness, moderation,  and  harmonious  character, 
the  father  of  Massachusetts  reminds  us  of  the 
great  "father  of  his  country,"  and  is  the  only 
name  in  our  history  worthy  to  stand  as  a 
parallel  to  Washington. 


"  How  shall  we  mourn  lliee  7 — with  a  lofty  trust, 

Our  life's  immortal  birthright  from  above  ! 
With  a  glad  faith,  whose  eye,  to  track  the  just, 

ThroDgh  shades  and  mysteries  IH'tH  a  glance  of  love, 
And  yet  can  weep  !  for  nature  thus  deplores 

The  friend  that  leaves  uu,  though  for  hnppiershores. 
"  Praise!  for  yet  one  more  name  with  power  endowed, 

To  cheer  and  guide  us,  onward  as  we  press, 
Yet  one  more  image,  on  the  heart  bestowed, 

To  dwell  there,  beautiful  in  holiness  I 
Thine,  Wi  nth  nop,  thine  I  whoso  memory  from  the 
dead, 

Shines  as  the  star  which  to  the  Saviour  led." 


% 


^.ii. 


^M 


I'  ■  '»S#..f>,f  f 


;«".';■ 


182 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  JOHN  WINTHROP. 


THE  WINTHROP  FAMILY  TOMB,  IN  KING'S  CHAPEL  BUBYING-GROUND, 

TUEMONT  STREET,  BOSTON. 

This  ancient  Monument  originally  had  inscribed  on  it  t!ie  Epitaph  which  is  dven 
below;  but  it  is  said  that  the  letters  having  become  nearly  obliterated  by  time,  or  injured 
by  accident  or  design,  during  the  Revolution,  the  stone  wa«  replaced  oy  another,  which 
bears  the  names  and  ages  of  the  members  of  the  family  as  follows : — 

JOHN   WINTHROP, 

GOVERNOR    OF    MASSACHUSETTS, 

Died    1649. 

Major-General 

WAIT  STILL  WINTHROP, 

Died  September  1th,  1717.     Aged  76  Years. 

ANN    WINTHROP    SEARS, 

Tht  Wife  of  David  Sears, 
Died  Oct.  2d,  1789.     Aged  33  Years. 
Here  also  rest  the  remains  of  John  Winthrop,  first  Governor  of  Connectictit, 
[eldest  son  of  John,  the  Founder  of  Boston,  and  first  Governor  of  Massachusetts.] 
He  died  at  Boston,  5th  April,  1676. 

FiTZ-JoHN  Winthrop,  his  son.  Governor  of  Connecticut,  died  at  Boston,  27',h 
November,  1707. 

Thomas  L.   Winthrop,   Lieutenant-Governor  of    Massachusetts,  died  22d 
Feb.  1840. 


STAND  TRAVELLER, 

And  ndmirc  yo  Tomb, 

And  to  y<  Public  Tcara  add  your  own. 

Bewail  ya  public  host. 

If  of  y«  publick  you  are  part. 

Thia  place  is  a  Prince's  Court 

Rather  than  a  Tomb. 

This  marble  co"er«  dust 

Worthy  to  be  enclosed  in  (lold. 

Four  WINTHR0P3  lie  buried  in  this  Tomb, 

Who  were  sufficient  to  enrich  ev'n  ye  four  quarters  of 

ye  Karth. 

He  is  unacquainted  with  ye  history  of  New  England 

Who  is  Ignorant  of  thia  Family, 

And  he  has  no  regard  for  Universal  Virtue 

That  docs  not  highly  value  iL 

The  last  of  these 

here  Interr'd 

Was  Wait  Winthbop,  Esq^ 

Whore  last  Honour  waa  this, 

That  ho  was  Govemour  of  New  England, 

He  was,  alas  I  he  was 

Of  New  England,  ye  glory  &  Defence, 

The  Light  and  Stay. 

Major-General  of  Massachusett'a  Colony, 

Of  a  noble  yet  peaceful  dis|)osition. 

And  who  for  his  Country  and  for  Peace  could  die. 

President  of  ye  Council  for  ye  Province, 

Whose  chiefest  care  it  always  wiis 

That  ye  Commonwealth  might  receive  no  damage  t 

And  in  whom  many  died. 

Chief  Judge, 

Who  paid  an  equal  regard  to  Justice  &  Clemency. 

He  went  thro'  ye  moat  honourable 

8tationa  in  ye  Government 


And  adorn'd  ye  Honoura  w'ch  ho  bore. 

Deserving  those  he  bore  not 

A  person  of  yo  most  uiidisscmbled  piety 

And  unspotted  probity. 

Of  an  exalted  yet  a  modest  Genina. 

He  placed  all  things  beneath  himscli^ 

Himself  beneath  all  men. 

Benevolent  tow'rds  all, 

And  most  so  tow'ds  ye  poor  St.  needy. 

Injurious  to  none  not  even  to  enemies  i 

An  enemy  to  none, 

Ev'n  tho'  highly  provok'd. 

No  unhappy  person  was  by  him  rejected. 

Nor  poor  one  rcfus'd  admittance. 

Nor  did  aay  go  away  displeos'd. 

Ho  was  skillfull  in  physick, 

And  being  possessed  of  Golden  Secrets, 

Indeed  more  valuable  than  Gold  itself, 

And  having  obtained  Universal  Remedies, 

Which  Hippocrates  St,  Hclmont  never  knew, 

All  that  were  sick  where  o'er  he  came 

He  freely  restor'd  to  health, 

And  made  almost  his  whole  study  of  Nature 

Subservient  to  Medicine. 

lie  that  under  this  stone  now  sleeps  in  death, 

Still  lives  in  ye  hearts  of  thousands 

Whose  lives  he  has  prolonged. 

The  merits  of  Winthbop  with  Him 

01)livion  shall  not  bury. 

He  was  born  y«  27th  day  of  December  1641, 

Died  ye  7th  day  of  September  1717, 

In  ye  7l)Xth  year  of  his  age. 

They  who  value  Life  &  still  enjoy  It, 

Wish'd  him  a  Thousand  years  continuance  her^ 

An  age  exceeding  that  of  Methusalem, 


BURYING-GROUND, 


Epitaph  which  is  ^iven 
erated  bv  time,  or  injured 
placed  Dy  another,  which 
ws:— 


JTTS, 


s 

an. 


ernor  of  Connecticut, 
3r  of  Massachusetts.] 

died  at  Boston,  27th 

lachusetts,  died  22d 


Honours  w'ch  he  bore, 
those  he  bore  not. 
nost  unjissemblcd  piety 
spotted  probity, 
yet  «  modeet  Geniiu. 
things  beneath  himeel( 
beucHth  all  meD, 

lent  tow'rds  all, 
Wda  y«  poor  t  needy. 
le  not  even  to  enemioa; 
lemy  to  none, 

highly  provok'd. 

on  was  by  him  rejected, 

!  refus'd  admittance, 

go  away  disploas'd. 
cillfull  in  phyaick, 
seed  of  Golden  Secrets, 
luable  than  Gold  itself, 
ned  Universal  Remedies, 
1  (fe  Helmont  never  knew, 
ck  where  o'er  he  came 
reetor'd  to  health, 
lis  whole  study  of  Nature 
int  to  Medicine, 
stone  now  sleeps  in  death, 
•  hearts  of  thousands 

he  has  prolonged, 
WiNTHROP  with  Him 

shall  not  bury. 

th  day  of  December  1641, 

ly  of  September  1717, 

1  year  of  his  age. 

!  Life  It  still  enjoy  It, 

And  years  continuance  hercv 

ig  that  of  Metlmsalem. 


THE  SOVEREIGNfl  OF  EUROI'K. 


183 


THE  SOVEREIGNS  OF  EUROPE. 

Eight  of  the  twenty  monnrchs  arc  protcst- 
niits;  nin(!  nic  Ri)inuii  ciithi'lif's :  two  arc  of 
tin;  Grui'k  cliiirch,  and  one  is  a  MoliainimMlun. 
ThiHC  buliin;.Mng  to  tile  Greek  church  are  the 
emperor  of  Russia  and  tlie  kiii^  of  Wee^e. 
Four  of  tliein  are  of  irreproacliulih;  charac- 
ters. Many  of  thorn  are  as  respeetalilo  a.s  our 
piihlic  men  whom^we  delight  to  honor.     Tlio 

leens  are  all  of  spotl(!ss  elmracter,  which 
eoulil  not  have  been  said  of  former  times. 

The  king  of  Prussia  is  a  decidedly  pious 
man.  Stiveral  of  the  ipieens  are  true  Chris- 
tians, as  I  think,  antl  among  these  is  the 
(|ueeii  of  France.  She  reads  many  religious 
books.  As  to  talent,  Louis  Philippe,  king  of 
the  French,  the  king  of  Prussia,  and  the  em- 
])eror  of  Russia,  are  admitted  to  rank  first, 
nnd  Louis  Philii)])e  stonds  jjre-eminently 
ohovo  uU.  He  was  educated  ot  a  French  col- 
lege, spent  many  years  in  foreign  lands,  and 
then  sixteen  in  r|uietly  pursuing  his  studies. 
Talleyrand  said  he  had  no  idea  of  his  vast  ac- 
([uirements,  before  he  was  minister,  after  ho 
became  king.  lie  speaks  English  with  case, 
and  never  pronounces  but  one  word  wrong, 
which  is  ice,  which  he  calls  hice.  He  said, 
ho  and  his  brother  hired  a  boat  at  Pittsburgh, 
to  go  down  the  river,  but  was  obstructed  by 
the  hice.  This  he  had  learned  from  the  Eng- 
lish cockneys,  when  he  lived  in  England. 
He  has  no  minister  who  is  equal. 

The  kinn;  of  Prussia  is  nearly  the  equal  of 
Louis  Philiiipe  ;  he  speaks  English  well,  but 
not  so  well  as  tlie  king  of  the  French.  He  is 
a  self-inade  man.  He  was  not  allowed  to  get 
his  education  at  the  German  universities,  as 
he  desired,  as  it  was  thought  degrading  to  the 
king's  son,  to  associate  with  other  young  men. 
He  regrets  to  this  day,  that  he  was  not  per- 
mitted to  go  to  the  university  ivd  associate 
with  the  students.  The  king  o.  .v.eden  grad- 
uated at  college,  and  is  a  fine  sche'ir. 

The  king  of  Prussia  is  not  pojmiar.  He  is 
too  good  a  man  for  that.  He  ijroposes  too 
many  reforms,  and  pushes  them  forward  with 
too  much  energy  to  please  the  peojile. 

The  emperor  of  Russia  is  not  inferior  in 
talent ;  but  he  came  unexpectedly  to  the 
throne  at  the  a;^e  of  twenty-seven  or  twenty- 
eight  years — his  brother,  the  lawful  heir  to 
the  throne,  having  abdicated  in  his  favor.  He 
has  had  no  time  to  read.  Being  a  resolute 
monarch,  his  duties  are  most  arduous.  He  is 
most  devoted  to  public  affairs.  I  spoke  to 
him  about  temperance  societies,  when  he  be- 
gan to  make  the  same  objections  which  were 
once  BO  common  here — that  brandy  was  ne- 
cessary for  laborers  to  give  them  strength,  and 
protect  tlium  in  heat  and  cold.  He  however, 
at  once  perceived  the  force  of  my  arguments, 


admitted  their  correctness,  and  caid,  "  As  for 
the  revenue  we  will  let  it  go,  and  get  a  reve- 
nue somewhere  else."  Nicholas  is  very  deci- 
ded and  indepcnihint. 

A  nobleman  of  great  wealth  and  talent  liad 
governed  his  brother  Alexander.  When  Nich- 
olas cam(!  to  the  throne,  in  less  than  three  duvs 
he  came  to  see  him  unasked.  Nicholas  .said 
to  him,  "Who  asked  you  to  appear  before 
me  ?  I  know  how  you  griverned  my  brother, 
and  imposed  upon  his  meekness.  I  give  you 
tliree  days  to  arrange  your  affairs  in  St.  Pe- 
tersburgli,  after  which  time  you  will  retire  to 
your  country-scat;"  which  lie  did,  and  has  re- 
mained there  ever  since. 

The  king  of  Sweden  is  a  literary  man,  and 
is  the  uutbor  of  several  books,  lie  gave  me 
a  copy  of  his  work  on  prison  diseipline,  just 
published.  The  king  of  Holland  is  not  so 
popular ;  he  is  an  old  man,  about  forty-four. 
He  was  distinguished  at  the  battle  of  \Vater- 
loo,  and  bndly  wounded.  The  king  of  Den- 
mark is  a  man  of  fair  talents,  but  of  no  decis- 
ion of  cluiructer.  [Since  thisaccount  was  writ- 
ten, the  king  here  referred  to  has  died,  and 
Frederick  VIL  has  succeeded  to  the  throne. 
His  first  acts  have  been  liberal,  and  give 
promise  of  a  good  and  enlightened  sovereign.] 

The  manners  of  the  jjrinces  are  polished, 
easy,  and  simple.  Such  is  the  character  of 
the  nobles  of  Europe,  whom  I  have  seen. 
They  ore,  however,  more  formal  to  diplo- 
masts.  There  is  more  difficulty  to  get  along 
with  our  distinguished  men,  who  sometimes 
assume  a  t(me  of  haughtiness,  which  I  never 
saw  in  a  prince.  The  monarchs  ordinarily, 
and  their  {|ueens,  dress  in  the  same  plain  way 
as  other  well-bred  peo])le.  In  public,  they 
of  course  appear  in  sjdendor.  The  queens 
wear  on  ordinary  occasions  very  little  jewelry. 

In  the  families  of  the  emperor  of  Russia, 
and  the  king  of  the  French,  there  is  great  af- 
fection.— R.  Baihd. 


MORAL  CHARACTER  OF  THE  MONKEY. 

A  GENTLEMAN  whose  premises  were  infest- 
ed by  a  large  breed  of  sparrows,  said  they 
were  hirds  of  no  principle.  Of  all  monkeys 
it  may  be  said,  with  much  more  propriety,  that 
they  are  beasts  of  no  princijjle :  for  they  have 
every  evil  quality,  and  not  one  good  one. 
They  are  saucy  and  insolent ;  always  making 
an  attempt  to  bully,  and  terrify  peojjle,  and 
biting  those  first  who  are  afraid  of  them.  An 
impertinent  curiosity  runs  through  all  their 
actions;  they  never  can  let  thhigs  alone,  but 
must  know  what  is  going  forward.  If  a  pot 
or  a  kettle  is  set  on  the  fire,  and  the  cook  turns 


■W 


!     M 


r 


184 


MORAL  CHARACTER  OF  THE  MONKEY. 


I 


lier  linck,  the  monkoy  whips  off  tho  cover  to 
Kfc  wliiit  mIu'  has  put  into  it ;  fivcn  though  ho 
cun  nut  ^I't  at  it,  without  sptting  his  fcot  upon 
tile  lull,  Imrrt  of  the  grate.  Mimicry  is  iiiioth- 
vr  of  tiic  nionkoy'8  rpialities.  Whatever  lie 
sce-i  men  do,  he  must  affect  to  do  the  like 
liinisfif.  IIo  seems  to  have  no  rule  of  his 
own,  iind  so  is  ruled  liy  the  actions  of  men  or 
lifiists;  as  weiik  peo))le  follow  the  fashion  of 
the  world,  whether  it  be  good  or  Ijad.  No 
monkey  lins  any  sense  of  gratitude,  but  takes 
his  viclun's  wilh  a  snatch,  and  then  grins  in 
the  fiiee  of  the  person  that  gives  it  to  him, 
li'st  he  should  take  it  nwoy  again  ;  for  he  sup- 
po-ics  lliMt  all  men  will  snatch  away  what  thi 
cull  lay  hold  of,  as  nil  monkeys  do.  Throu 
an  ijiviueilile  seltislniess,  no  monkey  critisiders 
any  iMciividtial  but  liimsi'lf,  as  tht;  jioor  eat 
found  to  her  cost,  when  the  monkey  burMe<l 
her  paws  with  raking  liis  chestnuts  out  of  the 
tire.  They  can  never  ent  together  in  com- 
pany wiiliout  (luurrolling  and  plundering  one 
anoilier.  Every  monkey  delights  in  mischief, 
anil  can  not  help  doing  it,  when  it  is  in  his 
power.  If  anything  he  takes  hold  of  can  be 
liroken  or  spoiled,  he  is  sure  to  iind  the  way 
of  doing  it ;  and,  he  chatters  with  pleasure, 
when  he  hears  the  noise  of  a  china  vessel 
smashed  to  ])ieces  uixin  the  pavement.  If  he 
takes  up  a  bottle  of  ink,  he  empties  it  upon 
the  door.  He  unfolds  all  your  papers,  and 
scatters  them  about  the  room,  and  what  he 
can  not  imdo,  he  tears  to  pieces ;  and,  it  is 
wonderful  to  see  how  much  of  this  work  he 
will  do  in  a  few  minutes  when  he  happens  to 
get  loose.  Everybotly  has  heard  of  the  mon- 
key whose  curiosity  led  him  to  the  mouth  of  a 
cannon  to  see  how  it  went  off;  when  he  paid 
for  his  peeping  with  the  loss  of  his  head.  In 
a  ship,  while  the  men  were  busy  in  fetching 
powder  from  below,  and  making  cartridges,  a 
monk(;y  on  board  took  up  a  lighted  candle, 
and  ran  down  to  the  powder-room  to  see  what 
they  were  about ;  but  happily  was  overtaken 
just  as  he  got  to  the  lantern,  and  thrown  out 
at  the  nearest  port-hole  into  the  sea,  with  the 
lighted  candle  in  his  hand.  Another  lost  his 
life  by  the  spirit  of  mimicry ;  he  had  seen  his 
master  shaving  his  own  face,  and  at  the  first 
opportunity,  took  up  the  razor  to  shave  him- 
self, and  made  shift  to  cut  his  own  throat. 
When  the  wild  monkeys  have  escaped  to  the 
tojis  of  trees,  the  people  below  who  want  to 
catch  them,  show  them  the  use  of  gloves,  by 
putting  them  on  and  pulling  them  off  repeat- 
edly ;  and  when  the  monkeys  are  supposed  to 
have  taken  the  hint,  they  leave  plenty  of 
gloves  on  the  ground,  having  first  lined  them 
with  pitch.  The  monkeys  come  down,  put 
on  the  gloves,  but  can  not  pull  them  olF  agam  ; 
and  when  they  are  surprised,  betaking  them- 
selves to  the  trees  as  usual,  they  slide  back- 


ward and  are  taken.  A  monkey  who  had  seen 
his  mistress  upon  her  pillow  in  a  niyl:f<'ap, 
which  at  her  rising,  she  |iulled  oil'  and  liioij- 
upon  a  chair,  puts  on  the  eaji,  lavs  his  hcail 
upon  tlie  jiillow,  and  by  persiMiatiiii,'  llir  lady. 
mode  himself  ten  tiir.es  more  frightful  and 
ridiculous;  asawkwarfl  piMiple  ,'o,  when  ihiy 
ape  their  superiors,  ond  alfect  a  fashion  whirli 
is  above  their  s])herc.  A  mischievous  dis- 
position is  always  inclined  to  jierKeeution. 
There  are  minds  whose  greatest  jileasure  it  is 
to  ride  and  tense  the  minds  of  (Jilier  peiipli>. 
A  gentleman  in  the  country  kejit  a  moiikev, 
who  took  to  riding  his  hogs,  especially  one  of 
them,  which  he  coirunonly  singled  out  as  fit- 
test for  liis  use  ;  and,  leaping  upon  its  hack, 
with  his  face  toward  tin:  tail,  he  wliip|ii(|  it 
uimier(,ifully,  and  drov(!  it  about  till  it  could 
run  no  longer.  The  hogs  lived  under  such 
continiuil  terrors  of  mind,  that  when  the  nujn- 
key  first  came  abroad  in  tht;  morning,  they  used 
to  set  u[)  a  great  cry  at  the  sight  of  him.  A 
well-known  nobleman  (nee  had  a  wild  horse, 
whom  nobody  could  ride.  "  I  know  not  what 
your  lordshif)  con  do  with  him,"  said  one, 
"  but  to  set  the  monkey  u])on  his  back."  So 
they  ])ut  a  pad  on  the  horse,  ond  set  the  mon- 
key upon  it  with  a  switch  in  his  hand,  wliich 
he  used  upon  the  horse,  and  set  hiin  into  a 
furious  kicking  and  galloj)ing  ;  but  Pug  kejit 
his  scot  and  exercised  liis  switch.  The  horse 
lay  down  upon  the  ground ;  but  when  he 
threw  himself  on  one  side,  tlie  monkey  was 
up  on  the  other  ;  he  ran  into  a  wood  witli  him 
to  brush  him  off;  but,  if  a  tree  or  a  bush  oc- 
curred on  one  side,  the  monkey  slijiped  to  the 
other  side ;  till  at  last  the  horse  was  so  sick- 
ened, and  fatigued,  and  broken-spirited,  that 
he  ran  home  to  the  stable  for  protection. 
When  the  monkey  was  removed,  a  boy  mount- 
ed him,  who  managed  the  horse  with  ease, 
and  he  never  gave  any  trouble  afterward.  In 
all  the  actions  of  the  monkey,  there  is  no  ap- 
pearance of  anything  good  or  useful,  nor  any 
species  of  evil  that  is  wanting  in  them.  They 
are,  indeed,  like  to  mankind  ;  they  can  ride  a 
pig  as  a  man  rides  a  horse,  or  better,  and  are 
most  excellent  jockeys ;  but  after  all,  they  are 
only  like  the  worst  of  the  human  species.  If 
all  the  qualities  of  the  monkey  •were  put  to- 
gether, they  constitute  what  is  properly  called 
ill-nature  ;  and,  if  any  person  would  know 
what  an  ill-natured  man  is,  that  man  is  a  mon- 
key to  all  intents  ond  purposes,  with  the  ad- 
dition of  reason,  which  makes  his  character 
much  worse,  and  the  loss  of  religion  and  con- 
science, which  is  worst  of  all ;  for  without 
these,  reason  is  rather  a  disadvantage. 


Life. — The  advantage  of  living  does  not 
consist  in  length  of  days,  but  in  the  right  im- 
provement of  them. 


immA 


NHfai 


A  niorikfv  who  liiiil  hh'H 
licr  pillcpw  ill   It  ni;i!:'cii|), 

nIic  piilli'il  (ilV  mill  liiiiij; 
(in  the  ciij),  liiys  his  liciul 
I  by  pcrsdimiinir  t)ii'  liidy, 
ur.i'*  nu>rv  rriitliit'iil  nnil 
nrd  |)('()|ilr^  ,!ii,  wlicii  tlii'v 
iukI  alli'c-r.  It  t'lisliiiiii  wliii'li 
TR.     A  iiiiscliicvims  (Ijs- 

iiirliiicd  to  |ii'is(i'utiiiii. 
loso  firciitfst  pltiiMirc  it  is 
le  iniiids  of  oilier  iiioplr, 
'  cnuntry  kept  a  iiiimkt'y, 
lis  lios«,  ('sp('<iiilly  one  of 
iinoiily  hIiujIciI  oiii  as  (it- 
d,  Iciipiim  upon  its  imck, 
d  the  tail,  lie  whipped  it 
Irovi!  it  iihoiit  till   it  could 

0  hos«  lived  under  Hueli 
triiiid,  tliat  when  the  iiion- 
(I  ill  the  moriiin;.',  tlii^y  used 
/  at  the  si;;ht  of  hiiri.  A 
nil  (Bee  had  a  wild  liorso, 

ride.  "  I  know  not  vvliat 
do  with  hitn,"  said  one, 
ikny  ujion  Ids  back."  So 
ic  horse,  niid  set  the  mou- 
3witch  in  his  hand,  which 
lorse,  and  set  liiin  into  a 

gnlloi)iiig  ;  liut  Pug  kejit 
I'd  his  switch.  The  horse 
c  ground ;  but  when  he 
no  side,  the  inonkey  was 

1  ran  into  a  wood  with  him 
ut,  if  a  tree  or  a  liush  oc- 
the  monkey  slipped  to  the 
ast  the  horse  was  so  sick- 
and  broken-sjiirited,  that 

he  stable  for  protection, 
vns  removed,  a  boy  mount- 
fed  the  horse  with  ease, 
iny  trouble  afterward.  In 
e  monkey,  there  is  no  a])- 
ig  good  or  useful,  nor  any 

15  wanting  in  them.  They 
mankind  ;  they  can  ride  a 
I  horse,  or  better,  and  are 
;y8 ;  but  after  all,  they  arc 
of  the  human  species.  If 
the  monkey  were  put  to- 
ute  what  is  properly  called 

any  person  would  know 
man  is,  that  man  is  a  mon- 
md  purposes,  with  the  ad- 
hich  makes  his  character 

16  loss  of  religion  and  con- 
worst  of  all ;  for  without 
ler  a  disadvantage. 


antage  of  living  does  not 
days,  but  in  the  right  im- 


Freaent  Appnarance  of  Jorasalam. 


TRAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND-N".  5. 

BY  IIARBIKT  MARTINKAU. 

Our  last  view  of  Jerusalem  wos  very  fine. 
We  hKiked  liack  from  a  ridge  on  the  northern 
road,  and  saw  it  lying,  bright  and  stately,  on 
its  everlasting  hills;  but  it  looked  lower  than 
from  most  other  points  of  viesv,  from  the  Moab 
mountains  forming  its  lofty  background.  We 
descended  the  slope  before  US,  and  hist  sight 
of  the  holy  city  for  ever. 

Again  we  were  struck  with  the  vivid  color- 
ing of  the  scenery.     All  this  day,  the  hills 
were  dressed  in  briiiiant  hues  :  the  soil,  red, 
gray,  and  brown;  th(!  tilled  portions  of  the 
brightest  green;  and  the  shadows  purple  or 
lilac.     All  the  hills  show  traces  of  having  been 
once  terraced  ;  and  they  were  still  completely 
so  in  the  neighborhood  of  our  encampment  this 
evening — the  terraces  following  the  strata  of 
the  stone,  which  all  lay  slanting.     This  gives 
a  singular  air  of  wildiiess  to  the  most  cultiva- 
ted sjiots.     Here  and  there  were  basins  among 
the  hills,  the  red  soil  dropped  all  over  with 
fig  and  olive-trees,  or  full  of  com :  and  the 
ujiland  trucks  winding  among  slopes  all  strewni 
with  cisias,  iris,  cyilainen,  and  anemones,  and 
bristling  with  tall  flowering  hollyocks.     On 
we  went,  past  deep  old  wells  yawning  in  the 
hollows,  or   stone   cisterns  where  the  cattle 
were  crowiling  to  drink;  jiast  a  few  camels 
here  and  there,  browsing  in  the  dells;  past 
groups  of  Arabs  with  their  asses,  carrying  com 
to  the  city  ;  past  stone  villages  crowning  the 
steeps,  till  at  (i  P.  M.,  we  encamped  beside  a 
beautiful  old  pixil.    We  were  under  the  shelter 


of  a  rock  whose  inoist  crevices  were  fringed 
with  delicate  ferns.  While  dinner  wits  iire- 
]ittring,  I  wont  back  on  our  roa  I  -the  imrrow 
stony  road  whicdi  wound  round  the  verdant 
promontory  ojiiiosite  to  our  rock — to  find  a 
honeysuckle  which  I  had  seen  eliinbing  and 
blossoming  to  a  great  height  :  and  I  brought 
back  a  charming  handful  of  flowers. 

While  wc  where  at  dinner  in  the  tent,  a 
soimd  of  scurtling  was  heard  outs^ile;  and  when 
our  dragoman  next  entered,  he  was  out  of 
breath.  "  We  afterward  heard  the  wholcstory, 
and  were  amused  to  find  how  zealous  our  Mo- 
hammedan servants  could  hf  in  the  cause  of 
Christians.  Some  Arabs,  with  their  loaded 
mules,  had  come  with  'Jie  intention  of  encamp- 
ing beside  the  pool :  and,  on  finding  the  ground 
pa"rtly  occupied,  fnough  there  was  plenty  of 
room"  left,  they  became  abusive,  and  wonder- 
ed aloud  what  business  these  cursed  Christians 
had  in  their  country.  Our  dragoiniiii  resented 
this,  and  threw  the  speaker  down  over  the 
tent-ropes.  There  was  tlien  a  stout  scutlle, 
niid  our  cook  coming  to  help,  and  the  Arabs 
falling  one  upon  another  over  the  tent-pegs  in 
the  dlirk,  they  had  the  worst  of  it.  and  went 
oir  vowing  vengeance.  We  heard  no  more 
of  them,  however. 

The  next  morning,  we  saw  the  Mediterra- 
nean, like  a  basin  of  deep  blue  water  between 
two  hills.  We  were  not  going  toward  it,  how- 
ever, bu*:  to  Nabloiis,  the  onciciit  Syclinr; 
where  lies  that  .Jacob's  well,  at  which  the 
woman  of  Samaria  was  wont  to  draw  water. 

Our  road  lay  through  a  most  tertile  valley 
now  culled  Hawarrah,  where  the  crops  were 
splendid  for  miles,  and  the  villages  were  thick- 


1-  ■ 


i4f^- 


,.;iii. 
4'> 


:%r- 


I' 


'f«iS^ 


;,<»"••■■ 


im*' 


r 


186 


TRAVELS  IN  THF  HOLY  LAND. 


Terrace  Cultivation. 


ly  planted  on  the  hills.  The  ground  rose  in 
a  series  of  table-lands,  of  which  there  wos  a 
succession  of  three,  when  we  were  leaving  the 
rich  Huwnrrah  valley.  The  roads  in  this 
part  of  the  holy  land  were  mere  lanes  full  of 
stones  between  wiilla.  or  tracks  through  Qlive 
grounds  and  meadows,  or  paths  running  along 
siielvcs  of  the  rocks,  with  a  bit  of  rocky  stair- 
case at  each  end,  about  ascending  or  descend- 
ing whith  our  good  horses  madt.  no  difficulty. 
Before  entering  the  valley  where  old  Sychrr 
lay  between  the  mountains  Ebal  and  Gerizim, 
we  came  to  the  fine  fertile  parcel  of  ground 
which  Jacob  bought.  The  valley  opens  out 
into  this  wide  basin ;  and  near  the  junction  of 
the  valley  and  the  basin  is  the  old  well  which 
is  the  su()p(i8ed  scene  of  the  conversation  of 
Jesus  with  the  Samaritan  woman.  Somi;  of 
our  party  wound  round  the  base  of  the  hill  to 
the  well;  and  some  (and  I  for  one)  rode  by 
the  ui)por  path,  over  the  shoulder  of  the  hill, 
and  came  down  on  the  other  side.  I  had  thus 
a  fine  view  of  the  whole  locality  ;  of  the  val- 
ley where  the  city  lies — a  narrow  valley,  rich 
with  fig  and  olive-aroves,  and  overhung  by 
the  rocky  bases  of  Ebal  and  Gerizim,  where 
the  S({uare  black  entrances  of  tombs  dotted  the 
strata  of  the  rocks.  From  this  height,  Jacob's 
land  l(X)ked  a  beautiful  expanse.  The  well 
is  a  mere  rough  heap  of  stones,  with  a  hole  in 


the  middle,  nearly  closed  up.  What  there  is 
below-ground,  I  can  not  say ;  but  this  is  all 
that  is  to  be  seen  on  the  surface.  It  is  not  a 
well  likely  to  be  in  use  now,  for  there  are 
many  springs  and  shallow  cistcuis  (though  no 
well)  between  this  and  the  town,  which  lies 
about  a  mile  and  a  holf  oir. 

Everybody  knows  that  the  Jews  had  no 
friendly  dealings  with  the  Samaritans  in  the 
time  of  Jesus.  The  ((uarrel  had  then  lasted 
above  500  years.  How  many  suns  had  gone 
down  upon  their  wrath!  The  Samaritans 
had  wished  to  assist  the  Jews  in  rebuilding 
the  temple  of  Jerusalem :  but  the  Jews  hated 
them  as  a  mixed  race,  and  would  not  admit 
that  they  had  any  right  to  share  in  temple 
worship,  or  any  other  Jewish  jjrivileges.  It 
really  was  a  most  serious  f^lijeciion  to^  the 
Samaritans,  that  they  were  of  a  mixed  race ; 
not  only  because  the  Jews  believed  that  they 
held  the  promises  on  the  very  ground  of  the 
purity  of  their  race;  but  because  the  inter- 
marriages of  the  former  Samaritan  Israelites 
with  Assyrians  and  others  disposed  them  to 
idolatry,  or  at  least  to  a  worship  as  mixed  as 
their  race.  So  the  Samaritans  wero  excluded 
from  the  rebuilding  of  the  temple,  above  500 
yearsB.C.  And  not  being  perinitlcd  to  help, 
they  did  nil  thoy  could  to  hinder.  About  100 
years  after,  they  obtained  leave  from  the  Per- 


iloseJ  up.  What  there  is 
1  not  sny  ;  but  this  is  all 
I  the  surface.  It  is  not  a 
ti  use  now,  for  there  are 
lallow  cisterns  (though  no 
anil  the  town,  which  lies 

inlf  oir. 

's  that  the  Jews  had  no 
th  the  Samaritans  in  the 
e  (juarrel  had  then  lasted 
:Iow  many  suns  had  gone 
vrath!  "The  Samaritans 
*t  tlie  Jews  in  rebuilding 
ilem:  but  the  Jews  hated 
ace,  and  would  not  admit 
right  to  share  in  temple 
er  Jewish  jirivileges.  It 
serious  ritijeclion  to^  the 
3y  were  of  a  mixed  race ; 
;  Jews  believed  that  they 
n  the  very  ground  of  the 
!;  but  because  the  inter- 
rmer  Sainariran  Israelites 
i  others  ilispo.^ed  them  to 
to  a  worship  ns  mixed  as 
Samaritans  wcro  excluded 
of  the  temple,  above  500 
t  being  )iermitied  to  help, 
aid  to  hinder.  About  100 
:aincd  leave  from  the  Per- 


IS 


.:s 


■*n 


^■iimt 


*»*' 


18S 


TRAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND. 


sian  court  (to  wliicli  both  the  Jows  and  they  | 
were  sui)jcet),  to  built   u   secimil  temple  to  i 
Jeli.ivali;  and  they  build  it  on  Mount  Gerii'.im.  | 
This  wus  a  shacking  impiety  in  the  sight  of 
the  Jews  ;  and  it  was  the  occasion  of  a  num-  | 
her  of  liix-minded  Jews,  who  had  broken  the  ] 
hiw,  by  marrying  heathen  wives,  or  other- 1 
wiue,  and  who"  yet  wished  to  worshi()  Jehovah 
in  the  tin)|ilu,  resorting  to  Sychar,  to  join  the  ^ 
Samaritans,  and  render  thei'r  race  yet  more  ; 
mixed.      This  was   the  quarrel   which   the 
woman  of  Siimaria  referred  to  when  she  spoke 
of  the  (lueslion,  whether  "  men  ought  to  wor- 
ship in  this  mountain  or  in  Jerusalem  !"  and 
thus  isexpl  ined  her  wonder  that  Jesus,  being 
a  Jew,  should  ask  water  of  her  who  v/as  a 
Samaritan.     There  was  also  a  quarrel  about 
their  Scriptures;   the  Jews  insisting  tci  this 
day,  that  the  Samaritans  had  altered  two  or 
three  texts,  relating  to  these  two  mountains, 
Ebal  and  Uerizim,  in  their  own  sacred  copy 
of  the  books  of  Moses;  the  Samaritans  in- 
sisting, of  course,  that  theirs  was  the  true 


copy. 

From  my  early  youth,  I  had  always  taken 
a  strong  interest  in  this  old  quarrel,  feeling 
sympathy  with  both  parties,  and  a  keen  de- 
light in  tbe  wise  and  soothing  words  of  Jesus 
concerning  it.  What  a  truth  it  was  for  both 
partii's  to  hear,  that  God  was  now  to  be  wor- 
8hi|)i)ed  everywhere  ;  and  that  all  places  were 
henceforth  to  be  as  sacred  as  the  Jerusalem 
temple,  or  the  mountain  at  Sychar!  And 
what  a  le-.son  in  liberahty  it  was  to  the  Jews 
when  he  gave  honor  to  the  Samaritan  in  the 
parable,  on  account  of  his  good  works,  above 
the  sacred  priest  and  the  servant  of  the  tem- 
ple at  Jerusalem.  Both  parties  were,  of 
course,  wrong  in  their  fierce  anger :  bit  each 
had  much  to  i)lead  on  his  own  side.  The 
Jews  were  bound  to  keep  their  race  and  wor- 
ship pure  ;  and  held,  as  an  essential  matter  of 
faith,  that  Jehovah  would  have  but  one  dwel- 
ling-place ;  which  was  their  view  of  their 
temple.  And  the  Samaritans  were  surely 
right  in  persisting  in  their  endeavor  to  worship 
Jehovah,  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of  Moses, 
as  they  did  not  believe  in  strange  gods  ;  o'^d, 
if  the  Jews  could  not  admit  them  to  worship 
in  the  tenqile  at  Jerusalem,  they  could  not  be 
blamed  for  building  one  for  themselves. 

Such  was  always  my  view  of  the  matter  : 
and  such  being  mv  view,  it  was  w'.th  inde- 
scribable interest  that  I  looked  this  day  upon 
Mount  (ieri/.im,  and  remen;bered  thut  some- 
where in  the  city  we  were  aj)proaehing,  was 
treasured  that  sacred  copy  of  the  Samaritan 
Pentateuch  (books  of  Moses)  which  the  pos- 
sessors believe  to  be  the  true  one.  nnd  to  be 
3,500  yean  old.  The  most  learned  men 
among 'the  Christians  do  not  believe  it  to  be 
cearly  so  old  as  that :  but  they  have  a  high 


opinion  of  its  value,  and  would  follow  it  sooner 
than  any  other,  I  believe,  (^xcejiting  instances 
where  the  di'  puted  texts  about  Ebal  and  Ger- 
izim  are  concerned. 

The  present  inhabitants  of  the  city  hate  the 
Christians  as  heartily  as  the  old  iidiabitaiits 
used  to  hate  the  Jews.     The  present  inhabit- 
ants  are    Mohammedans  of  a  most    bigoted 
character;  and  they  would  admit  neither  Jews 
nor  Christians  within  their  gnti-s,  till  wiiliin 
a  few  years;  when  the  government  of  the 
country  (then  Egyptian)  compelled  them  to 
better  monners.     They  dared  Jiot  refuse  us 
admission;  but  they  behaved  with  great  in- 
solence.    We  had  to  ride  friim  end  to  end  of 
the  city,  our  tents  being  pitched  on  a  green 
on  the  other  side.     Our  horses  had  to  go  as 
sh)wly  as  ])ossible  through  the  narrow  stn^et, 
which  would  not  hold  two  abreast,  and  was 
paved  with   large    slippery    stones.      As  we 
rode  along,  one  behind  another,  at  this  funeral 
pace,  all  the  people  came  out  to  stare,  and 
many  to  mock.      Three  times,  things  were 
thrown  in  my  face ;  men  anil  women  laughed 
and  sneered,    and  children   thrust   out  their 
tongues.     I  felt  what  a  lesson  this  was  to  in- 
tolerance about  matters  of  opinion.      These 
people  hold  a  faith  which  is  very  nolde  and 
beautiful.     Few  of  us  know  how  noble  and 
beautiful   is  the  Mohammedan  faith.      And 
there   is  no  need  to  say  w'lat  their  visiters 
thought  of  the  Christian  faitli  as  they  hold  it: 
and  yet,  what  a  scene  of  hatred  and  misun- 
derstanding was  here!     And  thus  it  is,  but  too 
often,  in  the  streets  of  other  cities,  wher(^  men 
ought  to  know  better  than  todes])ise  each  other 
for  worshipping  the  same  God  in  a  dillerent 
manner.     In  the  streets  of  other  cities,  men 
take  upon  themselves  to  pity  and  despise  one 
another,  with  no  better  knowledge  in  reality 
of  one  another's  views  and  feelings,  than  these 
Mohammedans  had  of  ours,  or  we  of  theirs. 

At  last,  we  were  through  !  and  glad  I  was 
to  issue  from  the  gate  at  the  furtlier  end.  But 
a  sad  sight  awaited  us  there.  A  company  of 
lepers  were  under  the  trees,  crying  out  to  us 
for  charity,  and  stretching  out  their  maimed 
hands.  It  is  a  terrible  sight,  which  we  see 
too  often  in  that  country,  it  saddened  us  at 
Jerusalem,  almost  every  day. 

Our  tents  were  pitched  on  a  weedy  plot  of 
cround,  among  gardens,  orchards,  and  rippling 
streams,  and  looking  up  to  Ebal  on  the  one 
side,  and  (Jeri/.im  on  the  other.  Ebal  is  still 
the  sternei -looking  mountain  of  the  two;  but 
Gerizim  has  lost  much  of  its  fertility.  Both 
have  tombs  and  votive  buildings  on  them, 
which  show  them  to  hove  been  places  of  pil- 
grimage. 

Affr  dinner,  we  ascended  a  height,  past  the 
Mohammedan  cemetery,  whence  we  had  a  fine 
view,  in  the  last  sunlight,  of  this  most  beauti' 


M 


',  anil  would  follow  it  sooner 
liolicvc,  cxct'i)!!!!;;  instances 
il  texts  about  Ebal  and  Ger- 
1. 

labitants  of  the  eity  hate  the 
rtily  as  tht.-  old  iidiubitants 
ews.  The  present  inliiihit- 
tiiedans  of  a  most  l)ii;oted 
■y  would  admit  neither  Jew's 
tliin  their  {iiites,  till  williin 
en  the  goveniment  of  the 
yptian)  cimipelled  them  to 
They  dareil  not  refuse  us 
icy  behaved  with  great  in- 
1  to  ride  from  end  to  end  of 
}  being  pitched  on  a  green 
.     Our  horses  had  to  go  ns 

through  the  narrow  striM't,  I 
hold  two  abreast,  anil  was 
!  slippery    stones.      As  we 
diind  another,  at  this  funeral 
iple  came  out  to  stare,  and 

Three  times,  things  were 
e  ;  men  and  women  laughed 
1  children  thrust  out  their 
diat  a  lesson  this  was  to  in- 
natters  of  opinion.  These 
th  which  is  very  noble  and 
nf  us  know  how  noble  and 
Mohammedan  faith.      And 

to  say  w'lat  their  visiiers 
ristian  fait'ii  as  they  hold  it : 
scene  of  hatred  and  misun- 
ere!  And  thus  it  is,  but  too 
ts  of  other  cities,  where  men 
ter  than  todesjnsc  each  other 
he  some  God  in  a  dilU'rent 

streets  of  other  cities,  men 
;lves  to  pity  and  despise  one 
better  knowledge  in  reality 
dews  and  feelings,  than  these 
ad  of  ours,  or  wc  of  tlieirs. 
ire  through  !  and  glad  I  was 
Tate  at  the  further  end.  But 
ed  us  there.  A  company  of 
r  the  trees,  crying  out  to  us 
itretching  out  their  maimed 
terrible  sight,  which  we  see 
country.  It  saddened  us  at 
it  every  day. 

!  pitched  on  a  weedy  plot  of 
irdens.  orchards,  and  rippling 
king  up  to  Ebal  on  the  one 
n  on  the  other.  Ebal  is  still 
ig  mountain  of  the  two ;  but 
much  of  its  fertility.     Both 

votive   buildings  on   them, 
n  to  hove  been  places  of  pil- 

i/e  ascended  a  height,  past  the 
inetery,  whence  we  had  a  fine 
sunlight,  of  this  most  beauti-    j 


TRAVELS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND. 


189 


ful  city.  It  was  once  the  capital  of  Sarnarin ; 
and  it  is  still,  ami  must  ever  be,  from  its  situa- 
I  tion,  a  very  striking  iilace.  It  eonipletidy  HHs 
j  till'  valley,  from  side  to  side,  and  ascends  a 
little  way  u|)  the  skirts  of  (rerizim.  Its  houses, 
with  their  flat  white  roofs,  are  hedged  in  by 
the  groves  wdi'  !i  surround  the  town  :  vines 
spread  from  roof  to  roof,  and  fro.'ii  court  to 
court  ;  two  or  three  palms  sjiring  up  in  the 
midst,  and  higher  aloft  still,  a  graceful  minaret 
here  and  there. 

Tiieii,  to  my  delight,  we  descended  to  seek 
the  Samaritan  syna:,'iigue.  '^Ve  were  guided 
to  it,  and  I  saw  nearly  all  the  Samaritans  of 
the  |)lac(!;  good-looking  people,  the  men  wear- 
ing tlie  high,  helmet-like  turbuti  which  we  see 
in  the  portraits  of  Josej)hus,  and  other  old  Jews. 
They  said  their  number  was  sixty  in  thi-^  place, 
and  about  forty  more  elsewhere — only  a  huu- 
(Ir  '  in  the  whole,  world.  They  declared  their 
c  priest  and  the  rest  of  their  sect  to  be  at 
tieuoa.  They  keep  three  great  feasts  in  the 
year,  going  up  (ierizim  as  the  Ji.'ws  used  to 
go  up  to  the  temple. 

Tl'.e  synairogue  was  a  small,  ordinary-look 
ing  chapel,  within  a  curlainrd  recess  of  which 
is  k<;pt  the  old  copy  of  the  I'entateuch.  It 
was  shown  to  us,  after  somt;  entreaty  on  our 
l)art ;  but  I  found  it  was  imiiossible  that  I 
Could  be  allowed  to  touch  it. 

I  telt  it  a  great  event  to  have  seen  it.  Ir  is 
written  on  a  sort  of  vellntn,  in  the  Samaritan 
text,  clear,  small,  and  even.  The  vellum  is 
tattered  ;  but  it  is  well  mounted  on  parch- 
inetit.  The  |)riest  himself  dures  not  touch 
the  MS.  without  careful  purilication ;  and 
he  holds  it  by  the  ends  of  the  rollers  on  which 
it  is  fixed  as  a  scroll,  like  the  copies  of  the 
Jewish  law  in  synagogues. 

Wc  were  lighted  tlirough  the  archways  of 
the  street,  on  our  way  home,  and  down  the 
hill,  by  a  single  candle  which  burned  steadily 
in  the  still  air. 

Our  employment  this  evening  was  reading 
aloud  the  liistory  of  the  Jewish  and  .Samaritan 
controversy,  and  the  fourth  chapter  of  tiic 
gospel  of  John.  While  we  were  thus  read- 
ing in  our  tent,  the  jackal  was  in  full  cry  on 
the  slopes  of  Geri/.im. 

We  passed  the  night  of  the  14th  of  April 
in  our  tents,  just  outsiih;  the  town  of  Jenin. 
Our  dragoman  had  warned  us  of  the  thie\  ish 
character  of  the  peo])le  of  this  neighborhood, 
so  that  we  had  an  eye  to  such  of  our  jjroperty 
as  was  lying  about  while  the  tents  were  pre- 
paring. Tlie  governor  called,  had  cotlee,  and 
appointed  four  guards:  so  that  we  sujiposed 
ourselves  safe  from  robbery.  But  in  the 
morning  the  best  umie  was  gone :  and  the  ftmr 
guards  declared  themselves  wholly  unable  to 
say  when,  how,  and  by  whom,  the'aiiimal  was 
set  loose  from  its  fastenin;;s  and  carried  otF. 


I  Our  departure  wos  delayed  :  the  governor  was 
'sent  for;  and  a  ]ireteiiiled  impiiry  was  made  : 
I  and  this  gave  me  opportnnily  to  walk  about 
j  for  an  hour  after  breakfast — through  the  little 
j  town,  through  an  orange  grove  where  every 
I  tree  was  white  with  blossom  ;  and  up  a  neigli- 
i  boring  hiil,  whence  I  saw,  to  my  surjirise,  a 
I  snowy  mountain  peak  to  ihe  northeast.     This 
\vas  the  summit  of  (Jebel  Sluukh — the  mount- 
ain which  closes  it.  the  north  end  of  the  valley 
of  the  Jordan,  and  then  joins  on  to  the  range 
of  Antilibanus.     From  my  jmint  of  view,  T 
could  see  too  tilc  beautifur|)luin  of  Esdraelon 
which  we  were  to  traverse  this  day  ;  and  the 
hills  to  the  north  which  enclosed  Nazareth, 
where  we  hoped  to  slee|)  this  night:  and  to 
the  west,  some  tokens  of  the  rise  of  a  line  of 
hills  which  we  should  soon  see  swelling  into 
Mount  Curmel,  where  we  were  to  go  to-mor- 
row.    What  a  prosj)ect  lay  before  both  eye 
and  mind  ! 

Our  dragoman  told  us  we  might  make  our- 
selves easy  al)out  our  mule.  He  had  no  doubt 
it  was  in  8omi>  stable  in  the  town.  We  should 
be  asked  to  leave  a  muleteer  behind,  and  in  a 
day  or  two  the  animal  would  be  delivered  to 
him,  with  a  demand  of  a  few  ])iastres  for  the 
trouble  of  finding  the  nmle  on  the  mountains. 
It  is  i)robable  that  nnitters  stoinl  exactly  so, 
for  the  muleteer  followed  in  two  days  with 
the  beast,  having  |)aid  fourteen  piastres  for 
the  troiible  of  lindin^:  it ! 

Thus  far,  wt'  had  travelled  oidy  among  hills 
and  along  valleys;  and  to-day  we  heartily  en- 
joyed our  ride  over  the  rich  plain  of  Esdraelon. 
It  was  fertile  and  ilowery  from  end  to  end; 
and  the  young  [lanridges  ran  under  the  very 
feet  of  my  horse.  .Small  Ijirds  (lilted  in  mul- 
titudes on  every  side ;  and  tall  cranes  stood 
among  the  high  grass.  The  Carmel  range 
grew  upon  the  sight,  as  we  had  expected  ; 
and  the  blue  hills  of  Galilee  closed  in  the  view 
northward.  Liitlc  Mount  Hermon  rose  on 
our  sighl :  and  on  its  ninth  acclivity  lay  the 
villago  of  Nuin.  A  round  hill,  droppeil  over 
with  old  oaks,  was  Mount  Tabor.  V^illages 
were  well  placed  on  such  rising  grounds  as 
there  were  amidst  the  plain  :  and  our  track 
lav,  broad,  level,  and  green,  among  rows  of 
tall  artichokes  and  patches  of  rich  cultivation. 

When  aliiiut  two  thirds  of  the  way  over, 
we  crossed  the  great  caravan  track  from  Egypt 
to  Damascus.     We  huil  been  to  Egypt,  and 

we  were  going  to  J) ascus;  but  we  did  not 

follow  this  track.     We  held  on  northward,  to 
the  (Jalilean  hills. 

We  entered  among  these  hills  about  an 
hour  bef(u-o  we  reached  Nu/arelh,  winding  up 
and  down,  and  round  the  base  of  one,  and  the 
shoulder  of  another,  sometimes  among  scatter- 
ed wood,  sometimes  over  stony  tracts,  and 
always  in  sight  of  many  goats.     After  mount- 


,,  1 1' . 


'■»  " 


190 


TRAVELa  m  THE  HOLY  LAND. 


Moant  Cannel. 


ing  a  very  steep  pass,  anfl  coining  to  a  well, 
anrl  winding  rouml  a  hill  unce  more,  we  came 
suddenly  in  sight  of  ])retty  Nu/.areth.  Its 
basin  of  fertility  is  channins; — its  little  plain, 
full  of  gardens  and  groves  and  fields,  surround- 
ed, as  it  seemed,  completely  by  hills.  The 
to^vn  is  in  fact  a  poor  one  ;  but,  built  of  stone, 
and  covering  a  good  deal  of  ground,  and  ex- 
tending a  little  way  up  the  western  slopes,  it 
looks  well  from  above. 

Here,  then,  we  had  before  our  eyes  the 
scenery  amidst  which  Jesus  grew  up.  Its 
character  can  not  have  changed  very  murh 
since  his  day.  A  fertile  basin  among  the 
everlasting  hills,  and  the  primitive  little  town 
which  thoy  protect,  must  bear  much  the  same 
aspect  from  age  to  age.  The  great  addition 
is  the  convent  and  church  of  the  Latin  monks : 
but  these  buildings  do  not  stand  out  ofTensive- 
ly  to  the  eye ;  but  mingle  well  with  the  flat- 
roofed  stone  houses  of  the  town.  In  this 
convent  we  had  to  take  up  our  abode.  We 
longed  to  pitch  our  tents  on  the  green  below 
the  town:  but  there  was  apprehension  of 
rain,  and  it  was  thought  better  to  go  under 
the  convent  roof;  which  is  truly  a  hospitable 


one. 


I      I  do  not  know  what  it  is  about  the  services 
of  this  church  which  is  soadbclingtostrangers: 
bat  I  observe  that  all  travellers  speak  of  the 
siron^'  cmo'.ions  excited  here.     Few  believe 
tliat  the  i)kces  under  the  church  are  what  they 
are  siiiil  to  be.     Few  t)eliove  that  the  little 
'  caves  shown!  by  the  minks  are  the  kitchen 
i  and  sittins-room  of  the  jmrents  of  Jesus  ;  and 
:  that  the  sjiois  marked  out  by  two  granite  pil- 
lars are  those  where  Mary  and  the  angel  stood 
!  nt  the  time  of  the  annunciation.     I  <io  not  at 
'  nil  believe  that  these  jdaces  were  thus  con- 
secrated :  yrt  I  have  seldom  been  so  moved 
I  as  1  was  tfiis  afternoon  in  the  church  of  the 
\  annunciation  nt  Nazareth.     We  were  at  least 
I  in  the  place  of  residence  of  Jesus,  and  saw 
what  ho  saw  every  day  ;  the  hollows  of  the 
valleys,  the  outlines  of  the  hills,  the  streams 
in  their  courses,  and  the  wild  flowers  which 
everywhere  on  the  slopes  spread  under  foot. 
We  were  in  the  place  which  he  called  home. 
Entering  the  church  with  these  impressions 
on  our  minds,  we  were  saluted  with  a  chant 
from  a  full  choir ;  a  chant  sonorous,  swelling, 
and  exact ;  the  best  music,  incomparably,  that 
I  heard  abroad.     It  told  ujion  our  very  hearts- 
Of  course,  we  visited  the  rocky  recesses 


"F 


1 


M-hat  it  is  aboTit  the  services 
ich  is  so  ailc-'cting  to  strangers : 
It  all  travellf?rs  speak  of  the 
rxcitoil  here.  Few  believe 
iilf'i-  the  church  are  what  they 
Few  l)clieve  that  the  little 
the  miiiks  are  the  kitchen 
of  the  jiarents  of  Jesus;  and 
irked  out  by  two  granite  pil- 
ere  Mary  anil  the  angel  stood 
le  jinnunciatioi).  I  do  not  at 
the^e  ]ilaccs  were  thus  con- 
have  seldom  been  so  moved 
:enioon  in  the  church  of  the 
Nazareth.  We  were  at  least 
residence  of  Jesus,  and  saw 
cry  day ;  the  hollows  of  the 
ines  of  the  hills,  the  strenras 
and  the  wild  flowers  which 
;he  slopes  spread  under  foot, 
place  which  he  called  home, 
lurch  with  these  impressions 
e  were  saluted  with  a  chant 
;  a  chant  sonorous,  swelling, 
3est  music,  incomparably,  that 
It  told  ujjon  our  very  hearts, 
e  visited  the  rocky  recesses 


Nazareth 


l! 


!i 


Iwlnw  the  church  which  are  called  the  abode 
of  J()i?('ph  and  Mary ;  and  saw  no  reason  to 
ouppose  that,  while  citizens  of  Nazareth,  they 
lived  in  a  grotto,  rather  than  a  house.  We 
were  shown  too  a  portrait  of  Jesus,  which  the 
monks  believe  to  have  been  copied  from  an 
original  taken  in  his  lifetime  ! — as  if  there  had 
been  portrait-painting  of  that  kind  in  those 
days !  and  as  if  the  Jews  would  have  con- 
sidered it  lawful  if  they  had !  Such  ignorance 
on  the  part  of  the  monks  prevents  our  relying 
on  any  traditions  given  by  them :  and  I  will 
therefore  say  nothing  of  the  other  places  point- 
ed out  as  sacred  by  them.  Nazareth  itself  is 
sacred  enough ;  and  it  is  merely  ofTcnsive  to 
one's  feelings  to  speak  of  some  of  the  strange 
stories  the  monks  tell,  and  really  believe, 
about  Jesus  and  his  family,  in  exhibiting  what 
they  declare  to  be  the  scenes  of  his  life  and 
daily  actions. 

The  next  day,  the  uppermost  feeling  through- 
out was  of  delight  at  the  thought  of  the  natur- 
al beauty  amidst  which  Jesus  was  reared. 
From  the  heights  above  the  town  we  looked 
down  into  dells  full  of  verdure ;  and  abroad 
over  the  rich  plain  we  had  crossed  the  day 
before,  and  over  toward  Carmel,  where  we 
were  going  to-day.  Wc  rode  among  the  hills 
for  two  hours,  observing  that  clumps  of  forest 
trees  became  more  frequent,  and  that  the 
scenery  was  changing  its  character :  and  then 
we  entered  upon  a  tract  which  was  so  like  the 
outskirts  of  an  English  nobleman's  park  that 
I  could  hardly  believe  we  were  in  the  holy 
land.  Rich  grasses  covered  the  slopes  and 
levels,  and  clumps  of  ilex  wooded  every  re- 
cess.    We  wound  along  under  these  clumps, 


I  and  along  the  glades  of  the  scattered  forest, 
'  and  up  broken  hanks,  and  then  again  throii£;h 
1  reaches  of  chcfiuered  shade.  And  how  could 
j  we  help  thinking  at  every  step  who  had  once 
!  been  here  before  us ! 

I  We  were  almost  sorry  to  leave  these  park- 
like hills,  through  we  were  descending  into 
the  plain  of  Zabulon,  and  Carmel  was  before 
us,  and  we  were  about  to  cross  the  old  river 
Kishon  which  Elijah  knew  so  well  when  he 
lived  in  this  region;  and  the  blue  sea  was  in 
sight ;  that  sea  from  which  Elijah's  servant 
saw  the  cloud  arise  which  was  no  bigger  than 
a  man's  hand. 

We  rode  at  the  foot  of  Carmel,  keeping 
the  river  Kishon  for  the  most  part  on  the  right 
hand.  There  could  not  be  a  finer  place  of 
assemblage  than  this  plain  for  the  children  of 
Israel,  and  the  worshippers  of  the  sun  (Baal) 
when  Elijah  summoned  them  to  meet.  From 
the  foot  of  Mount  Carmel,  which  stands  out 
boldly  into  the  sen,  the  beach  stretches  north- 
ward in  a  fine  sweep  of  fifteen  miles  to  Acre, 
and  the  old  Tyre.  The  plain  of  Zabulon, 
thus  enclosed  between  the  Galilean  hills,  Car- 
mel, and  the  sea,  held  the  assembled  multitude 
on  that  great  day.  The  worship  of  the  sun 
was  very  imijosing  in  all  the  countries  where 
it  subsisted.  We  have  all  heard  of  it  as  the 
worship  of  Apollo  in  Greece.  I  saw  mighty 
temples  to  the  same  god,  under  the  name  of 
Ra,  in  Egypt  and  Nubia ;  and  under  the  name 
of  Baal  at  Baalbec — a  few  days'  journey  from 
this  place  ot  the  foot  of  Carmel,  where  his 
hosts  of  priests  were  defied  by  Elijah  (1  Kings 
xviii.)  Here  stood  his  four  hundred  and  fifty 
prop'-ets,  in  oil  their  pomp. 


.-if 


■  'r 


y:'l 


"»H    „,..», 


POWER  OP  MUSIC. 


193 


Nt'xt  we  ascended  the  mountain  itself;  and 
we  s])erit  two  iiiplits  in  the  convent  on  its 
heights ;  80  thnt  the  whole  scene  is  well  irn- 
pn 'ssed  on  my  memory.  We  went  down  the 
moinituin-sid(!  tliut  nftemoon,  to  sec  the  coves 
wlieie  the  schools  of  the  prophets  used  to  lie; 
where  tin;  votiii^j  men  were  gathered  together 
to  leiini  wliut  was  known  of  religion,  mid  to 
prepare  tliemsclves  for  its  administrution. 
Whether  the  ])riiicii)al  cave  was  really  thus 
occiiiiied  or  not,  some  use  was  certainly  made 
of  it  in  ancient  times.  We  found  it  a  hirjje 
sipiare  grotio ;  a  spacious  apartment  in  the 
mountain  side — cool,  shadowy,  oud  solemn. 
All  about  its  entrance,  and  over  all  that  side 
of  the  mountain,  from  the  l)each  below  to  the 
convent  on  the  height,  was  a  ])erfect  jungle 
of  hollyoeks,  ilex,  odoriferous  shrubs,  herbs 
of  many  savors,  and  wild  flowers  ns  ^ny  as 
the  rainbow.  Dry  and  droopino;  was  all  this 
vegetation  when  K'ijah  came  hither  at  the  end 
of  the  h)n!;  dnpiiul.t,  and  cast  himstdf  liown 
upon  the  earth  while  his  servant  watched  on 
the  ridfje  above,  lint  oh  !  what  an  expanse 
of  sky  and  of  blue  sea  was  there  for  the  man's 
eye  to  ran<i;e  over  while  looking  for  a  token 
of  ajjproaching  rain  !  To-doy  there  was  not 
in  all  the  sky  a  cloud  so  big  as  a  man's  hand : 
but  instead  of  a  cloud,  then;  was,  at  evening, 
the  everlasting  sign  of  the  silver  l)ow.  When 
the  siui  had  sunk  beneath  the  waters,  and  left 
a  golden  glow  on  both  sea  and  sky,  the  young 
moon  hung  in  the  west  yet  a  little  while  he- 
fore  the  mild  si)ring  night  veiled  from  my 
watching  eyes  "the  excellency  of  Carmel." 


POWER  OF  MUSIC. 

It  has  heen  justly  said  that  music  had  no 
mortal  artist  for  its  mventor  ;  it  was  implant- 
ed in  man's  nature,  as  a  pure  and  heavenly 
gift,  by  the  great  Creator  himself.  Of  all  the 
fine  arts,  it  alone  comes  home  to  every  heart. 
The  uncultivated  rustic,  who  would  feel  less 
pleasure  in  contemplating  the  Apollo  of  Belvi- 
dere,  than  in  gazing  at  one  of  the  course-paint- 
ed plastcr-of-Puris  figures  h.iwked  through 
the  streets  of  our  cities,  and  would  turn  from 
one  of  the  finest  of  Titian's  paintings,  to  ad- 
mire some  flaring  sign  over  a  country  inn,  is 
alive  to  the  tones  of  music,  and  can  feel  all 
his  sympathies  awakened  by  a  tender  or  a 
lively  air  Music  is  so  much  a  part  of  our 
nature,  surrounds  us  so  completely  in  this  vo- 
cal world  of  ours,  that  its  influence  begins  at 
the  cradle,  and  only  ends  at  the  grave ;  it  has 
even  been  conceived  to  make  a  part  of  the 
enjoyment  in  a  happier  state  of  existence. 


There  is  a  sweet  harmony  even  in  inanintatc 
nature — the  measured  flow  of  the  wiitris,  the 
regiilar  rushing  of  the  tide,  the  wintry  gust 
sighing  through  the  woods,  or  the  sunniior 
breeze  rustling  the  heaves,  and  the  sweet 
echoes  retunieij  from  rock  to  glen,  or  breath- 
ing in  melting  cadence  along  the  waters— 
which  gives  the  listener  a  ff'eliiig  as  if  he 
were  admitted  to  a  communion  with  the  un- 
seen world. 

When  we  consider  the  music  of  the  anima- 
ted world,  the  singing  of  birds,  the  hum  of  in- 
sects, the  lowing  of  cattle,  it  seems  reasona- 
ble to  ask  whether  this  melody  is  nuant  for 
the  delight  of  num  alone  ?  Though  his  organs 
may  bo  more  delicately  adapt eil  for  musical 
sounds,  and  his  feelings  more  excpiisitely  alive 
to  them,  y(;t  we  may  still  believe  that  the  low- 
er creatures,  ])artiei|)ate  in  some  degree  in  the 
enjoyment — a  belief  that  may  be  more  readily 
granted,  from  the  innumerable  iiistanecs  on 
record,  of  the  pleasure  which  music  has  ap- 
peared to  give  them.  We  are  told  that  musi- 
cal sounds  have  wonderful  power  over  the 
stag,  exciting  complacency,  if  not  rajiture  ; 
and  that  his  enemies  frequently  employ  the 
shepherd's  j)ipc  to  lure  him  to  destruction. 
Mr.  Playford  mentions  that  he  niet  a  herd  of 
stags,  consisting  of  about  twenty,  on  the  road 
f()llovving  a  bugpipt^  and  a  violin.  So  long  as 
the  instruments  were  ))laved,  the  stags  went 
forward ;  when  the  music  ceased,  they  stopped. 
In  this  way  they  travelled  from  Yorkshire  to 
Hamilton  Court.  The  excitement  of  horses 
and  of  hounds,  when  they  hear  tire  hunter's 
horn",  is  well  known.  Stephanus  states  that 
he  saw  a  lion  leave  its  prey  to  listen  to  music. 
There  is  a  remarkable  mstancc  of  the  delight 
which  a  flock  of  sheep  and  some  goats  took, 
in  listening  to  the  flute,  mentioned  in  the  life 
of  Haydn.  A  party  of  young  jieoplo  were 
enjoying  themselves  one  summer's  day  on  the 
side  of  a  mountain  near  Lake  Maggiore.  One 
of  the  party  took  out  his  flute  and  began  to 
jday.  The  shec])  r.nd  goats,  which  were  fol- 
lowing each  other  toward  the  mountain,  with 
their  heads  bent  downward,  raised  them  at 
the  first  sound  of  the  flute,  and  all  advanced 
in  haste  to  the  sjwt,  from  which  the  music 
proceeded.  By  degrees,  they  flocked  around 
the  musician,  an<l  listened  in  motionless  delight. 
He  ceased  playing,  but  the  sheep  did  not  stir. 
The  shepherd  with  his  staff  oblige<l  those  that 
were  nearest  to  him  to  go  on  ;  but  when  tha 
flute-player  began  to  perform  again,  the  flock 
returned  to  him.  The  shepherd  became  im- 
patient, and  began  to  pelt  them  with  clods,  to 
force  them  to  move,  but  not  one  of  them  would 
stir.  The  shepherd  enraged  with  them, 
whistled,  scolded,  and  finally  pelted  them  with 
stones.  Such  as  were  struck  passed  on,  but 
those  who  were  not,  refused  to  stir.     The 


•..a*^ 


««« 


,  ax's" 


"**-.,« 


' 


194 


POWER  OF  MUSIC. 


shepherd  had  at  length  to  entreat  the  musi- 
cian to  ccdse,  before  he  could  pet  his  ilock  to 
move  ;  but  wlienevcr  he  resumed  the  instru- 
ment, they  would  stop  at  a  distance  to  listen. 
It  is  siiid  by  Goldsmith  and  others,  that  the 
elephant  np|)ears  delighted  with  music,  and 
very  readily  learns  to  beat  time,  to  move  in 
measure,  and  even  to  join  his  voice  to  the 
sound  of  the  drum  and  trumpet.  Not  long 
since,  an  officer  in  the  English  iirmy  mentioned, 
that  at  Gibraltor,  the  monkeys  used  to  come 
forward  to  listen  to  the  military  bands,  and 
during  the  time  of  their  performance,  would 
seat  themselves  on  a  wall  to  listen,  retiring  as 
soon  as  the  music  was  over.  It  is  well  known 
that  there  have  been  ilogs,  which  evinced  the 
greatest  pleasure  when  they  have  heard  mu- 
sic. The  story  of  the  dog  at  Rome,  which 
went  by  the  name  of  the  Opera  Dog,  from  his 
regular  attendance  at  the  opera,  is  well  au- 
thenticated ;  many  witnessed  his  ra])turcs,  and 
have  seen  him  when  he  could  not  gain  admit- 
tance to  the  theotre,  stand  with  his  ear  close 
to  the  wall,  to  catch  the  sounds.  Some  have 
evidently  distinguished  airs,  testifying  more 
delight  at  some  than  others.  Mr.  Chambers 
states  that  his  father  had  a  cot.  unlike  many 
of  her  kind — which  seem  heedless  of  all  nm- 
sic,  but  their  own  purring — for  she  evinced 
the  most  extraordinary  feeling,  whenever  she 
heard  the  song  of  "  ftlary's  Dream."  It  was 
frequently  and  most  sweetly  sung,  by  a  gen- 
tleman, who  was  sometimes  a  guest  in  the 
house.  Poor  puss  would  listen  with  rapt 
attention  till  she  heard,  "  Sweet  Mary,  wee]) 
no  more  for  me  !"  when  she  became  excited 
to  an  extraordinary  degree,  mewing  most  pit- 
eously.  Had  we  believed  in  the  transmigra- 
tion of  souls,  we  should  most  assuredly  have 
thought  that  "  sweet  Mary,"  was  again  an  in- 
habitant of  this  world,  in  the  shape  of  a  sleek 
tabby  cat.  It  has  been  said,  that  even  the 
wild  antelope  has  been  known  to  come  out  of 
the  woods  to  listen  to  music.  A  party  of 
choristers  experienced  surprise  owe  evening, 
when  they  were  enjoying  themselves  on  the 
banks  of  the  Mersey.  As  they  sat  upon  the 
grass,  they  joined  in  an  anthem ;  and  after  a 
while,  as  they  sang,  they  perceived  a  hare 
come  from  an  adjoining  woo<l,  and  sto|)  within 
about  twenty  yards  of  them,  turning  her  head 
v;ith  evident  |)leasi:re  to  catch  the  sound  of 
the  music.  Wlien  the  singing  ceased,  the 
hare  went  back  toward  the  wood.  When  she 
had  nearly  reached  it,  thi?  singing  was  resumed. 
She  sto|)ped,  turned  romd,  and  hurried  back 
to  the  spot  where  she  had  before  remained  to 
listen  :  here  she  stayed  in  evident  delight,  as 
long  as  the  music  continued.  When  it  was 
over,  she  walked  slowly  across  the  field,  and 
disappeared  in  the  wood.  In  Mexico,  it  is 
absolutely  required  that  the  swineherd  should 


have  a  musical  voice,  that  he  may  sing  when 
the  pigs  ([uarrel,  which  has  the  etleet  of  sooth- 
ing them,  ond  lulling  them  to  sleej)  at  the 
])ro])er  time,  which  greatly  I'romotes  their  fot- 
tening.  The  gushing  of'  the  wind,  and  all 
sounds,  it  is  well  known  have  a  great  etl'ect 
u|)on  these  creatures.  We  lately  observed  in 
th(!  streets  of  New  York,  a  number  of  dogs, 
dancing  correctly  souk;  of  the  most  ilifKcult 
waltzes,  to  the  tunes  jjluyed  by  their  master. 
Snakes  can  be  turned  by  nnisic  :  it  is  said  that 
even  when  irritated  by  pain  or  hunger,  they 
can  be  soothed  by  a  plaintive  air.  Sir  Wil- 
liam Jones  heard  from  a  person,  on  whose  ve- 
racity he  could  rely,  that  he  had  often  seen 
the  most  venomous,  and  malignant  snakes, 
leave  their  holes  upon  hearing  tunes  upon  the 
flute.  It  is  thus  the  Indians  free  the  houses 
which  are  infested  by  snak<'s ;  the  sound  of 
the  flute  entices  them  out  from  their  hiding. 
])laces  whore  they  lurk.  It  is  said  that  when 
the  negroes  search  for  lizards,  which  they 
make  use  of  for  food,  they  attract  them  by 
whistling  an  air.  We  may  almost  credit  the 
jjowers  of  the  lyre  of  Orpheus,  when  we  read 
of  a  gentleman  confined  in  (ho  Bastile,  who 
begged  the  governor  to  pennit  him  the  use  of 
his  lute,  to  soften  by  the  harmonies  of  his  in- 
strument, the  rigors  of  his  prison.  At  the 
end  of  a  few  days,  he  was  greatly  ostonished 
while  playing  <m  his  lute,  to  see  peeping  out 
of  their  holes  great  numbers  of  mice ;  and, 
descending  from  their  woven  habitations, 
crowds  of  si)iders,  which  formed  a  circle  about 
him,  while  he  continued  breathing  his  soul- 
subduing  instrument.  When  he  ceased  to 
j)lay,  the  assembly,  who  did  not  come  down 
to  see  his  person,  but  to  hear  his  instrument, 
immediately  broke  up.  As  he  iiad  a  great 
dislike  to  sjjiders,  it  was  two  days  before  he 
ventured  to  touch  his  instrument  again.  At 
length  having,  for  the  novelty  of  his  company, 
overcome  his  dislike  of  them,  he  recom- 
menced his  concert,  when  the  assembly  was 
by  far  more  numerous  than  at  first.  Thus  is 
this  anecdote  given  in  the  "  Curiosities  of  Lit- 
erature," and  has  often  been  reprinted.  It 
may  fairly  be  credited,  when  we  recollect  that 
bees,  when  flying  away,  will  lag  behind  if 
they  hear  any  tingling  sound,  and  their  flight, 
when  about  to  swarm,  can  be  ellectually  ar- 
rested by  the  sound  of  a  bell,  near  which  they 
will  settle  themselves.  Bullfinches  can  be 
taught  to  warble  an  air  with  the  roost  aston- 
ishing precision.  Sir  William  Jones  states 
on  good  authority,  that  when  a  celebrated  lu- 
tanist  was  playmg  to  q  large  company  in  a 
grove,  near  Shiraz,  the  nightingales  were  dis- 
tinctly seen  trying  to  vie  with  the  musician  ; 
sometimes  warbling  on  the  trees,  sometimes 
fluttering  from  branch  to  branch,  as  if  they 
wished  to  approach  the  instrument ;  and  at 


ice,  tlint  he  may  sinir  -wlien 
»hi('li  1ms  the  cHi-rt  of  SDoth- 
lliiii,'  tlicin  to  slcfi])  at  the 
li  greatly  jironiotes  their  f'nt- 
hiiig  of  the  wind,  and    all 

known  have  a  great  efl'ect 
res.  Wc  lately  observed  in 
V  \'ork,  n  number  of  dogs, 

some  of  the  most  ilifficult 
lies  played  by  their  master, 
led  by  niusic  :  it  is  said  that 
i;<l  by  pain  or  hunger,  they 

a  jjiaiutivo  oir.  Sir  Wil- 
froni  a  jierson,  on  whose  ve- 
^ly,  thut  ho  had  often  seen 
us,  and  malignant  snakes, 
ipon  hearing  tunes  ujion  the 
he  Indians  free  the  houses 
d  by  snakes  ;  the  sound  of 
ihein  out  from  their  hiding- 
lurk.  It  is  said  that  when 
ih  for  lizards,  which  they 
food,  they  attract  them  by 

We  may  almost  credit  the 

of  Orpheus,  when  we  read 
Mitiiied  in  the  Bastile,  who 
lor  to  jiennit  him  the  use  of 
by  the  harmonies  of  his  in- 
nrs  of  his  prison.  At  the 
,  he  was  greatly  astonished 

his  lute,  to  see  peeping  out 
at  numbers  of  mice ;  and, 

their  woven  habitations, 
which  formed  a  circle  about 
itinued  breathing  his  soul- 
cnt.  When  he  ceased  to 
y,  who  did  not  come  down 
but  to  hear  his  instrument, 
e  up.     As  he  had  a  great 

it  was  two  days  before  he 
1  his  instrument  agoin.  At 
the  novelty  of  his  company, 
like  of  them,  he  recom- 
rt,  when  the  assembly  was 
reus  than  at  first.  Thus  is 
1  in  the  "  Curiosities  of  Lit- 
i  often  been  reprinted.  It 
ited,  when  we  recollect  that 
;  away,  will  lag  behind  if 
jling  sound,  and  their  flight, 
varm,  can  be  etfectually  ar- 
id of  a  bell,  near  which  they 
elves.  Bullfinches  can  be 
an  air  with  the  most  aston- 

Sir  William  Jones  states 
,  that  when  a  celebrated  lu- 
g  to  Q  large  company  in  a 
!,  the  nightingales  were  dis- 
5  to  vie  with  the  musician  ; 
ng  on  the  trees,  sometimes 
•anch  to  branch,  as  if  they 
ch  the  instrument ;  and  at 


POWER  OF  MUSIC. 


195 


length  dropping  on  the  ground  in  a  kind  of 
ecstasy,  from  which  they  were  soon  raised  by 
0  change?  in  the.  measure.  If  music  has  such 
charms  for  tlie  lower  creatures,  well  may  its 
influence  be  great  over  the  human  race,  whose 
sensil)ilities,  fond  associations,  and  tender  rec- 
ollections can  be  awakened  by  its  witching 
spell?  It  inde(;d  mingles  itself  with  all  our 
jiursuits  i  it  quiets  the  child  in  its  cradle,  as 
the  nurse  sings  her  soothing  lullaby ;  it  rou- 
ses the  patriot's  zeal ;  it  stirs  uj)  the  spirit 
to  revelry,  or  raises  it  to  devotion  ;  it  exhil- 
arates intercourse,  and  lightens  labor;  sweet 
is  the  milkmaid's  song  as  she  jilies  her  task  ; 
its  cadence  falls  alike  soothingly  upon  her 
own  ear,  and  upon  that  of  the  cow  who  sup- 
plies her  i>ail.  There  is  in  the  chorus  of  the 
"  yo-ho,"  of  th*^  sailor,  as  he  labors  in  his  vo- 
cation, that  which  makes  it  lighter. 

Itinerant  venders  of  goods,  have  set  their 
proirentd  sale  to  regular  notes,  so  that  the  dif- 
ferent articles  whirh  they  carry,  are  known 
long  before  the  words  which  accompany  the 
cadence  are  heard.     Wc  were  much  amused 
lately,  when  reading  "  Letters  from  a  Gentle- 
man in  the  North  of  Scotland,  to  his  Friend 
in  London,"  written  befor    1730,  with  an  ac- 
count of  the  manner  in  which  music  accelera- 
ted  the   harvest-work.      He  says,   "  When 
there  are  any  number  of  women  employed, 
they  all  keep  time  together,  by  several  tones 
of  the  voice,  and  stoop  and  rise  together  as 
regularlv  as  a  rank  of  soldiers  when  they 
ground  their  arms.     Sometimes  they  are  inci- 
ted to  their  work  by  the  sound  of  a  bagpipe  ; 
and  by  either  of  these  things  proceed  with 
great  alacrity,  it  being  disgraceful  for  any  one 
to  be  out  of  time  with  the  sickle."     They 
use  the  same  means  when  thickening  the  new- 
wovon  plaiding,  which  is  done  by  six  (,r  eight 
women,  sitting  upon  the  ground,  near  some 
river  or  rivulet,  in  two  opposite  ranks,  with 
the  wet  cloth  between  them :  "  their  petti- 
coats are  tucked  uji,  and  with  their  naked  feet 
they  strike  one  against  another's,  keeping  ex- 
act time,   as   above-mentioned ;    and   among 
numbers  of  men  employed  in  any  work  that 
requires    strength   and   joint    labor,    as    the 
launching  of  a  boat  or  the  like,  thsy  must 
have  the  piper  to  regulate  their  time."  Trav- 
ellers, in  passing  through  the  southern  states, 
must  have  often  remarked  the  slaves  light- 
ening their  labors  by  chanting  some  simple 
melody  in  concert.      To  keep   rime   seems 
a  natural    propensity :    why  it    should     be 
so,  may  yet  be  determined  by  philosophers. 
It  would  be  beyond  our  limits  to  point  out  one 
instance  in  a  hundred,  that  we  could  enumer- 
ate ;    but  in  everything  we  hear  (though  it 
may  pass  without  our  observing  it)  there  is  a 
kind  of  measure,  and  this  often  suggests  sub- 
jects to  musical  composers.    A  favorite  air 


imitated  the  yelping  of  dogs  so  exnetly,  that 
it  could  not  be  heard  wiiliout  the  resenililaiice 
being  perceived.     One  of  the  most  delightful 
compositions  was  suggested   l)y  the    regular 
strokes  of  the  lilacksniith's  hauiiiier  against 
the  anvil.     Sir  Charles  Bell,  in  his  admirable 
treatise  on  the  hand,  observes — "The  divis- 
ions of  the  time  in  music  in  some  degree  de- 
jjend  on  the  muscular  sense.     A  inun  will  put 
down  his  stall'  in  regulated  time  :  and  in  his 
common  walk,  the  sound  of  his  steps  vyill  fall 
into  measure.     A  boy  striking  the  railing  in 
mere  wantonness,  will  do  it  with  a  regular 
succession  of  blows.     This  disposition  in  the 
muscular  frome  to  ])Ut  itself  into  motior.  with 
an  accordance  to  rime,  is  the  source  of  much 
tha^^is  i)leasing  in  music,  and  assists  the  ef- 
fect of  melo<ly.      The  closest  connection  is 
thus  established  between  the  emiiloyments  of 
the  sense  of  hearing,  and  the  exercise  of  the 
muscular  sense  ;  the  etrect  of  disorders  of  the 
nervous  system,  is  sometimes  to  show  how 
natural  certoin  combinations  of  actions  are  in 
the  exercise  of  the  muscular  frame."      Sir 
Charics  Bell,  illustrates  this  observation  by  a 
curious  case  of  a  young  woman  who  had  nev- 
er been  able  to  learn  a  conitnon  country-dance, 
yet,  when  under  the  inlluence  of  a  morbid 
mental   excitement,  in   association   with   the 
organs  of  voluntary  motion,  began  to  exercise 
involuntary   movements  not   unbecoming  an 
ojiera-dancer.     "  At  one  time  she  would  pace 
slowly  round  the  room,  as  in  a  minuet,  with  a 
measured  step,  the  arms  carried  with  elegance ; 
at  another  time  she  would  stand  on  the  toes 
of  one  foot,  and  beat  time  with  the  other ;  on 
some  occasions  she  would  strike  the  fable,  or 
whatever  she  could  reach,  with  her  hand  many 
times,  softly,  and  then  witii  force.     At  length 
it  wasfounif  thatshedid  everytiiitigin  rhythms. 
A  friend  thought  that  in  her  regular  beating  he 
could  recognise  a  tune,  and  he  began  singing 
it.     The  moment  this  struck   her  ears,  she 
turned  suddenly  to  the  man,  danced  directiy 
up  to  him,  and  continued  to  dance  until  she  was 
((uite  out  of  breath.     The  cure  of  this  young 
v/oman  was  of  a  very  unusual  kind.     A  drum 
and  fife  were  procured,  and  when  a  tune  cor- 
responding to  the  rhythms  of  her  movements 
was  played,  in  whatever  part  of  the  room  she 
was,  she  would  dance  close  up  to  the  drum, 
and  continue  dancing  until  she  missed  the  step, 
when    these    involuntary    motions   instantly 
ceased,  and  the  paroxysm  ended.     The  physi- 
cian, profiting  by  this,  and  observing  a  motion 
in  her  lips,  put  his  ear  close  to  her  mouth.    He 
thought  he  could  hear  her  sing,  and  question- 
ing ner,  she  said  there  was  always  a  tune 
dwelling   upon    her    mind,  which   at   times 
had  an  irresistible  influence   upon  her,  and 
impelled  her  to  begin  her  involuntary  mo- 
tions.   In  the  end,  she  was  cured  by  altering 


■I'' 


I; 


tM** 


( ...iW' 


Ni 


196 


I'OVVEK  OF  MUSIC. 


Iifiiting   of  tlio  drum ;    for 
sscil  the  tiin«,  tlie  inotioiis 


the  time    in    llic 
whi'ui'vi'r  sill'  Ml 

8t()l)|>(il." 

Till!  nicely  of  iifrni'ptiim  for  fine  soumb  in 
Hoino  minds  'is  an  iiinarkiililo  ii*  the  extreme 
enjoyment  they  derive  from  them.     A  musi- 
cal 'j^entleiiiiui'  meiuioned    ill   compnny,   that 
amidst  all  the  noise  of  u  larj^e  |)arty,  ho  could 
distiniruish  the  faiatest  tinkle  on  a  \vine-j>luss, 
l)ecauae  it  was  a  mnsii-ul  sound,     .'^miie  years 
ago,  an  emineul  violinist  arrived  in  KlinlMirijll,  , 
and  took  up  his  lod;;in!is  in  a  street  where  all  , 
the  houses  wi're  externally  alike.      Ileluininu  j 
home  latt!  one  evenini;,  and  having;  forgot  the  ^ 
number  of  the  house,  lie  was  at  a  loss  to  find  j 
liis  home,  till  a  musical  expedient  occurred  to 
him.     Cnnc'riving  that  he  >hiuild  In;  abiisj^lo 
distinguish  ihestrefi-door  hell  of  his  landlaifj's 
house,  he  deliberately  went  along  a  small  por- 
tion of  the  street,  ringing  each  l)ell,  till  he  ar- 
rived at  one  of  a  ]ieculiar  tone,  which  he  at 
once  ri'cognisi'd  as  the  riglit  one,  and  on  hear- 
ing whicii,  he  waited  till  he  was  admitted. 
We  do  not  know  if  the  hero  of  the  subseipient 
anecdote  was  in  any  d(^groc  gifted  as  a  musi- 
cian ;  but  his  percei'itiou  of  nicety  in  tcaie  seems 

to  have  been  as  great  as  that  of  Signor  E . 

It  was  in  \pril,  H.'iG.  that  Lieutenant  Layer, 
on  leave  of  absence,  from  his  regiment,  sjient 
a  night  in  the  Bush-Inn  in  Manchester.     In 
the  morning,  as  lu;  was  sitting  at  breakfast,  a 
band  of  street  musicians  came  past,  and  in  one 
of  the  iiistrmueuts  (the  serpent)  he  thought 
he  recognised  the  peculiar  style  of  playing  of 
a  man  who  h.ulonce  jierformcd  on  that  instru- 
ment in  the  l)aiid  of  his  regiment,  hut  who  hud 
deserted.     Tho   lieutenant   immediately    ran 
down  stairs,  found   his  surmise  correct,  and 
had  the  man  ap|)reh(mded.     To  those  entircl^^ 
ungifted  with  music,  such  delicacies  in  this 
particular  intellectual  sense  seem  miraculous. 
Mr.  Burette,   and  other  physicians,  have 
believed  that  music  all'ected  the  whole  nervous 
system,  so  as  not  only  to  give  temporary  re- 
lief in  some  diseases,  but  to  achieve  radical 
cures  in  many  cases.     He  thought  that  music 
could  jmllinte  the  |)ains  of  the  sciatica.     He 
conceived  that  certain  vibrations  of  the  nerves, 
along  with  other  elFects  produced,  to  be  the 
cause  of  this ;  and  that  its  power  of  fixing 
attention,  and  withdrawing  the  mind  from  the 
feelings  which  occupied  it  to  dirt'erent  chan- 
nels of  thought  and  sensibility,   awakening 
dormant  sensations,  might  produce  a  power- 
ful ertect,  that  might  operate  on  the  entire 
frame,   causing  changes  almost  miraculous. 
Theophrastus  asserted  that  diseases  have  either 
been  cured  by  music  or  mitigated.     We  find 
this  illustrated  in  Mrs.  Grant's  "  Letters  from 
the  Mountains,"  when  she  mentions  the  effect 
which  the  singing  of  his  attendants  had  on  her 
little  boy,  in  soothing  his  last  sufferings ;  but, 


like  everything  she  ATote,  it  is  sc)  interesting- 
ly given  in  her  own  words,  that  it  is  best  to 
transcribe  the  passoge.  "  1,  for  my  jmrt 
though  a  stranger  to  the  art  of  music,  am  well 
acipiointed  with  its  jiower,  and  subject  to  its 
inlhience  in  its  rnilest  forms,  particularly  when 
it  breathes  the  spirit  of  that  sentiment  which 
for  the  time  predominates  in  my  mind,  or 
wakes  some  lender  remembrance  with  which 
accident  has  connected  it.  When  my  dearest 
little  boy  was  in  the  hist  stage  of  that  illness 
which  proved  fatal  to  him,  we  had  thrive 
maids  who  had  all  good  voices.  One  was 
afraid  to  sit  up  alone  to  attend  my  calls,  on 
wliich  the  nursemaid  ngreeil  to  sit  with  her, 
and  lull  the  infant  beside;  her.  The  solitary 
maid  was  then  afraid  to  stay  alone  in  her  attic 
abode.  The  result  was,  that  the  three  syrens 
sung  in  concert  a  great  part  of  the  night,  wdiich 
seemed  to  sooth  the  dear  siilU'rer  so  much, 
that  when  they  ceased,  he  often  desired  thiit 
they  would  begin  again.  Hi;  listened  to  it 
three  hours  before  he  expired.  I  never  hear 
the  most  imiicrfect  note  of  Cm  ChalUn  since 
without  feeling  my  heurt-strings  accord  with 
it." 

Sir  Henry  Halford,  in  his  essays  and  ora- 
tions, mentions  the  >;ase  of  a  gentleman  who 
became  insane  on  the  loss  of  his  [iroperty,  and 
for  months  was  in  such  a  state  of  stupefaction, 
that  he  remained  perfectly  motionless,  not 
moving  imless  when  jiushcil  ;  nor  would  he 
speak  to  or  notice  any  iierson.  Music  in  the 
street  at  length  jiroduced  its  effect.  He  was 
observed  to  listen,  and  to  be  still  more  awaken- 
ed to  its  iiower  the  second  time  ho  heard  it. 
The  person  under  whose  care  he  was,  avail- 
ed himself  of  this  happy  omen,  and  offered  him 
a  violin.  He  seized  it  eaijerly,  and  constant- 
ly amused  himself  with  it.  'The  result  was 
most  fortunate  :  in  two  months  he  was  dis- 
missed cured.  Sir  Henry  alludes  distantly, 
but  airectingly,  to  the  case  of  George  III.,  who 
had  been  his  patient,  and  bears  testimonj;  to 
the  power  which  music  had  oyer  his  mind, 
mitigating  the  sadness  of  seclusion.  And  we 
have  heard  a  most  touching  account  of  the 
venerable  king  :  sightless  and  secluded,  a  prey 
to  visionary  delusions,  yet  finding  a  sweet 
solace  for  his  troubled  mind  in  "the  touches 
of  sweet  harmony."  There,  at  his  instru- 
ment, he  might  often  be  seen,  wrapt  in  thought, 
as  the  strings  responded  to  his  touch  in  the 
sacred  strains  of  Handel. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  instances  of  th» 
efficacy  of  music  occurred  during  the  celebra- 
ted Farinelli's  visit  to  Spain.  The  queen 
determined  to  try  the  effect  of  his  astonishing 
powers  on  the  king,  who  had  had  a  passion 
for  music.  He  was  then  laboring  under  such 
a  dejection  of  spirits,  as  baffled  all  medical 
treatment,  and  disappointed  every  effort  made 


U 


■; 


I'OWKll  OF  MUSIC. 


ATiitr,  it  is  si)  iiitert'Mting. 
Words,  tliat  it  is  Ix'sl  to 
n<;(;.     "  1,    fur  my    jmrt 

the  nrti)f  iiiusir,  nin  well 
pnwor,  niul  Hulijcct  to  its 
t  I'orins,  piirticulnrly  when 

(if  tlmt  sciitiinriit  which 
iniiiatcs  ill  my  mind,  or 
rcmeiiiliraiiii'  witli  which 
edit.     When  rny<i<'nrnst 

last  stage  of  that  illness 
I  til  hitii,   we   hail   three 

good  viiices.  One  was 
le  to  utiind  my  calls,  on 
d  nuri'oil  to  sit  with  her, 
beside  lur.  The  solitary 
1  to  stay  alone  in  her  attic 
was,  that  the  threi;  syrens 
ut  part  of  thi;  iiipht,  ^vhich 
o  dear  suiVerer  so  inueh, 
ied,  he  oft(  n  desired  that 
igain.  Ho  listened  to  it 
le  expired.  I  never  hear 
note  of  Cm  Cludlin  since 

heurt-strinjjs  accord  with 

rd,  in  his  essays  and  ora- 
fase  of  a  geiillemun  who 
le  loss  of  his  jiroperty,  and 
ich  a  state  of  stupefaction, 
perfectly  motionless,  not 
n  ]iushed  ;  nor  would  ho 
ny  person.  Music  in  the 
duccd  its  elVect.  He  was 
lul  to  be  still  more  awuken- 
!  second  time  he  heard  it. 
vhose  care  he  was,  avail- 
ippy  omen,  and  oilered  him 
d  it  ca<;erly.  and  eonstant- 
with  it.  "The  result  was 
two  months  he  was  dis- 
Henry  alludes  distantly, 
le  case  of  George  III.,  who 
It,  and  bears  testimony  to 
music  hud  over  his  mind, 
ess  of  seclusion.  And  we 
t  touching  account  of  the 
;htk'S8  and  secluded,  a  prey 
ions,  yet  finding  a  sweet 
led  mind  in  "  the  touches 
."  There,  at  his  instru- 
n  be  seen,  wrapt  in  thought, 
Dndcd  to  his  touch  in  the 
andel. 

remarkable  instances  of  th» 
ccurred  during  the  celcbra- 
sit  to  Spain.  The  queen 
the  efTect  of  his  astonishing 
g,  who  had  had  a  passion 
SIS  then  laboring  under  such 
rits,  as  baffled  oil  medical 
appointed  every  efTort  made 


i„  .livert  his  thonghts.     Neither  pleature  nor 
l.u^iness  iMuld  rouse  him  from  the  hopeless 
rnelaiiiliolv  under  which  he  labored.     Llter- 
Iv  iiiciip:ibh"  of  managing  pulilie  allairs,  or  ot 
criiovliig  domestic  intercourse,  he  remained  in 
n    -tate  (if  the  most   de|.li.rulile   sadness   and 
aiiiilhy.     Farinelli  was  placed  in  a  room  ail- 
j.'iiiiiiL'  that  where  the  king  sat ;  he  sang  some 
of  Ins  pathetic  songs  with  all  the  cnjitivating 
expression  for  which  he  wa  <  so  remarkable. 
Tlie  i|  leen  anxiously  wulihed  the  edect;  nor 
was  she  disappointe'd.     The  king  seemed  sur- 
prised ;  and  as  he  listened,  he  became  alVect- 
cd,  and  tears  forced  their  way,  and  the  ]ient- 
up  fei'liuus  gushed  forlli  once  more.     Another 
soil",  and  he  ordered   the  attendance  of  the 
sillier.     Farinelli   apiieared ;   the   king  gave 
niteraiico  to  his  delight  and  adirMiatiim,  and 
desired  him  to  say  how  he  should  reward  him 
for  the  iMatifieation  which  his  wonderful  talents 
had  gi  "en.     Farinelli,  who  had  lieen  directed 
how"to  act,  only  entreated  that  his  majesty 
would  permit  his  attendants  to  dress  him,^anil 
that  he  would  appear  in  council  as  usual.     The 
kiim  complied;  his  spirits  returned;  and  thus 
Farlnidli  ellected   a  cure  in   some  monients 
which  the  ablest  medical  men  in  Spain,  nil 
the  devoted  courtiers,  and  the  anxious  famiW, 
had  ill  vain  endeavored  to  bring  about.     '1  his 
atlectiu"  anecdote  naturally  reminds  us  of  the 
plaviiiMif  David  before  Saul,  when  the  evil 
spiilt  (Tepartedfrom  the  king,  and  he  was  well. 
To  this  very  remarkable  case  the  beautiful 
lines  of  Cumberland,  now  almost  forgotten, 
but  worthy  of  being  remembered,  are  appro- 
priate,    'fhe  last  stanza  runs  thus  :— 

"  The  turbid  pafwiont  shall  retiro 
Before  the  minntrers  art. 
Anil  the  same  hand  that  iiwceps  the  lyre 
Shall  heal  the  itricken  heart." 

As  to  Farinelli,  he  rose  to  the  highest  favor 
at  court;  and,  to  his  great  credit,  instead  of 
bein"  elated  by  on  elevation  so  exciting  to  one 
of  humble  birth,  he  preserved  a  humiUty  and 
siiiiprunty  which  endeared  him  to  the  Spanish 
nobility,  and  won  from  them  their  esteem  and 
conlidence.     The  various  anecdotes  recounted 
qI'  tliis  gifted  man,  reflect  as  much  honor  on 
his  disposition  and  character  as  they  do  on  the 
izeiiius  that  so  eminently  distinguished  him. 
There  was  such  enchantment  in  his  singing, 
that  it  completely  overcame   Senesino,  who 
was  himself  one  of  the  finest  singers.     He  and 
Farinelli  had  long  wished  to  hear  each  other 
sing  ;  the  opportunity  was  at  length  afforded, 
and  they  were  engaged  to  perform  at  the  same 
theatre.     Senesino  played  the  part  of  an  in- 
exorable tyrant,  anil  Farinelli  of  his  unhappy 
caiitive.     When  he  oppeared  in  chains,  he 
sang  with  such  exquisite  pathos,  that  Senesino 
forgot  the  cruel  part  he  had  to  sustain ;  he 
'  forgot  every  thing ;  and,  throwing  himself  into 


Furinelli's  arm*,  he  burst  into  teors,     r.ni  this 

need  not  surprise  us,  when  we  recoil,  el  iliiil 
two  hired  assassins,  who,  it  may  be  priMimed, 
were  not  |iiisHessed  of  very  tender  li  i Tmus, 

when  they  waited  to  fulfif  their  cin^afie nt 

to  miirderStrudella,  near  the  dinirof  a  cliuiih 
ill  Rome,  where  he  was  taking  jiart  in  an  ora- 
torio,  were  so   comiiletely   overcome   by   his 
pathetic  music,  that  they  not  (inly  alaindoncd 
their  purpose,  but  cimtessed  it  to  him.  and 
warned  him  of  his  danger.      The  complete 
mastery  which  music  often  exerts  over  the 
mind  may  be  considered  its  createst  triumph. 
I  need  only  allude  to  the  Ham  ilrsViuhrs  of 
the  .Swiss,  t\\(i  MuTsellaisp  ul  the  FiiikIi,  the 
Liifhiihcr  no  more  of  the  Scotch  regiiiienis,  and 
Had  Columbia  of  the  Americans.     Its  inllii- 
ence  over  the  aflections  may  be  illust rated  i 
an  anecdote  connected  with  a  custom  whi( 
is  oliserved  among  the  Greeks.     The  young 
(Jreek  often  leaves  his  home  for  a  foreign  hind, 
but  never  without  grief.     Fondly  attached  to 
the  place  of  his  birth,  and  to  his  domestic  ties, 
he  feels  himself  an  exile  wherever  he  goes,  and 
endures  the  greatest  anxiety  on  aeiumnt  of 
those  near  and  dear  to  him  that  he  has  left, 
and  is  often  haunted  with  a  sad  foreboding 
that  he  is  to  meet  them  no  more.     When  he 
is  about  to  take  his  leave,  there  is  a  farewell 
repast,  to  which  the  relations  and  the  friends 
are  invited  ;  when  it  is  over,  all  the  guests 
accompany  the  traveller  some  miles  on  his 
journey.     Daring  this,  and  at  the  rejiast,  it 
IS  the  custom  to  sing  farewell  songs;  many  of 
these  have  been  long  in  use,  but  some  are 
composed  specially  for  the  occasion ;  and  it 
not  unfrequently  happens  that  they  are  com 


'7 
iich 


posed  extempore  by  some  one  dearest  to  him, 
or  by  himself.     There  was  such  a  meeting 
held  one  day  near  Piiidus,  on  the  occasion  of 
the  youngest  of   three  sons  of  respectable 
parents  devoting  himself  to  voluntary  exile. 
The  deepest  regret  which  he  felt  in  leaving 
the  home  of  his  childhood,  was  the  conscious- 
ness that  he  carried  with  him  no  share  of  the 
affections  of  a  mother  on  whom  he  doted. 
She,  unlike  the  generality  of  Greek  mothers, 
had  never  marked  him  as  an  object  of  her  hive, 
but  had  treated  him  with  a  coldness  painfully 
contrasted  with  her  conduct  toward  her  other 
children ;  this  he  had  borne  without  a  mur- 
mur, but  now  that  he  was  about  to  leave  her, 
perhaps  for  ever,  his  heart  was  breaking.    The 
spot  chosen  for  the  parting  was  a  wild  and 
desolate  scene,  among  high  and  rugged  rocks. 
Several  of  the  mournful  songs  had  olreody 
been  sung,  when  the  young  traveller,  si'iiara- 
ting  from  his  company,  ascended  a  rock  which 
overhung  the  path  ;  here  he  «ang  his  last  sad 
farewell  in  tones  that  sank  into  every  heart, 
and  drew  tears  from  every  eye.    He  exjiress- 
ed,  with  the  deepest  pathos,  the  passionate 


■«  • 


•f 


.««#*^ 


'^ 


tirs^iiBv^^9-f 


198 


SLAVaaY  IN  RUSSIA. 


cricf  which  h(i  felt  in  quitting  his  homo  ami 
tlios('  hf'  loved  ;  Imt  liis  grenti'st  nn;;iiiNh  wns 
in  thinking  h<-  was  jjoinK  without  \m  mother's 
aU'eirtiori.  The  lieart  of  the  mother  wn.s  touch- 
ed; her  emotion  inereased  with  every  word 
and  every  note  of  the  piithetie  nir  to  which  lie 
w>n<; ;  thi;  wnrm  current  of  ufVcetion  pushcMl 
fn.m  its  hidden  springs  ;  she  clasped  him  in 
her  arms,  iind  wee()ing  and  kissing  him  over 
and  over  again,  she  entreated  forgiveness,  and 
promised  to  love  and  cherish  him  as  long  as 
she  lived.  The  promise  waa  inviolably  and 
tenderly  ke|)t. 

The  most  simple  music,  or  that  which  is 
hardly  music  at  nil,  often  finds  its  wny  to  the 
very  henrt.     It  is  said  thiit  Curran  attributed 
his  first  impressions  of  elfHpience  and  jioetry 
to  the  will!  eliunt  of  the  Irish  cry,  or  funeral 
dirge.     TIk^  memory  of  'lonie  of  thos(3  strains, 
which  have  been  often  described  as  something 
unearthly,  ond   resembling  the  rmdody  of  an 
.Eolian  harp,  no  doubt  flitted  across  his  mind, 
as  he  has  sat  preparing  himself  for  the  defence 
of  some  client's  life,  os  was  his  wont,  with  his 
violin  in  his  hand,  from  which  ever  ond  anon 
he  drew  forth  wild  and  plaintive  sounds.     It 
is  customary  with  the  improvisatori  to  sweep 
the  chords  of  an  instrument  os  they  composi; 
their  verses,  to  aid  thinr  conceptions.     Even 
the  music  of  bells  produces  a  powerful  ellect. 
Who  does  not  feel  his  spirit  lighten  os  he 
hears  the  merry  chime  of  festive  bells  ?     Who 
does  not  feel  a  touch  of  awe  as  the  death-bell 
tolls?     The  inhabitants  of  Limerick  arc  proud 
of  their  cathedral  bells  ;  and  well  they  may, 
for  they  are  passing  sweet.     They  boast  that 
they  were  brought  from  Italy,  and  tell  of  their 
haying  occupied  the  skill  of  a  clever  young 
artist  for  some  years.     By  the  time  he  had 
manufactured  them,  their  chime  had  taken 
such  possession  of  his  heart,  that  he  resolved 
never  to  leave  them ;  so  that  when  he  sold 
them  to  the  prior  of  a  convent,  he  removed  to 
their  neighborh(K)d,  that  he  might  still  hear 
their  music :  he  hoped  that  they  would  toll 
his   re(|uiem.     Troubles  came — he  lost  his 
property  —  the  convent  was  laid  waste — the 
bells  were  taken  away — and  this  grieved  the 
artist  more  than  any  of  his  losses  ;  he  wan- 
dered over  many  of  the  countries  of  Europe, 
hoping  to  reach  the  spot  where  his  bells  might 
be.     Years  after  they  had  been  manufactured, 
it  happened  thot,  toward  the  close  of  spring, 
on  a  lovely  evening,  a  vessel  had  anchored  at 
soiae  distance  from  Limerick,  and  a  boat  was 
seen  to  glide  from  its  side  along  the  Shannon. 
It  had  been  hired  by  one  of  the  passengers — 
tfie  Italian  artist — now  grown  old  and  gray. 
He  was  impatient  to  reach  the  city,  to  which 
he  had  traced  his  much-loved  bells.     As  they 
rowed  along  the  smooth  waters,  the  steeple 
of  the  cathedral  appeared  in  the  distance  above 


the  surrounding  buildings  J  the  boatmen  [Kiint- 
ed  it  out  to  the  stranger,  as  he  sat  in  the  sieni ; 
he  fixed  his  eyes  earnestly  and  fomllv  upim  it. 
The  boat  glided  on;  but  all  at  onee"  thruimh 
the  stillness  of  the  hour,  the  peal  friini  iFie 
sweet  cathedral  brils  burst  upon  the  air ;  the 
stranger  crossed  his  orms  upon  his  lireiist  and 
leant  back.  The  shore  wos  reached  ;  liie  face 
of  the  Italian  was  still  turned  toward  the  ca- 
thedral, but  the  spirit  hod  fled,  and  the  li.-lls 
hod  tolled  his  reijuiem ! 


SL.WEUY  IN  RUSSIA. 


TiiKUE  are  forty  millions  of  serfs  in  (3reat 
Russia,  the  largest  slave  population  in  the 
world.  FortA'  millions  of  men — glebie  nd- 
scrifiti — attached  to  the  soil,  bought  and  sold 
with  the  soil,  on  which  they  arc  boni,  and  on 
which  they  die.  Upward  of  twenty  millions 
of  these  serfs  belong  to  the  crown,  the  remain- 
der to  the  nobles.  Previous  to  the  sixteenth 
century,  the  peasantry  of  Great  Russia,  re- 
tained the  privilege  of  moving  from  place  to 
place,  held  the  free  disposal  of  their  |)ersons, 
and  sold  their  services  for  a  term  of  years. 
In  1.598,  when  Boris  Gedcnof  oseende'd  the 
throne,  ond  sought  the  sujiport  of  the  nobles, 
he  mode  a  law  by  which  the  peasant  was 
bound  to  the  soil,  and  become  the  property  of 
the  noble. 

The  value  of  an  estate  in  Weliki  Russia, 
depends  more  ujion  the  number  of  its  peasants 
than  its  acres.  Some  occupy  a  vast  extent  of 
country,  and  contain  as  man^  as  one  hundred 
thousand  souls.  The  proprietor  pays  an  an- 
nual tax  of  about  one  dollar  and  sixty  cents 
upon  every  serf.  The  condition  of  the' latter, 
varies  according  to  the  circumstances  and  dis- 
iwsition  of  the  master.  As  a  general  rule,  he 
has  tt  house  and  a  piece  of  ground,  and  the 
privilege  of  feeding  o  cow  U|)on  the  common 
near  the  village.  For  these  ho  pays  with  his 
labor.  The  steward  of  the  lord  ossigns  him 
a  daily  task,  which  is  easily  accomplished  be- 
fore noon.  The  remaining  hours  are  at  his 
nvn  dispf)sal,  except  in  harvest,  and  certain 
other  times,  when  he  and  his  wife  must  turn 
out  into  the  field.  He  can  not  leave  the 
estate,  or  learn  o  trade  without  permission. 
The  master  must  maintain  him,  furnish  him 
with  food  and  medicine  when  it  is  necessary, 
ond  is  liable  to  a  fine,  if  he  is  found  destitute 
or  begging  u{K)n  the  highway.  Stray  serfs, 
runaways,  or  {)easants,  whether  free  or  bound, 
roaming  without  o  passport,  are  detained  and 
advertised  ;  and,  if  not  reclaimed,  or  relieved 
by  the  owner  or  some  responsible  person,  are 
sold  at  public  sale.     The  proprietor  can  not 


irigs;  tho  bontinnn  [Hiint- 
:;r,  ns  lio  snt  in  tlic  strrn  ; 
lestly  iirid  fondly  npim  it. 
but  all  at  oDcr',  tliriiiii;h 
lonr,  till!   peal   Crorii   tlic 

Uurnt  u|M)ti  the  nir ;  the 
.nn«  upon  his  breast  and 
ro  WAS  rf!«ched  ;  I  lie  fuco 
1  tunifid  toward  tin-  ca- 

Imd  fled,  and  the  bells 


IN  RUSSIA. 

illions  of  serfs  in  (Jrent 
luvc  population  in  the 
lis  of  men — glcbiB  ad- 
10  soil,  bouglit  and  sold 
h  they  ore  born,  and  on 
I'ord  of  twenty  millions 
1  the  crown,  the  rcniain- 
evious  to  tho  sixteenth 
Y  of  Great  Russia,  ro- 
:  moving  from  place  to 
sposal  of  their  |)ersons, 
;s  for  a  tenn  of  years. 
Gedenof  asrended  the 
support  of  the  nobles, 
ifhicn  the  peasant  was 
jccamo  the  property  of 

tato  in  Weliki  Russia, 
I  number  of  its  pi.-asants 
occupy  a  vast  extent  of 
s  many  as  one  hundred 
proprietor  pays  an  an- 
dollar  ond  sixty  cents 
condition  of  the' latter, 
circumstances  and  dis- 
As  a  general  rule,  he 
ece  of  ground,  and  the 
cow  uijon  the  common 
these  he  nays  with  his 
)f  tho  lord  assigns  him 
easily  accomplished  l)e- 
ining  hours  are  at  his 
n  harvest,  and  certain 
and  his  wife  must  turn 
le  can  not  leove  the 
e  without  permission, 
itain  him,  furnish  him 
e  when  it  is  necessory, 
if  he  is  found  destitute 
lighway.  Stray  serfs, 
whether  free  or  bound, 
sport,  are  detained  and 
reclaimed,  or  relieved 
responsible  person,  are 
rhe  proprietor  can  not 


SWITZERLAND. 


199 


oblige  the  serf  to  marry  contrary  to  his  incli- 
niiriiin  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  cirgrv 
can  not  nnirry  him  without  the  permission  of 
the  iniister.  The  serf  can  not  bi;  sold  oil"  the 
csiafc,  or  separated  from  his  family,  and  many 
ntlicr  liiunane  provisions  havu  been  made  for 
hi-.  Iiii|ipiness  and  sofety. 

Hut  it  is  futile  to  speak  of  rules  and  regula- 
tions in  a  e((Mntry  where  wealth  and  birth, 
give  des|)otic.  power.  Thc!  proprietor  is  gf)v- 
erned  in  his  action  entirely  by  his  interest,  anil 
lie  treats  his  jieasants  precisely  as  he  pleases. 
Jle  sells  ihem  whenever  a  good  price  is  of- 
tered,  and  he  send*  them  wherever  it  suits  his 
ciiliveiiienee.  He  makes  them  weave  or 
jilougli ;  ho  hires  them  out  by  the  month  or 
year,  just  as  it  pleases  him  to  do.  In  the 
same  Way,  In^  may  treat  them  with  kindness 
or  with  blows;  but  as  they  are  generally  re- 
garded as  insensible  anil  uiigrat(;t'ul,  they  get 
more  kieks  than  favors.  'J''lie  serf  ean  not 
aeciisi!  the  master.  If  the  blows  of  the  lat- 
ter cause  death  within  tliree  days  he  is  lined  ; 
liul  it  the  serf  lives  more  than  three  days 
after  severe  punisliinent,  the  master  is  not  lia- 
ble. If  the  serf  is  killed  without  premedita- 
tiim,  by  any  otlii;r  than  the  master,  the  killer 
pays  tile  master  three  hundred  and  eight  dol- 
lars. If  he  is  killed  with  premeditation,  there 
is  no  indeinniticatioii  for  the  niast(!r,  and  the 
munliM'er  is  res[)i)nsible  to  the  police. 

That  the  Russian  serfs  arc  often  sold  with- 
out the  lands  on  which  they  dwidl,  is  truly 
stated  by  Mr.  Maxwell,  but  we  believe  he  is 
mistaken  in  saying  that  they  can  not  be  sold 
by  law.  The  imperial  council  has  once  for- 
mally determined  that  such  sales  are  legal. 

In  the  subjoined  passage,  the  reader  will 
notice  several  remarkable  resemblances  be- 
tween the  Russian  serf,  and  the  negro  slave  : — 

'•The  posadki,  or  freed  man,  can  not  hold 
lands  or  serts  ;  but  they  have  other  privileges, 
and  in  the  distant  provinces  display,  as  we 
have  mentioned,  all  the  natural  vigor  of  the 
race,  and  are  distinguished  for  industry,  and 
the  most  indefatigable  perseverance  in  the 
pursuit  of  gain.  But  the  serf  has  not  the 
same  inducements,  and  exhibits  none  of  tho 
activity  and  industry  so  remarkable  in  the 
l)()sadki.  He  is  the  creature  of  apathy,  and 
all  the  stirring  qualities  of  his  nature  are  latent 
and  unfleveloped.  He  works  as  he  is  directed, 
and  manifests  the  same  rude  ability  in  any 
employment  ho  may  follow. 

"He  is  ordered  to  be  a  musician,  mechanic, 
or  a  manufacturer,  and  becomes  either  of  these 
with  astonishing  facility,  though  he  excels  in 
none.  Neither  the  fear  of  the  lash,  nor  the 
promise  of  reward,  can  force  him  to  work  with 
the  plane  or  saw  ;  but  wth  the  hatchet,  which 
he  always  carries  at  his  girdle,  he  will  hew 
the  forest  trees,  prepare  his  Ibgs  and  plank, 


build  a  housn,  and  makn  his  furniture.     He 

never  exerts  liis  full  strength.  If  the  burden 
is  a  heavy  one,  he  calls  for  ns»istani:e.  It  is 
a  common  thiii^j  to  see  a  hundred  men  holding 
to  a  rope,  and  hauling  a  stone  or  a  piec^e  of 
timber,  that  would  have  bi'en  handled  with 
ease,  by  twelve  or  twenty  Knglishmen.  Un 
such  occasions,  before  the  umIkmI  elli)rt  is 
made,  the  Russian  workmen  sing  for  some 
minutes  in  chorus,  and  tho  end  of  the  song  is 
the  signal  for  the  pull  altogether.  After  two 
or  three  pulls  they  stop,  and  the  singing  lie-ins 
again,  and  so  on  to  the  completion  of  the 
work — more  than  half  the  time  at  least  being 
passed  in  these  muNical  interludes.  'I'he  task 
IS  therefore  often  a  light  one,  and  easily  per- 
formed. When  it  is  finished,  tht^  laborer  is 
at  liberty  to  employ  himself  as  he  pleases. 
Should  he  do  double  iluty,  however,  he  would 
not  be  rewarded,  and  instances  are  kuowii, 
within  the  observation  of  the  writer,  where 
the  otler  of  the  peasant  to  perform  an  extra 
task  had  been  rejected,  and  for  the  reason,  that 
any  such  proceeding  was  unusual,  and  calcu- 
lated to  ))roduce  confusion.  So  the  serf,  leav- 
ing his  wife  to  cultivate  his  garden  and  tend 
the  loom,  loiters  away  the  balance  of  the  day 
in  indolence." 

The  disinclination  of  the  serf  to  hard  work, 
his  apa'hy  under  chastisement,  the  necessity 
of  employing  half  a  do/en  to  do  the  work  of 
one,  the  "lightness  of  his  tasks,  and  his  jirac- 
tice  of  singing  when  several  work  in  company, 
are  circumstances  in  which  he  resembles  the 
African  slave,  as  seen  in  tho  southern  states, 
ond  in  the  West  Indies.  Mr.  Maxwell  [loints 
out  some  other  resemblances — such  as  the  fre- 
quency of  great  longevity  among  the  serfs, 
and  the  extraordinary  multiplication  of  tho 
race.  ■  Every  year  another  million  is  added  to 
tho  population  of  the  Russian  empire. 


SWITZERLAND. 

SwiTZKBLAND  Is  rcputcd  to  be  the  freest 
country  in  Europe.  This  is  an  error,  arising 
most  likely  from  the  common  notion  that  the 
country  is  a  confederacy  of  republics,  which 
wrested  its  freedom  from  surrounding  despo- 
tisms. It  is  one  thing  to  throw  off  a  foreign 
yoke,  and  another  to  establish  internal  free- 
dom. Switzerland  at  the  present  day,  with 
all  its  wonderful  industry  and  spirit  of  liberal- 
ity in  matters  of  inteniational  trade,  is,  in 
point  of  fact,  a  cluster  of  little  despotisms,  the 
despots  in  each  case  being  a  majority  of  the 
population  which  oppresses  the  minority — op- 
pression on  the  score  of  religion  and  of  birth. 
Ignorance,  and  selfishness — which  is  only  a 


800 


IWITZKRLAND. 


I 


mnnifo»toti()n  of  ignormicc — are  Cdtijointlv  iln- 
cni(:ie  I't'  tlii>i  dixrrcilifnlilf"  »fnt»'  of  nlVtiir'*. 
I'tiil  '  •'!'•  rniiiiriiin  imtiu'  c,f  Swinn,  thm-  !;riMt 
Kn  'n'l'sinfi't  iiml  tu'iHtl<)iil>(nitth«  heart 

ot   I  -tilt,'  Frriich  from  tilt-  went,  tlu' 

OiTiiiiiii  tmiii  thp  north  ntiil  cattt,  iiiiiliho  Itnl- 
inii  troiii  the  xoiitli ;  niiil  ihi;  wuiit  of  corninii 
iiji-ntioii,  till  of  liitc  yporx,  hax  kc|tt  these  race* 
ttiiiirt  mill  iijnoriiiit  of  eaeh  other.  Nowhere, 
nisi  -  liie  (listinetion  of  reliuimi  more  'imrkrd. 
T'.v..  'liriU  of  the  Swisn  circ  protestnnts,  niiil 
the  rc'iriaiiiirig  one  third  entholirfi ;  anil  the 
pntteKtiiiits  niu!  cntholic  rniitons,  a»  the  recent 
civil  war  liitn  «hown,  hate  eiieh  other  ns  the 
hiwtile  eliiiiH  in  the  hi>{hlnmU  hated  each  other 
two  hnmiri-d  yearn  ago.  Besiden,  though 
Swit/erlauii,  coin|)nred  with  nuwt  eoiintries; 
is  n  liiijil  of  nioiintainH,  the  great  jmrt  of  it  is 
eom|io^cili)f  plaiiiH  o'nid.^!  thestiipendfms  Al[w. 
Two  hours'  stilV  elimhing  suHiren  to  change 
friiMi  the  ncat-triinrned  Hower-garden  and  Ntiic- 
encd  ciittai;''  "f  'ho  industriouH  ortisnn  of  Zu- 
ricii.  into  the  lofty  hill-coimtry  of  ISc-hwoitz. 
wlnTe  the  mountaineer  lendn  n  half- vagabond 
existence,  tending  his  nutneroim  goats  among 
litorms  and  mist,  whilt!  his  children  run  rugged 
iind  liiircfooted  along  the  road,  begging  from 
triivrllers.  Between  i)eople  so  variously  sit- 
uoteil  there  can  be  little  sympotliv. 

A  conseiruence  of  this  national  disintegration 
has  been,  that  the  rights  of  citizenship  posses- 
sed in  one  cnnton  have  always  been  gixxl  for 
nothing  in  another.  The  citizen  of  Geneva, 
who  was  driven  to  settle  in  the  Valnis,  was 
allovvcd  toleration;  but  neither  he  nor  his 
posterity  coulil,  by  any  length  of  residence, 
li'.'coinc  denizens  of  their  adopted  country.  A 
Roiniiii  catholic  at  Lucerne  "who  turned  nrot- 
estunt,  lost  all  his  property,  and  was  liable  to 
banishment ;  a  protestant  at  Btime  turning 
Koman  cntholic,  was  punished  in  like  man- 
ner. Several  of  the  present  cantons  continued, 
up  to  the  tinif  of  the  French  revolution,  to  be 
vassals  to  the  larger  ones.  Thus  the  canton 
of  Berne  was  sovereign  lord  of  the  present 
cantons  of  Vnud,  Uri,  and  Tessin,  'viiich  it 
crushed  with  taxation,  without  admitting  its 
subjects  to  any  ))()litical  rights  whatever. 
Thus,  in  process  of  time,  it  came  to  pass  that 
all  over  Switzerlond  there  gre  \  iic  a  distinct 
biHly  <T  men,  the  descendants  oi  ui'iidi.  ds 
who  hud  lost  their  civil  rights  ''i  rbti'.  .c  ■;  -  - 
live  cantons,  either  in  consei)  '  "  ''  clu  ije 
of  religion,  or  of  mis<lemean<irs  for  which  they 
were  sentenced  to  bniiisbment,  or  of  illegal 
marriages,  or  lastly,  ns  foreigners  settled  in 
Switzerland.  The  stigma  thus  cast  upon  the 
fathers  descended  upon  the  children  to  fhe 
last  generation.  They  formed  a  separate  class 
called  Heiinathlosen — literally,  the  homeless 
— people  to  whom  the  law  allowe<l  nothing — 
involuntary  outlaws.     They  exist  at  the  pres- 


ent moment  in  uteadily-increasing  nnmbrri ; 
and  as  injusiice  always  reacts  on  itsiif,  tin* 
parties  so  degrailril  form  an  orgaiii/cd  limlv 
of  ineniiieants,  hucksters,  pilfe:irs,  mid  nltcn 
robbers,  like  the  gipsiesof  other  countries,  Imt 
HMch  mine  iinineroiis,  compoct,  and  Inriniilit. 
blc  to  the  <  K;iety,  which  has  east  llii  ni  mil. 

.Some  years  ago,  these  IFeitniiililusi  n  were 
bediine  so  troublesome,  that  ilicir  state  was 
forced  upon  the  attention  <d'  the  (Swiss  diet, 
which  instituted  inipiiries  ucconlinylv,  the  re- 
suit  of  which  it  now  before  us.  'rli(\  report 
stateil  the  Heiniofhlosen  to  omonnt  to  Jiiany 
thousands  in  number  in  all  the  ei  ntral  t  iiiitniis, 
from  the  lake  of  Oeneva  to  the  (iri-ims,  be- 
ginning  at  the  Hancnstein  in  ear  ion  .Sdlcure 
on  tilt!  west,  nnil  evii'nding  on  ;l;r  onst  beyniid 
the  Rhine  into  tiu:  Austrian  principality  of 
Lichtenstein.  Ni m  of  thr  .ethousaiiilshiidany 
Sxed  trad  -,  or  were  allovvt;il  by  the  law  to  pus- 
sessapermu"'  nt  house  or  lodging.  Wheniliey 
ventured  itit  nhe  towns,  they  assumed,  for  the 
time,  the  characters  of  thread-twisters,  matcli- 
sellcrs,  bird-catchers,  and  mendt-rsof  pots  and 
kettles.  Whenever  they  might  they  lived 
by  choice  in  the  woods  nnil  mountains,  sup- 
porting themselves  by  all  kinds  of  thievery. 
At  night,  they  creep  into  caves,  or  sleep  round 
a  fire  in  the  open  air;  and  this  through  the 
dejithsof  winter.  Marriagi!  isunknown  among 
them;  none  of  those  examined  could  tidl  their 
own  age,  and  veiy  few  knew  who  were  their 
fathers  and  mothers.  As  soon  as  the  childn.ii 
con  walk,  they  are  sent  i"to  the  towns  to  licg 
and  steal,  and  bring  their  jdiinder  at  night  to 
the  elder  vagrants,  who  remain  meantime  en- 
camped in  the  forests.  They  have  still  a 
voluntary  government,  and  tincir  loader  at 
this  time  was  a  noted  housebreaker  nnnieil 
Krusikans,  subsequently  executed.  Wherev- 
er and  M'henever  discovered,  they  are  lialile 
to  be  imprisoned  without  cause  assigned  ;  and 
formerly,  when  the  prisons  were  overcrowdeil, 
many  were  executed  without  even  the  formal- 
ity of  a  trial.  They  arc  now,  as  sixm  ns  seized, 
escorted  by  troops  to  the  boundaries  of  the 
canton,  and  thrust  into  the  next,  by  which  they 
are  expelled  in  like  manner,  unless  they  can 
meantime  escape.  The  report  recommended 
various  plans  ft)r  absorbing  this  unwholesome 
populntio  1,  which  hii\u  been  frequently  .-nice 
discusse  at  nothing  has  been  done,  and 

the  troubled  state  of  the  country  renders  any 
improvement  now  less  likely  than  ever. 

Vaud  was  a  few  years  ago  the  scene  of 
some  enormities  on  the  score  of  religion,  and 
while  we  now  write,  intelligence  has  been  re- 
ceived that  the  council  of  state  of  that  cnn- 
ton, which  is  presbyterian,  has  enacted  that 
all  religious  meetings  of  parties,  not  in  con- 
nexion with  the  authorized  church,  ere  illegal ; 
public  worship  of  all  such  bodies  is  according- 


ulily-iiiprpn^iris  niunbprs ; 
viiys  rcnrtH  on  it>-iir,  tlic 
t'lirni  nil  nr^iini/ril  ImiK' 
;«ti'r><,  iiilfi'ur",  unil  utu'ti 
iticH  of  niluT  cciiiiilrii-',  hut 
IH,  rotil|ia('t,  iiikI  Iniriinlii- 
'liich  hiiM  ciiNi  thciii  nut. 
llicnc  FlriiimililoMi  ri  Wfrt; 
)nu\  thiit  iliiir  Ntiiic  ^san 

C'lllinn  of  tile  Swiss  diet, 
uirics  urcordiriiilv,  flic  ri'. 
V  licfore  HH.  Tlic  ri.'|i(irt 
iloscn  to  niiiininr  Id  itmiiy 

in  nil  tlie  oi  iitriil  tiiiiiiiiii, 
rncva  to  liip  (jiri<fiiiM,  lic- 
irmtfii  ill  Pnniiin  Sulcnrc 
•ndin);  on  li n  onut  lifyniicl 

Austrian  i)rtncijinliiy  <>t' 
offbi  ,«'tlionHnii(lsliiiiliiiiy 
lillowt;(l  l»y  tlio  law  f<i  |ir>n. 
Hfi  or  lodging;.  Wlu-iitlicy 
v\\»,  they  assunu'd,  (iir  tlic 
of  thrc'iid-twixtcrs,  inntcli- 
I,  and  mi.'iidi'rsof  pot;*  and 
r  they  niifjht  they  lived 
inds  RTid  inouiitnins,  sup- 
liy  all  kinds  of  tliievery. 

into  cavcH,  or  sleeji  ronnd 
ir ;  and  tliis  tlirough  tlio 
arrias;*!  is  unknown  nmon^ 

examined  could  tell  tlieir 

ev/  knew  who  were  their 

As  soon  OS  the  chililren 

lent  i"^to  the  towns  to  lieg 

their  jdunder  at  night  to 
vho  remain  meantime  en- 
8t8.  They  have  still  a 
;nt,  and  fncir  leader  at 
ted  housebreaker  named 
ntly  executed.  Wherev- 
scovered,  they  are  liaide 
;hout  cause  assigned  ;  and 
irisons  were  overcrowded, 
1  without  even  the  formnl- 
arc  now,  as  soon  as  seized, 
to  the  boundaries  of  the 
to  the  next,  by  which  they 
I  manner,  unless  they  iiui 
The  report  recommended 
lorbing  this  unwholesome 
\i\u  been  frequently  ,-incp 
ling  has  been  done,  and 
'  the  country  renders  any 
ss  likely  than  ever. 

years  ago  the  scene  of 
he  score  of  religii.n,  and 
I  intelligence  has  been  re- 
ncil  of  state  of  that  cnn- 
^ftcrian,  has  enacted  that 
^s  of  parties,  not  in  eon- 
orized  church,  ere  illegal ; 

such  bodies  is  according- 


202 


COURTSHIP. 


ly  put  down  by  military  force,  and  ministers 
arc  in  danger  of  thoir  lives.  A  more  startling 
instance  of  the  tyranny  of  a  majority  over  a 
minority  could  scarcely  be  found  in  modern 
times. 

Our  illustration  presents  a  panoramic  view 
of  Zurich,  the  most  important  manufacturing 
town  of  Switzerland,  the  capital  of  the  Canton 
of  that  name,  which  has  taken  the  federal  or 
j)rotc'-,tant  side  in  the  recent  struggle. 

The  town  lies  at  the  north  end  of  the  lake 
of  Zurich,  and  On  ^he  banks  of  the  Limmat. 
It  is  the  seat  of  the  Swiss  diet,  alternately 
with  IJernc  and  Lucerne,  for  a  period  of  two 
years  together. 

The  banks  of  the  lake  and  river,  and  all 
the  iKMghboring  hills,  are  thickly  dotted  with 
houses,  now  united  with  the  town  itself  by  the 
removal  of  the  useless  and  inconvenient  ram- 
parts, and  forming  a  wide  circle  of  suburbs.  _ 

There  is  little  worthy  of  note  in  the  public 
buildings  of  Zurich.  Its  most  pleasing  Tea- 
turcs  are  its  promenades;  the  best  )f  which 
commands  a  delightful  view  of  the  town,  lake, 
and  distant  Alps. 

Zurich  is  historically  remarkable  as  the 
place  where  the  reformation  first  commenced 
in  Switzerland,  in  1519.  It  has  also  been  the 
asylum  of  many  eminent  English  protestants; 
and  here  was  printed,  in  1535,  the  first  entire 
English  version  of  the  Bible,  by  Miles  Cover- 
dale. 


COURTSHIP. 

We  have  seen  how  little  there  is  deserving 
the  name  of  courtship  in  savage  life,  of  either 
the  present  or  the  past.  It  is  only  amid  the 
refinements  of  enlightened  nations,  that  the 
delights  of  making  love  are  of  common  enjoy- 
ment. In  Asia,  in  Africa,  and  in  much  of 
Europe,  marriage  is  preceded  by  none  of  those 
delicate  attentions,  and  affectionate  intP'- 
change  of  sentiments,  which  form  the  p'oper 
prelude  to  the  matrimonial  engagement.  Even 
in  the  politest  nations,  as  among  the  most  bar- 
barous, the  marriages  are  affairs  of  conveni- 
ence, in  which  fortune,  position,  everything 
is  consulted,  but  the  sentiments  of  those  who 
are  taught  to  submit  in  a  mattev  of  such  vital 
moment,  to  parental  dictation.  Thus  in  France, 
as  in  Java,  young  persons  meet  for  the  first 
time  in  their  lives,  to  be  indissolubly  united 
by  the  marriage  tie. 

Spain  was  long  the  land  of  gallantry  and 
chivalry.  After  the  ancient  customs  of  con- 
fining women  with  bolts,  bars,  and  duennas, 
had  giving  way,  a  romantic  gallantry  was  car- 
ried to  the  hig'hest  pitch,  and  love  became  the 
brightest  picture  of  Spanish  life. 


Though  women  have  long  since  been  per- 
mitted to  have  a  choice  in  affairs  of  the  heart, 
there  was  still  preserved  a  decorum  of  man- 
ners, which  prevented  a  Spanish  lady  from 
being  alone  with  her  lover.  The  conseipience 
is  a  resort  to  every  ingenious  device,  by  which 
a  glowing  passion  may  find  expression. 

The  Spanish  lover  writes  out  his  adoration 
in  sonnets,  and  sets  his  affection  to  music.    At 
night  he  sings  iiis  love-lays  under  the  lattice 
of  his  lady.     Or  if  not  himself  gifted  with 
musical  abilities,  he  hires  nrrists  who  are  able 
to  do  justice  to  the  ardor  of  his  jiassion.     The 
colder  the  air  without,  the  more  is  the  seren- 
ade supposed  to  warm  the  heart  of  the  luily 
within,  and  as  pity  is  supposed  to  lead  direct- 
ly  to  love,  the  S])anish  suitor  stays  night  af- 
ter night,  heaving  deep    sighs,  and   casting 
piteous  looks  toward  the  window,  sarisfied, 
yes,   supremely  blessed,   if  he  receives  the 
slightest  signal"  of  acknowledgment  in  return. 
In  Spain  love  is  full  of  sentiment — a  deli- 
cious madness,  which,  for  the  time  absorbs  all 
other  feelings.      A    Spanish   lover   scarcely 
thinks,  speaks,  or  dreams  of  any  but  his  mis- 
tress.    Not  only  does  his  devotion  to  her  ap- 
pear like  idolatry,    but   he  is  ready  to  en- 
counter any  peril,  or  to  engage  in  any  cornbat, 
to  manifest  the  strength  of  his  attachment. 
He  is  ready  to  jjunish  her  enemies,  fight  his 
rivals,  or  do  battle  with  the  worid  at  large,  in 
his  sweet  mistress's  cause ;  but  his  choicest 
opportunity  for  signalizing  his  courage  and 
conduct,  under  the  very  eyes  of  his  mistress 
is  in  the  bull-fight,  the  national  festival  of 
Spain,  and  all  Spanish  countries.     There,  sur- 
rounded by  the  whole  public,  and  sure  that 
his  mistress  is  watching  him,  as  Hudibras 
has  it : — 

"  He  obt«io8  the  noblest  sponse, 

Who  widows  greatest  herds  of  cows." 
This  notion  of  exciting  love  by  bringing 
into  play  the  emotion  of  pity,  or  synipathy, 
has  been  made  use  of  in  Spain,  in  a  still  more 
remarkable  manner. 

It  was  once  the  custom  in  Madrid,  and 
other  chief  cities  of  Spain,  for  large  companies 
ef  people,  who  called  themselves  disciplants 
or  whippers,  to  form  a  procession  through  the 
public  streets,  every  good  Friday,  aittmled  by 
the  religious  orders,  courts  of  law,  and  some- 
times by  the  royal  court.  The  whippers  vere 
arrayed  in  high  sugar-loaf  hats,  white  gloves 
and  shoes,  and  waistcoats  with  ribands  of  the 
colors  preferred  by  the  mistresses  of  t'jeir  af- 
fections, and  were  armed  with  whips  of  small 
cords  to  the  ends  of  which  were  fastened  bits 
of  wax,  in  which  were  inserted  pieces  of 
glass.  The  whole  city,  and  espeeitilly  the 
ladies,  were  spectators  of  this  procession,  and 
as  it  passed  along,  he  who  whipped  himself 
1  hardest  felt  sure  of  winning  the  favor  of  his 


--*i!'??r<S!?*aKt«r-- 


ilw&itf,i]iJ<ir 


have  loiij;  since  been  per- 
loice  in  niVairs  of  the  heart, 
served  u  decorum  of  inan- 
nted  a  Spanish  \m\y  from 
;r  lover.  Thcconseciuence 
ingenious  device,  by  which 
nay  find  expression, 
■er  writes  out  his  adoration 
I  his  aHi'ction  to  music.  At 
love-lays  under  the  lattice 
if  not  himself  pitted  with 
e  hires  artists  who  are  able 

ardor  of  his  ])assion.  The 
out,  the  more  is  the  seren- 
arm  the  heart  of  the  lady 
'  is  su])posed  to  lead  direct" 
mish  suitor  stays  night  af- 
'  deep  siiihs,  and  casting 
urd  the  window,  satisfied, 
lessed,  if  he  receives  the 
jcknowlcdiiment  in  return. 

full  of  sentiment — a  deli- 
ich,  for  the  time  absorbs  all 
\.  Spanish  lover  scarcely 
dreams  of  any  but  his  mis- 
loes  his  devotion  to  her  ap- 
,  but  he  is  ready  to  en- 
or  to  engage  in  any  lornbat, 
trength  oi'  his  attachment, 
.nish  her  enemies,  fight  his 
I  with  the  world  at  large,  in 
s's  cause ;  but  his  choicest 
ignalizing  his  courage  and 
J  very  eyes  cf  his  mistress 
It,  the  national  festival  of 
nish  countries.  There,  sur- 
irhole  public,  and  sure  that 
atching  him,  as  Hudibras 

rtaios  the  noblest  sponso, 
greatest  herds  of  cows." 
exciting  love  by  bringing 
Dtion  of  pity,  or  sympathy, 
e  of  in  Spain,  in  a  still  more 
er. 

he  custom  in  Madrid,  and 
)f  Spain,  for  large  companies 
iUed  themselves  disciplants 
irm  a  procession  through  the 
sry  good  Friday,  attended  by 
rs,  courts  of  law,  and  some- 
l  court.  The  whippers  were 
ugar-loaf  hats,  white  gloves 
aistcoats  with  ribands  of  the 
ly  the  mistresses  of  t'leir  af- 
e  armed  with  whips  of  small 
of  which  were  fastened  bits 
;h  were  inserted  pieces  of 
jle  city,  and  especially  the 
tators  of  this  procession,  and 
ig,  he  who  whipped  himself 
of  winning  the  favor  of  his 


TYRR. 


203 


dulcinea.  When  they  passed  a  beautiful 
woman,  some  one  was  sure  to  whip  himself  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  sprinkle  her  with  his 
blood,  an  honor  for  which  she  returned  suita- 
ble acknowledgments;  and  when  any  lover 
of  this  train  passed  the  window  where  his 
mistress  was  sitting,  he  began  to  lay  on  the 
whip  with  refloubled  fury ;  while  the  lady  felt 
complimented  by  such  proofs  of  devotion. 

The  lively  Lady  Montague  gives  an  ac- 
count of  a  somewhat  similar  scene,  she  wit- 
nessed in  Constantinople — a  procession,  when 
the  sultan  was  going  out  to  take  command  of 
the  army. 

"  The  rear  of  the  procession,"  says  Lady 
Mary,  "was  comjiosed  of  volunteers,  who 
came  to  beg  of  the  sultan  the  honor  of  dying 
in  his  service ;  they  were  all  naked  to  the 
middle,  some  had  their  arms  pierced  through 
with  arrows  left  sticking  in  them,  others  had 
them  sticking  in  their  heads,  with  the  blood 
trickling  down  their  faces ;  some  slashed  their 
arras  with  sharp  knives,  making  the  blood 
spring  out  upon  the  bystanders,  and  this  is 
looked  on  -as  an  expression  of  their  zeal  for 
glory.  A.nd  I  am  told  that  some  make  use  of 
it  to  advance  their  love ;  and  when  they  come 
near  the  window  where  their  mistress  stands, 
all  the  women  being  veiled  to  see  this  specta- 
cle, they  stick  another  arrow  for  her  sake, 
who  gives  some  sign  of  approbation  and  en- 
couragement to  this  kind  of  gallantry." 

In  England  and  Scotland  there  were  former- 
ly customs  less  barbarous  perhaps,  but  scarce- 
ly less  objectionable — that  for  example  of 
drinking  toasts  to  all  the  beauties  admired  by 
the  members  of  a  convivial  party,  when  she, 
whose  lover  drank  the  most,  was  the  reigning 
toast.  These,  however,  are  the  eccentricities 
of  the  tender  passion. 

Courtship  in  Italy,  as  in  Spain,  has  tnuch 
of  the  romance  of  a  deep  passion,  and  it  is 
often  protracted  to  a  great  length,  that  its 
pleasures  may  be  enjoyed  the  longer. 


TYRE. 

BtT  we  linger  too  long  on  tka  east  of  the 
Jordan.  Now  we  cross  that  celebrated  stream. 
Our  course  lies  due  west,  having  on  our  right 
die  cedar  forests  and  the  snowy  peaks  of  Leb- 
anon, and  on  our  left  the  green  swellings  of 
fee  Upper  Galilee.  Now  we  hare  gained  the 
brow  of  an  eminence  which  overlooks  the 
Mediterranean ;  we  have  been  too  late  by  sev- 
eral centuries  in  arriving  here ;  otherwise  we 
should  have  seen  a  sight,  as  the  saying  is, 
worth  seeing.  From  this  height  we  should 
have  looked  down  upon  the  walls,  the  palace 


roofs,  the  warehouses,  the  workshops,  and  the 
spacious  harbors  of  Tyre.  Here  we  should 
have  been  greeted  by  the  city's  hum,  the  rat- 
tle of  the  cnariot  wheel,  antf  the  anvil  of  the 
artisan;  and  here  we  should  have  seen  the 
seas,  to  their  utmost  verge,  whitened  by  the 
sails  of  her  ships — some  voyaging  westward, 
others  returning  with  the  merchandise  of 
distant  lands.  But  no  one  who  lixjks  hence 
at  this  day,  and  surveys  the  silent  shore  and 
the  solitary  seas  beneath  him,  could  imagine 
that  such  a  sight  as  we  have  now  described 
could  ever  have  been  here  beheld. 

With  Ezekiel's  magnificent  prediction  of 
the  ruin  of  Tyre  we  are  all  acquainted — we 
shall  give  Volney's  version  of  the  passage : 
not  because  he  has  succeeded  in  transfusing 
more  of  the  spirit  and  sublimity  of  the  prophet 
into  his  translation  than  cur  translators  have 
done  in  theirs — he  falls,  we  apprehend,  far 
beneath  them ;  but  because  he  has  substituted 
the  modem  names  of  places  for  the  old  He- 
brew ones,  and  has  thus  thrown  great  light  on 
the  commerce  of  Tyre — a  commerce  which 
more  nearly  reserabi.j  hit  which  Britain  is 
carrying  on  at  this  ('ay,  ili  m  anything  else  of 
the  kind  which  the  '..oxld  has  ever  seen  : — 

"  Proud  city,  that  art  situate  at  the  entry 
of  the  sea !     Tyre,  who  hast  said,  nay  borders 
are  in  the  midst  of  the  seas ;   attend  to  the 
judgments  pronounced  against  thee !     Thou 
hast    extended   thy   commerce   to   [distant] 
islands,  among  the  inhabitants  of  [unknown] 
coasts.     Thou  makest  ships  of  fir-trees  of 
Sanir  [the  highest  summit  of  Lebanon] ;  the 
cedars  of  Lebanon  are  masts  to  thee ;  the  pop- 
lars of  Bisan,  oars.     Thy  sailors  are  seated 
upon  the  box-wood  of  Cyprus,  inlaid  with 
ivory.     Thy  sails  and  streamers  are  woven 
with  fine  flax  from  Egypt;  thy  garments  are 
dyed  with  blue  and  purple  of  Hellas  [the 
Archipelago].    Sidon  and  Arvad  send  their 
rowers  to  thee ;  Djabel  [Djebila]  her  skilful 
shipbuilders;    thy  mathematicians  and  thy 
sages  guide  thy  barks;  all  the  ships  of  the 
sea  are  employed  in  thy  commerce.     The 
Persian,  the  Lydian,  and  Egyptian,  receive 
thy  wages:  thy  walls  are  hung  round  vdth 
their  bucklers  and  their  cuirases.    The  sons 
of  Arvad  line  thy  parapeU ;   and  thy  towers, 
guarded  by  the  Djimedeans   [a  Phoenician 
people],  glitter  with  their  brilliant  quivers. 
Every  country  desires  to  trade  with  thee. 
Tarsus  sends  to  thy  markets  iron,  tin,  and 
lead.    Yonia,  the  country  of  the  Mosques  and 
Teblis,  supply  thee  with  slaves  and  brazen 
vessels.    Armenia  sends  thee  mnles,  horses, 
and  horsemen.    The  Arab  of  Dedan  [between 
Aleppo  and  Damascus]  conveys  thy  merchan- 
dise.    Many  isles  exchange  with  thee  ivory 
and  ebony.      The   Armenian    [the    Syrian] 
brings  thee  rabies,  purple,  embroidered  work, 


204 


TYRE. 


fine  linnn,  ooral,  and  agate.  The  children  of 
Israel  and  Jiidah  sell  thee  cheese,  balm,  myrrh, 
raisins,  and  oil ;  and  Damascus  furnishes  thee 
■wine  of  Halboun  [perhaps  Halab,  where  there 
•re  still  vines],  and  fine  wool.  The  Arabs  of 
Oman  oiler  to  thy  merchants  polished  iron, 
cinnamon,  and  the  aromatic  reed ;  and  the 
Arabians  of  Dedan  bring  thee  rich  carpets. 
The  inhabitants  of  the  Desert,  and  the  sheiks 
of  Kedar,  exchange  their  lambs  and  their  goats 
for  thy  valuable  merchandise.  The  Arabs  of 
Saba  ami  Rama  [in  the  Yemen]  enrich  thee 
with  arotnatics,  precious  stones,  and  gold. 
The  inhabitants  of  Haram,  of  Kalana  [in 
Mesopotamia],  and  of  Adana  [near  to  Tarsus], 
the  factors  ot  the  Arabs  of  Sheba  [near  the 
Dedan],  the  Assyrians,  and  the  Chaldeans, 
trade  also  with  thee,  and  sell  thee  shawls, 
garments  artfully  embroidered,  silver,  masts, 
cordage,  and  cedars;  yea,  the  boasted  vessels 
of  Tarsus  are  in  thy  pay.  O  Tyre !  elated 
with  the  greatness  of  thy  glory,  and  the  im- 
mensity of  thy  riches,  the  waves  of  the  sea 
shall  rise  up  against  thee,  and  the  tempest 
plunge  thee  to  the  bottom  of  the  waters. 
Then  shall  thy  wealth  be  swallowed  up  with 
thee  ;  and  with  thee  in  one  day  shall  perish 
thy  commerce,  thy  merchants  and  correspond- 
ents, thy  sailors,  pilots,  artist),  and  soldiers, 
and  ihe  numberless  people  who  dwell  within 
thy  walls.  Thy  rowers  shell  desert  thy  vss- 
Thy  pilots  shall  sit  upon  the  shore, 


sets 


Is. 


looking  mournfully  toward  the  land.  The 
nations  whom  thou  enrichest,  the  kings  whom 
thou  didst  gratify  with  the  abundance  of  thy 
merchandise,  trembling  at  thy  ruin,  shall  cry 
bit'terly  in  despair;  they  shall  cut  off  their 
hair ;  they  shall  cast  ashes  on  their  heads ; 
they  shall  roll  in  the  dust,  and  lament  over 
thee,  saying,  what  city  shall  equal  Tyre,  that 
queen  of  the  sea !" 

Now  we  are  in  circumstances  to  feel  how 
completely  the  prediction  has  been  verified. 
Look  down,  then.  You  see  this  little  clump 
of  iniserable  houses  immediately  beneath,  all 
huddled  together  on  this  low  island,  which 
scarcely  rises  above  the  surface  of  the  water. 
This  is  all  that  remains  of  the  crowning  city. 
You  see  that  basin  for  ships  on  the  north, 
well-nigh  choked  up  with  sand.  There  the 
fleets  of  the  world  were  wont  to  cast  anchor. 
A  stranger  from  a  far-distant  land  passed  this 
way  not  many  years  ago.  He  tells,  that  when 
he  passed  by,  there  was  only  a  single  fishing- 
boat  in  the  harbor  of  Tyre-  On  the  sandy 
plain  which  you  perceive  running  up  on  the 
north  of  the  town  stood  old  Tyre.  The  army 
of  Nebuchadnezzar  lay  thirteen  years  on  that 
plain.  Every  head  wos  made  oald — every 
shoulder  was  peeled  in  the  siege;  but  at  last 
the  city  was  taken. 

Before  the  banners  of  the  Ch&ldean  army 


were  seen  on  the  plain  before  Tyre,  and  even 
before  Nebuchodnezzar  had  projected  the  ex- 
pedition, with  what  beauty  had  the  projihct 
described  the  result  of  the  siege  ?  "  Thus 
saith  the  Lord ;  behold  I  will  bring  upon 
Tyrus  Nebuchadnezzar  king  of  Babylon,  a 
king  of  kings,  from  the  north,  with  horses, 
and  with  chariots,  and  with  horsemen,  and 
companies,  and  much  people.  He  shall  make 
a  fort  against  thee,  and  cast  a  mount  against 
thee,  and  lift  up  a  buckler  against  thee,  and 
he  shall  set  engines  of  war  against  thy  walls, 
and  with  his  axes  he  shall  break  down  tliy 
towers.  By  reason  of  the  abundance  of  his 
horses  their  dust  shall  cover  thee ;  thy  walls 
shall  shake  at  the  noise  of  the  horsemen,  and 
of  the  wheels,  and  of  the  chariots,  when  he 
shall  enter  into  thy  gates,  as  men  enter  into  a 
city  wherein  is  made  a  breach.  And  T  will 
cause  the  noise  of  thy  songs  to  cease ;  and  the 
sound  of  thy  harps  shall  be  no  more  heard." 

Old  Tyre  was  now  in  ruin.  The  inhabit- 
ants hp'^'fled  to  a  little  island  a  very  short 
distance  from  the  shore.  There  they  pro- 
ceeded to  erect  a  new  city  which  became  the 
heii  of  the  fame  and  the  vast  commerce  of 
that  which  Nebuchadnezzar  had  destroyed. 
New  Tyre  continued  to  flourish  till  the  times 
of  Alexander ;  but,  as  she  stood  in  the  way 
of  the  scheme  of  universal  contiuest  whicn 
that  monarch  had  formed,  her  reduction  was 
necessary.  In  order  to  bring  his  engines  of 
war  chjse  up  to  her  walls,  he  found  it  neces- 
sary to  construct  a  mound  between  the  shore 
and  the  island  on  which  the  city  stood.  For 
this  ])urpose  he  chose  the  materials  which  the 
place  most  readily  offered.  These  were  the 
dust,  the  timber,  and  the  stones  of  Old  Tyre, 
which  had  lain  here  since  the  periixl  of  her 
destniction  by  Nebuchadnezzar:  "  They  shall 
lay  thy  stones  and  thy  timber  and  thy  dust  in 
tlie  midst  of  the  water."  '*  /  uill  also  scrape 
her  dust  from  her."  The  arms  of  the  con- 
queror prevailed,  and  the  queen  of  the  seas 
sank.  She  was  soon  rebuilt;  but  to  suffer 
new  calamities,  and  to  come,  in  the  course  of 
ages,  into  the  miserable  state  in  which  we 
now  find  her.  "  When  you  come  to  it,"  says 
Maundrell.  "you  find  no  similitude  of  that 
glory  for  which  it  was  so  renowned  in  ancient 
times,  and  which  the  prophet  Ezekiel  de- 
scribes. On  the  north  side  of  it,  it  has  an  old 
Turkish  ungarrisoned  castle ;  besides  which 
you  see  nothing  here  but  a  mere  Babel  of 
broken  walls,  pillars,  vaults,  &c.,  there  being 
not  so  much  as  one  entire  house  left.  Its 
present  inhabitants  are  only  a  few  poor  wretch- 
es, harboring  themselves  in  the  vaults,  and 
subsisting  chiefly  upon  fishing." 

Before  we  quit  the  eminence  where  we  now 
stand,  and  from  which  we  look  down  on  the 
shadow  of  Tyre,  let  us  observe  how  God  hM 


IliiillliiliillllliWil 


f 


he  plain  before  Tyre,  and  even 
adnezzar  had  projected  the  ex- 
wliat  beauty  had  the  prophet 
result  of  the  siege  ?  "  Thus 
d ;  behold  I  will  bring  upon 
ladnezzar  king  of  Babylon,  a 

from  the  north,  with  horses, 
riot8,  and  with  horsemen,  and 
I  much  people.  He  shall  make 
:hee,  and  cast  8  mount  against 
up  a  buckler  against  thee,  and 
gincs  of  war  against  thy  walls, 
axes  he  shall  break  down  tliy 
eason  of  the  abundance  of  his 
ist  shall  cover  thee ;  thy  walls 
the  noise  of  the  horsemen,  and 

and  of  the  chariots,  when  he 
)  thy  gates,  as  men  enter  into  a 
is  made  a  breach.  And  T  will 
)  of  thy  songs  to  cease ;  and  the 
arps  shall  be  no  more  heard." 
'as  now  in  ruin.  The  inLabit- 
to  a  little  island  a  very  short 
the  shore.  There  they  pro- 
t  a  new  city  which  became  the 
me  and  the  vast  commerce  of 
ebuchadnezzar  had  destroyed. 
itinued  to  flourish  till  the  times 
;  but,  as  she  stood  in  the  way 
I  of  uiiiversal  contjuest  which 
had  formed,  her  reduction  was 
I  order  to  bring  his  engines  of 

0  her  walls,  he  found  it  neces- 
ict  a  mound  between  the  shore 

on  which  the  city  stood.  For 
e  chose  the  materials  which  the 
idily  offered.  These  were  the 
er.  and  the  stones  of  Old  Tyre, 
in  here  since  the  period  of  her 
Nebuchadnezzar:  ^^  They  shall 
and  thy  timber  and  thy  dust  in 
ie  water."     "  /  uill  also  scrape 

1  her."  The  arms  of  the  con- 
ied,  and  the  queen  of  the  seas 
'as  soon  rebuilt;  but  to  suffer 
3,  and  to  come,  in  the  course  of 
1  miserable  state  in  which  we 

"  When  you  come  to  it,"  says 
you  find  no  similitude  of  that 
h  it  was  80  renowned  in  ancient 
hich  the  prophet  Ezekiel  de- 
he  north  side  of  it,  it  has  an  old 
irrisoned  castle ;  besides  which 
ing  here  but  a  mere  Babel  of 
pillars,  vaults,  &c.,  there  being 

as  one  entire  house  left.  Its 
tants  are  only  a  few  poor  wretch- 

themselves  in  the  vaults,  and 
;{ly  upon  fishing." 
|uit  the  eminence  where  we  now 
tm  which  we  look  down  on  the 
,rre,  let  us  observe  how  God  h«« 


MKXK. 


205 


here  inflicted  his  threatening^  to  the  very  let- 
ter. Here  is  the  silo  of  Old  Tyre,  a  sandy 
pliiin  with  the  waves  tuinblin;j;  over  it :  "  IVhen 
I  shall  hrltifr  up  Otcdeep  upon  thee,  and  great 
waters  shall  cover  thee  ;  I  ivill  make  thee  a 
terror,  and  thou  shalt  be  no  more :  though  thou 
be  sought  for,  yet  shalt  thou  never  he  found 
again,  saith  the  Lord  God."  Ailjoining  the 
|)iMiiusulti  on  which  the  miserable  village  be- 
neath us  is  seated,  you  perceive  what  you 
take  to  be  dark  rocks  rising  out  of  the  was'es ; 
tluse  are  very  convenient  for  the  fishermen, 
who  here  spread  their  nets  in  order  to  be  dried. 
These  are  not  rocks ;  they  are  the  stones  of 
Tyic  tumbled  iiito  the  sea  by  her  successive 
destroyers:  "  1  will  make  thee  like  the  top  of 
a  rock  ;  thou  shalt  be  a  place  to  spread  nets 
upon."  Wh(j  now  remembers  this  great  city 
whose  fall  resounded  over  the  seas,  and  caused 
tiiis  song  of  lumentalioii  to  be  heard  among  its 
isles — a  song  which  the  proidict  had  prepared 
beforehand,  and  taught  the  kings  and  cities  of 
the  earth  to  sing,  when  the  mournful  event 
should  have  come  ?  We  r|uote  part  of  this 
hymn  of  lamentation  and  depart :  "  Thus  saith 
the  Lord  God  to  Tyrus;  shall  not  the  isles 
shake  at  the  sound  o"f  thy  full  ?  Then  all  the 
princes  of  the  sea  shall  come  ilowii  from  their 
thrones,  and  lay  away  their  rolies,  and  put  off' 
their  broidered  garments  :  they  shall  sit  upon 
the  ground,  and  shall  tremble  at  every  mo- 
ment, and  be  astonished  at  thee.  And  they 
shall  take  up  a  lamentation  for  thee,  and  say 
to  thee,  how  art  thou  destroyed,  that  wast 
inhabited  of  sea-faring  men,  the  renowned 
city,  which  wast  strong  in  the  sea,  she  ond 
her  inhabitants,  which  cause  their  terror  to  be 
on  all  that  haunt  it." 


MEXICO. 

Mkxico  extends  from  about  latitude  sixteen 
to  forty-two  degrees  north,  from  the  gulf  of 
Mexico  to  the  Pacific:  and  was  in  extent, 
before  the  loss  of  Texas,  about  as  large  as  the 
United  States.  It  embraces  all  the  climates 
of  the  world,  and  rises  in  temperature  from 
the  tropical  plains  of  Vera  Cruz  and  Acapulco, 
to  the  regions  of  perpetual  snow.  The  Rocky 
Mountaitis,  which  separate  us  from  Oregon, 
extend  through  all  Mexico,  and  her  whole  sur- 
face is  coinpr)sed  of  table-lands  and  mount- 
ains, which  rise  in  steps  from  the  gulf  and 
the  Rio  Grande,  to  the  highest  level,  and  then 
descend  in  regular  gradations  once  more  to  the 
Pacific.  She  has  no  navigable  streams,  and 
the  mountains  and  the  arid  plains  compose,  I 
should  think  seven  eighths  of  the  whole  ter- 
ritory.    It  is  now  three  hundred  years  since 


I  the  .Spanish  conquest,  and  her  population  has 
long  since  reached  that  barrier,  where  nature 
imposes  eternal  obstacles  to  further  progress, 
where  the  whole  products  of  the  earth  are 
economically  consumed  by  the  peojde.     No 

I  doubt,  a  better  mode  of  agriculture  would  in- 
crease her  population  ;  but  at  present,  to  use 
the  language  of  Malthus,  she  has  reached  the 
jjoint  of  subsistence.  It  is  true,  that  the 
remote  provinces  of  California  and  New  Mex- 
ico, and  those  borrlering  u|)on  thi>  Rio  Grande, 
and  suliject  to  Indian  invasions,  contain  some 
uncultivated  lands;  but  the  proposition,  as 
above  stated,  applies  to  the  mass  .>f  Mexict,. 
For  in  the  greater  portion  of  the  while  repub- 
lic, women  and  chili! 'en  may  be  seen  picking 
up  grains  of  corn  in  the  highways,  and  the 
rinds  of  fruit  thrown  in  the  streets,  are  imme- 
diately seized  and  consumed.  So  soon  as  you 
cross  the  Rio  Grande,  you  feel  yourself  in  a 
foreign  land.  Mexico  hns  no  fiirests.  It  is 
true,  that  along  the  streams  and  on  mountain- 
tops  there  are  trees,  but  you  are  struck  M-ith 
this  great  characteristic,  that  the  land  is  bare 
of  trees.  The  numerous  varieties  of  the 
coctus  of  all  sizes,  intermixed  with  palmetto, 
stunted  or  long  grass,  cover  the  whole  land 
You  are  among  a  [teople  of  a  novel  color,  and 
a  strange  language.  Tne  very  birds  and 
beasts,  and  dogs,  seem  r"'  "jrent.  The  part- 
ridge, the  Inrk,  the  cro  ' 

fer  in  size,  and  plunia' 
from  ours.  The  buildj 
Spanish  style.     The 

together.  The  bricks  are  of  clay  and  straw, 
sun-dried.  The  women  go  wgth  "earthen  ves- 
sels to  the  vv ell,  just  os  Rachel  was  sent  of 
old  in  the  time  of  the  patriarchs  of  Judea. 
The  roofs  of  the  houses  are  flat,  and  are  places 
of  recreation  ;  and  the  people  wear  sandals  as 
in  the  East,  in  filden  time.  Wheat,  Indian 
com,  and  herds  of  cattle,  sheep  and  goats,  the 
banana  and  re(l-pep[)er,  and  garlic  and  onions, 
are  the  principal  sources  of  subsistence.  The 
products  of  the  mines,  are  the  principal  arti- 
cles of  foreign  exchange,  added  to  woods,  be- 
sides tallow  and  cochineal. 

The  extreme  dryness  of  Mexico,  makes 
irrigation  necessory  in  most  of  the  country, 
and  the  scarcity  of  water,  and  the  habits  of 
the  ])eople,  collect  the  inhabitants  into  cities 
or  villages.  The  land  itself  is  owned  by  a 
few  large  proprietors,  not  the  least  of  whom 
are  the  priests.  The  great  mass  of  the  peo- 
ple are  serfs,  vrilh  but  few  more  rights  thnn 
the  American  slaves.  It  is  true,  that  the  chil- 
dren of  serfs,  are  not  of  necessity  also  serfs, 
but  debts  brings  .-slavery,  and  the  wages  allow- 
ed by  law,  almost  always  perpetuate  it. 
Here  then  is  the  secret  of  the  success  of  our 
arms.  I  converscil  freely  with  the  tenantry 
and  soldiers  in  all  Mexico,  and  where  they  are 


ie  black-bird,  dif- 

id  sing  diflferently 

are  of  Moorish  and 

t  and  the  sheep  feed 


% 


'tT 


IT 


I 


206 


WINTKR  TRAVELLINO  IN  RUSSIA. 


not  filled  with  religious  enthusiasm  against  us, 
tliey  care  not  who  rules  thetn,  American  or 
Mexican  masters.  If  all  the  Mexican  soldiers 
were  freeholders  ond  freemen,  not  one  of  all 
the  American  array  could  escape  from  her  bor- 
ders. The  soldiers  are  caught  up  in  the  ha- 
ciendas, and  the  streets  of  the  towns,  by  force 
confined  in  some  prison  or  convent,  there 
drilled,  clothed,  armed,  and  then  sent  on  to  the 
regular  army.  Such  men  avow  their  resolu- 
tion to  desert  or  run,  on  the  first  occasion.  Of 
near  one  thousand  soldiers  sent  from  Toluca, 
to  the  aid  of  Santa  Anna  at  Mexico,  not  one 
hundred  stood  the  battle. 

The  whole  people  do  not  exceed  eight  mil- 
lions ;  of  these,  about  two  millions  arc  white, 
and  mixed  bloods ;  the  ijemainder  are  native 
Indians,  I  never,  in  all  Mexico,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  foreigners  in  the  capital,  saw  a  sin- 
gle white  man  at  work. 


WINTER  TRAVELLING  IN  RUSSIA. 

OcK  engraving  represents  one  of  the  cou- 
riers of  the  cabinet  of  the  emperor  of  Rusitia. 
They  wear  a  military  uniform,  with  official 
epaulettes,  according  to  their  grade.  There 
are  constantly  a  certain  number  of  these  cou- 
riers in  attendance,  in  a  chamber  of  the  impe- 
riol  palace,  to  be  despatched  as  occasion  may 
require.  These  are  confidential  persons,  and 
they  receive  th(;ir  orders  direct  from  the  em- 
peror ;  and,  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night, 
they  are  ready  to  receive  instructions  for  de- 
parture, or  for  delivery  of  their  despatches. 
At  each  post,  there  are  relays  of  horses,  spe- 
cially kept  for  these  couriers,  whose  approach 
is  announced  by  a  bell  suspended  from  a  cir- 
cle above  the  head  of  the  centre  horse. 

They  travel  with  surprising  rapidity,  and 
they  often  receive  large  sums  of  money  for 
their  services. 

The  illustration  shows  the  courier  seated, 
and  the  mode  by 'which  he  carries  the  des- 
patches— in  a  leather  bag;  the  car,  driver, 
and  horses,  are  alike  characteristic  portrait- 
ures. 

Those  who  have  been  accustomsd  only  to 
our  fine  roads,  and  rapid  and  regular  convey- 
ances, can  form  but  a  very  inaderiuate  idea  of 
the  miseries  attending  a  continental  journey, 
more  particularly  in  Russia,  where,  with  the 
exception  qf  the  Chaussoe,  from  Moscow  to 
St.  retersburgb,  the  roads  are  execrable ;  the 
springless  vehicles,  the  most  agonizing  that 
can  be  irhagincd  ;  and  the  post-houses  so  dirty, 
so  comfortless,  that  the  traveller  frequently 
passes  the  night  in  the  open  air,  in  his  travel- 
iing-carriage,  rather  than  be  exposed  to  the 


filth,  the  swarms  of  vermin,  and  the  disgust- 
ing etlluvia,  that  would  have  annoyed  him 
within. 

Excepting  those  on  the  great  road,  already 
mentioned,  there  are  no  stage-coaches  in  Rus- 
sia. The  traveller  is  conse(|uently  reduced 
to  the  alternative,  of  either  purchasing  an 
e(|uipage,  or  taking  the  rude  vehicles  of  the 
country,  and  changing  them  at  every  stage. 

His  tirst  iireliminary  before  starting  is,  to 
give  notice  three  ilays  previously,  of  his  inten- 
tion, to  the  head  |)olice-orticer  of  his  quarter, 
who  gives  him  a  certificate,  attesting  that  he 
has  no  unliijuidated  debts,  nor  any  law-suit 
pending :  he  then  jirocures  from  the  bureau 
of  the  "  grond-masfer  of  the  (wlice,"  a  pass- 
jiort,  without  which  he  would  not  be  allowed 
to  pass  the  city  gotes.  His  next  step  is  to  ar- 
range the  mode  of  conveyance  ;  of  these  he 
lias  the  choice  of  two.  Upon  the  payment  of 
0  stated  tax,  amounting  to  aoout  a  farthing  per 
milo  for  each  horse,  he  may  obtain  a  govern- 
ment order,  called  a  ])adoroshnee,  entitling  him 
to  demand  relays  at  every  station,  for  which 
he  will  pay  for  hire  about  three  fourths  more 
for  every  horse.  At  each  post-house,  he  will 
find  a  government  oflBcer,  called  a  "  smotre- 
tel,"  or  over-looker,  whose  duty  it  is  to  en- 
register  his  name,  and  furnisn  the  horses, 
which  the  peasants  are  bound  to  supply.  Or, 
he  may  contract  with  a  class  of  men  called 
yimshtchikee,  who  will  undertake  to  convey 
him  to  his  destination  within  a  specified  time. 
The  former  plan  is  generally  adopted  by  those 
to  whom  the  trifling  additional  expense  is 
not  an  object ;  the  latter  method  is,  from  its 
novelty,  perhaps  not  unworthy  of  notice. 

The  yemshtchikee  are  generally,  but  not 
exclusively,  frecdmen  or  crown-vassals,  who, 
together  with  other  immunities,  enjoy  an  ex- 
emption from  military  ser\'ice,  upon  condition 
of  contracting  with  the  government,  for  the 
regular  supply  of  horses  for  its  couriers,  and 
for  postoffice  duty.  They  frequent,  when  in 
the  cities,  places  called,  "  postoyalee  droree," 
or  post-yards,  situate  in  the  principal  streets 
entering  the  town.  To  these  the  traveller 
goes — they  assemble  round  him  in  great  num- 
bers— he  states  the  distance  he  wishes  to  be 
conveyed,  and  inquires  the  sum  for  which  they 
will  contract  to  take  him ;  a  consultation  fol- 
lows, and  a  price  is  named,  generally  as  much 
again  as  they  intend  to  take ;  he  offers  what 
he  thinks  a  fair  sum ;  another  and  another 
eager  consultation — and  at  last,  after  k  ng  bar- 
gaining, the  contract  is  made.  He  starts,  auci 
is  driven  two  or  three  stages  by  the  individual 
with  whom  he  contracted,-  who  then  disposes 
of  his  bargain  on  the  best  terms  he  can  to  an- 
other, reserving  to  himself  the  difTerence — the 
amount  of  which  alone  the  traveller  pays  him. 
The  same  transfer  is  made  at  intervals  upon 


.WiinLnmi^w  ift'j t'-'K.ii' '■  H'.g-'.g'^  .v&t^-,-  'imueBMtm 


3IA. 

IS  of  vermin,  and  the  ilisnrust- 
it  would   have   annoyed   liim 

ose  on  the  great  road,  already 
e  are  no  stage-coaches  in  Riis- 
eller  is  conse(|uently  reduced 
ive,  of  either  ptirctiasing  an 
king  the  rudo  vehicles  of  the 
anging  them  at  every  stage, 
iliminary  before  starting  is,  to 
s  days  previously,  of  his  inten- 
J  iMilice-otticer  of  his  f]uarter, 
a  certlKcate,  attesting  that  he 
lated  debts,  nor  any  law-suit 
icn  procures  from  the  bureau 
master  of  the  jwlice,"  a  pass- 
hich  he  would  not  be  allowed 
gates.  His  next  step  is  to  ar- 
e  of  conveyance  ;  of  these  he 
)f  two.  Upon  the  payment  of 
iounting  to  aoout  a  farthing  per 
orse,  he  may  obtain  a  govern- 
ed a  padorosnnee,  entitling  him 
^s  at  every  station,  for  which 
hire  about  three  fourths  more 
At  each  post-house,  he  will 
ent  officer,  called  a  "  smotre- 
)ker,  whose  duty  it  is  to  en- 
me,  and  furnish  the  horses, 
mts  are  bound  to  supply.  Or, 
ct  with  a  class  of  men  called 
'ho  will  undertake  to  convey 
nation  within  a  specified  time. 
n  is  generally  adopted  by  those 
trifling  additional  expense  is 

the  latter  method  is,  from  its 
IS  not  unworthy  of  notice, 
chikee  are  generally,  but  not 
cdmen  or  crown-vassals,  who, 
)thcr  immunities,  enjoy  an  ex- 
lilitary  service,  upon  condition 
with  the  government,  for  the 
of  horses  for  its  couriers,  and 
luty.  They  frequent,  when  in 
!s  callfed,  "  postoyalee  droree," 
ituate  in  the  principal  streets 
>wn.  To  these  the  traveller 
^inble  round  him  in  great  num- 
I  the  distance  he  wishes  to  be 
nquires  the  sum  for  which  they 

take  him ;  a  consultation  fol- 
:e  is  named,  generally  as  much 
ntend  to  take ;  he  oilers  what 
.ir  sum ;  another  and  another 
on — and  at  last,  after  k  ng  bar- 
itract  is  made.  He  starts,  and 
■  three  stages  by  the  individual 
contracted,'  who  then  disposes 
)n  the  best  terms  he  can  to  an- 
il to  himself  the  difference — the 
:h  alone  the  traveller  pays  him. 
jfer  is  made  at  intervals  upon 


■r 


r 


the  jriurnpy.  Sometimes  several  mav  wish 
to  take  the  contract :  the  (|uestion  is  then  ile- 
cidcd  1)V  lot,  in  n  very  singuliir  way  ;  one 
throws  liis  whip  into  the  air— another  seizes 
it  in  f'nllins.  iinil  tlie  two  then  grasp  it  olteT- 
natelv,  hand  over  hand,  till  they  reach  the 
rnd,  wlien  he  who  last  has  hold  of  it  i»  declared 
the  winner. 

The  yeinshtchikee  are  a  fine  race  ot  fel- 
lows :  some  of  them,  with  their  dark  cluster-  , 
inj;  hair,  their  ample  beards,  their  sun-hnmt  ! 
features.  fmi\  their  brawny  necks,  wouhl  form 
studies  for  a  Salvator  Rosa.  There  is  an  air 
of  bold  frankness  about  them,  which  is  highly 
pleasing.  They  have  several  mel(Klies  pecu- 
liar to^themsi^lves,  which  they  sing  almost 
■without  intermission  the  whole  stage. 

In  Hne  weather,  and  over  good  roails,  there 
is  something  delightfully  exhilarating  in  sledge 
travelling ;   snugly  enveloped  in  furs,  while 

.    .    .    "  The  vault  is  blue 

WiUiout  a  cloud  ;  and  white  witlioiit  a  Bpeck, 
The  dazzling  oplendor  of  the  scenes  below  ; ' 

the  traveller  glides  swiftly  along  the  level 
snow,  enlivened  by  the  tinkling  of  the  sono- 
rous bell,  attached' to  an  arch  that  rises  over 
the  head  of  the  centre  horse,  and  cheered  or 
soothed,  as  his  mood  may  be,  by  the  wild,  yet 
pliiintiv<j  song  of  his  yimshtcMk  driver. 
Cheerless  as  may  be  imagined 

.    ,    .    .    •'  The  deserts  tossed  in  »now 
And  hoavy-loaded  groves" 

of  this  frigid  climate,  yet  are  they  not  with- 
out their  charms.    In  clear  frosty  weather, 
daybreak,  on  a  vast  plain,  is  pre-eminently 
beautiful.     The   sober   gray  of   dawn,    first 
faintly  streaked  in  the  east,  with  a  pale  red 
tinge,  that  gradually  deepens  into  crimson,  till 
the'  sun  lifting  his  broad  glowing  disk,  above 
the  horizon,  pours  his  level  beams  on  the  un- 
sullied purity  of  the  snowy  scene,  that  blush- 
es and  sparkles  in  his  glance,  as  glittering  like 
gems  unon  its  surface,  countless  icy  crystals 
catch  and  refract  his  rays.     In  peculiar  states 
of  the  atmosphere,  the  air  is  charged  with  in- 
numerable atomic  congelations,  that  dance  and 
glisten  in  the  sunbeams  like  minutest  diamonds, 
tinged    faintly   of    all   the    prismatic   colors. 
Tliey  might  also  be  fancie<l  stray  particles  of 
froirn  light,  so  brilliantly  vivid,  yet  so  impal- 
■pably  delicate  are  they,  the  reader  can  not  fail 
to  have  remarked,  that  when  a  stream  of  sun- 
light is  permitted  to  fall  into  a  darkened  toom, 
it'appears  .illed  with  motelike  particles  inces- 
santly in  movement ;  let  him  then  imagine 
the  whole  circumambient  air  filled  with  these, 
all  glittering  like  little  gems,  and  he  will  have 
some  conception  of  this  beautiful  atmospheric 
phenomenon. 


The  forest,  too,  has  its  attractions.  The 
snow,  hanging  in  heavy  musses  on  the  pine- 
tree,  and  weighing  down  its  branches,  present* 
a  striking  contrast  to  the  gloomy  veriiure  of 
its  dark  foliage.  The  elegant  weeping  birch- 
tree  is  another  object  of  interest,  assuming 
the  ai)pearance  of  a  delicate  petrifaction,  as 
the  gracefully-slender  fibres  tcnninating  its 
bratiches,  droo|>  to  the  very  gn)unt'  beneath 
the  weight  of  their  lucid  covering. 

"With  the  o|)proach  of  spring,   the   scene 
changes.     Beneath  the  increased  power  of  the 
sun,  the  snow  loses  its  resplemient  whiteness 
— the  gem-like  icy  crystals  are  <lis»olved— 
the  fir  is  stript  of  its  snowy  mantle— the  birch 
of  its  glossy  covering.     The  great  roads,  be- 
coming almost  imi)racticable,  are  deserted,  and 
sinuous  by-tracks  are  made  over  the  a()iacent 
plains,  or  through  the  forests  that  skirt  the 
road  ;  these  in  a  short  time,  are  intersected 
by  furrows,  as  regular  os  those  of  a  ploughed 
field,  hut  muchdeeiK!r;  their  torturing  monot- 
ony is  inoeed,  sometimes  varied  by  the  suc- 
cession of  deep  holes,  filled  with  half-melted 
snow,  through  which  the  unhappy  traveller  is 
whiried,  plunging  and  splashing  at  every  step. 
Fancy,  reader,  for  a  moment,  the  luxury  of 
being  driven  in  a  taxed-cart,  or  dragged  on  a 
hunile,  over  the  frozen  ridges  of  a  ploughed 
field,  for  the  space  of  some  five  or  six  hours, 
and  you  will  have  some  slight  notion  of  the 
pleasures  of  travelling  in  Russia  in  the  spring 
of  the  year.     All  this  might  be  endured  with 
com|>lacency,  if  the  cleonly  comforts  of  a  de- 
cent inn  could  be  calculated  upon,  at  the  end 
of  the  stage— no  such  thing  is  to  be  found  in 
the  whole  emi)ire,  out  of  the  principal  cities. 
The  only  substitute  is  the  i)easant's  or  y^msh- 
tchik's  house,  or  the  post-house  ;  the  latter  is 
perhaps  preferable,  as  there  the  traveller  may 
probably  get  a  leathern  sofa,  on  which  to  rest 
his  aching,  and  almost  diskx>at«l  bones;  beds 
are  ((uite  out  of  the  cjuestion,   and  refresh- 
ments of  any  kind  almost  eijuully  so. 

The  Russian  nobility  in  travelling,  take 
with  them  everything  'that  is  necessary  for 
the  roads  ; '  bedding,  rugs.  ()n)visions,  culinary 
utensils,  wax-tapers,  &c.,  with  j)astiles  lor 
fumigation,  the  latter  a  very  necessary  pre- 
caution, where  the  olfactories  have  not  all 
together  lost  their  sensitiveness.  They  are 
invariably  accompanied  by  their  cook-— as  in 
the  majority  of  places,  actually  nothing  is 
procurable,  excepting  black  bread  of  the 
coarsest  description,  eggs,  and  sometimes  milk ; 
unless  indeed,  the  traveller  be  content  to  |)ar- 
take  of  the  peasants'  luxury — boiled  gram, 
eaten  with  hempseod-oil,  as  black  and  as  thick 
as  treacle,  or  a  dish  called  shlchee,  a  kind  i)f 
cabbage-soup,  in  which  float  a  few  straggling 
strips  of  beef. 

It  must   be  distinctly  observed,  however. 


I  A. 


10.  has  its  nttriictions.  The 
u  hi'iivy  mussel  on  the  )iinn- 
u<i  iIdwii  its  lirnncht's,  present* 
ra.st  to  till!  gloomy  veriluie  of 
Thu  eleiiiint  weeping  bireh- 

ol)joct  of  interest,  assuming 

of  a  c]elicat<!  petrifaction,  as 
(lender   tilircs  tenninuting   its 

to  the  very  grount'  beneath 
beir  luciil  covering. 
i))roach  of  spring,   the   scene 
ath  the  increaseil  power  of  the 
ises  its  resplenilent  whiteness 

icy  crystals  are  dissolved — 
)f  its  snowy  mantle — the  liirch 
vering.  The  great  roads,  be- 
rnpracticnble,  are  deserted,  and 
ks  are  made  over  the  adjacent 
igh  the  forests  that  skirt  the 

a  short  time,  are  intersected 
regular  os  those  of  a  ploughed 
deejwr;  their  torturing  monot- 
Bometimes  varied  by  the  suc- 

holcs,  filled  with  half-melted 
which  the  unhappy  traveller  is 
ng  and  splashing  at  every  step, 
for  a  moment,  the  luxury  of 

a  taxed-cart,  or  dragged  on  a 
e  frozen  ridges  of  a  ploughed 
jace  of  some  five  or  six  hours, 
ave  some  slight  notion  of  the 
nvelling  in  Russia  in  the  spring 
\11  this  might  be  endured  with 
f  the  cleanly  comforts  of  a  de- 
be  calculated  upon,  at  the  end 
10  such  thing  is  to  be  founcl  in 
lire,  out  of  the  i)rincipal  cities, 
itute  is  the  i)easant's  or  y^iash- 
or  the  post-house ;  the  latter  is 
able,  as  there  the  traveller  may 
leathern  sofa,  on  which  to  rest 
I  almost  dislocated  bones ;  beds 
of  the  (juestion,  and  refresh- 
kind  almost  equally  so. 
m  nobility   in   travelling,  take 
erything  "that  is  necessary  tor 
Iding,  rugs,  jmivisioijs,  culinary 
tapers,  Sec,  with   jfastiles  for 
e  latter  a  very  necessary  pre- 
■e  the  olfactories  have  not  all 
their  sensitiveness.     They  are 
ompanied  by  their  cook— as  in 
of  places,  actually   nothing  is 
jxcepting    black    bread  of   the 
ption,  eggs,  and  sometimes  milk ; 

the  traveller  be  content  to  par- 
peasants'  luxury — boiled  grain, 
mpseod-oil,  as  black  and  as  thick 
a  dish  called  shtvhie,  a  kind  ()f 
.  in  which  iloat  a  few  straggling 

5  distinctly  observed,  however. 


that  these  remarks  do  not  apply  to  the  line  of 
road  between  the  two  capitals,  on  which  the 
inns  are  respectable,  and  not  altogether  desti- 
tute of  the  comforts  of  civilized  life. 


LECTURES  ON  ASTRONOMY.— No.  4. 

BT    PROFKSSOR   O.  M.  MITCIIKLL. 


We  find  that  all  the  planets  of  which  we 
have  any  knowledge,  are  revolving  upon  axes 
and  all  rotate  in  the  same  direction  on  their 
axes  that  they  move  in  their  ori)its.     Now  as 
the  earth  is  sweeping  round  the  sun,  it  is  held 
stationary  to  that  great  centre  by  the  ottraction 
of  gravitation  ;  but  it  would  be  held  in  its  po- 
sition even  if  it  did  not  rotate  uiMin  its  axis  at 
all.     Gravitation  has  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with   the  rotation  on  its  axis.     But   agaiii : 
we  find  the  earth  sweeping  round  the  sun  in 
on  orbit,  the  ])lane  of  which  is  located  in  a 
particular  position  in  the  heavens.     Now, 
gravity  would  have  held  the  eorth  equally 
steady  to  this  centre,  if  that  orbit,  instead  of 
sweeping  in  the  direction  it  now  does,  had  re- 
volved in  any  other  direction  whatever,  forrn- 
ing  any  possible  angle  with  the  present  orbit. 
Once  more:  we  find  all  the  planets  revolve 
about  the   sun  in   planes  nearly  coincident, 
travelling  on  in  nearly   the  same   direction. 
Gravity  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the 
inclination  of  their  planes,  nor  with  the  start- 
ing of  these  planets  in  their  orbits.     If  they 
had  revolved  in  contrary  directions,  gravity 
would  have  held  them  just  as  perfectly ;  and 
indeed  we  find  a  full  confirmation  of  this  truth 
in  the  fact  that  the  comets  which  come  in  from 
every  possible  section  of  the  heavens,  observe 
no  particular  direction  either  in  the  position 
of  their  orbits  or  the  manner  in  which  they 
sweep  around  the  sun.     They,  too,  are  gov- 
erned, as  are  the  planets,  by  the  law  of  grav- 
itation. 

Now  the  question  arises  at  this  point :  is 
there  no  evidence  of  design  in  the  structure 
of  our  system,  that  it  was  built  in  this  way  ? 
Why  do  not  all  planets  sweep  in  any  direction 
at  all  consistent  with  the  law  of  gravitation 
and  having  their  planes  inclined  in  any  possi- 
ble way,  as  t\ie  comets?  I  will  answer  it, 
and  I  think  in  a  way  satisfactory  to  every 
mind.  If  the  system  had  thus  been  construct- 
ed, it  would  have  contained  within  itself  the 
seeds  of  if"  own  destruction  :  it  never  could 
have  endured;  the  time  would  have  come 
when  the  planets  would  have  rushed  madly 
from  their  spheres  and  the  whole  system  have 
been  swept  to  utter  destruction.  We  find  that 
in  order  to  preserve  the  stability  of  this  beau- 


tiful system,  it  is  necessary  that  these  planets 
should  revolve  in  the  same  direction,  and  that 
the  planes  of  their  orbits  should  be  nearly  co- 
incident with  each  other,  and,  furiliennore, 
that  the  law  of  gravitation  has  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  with  the  localities  of  the  planets. 
Suppose,  for  example,  that  Jupiter  could  be 
snatched  from  its  present  orbit  and  cnuld  oc- 
cupy that  which  the  earth  now  occupies,  and 
we  could  throw  the  earth  out  to  fill  the  mighty 
orbit  of  Jupiter:  gravity  would  hold  each  ol 
these  equally  steady.  But  then,  even  were 
all  other  bmlies  to  move  on  in  the  position  they 
now  do,  or  in  any  combination  which  now  ex- 
ists, such  an  event  would  prmluce  destruction. 
It  is  not  possible  to  change  places  with  any 
of  these  bodies  and  at  the  same  time  (ireserve 
the  stability  of  the  whole.  Let  us  then  mark 
the  difference  between  what  is  absolutely  de- 
pendent, and  what  is  not  dejiendent  upon  these 
laws :  and  in  this  difference  we  see  that  an 
Almighty  Power  has  adjusted  this  vast  ma- 
chinery, and  that  it  has  been  formed  in  infinite 
wisdom  and  with  infinite  skill. 

With  these  views  I  shall  proceed  to  the 
exatnination  of  the  system  with  reference  to 
those  bodies  recently  discovered.  But  before 
I  j)roceed  it  will  be  necessary  to  make  some 
explanation  with  regard  to  certain  matters  in- 
volved in  this  discussion.  And  first,  this  mat- 
ter of  perturbation.  I  know  this  subject  is 
somewhat  difficult  to  understand ;  but  a  few 
words,  I  think,  will  be  sufficient  to  render  it 
((uite  plain.  Suppose  the  sun  to  be  located 
at  a  given  point ;  at  a  distance  ecjual  to  the 
shortest  distance  of  the  planet  Mercury  from 
the  sun  we  locate  that  planet:  this  is  its 
jierihelion.  Next  let  us  place  Venus ;  then 
the  Earth ;  and  so  on  with  all  the  planets- 
all  located  in  a  right  line  and  in  their  peri- 
helion, or  nearest  position  to  the  sun.  Sup- 
pose they  receive  the  primary  influence  which 
starts  them  on  their  mighty  journeys.  Now 
will  they  all  come  around  again  to  occupy  the 
starting  point  after  a  single  revolution  ?     No. 


Will  these  perihelion  points  remain  in  a  right 
line  after  the  first  revolution?  No.  The 
very  moment  they  start  they  begin  to  operate 
upon  each  other  through  the  force  of  attrac- 
tion, and  all  the  elements  of  every  orbit  begin 
to  be  swayed  backward  and  forward.  These 
changes  are  going  on  perpetually — these  peri- 
helion points  are  moving  onward,  their  eccen- 
tricities continually  changing;  and  millions 
of  millions  of  years  will  roll' round,  when  at 
length — at  the  expiration  of  some  miglity  and 
almost  inconceivable  cycle,  when  this  great 
time-piece  of  eternity  shall  have  struck  one — 
they  will  all  occupy  their  original  relative  po- 
sition and  once  more  start  on  their  immense 
journey.  [Applause.] 
Now,  this  being  the  case,  how  is  it  possible 


.Wil' 


I 


210 


LECTURES  ON  A8TH0N0MY. 


for  the  human  mind  to  reach  to  any  knowledge  | 
of  the  influence  of  these  bodies  mutually  on  i 
each  othor  ?  for  if  the  limits  of  their  orbits  are 
continually  shifting,  there  must  be  some  diffi- 
culty in  getting  at  that  influence ;  for  before 
you  can  make  any  use  of  established  positions 
they  arc  changed  again.  This  is  all  literally 
true ;  and  the  astronomer  is  obliged  to  seize 
every  one  of  them,  and  even  the  sun  himself, 
ond  weigh  them  in  a  balance :  he  is  obliged  to 
ascertain  the  amount  of  matter  belongmg  to 
each  and  all  of  them ;  and  when  he  shall  have 
attained  to  this  knowledge,  he  must  then  com- 
pute the  influence  which  each  exerts  upon  the 
other,  and  thus  with  long  and  patient  toil  trace 
out  all  their  devious  wanderings. 

I  shall  now  attempt  to  explain  how  it  is  that 
the  weight  of  these  distant  orbs  is  determined. 
How  can  we  weigh  this  earth  against  the  sun  ? 
How  can  we  place  them  as  it  were  in  some 
mighty  balance  and  ascertain  precisely  how 
much  one  preponderates  over  the  other  f  Fol- 
low me,  it  you  please,  in  a  very  brief  exposi- 
tion of  this  problem.  In  the  hrst  place,  the 
power  of  gravitation  upon  any  body  is  deter- 
mined, as  all  know,  by  the  amount  of  velocity 
it  is  capable  of  producing  in  a  falling  bwly  in 
one  unit  of  time.  If  at  the  earth's  surface  a 
body  falls  sixteen  feet  in  the  first  secijnd  of 
time,  that  is  the  measure  of  the  intensity  of 
gravity  at  that  point. — But  if  this  earth  did 
not  contain  the  amount  which  is  now  in  it — 
if  it  were  smaller,  a  body  would  not  fall  so  far 
in  a  second  of  time. — There  is  a  certoin  law 
establishing  this,  which  we  have  ascertained. 
I  have  already  stated  that  the  moon  is  ever 
falling  toward  the  earth,  and  the  amount  by 
which  it  falls  is  measured — we  know  it  ex- 
actly ;  hence  we  know  precisely  the  influence 
exerted  upon  the  moon  by  the  earth  —  and 
that  is  the  first  point.  Now  suppose,  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  moon  there  was  another 
earth,  and  it  were  as  large  as  ours  and  equally 
distant,  but  contained  double  the  weight  of 
matter.  At  the  same  distance  it  would  pro- 
duce twice  the  eflect  of  our  earth.  Increase 
its  magnitude  to  three  times  and  the  effect  is 
increased  in  like  proportion.  Now  there  is 
no  such  other  earth,  but  there  is  the  sun,  and 
let  us  attempt  to  ascertain  the  comparative 
weight  of  the  sun  and  the  earth,  by  weighing 
the  amount  of  action  which  each  exerts  upon 
the  moon.  In  the  first  place,  then,  the  moon 
is  attracted  by  the  earth  and  is  caused  to  fall 
through  a  certain  distance  in  a  given  time. 
Secondly,  the  earth  itself  is  attracted  by  the 
sun  and  is  caused  to  fall  through  a  certain 
space  in  the  same  time.  Now  with  reference 
to  the  magnitude  of  the  sun,  I  think  the  moon 
and  the  earth  may  be  regarded  as  equal.  It 
IB  exactly  like  dropping  two  weights  one  of 
one  pound  and  the  other  of  two  pounds  to  the 


earth ;  they  will  both  fall  with  the  same  ve- 
l(x;ity.  So  with  the  moon  and  the  earth :  the 
diflercnce  of  their  masses  may  be  regarded  as 
absolutely  nothing.  Now  the  sun  deflects  the 
earth  from  a  tangent  line  by  a  certain  amount 
whicli  measures  its  influence  upon  the  earth; 
likewiMO  the  earth  deflects  the  mo<m  by  an 
amount  which  measures  the  i'ltensity  of  its 
force  upon  that  satellite.  Thr  amount  of  de- 
flection produced  in  the  orbit  of  the  earth  is 
more  than  double  that  exerted  by  the  earth 
upon  the  moon ;  hence  if  the  sun  were  equally 
distant  from  the  moon  with  the  earth,  it  should 
be  twice  as  heavy  as  the  earth,  because  it 
produces  twice  as  much  effect.  But  the  truth 
IS,  it  is  not  at  an  equal  distance — it  is  four 
himdred  times  further  off'.  If  "then  at  this  dis- 
tance it  produces  twice  the  effect  of  the  earth 
itself,  we  must  increase  it  in  the  ratio  of  the 
8(|uaro  of  400,  or  160,000,  this  number  must 
be  multiplied  into  the  exact  ratio  of  the  in- 
fluence of  the  two  as  already  estimated  at  an 
equal  distance,  which  carries  it  up  to  354,436 
earths ;  and  that  is  the  the  precise  ratio  exist- 
ing between  the  mass  of  the  earth  and  the  sun. 
Thus  it  is  that  we  are  able  literally  and  ab- 
solutely to  weigh  these  Ixxlies  one  against  the 
other :  hence  every  satellite  which  revolves 
about  its  primary  planet,  gives  us  the  means 
of  weighing  that  primary. 

But  what  is  to  be  d(me  in  cases  where  there 
are  no  satellites  ?  Here  the  problem  is  more 
difficult.  The  influence  exerted  by  other 
planets  on  these  bodies  in  swaying  them  from 
the  paths  which  they  otherwise  would  have 
pursued,  tells  us  the  amount  of  matter  belong- 
ing to  them.  In  this  way  astronomers  have 
attained  to  a  most  accurate  knowledge  of  the 
value  of  the  mass  of  all  the  planets. 

It  is  true  that  in  the  instance  of  Jupiter,  La 
Place  in  his  earlier  computations  made  it  out 
difler  nt  from  subsequent  discoveries.  He 
said  ihat  it  would  re(iuire  1067  Jupiters  to 
make  a  mass  ec|ual  to  the  sun.  He  reached 
this  conclusion  from  a  series  of  observation 
made  by  the  astronomer  Puond,  and  when  he 
hod  examined  them  all  critically  he  said  that 
the  mass  could  not  be  in  error  by  one  hun- 
dredth part  of  its  value  and  that  the  chance 
of  its  varying  to  that  amount  was  as  eleven 
millions  to  one.  He  had  brought  all  the  pow- 
ers of  analysis  itself  into  the  calculations,  and 
the  probabilities  of  his  being  in  error  were  as 
I  have  stated.  But  it  seemed  as  if  chance 
was  not  to  have  its  peculiar  dominion  invaded 
in  this  way,  and,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  use 
the  expression,  chance  determined  to  chastise 
the  hand  that  had  ventured  to  draw  aside  the 
curtain  and  unveil  her  mysteries ;  for  it  has 
been  proved  most  positively  that  that  one 
chance  out  of  eleven  millions  was  the  one  that 
turned  up,  and  La  Place  was  wrong.     [Ap 


IL 


both  fall  with  the  same  ve- 
the  moon  and  the  earth :  the 
r  masses  may  be  regarded  as 
g.  Now  the  sun  detlccts  the 
'ent  line  by  a  certain  amount 
it8  influence  u])on  the  earth ; 
th  deflects  the  moon  by  an 
leasures  the  i'jtcnsity  of  its 
atellite.  Thf,  amount  of  de- 
\  in  the  orbit  of  the  earth  is 
a  that  exerted  by  the  earth 
hence  if  the  sun  were  equally 
noon  with  the  earth,  it  shonld 
vy  as  the  earth,  because  it 
)  much  effect.  But  the  truth 
n  equal  distance — it  is  four 
rther  otT.  If  then  at  this  dis- 
twice  the  effect  of  the  earth 
icrease  it  in  the  ratio  of  the 
r  1GO,000,  this  number  must 
to  the  exact  ratio  of  the  in- 

0  as  already  estimated  at  an 
rhich  carries  it  up  to  354,436 
is  the  the  precise  ratio  exist- 
nass  of  the  earth  and  the  sun. 
we  are  able  literally  and  ab- 
i  these  bodies  one  against  the 
ery  satellite  which  revolves 
y  planet,  gives  us  the  means 
primary. 

be  (lone  in  cases  where  there 
Here  the  problem  is  more 
influence  exerted  by  other 
bodies  in  swaying  them  from 
they  otherwise  would  have 
the  amount  of  matter  belong- 
this  way  astronomers  have 
9t  accurate  knowledge  of  the 
s  of  all  the  planets, 
in  the  instance  of  Jupiter,  La 
ier  computations  made  it  out 
ubsequent  discoveries.  He 
lid  recjuire  1067  Jupiters  to 
lal  to  the  sun.  He  reached 
"rom  a  series  of  observation 
•onomer  Puond,  and  when  he 
em  all  critically  he  said  that 
not  be  in  error  by  one  hun- 
13  value  and  that  the  chance 

1  that  amount  was  as  eleven 
He  had  brought  all  the  pow- 

sclf  into  the  calculations,  and 
of  his  being  in  error  were  as 
But  it  seemed  as  if  chance 
its  peculiar  dominion  invaded 
,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  use 
ihance  determined  to  chastise 
d  ventured  to  draw  aside  the 
lil  her  mysteries ;  for  it  has 
wt  positively  that  that  one 
ven  millions  was  the  one  that 
La  Place  was  wrong.     [Ap- 


LECTUREB  ON  ASTRONOMY. 


211 


plause.]  The  fact  was,  the  measurements  had 
been  mude  indirt'ereutly  and  a  long  time  ago. 
He  had  used  a  computation  made  upon  a  little 
body  called  Encke's  comet,  and  from  the 
etheroal  muss  of  the  elements  of  this  ghost  of 
a  world,  so  (ilmy  that  it  has  not  the  power  to 
lessen  even  the  light  of  the  smallest  stars  that 
shine  thr()U;;h  it,  ho  had  made  his  calculation 
of  the  mighty  orb  of  Jupiter.  The  mass  of 
Jupiter,  as  computed  by  La  Place,  was  em- 
ployed to  determine  how  much  disturbance 
existed  there,  and  there  was  not  enough.  So 
when  this  mass  was  applied  to  other  calcula- 
tions and  suspicions  were  uroused  that  it  was 
inaccurately  calculated,  it  excited  other  meas- 
urements, until  at  length  all  agreed  very  ac- 
curately in  giving  the  mess  of  Jupiter  such, 
that  1049  such  bodies  would  make  one  sun. 

Wo  proceed  now  to  the  structure  of  our 
system.  It  will  be  remembered  by  all  who 
heard  me  in  ntiy  second  lecture,  that  the  older 
planets  were  for  a  long  time  known.  They 
are  arranged  according  to  a  very  curious  law, 
with  reference  to  their  distance  from  the  sun. 
It  is  known,  for  example,  that  when  passing 
out  from  the  sun  to  P.lercury,  and  from  Mer- 
cury to  Venus,  there  is  a  certain  ratio  of  dis- 
tance, which  holds  true  in  regard  to  the  dis- 
tance of  the  other  planets,  for  an  immense 
space  of  350,000,000  miles,  until  you  come  to 
a  mighty  gulf,  within  which  no  planet  was 
known  to  revolve ;  and  the  moment  that  limit 
was  passed,  the  old  law  was  resumed.  This 
curious  law  was  detected  by  Bode.  I  will 
explain  the  law  in  a  simple  manner.  Begin- 
ning with  the  first  of  this  series  as  nothing, 
and  assuming  3  for  the  first  distance,  we  have 
the  following  series :  0,  3,  6,  12,  24,  48,  96, 
and  BO  on.  This  is  obtained  by  multiplying 
each  succeeding  term  by  two.  Now,  if  you 
add  4  to  every  term  of  the  series,  you  have 
another  series  as  follows : — 
Mercury.  Venut.  Earth.  Mart.         Jupiter.  Saturn. 

4  7        10       16     28      52         100 

and  so  on.  This  latter  series  represents  most 
accurately  the  distance  of  all  the  planets  from 
the  sun.  But  in  passing  from  Mars  to  Jupiter 
the  link  was  broken — there  was  no  planet  to 
fill  up  the  space — and  when  Baron  de  Sac 
detected  this  law,  and  found  it  to  be  perfect  in 
every  other  instance,  he  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion, and  could  not  resist  the  conviction,  that 
a  planet  unknown  revolved  in  that  space. 
Such  was  his  absolute  conviction,  that  he  ac- 
tually commenced  a  computation  of  its  orbit  in 
1784.  He  made  out  its  dibtance,  and  publish- 
ed the  elements  of  its  orbit,  fifteen  years  be- 
fore any  bodies  were  known  to  exist  in  that 
space.  In  the  year  1800  such  was  the  effect 
produced  by  his  investigotions,  that  a  congress 
of  astronomers  met  at  Lilienthal,  to  unite  npon 
a  plan  for  hunting  down  this  unknown  bcdy. 


They  ogreed  to  divide  the  whole  region  into 
zones,  twenty-four  in  number,  or  one  to  each 
astronomer.  They  commenced  their  labors  on 
the  first  day  of  the  first  year  of  the  present 
century,  and  before  they  had  hardly  commen- 
ced, one  of  their  number  detected  a  small  star 
which  did  not  exist  on  his  chart,  although  ho 
had  laid  down  upon  it,  as  he  supposed,  all  the 
fixed  stars.  His  name  was  Piazzi,  of  Paler- 
mo. With  whot  anxiety  did  he  wait  till  the 
following  night  again  to  exomino  this  stranger! 
— When  the  next  night  came  round,  to  his  in- 
expressible delight  he  found  it  had  changed  its 
position,  and  was  actually  retrograding  as  a 
planet  ought  to  do.  But  he  did  not  venture 
to  believe  he  had  so  soon  discovered  this  un- 
known wanderer,  and  only  told  his  friends  he 
had  found  a  very  suspicious  body  and  supposed 
it  might  be  a  comet,  but  he  could  not  tell — it 
looked  very  much  like  a  planet.  Baron  de 
Sac,  when  he  heard  of  this  discovery  at  once 
seized  it,  saying :  "  This  is  my  planet  which 
I  have  so  long  predicted."  Ho  took  a  few 
observations,  but  in  consequence  of  the  fact 
that  it  soon  fell  into  the  rays  of  the  sun,  only 
a  few  observations  could  be  made,  so  that  but 
for  the  extraordinary  discovery  of  other  bodies, 
by  other  observations  at  short  intervals  it  could 
not  have  been  known  to  be  a  planet.  But 
Baron  de  Sac  at  once  commenceil  o  computa- 
tion of  its  orbit.  They  had  oil  agreed  in  as- 
signing to  it  exactly  the  place  that  could  be 
occupied,  in  order  to  make  the  lawof  relc  ive 
distance  which  had  previously  been  thoi  ^ht 
to  exist,  apply  in  this  lost  instance.  Bi»  on 
de  Sue  knew  the  planet  was  found,  and  wh  'n 
he  compared  his  own  investigotions  with  thos.  ■« 
which  were  found  to  result  from  actual  '•h 
servation,  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  |. 
dieted  its  place  precisely. 

While  all  the  astronomical  world  was  re- 
joicing in  the  beautiful  law  and  the  complete 
establishment  of  the  harmony  of  the  system, 
another  object  was  found — another  planet  was 
detected  which  seemed  to  have  an  orbit  pre- 
cisely similar  to  the  one  already  found.  Here 
was  a  most  astonishing  anomaly — two  planets 
revolving  in  orbits  nearly  coincident.  The 
like  was  to  be  seen  nowhere  else  in  the  entire 
system.  What  could  be  the  meaning  of  this  ? 
How  happened  it  that  thep  •  two  little  bodies 
occupied  this  place  and  with  orbits  so  nearly 
equal  T  Olbers  conceived  the  idea  that  they 
we'e  fragments  of  a  former  mighty  planet 
whic  by  the  action  of  some  powerful  force, 
had  been  rent  asunder  and  scattered  in  ev- 
ery direction. — Strange  theory  this!  passing 
strange !  But  follow  rne  through  tliis  curious 
history,  and  then  decide  if  there  be  any  founda- 
tion for  its  truth,  or  whether  it  is  merely  an 
astronomical  dream.  In  a  very  short  time,  to 
the  astonishment  of  the  world,  Hartling  finds 


X'-.' 


*«*• 


I 

.1 
N 


M'i 


r 


i 


another  planet.  There  ore  three.  Olbere 
wii«  •.Kmlirmtil  in  the  oiiinion  that  his  theory 
wu»  true,  und,  ^  >iil  he,  "If  this  cunvulsion  iliil 
take  pliice  iiml  i«  Iraginciiti*  were  ncatier<-<l, 
then,  iiiifntucli  us  they  started  from  the  mnw  , 
iioiiit,  they  must  all  revolve  to  that  ttiuiie  |Miint : 
111  their  orbits."  If  ho  could  find  the  place 
wlure  their  orbits  inter»ecte<l  or  croiwed  each 
other  (which  we  have  already  explained  u» 
the  niMlc!*),  inasmuch  as  these  were  common 
points,  it  might  be  true  such  u  disruption  had 
taken  plttc(!.  It  was  on  this  hypothesis  that, 
after  watchin;.'  from  night  to  night  and  from 
year  to  year  in  the  particular  region  of  this 
nmle,  they  finally  detected  a  fourth  binly. 
Here,  at  length,  were  four  bodies  revolvinu  ni 
nearly  the  Hamc  rbits,  and  thus  the  triiUi  of 
this  wonderful  h    pothesis  was  verified. 

Again,  an  investigation  was  made  to  ascer- 
tain the  amount  of  iitrcc  necessary  to  burst  a 
planet  and  separate  its  frapients.  Le  (Jrungo 
demonstrateil  that  with  a  lorce  1.50  times  gr  ut- 
er  than  that  giv('n  to  o  connon-ball  th'-  pa^ii- 
cles  would  sweep  oil"  in  an  orbit  cuUeu  'he 
parabola  ;  but  that  the  force  of  twenty  tJines 
would  give  elliptic  orbits  of  dilfeient  ilegrees 
of  eccentricity.  There  is  also  onolher  jicint : 
in  case  this  theory  wos  true,  the  la'ger  freg- 
ment  would  occupy  more  nearly  tlw  orbit  de- 
scribed by  the  original  body,  antl  th3  smaller 
one  revolve  more  obli(iuely  to  the  ploiic  of 
the  ecliptic. — This  wus  found  to  be  the  fact: 
in  comi)aring  their  biKlies  und  their  orbits  some 
of  the  smaller  ones  maile  un  angle  as  hi^h  as 
30  degrees,  with  the  p'  in,.of  the  ecliptic,  awl 
had  exceeded  the  plan  •  ■  T  the  zodiac  wau'b 
confines  all  the  rest  of  tlie  planets. 

When  they  .vere  thus  fixed  and  determined, 
and  after  fourteen  years  of  examination  all  had 
been  done  that  it  seemed  could  be  done,  and 
the  investigations  need  not  continue  any  fur- 
ther with  the  ho|>e  of  success,  many  years  roU 
round  and  finally  in  December,  1845,  we  hear 
onnounced  thot  another  of  the  asteroids  had 
been  added  to  the  four:  Astra;a,  discovered  by 
Enck6  of  Dresden.     He  was  prosecuting  this 
examination  for  the  purpose  of  finding  the  n(Kles 
of  the  asteroids  and  on  the  plane  that  had  been 
previously   adopted,    having  more   accurate 
charts  of  the  heavens  with  the  stars  more  core- 
fully  laid  down.     The  moment  he  detected  a 
new  "tar  he  suspected  it  of  being  a  planet, 
and  a  lew  evenings  would  always  settle  the 
investigation;  and  in  this  way  he  detected 
Astnea.     For  two  years  he  continues,  when 
lo !  he  has  found  another  planet,  and  Hebe  is 
added  to  our  system.     But  Y-i  had  scarcely 
described  it,  when  Hinds,  an  Englishman,  has 
fished  up  another,  Iris ;  and  before  we  know 
the  name  given  to  this  one,  the  same  astron- 
omer announces  another,  and  Flora  is  joined 
to  the  other  seven !     Thus  we  have  the  beau- 


tiful phenomenon  of  a  group  of  eight  sisters 
revolving  around  the  sun  in  orbits  id'  nearly 
eipial  magnitude,  in  periwls  absolutely  identi- 
cal ;  alt  mcupy  the  centre  of  the  space  be- 
twcc-n  the  planets  Mars  ond  Jupiter,  and  by 
their  joint  action,  their  joint  muss,  their  joint 
distances,  fulfilling  this  beautiful  law  ok'  Barun 
de  Sue. 

Having  gone  through  the  examination  of 
these  objects,  I  shall  proceed  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  the  planet  Jupiter.  This  is  the  lorg- 
est  in  our  system,  and  one  of  the  oldest  known. 
We  have,  indeeil,  no  knowledge  of  the  time 
when  this  beautiful  orb  wis  unknown.  Go 
back  to  the  pages  of  historv  as  far  os  you 
[dcase — go  even  beyond  the  Tiiiits  of  tradition 
— still  you  find  that  this  planet  was  known  to 
the  earliest  inhabitants.  "  How  do  we  know 
this  ?"  some  will  hove  already  imiuired.  Let 
me  tell  you.  If  we  go  to  the  records  of  the 
earliest  notions,  we  find  invariably  this  curi- 
ous fact :  thot  the  days  of  the  week,  seven  in 
number,  are  named  after  the  jdunets,  counting 
the  sun  ond  imnm,  thus — the  Sun,  the  Moon, 
Mors,  Mercury,  Jupiter,  Venus,  Saturn.  Ev- 
ery notion — the  Cninese,  the  Egyptians,  the 
Persians,  the  Chaldeans — hove  upolicd  the 
names  of  the  planets  to  the  days  of  tne  week. 
They  do  not,  to  be  sure,  begin  the  week  on 
the  same  day  ;  but  beginning  with  their  first 
day,  they  run  round  the  cycle  exactly  in  the 
same  order.  There  is  but  one  way  of  ex- 
plaining this  remorkoble  coincidtnce,  and  that 
is:  they  must  have  received  this  from  some 
nation  anterior  to  either  of  them ;  it  mnst  have 
come  down  from  the  same  comwon  origin. 
Hence  we  run  back  anterior  to  tradition  itself 
to  find  the  first  discovery  of  these  plonets. 

In  this  beautiful  planet,  Jupiter,  we  find  one 
that  fastened  the  gaze  of  the  earliest  minds 
that  turned  their  ottention  to  the  heavens,  and 
by  possibility  it  moy  hove  been  detected  be- 
fore Venus;  for  Jupiter  is  seen  ot  all  possible 
tMstances  from  the  sun,  while  Venus,  is  olways 
comparatively  near. 

when  the  telescope  was  first  directed  to 
this  wonlerful  orb,  a  sight  was  revealed  to 
the  nsvorished  gaze  of  old  Galileo,  thot  seem- 
ed almost  to  slapify  his  mind ;  there  were  four 
beautiful  .noons  revolving  ob<iut  this  noble  orb, 
obedient  to  its  altiaction.  You  all  remember 
that  at  the  time  this  discovery  was  made  the 
battle  was  raging  betwiren  the  old  and  new 
schiMil  of  philosophers •,  those  who  believed 
with  Ptolemy  and  those  vhj  followed  Coper- 
nicus. Galileo  hod  become  a  convert  to 
Copernicus,  stood  up  the  champion  of  truth, 
and  fortunately  for  the  world  anned  himself 
with  a  power  that  all  the  antagonism  of  earth 
could  not  withstand.  "You  tell  me,"  said 
he,  "  the  earth  is  the  great  centre  about  which 
the  universe  is  revolving ;  now  I  tell  you  thai 


i 


uf  a  group  uf  eight  sistf-rt 
he  sun  iii  orbits  of  nearly 
n  pcriixls  absolutely  iilpiiti- 
\t!  centre  of  the  space  be- 
Mars  oiiii  Jupiter,  and  by 
their  joint  u\umh,  their  joint 
;  tliis  beautiful  law  oi  Baron 

irough  the  examination  of 
lall  proceed  to  give  an  ac- 
;  Jupiter.  This  is  the  larg- 
uid  tme  of  the  oldest  known, 
no  knowl'--d);i)  of  the  time 
ful  orb  WIS  unknown.  Go 
s  of  historv  us  far  us  you 
eyond  the  fiiiitscjf  tradition 
lit  this  planet  wum  known  to 
tunts.  "  How  do  wo  know 
lOve  ulreutly  inquired.  Let 
we  go  to  the  records  of  the 
re  find  invariably  this  curi- 
days  of  the  week,  suven  io 
d  after  the  plunet»,  counting 
,  thus — the  Sun,  the  Mmm, 
upiter,  Venus,  Saturn.  Ev- 
Jhineso,  the  Egyptians,  the 
ildeons — have  upolicd  the 
ets  to  the  days  of  tlie  week, 
le  sure,  begin  the  week  on 
It  beginning  with  their  first 
nd  the  cycle  exactly  in  the 
ere  is  but  one  way  of  ex- 
rkable  coinr.idt  nee,  and  that 
ve  received  this  from  some 
either  of  them ;  it  nmst  have 
the  same  common  origin, 
ek  anterior  to  tradition  itself 
scovery  of  these  pluncts. 
I  planet,  Jupiter,  we  find  one 
ga/e  of  the  earliest  minds 
attention  to  the  heavims,  and 
nay  have  been  detected  be- 
fupiter  is  seen  at  all  possible 
!  sun,  while  Venus,  is  always 
ar. 

iscope  was  first  directed  to 
rb,  a  sight  was  revealed  to 
ze  of  old  Galileo,  that  seem- 
ify  his  mind ;  there  were  four 
evolving  about  this  noble  orb, 
traction.  You  all  remember 
ihia  discovery  was  mode  the 
»  between  the  old  and  new 
Dpbers;  those  who  believed 
tf  tho6«  vho  followed  Coper- 
had  become  a  convert  to 
d  up  the  champion  of  truth, 
for  the  world  armed  himself 
It  ail  the  antagonism  of  earth 
band.  "You  tell  me,"  said 
the  great  centre  about  vrhich 
evolving ;  now  I  tell  you  th«» 


1        TtJEKS  ON         TBONOMY 


813 


vorder  globe  showi  t  mhrftture  system  like 

r.ur  own,  uml  while  we  huve  a  single  moon, 
tluTf  in  n  planet  which  hin  no  Irm  tlinn  four. 
Do  not  then  attempt  to  inipme  thin  iiiipoH«i- 
liilitv  up<m  mc.  I  do  not  lidieve  it."  He 
ooriiimteil  thoHB  who  opi^wcd  the  projrress  ot 
truth,  till  finally  he  incurred  the  displensure 
of  th.-  ihureh  itself.  You  all  know  the  fact, 
that,  borne  down  by  the  weijjht  of  years,  he 
v/ai*  l)rou^'lit  before  the  iiKpiinilion  and  forced 
to  recant  his  opinionnin  the  most  Kolemn  man- 
ner ;  but  such  was  the  power  of  truth  that  in 
spite  of  all  the  threatenin?  I>y  which  he  was 
surrouiiiled,  as  he  rose  frotn  his  knees  he 
stniiipi'il  upon  the  earth  and  said,  "  She  does 
move,  though." 

It  seems  that  Jupiter  and  its  satellites  were 
given  for  a  most  valuable  purpose,  and  I  ask 
vour  attention  to  but  one  or  two  of  their  uses. 
"Ami  first,  the  fact  thiit  they  served  to  deter- 
mine the  velocity  of  li>,dit.     I  know  many 
minds  revolt  from  the  conclusion  which  as- 
tronomers hove  reached,  when  they  say  that 
liiiht  flies  twelve  millions  of  miles  in  a  minute, 
ond  that  there  are  objects  so  dif^tant  that  their 
liyht  would  require  the  enormous  period  of 
fifty  thousand  years  to  reach  our  earth.     Tn 
the  language  of  my  •'  old  friend"—"  thit  is  a 
hard  story."     It  is  incredible;  but  before  this 
course  of  lectures  closes  I  intend  to  show  clear- 
ly and  positively  how  this  has  been  determin- 
ed and  how  much  reliance  is  to  be  placed  upon 
this  wonderful  revelation. 

Previous  to  the  discovery  of  the  Batellites 
of  Jupiter,  and  their  eclipses,  it  was  believed 
that  light  passed  instantaneously  over  the  most 
distant  space.     It  was  believed  that  if  a  lamn 
was  lighted  and  the  eye  could  see  it  through 
a  8|)ace  of  millions  of  miles,  that  the  instant 
it  wafl  lighted  the  eye,  if  directed  toward  it, 
would  see  the  light.     On  the  discovery  ()f 
Jupiter's  satellites,  they  were  found  revolving 
in  such  orbits  that  in  every  revolution  the 
three  interior  ones  were  always  eclipsed  and 
disappeared  from  the  sight.     It  did  not  require 
a  long  series  of  observations  before  the  astron- 
omer" began  to  predict  the  coming  of  their 
eelijises  as  we  do  those  of  the  moon.     He  ex- 
amines the  result  of  his  computation,  and  after 
a  while  detects  a  certain  amount  of  discrepan- 
cy between  the  observations  ot  the  two  op- 
posite points  of  its  orbit — He  tries  again,  but 
in  »|)ite  of  all  efforts,  after  long  years  of  toil, 
he  could  not  reconcile  the  predictions  exactly 
with  the  observations,  and  then  he  began  to 
infjuire  if  by  possibility  there  could  not  be  a 
law  which  would  reconcile  theni.     Let  me 
endeavor  to  show  how  this  wasattained.    Sup- 
jiose  the  earth  to  be  at  a  given  point  in  its 
orbit,  and  Jupiter  to  be  in  that  part  of  its  orbit 
on  the  same  side  as  the  earth  :  the  distance 
which  separates  them  is  precisely  the  differ- 


flncf  of  til 
sun. — Bii' 


.1,  '«nce  of  til  orbits  from  the 
I.-  earth  r<  c  around  ;o  the 
opposite  XI  !  ihc  sun  ui  I  upiter  remain  iis 
before!  tin-  ili^tunct!  i»  mi\v  ineniited  by  the 
whole dinioeief  of  the  carth'sorbit  l!tO,000,OI)0 
miles.  Now  tin  observer  on  the  enrih, 
I  when  nearest  to  Jupiter,  will,  in  the  eclipse 


W    llVli         III.    W»»-dl,         »"      .«|-.---T » 

j)f  its  Hutidlite,  see  the  lifflit  disappear  too  soon 
according  to  the  computation.  Why  ?  Be- 
cause the  stream  of  light  is  shorter  liy  an 
omount  cpial  to  the  whole  diameter  of  this 
orbit,  and  consequently  runs  out  more  quickly. 

When  he  takes  his  observotion  from  the 

opposite  side  of  the  eorth's  orbit,  he  finds  the 
eclipse  comes  on  Uk)  late,  because  the  streom 
has  190,000,000  miles  further  to  run,  and  of 
course  he  will  continue  to  see  the  satellite  till 
the  stream  runs  out.  Now,  then,  in  this  way 
we  arc  able  to  determine  how  lon^  it  takes 
light  to  pass  across  the  earth's  orbit.  Then 
by  oscertaining  the  exact  difTerence  in  these 
extreme  jxiints.  this  single  calculation  of  the 
velocity  of  light  would  account  for  all  the  dis- 
crepancies, and  reconcile  theory  and  observa- 
tion in  the  most  perfect  monner.  But  to  poss 
across  this  orbit  requires  sixteen  minutes ; 
hence  the  velocity  must  bo  at  the  rate  of 
12,000,000  of  miles  in  a  minute. 

Here,  then,  is  the  foundation  upon  which 
this  result  was  first  rested.     "  Well,"  some 
skeptical  mind  will  soy,  "thot  is  only  a  single 
observation ;  give  me  confirmation  of  it  from 
some  other  sources,  or  I  must  reject  so  aston- 
ishing a  result."     For  a  long  time  the  astron- 
omer was  at  fiiult,  and  the  skeptic  had  in  some 
sense  the  advantage.     But  at  length  a  better 
series  of  observations  are  at  hand.     In  certain 
examinations  of  the  fixed  stars  it  is  found  that 
these  little  points  of  light,  when  critically  ex- 
amined, appear  to  be  moving  according  to  a 
certain  law  and  describing  a  minute  orbit. 
The  cause  of  this  was  perplexing  to  the  as- 
tronomer, and  baffled  all  the  efforts  of  one  of 
the  strongest  minds  that  ever  gave  its  jjowers 
to  this  subject.     But  finally  the  explanation 
was  discovered  in  the  fact  that  it  was  owing 
to  the  effect  produced  by  the  aberration  of 
light— that  as  the  ear  h  swept  round  its  own 
orbit,  the  li;,ht  in  coming  to  us  caused  the  boily 
to  appear  in  different  positi*m3  from  that  in 
which  it  then  occupied.     Let  me  make  this 
intelU'ible.     Suppose  you  desire  to  cross  a 
river, 'and  the  stream  will  carry  you  down, 
and  you  wish  to  land  at  .^  point  fixed  upon  on 
the  opposite  shore.     W  ill  you  start  out  from 
an  exactly  opposite  point  and   row  directly 
across  to  the  opposite  shore  T     By  no  means, 
because  you  know  vou  will  in  that  case  land 
below.     Now  how' far  above  will  you  make 
your  starting  point  T     Just  as  far  above  as  the 
1  current  will  carry  you  down  in  the  time  yon 
expect  to  occupy  in  crossing.     But  what  has 


i 


^ 


•«sf^ 


A 


uLJM. 


J: 


21i 


ESQUIMAUX  INDIANS. 


tli'm  to  do  with  tho  velocity  of  lijjht?  I  will 
tfli  vdu.  Every  porticlo  of  light  that  Ifttivet 
yonder  orli,  in  coming  toward  n»  »wee|m  down- 
wiird  in  th(!  dir(.>(;tion  of  a  right  line,  and  when 
tlin  ai4troriotncr  turn*  hia  telescope  to  receive 
that  point  of  light  and  to  cause  it  to  pass  down 
the  axil*  of  the  tiilie,  he  must  take  into  account 
the  fact  that  he  himself  is  moving  with  a  cer- 
tain velocity.  As  ho  is  homo  on  by  the  move- 
ment of  the  corth,  he  must  take  m  the  other 
fact  that  every  particle  of  light  is  coming  with 
a  certain  velocity,  and  he  must  incline  his  in- 
strument so  as  to  couse  it  to  pass  down  its 
axis.  The  omountof  inclination  depends  upon 
the  velocity  of  light,  as  the  distance  you  would 
be  carried  down  the  river  depends  U|)on  the 
velocity  of  tho  water,  and  when  we  have  in- 
clined our  tube  so  that  the  victual  ray  shall  hit 
the  mark,  that  inclination  is  precisely  whot 
ought  to  be  given  it.  Upon  oil  this  calcula- 
tion it  is  found  ihat  light  travels  twelve  million 
miles  in  a  minute.  Here  is  confirmation  strong 
and  irresistible. 

But  one  step  further  :  it  is  found  that  cer- 
tain stars  are  united  together — not  a  planet 
revolving  round  a  sun,  but  two  mighty  suns 
revolving  about  each  other.  To  this  matter 
I  will  call  your  attention  more  particularly 
hereafter.  In  a  certain  system  of  doutile  stors 
which  had  engaged  the  scrutiny  of  the  very 
ablest  minds,  there  were  found  discrepancies 
between  the  observations  and  computations 
which  could  not  be  reconciled  for  s  long  time. 
The  problem  seemed  utterly  beyond  our  reach ; 
but  at  last,  within  a  short  time,  one  of  the 
German  astronomers  discovered  that  the  whole 
difficulty  has  grown  out  of  the  fact  that  the 
velocity  of  light  was  not  taken  into  the  ac- 
count, and  that  the  fact  that  the  star  was 
sweeping  around  a  mighty  orbit,  ond  thus  im- 
pressing its  own  motion  upon  the  particles  of 
light  was  not  considered.  When  it  was,  all 
the  discrepancies  disappeared  and  the  velocity 
of  light  comes  out  precisely  as  before.  Here, 
then,  are  three  demonstrations  from  diflercnt 
sources  all  coinciding ;  I  will  not  say  exactly, 
but  nearly  so. 

The  reason  why  I  do  not  say  exactly  is  this : 
a  very  short  time  ago  I  received  a  communi- 
cation from  M.  Struve,  a  Russian  astronomer, 
who  said  he  was  engaged  upon  the  subject  of 
the  velocity  of  light,  and  had  determined  what 
is  called  tne  constant  aberration  of  the  fixed 
stars,  and  found  the  value  for  them  was  a  little 
dirterent  from  that  obtained  in  regard  to  the 
satellites  of  Jupiter. — There  was  a  slight  va- 
riation, perhaps  a  thousandth  part  of  the 
whole,  yet  it  could  be  measured,  and  he  said 
it  was  impossible  there  might  be  a  difference 
between  the  velocity  of  direct  and  reflected 
light.  And  he  begs  me  in  consequence  of  the 
peculiar  position  of  my  observatory  being  more 


advantageons  than  his,  to  furnish  a  series  of 
eclipses  of  the  fir»t  satellite  of  Jupiter  thmueh 
tho  next  ten  y*'ars,  with  a  view  to  determine 
thereby  ony  ditlttrence  between  the  nciuiil 
velocity  of  direct  antl  reflected  light. 

The  is  the  kind  of  aceurory  attempted  to 
be  attained  in  our  own  day  ;  and  this,  in  truth, 
is  the  accuracy  which  is  actually  reached. 
You  may  think  it  is  s[)ending  time  in  vain  tn 
work  for  ten  years  to  settle  a  question  in  which 
the  discrepancy  gives  you  only  a  second  deci- 
mal place ;  but  now  im|iortant  it  is  to  know 
whether  this  mysterious  element  in  the  oriijin- 
al  movement  of  light  is  dilFerent  from  that 
when  it  impinges  U|x)n  the  surface  rellecting 
it,  will  bo  perceived  when  we  reflect  that  the 
computation  affects  the  movements  of  all  these 
bodies,  and  thot  by  a  correct  calculation  of 
this  apparently  insignificant  feature  we  ottain 
to  a  degree  j)f  accuracy  that  we  can  not  reach 
in  any  other  way. 


ESQUIMAUX  INDIANS. 

The  vast  region  of  country  lying  on  tho 
north  shore  of  the  gulf  of  St.  Lawrence,  and 
extending  to  the  eostward  of  the  Snguena  as 
for  as  Newfoundland,  is  generally  known  un- 
der the  name  of  Labrador.  It  is  on  exceed- 
ingly wild  and  desolate  region,  and,  excepting 
on  occasii  >nal  fishing  hamlet,  or  a  missionory 
station  belonging  to  the  Moravians,  its  only 
inhabitants  are  Indians.  Of  these  the  most 
fomous  tribes  ore  the  Red  Indians  (now  olmost 
extinct),  the  Hunting  Indians,  the  Milk-rnaks, 
and  the  Es(iuimaux.  The  latter  are  by  far 
the  most  numerous,  and  it  is  said  that  their 
sway  extends  even  to  the  coosts  of  Hudson's 
bay.  They  are  at  the  some  time  the  wildest 
anil  most  rude  inhabitants  of  this  wilderness, 
and  in  appearance,  as  well  as  manners  and 
customs,  closely  resemble  the  inhabitants  of 
Greenland. 

"During  one  of  my  nautical  expeditions 
down  the  St.  Lawrence,"  says  a  celebrated 
traveller,  "  I  chanced  to  be  wind-bound  for  a 
couple  of  doys  at  the  mouth  of  a  nameless 
river  on  the  north  shore,  where  I  happened  to 
find  a  small  encampment  of  E8(]uimaux  Indians. 
The  principal  man  of  the  party  was  exceed- 
ingly aged,  and  the  only  one  who  could  convey 
his  thoughts  in  any  other  language  than  his 
own.  Ho  had  mingled  much  with  the  French 
fur-traders  of  the  north,  and  the  French  fisher- 
men of  the  east,  and  possessed  a  smattering  of 
their  tongue.  Seated  by  the  side  of  this  go<Ml 
old  man  in  his  lo<lge,  with  a  moose-skin  for 
my  seat,  a  pack  of  miscellaneous  furs  to  lean 
against,  and  a  rude  sea-oil  torch  suspended 


UL 


"nmmss^? 


hi»,  to  fnminh  a  wnr»  of 
■ntellito  of  Ju|iitcr  thnnjfh 
,  with  a  view  to  (Icii-rminr 
•Bnce  hntwi'pn  the  ocinu 
nil  r«flpctP(l  lijjht. 

of  acrrurnoy  attemptPil  to 
wn  (Iny  ;  mi'l  thin,  in  tnith, 
'hich  if»  Q<'luiilly  rpuched. 
i«  opendinfi  time  in  viiin  t  > 
tiiietile  a  nuention  in  whii  n 
'OH  you  only  a  sccoml  ili'ci- 
IV  imjiortant  it  i«  to  know 
rioiiH  element  in  the  orijjin- 
ght  is  (lilferent  from  that 
u|X)n  the  surface  retlectinf; 
il  when  wo  reflect  that  the 
I  the  movements  of  all  these 
y  a  correit  calculation  of 
ijiniKcant  feature  we  attain 
racy  that  we  can  not  reach 


lATJX  INDIANS. 

n  of  country  lyins?  on  the 
gulf  of  St.  Lawrence,  and 
istwanl  of  the  Sajruena  as 
11(1,  is  generally  kn'iwn  un- 
abrador.  It  is  an  exeeed- 
ilate  region,  and,  excepting 
ag  hamlet,  or  a  missionary 
to  the  Moravians,  its  only 
dians.  Of  these  the  most 
le  Red  Indians  (now  almost 
ng  Indians,  the  Milk-maks, 
IX.  The  latter  are  by  far 
i,  and  it  is  said  that  their 
>  to  the  coasts  of  Hudson's 
;  the  same  time  the  wildest 
abitants  of  this  wilderness, 
;,  as  well  as  manners  and 
semble  the  inhabitants  of 

f  my  nautical  expeditions 
vronce,"  says  a  celebrated 
:ed  to  be  wind-bound  for  a 
the  mouth  of  a  nameless 
shore,  where  I  happened  to 
ment  of  E8(]uimaux  Indians, 
n  of  the  party  was  exceed- 
only  one  who  could  convey 
ly  other  language  than  his 
gled  much  with  the  French 
orth,  and  the  French  fisher- 
d  possessed  a  smattering  of 
ited  by  the  side  of  this  good 
Ige,  with  a  moose-skin  for 
'  miscellaneous  furs  to  lean 
ie  sea-oil  torch  suspended 


ESQUIMAUX  INDIANS. 


21.1 


ovof  my  >iB«d,  T  spent  many  honni  of  one  long- 
to-be-remembercd  night  m  questioning  him 
I'Miut  his  jieopln.  Tne  substance  of  the  in- 
fiinriution  I  then  collectfil,  it  is  now  my  pur- 
ji.we  to  re(!ord!  but  it  shoulil  lie  remembered 
tliat  I  speak  of  the  nation  at  lorge,  and  not  of 
any  particular  tribe. 

"  According  to  my  informant  the  extent  of 
the  K«piimaux  nation  is  unknown,  for  they 
onsidcr  theinti-lves  as  numerous  as  the  woves 
of  the  sea.  Much  has  lieen  <lone  to  jjivo  them 
an  education,  and  though  missionorics  of  the 
cross  have  dwelt  among  thetn  for  about  a  cen- 
tury, the  majority  of  this  people  are  at  the 
present  time  in  heathen  darkness.  The  men 
are  chiefly  employed  in  hunting  and  fishing, 
anil  the  ilomfjstic  labor  is  all  performed  by 
the  women.  Their  clothes  are  made  in  the 
rudest  manner  imaginable,  and  generally  of 
the  courser  skins  which  they  secure  in  hunt- 
ing. They  believe  in  o  Su|)remo  Being,  who 
hiis  a  dwelling-place  in  the  earth,  the  oir, 
anil  the  ocean,  and  who  is  both  good  and  evil; 
and  they  ol»o  believe  in  the  immortality  of 
the  soul,  which  they  describe  as  i^imilar  to  air, 
which  they  can  not  feel.  Their  principal 
men  are  magicians  and  conjurors,  distinguish- 
ed, as  I  infer  with  good  reason,  for  their 
profligacy. 

"  Whenever  a  man  is  sick  they  attribute  the 
cause  to  the  oUeged  foct  that  his  soul  has  de- 
parted from  his  body,  and  ho  is  looked  upon 
with  contempt  and  pity.  The  first  man  who 
came  into  the  world  sprang  from  the  bosnmof 
a  beautiful  valley  ;  in  this  valley  he  spent  his 
infoiicy  and  childhood,  feeding  upon  berries, 
and  having  on  a  certain  occasion  picked  a  flow- 
er that  drooped  over  one  of  his  accustomed 
paths,  it  immediately  became  changed  into  a 
girl  with  flowing  hair,  who  became  his  play- 
mate, and  afterward  his  wife,  and  was  thi  | 
mother  of  all  living. 

"They  believe  m  a  heaven  and  a  hell,  and 
consider  that  the  road  to  the  former  is  rugged 
and  rocky,  and  that  to  the  latter  level  ond 
covered  with  crass.  Their  ideas  of  astronomy 
are  peculiar,  for  they  consider  the  sun,  moon, 
and  stars,  as  so  many  of  their  ancestors,  who 
have,  for  a  great  variety  of  reasons,  been 
lifted  to  the  sky  and  became  celestial  bodies. 
In  accounting  tor  the  two  former,  they  relate 
that  there  was  once  a  superb  festival  given  by 
the  Esquimaux  in  a  glorious  snow-palace  of  the 
north,  where  were  assembled  all  the  young 
men  and  maidens  of  the  land.  Among  them 
was  a  remarkably  brave  youth,  who  was  in 
love  with  an  exceedingly  beautiful  girl.  She, 
however,  did  not  reciprocate  this  attachment, 
and  did  all  in  her  power  to  escape  from  his 
caresses.  To  accomplish  this  end  she  called 
upon  the  Great  Spirit  to  give  her  a  pair  of 
Winn's;  and  having  received  them,  she  flew 


into  the  air,  and  beramo  the  moon.  The 
youth  olso  endeavored  to  obtain  a  noir  nf 
wings,  and  ofter  many  months,  flnally  »\:c- 
cneiled  ;  and  on  asccniiing  to  the  sky  he  be- 
came the  sun.  The  moon  they  say,  has  a 
dwelling-nlace  in  the  west,  and  the  sun  an- 
other in  tno  east.  They  account  for  thunder 
and  lightning  by  giving  the  story  of  two  wom- 
en who  livoii  together  in  a  wigwam,  and  on 
one  oecoNion  had  a  most  furious  battle.  Dur- 
ing the  art'ray  the  cabin  tumbled  in  upon  them, 
causing  a  tremendous  noise,  while  the  women 
were  so  angry  thai  their  cv«»  flashed  fire. 
Rain,  they  say.  comes  from  a  n/er  in  the  sky, 
which,  from  tne  great  number  of  people  who 
sometimes  bathe  in  it,  overflows  its  banks,  and 
thus  comes  to  the  earth  in  showers. 

•'  When  one  of  their  friends  has  departed 
this  life,  they  take  all  his  property  and  scatter 
it  upi  n  the  ground,  out  of  his  cabin,  to  be  pu- 
rified by  the  air;  but  then  in  the  evenin|»tney 
gather  it  together  and  bury  it  by  the  side  of 
his  grave. — They  think  it  wrong  for  the  men 
to  mourn  for  their  friends,  and  think  them- 
selves defiled  if  they  happen  to  touch  the  body 
of  the  deceased,  ami  the  individuol  who  usual- 
ly performs  the  otBce  of  undertaker,  is  con- 
sidered unclean  for  many  days  ofter  fulfilling 
his  duty. 

"The  women  do  all  of  the  wailing  and 
weeping,  and  during  their  mourning  season, 
which  corresponds  with  the  fame  of  the  de- 
ceased, they  obstain  from  food,  wear  their 
hair  in  great  disorder,  and  refroin  from  every 
ablution.  When  a  friendless  man  dies,  his 
body  is  left  ujion  the  hills  to  decay,  as  if  he 
had  been  a  beast.  When  their  children  die, 
they  bury  the  body  of  a  dead  dog  in  the  same 
grave,  that  the  child  may  have  a  guide  in  his 
pathway  to  an  unknown  lund,  to  which  they 
ojppose  all  children  g'). 

" Polygraay,  as  su.ih,  ninongthe  Esquimaux 
is  practised  only  to  a  limited  cxceiit,  but  mar- 
ried men  and  women  ure  not  over  scrupulous 
in  their  love  affairs.  Unmarried  women,  how- 
ever, observe  the  rules  of  modesty  with  pecu- 
liar care,  and  the  maiden  who  suffers  herself 
to  be  Ijetrayed  is  looked  upon  with  infamy. 
When  a  young  man  wishes  to  marry,  he  first 
settles  the  matter  vdth  his  inteisded,  and  then, 
having  asked  and  obtained  her  father's  per- 
mission, he  sends  two  old  women  to  bring  the 
lady  to  his  hxlge,  and  they  are  considered  one. 
Children  are  tought  to  be  dutiful  to  their  pa- 
rents, and  until  they  marry  they  always  con- 
tinue under  the  paternal  rod. 

••  The  amusements  of  the  Esquimaux  do  not 
differ  materially  from  those  tf  the  Indian 
tribes  generally.  They  are  fond  of  dancing, 
playing  ball,  and  a  species  of  dice  game,  while 
the  women  know  of  no  recreation  but  that  of 
dancing  and  singing." 


i  !'^ 


j: 


«•  *' 


WATER  IN  THE  DESERTS. 

A  CHEAP  and  convenient  mode  of  procuring 
water  is  adopted  in  some  places,  where  the 
sinking  of  wells  would  be  eitner  too  expensive, 
or,  from  the  great  depth,  quite  impracticable. 
The  method  is  simply  by  boring  with  a  kind 
of  large  auger,  till  the  instrument  reach  to  a 
reservoir  of  water  under  ground,  which  then 
rises  to  the  surface  through  the  auger-hole, 
and  issues  in  a  jet,  by  means  of  a  tin-pipe, 
which  is  Pxed  in  the  opening.     This  method, 
however    will  only  be  successful  in  certain 
situatioKS,  and  tiie^d  occur  chiefly  in  districts 
where  the  rock  next  the  soil  is  formed  of  beds 
of  sandstone.     When  these  beds  lie  sloping 
upon  one  another,  water  oozes  into  the  soil  at 
their  upjier  edges  and  continues  trickling  down 
between  the  layers,  and  gathering  by  the  same 
process  from  diflerent  quarters,  till   it  runs 
along  in  some  of  the  interstices  in  a  constant 
but  slow  current.     It  is  forced  to  flow  down 
the  slope  by  the  accumulated  weight  of  its 
own  body  above,  but  finds  no  ready  vent  in 
the  downward  direction  it  is  pursuing ;  hence 
it  work ,  onward  under  a  great  pressure  ;  and 
if  any  opening  is  presented  to  it  either  above 
or  below,  it  rushes  into  it  with  great  force. 
Such  an  opening  is  the  auger-hole  of  the 
borers,  which,  lighting  on  a  body  of  water 
thus  pressed  on  all  sides,  is  filled  instantly, 
and  becomes  a  fountain  throwing  out  its  jet 
often  to  a  considerable  height.     This  meide 
has  been  practised  with  great  and  beneficial 
success  in  some  of  the  sandstone  districts  of 
England,  formerly  ill  supplied  vdth  water; 
but  more  interest  is  attached  to  it  from  a  trial 
which  has  been  made  in  certain  places  of 
Africa,  where  water  ia  as  scarce  and  as  valu- 
able as  in  a  ship  that  has  been  six  months  at 
sea.      The  experiment  was    tried    by  Mr. 
Briggs,  the  British  consul  in  Egypt,  'inder 
the  patronage  of  the  pacha  of  that  country,  and 
was  attended  with  complete  success.     Wells 
were  opened,  and  reservoirs  formed  of  thou- 
sands of  cubic  feet  of  water,  in  places  where 
the  sands  hud  hardly  ever  been  moistened, 
even  by  a  shower,  since  the  creation  of  the 
world,  and  where  tl'.T  Arabs,  in  performing 
the  ceremonial  washi.  /s  of  the  body  required 
by  their  Mohammedan  law,  were  obliged,  like 
sparrows  on  a  dusty  road,  to  go  through  the 
forms  with  sand   in   the   absence  of  water. 
These  reservoirs  were  formed,  we  believe,  on 
what  would,  if  water  were  present,  be  a  great 
commercial  line  of  comraunicaticm  between 
the  Nile  and  the  Red  sea ;  and  there  is  every 
pr.ispect  that  they  will  be  the  means  of  estab- 
lishing such  a  line.     But  the  importance  of 
the  discovery  would  be  ill  ajipreciated,  were 
we  to  su))pose  its  operations  limited  to  this 
point.     The  vast  sandy  desert  of  Africa,  a 


tract  more  than  2,000  miles  long,  and  1,000 
broad,  ia  almost  without  water,  and  has  hither- 
to been  a  barrier  preventing  all  communication 
between  the  northern  shores  of  the  country, 
and  the  fertile  districts  southward  in  the  in- 
terior.    This  region  is  everywhere  filled  with 
districts  presenting  the  same  kind  of  forr  ;a- 
tion  of  rocks,  as  that  in  which  water  has  been 
so  easily  procured  elsewhere;  and  there  is 
hence  the  prospect  that  wells  may  be  ojiened 
on  the  route  from  Tripoli  to  Fezzan,  Bornou, 
and  Timbuctoo,  on  a  road  which  is  now  cov- 
ered with  the  bones  of  thousands  who  have 
died  from  want  of  water  in  attempting  to  pass 
it.     Major  Denham  was  at  times  waked  from 
a    revery  on  horseback  while   passing  this 
dreary  track  of  sand,   by  his  horse's  hoofs 
treadmg  on  the  crackling  and  dried  skeletons 
which  lay  in  the  way,  of  travellers  who  had 
perished  by  thirst.     The  probability  of  find- 
ing water,  by  boring,  on  this  'oute,  is  increased 
by  the  opinions  current  among  the  natives. 
who  believe  that  there  is  here  what  they  cull 
an  underground  sea,  and  that  it  is  only  on  the 
surface  that  drought  prevails.    There  is,  be- 
sides, no  doubt  that  the  same  \ind  of  structure 
exists  here  which  has  furnished  water  in  other 
places ;  and  it  is  more  than  likely  that  wells 
might  be  found,  not  only  for  supplying  travel- 
lers, but  for  carrying  on  cultivation.     This 
simple  discovery,  therefore,  may,  in  process 
of  time,  have  an  effect  as  powerful  upon  the 
torrid  districts  of  the  earth,  as  any  of  the  great 
inventions  of  modem  times  have  produced  in 
Europe.     It  is  only  the  want  of  water  which 
leaves  the  central  parts  of  both  Arabia  and 
Africa  in  the  state  of  deserts.    If  the  soii  were 
duly  moistened,  it  would  be  as  fertile  as  other 
parts  of  the  tropics;  and  there  is  much  reason 
to  anticipate,  that,  when  this  process  comes  to 
be  understood  and  valued  as  it  ought,  many 
portions  of  the  desert  will  become  so.    It  is  an 
agreeable  idea  to  onticipate,  that  an  apparently 
trifling  discovery,  originating  from  the  geolo- 
gical science  of  England,  may  be  the  means  of 
raising  up  new  corn-islands  in  the  African 
sands,  and  conferring  on  the  wandering  Be- 
douin many  of  the  blessings  of  civilization. 

Female  Education. — The  present  system 
of  female  education,  aims  too  much  at  embel- 
lishing a  few  years  of  life,  which  are  in  them- 
selves 80  full  of  pleasure  and  happiness  that 
they  hardly  need  it,  and  then  leaves  the  rest 
of  existence  a  miserable  prey  to  vacancy  and 
idle  insignificance.  The  real  object  of  educa- 
tion is  to  give  children  resources  that  will  en- 
dure as  long  as  life  enrlures,  habits  that  time 
will  ameliorate,  not  destroy,  occupations  that 
will  render  sickness  tolerable,  solitude  pleas- 
ant, age  venerable,  life  more  dignified  and 
useful,  and  death  lesster.lble. 


2,000  miles  long,  nnd  1,000 
ithout  water,  and  has  hither- 
ireventing  all  comniunicntion 
;hern  shores  of  the  country, 
itricts  southwanl  in  the  in- 
on  is  everywhere  filled  with 
ig  the  same  kind  of  forr  la- 
liat  in  which  water  has  been 
sd  elsewhere;  and  there  is 
:t  that  wells  may  be  ojiened 
Tripoli  to  Fezzan,  Bornou, 
m  a  road  which  is  now  cov- 
nes  of  thousands  who  have 
■  water  in  attem|)ting  to  jinss 
im  was  at  times  waked  from 
rseback   while   passing  this 
sand,   by  his  horse's  hoofs 
rackling  and  dried  skeletons 
way,  of  travellers  who  had 
it.     The  probability  of  find- 
ng,  on  this  'oute,  is  increased 
current  among  the  nanvcs, 
there  is  here  what  they  cull 
sea,  and  that  it  is  only  on  the 
ght  prevails.    There  is,  be- 
at the  same  kind  of  structure 
,  has  furnished  water  in  other 
more  than  likely  that  wells 
lot  only  for  supplying  travel- 
rying  on  cultivation.     This 
■,  therefore,  may,  in  process 
effect  as  powerful  upon  the 
the  earth,  as  any  of  the  great 
dem  times  have  produced  in 
ily  the  want  of  water  which 
al  parts  of  both  Arabia  and 
e  of  deserts.    If  the  soii  were 
it  would  be  as  fertile  as  other 
cs;  and  there  is  much  reason 
it,  when  this  process  comes  to 
id  valued  as  it  ought,  many 
isert  will  become  so.     It  is  an 
anticipate,  that  an  apparently 
r,  originating  from  the  geolo- 
Sngland,  may  be  the  means  of 
corn-islands  in  the  African 
srring  on  the  wandering  Be- 
le  blessings  of  civilization. 


CATION. — The  present  system 
tion,  aims  too  much  at  embel- 
ars  of  life,  which  are  in  thnni- 
pleasure  and  happiness  that 
i  it,  and  then  leaves  the  rest 
liserable  prey  to  vacancy  and 
;c.  The  real  object  of  educa- 
lildren  resources  that  will  en- 
ife  endures,  habits  that  time 
not  destroy,  occupations  that 
less  tolerafile,  solitude  pleas- 
ible,  life  more  dignified  and 
h  lesster.lble. 


!f 


•Si: 


218 


CHUaCH  OF  ST.  OUDULE.— A  VISIT  TO  VENICE. 


CHURCH  OF  ST.  GUDULE. 

The  church  of  St.  Gudule  situated  in  Brus- 
sels is  of  the  Gothic  order  of  architecture,  and 
has  a  majestic  appearance.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  ancient  of  the  old  country,  the  founda- 
tion^ having  been  laid  in  1010,  though  it  was 
rebuilt  in  1226.  Its  shape  is  that  of  a  cross, 
the  door  on  account  of  its  location  upon  the 
side  of  a  hill  is  reached  by  a  flight  of  steps 
some  forty  in  number,  and  two  square  towers 
of  e(iual  "height  give  the  facade  an  imposing 
effect. 

The  interior  of  the  church  is  simple  and 
dreary,  and  the  large  pillars  which  sustaia  the 
roof  are  without  any  ornament  though  colos- 
sal statues  of  Jesus  Christ,  the  Virgin  Mary, 
and  the  apostles  are  attached  to  different  pil- 
lars. These  statues  are  the  work  of  the  sculp- 
tures of  those  days,  though  they  have  no  great 
claims  as  works  of  art. 

The  principal  altar  is  modem  in  its  appear- 
ance and  the  tabernacle  contains  an  ingenious 
piece  of  mechanism  by  which  the  holy  sacra- 
ment is  made  to  ri8<^  or  fall  according  to  the 
wish  of  the  priest.  On  the  left  of  the  altar  is 
a  superb  mausoleum  erected  by  archduke 
Albert  to  the  memory  of  John  ll.  duke  of 
Brabant,  who  died  in  1312,  and  his  wife  Mar- 
garet of  England  who  died  1318.  The  monu- 
ment which  covers  their  cinders  is  of  black 
marble,  surmounted  by  a  lion.  Opposite  to 
this  monument  is  that  of  the  archduke  Ernest, 
who  died  in  Brussels  in  1595.  The  monu- 
ment also  in  this  edifice,  consecrated  to  the 
memory  of  Chauvine  Triest,  is  the  work  of 
Simonis.  Charity  is  represented  by  a  female 
holding  upon  her  knees  a  newborn  infant  and 
inclining  to  the  left  she  is  offering  to  one  older 
a  shell  filled  with  water  for  its  thirst.  On  the 
right  is  a  third  child  still  older,  in  the  attitude 
of  rendering  thanks  to  Heaven  for  the  benefits 
which  charity  bestows  upon  himself  and  broth- 
ers. The  subject  has  been  often  treated  but 
never  more  cleverly. 

The  most  remarkable  object  of  interest, 
especially  to  the  stranger,  is  the  pulpit  of  Saint 
Gudule  sculptored  in  wood,  of  which  we  give 
a  representation.  It  will  be  aeen  that  the  de- 
signer Henry  Verbruggen  was  entirely  origin- 
al in  this  conception.  It  represents  Adam  and 
Eve  chased  by  the  angel  from  the  garden  of 
Kde  J. — On  the  right.  Death  also  follows  them, 
and  on  the  top  the  Holy  Virgin  is  crushing 
the  head  of  the  serpent  with  a  cross  which  she 
holds  in  her  hand.  The  work  is  finished  with 
great  care,  though  we  can  not  conceive  for 
what  purpose  the  originator  introduced  the 
monkey  and  birds  which  are  perched  there, 
and  when  we  witnessed  it  excited  the  risibilities 
of  the  visiters.  The  other  figures  are  symbol- 
ical and  easily  comprehended. 


A  VISIT  TO  VENICE. 

Ox  the  5th  of  September  last,  on  hour  or 
two  before  sunset,  I  took  my  place  in  the 
diligence,  which  twice  a  week  leaves  Milan 
for  Venice.  At  ten  o'clock  we  reached  Ber- 
gamo, and  stopped  half  an  hour  in  its  suburb, 
the  Faubourg  St.  Leonard,  from  which  the 
city,  built  on  a  hill,  or  rather  a  mountain,  and 
enclosed  by  massive  wolls,  showed  most  beau- 
tifully in  the  moonlight.  Some  hours  after, 
we  made  a  similar  halt  at  Brescia,  another 
ancient  city,  rich  in  magnificent  edifices  and 
Roman  remains,  the  centre  of  a  fertile  prov- 
ince. Soon  after  sunrise,  our  road  lay  for  many 
miles  along  the  margin  of  a  beautiful  lake, 
formerly  called  Benacus,  now  the  Lac  de 
Garda,  its  shores  studded  with  pretty  vil- 
lages.  At  noon  we  reached  Verona,  situated 
on  both  banks  of  the  Adige,  over  which  river 
are  thrown  four  beautiful  bridges.  This  city, 
so  captivating  to  the  imagination  from  its  as- 
sociations with  "  Romeo  and  Juliet"  and  the 
"  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,"  possesses,  in 
visible  reality,  one  of  the  most  perfect  and  re- 
markable Roman  relics  to  be  found  in  all  Italy. 
The  celebrated  amphitheatre  of  Verona  is, 
this  day,  in  its  interior  structure,  almost  ex- 
actly what  it  was,  when,  nearly  eighteen  hun- 
dred years  ago,  twenty  thousand  Romans, 
seated  on  its  marble  benches,  watched  with 
eager  eyes  the  gladiatorial  combats  in  the 
arena  below.  The  exterior  circumference  of 
this  vast  elliptical  edifice  is  fourteen  hundred 
and  thirty-four  feet;  the  height  of  the  cornice 
froi.'  ihe  level  of  the  street,  one  hundred  feet. 
Within,  the  tiers  of  seats,  forty-five  in  num- 
ber, ascend  from  the  arena  to  tne  level  of  the 
third  story  of  external  arches— of  which  only 
four  remain  of  the  seventy-two  that,  arranged 
in  three  stories,  originally  formed  the  fa^-ade 
of  this  grand  structure. 

Our  stay  of  two  hours  at  Verona  barely 
sufRced  for  a  visit  to  the  amphitheatre,  after 
which  we  dined  and  resumed  our  places  in  the 
diligence.  It  was  near  sunset  when  we 
reached  Vicenza,  a  city  of  palaces,  the  en- 
during memorials  of  opulence  and  splendor 
long  since  departed.  Viccnza  was  the  birth- 
place of  the  celebrated  architect  ralladio, 
and  he  adorned  his  native  city  with  magnifi- 
cent edifices,  which  in  any  other  land  than 
Italy  would  attract  crowds  of  admiring  pilgrims 
from  all  quarters.  I  walked  awhile  i  hrough 
its  silent  and  deserted  streets,  gazing  at  the 
beautiful  architecture,  which  seemed  still  more 
impressive  to  the  imagination  from  being  thus 
strangely  contrasted  with  the  air  of  desolation 
around. 

At  Vicenza,  a  gentleman  and  lady,  tlie 
former  in  a  half-clericpil  dress,  took  places  in 
the  diligence,  and  I  soon  had  occasion  to  con- 


fHMHI 


VENICE. 


51T  TO  VENICE. 

September  last,  an  hour  or 
let,  I  took  my  place  in  the 

twice  a  week  leaves  Milan 

ten  o'clock  we  reached  Ber- 
ed  half  an  hour  in  its  suburb, 
?^  Leonard,  from  whi';h  the 
lill,  or  rather  a  mountain,  and 
live  walls,  showed  most  beau- 
>on1i«;ht.  Some  hours  after, 
ilar  nalt  at  Brescia,  another 
h  in  magnificent  edifices  and 
,  the  centre  of  a  fertile  prov- 
sunrise,  our  rood  lay  for  many 

margin  of  a  beautiful  lake, 

Benacus,  now  the  Lac  de 
■ea  studded  with  pretty  vil- 
we  reached  Verona,  situated 
r  the  Adige,  over  which  river 
beautiful  bridges.  This  city, 
I  the  imagination  from  its  as* 
•  Romeo  and  Juliet"  and  the 
en  of  Verona,"  possesses,  in 
ne  of  the  most  perfect  and  re- 
1  relics  to  be  found  in  all  Italy. 

amphitheatre  of  Verona  is, 
interior  structure,  almost  ex- 
s,  when,  nearly  eighteen  hun- 
,  twenty  thousand  Romans, 
arble  benches,  watched  with 

gladiatorial  combats  in  the 
?ne  exterior  circumference  of 
al  edifice  is  fourteen  hundred 
feet;  the  height  of  the  cornice 
f  the  street,  one  hundred  feet. 
8  of  seats,  forty-five  in  num- 
i  the  arena  to  tne  level  of  the 
temal  arches — of  which  only 
le  seventy-two  that,  arranged 
originally  formed  the  faj:ade 
ucture. 

two  hours  at  Verona  barely 
sit  to  the  amphitheatre,  after 
and  resumed  our  places  in  the 
was  near  sunset  when  we 
a,  a  city  of  palaces,  the  en- 
ils  of  opulence  and  splendor 
ted.  Vicenza  was  the  birth- 
jlebrated  architect  Palladio, 

his  native  city  with  magnifi- 
hich  in  any  other  land  than 
ict  crowds  of  admiring  pilgrims 
8.  I  walked  awhile  ihrough 
eserted  streets,  gazing  at  the 
;cture,  which  seemed  still  more 
te  imagination  from  being  thus 
isted  with  the  air  of  desolation 

a  gentleman  and  lady,  the 
>cleric(il  dress,  took  places  in 
nd  I  soon  had  occasion  to  con- 


A  VISIT  TO  VENICE. 


219 


gratulate  myself  on  this  accession  to  our  party. 
My  previous  companions  had  been  very  cour- 
teous in  their  manners,  but,  as  they  spoke  only 
Italian,  our  verbal  intercourse  had  been  very 
limited.     This  they  probably  intimated  to  the 
new-comer,  for  he  soon  addressed  himself  to 
me  in  French,  and  finding  that  I  was  a  pilgrim 
from  a  land  so  distant,  entered  into  a  very  in- 
teresting conversation  in  regard  to  the  most 
remarkable  objects  to  be  sought  after  in  Italy. 
Rarely  have  t  met  with  more  courtesy  and 
politeness  than  this  stranger  manifested.    My 
difficulty  in  understanding  the  French  when 
spoken,  only  served  to  display  the  more  per- 
fectly a  degree  of  patience  and  urbanity  on 
his  part,  which,  I  greatly  fear,  a  foreigner, 
situated  as  I  was  in  Italy,  would  rarely  find 
in  our  own  country.     He  was  evidently  a  man 
of  superior  intellect,  as  well  as  polished  man- 
ners; and  I  have  since  conjectured  that  he 
might  be  a  professor  in  the  university  at  Padua. 
At  length,  it  being  now  dark,  our  conversation 
declined,  fatigue  overpowered  me,  and  I  fell 
asleep.    When  I  awoke,  I  found  myself  alone 
—the  sole  occupant  of  the  diligence,  which 
was  no  longer  in  motion.     I  looked  out  of  the 
window;  the  moon  was  shining  on  the  high 
walls  of  a  vast  edifice,  enclosing  the  paved 
courtyard  in  which  I  thus  unexpectedly  found 
myself;  the  horses  had  been  taken  away — 
not  a  human  being  was  in  sight — all  around 
was  quiet  and  solitary.     Scarcely  yet  restored 
to  full  consciousness.  I  got  out  of  the  diligence, 
and,  passing  under  an  arched  gateway  at  one 
comer  of  the  court,  came  out  into  the  open 
street.     Here  the  first  object  that  met  my  eve 
was  a  magnificent  palace  of  white  marble, 
with  a  faf  ade  of  perfect  Grecian  architecture, 
beautiful  Corinthian  pillars  sustaining  the  ex- 
tensive portico,  on  which  the  moon  was  shed- 
dingher  softest  radiance— presenting  altogether 
such  a  scene  as  fancy  conjures  up  in  our  dreams. 
I  looked  at  my  watch  :  it  was  near  midnight. 
Ascending  the  broad  flight  of  steps,  I  entered 
a  vast  and  sumptuous  hall,  rich  in  marble, 
brilliantly  lighted  up.  but  perfectly  empty. 
Beyond  this  was  another  equally  spacious  hall, 
similar  in  appearance,  and  lighted  like  the 
first;  here  were  a  few  persons  seated  at  small 
tables,  and  in  one  corner  a  sort  of  bar,  or  stand 
for  refreshments.    This  last  savored  of  reality ; 
I  approached  and  uttered   the   word  "doc- 
colata ;"  this  word  broke  the  spell,  and  the 
enchanted  palace  seemed  transformed  almost 
to  a  caf6,  when  an  attendant  placed  on  a  mar- 
ble table  a  small  metolli:  pitcher  of  chocolate, 
and  some  light  cake.     But  what  could  this 
vast  and  magtiificent  palace  be  ?     And  why 
should  its  halls  be  so  brilliantly  lighted  at  that 
dead  hour  of  night  ?     The  mystery  was  not 
solved  till  some  days  after,  when,  returning 
from  Venice,  I  found  this  same  palace,  at  the 


1^ 


hour  of  two  in  the  morning,  open  and  lighted 
as  before.  The  place  was  Padua,  so  cele- 
brated for  its  university  ;  and  this  magnificent 
cafe  (for  such  it  was,  though  unrivalled  in 
size),  is  sustained  by  the  special  potronago 
of  the  students,  who  occupy  the  rooms  above, 
and  for  whose  accommodation,  as  well  as  that 
of  the  travellers  who  pass  this  way,  to  and 
from  Venice,  at  all  hours,  it  is  kept  open  uid 
lighted  all  night. 

Leaving  Padua,  I  had  the  whole  interior 
of   the  diligence  to    myselfi    nml   soon  fell 
asleep.     An  hour  after,  I  awoke,  looked  out 
on  the  road.     It  lay  on  the  bank  of  a  canal, 
extending  throu§;h  a  country  perfectly  level. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  road  from  the  canal, 
the  soft  moonlight  fell  on  a  long  succession  of 
palaces — the  country  residences  of  the  ancient 
nobility  of  Venice,  each  with  a  benntiftil  gar- 
den in  front,  and  adorned  with  a  profusion  of 
statues,  some  placed  on  the  tops  of  the  princi- 
pal edifice,  others  ranged  along  the   garden 
walls,  or  disposed  among  the  shrubbery.    The 
great  number  of  these  statues  astonished  me, 
and  as  the  bright  moonlight  fell  on  them,  ex- 
hibiting their  various  attitudes,  some,  with 
the  deep  blue  sky  for  the  background,  and 
others  on  the  walls,  so  near  that  the  expres- 
sion of  the  face  vras  distinctly  visible,  there 
was  a  loveliness  and  enchantment  about  the 
scene  altogether  unique.     The  diligence  drove 
rapidly  along,  and  still  the  same  prospect  con- 
tinued for  miles.     Sleep  again  overpowered 
me,  and  when  I  next  woke  the  palaces  had 
disappeared,   and  the   perfectly  level  road, 
straight  as  an  ar»ow,  was  in  view  for  a  long 
distance  ahead.     At  3  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
we  arrived  at  a  small  town  (Mestre)  at  the 
termination  of  the  main  land,  where  we  left 
the  diligence,  and  went  on  hoard  a  gondola 
for  Venice,  distant  now  but  seven  miles.    This 
going  out  to  sea  in  quest  of  a  city,  was  some- 
thing new.     We  soon  left  the  narrow  canal 
for  the  open  water,  and  when  the  eastern  sky 
was  tinged  with  the  first  ruddy  hues  of  morn- 
ing, the  domes  of  Venice  were  in  full  view, 
the  city  seeming  to  rise  out  of  the  sea.     I 
shall  never  forget  that  view  of  Venice,  with 
the  crimson  sky  for  the  background,  arid  the 
exulting  feeling  when  I  found  myself  in  the 
vicinity  of  this  "  ultima  thule"  of  my  wander- 
ings— at  least  in  this  direction. 

At  a  police  station,  built  on  piles  in  the  wa- 
ter, our  passports  were  examined.  Soon  after, 
we  entered  the  grand  canal,  the  Broadway 
of  Venice,  lined  with  ancient  nnd  magnificent 
palaces.  At  the  posta,  the  miiils  were  dis- 
charged, the  conductcur  and  other  passengers 
landed,  leaving  only  myself  and  two  young 
Spaniards,  who  had  come  from  Milan  in  the 
"  rotonde"  of  the  diligence,  and  who  had  m 
view  the  hotel  whir.h  I  had  selected.    It  was 


riri 


220 


A  VISIT  TO  VKNICB. 


Bituater]  near  the  tennination  of  the   grand 
canal,  where  it  opens  into  the  broader  channel 
on  the  southeastern  side  of  the  city ;  tV  >  sun 
was  just  rising,  as  we  stepped  frona  th  "gondola 
upon  its  stone  staircase  projecting  into  the 
water.    There  were  but  two  rooms  unoccupied 
in  the  house,  neither  of  them  very  inviting  in 
appearance ;  I  took  possession  for  the  time  of 
the  one  assigned  me,  closed  the  blinds,  went 
to  bed,  and  slept  four  hours.     I  rose  at  ten 
o'clock  perfectly  refreshed,  took  breakfast,  and 
set  off  in  quest  of  better  lodgings,  which  I  f^n 
secured   at  the  hotel  d'ltalia.     Having  in- 
trusted my  passport  to  the  conamiusionaire,  I 
next  repaired  to  the  posta  (postoflice)  and 
there,  to  my  great  satisfaction,  secured  a  seat 
in  a  diligence  which,  after  three  days,  would 
set  off  for  Bologna  and  Florence.     This  done, 
my  mind  was  free  from  all  solicitude ;  1  had 
notWng  to  do  for  three  days,  but  to  see  and 
enjoy  as  much  of  Venice  as  possible.    I  strolled 
through  its  narrow  streets — so  narrow  that 
with  extended  hands  you  can  touch  the  walls 
on  each  side — and  soon  found  my  way  to  the 
grand  centre  of  resort,  the  Piazza  di  San 
Margo.     This  is  a  spacious  ojpen  square,  hav- 
ing on  one  side  the  church  of  St.  Mark,  and 
on  the  other  three  sides  three   magnificent 
palaces,  united  at  the  angles,  and  thus  forming  a 
complete  enclosure.     The  basements  of  these 
palaces  present  in  front  an  unbroken  series  of 
arcade?,  occupied  with  numerous  cafis  and 
shops,  atlbrding  a  most  delightful  shelter  for 
the  crowds  that  daily  assemble  there.    Under 
these  arcades  there  are  also,  at  intervals,  pas- 
sages to  the  streets  in  the  rear.     On  tlie  side 
of  the  square  near  the  church,  is  the  splendid 
Umr  de  I'horloge  (clock-tower)  rich  in  mar- 
ble and  gilding.     Two  statues  in  bronze  are 
conspicuous  on  ito  top,  and  by  au  in;,enious 

Siece  of  mechanism,  these  figures,  called  "  the 
loors,"  are  seen  to  elevate  their  arms  and 
strike  the  Iwurs.  This  they  do  in  a  style  quite 
like  life. 

The  glorious  old  church  of  St.  Mark,  so 
intimately  associated  with  every  thought  of 
Venice,  is  not  easily  described.  It  was  begun 
A.  I).  976.  and  completed  in  1071.  How 
strange  do  these  dates  sound  in  Ameiican  ears! 
How  indesoribnble  are  the  feelings  of  a  pilgrim 
from  the  new  world,  when  he  finds  himself  on 
the  threshold  of  that  grand  and  time-honored 
edifice,  and  feels  that  he  is  indeed  in  Venice, 
and  amid  the  monuments  of  a  national  history 
even  more  remarkable  than  that  of  Rome !  A 
handful  of  exiles,  driven  by  despair  to  take  ref- 
uge on  a  narrow  strip  of  barren  sand,  lay  there 
the  foundations  of  a  mighty  empire;  without 
vegetation,  without  drinkable  water,  without 
building  materials,  almost  without  soil  on 
which  to  build,  they  '  ect  a  city  in  the  midst 
of  the  waves  of  the  sea.    This  state  without 


a  territory,  this  city  floating  as  it  were  on  the 
Adriatic,  strong  only  in  the  indomitable  enter- 
prise and  invincible  courage  of  its  inhabitants, 
attracts  to  itself  the  commerce  of  the  world, 
sways  the  sceptre  of  the  seas,  itself  a  republic, 
gives  laws  to  proud  emiiires,  and  grown  now 
to  colossal  size,  overshadowing  the  nations, 
fills  the  measure  of  its  fame  by  that  splendor 
in  the  fine  arts,  which  to  this  day  remains, 
alas!  the  only  relic  of  its  ancient  glory.  Such 
is  the  history  of  Venice,  from  its  origin  aliout 
the  middle  of  the  fifth  century,  to  the  extinc- 
tion of  iu  independence  in  1796. 

Some  idea  of  the  sumjrtuous  architecture 
of  the  church  of  St.  Mark  may  be  formed 
from  the  fact  that  the  nunibcr  of  pillars  of 
marble,  porphyry,  verd-anticine,  etc.,  within 
and  without,  is  not  less  than  500.  Bronze, 
gold,  and  mosaics,  everywhere  meet  the  eye. 
Just  in  front  of  the  principal  entrance,  the  spot 
where  the  reconciliation  took  place  in  1177 
between  Pope  Alexander  III.  and  the  emperor 
Frederick  Barbarossa,  is  indicated  by  some 
pieces  of  red  marble  in  the  pavement. 

Close  to  the  church  stanils  the  doge's  pal- 
ace, an  edifice  as  grard  and  imposing  in  its 
architecture,  as  it  is  interesting  in  its  historical 
associations.  It  occupies  one  side  of  the piaz- 
zetla,  a  small  square,  which  extends  from  one 
angle  of  the  place  of  St.  Mark  to  the  water, 
the  two  quadrangles  together  resembling  in 
shape  the  letter  L.  This  palace  was  built 
near  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
when  Marino  Faliero  was  doge  of  Venice. 
Entering  the  principal  gate,  and  crossing  the 
interior  court,  you  ascend  the  celebrated  giant 
staircase,  so  called  from  its  being  ornamented 
with  two  semi-colossal  statues  of  Mars  and 
Neptune — emblems  of  tht  military  and  naval 
power  of  the  republic.  Just  at  the  head  of 
this  staircase  the  doges  were  crowned,  ai:d 
this  same  spot,  Byron,  following  tradition,  has 
represented  as  the  scene  of  the  execution  of 
Marino  Faliero. 

The  doge's  palace  is  preeminently  the  place 
to  which  the  stranger  must  resort  in  order  to 
feel  the  full  inapression  of  the  past— whose 
memorials  here  surround  him.  Its  vast  snd 
numerous  halls  are  filled  with  historiciil  paint- 
ings, picturing  to  the  eye  all  those  scenes  and 
transactions  which  are  "associated  with  Vene- 
tian glorv'.  In  one  of  these  is  a  series  of 
geographical  paintings,  delineating  the  different 
countries  discovered  and  visited  by  the  Vene- 
tians, in  the  proudest  days  of  the  republic. 
Of  the  numerous  pictures  in  the  different  halls, 
those  interested  me  most  which  most  vividly 
depict  her  ancient  power  and  splendor;  such, 
for  instance,  as  that  of  the  doge  Cicogna,  re- 
ceiving the  Persian  ambassadors — Pope  Alex- 
ander III.  advancing  to  meet  the  doge  Se- 
bastien  Ziani,  returning  from  his  victory  over 


1? 


I  I 


is  city  flontinff  as  it  were  on  the 
g  only  in  the  indomifable  enter- 
icible  courage  of  its  inhnbitnnts, 
slf  the  commerce  of  the  world, 
jtre  of  the  seas,  itself  a  republic, 
proud  cmjiircs,  and  prown  now 
'.e,  oversihadowing  the  nations, 
ire  of  its  fame  by  that  splendor 
ts,  which  to  this  day  remains, 
relic  of  its  ancient  glory.  Such 
of  Venice,  from  its  origin  about 
the  fifth  century,  to  the  extinc- 
jpendence  in  1796. 

of  the  sumptuous  architecture 
J  of  St.  Mark  may  be  formed 

that  the  number  of  pillars  of 
[ivry,  verd-anti([ne,  etc.,  within 
is  not  less  than  500.  Bronze, 
laics,  everywhere  meet  the  eye. 
if  the  princii)al  entrance,  the  spot 
conciliation  took  place  in  1177 
!  Alexander  III.  and  the  emperor 
irbarossa,  is  indicated  by  some 
marble  in  the  pavement. 
e  church  stands  the  doge's  pal- 
e  as  grard  and  imposing  in  its 
as  it  is  interesting  in  its  historical 

It  occupies  one  side  of  the piaz- 

siiuare,  which  extends  from  one 
place  of  St.  Murk  to  the  water, 
jraugles  together  resembling  in 
tter  L.  T^is  palace  was  built 
Idle  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
0  Faliero  was  doge  of  Venice, 
principal  gate,  and  crossing  the 
:,  you  ascend  the  celebrated  giant 
called  from  its  being  ornamented 
mi-colossal  statues  of  Mars  and 
nblems  of  the  military  and  naval 
3  republic.  Just  at  the  head  of 
3  the  doges  were  crowned,  aud 
jt,  Byron,  following  tradition,  has 
M  the  scene  of  the  execution  of 
;ro. 
8  palace  is  preeminently  the  place 

stranger  must  resort  in  order  to 

impression  of  the  past — whose 
sre  surround  him.  Its  vast  snd 
ills  are  filled  with  historical  paint- 
ig  to  the  eye  all  those  scenes  and 
which  are  associated  with  Vene- 

In  one  of  these  is  a  series  of 
, paintings,  delineatingthc  ditferent 
covered  and  visited  by  the  V^ene- 
>  proudest  days  of  the  republic, 
rous  pictures  in  the  different  halls, 
ited  me  most  which  most  vividly 
ncient  power  and  splendor ;  such, 
,  as  that  of  the  doge  Cicogna,  re- 
'ersian  ambassadors — Pope  Alex- 
idvancjng  to  meet  the  doge  Se- 
li,  returning  from  his  victory  over 


A  VISIT  TO  VENICE. 


221 


Frederick  Barbarossa — the  pop^-  presenting  a 
sword  to  the  doge,  as  he  embarks — the  return 
of  a  doge  after  his  victory  over  the  Genoese 
—the  doge  Henry  Dandolo  (who,  at,  the  age 
of  97  years,  and  blind,  led  the  Venetians  to 
the  capture  of  the  ancient  Byzantium)  crown- 
ing the  emperor  Bnldovino  at  Constantinople 

the  doge,  surrounded  by  his  council,  re- 

cinving  the  deputations  of  cities  otrcring  them- 
selves as  voluntary  subjects  of  the  republic — 
imtnnrous  battles  of  the  Venetians,  etc.  To 
gu/.c  on  these  paintings,  most  of  them  the 
works  of  great  masters — to  feel  that  you  are 
standing  on  the  very  spot  where  many  of 
those  memorable  scenes  occurred — to  lo^k  out 
from  the  windows  of  the  palace  on  the  mole 
where  the  embarkation  depicted  on  the  canvass 
took  place — to  ropeople  in  imaginatitm  the 
quiet  squares  beneath  you,  where  in  the  heat 
of  the  day  but  a  few  loungers  are  seen,  with 
those  exulting  throngs  that  crowded. in  past 
ages  to  these  grand  demonstrations  of  Venetian 
glory — these  are  things  that  tak^  powerful 
possession  of  the  soul,  and  cause  it  indeed  to 
live  in  the  past.  Never  before  had  I  so  felt 
the  power  of  historical  painting. 

The  portraits  of  one  hundred  and  fifteen 
doges  extend  along  the  upper  part  of  more  than 
one  hall.  In  the  place  where  should  have 
been  that  of  Marino  Faliero,  is  this  inscription  I 
on  a  black  ground — "  Hie  «st  locus  Marini 
Fidierii  decapitati  pro  criininibus."  The  ef- 
fect of  this  is  most  impressive. 

On  the  place  of  St.  Mark  stand  three  lofty 
flag-staffs,  resting  on  richly  ornamented  pedes- 
tals of  bronze.  From  these  were  once  dis- 
played the  standards  of  the  republic,  indicating 
her  dominion  over  Cyprus,  Candia,  and  the 
Morea. 

The  campanile,  or  tower  of  St.  Mark,  is  an 
isolated  square  tower  near  the  church.  From 
the  top  of  it  I  gazed  with  no  common  delight 
on  the  beautiful  city  below,  the  neighboring 
islands,  the  blue  waters  of  the  Adriatic,  and 
the  distant  mountains  of  the  Tyrol.  When 
this  glorious  panorama  was  spread  out  before 
me,  beneath  that  cloudless  sky,  I  felt  sure 
that  no  city  in  Italy,  no  one  m  the  world, 
could  rival  the  perfect  enchantment  which  its 
•cenery  and  its  history  impart  to  Venice. 

The  contrast  between  the  past  glory  and 
present  decay  of  this  renowned  city  is  exceed- 
ingly imoressive.  Yet,  politically  and  com- 
mercially unimportant  as  she  now  is,  there 
are  many  things  which  to  the  stranger  mate- 
rially diminish  the  painful  sensations  which 
such  a  contrast  is  fitted  to  produce.  The  en- 
during glories  of  architecture,  statuary,  and 
painting,  still  remain,  though  the  sceptre  of 
pt>wer  and  pride  has  departed  from  Venice. 
There  appear  to  be,  also,  far  more  industry 
and  general  comfort  here,  than  in  most  of  the 


other  Italian  cities.  Not  only  are  the  crowds 
that  congregate  in  the  evenings  at  the  pinz/a 
and  piazzetta,  well  dressed  and  genteel  in  ap- 
pearance, but  the  lower  class  generally  appear 
in  better  circumstances  than  elsewhere  in 
Italy. 

As  there  were  no  excursions  to  be  made  out 
of  the  city,  three  busy  days  sufiicrd  for  very 
extensive  rambling  through  its  narrow  streets, 
as  well  us  for  repeated  visits  to  the  olijects  iif 
greatest  interest.     A  connoisseur  in  the  (ino 
arts  would  indeed  wish  to  spend  weeks  or 
months  here,  but  for  those  who  are  not  so,  it 
is  perhaps  the  best  policy  to  compress  in  as 
small  compass  as  possible  the  pleasure  of  visit- 
ing such  scene?       J  to  leave  them  bofoie  they 
have  even  begun  to  pall  on  the  sense.     To 
me,  Venice  will  ever  be  rnchanfed  ground, 
and  the  glimpse  I  had  of  its  glories,  Ijrief  as 
it  was,  yet  sufficient  for  vivid  impression  and 
enduring  remembrance,  was  a  chapter  of  the 
purest  poetry  of  life.     It  might  have  degen- 
erated into  prose,  had  I  stayed  long  enough  to 
associate  it  chiefly  with  every-dav  occurrences 
and  commonplace  companions.    It  so  happen- 
ed that  here  I  was  absolutely  without  ncijuaint- 
ances,  and  except  at  the  table  d'hote  of  the 
hotel,  had  little  occasion  to  hold  intercourse 
with  any  one ;  and  I  was  precisely  in  that 
mood  of'mind  in  which  this  circumstance  was 
most  delightful.     The  objects  around  me  were 
eloquent,  and  I  would  on  no  account  have  had 
the  effect  of  their  eloquence  frittered  away  by 
ordinary  chit-chat.    The  gorgeous  architecture 
of  those  time-honored  palaces  and  ternples,  and 
the  memory  of  the  stirring  events  with  which 
many  of  them  are  associated,  furnished  in- 
exhaustible food  for  that  delicious  revery,  to 
which  the  voluptuous  softness  of  the  air,  and 
the  repose  of  all  nature  beneath  that  cloudless 
sky,  seemed  of  themselves  to  invite. 

Venice  is  built  on  about  seventy  small  islands, 
separated  from  each  other  by  a  great  number 
of  canals.  The  number  of'^  bridges  crossing 
these  canals  is  said  to  be  three  hundred  and 
six.  Even  in  Amsterdam  there  are  wde 
streets  traversed  by  light  vehicles,  and,  since 
the  opening  of  the  railway,  by  one  or  two 
omnibuses ;  but  in  Venice,  not  a  horse  or  car- 
riage of  any  kind  is  to  be  seen ;  the  narrow 
streets,  and  the  bridges,  often  at  an  elevation 
reached  by  stone  steps,  are  adapted  exclusively 
to  pedestrians.  Besides  the  spacious  squares 
(the  piazza  and  piazzetta),  adjoiiiing  each 
other,  near  the  church  of  St.  Mark,  there  are 
few  public  places  large  enough  for  general  re- 
sort, and  accordingly,  these  constitute  the  chief 
promenade. 

The  grand  canal,  far  exceeding  the  rest 
in  width,  winds  its  serpentine  way  through 
the  city,  dividing  it  into  unc(|ual  parts.  There 
is  but  one  bridge  o\er  it,  the  celebrated  Rialto, 


l%- 


JB   r: 


s 


lip 


322 


A  VISIT  TO  VENICE. 


which  thus  connects  the  two  groups  of  islands 
on  which  the  city  is  built.  A  double  range 
of  shops  extends  over  this  bridge,  dividing  it 
intij  three  parallel  streets,  generally  filled  with 
a  gay  and  laughing  throng.  The  Rialto  makes 
also  a  fine  appearance  from  the  water,  being 
built  of  stone,  and  spanning  the  canal  by  a 
single  high  arch,  beneath  which  the  black 
gondolas  are  passing  and  repassing  continually. 
The  churoiies  of  Venice  are  magnificent  m 
architecture  and  sumptuous  in  their  decora- 
tions, enclosing  a  great  number  of  paintings 
by  the  first  masters,  and  many  of  thetn  con- 
taining vast  sepulchral  monuments  of  most 
elabor  ite  sculpture,  in  memory  of  the  doges  aiid 
distinguished  nobility  of  former  years.  Those 
erected  in  honor  of  distinguished  artists  are 


Frari,  I  paused  for  a  long  time  at  the  monu 
ment  to  Canova,  erected  in  1827.  Its  magnifi- 
cent sculpture  is  the  result  of  the  labors  of 
seven  of  the  most  distinguished  living  Venetian 
artists,  after  a  model  designed  by  Canova  him- 
self for  a  sepulchral  monument  to  Titian,  who 
lies  interred  in  the  same  church,  and  to  whom 
a  monument,  just  opposite  to  Canova's,  is  not 
yet  completed.  That  to  Canova  is  a  pyramid 
of  white  marble,  with  exquisitely  sculptured 
mourning  igures  ranged  on  steps  leading  to  a 
door,  representing  the  opening  to  a  sepulchre. 
An  account  cf  the  last  hours  of  Canova  which 
I  had  read  some  years  previous,  made  my  visit 
to  his  tomb  exceedingly  interesting.  I  thought 
of  him  an  one  whose  love  for  the  beautiful  had 
not  been  limited  to  material  forms — whose  soul 
ha<l  imbibed  a  pure  and  elevating  influence 
from  communion  with  ideal  excellence.  A 
peculiar  purity  and  chastencss  characterize 
his  works,  and  are  nowhere  more  conspicuous 
than  in  his  oelobrated  Vemis,  which  I  saw 
afterward  at  Florence. 

Of  the  churches  which  I  visited,  except  St. 
Mark's,  none  seemed  to  me  to  surpass  that  of 
Sanla  Maria  della  Salute.     This  gorgeous 
edifice  was  built  by  the  republic,  then  in  its  ] 
highest  glory,  in  fulfilment  of  a  vow  made  on  ^ 
occasion  of  the  plague  which  in  ICSO  swept  | 
otr  thousands  of  victims.     It  stands  in  a  con-  j 
spicuous  jtlace  not  far  from  St.  Mark's,  on  the  ! 
opposite  side  of  the  grand  canal,  just  where 
the  latter  opens  into  tho  broad  channel.     It  is 
most  profusely  ornamented,    coKiprising  no 
fewer  than  one    hundred    and    twenty-five 
stotues,   besides  numerous  celebrated   paint- 
ings,  and  is  surmounted  by  a  magnificent 
dome. 

Not  far  from  this  church,  on  the  same  bank 
of  the  grand  canal,  is  the  academy  of  fine  arts, 
containing  a  rich  collection  of  jjaintings,  chiefly 
of  the  Venetian  school.     The  two  paintings 

ii '  ■        -■■  ••- 


here  that  interested  me  most  were  the  Resur- 
ruction  of  Lazarus,  and  the  Death  of  Rachel. 
In  the  latter  of  these,  the  bcautiftd  fure  of  her 
who  lies  extended  on  tho  couch  —  the  deep 
grief  of  Jacob  as  the  wife  of  his  love  is  ex- 
pinng — the  attitude  of  Josei)h,  and  the  infant 
m  charge  of  the  nurse— make  up  a  scene  in- 
expressibly touching. 

As  an  omnibus  ride  after  dinner  was  not  to 
be  had  in  Venice,  I  tfH)k,  as  on  excellent  snb- 
stitutc  for  it,  an  excursion  in  a  fiondoia.     Set- 
ting off  near  the  pkce  of  St.  Mark,  the  gon- 
dolier proceeded  leisurely  along  the  canw!, 
giving  me  tiixic  to  u(hnire  the  palaces  on  its 
banks,  till,  at  some  distance  beyond  the  ponte 
Rialto,  by  one  of  the  numerous  canals  open- 
'  ing  to  the  right,  we  possed  through  to  the 
'  shallow  water  on  the  northern  side  of  the  city. 
i  The  sun  was  netting  when  we  reached  this 
1  point,   and   the  view  was  moat  enchanting. 
I  Passing  by  the  arsenal,  whose  strong  walls, 
flanked  by  towers,  enclose  a  space  nearly  two 
miles  in  circumference,  I  stopped  a  few  minutes 
at  the  public  gardens.     When  I  left  the  gon- 
dola, the  full  moon  was  shining  on  one  of  tho 
loveliest  scenes  that  can  well  be  imagined. 
The  place  of  St.  Mark,  and   the  adjoining 
square  which  fronts  on  the  broad  channel,  were 
now  filled  with  promenaders.     Hundreds  of 
chairs  in  front  of  the  cafes  were  occupied  by 
porties  of  ladies   and   gentlemen,  refreshing 
themselves  with  ices  and  lemonade,  and  occa- 
sionally serenaded  by  musicians  of  both  sexes, 
who,  after  their  song  was  ended,  collected  a 
moderate  tribute  from  the  audience.     In  one 
of  the  cafes  I  took  np  a  Paris  newspaper 
which  discussed  at  some  length  the  question, 
who  would  be  the  next  president  of  the  United 
States.     It  seemed  strange  to  read  of  "  Mon- 
sieur Welwter  de  Boston,"  and  "Monsieur 
Cloy  de  Kentucky,"  under  the  shadow  of  the 
doge's  palace  at  Venice. 

The  foUowiug  evening  was  the  last  of  my 
stay.  At  eight  o'clock  it  was  necessary  for 
mc  to  be  at  the  posta.  In  compliance  with 
the  usual  requisition,  my  baggage  had  been 
sent  some  hours  before,  I  had  settled  my  bill 
at  the  hotel,  and  received  tho  courteous  fare- 
wells of  my  landlord,  whose  English  "  good- 
by"  hod  a  very  kindly  sound,  when  super- 
induced ui)on  his  customary  French. 

Once  more,  and  for  the  fast  time,  I  stood  in 
the  piazza,  and  yielded  to  the  full  inspiration 
of  the  place  and  the  hour.  Every  beautiful 
object  was  more  beautiful  beneath  the  moon- 
light, and,  to  heighten  the  enchantment  of  the 
sccni,  the  band  of  music  connected  with  the 
Austrian  garrison,  numbering  at  least  eighty 
musicians,  with  a  great  variety  of  instruments, 
formed  a  hollow  s<]anre  in  the  place  of  St. 
Mark,  and  gave  a  magnificent  serenade.  Tk 
i  listen  to  those  strains  under  the  shadow  of  the 


f¥ 


in. 

-      Im 


■ested  me  most  were  tlie  Resiir- 
;D.rus,  and  the  Death  of  Rachel, 
f  these,  the  beautiftil  fare  of  her 
nded  on  the  nmeh  —  the  deep 
>  a»  the  wife  of  his  love  is  ex- 
tituile  of  Joseph,  and  the  infant 
he  nurse— make  up  a  scene  in- 
uching. 

bus  ride  after  dinner  was  not  to 
lice,  I  l(K)h,  as  nn  excellent  snb- 
M  cxcurswu  in  a  gi/ndola.     Set- 
he  pluce  (jf  St.  Mark,  the  gon- 
ded   leisurely  olon^'   the  canal, 
le  to  admire  the  palaces  on  its 
some  distance  beyond  the  ponte 
a  of  the  numerous  canals  ojjen- 
ght,  we  passed  through  to  the 
■on  the  northern  side  of  the  city. 
I  netting  when  we  reached  this 
tie  view  was  roost  enchanting, 
he  arsenal,  whose  strong  walls, 
wers,  enclose  a  space  nearly  two 
mferencc, I  stopped  afewmmutes 
gardens.     When  I  left  the  gon- 
moon  was  shining  on  one  of  the 
ics  that  can  well  be  imagined, 
f  St.  Mark,  and   the  adjoining 
fronts  on  the  broad  channel,  were 
ith  promenaders.     Hundreds  of 
it  of  the  cafes  were  occupied  by 
idies  and  gentlemen,  refreshing 
nth  ices  and  lemonade,  and  occa- 
laded  by  musicians  of  both  sexes, 
leir  song  was  ended,  collected  a 
bute  from  the  audience.     In  one 
I  took  up  a  Paris  newspaper 
Bed  at  some  length  the  question, 
e  the  next  president  of  the  United 
eemed  strange  to  read  of  "  Mon- 
:er  de  Boston,"  and  "Monsieur 
itucky,"  under  the  Bhadow  of  the 
.'  at  Venice. 

viug  evening  was  the  last  of  my 
ight  o'clock  it  was  necessary  for 
the  posta.     In  com[)liance  with 
;qtiisition,  my  baggage  had  been 
)urs  before,  I  had  settled  my  bill 
,  and  received  the  courteous  fare- 
landlord,  whose  English  "  good- 
very  kindly  sound,  when  supcr- 
n  bis  customary  French. 
e,  and  for  the  Inst  time,  I  stoodin 
and  yielded  to  the  full  inspiration 
'.  and  the  hour.     Every  beautiful 
more  beautiful  beneath  the  moon- 
o  heighten  the  enchantment  of  the 
land  of  music  connected  wth  the 
irrison,  numbering  at  least  eighty 
vith  a  great,  variety  of  instruments, 
lollow  s(pinre  in  the  place  of  St. 
gave  a  magnificent  serenade.     To 
)8e  strains  ui»der  the  shadow  of  the 


VEOKTABLB  CUKIOSITIES. 


223 


church  of  St.  Mark  and  the  doge's  palace,  | 
wusaUme  sufficient  to  compensate  a  pilgrimage  ^ 
to  that  distant  city.  Reluctantly  I  tore  my-  [ 
self  away  from  this  enchanted  ground,  ami  , 
hastened  to  the  posta,  where  1  arrived  just  in 
tim«.  The  mail-boat,  which  waits  for  no  one,  j 
had  received  nearly  all  its  passengers,  and  two  ' 
minutes  after  I  stejjped  on  board  we  were  in 
motion. 

Thus  I  parted  from  Venice.  But  there  is, 
indeed,  *'  no  farewell"  to  such  scenes.  Neither  | 
Florence,  in  tlio  beautiful  and  classic  vale  of 
the  Arm,,  nor  smiling  Naples,  with  its  un- 
rivalled bay,  nor  Rome  itself,  with  all  its 
solemn  grandeur,  distinct  and  vivid  as  they 
are  in  recollection,  has  power  at  all  to  dimin- 
ish the  charm  which  memory  throws  around 
thai  unique  and  most  lovely  city,  whose  moon- 
light scenery  still  mingles  with  the  most  deli- 
cious of  my  waking  dreams.  —  Rex.  VV.  C. 
Dana. 


VEGETABLE  CURIOSITIES. 

The  vegetable  kingdom  has  often  supplied 
the  natural  theologist,  with  the  most  striking 
and  forcible  of  his  illustrations,  in  proof  of 
the  lavish  goodness  of  the  Creator.  He  has 
sien  in  its  varied  productions,  the  cxhuustl^tiS 
skill  of  the  All-creative  hand  ;  in  the  adapta- 
tion to  the  wants  and  necessities  of  man,  his 
wisdom  ;  and  in  the  gratifications  they  i>resent 
to  his  eye,  and  to  his  taste,  the  clear  evidence, 
that,  while  utility  has  been  amply  regarded, 
the  enjoyment  of  the  crenture  has  been  c<|ually 
remembered,  and  abundantly  provided  for. 
With  the  most  of  the  utilitarian  products  of 
this  kingdom,  we  are  sufficiently  familiar ; 
but  with  regard  to  its  more  exciuisite  gifts,  we 
believe  a  good  deal  of  ignorance  to  prevail, 
which  it  will  be  our  endeavor,  though  imper- 
fectly, to  dissipate. 

The  Rev.  Dr.  Walsh,  in  a  paper  upon 
plants,  growing  in  the  neighborhood  of  Con- 
stantinople, contained  in  the  "  Horticultural 
Transactions,"  speaks  in  an  interesting  man- 
ner, of  several  of  the  gourd  tribe,  which 
grow  luxuriantly  in  that  district.  One  of  the 
curious  varieties  was  the  cucurbita  davifor- 
mis,  or  "  Jonah's  gourd,"  which  is  believed  to 
be  really  that  plant,  which  was  caused  to 
grow  up  over  tho  head  of  the  prophet  in  a 
single  night.  It  forms  a  beautiful  dense  ar- 
bor, through  which  the  rays  of  even  the  east- 
ern sun  arc  unable  to  penetrate ;  under  its 
shade  the  Easterns  delight  to  smoke ;  while 
overhead,  the  singular  fruit  of  the  plant 
hangs  down  in  long,  delicate,  tempting  clubs, 
somewhat  like  very  stout  candles.     The  fruit 


is  not  eaten  in  the  uncooked  state  ;  but  the 
central  part  being  scooped  out,  it  is  filled  with 
forcemeat,  and  boiled,  forming  a  very  delicate 
and  rclishable  repast.  Another  remarkable 
gourd  ic  the  •'  Turk's  turban,"  the  cucurbita 
ridariformis  ;  in  form,  it  is  like  a  Inr  'c  (piince 
placeu  (m  the  top  of  a  large  melon,  i  as  bear- 
nii;  a  pretty  close  resemblance  to  a  turban. 
Tlie  history  of  its  origin  is  curious,  and  more 
"  wonderful  than  true,"  as  we  fear.  A  gourd 
was  planted  in  Cum]>ania,  near  a  quince,  and 
an  atI(!Ction  apporently  s|)ringing  up  between 
the  two,  the  gourd  came  to  the  conclusion  of 
adopting  the  form  of  the  quince,  in  addition  to 
its  own  glossy  rotundity,  and  the  result  was 
the  form  wo  have  just  noticed.  It  is  used  as 
an  excellent  addition  to  soups.  Another  spe- 
cies is  the  white,  or  cucurbita  j)epo  ;  this  is 
found  in  the  markets  principally  m  the  winter, 
and  is  commonly  piled  up  in  heaps,  like  can- 
non-balls, or  more  like  pyramids  of  snow- 
bulls.  Romantic  associations  attach  to  this 
chaste  production ;  it  is  presented  at  every 
native  marriage  ceremony  to  the  married  pair, 
and  is  supposed  to  insure  peace  and  prosperity 
to  them  and  to  their  house.  The  momordica 
elaUrium,  a  member  of  the  same  family,  is 
otherwise  known  as  the  "  s<piirting  cucumber," 
from  its  possessing  the  strange  property  of 
S(|uirting  out  its  contents,  on  one  of  the  ends 
being  pulled  or  touched.  It  is  a  common 
piece  of  gardener's  wit,  to  refjuest  one  to  take 
hold  of  the  dangerous  end,  and  if  we  consent, 
the  face  and  person  are  covered  with  the  acrid 
slimy  contents  of  this  vegetable  po])gun. 
Where  the  plant  grows  in  abundance,  they 
may  be  heard  popping  of!"  frequently  ;  and  by 
simply  walking  near  these  irritable  instru- 
ments, the  jiassenger  is  often  shot  in  the  eyes 
with  great  force  by  them.  Some  of  this  tribe 
occasionally  reach  an  enormous  size,  particu- 
larly the  munnnoth  or  American  gourd.  Among 
many  examples,  one  is  specially  recorded  as 
having  u:iuined  the  colossal  weight  of  two 
hundred  and  forty-five  pounds!  a  size  truly 
monstrous. 

Among  delicious  fruits,  the  tree  known  as 
the  •' tomberong,"  produces  small  berries  of  a 
yellow  color,  and  exquisite  flavor.  These  are 
highly  esteemed  by  the  natives,  who  convert 
them  into  o  beautiful  sort  of  bread,  which, 
curious  to  relate,  in  l)oth  coh)r  and  flavor  bear 
the  closest  resemblance  to  our  finest  ginger- 
bread. A  tree  belonging  to  the  natural  or- 
der Assoiynaceee  produces  a  fruit  called  the 
"cream-fruit,"  which  is  estimated  by  some, 
as  being  the  most  exquisite  fruit  in  the  world. 
Two  are  always  united  togi'ther,  and  they  de- 
pend from  the  extremity  of  a  small  branch. 
When  wounded  they  yield  a  quantity  of  white 
juice  resembling  sugar  or  the  best  milk  in  its 
taste.     For  allaying  the  thirst  incident  to  a 


29A 


VEGKTABLE  CUU1081TIKS. 


*  ,*»' 


troiiiniil  climnte  tin*  fruit  is  invaluiiMc ;  nml  j 
its  (l.-fK-ious  quality  give*  it  un  iipimiprmt.; 
t-stiiiiiiti(in  rn  the  eyfs  of  tliD  weiiry  tnivi'llrr 
in  tlii'sc  reizions.     Of   aiKithcr  ciirinrn  fruit 
|,r(Mlurc(l  by  one  of  the  same  tril)i-,  Dr.  I^iml- 
Icy   writes:  "The  sapcs  of  Ccvlim,  havinc: 
demonstrated,  os  they  say,  that  I'ara.Iise  was 
iti  tluit  island,  and  havinij  tlierefore  fijund  it 
ner(rssary  to  point  out  the  forbidden  fniit  ()f 
liie  canien  of  EiJcii,  assure  us  that  it  was 
boi-Tie  on  a  species  of  thin  genus  the  Divi 
Ladner  of  their  country.     The  proof  they 
tuid  of  rliis  discovery,  consists  in  the  beau- 
ty of  the  fniit,  said  to  be  tempting  in  the  fra- 
crance  of  the  flower,  and  in  Us  still  bearing 
the  murks  of  the  teeth  of  Eve.    Till  the  oHence 
was  committed,  which  brought  misery  nyum 
man,  we  are  assured  that  the  fniit  was  deli- 
cious ;  but  froin  that  time  forwani  it  became 
poisonous,  as  it  now  remains."     The  fruit  of 
another  tree,  of  the  same  8i)ecies  atlbnJs  a 
cui.ital  substitute  for  red   currant  jelly,  and 
one  of  the  celebrated  "cow-trees,"  inhabitants 
of  p(|uatf)rial  .\merica,  belonsrs  to  this  natural 
order  also.     The  delicious  custanl-api)les  of 
tlui  East  and  West  Indies  are  pro<]uccd  by 
the  Aiitna  reticulata.     It  is  a  small,  weakly, 
branrhtng  tree,  bearing  fruit  about  the  size  of 
a  tennis-ball,  which  is  of  h  dull-brown  color. 
The  flesh  is  said  to  be  of  n  yellowish  color, 
soft  and  sweet,  being  about  the  consistence, 
and  sharing  even  much  of  the  flavor  of  a  good 
custard.     Another  variety,  is  a  small  tree, 
which  bears  a  fruit  of  a  greenish  yellow  color, 
and  is  tlio  size  of  an  artichoke,  called  the 
"  sweet  sop."    The  skin  is  half  an  inch  thick, 
and  encloses  an  abundance  of  a  thick,  sweet, 
luxurious  pulp,  tasting  like  clouted   cream, 
mixed  with  sugar.    Rumphius  says,  that  it 
has  in  some  degree  the  smell  and  taste  of  rose- 
water,  and  is  so  delicious,  that  one  scarcely 
ever  tires  of  partaking  of  it.    It  has  a  com- 
plete contrast  in  the  "  sour  8op,'|  which  be- 
longs to  the  same  species,  which  is  a  fruit,  of 
the  size  of  a  large  pear,  alxtunding  in  a  milk- 
white  pulp  of  a  sweetish  acid   taste.     Sir 
Huns  Sloane,  in   the   "Natural  History  of 
Jamaica,"  particularly  mentions  the  alligator, 
or  avocado  jjear,  the  protluct  of  one  of  the 
lacerels  ;  the  fruit  is  the  size  of  a  large  pear, 
iind  possesses  a  rich  delicate  flavor,  not  unlike 
that  of  the  peach;  but  it  is  described  as  being 
even  more  grateful.     Another  curious  fruit  is 
that  called  the  "  maminee  ;"  it  is  round  and 
yellow,  and  when  ripe,  the  rind  peels  of,  dis- 
covering the  eatable  part,  which  has  an  acid- 
ulo  saccharine  taste,  and  is  of  great  fragrance. 
The  tree  by  which  it  is  borne  reaches  the  size 
of  the  largest  of  our  oaks. 

Those  who  are  admirers  of  marmalade  (and 
•we  exjJBCt  a  vast  number  of  our  readers  are 
guilty  of  that  indiscretion)  will  leam  with 


some  surprise  that  nature  pv^ents  the  inhabi- 
tants of  Huriniitn,  with  tl'.-^  i   .icle  ready  con- 
fecled.     The  fruit  is  called    he  "  murmaludc 
»K)X."    It  is  about  the  size  <.i"  a  large  apple,  and 
is  covered  with  down.     At  first  it  is  green, 
but  when  ripe  It  becomes  brown,   and   fluri 
opens  into  halves  like  a  walnut ;  the  pulp  is 
of  a  brownish  color,  very  sweet  and  tempting, 
and  is  eaten  by  the  native;,  with  »";«  irrentest 
avidity.     The  Brazilians  boast  also  of  a  deli- 
cious fruit,  the  murucuja,  said  to  be  unsur- 
jjossed  in  fragrance  and  flavor,  jxtsseising  a 
pulp  of  a  deep  yellow,  and  exhaling  a  .Ine 
vinous  odor.     Yet  it  must  vieU  to  the  for- 
fnmed  niangustin  of  the  Indian  archipelago. 
This  exquisite  pnnlnction  is  universally  es- 
teemed, and  is  alike  agreeable  to  strangers  as 
to  the  inhobitunts  of  its  native  country,  whose 
pride  it  is.    In  shape  and  size  it  is  like  a  mid- 
dling apple;    it  has  a  thick   purplish  rind, 
which  surrounds  three  or  four  cloves  of  snow- 
white  pulp,  which  almost   immediately  dis- 
solve.    The  flavor  is  extremely  rich,  yet  nev- 
er luscious,  nor  palls  on  the  taste ;  and  the 
fruit  may  be  eaten  almost  ad  libitum.     Dr. 
Lindley  says  that  an  intelligent  traveller  and 
his  companions,  were  anxious  to  bring  away 
with  them,  mnm  precise  expression  of  its  fla- 
vor, but  after  satisfying  themselves  that  it  par- 
took of  the  compound  taste  of  the  pine-opple 
and  the   peach,  they  were  obliged,  after  of 
course  a  series  of  tastings,  to  confess  that  it 
haj  many  other  e(|ually  delicious,  but  utterly 
inexpressible  flavors.     Not  only  is  it  grateful 
to  the  strong  and  hearty,  but  even  to  the  sick, 
who  may  eot  it  with  impunity ;  and,  as  if  to 
swell  the  list  of  its  good  attributes,  it  is  related 
that  Dr.  Solander  was  cured  of  putrid  fever 
by  eating  it.     A  more  singular,  and  at  first  a 
most  uninviting  fruit,   is  the   "  durian :"  it 
combin  >s  in  a  remarkable  manner  an  odor  the 
most  disgusting  and  offensive — creoting  an  al- 
most insuperable  aversion  to  the  fruit — with  a 
very  rich  and  delicate  taste.     The  tree  is  de- 
scribed as  being  something  like  a  i)ear-tree ; 
the    fruit  externally  resembles  that  of  the 
"  bread-fruit"  tree,  the  outside  being  covered 
with  tubercles.     AVhen  ripe,  it  contains  sev- 
eral cells,  in  each  of  which  is  a  large  seed  of 
the  size  of  a  pigeon's  egg,  imbedded  in  a  rich 
pulp.    The  taste  is  very  curious,  and  hns  been 
compared  to  a  dish  commonly  known  in  S|)ain, 
under  the  name  of  "  mangiar  Man,"  composed 
of  hen's  flesh  dressed  in  vinegar.     The  fruit 
really  appears  to  portake  more  of  an  animal 
than  vegetable   nature,   and   never  becomes 
sickly  or  closing.     The  natives  are  passion- 
ately fond  of  it,  and  when  it  is  to  ba  procured, 
live  almost  wholly  on  its  luxurious  cream-like 
flesh.     It  is  said  soon  to  turn  putrid.     One 
durian  is  worth  more  than  a  dozen  pine-apples. 
The  rose-apples  of  the  East,  have  long  been 


^^^^5^SI 


* 


thot  nnfiirp  pv^ents  tlip  inlinlii- 
(III,  with  t]\''.  I  Ac\i'  rcnily  ri)ri. 
fruit  is  nolle. 1  he  "  miirriinludf; 
iMit  the  size  <-'"  a  large  npple,  nnd 
h  down.  At  first  it  is  srcm, 
»  it  become*  brown,  nnd  flicn 
ves  like  o  walnut;  tin-  imlp  is 
color,  very  sweet  nnd  teni|ilini», 
Y  the   nutivc!.  with  r'je  larredlest 

Brazilians  boast  also  of  a  deli- 
e  muructtja,  said  to  be  unsur- 
[ranee  nnd  flavor,  p>sses!«inp[  a 
•p  yellow,  and  exhalinp  a  .Ine 

Yet  it  Hiust  yield  to  the  far- 
9tin  of  the  Indian  archipelago. 
»  pnnlnction  is  universally  es- 
1  alike  agreeable  to  strangers  as 
int8  of  its  native  country,  whose 
1  shape  and  size  it  is  like  a  niid- 

it  has  a  thick  purplish  rind, 
ids  three  or  four  cloves  of  snow- 
ivhich  almost  immediately  dis- 
lavor  is  extremely  rich,  yet  nev- 
or  palls  on  the  taste;  and  the 

eaten  almost  ad  libitum.  Dr. 
that  an  intelligent  traveller  and 
ns,  were  anxious  to  bring  away 
imo  precise  expression  of  its  fla- 
sotisfying  themselves  that  it  par- 
impound  tasle  of  the  pine-npple 
:h,  they  were  obliged,  after  of 
es  of  tastings,  to  confess  that  it 
ler  e([nally  delicious,  but  utterly 
flavors.  Not  only  is  it  grateful 
and  hearty,  but  even  to  the  sick, 
;  it  with  impunity ;  and,  as  if  to 
of  its  good  attributes,  it  is  reloted 
inder  was  cured  of  putrid  fever 
A  more  singular,  and  nt  first  a 
ing  fruit,  is  the  "  durian :"  it 
I  remarkable  manner  an  odor  the 
ng  and  offensive — creating  an  al- 
ible aversion  to  the  fruit — with  a 
I  delicate  taste.  The  tree  is  de- 
»ing  something  like  a  pear-tree  ; 
iternally  resembles  that  of  the 
"  tree,  the  outside  being  eovereJ 
DS.  When  ripe,  it  contains  sev- 
each  of  which  is  a  large  seed  of 

pigeon's  egg,  imbedded  in  a  rich 
;astc  is  very  curious,  and  has  been 
a  dish  commonly  known  in  Spain, 
ne  of  "  mangia'r  hlan"  composed 
h  dressed  in  vinegar.  The  fruit 
rs  to  partake  more  of  an  animol 
ble  nature,  and  never  becomes 
1,'ing.  The  natives  are  passion- 
■"it,  and  when  it  is  to  be  jjrocured, 
vholly  on  its  luxurious  cream-like 

said  soon  to  turn  putrid.  One 
rth  more  than  a  dozen  pine-apples, 
apples  of  the  East,  have  long  been 


VBOETABLE  CURIOSITIES. 


225 


J 


held  in  esteem,  and  take  a  high  position  among 
the  elegantdelicai-iesof  nature.  In  all  res[)cct8, 
this  fruit  is  u  lovely  production ;  it  is  borne  by 
a  tree  called  the  jambo ;  it  is  about  as  large 
as  a  pear ;  externally,  it  is  arrayed  ma  coat 
of  the  most  splendid  red  ;  inside,  its  pulp  is  ot 
the  loveliest  white  ;  and  in  perfume  and  taste 
it  much  rcsemliles  the  r  me.     Some  vaneties 
of  the  rose-apple  ore  so  fine,  as  to  be  preserved 
for  the  king's  use  alone  :  a  beautiful  variety, 
the  jumrosade,  is  most  highly  perfumed  with 
rose,  while  its  color  is  a  delicate  transporent 
pink   mixed   with  white.      The  well-known 
Kuava,  is  a  fruit  belonging  to  the  natural  order 
—the  myrtleblooms.     One  of  the  chief  deli- 
cacies ot  the  Indian  desert,  is  the  fruit  of  the 
mango,  the  oll'spring  of   a   considerable  tree 
like  a  walnut.     When  fresh,  it  is  of  an  ex- 
ceedingly delicate,  sweet,  ond  acidulous  fla- 
vor, and  foirns  pickles  and  preserves,  which 
are  highly  esteemed.     Some  of  its  vaneties 
arc  us'^large  as  an  infant's  head,  and  exceed 
two  pounds  in  weight.     Sir  William  Jones,  in 
the  "  Asiatic  Reseorches,'^  mentions  a  very 
delicious  fruit,  known  as  the  malura,  which  is 
curious  in  consequence  of  its  ixjssessing  a  fro- 
grance  strongly  resembling  that  of  the  wall- 

The   Chinese  horticulture  has  long  been 
famous  for  its  productions,  some  of  which  are 
very  anomalous.    Marco  Polo  says,  they  have 
some  pears  of  most  gigantic  sizes ;  pears  are 
at  all  seasons  in  the  Chinese  markets,  and 
some  api>ear  to  have  been  fattened  up  to  a  de- 
gree of  obesity  that  would  do  good  to  the 
eyes  of  an  agricultural  prize-breeder.     What 
would   be   thought    in   England,   of   a  pear 
weighing  ten  pounds,  therefore,  somewhat  ot 
the  size  of  a  Southdown  leg  of  mutton !     Yet 
such  this  industrious  traveller  affirms  as  a  fact, 
addin-r  that  they  are  white  in  color,  melting, 
and  most  fragrant  in  taste.      Other  authors 
mention    pears   of  approximate    sizes,  some 
measuring  neariy  sixteen  inches  m  circumfer- 
ence the  long  way,  and  upward  of  a  foot  the 
round  way.     Their  peaches,  too,  are  equally 
fine ;  many  of  them  are  of  the  most  beautiful 
colors  and  exquisite  flavor,  nnd  some  attain 
enormous  sizes.    The  Chinese  gardeners  boast 
of  having  produced   peaches  weighing  two 
pounds ;  and  it  is  not  for  us  to  doubt  their 
assertion,  although  we  know  somewhat  of  the 
elasticity  of  the  Chinese  conscience.     They 
are  also  said  to  be  possessed  of  the  valuable 
secret  of  preserving  fruit  gathered  in  October 
until  the  succeeding  January,  in  all  its  beauty, 
freshness,  and  flavor.     Among  other  fruits, 
the  "flat  peach,"  well  deserves  the  title  of  a 
horticultural  curiosity.     It  is  in  all  respects 
like  a  peach,  except  that  it  is  flattened  out  in- 
to a  cake ;  this  fruit  is  well  knowm  at  Canton ; 
itt  color  is  a  pale  yellow ;  when  cut  into,  a 


beautifdl  circle  of  pink  is  seen  Borrounding 
the  stone,  and  radiating  into  a  mass  of  deli- 
cately-colored   pulp.      In   the    indulgence  of 
their  dwarfing  propensities,  they  manufacture 
for  such  it  is,  miniature  fruit-trees  of  various 
kinds,  by  the  methtxl  now  become  familiar  to 
most  persons.      Large  sums  are  set  on   the 
heods  of  those  diminutive  trees,  in  proportion 
to  their  ugliness  and  their  abundance  of  fruit. 
Venerable  old  plum-trees,  a  f(M)t  high,  laden 
with  fruit,  are  without  a  price  ;  while  finger- 
fruits,    marygoes,   peaches,    rarambolas,    and 
grapes,   come     in  for  subordinate  attention. 
The  beautiful  orange,  the  "  mondorin,"  (cit- 
rus nobilis)  one  of  the  recent  importations  into 
this  country,  is  remarkable  for  having  a  deep 
crimson  rind  when  rific,  which  is  <piite  detach- 
ed from  the  fruit.     "  The  whole,"  writes  Sir 
J.  F.  Davis,  •'  has  a  flattish  aspect,  and  is 
sometimes  four  or  five  inches  in  diameter ;  and 
the  loose  skin,  when  broken,  opens  like  a  puff- 
ball,  disclosing  the  juicv  lobes  surrounded  with 
a  kind  of  network  of  fibres."      The  celebra- 
ted finger-fruit  comes  very  manifestly  into  our 
category,  and  is  a  curious  result  of  an  ingeni- 
ous horticulture.     It  is  a  peculiar  kind  of  cit- 
rus, which  by  some  means  or  other,  is  made 
to  run  entirely  into  rind,  the  whole  terminating 
at  the  head  in  several  long  narrow  processes 
like  fingers:  it  has  hence  been  named,  "Fo 
show,"  or  the  hand  of  Fo.     Its  (xlor  is  very 
powerful,  but  is  considered  as  very  fine.    "  So 
entirely,  however,  is  this  strange  production 
the  reuult  of  art,  operating  upon  nature,  that 
it  does  not  appear  a  second  time  after  the  plant 
had  been  purchased."    The  Chinese  have  also 
some  curious  oranges,  known  as  the  homed 
oranges,  from  the  circumstance  of  a  number 
of  little  hom-Jike  processes  projecting  from  its 
upper  end.    It  may  be  mentioned  in  connexion 
with  these  plants,  that  the  pnKluctiveness  of 
the  orange,  is  something  quite  enormous.     A 
single  tree  at  St.  Michael's  has  been  known  to 
prmluce  20,000  oranges  fit  for  packing,  exclu- 
sively of  about  one  third  more  of  damaged 
fruit.    Mr.  Fortune  supplies  a  curious  account 
of  the    production  of  "vegetable    tallow." 
The  seeds  of   the  tallow-tree,  after  having 
been  steamed  and  bruised,  are  heated  over  the 
fire  ;  the  tallow  is  thus  completely  separated, 
but  it  looks  like  coarse  linseed-meal ;  subject- 
ed to  expression,   it  exudes  in  a  semi-fluid 
state,  and  beautifully  white,  soon  hardening, 
and  becoming  solid.     It  is  then  made  into 
cakes,  and  exposed  for  sale  in  the  markets,  tor 
the  manufacture  of  candles ;  but  as  these  are 
apt  to  get  soft,  they  are  often  dipped  in  wax 
of  various  colors,  and  sometimes  are  finely 
ornamented.     But  this  is  a  subject  with  an 
unconquerable  tendency  to  expansion  :  let  us 
therefore,  having  gone  thus  far,  take  a  hasty 
leave  of  it  at  once. 


I 


■T' 


^   h- 


5  W 


226 


MEMOIH  OF  LOUIS  FHILIFPB. 


MEMOIR  or  LOUIS  PHILIPPE. 

The  cx-king  of  the  French  was  born  in 
Paris,  October  fith,  1773,  and  con(i(!(|uently  is 
now  in  his  7.')th  year.  Ho  gucc(;ed(Ml  to  the 
title  of  duke  of  Orleans  in  1703,  ttfltr  the  death 
of  iiis  father,  Philippe  Egalitc,  who,  it  is  well 
known,  sulli-reil  l)y  the  guillotine  in  the  san- 
guinary doys  of  the  revolution.  The  Orleans 
branch  of  thi'  Hnurlion  family,  of  which  Louis 
Philippe  ia  now  the  hcud,  originated  in  Phil- 
ippe, a  younger  son  of  Louis  XIIL,  created 
(luke  of  Orleans  l>y  his  elder  brother,  Louis 
XIV.  The  first  duke  of  Orleans  was  twice 
married,  his  second  wife  being  Elizabeth 
Charlotte,  of  Bohemia,  grand -daughter  of 
James  I.,  of  England ;  thus  connecting  the 
houses  of  Orleans  and  Stuart,  from  the  Tatter 
of  whom  the  queen  of  England,  Victoria,  is 
descended. 

For  many  years,  Louis  Philippe  was  exiled 
from  France"!  travelling  in  various  countries 
of  Europe,  and  visiting  the  United  States  in 
his  exile.  While  in  Switzerland  he  engaged 
08  a  teacher  in  an  ocademy  for  eight  months, 
being  then  tv.  onty  years  of  ago.  It  is  a  mis- 
toke,  however,  that  ho  ever  taught  school  in 
the  United  States,  as  is  generally  8U|)|x>sed. 

He  arrived  in  this  country  in  November, 
1796,  and  was  joined  by  his  two  brothers,  the 
three  spending  some  time  with  General  Wash- 
ington, at  Mount  Vernon,  by  iuvitstion,  pre- 
vious to  makii»g  a  journey  tlirough  the  west- 
em  country.  After  a  tour  to  the  lakes  and 
the  falls  of  Niagara,  the  princes  returned  U) 
Philadelphia,  where  they  residedafewmonths. 
Having  dt.'terniined  to  join  their  mother  in 
Spain,  the  princes  determined  to  go  thither  by 
way  of  New  Orleans  and  Havana.  For  that 
purpose  they  again  crossed  the  mountains  of 
Pittsburg,  and  descending  the  Ohio  and  Mis- 
sissippi river  in  a  boat,  arrived  at  New  Orleans 
in  February,  1798.  Being  refused  a  passage 
to  Spain  from  Havana,  whither  they  went 
from  New  Orleans,  they  sailed  to  Ne-v  York, 
whence  an  English  i)acket  carried  them  to 
Falmouth,  at  which  place  they  arrived  in 
February,  1800.  The  princes  then  took  up 
their  residence  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames, 
at  Twickenham.  They  received  much  atten- 
tion from  the  English  nobility.  They  made 
a  voyage  to  the  island  of  Minorca,  a  passage 
being  given  them  in  a  frigate  by  the  British 
government;  but  finding  no  opportunity  of 
passing  thence  to  Spain,  which  was  then  in  a 
convulsed  state,  they  returned  to  England, 
and  resided  for  some  years  at  Twickenham. 
The  duke  of  Orleans  nad  the  misfortnne  to 
lose  both  his  brothers  while  in  exile.  The 
duke  of  Moiitpensier  died  in  England,  in  1807, 
and  his  remains  were  interred  in  Westminster 


abbfy.  The  Count  Beaujofois  died  at  Mnl- 
ta,  whith':r  his  brother  accomparied  him  in 
1808. 

From  Malta.  Louis  Philipjie  went  to  Sicily, 
and  accepteil  an  invitation  from  Ferdinand, 
the  king  of  Sicily,  to  visit  the  royal  fomily  at 
Palermo.  During  his  residence  there,  he 
gained  the  atfections  of  the  Princess  Amelia, 
tile  second  daught(!r  of  the  king,  and  the  con- 
sent of  Ferdinand  and  the  duchess  of  Orleans, 
who  had  joined  her  son  in  Sicily,  their  mar. 
riage  took  place  in  November,  1809.  By  this 
lady,  late  queen  of  the  French,  Louis  Philippe 
has  had  eight  children,  of  whom  six  still  sur- 
vive, viz.: — 

1.  Louisa,  queen  f  Belgium  (wife  of  Leo- 
pold), bom  1812. 

2.  Louis,  duke  of  Nemours,  bom  1814,  mar- 
ried Victoria  Aumista,  of  Coburg,  cousin  of 
Prince  Albert. 

3.  Maria  Clementina,  bom  1817,  unmarried. 

4.  Francis,  Prince  de  Joinville,  bom  1818, 
admiral  of  the  French  navy,  married  Francis- 
ca,  a  sister  of  the  emperor  of  Brazil,  and  of 
the  (lueen  of  Portugal. 

•i.  Henry,  Duke  d'Aumale,  bora  1822, 
married  to  Carolina,  cousin  of  the  king  of  the 
Two  Sicilies. 

6.  Anthony,  duke  of  M>  mtpensier,  bom  1824, 
morried  a  sister  of  the  ([uecn  of  Spain. 

The  oldest  son  of  Louis  Philippe  was  Fer- 
dinand, duke  of  Orleons,  bom  1' 10,  killed  by 
jumping  from  his  carriage,  July,  1842.  He 
married  in  1837,  Helena,  danehter  of  the 
grand-duke  of  Mecklcnburg-Scnwerin — by 
whom  he  had  two  children,  viz.,  Louis  Phil- 
ippe (count  of  Paris)  born  1838,  and  now  ten 
years  of  age,  and  R(}bert  Philippe,  duke  of 
Ghartres,  bom  1840. 

At  Palermo,  Louis  Philippe  remained  after 
his  marriage,  until  1814,  when  on  the  restora- 
tion of  the  Bourbons,  he  rejiaired  to  Paris,  and 
was  restored  to  his  rank  and  honors.  The 
retum  of  Napoleon  from  Elba,  in  1815,  broke 
up  his  orrangements,  find  he  sent  his  family 
to  England,  where  he  joined  them,  and  again 
took  up  his  residence  at  Twickenham. 

On  the  restoration  of  Louis  XVIII.,  the 
duke  returned  to  France,  in  September,  1815, 
and  took  his  seat  in  the  chamber  of  peers. 
The  Iwge  estates  to  which  he  was  entitled 
by  inhentance  being  restored  to  him,  he  de- 
voted his  attention  princi]>ally  to  the  education 
of  his  family.  His  opulence  enabletl  him  to 
become  the  protector  of  the  fine  arts,  and  the 
patron  of  letters,  and  few  men  in  France  were 
more  popular  during  the  career  of  the  Bourbons. 
He  was  unexpiectedly  callet!  from  private  life 
by  the  revohition  of  the  three  days  in  Jnly» 
1830,  when,  on  the  abdication  of  Charles  X., 
the  chamber  of  deputies  offered  him  the  crown, 
which  he  accepted  on  the  9th  of  August, 


(lunt  neaujofaia  dind  at  MnU 
brother  accuinpai'icd  him  in 

Lnuid  Philippe  wont  to  Sinily, 
n  invitation  from  Ferdinand, 
ly,  to  visit  the  royal  family  at 
•iiig  his  residnnco  thnrc,  he 
ti()u»  of  the  Princes  Amelia, 
hter  of  the  king,  and  the  con- 
id  and  the  diieheM  of  Orleans, 
her  son  in  Sicily,  their  mar- 
in  November,  1809.  By  this 
of  the  French,  Loiiis  Phdippe 
lildrcn,  uf  whom  six  still  sur- 

sen    f  Belgium  (wife  of  Leo- 

e  of  Nemours,  bom  1914,  mar- 
ugiista,  of  Coburg,  cousin  of 

nentinn,  br)m  1917,  unmarried, 
rince  de  Joinvillc,  bom  1819, 
rench  navy,  morried  Francis- 
he  emperor  of  Brazil,  and  of 
trtuj^al. 

>uko  d'Aumole,  bom  1922, 
ilina,  cousin  of  the  king  of  the 

nkeof  M.mtpcn8ier,bom  1824, 
of  the  queen  of  Spain, 
in  of  Louis  Philippe  was  Fer- 
Orleans,  bom  1' 10,  killed  by 
lis  cnrriiige,  July,  1842.  He 
17,  Helena,  dauehter  of  the 
Mecklcnburg-Scli  werin  —  by 
vo  children,  viz.,  Louis  Phil- 
i*aris)  born  1938,  and  now  ten 
id  Robert  Philippe,  duke  of 
1940. 

Louis  Philii)pe  remained  after 
itil  1814,  when  on  the  restora- 
bons,  he  rej)aired  to  Paris,  and 
J  his  rank  and  honors.  The 
eon  from  Elba,  in  1815,  broke 
[lenta,  nnd  he  sent  his  family 
ere  he  joined  them,  and  again 
dence  at  Twickenham, 
•ration  of  Louis  XVIII.,  the 
o  France,  in  September,  1815, 
eat  in  the  chambf'  of  peers, 
tes  to  which  he  was  entitled 
being  restored  to  him,  he  de- 
ion  princi|»ally  to  the  edui'iition 

His  opulence  enabTetl  him  to 
lector  of  the  fine  arts,  and  the 
S  and  few  men  in  France  were 
iring  the  career  of  the  Bourbons, 
sctedly  called  from  private  life 
an  of  the  three  days  in  JulVt 

the  abdication  of  Charles  X., 
deputies  offered  him  the  crown, 
jptcd  on  the  9th  of  August, 


MBUOia  OF  LOUIS  PHILIPFB. 


827 


18.10,  and  adopted  the  stylo  and  title  of  Louit 
Philippe,  kinff  of  thf.  Frtnch. 

The  ex-king  was  a  handsome  man  when 
young ;  hi^  frame  is  now  bulky,  but  there  is 
much  case  in  his  manners.  He  is  ready  in 
conversation,  and  was  always  remarkable  afla- 
ble  to  all. 

Besules  the  young  count  of  Pans,  grandson 
to  the  ex-king,  there  are  two  other  claimants 
to  the  FrenrJi  throne  at  this  time,  namely : 
first,  the  young  duke  of  Bordeaux,  son  of  tlie 
Duke  de  Herri,  and  grandson  to  the  late  kinp, 
Charies  X.,  who  was  the  elder  branch  of  the 
Bourl)on  fuinilv.  and  brother  of  Louis  XVI. 
and  Louis  XVIII.  Charies  X.,  it  will  be 
recollected,  was  deposed  in  1830. 

Second,  Louis  Napoleon,  son  of  the  late 
Louis  Bonaparte,  who  was  for  awhile  king 
of  Holland.  The  mother  of  this  prince  was 
Hort'-usc,  daughter  of  Josephine,  first  wife  of 
the  Emperor  Napoleon. 

The  claims  of  neither  of  these  two  princes 
seem  to  be  worth  much  now;  the  only  chance, 
if  a  republic  be  not  permanently  established, 
is  probably  for  the  young  count  of  Paris,  under 
the  regency  -A  his  mother,  the  duchess  of 
Orieans,  who  is  now  thirty-four  years  of  age. 
In  connexion  with  the  preceding  article  we 
present  our  readers  with  some  very  interesting 
details  respecting  the  flight  of  the  ex-king  and 
queen  of  the  French,  and  their  safe  arrivol  and 
scjoum  at  Newhaven,  England.  The  ac- 
companying engravings  were  made  by  artists 
on  the  spot,  and  may  be  depended  upon  for 
cotrectness. 

A  farmer  procured  dis^ises  for  the  royal 
party  previously  to  leaving  the  chateau  at 
Dreux,  the  king  habiting  himself  in  an  old 
cloak  and  cap,  having  first  shaved  his  whis- 
kers, discarded  his  wig,  and  altogether  dis- 
guised himself  so  as  to  defy  recognition.    Long 
before  daylight,  they  started  on  they  way  to 
La  Ferte  Vidame:  taking  the  road  of  Evreux, 
twelve  to  fifteen  leagues  from  Honfleur.   They 
travelled  chiefly  by  night,  and  reached  Hon- 
fleur at  five  o'clock  on  Saturday  morning. 
They  remained  at  Honfleur,  in  the  house  of 
a  gentleman  whom  the  king  knew,  for  a  short 
tinae,  and  then  crossed  to  Tronville,  a  short 
distance  from  the  town.     It  was  their  inten- 
tion to  embark  at  Tronville,  but  owing  to  the 
boisterous  state  of  the  weather  they  were  com- 
pelled to  remain  at  the  latter  place  two  days, 
when  finding  they  could  not  set  sail,  they  re- 
turned to  Honfleur,  with  the  intention  of  em- 
barking at  that  place ;  but  the  sea  still  (con- 
tinued very  rough,  and  the  king  fearing  that 
the  queen  in  her  exhausted  condition  would  be 
unable  to  bear  the  fati^e  of  a  rough  passage, 
deferred  his  departure  till  the  weather  changed 
on  Thursday.     In  the  meantime  information 
1  was  secretly  conveyed  to  the  express,  South- 


ampton  steam-packet,  that  they  would  be  ro- 
(|uircd  to  take  a  party  from  Havre  In  England. 
On  Thursday  iftenuHMi,  the  gentleman  who 
sheltered  the  dethroned  monarch  ond  his  con- 
sort at  Honfleur,  engaged  a  Fren.h  fishing- 
boat  to  convey  the  party  from  Honfleui  to 
Havre ;  and,  fearing  that  in  his  small  vessel 
the  features  of  the  king  might  be  recogtiised, 
the  gentlemon  engaged  an  interpreter  to  inter- 
pret Fn^nch  to  the  king,  who,  to  render  his 
disguise  more  complete,  passed  as  un  English- 
man. Nothing  of  moment  transpired  on  the 
passage  to  Havre  where  the  exjiress  wiis  wait- 
ing with  her  steam  up ;  and  at  nine  o'clock  on 
Thursday  evening,  the  royal  fugitives  and 
suite  set  sail  for  England. 

A  little  before  seven  on  Friday  morning, 
the  express  steamer  arrived  off'  Newhaven 
harbor.  Here  she  lay  to,  and  her  command- 
er. Captain  Paul,  pulled  off  for  shore  in  a 
boat  wth  General  Dumas,  who  proceeded  to 
the  bridge  inn,  to  bespeak  accommodation  for 
the  voyagers.  Having  made  due  arrange- 
ments, he  started  for  London,  leaving  the 
hostess  in  perfect  ignorance  as  to  the  lank  of 
her  expected  guests.  The  captain  returned 
to  his  ship  shortly  after.  About  eleven  o'clock 
a  boat  pulled  up  ..o  the  shore,  containing  un 
elderiy  gentleman  attired  in  an  old  green 
blouse  and  travelling-cap,  and  a  rough  great 
coat ;  a  lady  of  similar  age,  plainly  dressed  in 
a  black  bonnet,  and  checked  bluck  and  white 
cloak,  attended  by  a  young  femole ;  and  three 
other  persons. 

The  royal  party  having  landed,  were  con- 
ducted by  Mr.  Sims  the  distance  of  two  hun- 
dred yards,  where  a  fly  was  in  waiting,  into 
which  the  king  and  queen,  with  the  female 
attendant,  had  8tep|»ed,  and  were  about  to 
proceed,  when  Mr.  Sims  involuntarily  betray- 
ed his  recognition,  and  exclaimed  "  Welcome 
to  England,  King  Louis  Philippe  !  welcome, 
welcome 

The  party  were  then  conducted  by  Mr. 
Sims  to  the  "Bridge  Inn,  where  every  prepara- 
tion had  been  made  by  Mrs.  Smitb  to  secure 
the  comfort  of  her  anticipated  but  unknovra 
guests.  The  truth,  however,  was  immediate- 
ly disclosed,  and  the  worthy  hostess,  her 
daughter  and  assistants,  comfirmed  the  wel- 
come which  had  already  been  pronounced, 
and  conducted  the  royal  exiles  up- stairs.  On 
reaching  their  apartment,  the  emotions  of  the 
worn-out  and  harassed  travellers  overpowered 
them,  and  found  vent  in  a  flood  of  tears. 

The  accommodations  of  the  Bridge  Inn  are 
not  so  limited  as  has  been  stated.  The  royal 
party,  which  consisted  of  seven  persons,  oc- 
cupied two  sitting  and  six  bed-rooms,  inde- 
pendent of  a  large  room  sixty  feet  in  length 
which  was  appropriated  to  the  attendants. 
The  sitting-room  occupied  by  their  majesties  w 


wm 


I 

I*' 


The  Bridge  Hotel,  Newhtven. 


about  twenty  feet  long  by  fifteen  wide,  having 
a  large  bow  window,  affording  additional  space. 

Tiie  news  of  the  royal  arrival  soon  spread 
among  the  i«ihabitant».  Immediately  on  re- 
cciviiic;  the  intelligence,  Mr.  Catt,  of  Bishop- 
stone  (who  bad  the  honor  of  an  introduction 
to  Louis  Philippe  at  the  Chateflu  d'Eu  some 
two  years  ago),  repaired  to  the  Bridge  Inn. 
The  king  at  once  recognised  Mr.  Catt,  and 
received  his  congratulations  on  his  escape  with 
much  emotion,  shaking  hands  with  him  with 
great  empressement,  and  expressing  the  most 
undisguised  pleasure  at  meeting  with  him. 
In  the  course  of  conversation  the  ex-king  ex- 
claimed, "  Ah,  Mr.  Catt,  we  have  had  a  fear- 
ful time  of  it  We  have  been  eight  days  in 
flight,  and  huve  been,  it  may  be  said,  within 
two  hours  of  liting  murdered.  But,  thank 
God,  here  we  are  safe  on  vour  hospitable 
shores."  He  also  added,  "It  is  not  the  first 
time,  Mr.  Catt,  that  I  have  experienced  the 
^onerous  hospitality  of  England.  I  am  always 
proud  to  come  to'  England."  On  Mr.  Catt 
prollering  the  use  of  his  house,  Louis  Philippe 
declined  the  otFer,  expressing  his  thanks,  but 
observing,  "  The  gwKl  people  of  the  inn  have 
done  everythinij  to  render  us  comfortable,  and 
we  shall  do  extremely  well."  Mr.  Elphick 
and  Mr.  Cole  had,  in  a  like  spirit,  both  volun- 
teered to  place  their  residences  at  the  disposal 
of  the  king  and  suite. 

The  royal  party  comprised,  in  addition  to 
the  king  and  queen,  a  female  German  attend- 


ant on  her  majesty,  a  confidential  valet,  a  pri- 
vate secretary  (M.  Pauline,  qfficier  d'ordon. 
nance),  and  two  other  gentlemen.  Consider- 
able secrecy  was  at  first  observed  as  to  the 
names  and  rank  of  the  retinue,  who,  however, 
have  since  proved  to  be  Generals  Dumas  and 
Rumigny,  M.  Thuret,  the  king's  orivate  valet, 
and  Mdle.  Muser,  attendant  on  the  queen. 

_We  omitted  to  state  that  in  the  mterview 
with  Mr.  Catt,  his  majesty  inquired  for  Mr. 
Packham,  and  finding  that  he  was  at  Brighton, 
expressed  his  joy  that  he  waa  safe  in  England, 
and  his  wish  that  he  should  be  sent  for,  which 
waa  accordingly  complied  with. 

One  of  the  first  steps  taken  by  Louis  Philippe 
after  his  arrival  at  the  inn  was  to  write  a  letter 
to  her  majesty  Queen  Victoria,  which  he  in- 
trusted to  Mr.  Irons  (the  active  secretary  of 
the  Brighton  railway  and  continental  steam- 
packet  company),  who  had  waited  on  him, 
and  offered,  on  behalf  of  the  company,  every 
facility  of  transit.  Mr.  Irons  immediat.-ly 
started  on  his  mission:  leaving  directions  in 
passing  through  Lewes,  that  a  special  train 
should  be  sent  down  to  Newhaven,  to  be 
placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  royal  exiles. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning,  several  of  tha 
inhabitants  at  Newhaven  paid  th'^ir  resper-ta 
to  his  majesty,  and  offered  their  services  ll 
various  ways.  On  Mr.  Packham's  arrival,  he 
was  charged  to  proceed  to  Brighton,  in  order 
there  to  repair  the  deficiencies  of  the  royal 
wardrobe ;  "  for,"  said  the  ex-monafch  pithily 


Mi 


[itial  valet,  a  prt- 
ojpcier  d'oraori' 
men.  Consider- 
served  as  to  the 
%  who,  however, 
>ral8  Dumas  and 
g'fl  private  valet, 
an  tne  nueen. 
in  the  interview 
inquired  for  Mr. 
was  at  Briphton, 
safe  in  England, 
e  sent  for,  which 
th. 

y  Louis  Philippe 
9  to  write  a  letter 
ia,  which  he  in- 
ive  secretary  of 
ntinental  steam- 
waited  on  him, 
company,  every 
ans  immediat  ly 
ing  directions  in 
t  a  special  train 
ewhaven,  to  be 
royal  exiles, 
ig,  several  of  the 
id  th"iir  respect! 
their  services  Im 
ham's  arrival,  he 
righton,  in  order 
des  of  the  royal 
-monarch  pithily 


J 


iM 


M 


*l 


230 


MEMOIR  OF  LOUIS  PHILIPPE. 


to  Mr.  Pankliam,  "we  are  very  short  of 
clothes."  The  king  also  handed  over  to  him 
several  hags  of  silver  coin,  for  the  purpose  of 
gcttin?  it  changed  into  English  money. 

In  the  course  of  the  afteniofin  the  editor  of 
the  Sussex  Advertiser  was  honored  with  a 
I>rivate  interview  with  Louis  Philippe  and 
his  august  consort.  "  We  found,"  says  the 
editor,  in  his  journal  of  Tuesday,  "Louis 
Philippe  dressed  plainly  in  black,  without  his 
wig,  Olid  looking  cheerful  and  refreshed.  The 
queen,  however  (who  was  sitting  at  a  side 
tnble),  appeared  much  worn  and  fatigued. 
The  ex-kins:  intimated  his  wish  that  the  names 
of  his  attendants  should  not  transpire,  observ- 
ing how  desirous  he  was  not  to  compromise 
in  the  eyes  of  their  countrymen  those  faithful 
friends  who  had  exposed  themselves  to  danger 
for  his  sake  in  the  hour  of  peril  and  need.  In 
this  feeling  the  queen  shared. 

"  In  alluding  to  recent  events,  his  majesty 
pointedly  disclaimed  any  feelings  of  animosity 
or  resentment  against  those  who  had  helped 
to  hurl  him  from  the  lofty  position  he  had 
lately  wcupied.  His  observations  on  this 
point  were  made  with  a  calm  and  dignified 
composure  of  voice  and  manner,  which  certain- 
ly gave  the  strongest  impress  of  sincerity  and 
truth.  Without  attempting  to  exculpate  either 
one  party  or  the  other,  it  may  be  truly  said 
that,  had  a  far  different  tone  pervaded  the  ob- 
servations of  the  dethroned  monarch,  the  mo- 
ment and  the  occasion  might  well  have  been 
pleaded  in  excuse.  During  this  most  interest- 
ing interview,  there  were  no  other  persons 
preseiit  save  General  Rumigny.  It  was  an 
interview  not  easily  to  be  forgotten." 

During  the  afternoon,  several  gentlemen  had 
the  honor  of  an  interview ;  among  others,  G. 
Molineux,  Esq.,  and  the  Rev.  Dr.  Gary,  of 
Lewes.  On  learning  the  name  of  the  fonner, 
the  ex-king,  after  replying  to  that  gentleman's 
congratulations  on  his  safe  arrival,  observed 
that  "  he  well  remembered  that  name  of  Mr. 
Molineux,  when  at  Lewes  many  years  ago." 
Soon  after  this,  a  special  tram  arrived  at 
Newhaven,  conveying  the  Hon.  Captain 
Hotham  (one  of  the  directors),  who  immedi- 
ately had  an  interview  with  Louis  Philippe, 
and  despatched  for  town  a  letter  Queen  Amelia 
hail  written  to  Queen  Victoria.  The  royal 
party  then  resolved  not  to  quit  Newhaven 
until  next  day. 

Toward  eight  o'clock,  General  Dnmas  ar- 
rived at  the  An  from  the  town,  accompanied 
by  Count  de  Jarnac,  of  the  French  embassy, 
who  had  an  interview  with  the  king.  At  a 
later  hour,  Mr.  Irons  returned  from  London, 
having  delivered  his  despatch  to  Prince  Albert, 
and  being  charged  with  a  private  message  from 
her  majesty,  through  Prince  Albert,  for  the 
exiled  monarch. 


On  Saturday  morning,  before  eight  o'clock, 
several    ladies   and   gentleman   had    arrived, 
anxious   to  pay  their  respects  to  the  royal 
party.     Among  these  were  Mr.  Lawrence  and 
Lady  Jane  Peel,  and  the  Rev.  T.  Cooke, 
with  Miss  Augusta  Otway,  who  came  from 
Brighton ;  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Brookman  and 
his  lady,  of  Rottingdean.     Count  Duchatel, 
minister  of  the  interior,  who  also  arrived  from 
the  Bedford  hotel,  Brighton,  had  "an  audience 
of  his  royal  master.     Large  parties  likewise 
arrived  from  Brighton  and  Lewes ;  and  an 
ddress  from  the  latter  place  was  presented  by 
a  deputation,  headed  by  Edward  Bhiker,  Esq. 
Toward  ten  o'clock,  a  number  of  ladies  had 
assembled  in  the  large  room  of  the  inn,  whither 
the  king  proceeded  to  pay  his  respects.     The 
royal  party  then  prepared  to  take  their  de- 
parture, but  their  progress  down  stairs  was 
intercepted  at  every  step  by  fresh  comers. 
In  the  passage  were  stationedf  the  scholars  of 
the  Lewes  free  grammar-school,  on  whose 
behalf  the  Rev.  Dr.  Cary  (principal)  presented 
two  addresses,  one  in  Latin  and  the  other  in 
French,  bearing  the  signatures  of  the  pupils. 
His  majesty  received  these  marks  of  youthful 
attachment   and  sympathy  most  graciouslj', 
and  having  placed  himself  in  front  of  his  young 
auditors,  addressed  a  few  sentences  to  them 
expressive  of  his  appreciation  of  the  feeling 
which  had  prompted  them  to  approach  him', 
and  assuring  them  he  would  read  and  retain 
the  addresses  they  had  presented  to  him  in  his 
misfortunes.     This  concluded,  the  signal  for 
departure  was  given,  and  the  king,  assisted 
by  the  Count  de  Jamac,  and  her  majesty,  con- 
ducted by  the  honorable  Captain  Hotham,  and 
followed  by  Generals  Dumas,  and  Rumigny, 
M.  Pauline,  M.  Thuret,  and  Mdle.  Muser, 
descended  the  stairs  as  quickly  as  the  crowd 
permitted.     Just  before  leaving,  the  king  em- 
phatically conveyed  his  thanks  to  Mrs.  Smith, 
the  landlady ;  and  the  queen,  who  had  been 
attended  by  Miss  Skinner  and  Miss  F.  Stone, 
of  Newhaven,  embraced  them,  thanking  them 
for  their  attention ;  the  king  shaking  hands 
with  them,  and  adding  his  earnest  thanks. 

The  royal  party  then  proceeded  to  the  rail- 
way station,  and  at  eleven  the  train  took  its 
departure.  At  quarter  past  twelve  the  train 
reached  the  Croydon  station,  where  they 
were  joined  by  the  duke  and  duchess  of  Ne- 
mours, and  thence  the  royal  party  proceedpd  oy 
carriage  to  Claremout,  where  tiey  at  present 
remain. 

The  town  of  Newhaven  lies  on  the  Sussex 
coast,  seven  miles  south  from  Lewes,  four 
miles  west  of  Seaford,  and  nine  east  from 
Brighton.  It  has  a  good  ridal  harbor  (the 
Ouse),  capable  of  great  improvement,  having 
considerable  natural  advantages,  and  situate 
midway  between  Portsmouth  and  Dover. 


ire  eight  o'clock, 
an  had    arrived, 
ct8  to  the  royul 
fr.  Lawrence  and 
Rev.  T.  Coolte, 
who  came  from 
'.  Brookman  and 
^qunt  DuchAtpl, 
also  arrived  from 
had  an  audience 
parties  likewise 
Lewes ;  and  an 
was  presented  by 
ard  Blaker,  Esq. 
ler  of  ladies  had 
the  inn,  whither 
I  respects.     The 
3  take  their  de- 
lown  stairs  was 
Y  fresh  comers. 
I  the  scholars  of 
hod,  on  whose 
icipal)  presented 
,nd  the  other  in 
a  of  the  pupils, 
arks  of  youthful 
tiost  praciouslj', 
ront  of  his  young 
itences  to  them 
1  of  the  feeling 
I  approach  him, 
read  and  retain 
;ed  to  him  in  his 
i,  the  signal  for 
e  king,  assisted 
er  majesty,  con- 
in  Hotham,  and 
and  Rumigny, 
Mdle.  Muser, 
'y  as  the  crowd 
g,  the  king  em- 
I  to  Mrs.  Smith, 
who  had  been 
Miss  F.  Stone, 
thanking  them 
shaking  hands 
lest  thanks, 
ded  to  the  roil- 
3  train  took  its 
welve  the  train 
I,    where  they 
Juchess  of  Ne- 
;v  proceeded  oy 
tney  at  present 

i  on  the  Sussex 
I  Lewes,  four 
line  east  from 
al  harbor  (the' 
ement,  having 
es,  and  situate 
md  Dover. 


232 


LECTURES   ON   ASTRONOMY. 


LEOTURES  ON  ASTEONOMT.-No.  5. 

BY   PROFESSOR  0.  M.  HITCBELU 

If  it  wero  possible  for  me  to  transport  you 
to  the  distance  of  ninety  millions  of  miles  in 
a    directum   passing  through  the  sun's  an- 
nual truck,  and  could  there  locate  you,  your 
sight  would  in  a  short  time  be  greeted  with 
a  most   wonderful    and   sublime   exhibition. 
You  would  see  approaching  you  a  mflgnificent 
world,  rapidly  whirling  upon  its  own  axis. 
Around  this  vast  central  orb  you  would  find  a 
number  of  beautiful  rings  of  fight:  these,  too, 
would  be  seen  to  be  whirling  around  with  sur- 
prising velocity.     On  the  outside  of  this  again 
you  would  mark,  as  the  object  approached 
nearer  and  nearer,  no  less  than  seven  sub- 
ordinate  worlds  sweeping  around  the  great 
central  orb  and  with  it  rolling  through  space. 
This  is  the  planet  Saturn  with  its  rings  and 
mfK)ns ;  and  it  is  to  this  object  I  propose,'  pri- 
marily, to  call  your  attention.     It  is  the  most 
distant  of  all  the  old  planets  known  to  the  an- 
cients, its  period  is  the  longest,  and  its  move- 
ment the  slowest  and  most  majestic.     Up  to 
the  time  of  the  discovery  of  the  telescope,  the 
wonderful  characteristics  which  mark  this  ob- 
ject were  unknown,  but  when  Galileo  direct- 
ed his  space-annihilating  tube  to  its  investiga- 
tion he  announced  to  the  world  that  he  found 
Saturn  to  be  triple — that  there  were  what  he 
conceived  to  be  two  globes  attached  to  the 
main  botly,  one  on  the  right  and  the  other  on 
the  left.     But  these  were  only  the  projections 
of  those  mighty  rings  standing  oblique  to  the 
line  of  vision,  and  seen  imperfectly  through 
his  glass  which  magnified  but  twenty  or  thirty 
times.     They  appeared  to  him  to  be  projec- 
tions or  globes  attached  to  opposite  sides  of 
the  main  body  of  the  planet.     As  the  telescope 
was  improved,  these  projections  had  their  true 
character  revealed,  and  it  was  seen  that  a  flat 
annulus,  or  ring,  passed  entirely  around  the 
globe  of  the  planet  and  was  separated  by  a 
certain  amount  of  distance.     As  the  power  of 
the  telescope  was  increased,  and  more  minute 
investigations  were  made,  it  was  found  that 
the  broad  ring  was  divided  into  two  rings; 
and  in  modern  times,  within  the  last  few  years, 
by  the  aid  of  the  mighty  telescopes  now  en- 
gaged in  astronomical  mvestigations,  it  has 
been  ascertained  that  the  outer  of  these  rings 
is  again  divided,  and  there  are  no  less  than 
three  which  encircle  the  jilanet.     The  satel- 
lites were  not  discovered  till  long  after  the 
time  of  Galileo.     In  the  year  1655,  we  learn, 
one  of  them  was  seen ;  and  shortly  afttr  f^ur 
more  were  announced.     Then  Sir  William 
Herschel,  with  his  forty-foot  reflector,  detects 
the  two  minute  bodies  tnat  seem  to  cling  close- 
ly to  the  edge  of  the  ring  and  are  scarcely  e--er 


visible  in  consequence  of  the  intense  light 
thrown  out  by  the  planet.  Here,  then,  we 
have  three  rings  and  seven  satellitCH,  or  moons, 
which  belong  to  this  most  wonderful  sphere: 
and  remember  that  all  these  are  sweeping 
with  the  planet  through  space,  and  as  it  wluels 
its  circle  about  the  sun,  they  move  regularly 
with  it,  obedient  entirely  to  its  control.  IJut 
what  are  these  mighty  rings?  The  exterior 
diameter  of  the  outer  one  is  no  less  than 
177,800  miles,  their  breadth,  measured  entire- 
ly across  both  rings,  is  30,000  miles,  and  their 
thickness  is  one  hund  red  miles.  How  strange- 
ly are  they  constituted  !  how  wonderfully  are 
they  poised  in  space!  We  can  understand 
the  original  movement  of  all  the  planets  with 
the  exception  of  Saturn ;  we  can  form  some 
idea  how  ...is  earth,  which  we  know  to  be 
globular,  might  have  been  projected  by  the 
hand  of  Omnipotence,  and  caused  to  revolve 
in  its  orbit  about  the  sun;  but  how  was  it 
that  these  stupendous  rings  were  hurled  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  acquire  that  stability  of 
movement  which  holds  them  steady  to  the 
action  of  the  central  planet,  and  at  the  same 
time  rolls  them  onward  through  space  with 
the  immense  velocity  with  which  they  move  ? 
This  [wrtion  of  our  system  baffles  all  ■-  c- 
ture  :  it  rises  entirely  above  the  cor..  -  '  ?.. 
sion  of  the  human  mind.     While  i  e 

some  rough  approximation  to  the  nv,,'!<  <  u3  to 
how  the  other  planete  might  have  been  launch- 
ed in  space,  we  can  form  no  conception  of  the 
manner  in  which  this  one  was  started  in  its 
career. 

But  what  are  these  mighty  rings?  Are 
they  merely  a  mass  of  light  ?  Are  they  pro- 
jections of  the  atmosphere  belonging  to  the 
planet  ?  Are  they  portions  flung  out  by  the 
centrifugal  force,  and  thus  in  some  sense  held 
steady  m  their  position?— Arer  they  solid 
bodies?  I  answer;  they  are  solid  bodies, 
and  of  the  same  material  that  composes  the 
body  of  the  planet. 

But  how  do  we  know  this?  In  the  first 
place,  we  know  them  to  be  solid  because,  as 
the  planet  with  its  rings  passes  between  us 
and  distant  groups  of  stars,  such  stars  are  first 
occulted  by  these  rings.  In  the  next  place, 
they  are  not  transparent  in  any  degree,  because 
of  the  fact  that  at  the  distance  of  nine  hundred 
millions  of  miles  we  are  able  to  mark  the  space 
of  the  shadows  cast  by  these  rings  on  the  bfxly 
of  the  planet.  Night  after  night,  month  after 
month,  and  now  almost  year  after  year,  have 
I  watched  with  my  own  eyes  the  phases  of 
these  wonderful  shadows.  They  are  deep 
and  dark,  much  blacker  than  any  shadow  vou 
find  c^st  upon  the  surface  of  the  earth.      " 

But  agam,  they  are  able  to  exhibit  the  same 
characteristics  themselves,  and  in  certain  ])osi- 
tions  we  find  the  light  of  the  sun  falling  upon 


of  the  intonfie  lipht 
net.  Here,  then,  we 
:n  satellites,  or  miions, 
>.st  wonderful  sphere: 
these  are  sweepina 
pace,  and  as  it  wheel.'* 
they  move  regularly 
yr  to  its  control.  But 
■ings?  The  exterior 
one  is  no  less  than 
dth,  measured  cntire- 
D.OOO  miles,  and  their 
miles.  How  strange- 
how  wonderfully  are 
We  con  understand 
F  all  the  planets  with 
;  we  can  form  some 
lich  we  know  to  be 
sen  projected  by  the 
id  caused  to  revolve 
un;  but  how  was  it 
ings  were  hurled  in 
lire  that  stability  of 
them  steady  to  the 
net,  and  at  the  same 
through  8j)ace  with 
;h  which  they  move  ? 
^m  baffles  all  <  ■  c- 
love  the  corr^,  •'-.vv. 
i.    While  :-..:;e 

jn  to  the  nv.,'i(  ■(  ua  to 
;ht  have  been  launch- 
no  conception  of  the 
le  was  started  in  its 

mighty  rings?  Are 
ght  J  Are  they  pro- 
-■re  belonging  to  the 
ma  flung  out  by  the 
19  in  some  sense  held 
7 — Arer  they  sf*lid 
y  are  solid  bodies, 
I  that  composes  the 

f  this?  In  the  first 
be  solid  because,  as 
I  passes  between  us 
8,  such  stars  are  first 
In  the  next  place, 
I  any  degree,  because 
ance  of  nine  hundred 
lie  to  mark  the  space 
sse  rings  on  the  bwly 
?r  night,  month  after 
ear  after  year,  have 
eyes  the  phases  of 
8.  They  are  deep 
lian  any  shadow  you 
I  of  the  earth, 
3  to  exhibit  the  same 
»,  and  in  certain  posi- 
the  sun  falling  upon 


LECTURES  ON  ABTRONOHY. 


233 


the  body  of  the  planet,  which  casts  a  shadow 
npon  the  broad  surface  of  these  rings;  and 
though  we  have  the  same  blackness  as  before, 
here  is  the  distinct  shadow  cast  by  the  planet 
upon  the  ring.  Now,  as  we  watch  them  at- 
tentively, we  find  invariably  that  these  shad- 
ows depend  upon  the  position  of  the  sun  and 
certain  jwaitions  of  the  planet  and  rings.  Just 
as  the  shadows  which  are  cast  upon  the  sur- 
face of  the  earth  depend  upon  the  position  of 
the  source  of  light,  so  do  these ;  and  they 
follow  with  the  same  precision  and  accuracy  the 
movement  of  the  source  of  light  that  shadows 
do  upon  the  earth,  and  hence  we  can  not  be 
deceived. 

The  space  by  which  the  interior  ring  is 
separated  from  the  body  of  the  planet  is  no 
less  than  twenty  thousand  miles,  and  the 
breadth  of  the  ring  is  about  ten  thousand  miles 
before  we  reach  that  space  which  separates 
it  from  the  next  ring,  and  so  onward  till  we 
pass  the  outer  one,  of  which  I  have  just 
spoken. 

Now  how  is  it  that  these  rings  are  hf^ld 
stable  ?  How  is  it  that  they,  detached  from 
the  body  of  the  planet,  are  carried  with  that 
planet  through  space  ?  The  stability  of  the 
rings  of  Saturn  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most 
difficult  and  perplexing  problems  for  the  as- 
tronomer, and  I  would  do  injustice  to  the  sub- 
ject were  I  to  pass  over  it  without  attempting 
to  give  some  notion  of  this  singular  problem. 
And  before  I  begin,  permit  me  to  explain  the 
fact  that  there  are  three  different  kinds  of 
er^uilibrium — for  .  '  understanding  of  this 
will  be  involve  >  ^-  'erstanding  of  the  ex- 
planation which  1  urn  about  to  make.  I  will 
attempt  to  exhibit  these  three  different  kinds 
of  e(|uilibrium  by  the  simplest  possible  ex- 
planation. If  I  were  to  suspend  a  rod  from 
the  top,  and  cause  it  to  vibrate  as  a  pendulum, 
it  would  finally  stop  of  itself.  Here  is  an 
equilibrium  of  stability.  Why  ?  Because  if 
I  move  it  ever  so  little  to  the  right  or  left  it 
will  come  back  to  its  original  position.  Now 
if  I  take  the  same  rod  and  balance  it  horizon- 
tally across  my  finger,  it  being  equal  in  mag- 
nitude and  density  throughout,  I  have  on 
e<|uilibrium  of  inertia,  because  if  I  move  it 
slightly  it  will  not  fetum,  but  remain  wherev- 
er 1  place  it.  Now  there  is  a  third  kind,  ex- 
emplified by  taking  the  same  rod  and  poising 
it  upon  my  finger :  so  long  as  I  can  hold  the 
centre  of  gravity  above  the  point  of  support, 
1  hold  it  steady ;  but  the  slightest  inclination 
to  either  side  destroys  the  stability.  This  is 
an  equilibrium  of  instability,  in  consequence 
of  the  fact  that  every  deviation  tends  to  in- 
crease itself,  and  therefore  destroy  the  equi- 
librium entirely. 

Having  explained  the  three  kinds  of  equi- 
librium, let  us  now,  if  you  please,  pass  to  the 


examination  of  the  system  of  rings  of  Saturn. 
It  is  found  by  close  investigation  that  in  case 
these  rings  are  precisely  circular,  in  case  they 
are  equal  in  density  throughout,  in  case  their 
centre  of  gravity  is  their  centre  of  figure,  and 
in  case  we  add  to  this  the  fact  that  this  centre 
shall  coincide  with  the  centre  of  the  planet, 
about  which  they  are  placed,  then  the  e(iui- 
librium  is  one  of  instability,  and  with  the 
slightest  cause  that  comes  in  to  derange  the 
system  such  derangement  will  go  on  increasing 
itself,  and  the  centre  of  gravity  of  the  ring 
will  commence  moving  in  a  spiral  line  about 
the  central  planet,  the  ring  approaching  closer 
and  closer  to  that  body  till  finally  it  is  pre- 
cipitated upon  the  planet  and  the  whole  struc- 
ture is  destroyed.  On  our  examination  of  the 
ring  we  find  it  to  be  circular,  and  in  the  eorly 
examination  it  was  believed  that  the  centre 
of  gravity  was  coincident  with  the  centre  of 
the  figure  of  the  ring,  and  moreover,  that  the 
centre  of  gravity  of  the  figiire  coincided  with 
the  centre  of  the  planet.  This  being  supposed 
to  be  the  fact,  it  seemed  impossible  that  this 
systflHi  should  be  perpetual,  in  case  there  was 
found  in  the  satellites  which  revolve  upon  the 
exterior  a  disturbing  influence  suflScicnt  to 
draw  this  centre  slightly  away,  and  thus  begin 
that  very  kind  of  motion  which  must  end  in 
final  destruction.  It  was  not  till  after  La- 
place gave  his  mighty  intellect  to  the  solution 
of  this  problem  that  the  truth  was  discovered. 
He  found  that  the  stability  could  not  be 
guarantied  in  any  other  way  than  by  making 
the  ring  unequally  thick  in  different  parts,  or 
at  least  of  a  different  specific  gravity.  This 
was  not  all :  it  was  necessary  to  move  the 
centre  of  gravity  from  the  centre  of  gravity 
of  the  planet,  and  cause  it  to  revolve  about 
that  centre  in  a  minute  orbit.  Yet,  however 
strange  this  might  appear,  it  seemed  as  if 
Saturn  was  too  remote  for  the  telescope  ever 
to  verify  the  principle  of  this  extraordinary 
statement.  But  it  happens,  fortunately  for 
us,  that  in  the  position  which  we  occupy  in 
the  system,  these  rings  which  are  so  very 
thin,  are  occupying  a  position  such  that  the 
eye  is  situated  m  the  plane  of  the  ring  and  we 
see  them  edgewise ;  and  when  wo  view  them 
in  the  first  place  they  exhibit  the  appearance 
of  a  line  of  light  drawn  across  the  diameter 
of  the  plane  passing  through  this  centre.  Now 
in  the  disappearance  of  the  ring  bv  its  taking 
up  this  position,  we  are  enabled  "to  examine 
with  tho  utmost  possible  occuracy,  and  it  has 
been  found  that  the  two  extreniities  do  not 
disappear  at  the  same  time,  and  that  there 
are  ine<jualities  upon  their  surface  which  are 
well  marked  and  defined — the  very  thing  pre- 
cisely that  Laplace  predicted  would  be  the 
cose,  provided  an  instrument  should  be  found 
of  sutlicicnt  power  to  discover  them  to  the  eye. 


IP 


.«!♦• 


li 


234 


LaCTURES  ON  ASTRONOMY. 


But  this  was  not  all:  the  most  delicate 
microraetrical  apparatuses  were  constructed, 
and  with  these — which  were  capable  of  meas- 
uring the  most  minute  distances — the  spaces 
between  the  planet  and  the  ring,  upon  the  right 
and  left,  were  determined  ;  and  it  was  discov- 
ered that  these  spaces  were  unequal,  not  only 
unequal  but  variable,  and  not  only  variable 
but  changing  according  to  a  certain  law.  Thus 
it  was  shown  conclusively  and  absolutely  that 
the  centre  of  the  planet  did  not  occupy  the 
centre  of  the  ring,  thus  bringing  in  the  other 
condition  requisite  for  stability,  and  fastening 
the  whole  system  permonently  in  space. 

Now   how  could  these  nngs  have   been 
formed  ?     Is  it  possible  that  they  were  attach- 
ed to  the  planet  after  it  commenced  its  journey 
in  space  ?     It  seems  impossible  for  us  to  con- 
ceive how  this  might  be  accomplished ;  hence 
some  philosophers  have  adopted  the  idea  that 
they  were  formed  at  the  same  time  with  the 
planet,  and  by  the  action  of  the  same  law ; 
and  in  all  probability  the  celebrated  nebular 
theory  of  the  formation  of  the  universe  derived 
more  support  from  the  exhibition  of  Saturn's 
system,  than  from  all  other  causes  combined. 
It  W03  supposed  that  in  the  beginning  of  all 
things,  the  matter  which  now  forms  the  sun 
and  planets  and  satellites,  was  diffused  through- 
out all  space,  or  if  not  throughout  all  space 
at  least  to  a  vast  distance  from  the  place  which 
the  sun  now  occupies ;  and  that  this  incohate 
matter  was  divided  and    its  particles  held 
asunder  by  the  repulsive  power  belonging  to 
it.      Laplace  conceives  that  in  process  of 
time — under  the  action  of  gravity — the  mass 
of  particles  commence  a  movement  toward  a 
centre,  and  in  coming  from  positions  diametri- 
cally opposite  they  pass  each  other,  and  thus 
a  rotation  is  commenced  about  an  axis.    When 
millions  of  years  shall  have  rolled  away,  and 
when  this  mighty  sea  of  crude  matter  shall  have 
been  slowly  impregnated  with  gravity   and 
consequently  with  motion,  it  will  contract,  and 
as  it  contracts  its  velocity  of  rotation  must  in- 
crease, till  finally  the  centrifugal  force  gen- 
erated at  the  equator  of  the  revolving  mass 
overcomes  the  force  of  gravity,  and  a  flat  por- 
tion is  detached  from  it  in  the  form  of  a  ring. 
When  this  hus  been  once  loosened  and  de- 
tached, after  millions  of  years  shall  have  roll- 
ed round,  we  find  the  central  mass  contracting 
and  leaving  rliia  ring  in  space;  revolving  with 
the  velocity  due  to  the  revolving  mass  at  the 
time  it  wai  detached.    Now  then,  in  the  pro- 
cess of  the  formation  of  the  planet,  this  ring 
may  by  possibility  break  up  and  coalesce  into 
one  mass.     The  same,  cause  which  operated 
in  the  outlet  t  >  detach  the  ring  from  the  mass, 
will  in  the  second  in'-tance  detach  from  its 
equator  other  .na-iscs  which  may  form  satel- 
lites ;  or  the  se  by  poseibility  may  even  remain 


and  become  solid  in  the  form  in  which  tho^ 
were  first  thrown  off".  If  we  admit  this  won- 
derful and  strangi?  theory  v,-e  can  understand 
how  It  was  that  the  mysterious  system  of 
Saturn  existed,  and  how  the  conditions  of 
stability  were  such  as  they  now  are,  and  how 
It  is  that  this  body  moves  on,  century  after 
century,  without  any  change— with  the  sta- 
bility which  fastens  every  part  of  it  for  ever 
permanent. 

I  do  not  pretend  that  this  is  the  manner  in 
which  this  system  was  formed ;  I  do  not  know 
—I  can  not  fathom— any  such  mysterious 
problem ;  but  one  thing,  however,  I  do  know, 
and  that  is  this :  that  if  by  the  ai)j)lication  of 
the  higher  powers  of  analysis  this  most  extra- 
ordinary theory  is  demonstrated  to  be  true,  it 
carries  the  mind  higher  and  nearer  to  the  great 
source  of  all  things  than  any  other  which  the 
human  intellect  has  ever  devised.     It  gives  a 
more  comprehensive  idea  of  the  omniscience 
and  omnipotence  of  God  than  any  other  theo- 
ry of  which  I  have  any  conception  :  for  here, 
with  motter  in  a  chaotic  form  and  scattered 
throughout  all  space,  having  been  brought  into 
existence  by  the  fiat  of  his  will,  by  the  action 
of  one  solitary  law  the  universe — as  boundless 
as  himself— is  upheld  and  sustained  forever ! 
We  pass  on  from  the  examination  of  this 
subject  to  another.    If  in  the  planet  Saturn  it 
seems  as  if  the  analogy  by  which  the  system 
is  governed  has  been  broken,  we  shall  find  in 
the  next  planet  which  revolves  upon  the  ex- 
terior of  this,  a  still  more  strange  anomaly. 
For  a  long  time  there  were  certain  ditficulties 
with  regard  to  the  movements  of  Saturn,  which 
seemed  to  perplex  philosophers :  it  was  get- 
ting out  of  its  computed  place,  and  the  most 
extraordinary  difference  was  seen  in  the  move- 
ments of  Jupiter  when  compared  with  those 
of  Sotum.    It  was  found  that  during  the 
whole  of  the  seventeenth  century  one  cf  these 
placets  was  perpetually  getting  beLnd  ita 
computed  place,  while  the  other  was  getting 
in  advance.    It  seemed  that  the  two  were 
moving  in  some  way  in  which  one  was  de- 
pendent upon  the  other,  and  it  was  next  to 
impossible  to  discover  how  it  was  to  bo  made 
out.     Finally  the  problem  was  taken  up  by 
Laplace,  and  solved ;  and  the  explanation  Ts 
perhaps  as  curious  as  any  which  has  ever  been 
presented  for  the  examination  of  the  human 
mind.     Who  would  suppose  that  the  stability 
of  our  system  depends  in  any  degree  upon  the 
relation  existing  between  the  periodic  time  of 
the  plonets  1     Yet  this  is  the  fact. 

We  find  that  in  case  the  periodic  times  of 
any  two  planets  should  happen  to  be  in  such 
a  relation  to  each  other,  that  one  of  them  taken 
a  certain  number  of  times  should  be  equal  to 
the  other  taken  a  certain  nuijiber  of  times 
different  from   the   first,   then   irregularities 


'fr 


e  fonn  in  which  thsj 
If  we  admit  this  won- 
ry  we  can  understand 
mysterious  system  of 
low  the  conditions  of 
hey  now  arc,  and  how 
oves  on,  century  after 
:hange — with  the  sta- 
ery  part  of  it  for  ever 

:  this  is  the  manner  in 
'ormed ;  I  do  not  know 
any  such  mysterious 
,  however,  I  do  know, 

by  the  application  of 
alysis  this  most  extra- 
onstrated  to  be  true,  it 
and  nearer  to  the  great 
a  any  other  which  the 
r  devised.     It  gives  a 
ea  of  the  omniscience 
I  than  any  other  theo- 
conception :  for  here, 
ic  form  and  scattered 
ving  been  brought  into 
his  will,  by  the  action 
niversc — as  boundless 
id  sustained  forever ! 
e  examination  of  this 
n  the  planet  Saturn  it 
by  which  the  system 
oken,  we  shall  hnd  in 
•evolves  upon  the  ex- 
ore  strange  anomaly. 
sre  certain  dilficulties 
aents  of  Saturn,  which 
osophers :  it  was  get- 
i  place,  and  the  most 
was  seen  in  the  move- 
compared  with  those 
md  that  during  the 
I  century  one  (>f  these 
y  getting  beh-nd  its 
the  other  was  getting 
I  that  the  two  were 
1  which  one  was  de- 
,  and  it  was  next  tc 
jw  it  was  to  bo  made 
!m  was  taken  up  bv 
id  the  explanation  fs 
'  which  has  ever  been 
nation  of  the  human 
lose  that  the  stability 

any  degree  upon  the 

the  periodic  time  of 
s  the  fact. 

the  periodic  times  of 
happen  to  be  in  such 
lat  one  of  them  taken 
3  sliould  be  equal  to 
in  nuijiber  of  times 

then   irregularities 


LECTURES  ON  ASTRONOMY. 


235 


% 


mm 


would  be  introduced  in  the  system,  which 
would  go  on  always  increasing  in  the  same 
direction  and  the  equilibrium  would  be  that 
of  instability.  Now  it  happens  in  the  peri(xlic 
times  of  Jupiter  and  Saturn  there  is  a  close 
proximity  to  such  a  relation — five  periods  of 
Jupiter  being  about  sixty  years,  and  two  pe- 
riods of  Saturn  abour.  the  same  time.  Now 
suppose  to-night  Jupiter  and  Saturn  occupy 
a  given  [losition  with  reference  to  the  sun,  and 
they  start  out  on  their  career :  at  the  end  of 
sixty  years  they  will  come  round  again  to  oc- 
cupy almost  exactly  the  same  relative  position; 
and  whatever  etfect  Jupiter  may  have  had  to 
hasten  the  movement  oi  Saturn,  or  Saturn  to 
retard  that  of  Jupiter,  will  again  be  repeated 
in  the  same  way  and  in  the  same  position, 
without  the  possibility  of  restoration,  except 
with  a  ditrerence  of  configuration  on  the  oppo- 
site side.  Strange  as  it  may  appear,  this  partic- 
ular case  comes  very  nearly,  though  not  quite 
exactly,  to  that  of  these  planets :  they  do  not 
reach  the  same  position  by  an  amount  equal 
to  something  like  six  or  seven  out  of  the  360 
degrees :  here  choy  are  a  little  behind  at  the 
succeeding  year — at  the  next  still  further — at 
the  next  they  have  changed  yet  again,  till 
now  after  about  3,500  years  they  come  to 
a«:upy  the  first  position  in  all  the  successive 
roands  of  their  orbits ;  and  not  till  they  have 
gone  entirely  around  will  the  compensation  be 
effected  and  the  system  be  restored  to  its  ori- 
ginal condition.  Such  is  what  is  called  the 
long  equation  of  Jupiter  and  Saturn. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  the  period  is  2,500 
yecrs ;  because  in  consequence  of  the  fact 
that  they  come  to  resume  the  same  relative 
places  in  ditierent  parts  of  their  orbits  the  same 
will  be  efiected  in  a  shorter  time :  and  indeei 
in  consequence  of  this  dilference  of  configura- 
tion in  difierent  parts  of  their  orbits  it  is  ac- 
complished in  nine  hundred  years. 

It  appears  then^  that  this  particular  case 
which  seemed  to  set  the  law  of  gravitation  at 
defiance,  is  reduced  absolutely  within  the  con- 
trol of  the  law,  and  a  most  beautiful  explana- 
tion of  the  phenomena  is  presented. 

When  these  difficulties  had  been  removed, 
a  mora  rigid  scrutiny  seemed  to  reveal  others 
in  Saturn,  till  finally,  after  having  exhausted 
all  the  means  withm  the  limits  of  the  solar 
system  to  account  for  them,  some  mind  ven- 
tured to  pa6S  the  limits  that  had  hitherto 
circumscribed  it,  and  say,  "  There  must  be  a 
planet  upon  the  outside."  Bat  no  one  dared 
at  that  time  to  undertake  the  resolution  of  the 
vast  problem,  by  whose  solution  the  position 
of  the  unknown  body  could  be  determined. 
Fortunately  for  the  world,  in  1781  Sir  William 
Ilerschel  in  one  of  his  telescopic  explorations 
found  an  object  which  attracted  his  attention : 
in  short,  he  saw  in  it  something  which  resem- 


L 


bled  a  planetary  disk.  On  the  following  night 
the  examination  showed  that  body  to  have 
changed  its  place ;  yet  so  little  did  he  expect 
to  find  another  planet,  that  ho  announcea  he 
had  found  a  comet  ant',  commenced  to  compute 
its  orbit ;  but  found  no  elongated  orbit  would 
suit  the  place  which  had  been  given  to  it  and 
that  notning  but  the  circular,  or  nearly  so, 
would  fulfil  its  conditions.  It  was  found  to 
be  a  planet  revolving  outside  of  Saturn,  at  a 
distance  of  eighteen  hundred  millions  of  miles 
from  the  sun.  This  (first  called  Georgium 
Sidus  in  honor  of  King  George  III.)  is  known 
by  the  name  of  Herschel — more  generally 
called  Uranus. 

In  the  course  of  five  or  six  years,  Herschel 
announced  he  had  found  six  satellites  revolving 
about  the  body ;  but  what  astonishment  every 
one,  was  the  announcement  that  these  satel- 
lites, instead  of  following  the  analogy  of  the 
other  known  planets  by  revolving  in  tne  same 
direction  in  which  the  planets  moved,  were 
actually  moving  backward  in  their  orbits,  and 
nearly  perpendicular  to  the  plane  of  the  eclip- 
tic. Here  was  a  difficulty  in  the  great  sys- 
tt::n  of  the  universe  called  "  Laplace's  theo- 
ry," which  I  have  already  announced.  If 
tnis  system  was  formed  as  he  supposad,  how 
is  it  possible  to  account  for  the  retrograde  mo- 
tion of  these  satellites,  and  for  the  fao'<;  that 
their  planes  are  nearly  perpendicular  to  the 
plane  of  the  ecliptic  ?  Perhaps  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  account  for  it;  but  if  we  will  admit 
that  such  a  thing  may  occur  aa  the  impinging 
of  a  comet  upon  any  body  in  our  system,  it 
would  not  be  impossible  to  account  for  those 
retrograde  movements,  nor  for  this  great  in- 
clination, by  supposing  at  the  time  this  was  a 
duid  mass,  the  movement  may  have  changed 
its  rotation  upon  its  axis,  and  nave  caused  the 
satellites  to  take  the  position  they  now  occu- 
py. I  do  not  present  this  for  any  one  to  re- 
ceive as  a  true  hypothesis ;  it  only  shows  that 
those  who  adhere  to  a  particular  theory  will 
find  ways  and  means  of  explaining  difficulties 
which  others  never  would  think  of.  Neither 
do  I  wish  to  be  understand  as  having  adopted 
Laplace's  theory;  very  fir  from  it.  It  re- 
mains to  be  demonstrated  yet,  and  it  is  possi- 
ble the  means  may  yet  be  attained  whereby, 
by  the  power  of  analysis,  we  may  bring  out 
the  truth  or  falsehood  of  this  most  atupendous 
theory.  We  are  obliged,  therefore,  to  accept 
the  statement  of  Herschel  for  the  present,  al- 
though, so  far  as  I  know,  up  to  the  present 
time  no  eye  has  ever  seen  more  than  threes 
out  of  the  six  satellites  which  he  tells  us  re- 
volve about  this  planet. 

When  this  planet  had  been  watched  a  suffi- 
cient number  of  years,  and  the  observations 
had  been  made  by  means  of  which  its  orbit 
could  be  computed  with  accuracy,  and  thi* 


««i^ 


ft  ™  ■*  ■ 


ill 


236 


LECTURES  ON  ASTRONOMY. 


place  v/hich  it  had  occupied  years  and  years 
before  its  discovery,  on  running  hack  through 
the  catalogues  of  stars  which  had  been  formed 
by  preceding  astronomers,  it  was  found  that 
this  body  had  been  seen  a  number  of  times 
and  had  had  its  place  fixed  in  the  heavens, 
being  regarded  as  a  fixed  star.  These  early 
observations  we'Cv^f  infinite  value  in  deter- 
mining a  more  ac ate  orbit  of  this  planet,  so 

that  long  before  the  elements  of  this  orbit  were 
known  it  was  possible  to  predict  its  position 
in  all  coming  time.  But  when  these  predic- 
tions were  made,  and  when  observation  and 
theory  were  compared,  it  was  found  that  the 
planet  was  deviating  from  its  computed  place 
— it  was  found  that  no  analysis  could  confine 
it:  it  has  broken  away  from  its  computed 
orbit,  and  at  the  distance  of  eighteen  hundred 
millions  of  miles  from  the  centre  this  body 
seemed  to  be  moving  lawlessly  through  the 
heavens. 

In  order  to  resolve  this  great  problem,  it 
would  be  necessary  to  go  into  a  minute  inves- 
tigation of  all  the  observations  that  had  been 
made ;  to  go  back  from  the  planet  through  the 
whole  solar  system  to  the  sun  itself,  and  to 
ascertain  with  the  most  perfect  precision  what 
influence  was  exerted  by  all  the  knovm  bodies 
upon  this  one.  If,  after  every  possible  influ- 
ence had  been  admitted,  accounted  for  and 
applied,  there  were  yet  outstanding  inequalities 
remaining  unaccounted  for,  it  certainly  became 
necessary  to  look  for  their  cause  beyond  the 
limits  of  the  known  solar  system.  This  was 
the  problem  taken  up  by  Leverrier,  and  to 
which  I  will  now  call  your  attention. 

Perhaps  there  is  no  person  living  in  the 
World  who  occupies  so  unfortunote  a  position 
as  the  individual  just  named.  This  may 
sound  strangely  in  your  ears.  The  difficulty 
is  this :  that  he  hos  accomplished  the  resolu- 
tion of  one  of  the  most  sublime  problems  ever 
attacked  by  the  human  mind — literally  and 
truly  accomplished  it — and  yet  that  problem 
turns  out  not  to  be  the  problem  of  nature,  or 
one  thot  God  had  given  to  be  resolved!  I 
know  how  diflScult  a  task  it  will  be  to  explain 
this,  and  it  is  this  particular  difficulty  which 
constitutes  the  truth  of  what  I  hove  stated, 
that  his  position  is  one  least  to  be  envied ;  for 
he  probably  never  will  receive  the  credit  due 
to  him,  in  conseijuence  of  the  fact  that  the 
planet  so  recently  found  is  not  the  planet  of 
his  analysis. 

But  now  for  the  examination  of  this  matter. 
Leverrier  is  a  comparatively  young  man,  and 
had  shown  the  power  of  his  genius  by  a  rigid 
examination  of  the  conditions  involved  in  the 
movements  of  the  planet  Mercury.  He  had 
taken  up  the  old  tables  which  seemed  to  gov- 
ern the  movements  of  this  planet,  and  had 
corrected  them  from  beginnmg  to  end.    It 


was  believed  thot  the  knowlerlge  which  we  al- 
ready had  of  the  movemen's  of  this  body  was 
sufficiently  correct  for  all  practical  purposes. 
The  transit  of  that  planet  across  the  sun, 
which  occurred  not  long  since,  gave  the  oppor- 
tunity of  testing  the  accuracy  of  his  own  in- 
vestigations, in  the  most  perfect  marjier ;  and 
when  the  results  came  in  from  every  quarter 
of  the  world,  and  were  concentrated  at  Paris, 
and  presented  for  examination,  it  was  found 
that  he  had  predicted  the  instant  at  which  the 
planet  should  touch  the  disk  ot  the  sun  more 
accurately  than  any  other  person  who  had  at- 
tempted It ;  and  indeed  he  only  failed  by  the 
amount  of  sixteen  seconds  of  time. 

His  great  success  in  this  particular  induced 
his  friend  Arago  to  request  him  to  attempt  the 
resolution  of  the  problem  of  the  perturliations 
of  Uranus.  He  commences,  not  to  skim  su- 
perficially over  the  surface — tailing  for  granted 
what  had  already  been  done — but  goes  back 
to  the  first  observation  recorded,  and  traces 
each  and  every  one  down  the  stream  of  time, 
sifting  out  everything  which  belongs  to  each 
one  of  them.  Not  satisfied  with  this,  he  com- 
mences a  review  of  all  the  planets  that  can 
operate  upon  its  motion,  makes  a  new  theory 
for  Saturn,  and  for  Jupiter,  takes  into  consid- 
eration even  the  change  of  position  occasioned 
by  the  action  of  Jupiter  upon  Saturn  itself, 
and  the  minute  subsequent  changes  it;  the  ac- 
tion of  Saturn  upon  the  planet  nine  hundred 
millions  of  miles  distant  from  it.  All  these 
things  are  gone  through,  and  with  the  iiand 
of  a  master  he  holds  the  problem  steadily  be- 
fore his  gaze,  arid  seizes  overy  point  with  per- 
fect certainty.  At  length  he  has  accounted 
for  the  perturbation  due  to  the  action  of  any 
known  body  in  the  solar  system,  and  there  is 
a  certain  amount  yet  outstanding.  And  now 
the  grand  object  is  to  pass  upon  the  true  ele- 
ments and  see  whether  it  be  possible  so  to 
locate  a  planet  in  space  that  it  may  account 
for  this  outstanding  perturbation,  and  whether 
by  giving  to  it  this  position  it  be  possible  to 
find  it.  How  did  ne  attempt  this?  To  most 
persons  it  would  seem  utterly  beyond  the  grasp 
of  the  human  intellect.    But  let  us  consider. 

In  the  first  place  :  Bode's  law  of  distances 
told  him  about  where  it  would  be  located  in 
space.  As  Saturn  was  about  twice  as  far 
from  the  sun  as  Jupiter,  and  Uranus  twice  as 
far  as  Saturn,  he  had  a  right  to  conclude  that 
possibly  the  unknown  body  would  be  located 
at  twice  the  distance  from  the  sun  of  Uranus, 
or  three  thousand  six  hundred  millions  of  miles. 
Having  obtained  the  distance,  Kepler's  law 
gave  him  the  periodic  time,  and  the  velocity 
became  proximately  known.  But  now  the 
great  point  was  to  get  one  particular  position, 
and  if  that  could  be  obtained  he  could  follow 
its  progress  and  tell  where  it  would  be  at  the 


e  knowledge  which  we  al- 
ivemrn's  of  this  body  was 
for  all  practical  jmrposes. 
t  planet  across  the  sun, 
ong  since,  gave  the  oppor- 
!  accuracy  of  his  own  in- 
most perfect  marjjer ;  and 
me  in  from  every  quarter 
ere  concentrated  at  Paris, 
xainination,  it  was  found 
■d  the  instant  at  which  the 

the  disk  ot  the  sun  more 
other  person  who  had  at- 
eed  he  only  failed  by  the 
!conds  of  time, 
in  this  particular  induced 
equest  him  to  attempt  the 
^blem  of  the  perturbations 
mmences,  not  to  skim  su- 
urface — taking  for  granted 
een  done — but  goes  back 
tion  recorded,  and  traces 
down  the  stream  of  time, 
ig  which  belongs  to  each 
latistied  with  this,  he  com- 
'  all  the  planets  that  can 
ition,  makes  a  new  theory 
Jupiter,  takes  into  consid- 
inge  of  position  occasioned 
ipiter  upon  Saturn  itself, 
lequent  changes  in  the  ac- 
i  tne  planet  nine  hundred 
stant  from  it.  All  these 
rough,  and  with  the  i)and 
s  the  problem  steadily  be- 
;izes  every  point  with  per- 

length  he  has  accounted 
n  due  to  the  action  of  any 
solar  system,  and  there  is 
et  outstanding.  And  now 
to  pass  upon  the  true  ele- 
Jther  it  be  possible  so  to 
pace  that  it  may  account 
perturbation,  and  whether 
position  it  be  possible  to 
e  attempt  this  ?  To  most 
m  utterly  beyond  the  grasp 
3ct.  But  let  us  consider. 
:  Bode's  law  of  distances 
!re  it  would  be  located  in 

was  about  twice  as  far 
>iter,  and  Uranus  twice  as 
id  a  right  to  conclude  that 
vn  body  would  be  located 
e  from  the  sun  of  Uranus, 
:  hundred  millions  of  milea. 
lie  distance,  Kepler's  law 
lie  time,  and  the  velocity 
y  known.  But  now  the 
;et  one  particular  position, 
!  obtained  he  could  follow 

where  it  would  be  at  the 


LECTURES  ON  A3TE0N0MY. 


237 


end  of  any  given  time.     To  accomplish  this 
ho  ciiinmcnccd  tin  cxnitiination  of  the  derunge- 
mt'iit  in  the  pliiiii't,  Uranus.     He  found  that 
in  certain  parts  (>f  its  orliit  it  is  going  further 
and  furtlier  iiwny  frmn  the  sun.     Its  radius, 
or  direct  lini;  to  the  sun  was  elongating.     This 
he  thimght  was  no  doubt  occasioned  by  the  ac- 
tion of  a  planet.     Let  us  locate  the  two  planets 
ill  iinn;,MURti(m.    Suppose  they  are  on  the  same 
side  of  tiie  sun.     Tlien  the  snuce  bv  which 
they  are  sejiaratcd  is  but  eijjhteen  liundred 
millions  of  miles.     But  if  their  position  is  on 
opposite  sides  of  the  sun,  the  distance  is  in- 
creased by  the  whole  diameter  of  the  orbit  of 
Uranus,  or  thirty-six  hundred  millions  of  miles. 
Then  there  will  be  a  vast  diirerci.  ,■  between 
the  power  exerted  in  one  position  from  tliat  in 
the  othiT.     Now  if  he  could  only  find  a  point 
in  which  Uranus  is  drawn  furthest  from  the 
sun — if  it  commences  to  sweep  out,  and  hav- 
ing passed  a  certain  point  begins  to  graduolly 
draw  in,  from  the  point  where  it  was  most 
drawn  out,  then  in  the  prolongation  of  a  line 
from  the  sun,  passing  that  iierihelion  point 
must  the  unknown  body  be  found.     All  he 
had  to  do  was  to  find  where   Uranus  was 
drawn  furthest  from  the  sun,  and  looking  out 
in  that  direction  he  locates  the  biMly  that  draws 
it  out.     Having,  therefore,  found  one  position, 
uiid  the  time  when  Urunus  occupied  that  po- 
sition, from  its  known  periodic  time,  he  traces 
up  its  movement  and  says  at  such  a  day  it 
will  occupy  such  a  point  m  the  heavens.     He 
reaches  the  conclusion  of  his  investigation  and 
presents  the  results  to  the  institute  at  Paris ; 
they  are  thrown  before  the  scientific  world  ; 
they  are  received  with  incredulity  and  doubt 
by  the  best  living  astronomers ;  the  problem 
seems  to  have  been  too  mighty — too  intricate 
for  any  inind.     But  Leverrier  desires  them  to 
point  their  telescopes  to  the  position  in  which 
he  says  the  unknown  body  exists :  his  request 
is  granted,  and  lo !  to  the  amazement  of  the 
whole  world,  there  is  a  planet  exactly  in  the 
place  pointed  out. 

There  was  the  triumph  complete ;  and  if 
any  had  before  doubted  those  iloubts  were  now 
removed,  ond  the  whole  world  rang  with  the 
praises  of  the  great  astronomer,  Leverrier. 

And  now,  as  if  to  make  everything  doubly 
sure,  it  is  found  that  a  young  man  of  England 
had  been  engaged  in  investigating  the  same 
problem,  had  reached  the  same  results,  and 
seven  months  before  Leverrier  had  published 
his,  he  had  presented  them  to  the  astronomer 
royal  of  his  own  kingdom  and  the  professors 
of  his  own  university.  Thejr,  not  daring  to 
take  the  resjionsibility  of  uttering  them  before 
the  world,  failed  to  do  it;  but  so  soon  as 
Leverrier's  computations  were  known,  so  soon 
as  the  planet  was  found,  then  it  became  cer- 
tain that  he  had  been  investigating  precisely 


I  the  same  problem  and  reached  the  same  identi- 
cal results — each  confirming  the  otlier,  and 
the  two  combined  convinced  the  world  that 
they  had  reached  the  true  results. 

l^ow  do  you  think  it  possible  that  this  is 
all  false  7  Having  carried  you  to  this  point, 
am  I  obliged  to  tell  you  that  these  computa 
tions  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  finding 
of  that  planet  ?  Yet  I  am  absolutely  obliged 
to  do  it,  for  it  is  true.  How  then  sha"ll  I  show 
you  and  convince  you,  that  in  announcing  this 
truth  I  do  not  jiluck  a  solitary  laurel  from  the 
brow  of  this  great  man.  No,  not  one !  There 
they  are,  green  as  in  the  moment  of  their  win- 
ning, and  there  they  must  remain  for  ever. 

As  soon  as  it  was  known  that  the  idnnet 
was  discovered,  telescopes  were  directed  from 
every  part  of  the  world  to  its  scrutiny.  Its 
movements  were  followed  v.ith  the  most  in- 
tense anxiety  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining 
how  nearly  the  real  coincided  with  the  com- 
puted elements.  Adams  led  the  way,  as  he 
had  before  done  in  the  computation  of  the 
elements  derived  from  theory,  and  when  he 
reached  to  the  knowledge  of  the  actual  dis- 
tance of  the  discovered  planet,  he  was  the 
first  who  found  end  announced  that  hitherto 
the  discrepancy  between  the  distance  now  ab- 
solutely known,  and  the  first  computation  of 
the  distance,  amounted  to  about  three  times 
the  distance  of  the  earth  from  the  sun.  He 
had  found  by  comjiutation  before  the  discovery 
that  at  the  time  of  the  discovery  it  ought  to 
be  thirty-three  times  the  distance  of  the  e^.rth 
from  the  sun,  whereas  it  was  but  thirty  times. 
This  did  not  appear  to  be  a  very  great  dis- 
crepancy, yet  it  was  more  than  was  anticipa- 
ted ;  for  had  it  been  an  error  of  three  times 
the  distance  of  the  earth  on  the  opposite  side, 
there  would  have  been  more  reason  in  it,  be- 
cause it  would  have  coincided  more  neorly 
with  the  distance  revealed  by  the  law  of  Bode. 
It  seemed,  in  consequence  of  the  fact  tlmt  it 
had  fallen  on  the  inside,  in  s^me  sense  to  Iiuve 
violated  this  law. 

But  again :  more  tine  rolls,  on,  ond  better 
observations  are  obtained.  Finally,  there 
seemed  to  be  no  data  to  commence  a  compu- 
tation of  the  orbit,  thit  sl-ould  reveal  what 
the  phases  of  the  platu-t  'vere  in  years  past 
and  gone,  as  well  as  what  they  v.  1  be  when 
hundreds  of  years  shall  have  rolled  round. 
One  of  our  own  countrymen  engaged  in  this 
investigation  with  ardor,  zeal,  aiid  success. 
Walker,  of  the  United  States  coast  survey, 
obtained  an  orbit,  and  thought  he  could  trace 
the  motion  of  the  planet  backward  for  a  hun- 
dred years.  In  tracing  it  backward  he  honed 
to  find  in  the  catalogue  of  the  fixed  stors  s<>me 
one  thot  might  have  been  observed  which 
should  prove  to  be  the  planet,  and  thus  give 
us  the  advantage  of  a  long  series  of  observa- 


i.m 


M' 


•t  i.i« 


238 


LECTUaSS  ON  ASTRONOMY. 


tions  extending  over  many  years.  The  later 
catalogues  were  examined :  he  went  back  fifty 
years,  till  finally  he  took  up  the  catalogue  of 
Le  Lande,  made  in  Paris.  He  found  the  stars 
recorded  by  him,  computed  the  reach  through 
which  he  knew  the  planet  to  have  followed 
at  that  date,  till  he  discovered  that  on  the 
lOch  of  May,  1795,  Le  Lande  had  observed 
0  star  which  then  occupied  a  place  where  he 
computed  the  new  planet  should  have  follow- 
ed at  that  date.  But  how  could  he  verify  his 
Erediction  that  this  was  the  place,  and  Le 
lande  had  seen  the  planet  at  that  very  date  7 
He  turns  his  telescope  to  tho  region  in  the 
heavens  which  Le  Lande's  star  had  filled, 
and  if  it  were  a  fixed  star  it  would  be  found 
there,  but  if  it  should  turn  out  to  be  a  planet, 
then  would  that  six)t  be  blank.  The  telescope 
was  directed  anil  lo !  the  spot  was  a  blank. 
Thus  it  was  believed  that  this  was  the  place 
of  the  planet;  but  when  this  place  was  taken 
into  account,  and  when  this  observation  was 
combined  with  later  ones,  behold !  the  orbit 
determined  for  this  new  body,  and  the  period- 
ic time,  fell  entirely  beyond  the  limits  of 
Leverrier's  and  Adams's  computations,  who 
had  announced  that  it  could  not  be  a  period 
shorter  than  210  years  nor  longer  than  268 
years.  Here  was  a  great  discrepancy,  so 
that  it  was  impossible  that  this  could  be  the 
the  planet  of  their  theory,  in  case  these  ob- 
servations could  be  sustained.  And  now  it 
was  that  every  eye  was  at  once  directed  to 
the  catalogue  of  Le  Lande,  to  see  what  his 
observations  were,  and  distinguish  as  to  what 
observations  were  marked  doubtful.  There 
were  discovered  two  little  dots  placed  opposite 
this  observation,  and  referring  to  his  preface, 
it  was  found  that  observations  marked  with 
dots  were  not  to  be  relied  upon.  Those  who 
longed  to  find  the  grand  theory  which  had 
been  built  by  Leverrier  to  be  true,  hoped  in 
this  mark  to  find  that  which  would  save  the 
system.  So  soon  as  a  knowledge  of  this  fact 
came  to  the  institute  at  Paris,  they  appointed 
an  astronomer  to  review  all  the  old  manu- 
scripts of  Le  Lande.  It  is  found  that  on  the 
ni/{ht  of  the  16th  of  May,  1795,  he  made  this 
observation  and  marked  it  doubtful.  On  the 
same  identical  piece  of  paper  is  discovered  an 
observation  made  on  the  8th  of  May,  on  a 
star,  which  he  believes  to  have  been  incorrect- 
ly made ;  this  he  rejects  and  takes  up  what 
he  thinks  to  be  the  same  star,  observes  it  on 
the  10th,  prints  that  observation,  rejects  the 
other  and  marks  the  printed  one  doubtful. 
Now  what  a  singular  state  of  afiairs  is  here  1 
But  the  moment  the  orbit  of  the  planet  is  com- 
puted, that  star  of  the  8th,  is  found  to  be  in 
the  place  of  our  planet ;  and  so  instead  of  hav- 
ing one  we  have  two  observations,  and  the 
distance  between  the  two  stars  of  the  8th  and 


10th  is  the  same  the  planet  ought  to  have 
travelled,  upon  the  hypothesis  we  havo  already 
given. 

Now  there  seems  to  be  no  doubt  left  in  re- 
gard to  that  fact  that  Adams  and  Leverrier 
stand  before  the  world  in  a  different  position 
from  what  they  had  previously  >x;cupied  ;  but 
there  is  something  vet  left  to  be  ascertained. 
There  is  a  planet  iound  in  a  most  wonderful 
maimer,  occupying  almost  precisely  the  rK>8i- 
tion  theii  planet  did  occupy.  Is  it  the  planet 
that  accounts  for  the  perturbations  of  Uranus, 
or  is  it  not  ?  This  is  the  next  question  for 
examination.  In  order  to  ascertain  that  fact, 
it  became  necessary  to  know  the  mass  of  this 
new  planet.  In  the  onset  it  seemed  hopeless 
to  look  for  an  answer  to  this  question  for  a 
long  period  of  years.  But  the  scrutinizing 
gaze  now  directed  to  the  heavens  does  not 
permit  the  most  minute  point  to  escape.  At 
length  it  is  announced  that  from  the  distance 
of  three  thousand  millions  of  miles,  the  light 
of  a  little  satellite  is  flung  back  all  the  way 
to  the  earth,  and  that  little  satellite,  by  its 

Periodic  time  around  its  planet,  reveals  to  us 
ow  much  matter  belongs  to  this  most  distant 
orb.  Now,  although  at  present  I  do  not  know 
precisely  the  amount  ascertained,  for  we  have 
only  approximated  to  it,  yet  the  knowledge 
we  have  obtained  tells  us  most  certainly  and 
absolutely  that  no  mass  can  be  assigned  con- 
sistent with  the  periodic  time  of  this  satellite, 
whic'i  will  account  for  the  perturbation  of 
Uranus ;  hence  the  conclusion  is  forced  upon 
us  that  this  is  not  the  planet  of  theory,  but  wo 
have  got  to  look  further  before  we  can  settle 
the  question  as  to  what  produces  all  the  per- 
turbations belonging  to  this  interior  planet. 

Now  can  I  reconcile  my  statement  or  not  ? 
Have  Leverrier  and  Adams  failed  in  the  prob- 
lem they  undertook  to  investigate?  Have 
the  facts  I  have  brought  out  lowered  them  in 
your  estimation  ?  I  hope  not ;  for  I  can  truly 
feel  for  these  great  men.  They  had  resolved 
the  problem  they  undertook ;  they  had  done 
it  correctly;  and  in  this  they  displayed  the 
most  extraordinary  genius  that  ever  has  been 
exhibited  by  any  human  mind ;  but  alas !  for 
their  fame,  the  problem  they  solved  was  not 
the  problem  of  nature.  God  has  permitted 
us  to  see  that,  and  if  I  were  permitted  to  in- 
terpret anything  I  would  almost  say,  here  is 
a  special  Providence  to  reward  the  lofty  and 
powerful  efforts  of  mankind.  Such  was  the 
structure  of  the  system  that  it  was  impossible 
to  attain  to  a  knowledge  of  it  without  the  solu- 
tion of  this  problem,  and  such  was  the  grandeur 
of  the  problem  solved,  that  it  deserved  as  it* 
reward  a  world,  and  a  world  was  given. 

I  know  you  can  comprehend  this  if  I  bring 
you  back  a  little,  and  refer  to  what  I  told  you 
the  other  night  with  reference  to  the  asteroids, 


"'*s^SES»siy.?<w 


e  planet  ought  to  have 
pothesis  we  havu  already 

;o  be  no  doubt  left  in  re- 
t  Adams  and  Leverrier 
Id  in  a  different  position 
(rijviously  occupied ;  but 
!t  left  to  be  ascertained, 
and  in  a  most  wonderful 
Imost  precisely  the  jKwi- 
»ccupy.  Is  it  the  planet 
perturbations  of  Uranus, 
18  the  next  question  for 
er  to  ascertain  that  fact, 
:o  know  the  mass  of  this 
onset  it  seemed  hopeless 
er  to  this  question  for  a 
I.  But  the  scrutinizing 
o  the  heavens  does  not 
Dte  point  to  escape.  At 
d  that  from  the  distance 
llions  of  miles,  the  light 
)  flung  back  all  the  way 
at  little  satellite,  by  its 
its  planet,  reveals  to  us 
longs  to  this  most  distant 
at  present  I  do  not  know 
ascertained,  for  we  have 

0  it,  yet  the  knowledge 
lis  us  most  certainly  and 
iss  can  be  assigned  con- 
die  time  of  this  satellite, 
for  the  perturbation  of 
onclusion  is  forced  upon 

1  planet  of  theory,  but  wo 
:her  before  we  can  settle 
lat  produces  all  the  per- 
to  this  interior  planet. 

le  my  statement  or  not  ? 
Vdama  failed  in  thejprob- 

to  investigate?  Have 
igbt  out  lowered  them  in 
hope  not ;  for  I  can  truly 
len.  They  had  resolved 
idertook ;  they  had  done 

this  they  displayed  the 
enius  that  ever  has  been 
man  mind ;  but  alas !  for 
em  they  solved  v/as  not 
re.     God  has  permitted 

I  were  permitted  to  in- 
roold  almost  say,  here  is 

to  reward  the  lofty  and 
nankind.  Such  was  the 
■m  that  it  was  impossible 
Ige  of  it  without  the  solu- 
ind  such  was  the  grandeur 
d,  that  it  deserved  as  it* 
a  world  was  given, 
tmprehend  this  if  I  bring 
1  refer  to  what  I  told  you 
reference  to  the  asteroids, 


I 


GUTTA  PKRCHA. 


2;J9 


which  sweep  around  between  Mars  and  Jupi- 
ter. Sun|H»e,  before  these  were  discovered, 
some  daring  genius  had  undertaken  to  resolve 
tlic  mysteries  in  which  the  movements  of  Mars 
were  involved  and  should  have  reached  the 
(■i)iicliiHion,  that  they  were  iinMluced  by  the 
notirm  of  a  certain  planet  located  between 
Jujiitor  and  Murs,  at  it  certain  distance,  and 
revolving  in  a  certain  peri(xl  of  time.  Now 
here  is  a  problem  presented  for  solution,  and 
worked  out  with  consummate  skill ;  but  when 
the  fucts  come  to  be  known  this  problem  does 
not  exist  in  nature ;  for  there  are  no  less  than 
eight  planets  tcvolving  in  these  limits,  and 
combineil  they  produce  the  same  etttjct  that 
would  have  been  pro<luced  by  the  constructive 
[ilanet.  This  is  precisely  the  case  in  point, 
imd  this  is  the  reason  why  it  was  imimssiblc 
for  Adams  or  Leverrier  to  give  the  elements 
of  the  orbit  of  the  planet  now  found ;  for  I 
have  no  doubt  this  is  only  one  of  more  bodies 
which  exist  in  the  same  region. 

Whether  we  shall  ever  ottain  to  a  knowl- 
edge of  them,  or  be  permitted  to  feast  our  eyes 
on  them,  it  is  impossible  to  know;  but,  a  year 
a^o,  in  the  discussion  of  this  subject,  when  I 
(lid  not  doubt  that  this  was  the  planet,  I  ven- 
tured to  say  that,  in  case  it  should  be  found 
hereafter  that  the  orbit  of  this  planet  was  not 
very  eccentric — carrying  it  otF  to  a  much 
greater  distance  than  it  now  is,  and  thus  ac- 
counting for  the  fact  that  its  distance  is  less 
than  that  assigned  by  the  law  of  Bode — that 
it  was  one  of  a  group,  how  extended  it  is  im- 
possible to  soy. 

I  know  the  difficulties  which  I  have  had  to 
encounter.  I  have  tried  to  impress  your  minds 
with  one  great  truth.  I  do  not  know  how 
successful  I  have  been ;  but  I  can  not  close 
without  repeating  once  again  :  nlthounh  this 
new  planet  is  not  the  planet  of  Leverrier  ond 
Adams's  theory,  yet  it  does  not  in  the  smallest 
degree  detract  from  the  just  fame  which  is 
due  to  them  for  the  re8<ilution  of  this  mighty 
problem. 


GUTTA-PEUCH.\. 

Althocgh  the  trees  yielding  gutta-percha 
abound  in  the  indigenous  forests  of  Australia, 
it  is  scarcely  five  y''ar8  since  it  wos  discovered 
by  Euro|)cans.  The  first  notice  taken  of  it 
appears  to  have  been  by  Dr.  William  Mont- 
yoinerie,  in  a  letter  to  the  Bengal  Medical 
Himrd,  in  the  beginning  of  1843,  wherein  he 
commends  the  substance  as  likely  to  prove 
useful  for  some  surgical  purposes,  and  supposes 
it  to  belong  to  the  fig  tribe.  In  April,  1843, 
the  substance  was  brought  to  Europe,  by  Dr. 


d'Almeida,  who  presented  it  to  the  Roynl  So- 
ciety of  Arts,  London ;  but  it  did  not  at  first 
attract  much  attention. 

The  gutta-percha  tree,  or  gutta-tubn,  as  it 
ought  more  properly  to  be  culled — the  percliu 
prwlucing  a  spurious  orticle — belongs  to  the 
natural  family  sapolece,  but  differs  so  much 
from  all  described  genera,  that  the  naturalists 
of  Australia  are  inclined  to  ronk  it  ns  a  new 
genus.  The  tree  is  of  largo  size,  from  sixty 
to  seventy  feet  in  height,  and  from  two  to 
three  feet  in  diameter. 

The  mode  in  which  the  notives  obtain  the 
gutta  is  by  cuttin)?  down  the  trees  of  full 
growth,  and  wringing  the  bark  nt  distances 
of  obout  twelve  to  eighteen  inches  a|>art,  and 
placing  a  cocoa-nut  shell,  spathe  of  a  palm, 
or  such  like  receptacle,  under  the  fallen  trunk 
to  receive  the  milky  sap  that  immediately 
exudes  upon  every  fresh  incision.  This  sop 
is  collected  in  bamboos,  token  to  their  houses, 
and  boiled,  in  order  to  drive  off  the  wotery 
particles,  oud  inspissate  it  to  the  consistence 
It  finally  assumes  Although  the  process  of 
boiling  a|)penrs  necessary  where  the  gutta  is 
collected  in  large  quantities,  if  a  tree  be  fresh- 
ly wounded,  a  small  (pinntity  allowed  to  ooze 
out,  and  it  be  collected  ana  moulded  in  the 
hand,  it  will  consolidate  perfectly  in  a  few 
minutes,  and  have  all  the  appearance  of  the 
prepared  article.  When  it  is  quite  pure,  the 
crilor  is  of  a  grayish  white ;  but,  os  brought  to 
the  market  of  Australia,  it  is  more  ordinarily 
found  of  a  reddish  hue,  arising  from  chips  of 
bnrk  that  fall  into  the  sap  in  the  act  of  making 
the  incisions,  and  which  yield  their  color  to  it. 
Besides  these  occidental  chips,  there  is  a  great 
deal  of  intentional  adulteration  by  sawdust 
and  other  materials.  Some  specimens  that 
i  have  been  obtained  were  found  to  possess  verv 
little  short  of  one  fourth  of  impurities:  nnll 
even  the  purest  specimens  yield,  on  being 
cleansed,  one  ounce  of  impnnties  per  pound. 
Fortunately,  it  is  difficult  neither  to  detect  nor 
to  clear  the  gutta  of  foreign  matter;  it  being 
only  necessary  to  boil  it  in  water  until  well 
softened,  roll  out  the  substonce  into  thin  sheets, 
and  pick  out  all  impurities ;  which  is  easily 
done,  as  the  gutta  does  not  adhere  to  anything ; 
ond  all  foreign  matter  is  merely  entangled  in 
its  fibres,  not  incorporoled  in  its  substance. 
Mr.  Oxley  has  calculated  that  the  quantity 
exported  from  Singapore  to  Great  Britain  and 
the  continent,  from  the  first  of  January,  1 84.'J, 
to  the  present  dote,  amounts  to  about  7,000 
piculs;  ond  that  to  obtain  this  quantity  nearly 
70,000  trees  hove  been  sacrificed. 

When  fresh  ond  pure,  the  gutta  is  of  a 
greasy  feel,  viith  a  peculiarly  leathery  smell. 
It  is  not  affected  by  boiling  alcohol,  but  dis- 
solves readily  in  boiling  spirits  of  turpentine ; 
also  in  naptha  and  coal  tar.     A  good  cement 


S40 


BT.  TH0MA8.  WEST  INPIK9,— COTTONBLEACHIN(», 


f<»r  gluing  bottles  nml  other  purpose*.  i«  form- 
etl  by  boiling  toKCtber  efjual  parts  of  gutta, 
con!  tur,  uinl  resin.  When  ri-i|uircil  for  use, 
it  run  always  be  made  olastic  by  jJiittinK  the 
pot  containing  it  over  tno  fire  for  a  few  min- 
utes. The  gutta  itself  is  very  inHaniinable — 
a  strij)  cut  oH'  takes  light  awl  hums  with  a 
brij;lit  flame,  emitting  sjiarks,  and  dropping  a 
liliick  residuum  in  the  manner  of  sealing-wax; 
which,  in  itii  combustion,  it  very  much  re- 
semldcs. 

But  the  great  peculiarity  of  this  substance, 
and  that  which  n;akes  it  so  eminently  useful 
for  many  purpox-s,  is  the  cHect  of  boiling- 
wuter  UjK)u  it.  When  immersed  for  a  few 
minutes  ui  water  above  1,50 degrees  of  Fahren- 
heit, it  becomes  soft  and  plastic,  so  is  to  bo 
capable  of  being  moulded  to  any  rcijaired 
shape  or  fonn,  which  it  retains  u|)oi  cooling. 
If  II  ripof  it  be  cut  off  and  plunged  into  boil- 
ing w  uter,  it  contracts  in  size,  in  both  length 
and  breadth.  This  is  a  very  anomalous  and 
remarkable  phenomenon,  apjiurently  opposed 
to  all  till'  laws  of  heat.  It  is  this  plasticity, 
when  plunged  into  boiling  water,  that  has  al- 
lowed of  its  being  applied  to  so  many  useful 
i>ur|)08es,  and  which  first  induced  some  Ma- 
lays to  fabricate  it  into  whips,  which  were 
taken  into  8<jme  of  the  towns  in  Australia,  and 
led  to  its  further  notice.  The  natives  soon 
extended  their  manufactures  to  buckets,  basins, 
and  jugs,  shoes,  traces,  vessels  for  cooling  wine, 
and  severul  other  domestic  purposes.  The 
number  of  patents  lately  taken  out  for  the 
luuiiufacturo  of  the  article  in  this  country, 
jiroves  how  much  attention  and  interest  have 
been  attached  to  it,  and  how  extensively  use- 
lul  it  is  likely  to  become. 


SAINT  THOMAS,  WEST  INDIES. 

St.  Thomas  is  one  of  the  three  Danish 
Virgin  Islands,  and  is  about  twelve  miles  long 
from  east  to  west,  -with  an  average  width  of 
two  miles  and  a  half,  which  gives  a  surface 
of  about  thirty  s<)uare  miles.  It  is  very  un- 
even, but  the  height  of  its  mountains  has  not 
been  ascertained  :  the  most  elevated  are  west 
of  the  harbor  of  St.  Thomas.  Most  of  the 
white  inhabitants  are  of  Dutch  origin,  and 
Dutch  is  the  common  language.  The  planta- 
tions hove  yielded  in  cne  year  20,000  cwt.  of 
sugar,  64,000  gallons  of  rum,  18,000  gallons 
of  molasses,  and  p~'ne  cotton.  But  as  large 
tracts  are  unlit  foi  the  production  of  colonial 
arti^iles,  maize,  ground  provisions,  and  fruits, 
are  cultivated  to  a  considerable  extent. 

The  town  of  St.  Thomas  is  built  on  the 
north  shore  of  a  fine  bay,  which  is  about  three 


miles  long,  an<l  two  wide,  and  lian  good  nnrhiir- 
•gc  for  'JOO  vessels.  It  derives  its  im|)<)rtnnrc 
from  being  a  free  |N>rt,  open  to  ail  natinnH,  and, 
consc<|uently,  a  great  cntre|H»t  for  artieli's  of 
plantation  conHumption,  such  as  timl  *r,  rorn, 
and  Hour,  which  are  shipped  to  i»,  in  lar>;R 
quantities  from  the  United  .Stotes  T  he  t-.wn 
is  built  iin  three  conical  hills,  of  nearly  e  |nal 
elevation,  on  which  stand  some  well-cnnstrnct- 
cd  fortresses,  commanding  the  harbor  and  shiii- 
ping.  Till!  houses  arc  bnilt  of  stone  or  brick, 
and  are  tiled  in  the  Dutch  monner.  The 
population  is  stated  to  exceed  three  thousand 
individuals,  of  whom  four  hundred  are  whites. 
The  Virgin  Islands,  generally,  are  subject  to 
earthquakes,  but  the  shocks  are  slight,  and 
are  not  attended  with  such  dreadful  consecioen- 
ccs  as  in  the  Antilles,  which  are  further  to  the 
southeast. 


COTTON -BLEACHING. 

CoTTOH,  flax,  wool,  and  silX.  have  all,  in 
their  natural  states,  a  certain  shode  of  color. 
These  tints  remain  with  them  more  or  less 
during  the  processes  of  weaving;  8«)  that  if  it 
be  desired  to  pnKluce  them  in  a  perfectly  white 
form,  it  is  necessary  to  subject  them  to  some 
bleaching  process.  Bleaching,  it  must  be 
borne  in  mind,  is  not  imparting  a  color  to  cloth, 
but  removing  all  color  from  it. 

The  Egyptians  and  other  ancient  nations 
appear  to  have  known  certain  modes  of  bleach- 
ing linen  cloth ;  but  their  processes,  as  well 
as  those  of  later  ages,  are  not  well  known  to 
us.  Until  about  a  century  ago,  bleaching  was 
hardly  known  in  England,  in  either  theory  or 
practice.  The  brown  linens  made  in  Great 
Britain  were  sent  to  Holland  to  be  bleached 
This  process  consumed  a  long  periixl,  nam^'y, 
from  March  to  October  of  each  year.  The 
principal  Dutch  bleaching-groumis  were  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Haarlem  ;  and  the  great 
success  of  their  bleaching  was  ascribed  to  the 
superior  efficacy  of  the  water,  which  was 
filtered  sea-water.  The  process  consisted  in 
steeping  the  linen  for  about  a  week  in  a  potash 
ley  poured  over  it  boiling  hot.  The  cloth  was 
then  taken  out  of  the  ley,  washed,  and  put 
into  wooden  vessels  containing  butter-milk,  in 
which  it  lay  under  pressure  for  fiv  or  six  days ; 
after  this  it  was  spread  U|x>n  the  grass,  and 
kept  wet  for  several  months,  exposed  to  the 
sunshine  of  summer. 

In  1749,  an  Irishmnn  introduced  a  some- 
what similar  mode  of  '  caching  into  England, 
and  after  many  ditScultics,  succeeded  in  ef- 
fec/ing  it  tolerably  well,  but  with  lamentable 
slo  .vness.     From  this  time,  a  succession  of  im- 


:hin(». 

iilp,  »nil  lin»  good  nnrlior- 
It  dfrivrn  itn  ini|)<)rtnnro 
,  Dpcii  to  oil  nntiimw,  nml, 
cutrr|)«it  for  articlrs  of 
:>n,  Huch  n»  timt  "r,  com, 
;  shipped  to  it  in  )aru« 
nitrd  Statei"  ^hp^.wn 
ml  hills,  of  nearly  f  \rm\ 
nnd  Homo  wrll-conHtrnct- 
idinj{  the  hnrljor  und  nhip- 
rc  bnill  of  stone  or  lirirk, 
3  Dutch  mnnnpr.  Tho 
;o  encned  three  thontinnd 
four  hundred  ore  whites, 
generally,  are  subject  to 
I  shocks  are  slight,  and 
such  dreadful  conse(|nen- 
,  which  are  further  to  the 


BLEACHING. 

L)1,  and  silk,  have  all,  in 
a  certain  shade  of  color, 
with  them  more  or  less 
of  weaving;  so  that  if  it 
them  in  a  perfectly  white 

to  subject  them  to  soine 

Bleaching,  it  must  be 
impurting  a  color  to  cloth, 
r  from  it. 

id  other  ancient  nations 
11  certain  modes  of  bleach- 

their  pnxiesses,  as  well 
s,  ore  not  well  known  to 
ntury  ago,  bleaching  was 
gland,  in  either  theory  or 
'n  linens  made  in  Great 

HoUond  to  be  bleached 
ed  a  long  periful,  nam^'v, 
bcr  of  each  year.  The 
aching-grounds  were  in 
Hoorlem  ;  nnd  the  great 
;liirij,'  was  ascribed  to  the 

the  water,  which  was 
The  pnicess  consisted  in 
about  a  week  in  a  potash 
ling  hot.  The  cloth  was 
le  ley,  woshed,  ond  put 
:ontaining  butter-milk,  in 
assure  for  fiv'»  or  six  days ; 
Bad  upon  the  gross,  and 

months,  exposed  to  the 

man  introduced  a  some- 
r  \  'eaching  into  England, 
cultics,  succeeded  in  ef- 
'ell,  but  with  lamentable 
8  time,  a  succession  of  im- 


r 


X 


HK'jV/iwaw^^CW! 


I  y-  swr^?!^  '^'*  J'l- »»i"  "■. 


nr 


provcmcnt*  took plart*.  Dr.  P.  Home  ihnwed 
that  that  pare  of  the  eflV-ct  which  milk  pro- 
duccil  in  NJK  nr  eight  week*,  might  be  produced 
by  wenk  sulphuric  acid  in  twenty-four  houra. 
Thin  enabled  the  manufacturer  to  receive  his 
bleached  cotxls  in  a  much  ahorfer  time  than 
before,  and  therefore  to  trade  with  ieita  capital. 

The  next  Jm|>ortBnt,  and  in  fact  we  may 
aay  the  important  improvement  in  the  art  of 
bleoching,  resulted  from  the  discovery  of 
chlorinr.  Thi'i  gas  was  first  separated  from 
muriatic  acid  by  Scheele  ond  Uerthollet  about 
the  year  1780;  and  one  of  the  first  properties 
discovered  in  the  new  gos,  wos  an  extraordi- 
nary newer  of  destroying  vegetable  color. 
This  fact  was  s(M>n  taken  up  by  Saussure, 
James  Watt,  Professor  Copland,  and  Mr.  Hen- 
ry, and  other  |)ractical  men,  and  a  speedy  rev- 
olution took  place  in  the  art  of  bleaching. 
There  were,  however,  sundry  objections  made 
to  the  use  of  chlorine,  on  account  of  the  oflen- 
sive  smell  which  it  exhales.  But  it  was  dis- 
covered that  the  gas  might  be  united  with 
lime,  whereby  mucn  of  the  odor  was  removed, 
without  depriving  the  gas  of  its  bleaching  prop- 
erty. As  a  proof  of  the  wnnlerful  advance 
made  in  thia  art,  Dr.  Ure  staff  .  hat  an  eminent 
bleacher  in  Lancashire  once  received  fourteen 
hundred  pieces  of  gray  muslin  on  a  Tuesday, 
which,  on  the  Thursday  immediately  follow- 
ing,  were  returned  bleached  to  the  manufac- 
turers, at  the  distance  of  sixteen  miles,  and 
they  were  packed  up  nnd  sent  off  on  that  very 
day  to  a  foreign  market ;  thus  elTecting  in  two 
days  what  formerly  occupied  six  months !  We 
will  now  describe  the  present  minJe  of  bleach- 
ing cotton  fabrics. 

When  the  woven  cotton  passes tothe  bleach- 
er, he  has  the  pieces  sewn  up  end  tti  end  into 
a  longer  (liece  five  hundred  yards  in  length, 
and  »>tump8  the  owner's  name  on  one  end  of 
each  piece,  which  is  done  in  a  kind  of  ink 
formed  of  coal-tar.  The  cloth  is  then  drawn 
rapidly  over  a  hot  iron,  by  which  the  hairy 
filaments  of  cotton  are  singed  otf  without  burn- 
ing the  cloth  itself.  The  pieces  of  cloth  are 
next  folded  up  into  an  irregular  bundle,  and 
thrown  into  a  large  cistern  of  cold  water, 
where  they  become  completely  soaked.  When 
quite  wetted,  the  cloth  is  put  into  a  revolving 
hollow  cylinder,  by  which  it  undergoea  a  pro- 
cess of  washing :  this  prepares  it  for  the  re- 
ception of  the  bleaching  materials. 

A  solution  of  lime  is  then  prepared,  by 
slaking  ciuick-lime,  and  mixing  it  into  a  kind  of 
cream  with  water:  this  cream  is  laid  between 
the  folds  or  a  long  piece  of  the  cloth,  and  the 
whole  i?  placed  in  a  boiler,  and  boiled  rapidly 
for  several  hours.  This  removes  the  paste 
which  the  cotton  had  received  before  being 
woven,  and  also  the  greasy  spots  which  are 
likely  to  occur  in  the  cloth. 


The  cloth  is  now  prepared  to  receive  the 
bteaeking-powder.  This  is  hchlcrideoflime, 
and  is  made  on  a  great  scale  in  mannfactorir-s 
devoted  to  that  express  purpose.  To  pnKlnce 
it,  a  quantity  of  slaked  lime  is  spreail  out  on 
a  stone  floor,  and  the  apartment  rlosetl  in  |ier- 
fectly  air-t'sht.  A  leailen  pipe  leads  from  it 
to  a  large  leaden  vessel  containing  /ommon 
table  salt,  black  oxydo  of  manganese,  iiid  dilute 
sulphuric  acid.  A  nhymirol  action  takes  place 
among  these  ingredients,  esti»  cially  when  aid- 
ed by  hcnt ;  and  the  chlorim  gas  (one  ingre- 
dient in  common  salt),  lircotning  liberated, 
ascends  throu<;h  the  leaden  pipe,  and  unites 
chymicolly  with  the  lime  cpread  out  on  the 
floor.  Tnis,  then,  is  the  Ueachine-powdf ; 
and  in  order  to  apply  it  to  the  cloth,  twenty- 
four  |>ounds  arc  dissolved  i'l  sixty  gallons  of 
wat(  or  if  the  (pjantity  of  cloth  to  be  bleach- 
ed be  seven  hundred  pounds,  three  hundred 
and  ci'ihty-eight  pounds  of  bl'^aching-powder 
are  dissolved  in  nine  hundred  and  seventy-one 
gallons  of  water.  In  this  cold  solution  the 
cloth  is  ateeped  for  about  six  hours ;  and  on 
taking  it  out  and  washing  it  with  water,  it  is 
found  to  be  partially  bleached. 

The  bleoching  is  further  extended  by  steep- 
ing the  cl'  ith  for  a  few  hours  in  woter  contain- 
ing a  little  sulphuric  acid  :  this  removes  the 
oxyde  of  iron  which  the  cloth  is  apt  to  contain, 
and  also  the  small  portion  of  lime  which  is 
liable  to  adhere  to  it.  The  cloth  is  again 
washed  in  cold  water,  and  again  steeped  for 
five  or  six  hours  in  a  solution  of  bleaching- 
powder,  weaker  than  the  first.  Lastly,  anoth- 
er steeping  for  four  hours  in  water  slightly 
impregnated  with  sulphuric  acid,  presents  the 
cotton  cloth  in  a  purely  white  state.  It  will 
thus  be  seen  that  the  cloth,  even  under  the 
improved  process,  undergoes  a  complicated 
treatment ;  but  if  it  be  of  inferior  (juality, 
some  of  the  above  processes  are  omitted. 

But  the  labors  of  the  bleacher  are  not  yet 
ended ;  there  are  many  finishing  processes 
still  to  be  done.  When  tne  last  bleaching  is 
ended,  the  cloth  is  carefully  washed,  to  re- 
move all  traces  of  thd  acid,  &cc.  It  is  then 
squeezed,  to  force  out  as  much  as  possible 
remaining  in  the  cloth :  this  squeezing  be- 
ing effected  by  passing  the  cloth  between  two 
rollers  working  closely  on  each  other.  The 
cloth  is  now  damp  anrf  much  crumpled ;  and 
the  next  process  is  to  pull  out  each  piece  to 
its  full  breadth :  this  is  done  by  women.  But 
the  edges  of  the  piece  still  continue  folded  in. 
To  make  them  straight,  a  workman  strikes 
the  bundle  against  a  smooth  beating  stock,  first 
one  edge,  and  then  the  other.  By  this  pro- 
cess the  pieces  are  spread  out  to  their  full 
breadth,  and  all  the  folds  and  wrinkles  re- 
moved. 

The  cloth  is  then  mangled  while  wet :  this 


^A 


J-*. 


i 


prepRred  to  recpivo  the 
Tlii»  ii  tLchlcridtofUme, 
;at  scali!  in  niBnufactorir>i 
:m  purpose.  Tonnnluce 
Led  lime  is  tpreaii  nut  on 

apartment  closed  in  [>er- 
lenden  pipe  leads  from  it 
pssel  containing  /ommnn 
Bof  nian/iiaiifse,  titd  dilute 
iymirnl  action  takes  place 
•nts,  e»!)»  cinlly  when  aid- 
•  chlorin-  gas  (one  ingre- 
ilt),  Iweorning  liberated, 

leaden  pipe,  and  unites 

lime  ("oread  out  on  the 
t  the  Ueaching-powdf- ; 
f  it  to  the  cloth,  twenty- 
ilved  h>  sixty  gallons  of 
tity  of  cloth  to  be  bleach- 
d  iioundH,  three  hundred 
mds  (»f  bl'»aching-powder 
hundred  and  seventy-one 
[n  this  cold  Holution  the 
ibout  six  hours;  and  on 
shing  it  with  water,  it  is 
I  bleached. 

urther  extended  by  steep- 
ly hours  in  woter  contain- 
!  acid  :  this  removes  the 
:he  cloth  is  apt  to  contain, 
portion  of  lime  which  is 

it.  The  cloth  is  again 
!r,  and  again  steeped  for 

a  solution  of  bleaching- 
1  the  first.     Lastly,  anoth- 

hours  in  water  slightly 
Iphnric  acid,  presents  the 
rely  white  state.  It  will 
le  cloth,  even  under  the 
jndergoes  a  complicated 
t  be  of  inferior  (|uolity, 
recesses  are  omitted. 

the  bleacher  are  not  yet 
lany  finithinff  processes 
hen  tne  last  bleaching  is 
carefully  washed,  to  re- 
he  acid,  ice.  It  is  then 
}ut  as  much  as  possible 
oth :  this  squeezing  be- 
ng  the  cloth  between  two 
elv  on  each  other.  The 
ml  much  crumpled ;  and 
to  pull  out  each  piece  to 

is  done  by  women.  But 
:e  still  continue  folded  in. 
light,  a  workman  strikes 
smooth  beating  stock,  first 
the  other.  By  this  pro- 
spread  out  to  their  full 
e  folds  and  wrmkles  re- 

mangkd  while  wet :  this 


IMPORTANCE  OF  SSLF  KNOWLEDOf. 


243 


ii  done  by  passing  tt  between  rollers,  by  which 
it  is  made  toji-rubly  smooth  and  even,  and 
rvody  fur  ttiirr.hinff  or  it{ffenin/(,  Thi)  starch 
emiiloyed  fur  this  purpose  is  made  from  flour 
witn  tne  addition  of  a  small  <|uuntity  of  some 
earthy  substance.  It  is  mixed  into  a  thi(  k 
iiaxte,  and  pourod  into  a  box  or  vat.  The  cloth 
IS  made  to  di|>  into  this  vat,  and  thus  imbibe 
a  portion  of  starch,  and  intinediately  afterward 
to  pass  between  two  rollers,  which  expel  the 
superfluous  starch,  and  work  i\\>^  remainder 
well  into  the  pores  of  the  cloth,  by  which  it 
becomes  thickened.  It,  has  lieen  observe  i 
"This  method  of  thickening  was  undoubtedly 
intended  at  first  as  a  fraudulent  metluxl  of 
making  the  purchaser  bclievv  that  the  cloth 
wau  much  stouter  and  thickeT  than  it  really 
was.  But  it  has  been  so  long  practised,  and 
is  now  so  universally  known,  that  all  pur- 
chasers must  be  aware  of  it,  and  of  course  not 
in  any  danger  of  being  deceived.  But  it  cer- 
tainly serves  the  purpose  of  making  the  giMxls 
appear  much  more  beautiful,  aiut  of  a  stouter 
fabric  to  the  eye ;  and  as  long  as  they  continue 
\»  -washed,  they  are  really  stronger  than  they 
V  "lid  be  without  this  artificial  dressing.  So 
fa'  it  is  beneficial ;  and  as  it  does  not  enhance 
(.1  price,  the  purchasers  have  no  reason  to 
jmnlain  of  imposition." 

Tne  starched  cloth  is  hung  up  in  a  heated 
room  to  dry :  und  is  then  ready  for  mlender  ■ 
ing,  i\T  impurting  a  tmoothness  and  gloss  to  it. 
For  this  purpose,  it  is  dam|)cd  by  being  slight- 
ly sprinkled  with  water  by  an  ingenious  ma- 
cliine,  and  is  then  forced  between  two  rollers, 
which  press  it  very  heavily,     Ditlerent  ap- 

fiearanccs,  varying  from  that  of  a  soft  silkv 
ustre  to  thot  of  wiry  texture,  are  given  to  it 
by  varying  the  degree  of  pressure.  The  cloth 
is  now  finished,  and  is  folded  into  a  pile,  with 
pastelx)ard  and  iron  plates  between  the  folds, 
and  subjected  to  a  heavy  pressure,  in  a  Bramah 
press.  When  removed  from  this  i)re88,  the 
cloth  is  unfolded,  and  consigned  to  the  respec- 
tive owners. 

Thus  we  see  that  the  process  of  bleaching 
a  piece  of  cotton  involves  more  than  twenty 
distinct  processes ;  and  yet  the  charge  for  the 
whole  is  less  than  one  naif- penny  per  yard ! 
Such  is  the  etFect  of  combined  improvements 
in  mechanical  and  chymical  processes;  im- 
provements which  give  to  the  large  bleach- 
works  of  Lancashire  an  interest  felt  by  both 
the  man  of  science,  and  the  intelligent  obser\  er 
who  lOoks  only  to  learn. 

Reason. — Without  reason,  as  on  a  tempest- 
uous sea,  we  are  the  sport  of  every  wina  and 
wave,  and  know  not,  till  the  event  hath  deter- 
mined it,  how  the  next  billow  will  disfirMe  of 
us ;  whether  it  will  dash  us  against  a  rock,  or 
drive  as  into  a  quiet  harbor. 


TMPORTANCK  OP  SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 

Tmehc  is  no  theme  upon  which  humanity 
can  bestow  its  i«ttenti<  n  to  more  advantage, 
nor  \<.hiuh  tnaiimrts  to  its  votarist,  more  real 
pleasure,  than  the  ptirsuit  of  knowledge.  But 
of  all  the  various  departments  of  knowledge, 
there  is  no  I'ne  which  carries  with  it  more  im- 
portance— w)'''.h  is  ro  Ultimately  identified 
with  the  welfare  of  each  individual  and  hence 
with  th'  general  interests  uf  humanity,  nor 
which  in  more  frc(|uently  neglected  than  that 
which  constitutes  the  suoject  of  the  present 
article. 

The  duty  of  self-knowledge,  has  ever  been 
looked  upon,  by  the  more  intelligent  of  every 
nation,  us  indispensable  to  the  temp4)ral  as  well 
as  spiritual  interests  of  man.  The  ancient 
Greeks,  though  destitute  of  a  knowledge  of 
the  Scrr  t'li'es,  were  not  insensible  to  its  im- 
portance, 'Jut  BO  deeply  consciouii  were  they 
of  Its  ni.Oi  ■  .;';i'  decidedly  religious  tendency 
that  they  caused  the  inscription,  "  Know  thy- 
self" to  be  consecrated  in  golden  characters 
on  the  ancient  temple  of  D^lphos. 

Even  Cicero,  the  preat  Koman  orator,  at- 
tributed its  authenticity  to  the  gods,  believing 
it  to  convey  to<i  mutn  weight  of  sense  and 
wisdom  to  be  attribi  t  <.'  to  man.  Such  is  the 
estimation  in  which  U  'vas  held  in  the  darker 
ages  of  heathen  superstition.  And  corrobora- 
ted, as  it  now  is,  by  divine  truth,  it  falls  with 
increased  weight  at  the  shrine  of  every  man's 
duty-  "  Stand  in  awe  ond  sin  not,  commune 
with  your  own  hearts  upon  your  bed,  and  be 
still."  Psalm  iv.  4.  "  Examine  yourselves 
whether  ye  be  in  the  faith,  prove  your  own 
selves,  know  ye  not  your  own  selves,  how 
that  Jesus  Chnst  is  in  you,  except  ye  be  repro- 
bates ?"  2  Cor.  xiii.  5. 

By  self-knowledge,  we  understand  a  thor- 
ough acquaintance  with  our  own  nature — a 
thorough  knowledge  of  our  own  character — 
our  own  abilities — the  motives  prompting  ua 
to  act — the  prejudices  of  our  hearts— our  du- 
ties, our  thoughts,  our  virtues,  and  our  vices. 
A  thorough  knowledge  of  these,  will  e::i;ble 
us  to  meet  the  responsibilities  of  life,  and  serve 
to  promote  our  usefulness  toward  our  fellow- 
men. 

The  man  who  diligently  acquaints  himself 
with  the  negotiation  of  his  neighbors,  and 
neglects  his  own  business,  becomes  an  object 
of  censure.  He  who  eagerly  studies  the  his- 
tory and  anxiously  regards  tne  movements  uf 
foreign  nations  and  [laya  no  attention  to  the 
history  and  legislation  of  his  own  country, 
justly  renders  himself  ridiculous  in  the  estima- 
tion of  every  honest  and  intelligent  citizen. 
So  too,  that  man  whose  privilege  it  is  to 
"  stand  midway  between  the  kingdom  of  na- 
ture and  that  of  iiumortal  spirits,"  who  might 


0' 


.■  "sw:.'SfiZS»f--^'3r.;--.- 


.-.-,yc.-[.K<a.vria--aT?S:^,(tV^;TO'-. 


-^vH 


k ' 


«ii 


244 


IMPORTANCE  OP  SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 


reco^ise  in  himself  one  of  the  "  highest  be- 
ings in  nature,"  who  can  look  down  uj)on  and 
investigate  everything  below  himself;  who 
knows  "  the  soil  which  he  cultivates  and  the 
stars  which  regulate  the  seasons  ;"  "  who  is 
the  measure  of  the  earth  and  all  it  contains, 
and  who  unites  what  is  dispersed  in  nature, 
every  power  and  every  beauty  in  himself," 
— although  he  eagerly  drinks  from  the  rich 
fountain  of  general  knowledge,  if  he  learns 
not  to  know  himself,  his  frailties,  his  human 
weakness,  his  sinful  nature,  and  at  the  same 
time  his  duties,  and  noble  capacities,  will  after 
all  seem  awkward  to  the  eyes  of  the  commu- 
nity and  subject  himself  to  the  censure  of  the 
world. 

Man,  as  a  relative  being,  stands  intimately 
related  to  the  world.  And  it  is  only  when  he 
brings  his  own  personal  peculiarities  to  har- 
monize with  external  influence,  that  he  can 
properly  meet  the  object  of  his  existence. 
This,  he  can  accomplish,  only  so  far,  es  he  is 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  nimself. 

From  the  preceding,  it  follows,  that  self- 
knowledge  constitutes  the  foundation  rock  of 
the  lofty  structure  of  general  knowledge. 
Without  it,  the  structure,  like  the  house  on 
sandy  bottom,  will  be  subject  to  foreign  influ- 
ence, driven  here  and  there  at  pleasure,  hav- 
ing nothing  fixed  nor  stable,  and  the  subject 
himself  will  be  disqualified  for  his  responsi- 
bilities and  duties. 

Knowledge,  we  are  told  "  puffeth  up  and 
makethman  proud  and  haughty."  This  charge 
is  perhaps  not  groundless  when  the  subject  is 
not  acquainted  with  himself.  But  self-knowl- 
edge which  reveals  the  hidden  evil  of  our 
hearts,  looks  into  the  secret  recesses  of  our 
minds  and  exposes  to  our  view  our  faults  and 
imperfections,  is  calculated  to  humiliate  and 
subdue  our  naturally  haughty  spirits.  It  ex- 
erts a  healthful  influence  over  our  general 
character,  awakens  the  nobler  feelings  of  the 
aoul,  and  enables  us  to  frame  our  actions  in 
such  a  way  that  they  will  adorn  our  sta- 
tion. Hence  the  necessity,  and  in  the  first 
place,  of  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  our 
Tiature. 

In  the  contemplation  of  our  nature,  we  have 
presented  before  our  minds  a  picture,  at  once, 
indeed  'ude  and  uncomely;  but  again,  dis- 
playing all  the  beauty,  magnificence,  and  splen- 
dor imaginable.  We  behold  in  it,  the  dark 
valleys  of  depravity,  the  deserts  of  sin,  and 
the  polluted  swamps  of  ini(|uity,  without  a  ray 
of  light  to  reveal  its  hidden  beauties,  or  a  single 
flower  to  shed  its  fragrance  round.  Its  rich 
store*  and  treasures  lie  buried  beneath  the 
fragments  of  its  own  ruin.  We  see  it  deserted 
by  all  that  is  good  and  amiable,  and  abandoned 
to  the  frowns  of  an  incensed  Deity.  Such  is 
the  first  stage  of  human  nature.    But  again, 


cultivated  by  the  skilful  hand  of  an  all-wise 
Providence ;  fertilized  by  the  rich  stores  of 
his  goodness,  and  watered  by  the  refreshing 
streams  of  long-suffering  and  forbearance,  it 
is  brought  to  bloom  and  blossom  as  the  ruse. 
Its  hidden  beauties  are  brought  to  light,  and 
its  rich  stores  and  treasures  prominently  pre- 
sented to  our  view.  As  we  contemplate  it, 
we  learn  to  appreciate  its  wortli.  We  see  its 
superiority  over  the  nature  of  the  animal 
"  We  discover  in  ourselves,  opart  from  our 
bodies  which  we  have  in  common  with  the 
animal,  mind  immortal  and  rational  in  its  na- 
ture, which  traverses  almost  infinity  of  space, 
and  elevates  us  fur  above  all  other  creation." 
We  also  "discover  in  ourselves  capacity  for 
reflection,  penetration,  and  study,  together 
with  many  other  mental  operations  of  which 
we  have  no  symptoms  in  the  animal."  Thus 
the  contemplation  of  our  nature  has,  in  the 
first  place,  an  humiliating  tendency.  And  as 
we  learn  to  know  ourselves  the  deep-toned 
chords  of  our  hearts  swell  with  sympathetic 
feeling  when  we  see  others  deviate  from  the 
path  of  duty  in  which  they  were  wont  to  tread. 
Again,  as  we  contemplate  its  beauty  and  worth 
we  learn  to  appreciate  the  power,  the  glory 
and  the  goodness  of  Him  who  has  cultivated  its 
barren  wastes,  endowed  it  with  those  noble 
faculties,  impressed  upon  it  his  own  image, 
and  exalted  it  even  to  the  attainment  of  his 
favor.  Conscious  of  our  entire  unworthiness, 
and  of  the  goodness  of  God  as  manifested  tow- 
ard us,  we  also  feel  the  debt  of  gratitude  we 
owe  to  him  for  our  deliverance.  Aided  by  the 
power  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  the  light  of  the 
gospel,  we  endeavor  to  discharge  this  debt  by 
bringino;  our  bodies  and  minds  and  all  we  ate 
in  conformity  to  his  will.  This  conviction 
originating,  as  it  does,  from  a  sense  of  gt.'.'  "tude, 
love  the  most  noble  feeling  of  the  soul  becomes 
the  moving  spring  of  our  actions  and  sheds 
forth  a  happy  influence  which  may  tell  to  the 
eternal  interests  of  those  with  whom  we  asso- 
ciate. These,  kind  reader,  are  some  of  the 
advantage  derived  from  this  department  of 
self-knowledge.  How  important  then  that  we 
should  contemplate  our  nature. 

Again :  we  should  familiarize  ourselves  with 
our  character.  It  is  strange,  and  yet  true,  that 
men  are  exceedingly  deficient  in  this  depart- 
ment of  science.  The  man  who  has  not  at- 
tended to  this  department  of  self-knowledge 
frequently  finds  himself  involved  in  diflUculties 
the  most  unpleasant.  We  are  much  disponed 
to  estimate  the  character  of  others,  by  our 
own,  and  where  this  is  not  fairly  understood, 
the  estimate  must  necessarily  be  unjust.  We 
frequently  condemn  others  for  the  same  faulta 
of  which  we  ourselves  are  guilty,  or  oflend  at 
small  blemishes  in  the  character  of  another 
while  we  look  with  perfect  satisfaction  upon 


"^ 


ilful  hand  of  an  all-wise 
3(1  by  the  rich  stores  of 
atered  by  the  refreshing 
;rine  and  forbearance,  it 
and  blossom  as  the  rose. 
Eire  brought  to  light,  and 
easures  jiroininently  pre- 

As  we  contemplate  it, 
te  its  worth.  We  see  its 
i  nature  of  the  animaL 
urselves,  apart  from  our 
ve  in  common  with  the 
tal  and  rational  in  its  na- 
3  almost  infinity  of  space, 
ibove  all  other  creation." 
in  ourselves  capacity  for 
)n,  and  study,  together 
ntal  operations  of  which 
is  in  the  animal."  Thus 
f  our  nature  has,  in  the 
ating  tendency.  And  as 
jurselves  the  deep-toned 

swell  with  sympathetic 
others  deviate  from  the 
I  they  were  wont  to  tread, 
jlate  its  beauty  and  worth 
Lte  the  power,  the  glory 
[im  who  has  cultivated  its 
(ved  it  with  those  noble 
upon  it  his  own  ima^e, 

to  the  attainment  of  his 
"  our  entire  unworthiness, 
f  God  as  manifested  tow- 
the  debt  of  gratitude  we 
liverance.  Aided  by  the 
I  pint,  and  the  light  of  the 
to  discharge  this  debt  by 
ind  minds  and  all  we  ate 
s  will.  This  conviction 
,  from  a  sense  of  gt,"  'tude, 
;eling  of  the  soul  becomes 
)f  our  actions  and  sheds 
ice  which  may  tell  to  the 
lose  with  whom  we  asso- 
reader,  are  some  of  the 
from  this  department  of 
3W  important  then  that  we 
)ur  nature. 

familiarize  ourselves  with 
strange,  and  yet  true,  that 
deficient  in  this  depart- 
!'he  man  who  has  not  at- 
rtment  of  self-knowledge 
elf  involved  in  difficulucs 
We  are  much  disponed 
racter  of  others,  by  our 
i  is  not  fairly  understood, 
cessarily  be  unjust.  We 
Dthers  for  the  same  faults 
es  are  guilty,  or  oiTend  at 
the  character  of  another 
perfect  satisfaction  upon 


IMPORTANCE  OP  SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 


245 


much  greater  ones  in  our  own.  This  is  the 
result  of  self-ignomnce.  It  is  only  when  men 
are  brought  to  understand  their  own  character 
that  they  can  form  a  proper  estimate  of  that 
of  another.  And  would  we  be  useful  and  con- 
sistent ourselves  or  to  others  we  must  under- 
stand our  character.  Upon  a  moment's  re- 
flection the  truth  of  this  jmsition  will  be  mani- 
fest. "  Atfectation,"  savs  a  popular  writer, 
"  is  the  spring  of  all  ridicule,  and  self-ignor- 
ance the  true  source  of  atlectation."  This 
fact  bears  with  as  much  weight  and  import- 
ance. He  who  knows  not  himself,  knows  not 
what  will  beautify  and  adorn  his  character, 
and  proudly  desiring  to  appear  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage frequently  atVects  one  entirely  difler- 
ent  from  his  own,  avi  thus  acting  either  above 
or  beneath  himself,  in  either  case  becomes 
equally  ridiculous  in  the  estimation  of  the 
wise.  The  man,  however,  who  understands 
his  character,  views  it  in  its  proper  light.  He 
estimates  it  according  to  its  moral  worth,  and 
thus  conducts  himself  in  a  way  becoming  his 
station.  Not  influenced  by  the  vain  notions 
of  noble  birth,  .,,i)ugh  he  possess  all  the  pow- 
er, wealth  can  bestow,  he  feels  that  an  ad- 
verse change  of  fortune  can  bring  him  to  cir- 
cumstances of  want ;  that  he  too  is  a  man 
subject  to  all  the  faults,  sorrows  and  trials  of 
his  race,  and  hence  he  condescends  to  all, 
though  humble,  yet  amiable,  noble,  and  worthy 
deeds ;  "  but  in  his  condescension  there  is  a 
true  dignity  which  elevates  and  exalts  him  in 
the  estimation  of  the  world." 

Another  and  important  part  of  self-knowl- 
edge is,  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  our 
abilities.  Many  of  the  censures,  disappoint- 
ments, and  sorrows  of  life  are  to  be  attributed 
to  self-ignorance  in  this  view.  It  has  pleased 
Providence  to  award  to  evet|y  man  certain 
capacities  and  talents  which  develop  them- 
selves and,  if  properly  understood,  serve  to 
promote  his  usefulness  in  the  world.  The 
man,  however,  who  is  unacquainted  with  these 
capacities  neither  knows  what  he  can,  nor 
what  he  can  not  do.  Hence  he  either  spends 
his  days  in  careless  inactivity,  or  influenced, 
as  men  frequently  are,  by  a  vain  desire  to 
display,  presumes  to  undertake  what  he  by  no 
means  has  power  to  accomplish.  Thus  vainly 
endeavoring  to  grasp  such  laurels  as  lie  far  be- 
yond his  reach,  in  order  that  he  may  decorate 
his  brow  with  wreaths  of  honor,  he  precipi- 
tates himself  headlong  down  the  cragged  rocks 
of  public  censure,  each  successive  tumble 
bringing  him  nearer  and  nearer  the  final  gulf 
of  dishonor  and  disgrace.  Thus  we  frequent- 
ly find  men  of  very  ordinary  capacity  en- 
deavoring to  fathom  the  deep  principles  of 
philosophy  and  reveal  the  faults  and  errors 
of  others,  with  whose  minds  were  their  own 
to  be  compared,  they  would  be  almost  as  a 


drop  to  the  ocean  or  the  veriest  atom  to  a 
world. 

Who,  that  has  read  Horace's  epistle  to  Pison 
has  not  been  struck  with  the  trutn,  the  weight, 
and  importance  of  his  suggestion  as  contained 
in  the  following  extract : — 

"  Examine  well,  ye  writeri,  weigh  with  care 
W  hat  fru  it  your  genias,  what  your  strength  can  bear, 
For  when  a  well-proportioned  theme  ye  choose 
Nor  words,  nor  method  shall  their  aid  refuse. 
In  this,  or  I  mistake,  consists  the  grace 
And  force  of  method,  to  assign  a  place 
For  what  with  present  judgment  we  should  say, 
And  for  some  happier  time  the  rest  delay." 

He  who  knows  his  alnlities  contemplates 
well  before  he  begins  whether  he  will  be  able 
to  perform,  and  in  so  doing  never  ventures  be- 
yond his  legitimate  sphere.  Though  anxious 
to  meet  the  responsibilities  of  life,  and  willing 
to  endure  thj  toil  and  labor  of  civil,  literary, 
and  religious  warfare,  he  is  careful  to  observe 
that  the  means  at  hand  are  adequate  to  the 
object  proposed. 

Agam,  there  are  no  faults  to  which  we  are 
more  subject  and  yet  less  conscious  of  than 
our  prejudices.  These,  though  latent,  present 
the  greatest  barriers  to  a  fair  and  honest  judg- 
ment imaginable.  To  know  and  understand 
these  constitutes  another  importont  part  of 
self-knowledge.  The  circumstances  of  our 
youth,  our  general  system  of  education,  and 
the  selfish  disposition  of  our  hearts,  all  seem 
to  exert  a  prejudical  influence  over  our  minds. 
This  is  manifest  from  our  early  disposition  to 
cling  to  one  system  of  opinions  on  religion, 
politics,  or  philosophy,  and  reject  the  other 
while  in  reality  we  scarcely  understand  the 
prinr'nles  of  either.  This  is  not  the  result  of 
fair  and  honest  investigation,  but  of  mere 
speculative  notions  imbibed  according  to  the 
peculiar  circumstances  with  which  we  are 
surrounded.  This  disposition,  if  permitted  to 
flow  on  uninterruptedly,  naturally  develops 
itself,  and  finally  so  perfectly  overshadows 
and  biases  our  minds  as  to  render  them  "  im- 
penetrable by  the  rays  of  truth  or  light  of 
reason."  But  apart  from  external  influence 
prejudices  frequently  arise  from  a  vain  convic- 
tion of  our  own  good  sense  and  understanding. 
Hence  we  form  notions  and  invent  plans,  and 
supported  by  a  good  share  of  self-esteem,  pro- 
claim them  to  the  world  confident  of  their  ex- 
cellence and  superior  merit.  Should  how- 
ever, another,  whose  mind  is  less  darkened  by 
the  black  mantle  of  self-sufficiency,  detect 
and  expose  their  faults,  though  it  be  with  all 
posbible  kindness,  we  immediately  attribute  it 
to  ill  will,  envy,  or  ignorance  on  his  part  and 
proudly  resent  it,  never  dreaming  that  the 
fault  might  after  all  lie  with  ourselves.  Such, 
however,  is  not  the  case  with  the  votarist  of 
self-knowledge.  His  object  is  truth.  And 
does  he  discover  a  plan  or  advance  an  idea  he 


Ill 


ft  ll 


«i  ^'  «■  •* 

ft    :-   #^'» 


246 


LITGRATUBE  OF  THE  JEW& 


views  it  well  by  the  scrutinizing  eye  of  honest 
judgment,  weighs  it  in  the  balance  of  sound 
sense,  and  impartially  compares  it  with  the 
fair  standard  of  truth,  and  does  he,  or  another 
discover  that  it  is  wrong,  he  nobly  renounces 
it,  and,  grasping  the  lingering  ray  of  truth,  re- 
joices that  his  mind  may  again  move  in  that 
pleasing  element  so  congenial  to  its  growth. 

Reader,  be  persuaded  to  devote  your  atten- 
tion to  this  important  duty.  Make  it  a  fre- 
quent theme  of  contemplation.  Learn  to 
know  yourself,  and  you  will  go  forth  in  your 
respective  pursuits  with  increased  interest  and 
delight.  You  may  sit  by  the  still  fountains 
of  literature,  rove  over  the  beautiful  plains  of 
art,  or  ascend  the  lofty  hill  of  science,  and  in 
all  these  you  will  discover  new  charms,  and 
new  beauties.  It  will  adorn  your  actions, 
which  honorable,  noble,  consistent,  and  be- 
coming your  station,  will  elicit  public  favor 
and  approbation.  It  will  be  to  you  a  fountain 
head  of  noble  deeds.  It  will  strew  your  path 
with  fragrant  flowers,  and  finally,  when  you 
stand  upon  the  verge  of  the  eternal  world,  you 
will  look  back  with  pleasing  recollections  and 
recall  the  happy  day  when  you  first  resolved 
to  make  self-knowledge  a  theme  of  contempla- 
tion. 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  JEWS. 

The  indebtedness  of  the  literary  world  to 
the  Israelites,  has  not  been  generally  recog- 
nised nor  realized  by  Christian  scholars.  To 
illustrate  the  obligations  of  literature  to  the 
Jews,  we  need  not  dwell  on  the  fact  that  this 
peojple  were  the  penmen,  and  the  chosen  de- 
positaries of  that  wonderful  book  which  con- 
tains the  only  reliable  history  of  the  world  for 
many  centunes,  and  which  has  more  sublime 
and  beautiful  poetry,  and  more  valuable  moral 
instruction  than  all  other  books — though  this 
should  entitle  them  to  the  lasting  respect  of 
the  world ;  for  ever  since  the  dispersion  of  the 
Jews  among  the  Gentiles — by  whom  they  have 
been  a  despised  and  persecuted  people — the 
children  of  Israel  have  distinguished  them- 
selves by  their  pursuit  of  literature. 

In  the  darkness  of  the  middle  ages,  they  in- 
terested themselves  in  the  studies  of  the  Arabs, 
who  for  successive  ages,  were  the  sole  patrons 
of  learning,  and  by  means  of  translations  into 
Hebrew  and  Laun,  dittused  a  knowledge  of 
the  sciences  through  the  different  countries 
of  Europe  in  which  they  resided.  Even  pre- 
vious to  the  ninth  century  the  Jews  produced 
several  origbal  works  on  morals  and  puiloso- 
phy. 

In  the  tenth  century  science  was  assiduous- 
ly cultivated  by  them  in  Spain.    At  Toledo, 


they  had  schools  which  were  greatly  celebra- 
ted  and  crowded  with  scholars,  no  less  than 
twelve  thousand  pupils  attended  them.  In 
mathematics  and  astronomy,  there  were  no 
schools  in  Europe  that  could  compete  with 
those  at  Toledo.  Aben  Ezra,  a  Jew,  was  the 
inventor  of  the  method  of  dividing  the  cei'^stiul 
sphere  equatorially ;  and  it  is  said  that  in  some 
of  the  philosophical  treatises  by  the  Jews  of 
that  period,  allusion  is  made  to  that  important 
])rinciple  in  the  Newtonian  system — the  at- 
(jaction  of  the  heavenly  bodies. 

What  was  true  of  the  Jews  in  Spain,  was 
likewise  true  of  their  brethren  in  Portugal. 
Germany,  Italy,  France,  and  elsewhere ;  ev- 
ery  where  during  the  ages  of  darkness  and  gen- 
eral ignorance,  the  dispersed  Israelites  were 
the  zealous  culti\  ators  and  successful  teachers 
of  the  important  sciences. 

They  were  also  distinguished  for  their 
knowledge  of  medicine ;  and  notwithstanding 
the  bitterest  persecutions  with  which  they 
were  everywhere  visited,  they  supplied  physi- 
cians to  most  of  the  kings  of  Europe,  and  even 
to  some  of  the  popes  of  Home. 

Thus  v.-ere  the  Israelites  the  cultivators 
and  transmitters  of  learning  through  the  entire 
period  of  darkness  and  gloom  which  enveloped 
the  minds  of  men  during  successive  centunes. 
As  they  had  been  the  faithful  depositaries  of 
those  sacred  books  so  invaluable  to  men,  thus 
were  they  also,  under  Providence,  not  only 
the  depositaries,  but,  from  their  peculiar  con- 
dition and  dispersion,  the  propagators  of  hu- 
man science  and  knowledge  in  ^1  the  king- 
doms of  Europe. 

These  facts  are  deeply  interesting  if  not 
new,  and  are  suggestive  of  the  debt  of  grati- 
tude which  the  Christian  world  owes  to  the 
still  dispersed  and  despised  descendants  of 
Abraham. 


Domestic  Ecokomt.— 7%e  teetling  of 
coals  is  very  false  economy,  as,  though  they 
burn  slower,  a  great  deal  of  heat  is  wasted  in 
drying,  and  carried  oiTin  the  steam. 

In  airing  rooms,  both  the  upper  and  lower 
parts  of  the  window  should  be  opened,  as  the 
bad  and  heated  air,  from  its  lightness,  w'll 
pass  out  at  the  top,  and  the  fresh  cool  air  come 
in  at  the  bottom. 

A  blanket  is  a  cooler  covering  than  a  sheet 
in  summer,  because  it  allows  the  perspiration 
to  escape.  Sheets  feel  cooler  at  first,  because 
they  carry  ofT  the  heat  of  the  body  quicker ; 
but  when  they  become  as  warm  as  the  body, 
they  feel  warmer,  by  confining  the  perspira- 
tion. 

Roast  meat  is  more  nutritions  than  boileil, 
as  in  boiling  the  gelatine  is  extracted,  and  dis- 
solved in  the  water. 


-^*45^ 


f 


lich  were  greatly  celebra- 
th  scholars,  no  less  than 
ipils  attended  them.  In 
itronomy,  there  were  no 
that  could  compete  with 
ben  Ezra,  a  Jew,  was  the 
xl  of  dividing  the  cei'tstial 
and  it  is  said  that  in  some 
treatises  by  the  Jews  of 
is  made  to  that  important 
wtonian  system — the  at- 
nlv  bodies. 

the  Jews  in  Spain,  was 
ir  brethren  in  Portugal, 
ince,  and  elsewhere ;  ev- 
ages  of  darkness  and  gen- 
lispersed  Israelites  were 
rs  and  successful  teachers 
nces. 

distinguished  for  their 
ne;  and  notwithstanding 
utions  with  which  they 
ited,  they  supplied  physi- 
lingsof  Europe,  and  even 
of  Rome. 

sraelites  the  cultivators 
aming  through  the  entiru 
d  gloom  which  enveloped 
ring  successive  centunes. 
e  faithful  depositaries  of 
)  invaluable  to  men,  thus 
ler  Providence,  not  only 
from  their  peculiar  con- 
1,  the  propagators  of  hu- 
owledge  in  all  the  king- 

Iceply  interesting  if  not 
ive  of  the  debt  of  grati- 
stian  world  owes  to  the 
lespised  descendants  of 


ml.— The  wetting  of 
;onomy,  as,  though  they 
deal  of  heat  is  wasted  in 
trin  the  steam, 
oth  the  upper  and  lower 
should  be  opened,  as  the 
from  its  lightness,  w'll 
id  the  fresh  cool  air  come 

!er  covering  than  a  sheet 
t  allows  the  perspiration 
el  cooler  at  first,  because 
at  of  the  body  quicker ; 
le  as  warm  as  the  body, 
'  confining  the  perspira- 

e  nutritions  than  boiled, 
ine  is  extracted,  and  dis- 


I 


Indian  Ls?lr. 


INDIAN  LOCK. 


This  curious  lock  is  in  the  form  of  a  bird ; 
probably,  representing  the  Hindoo  god,  Ga- 
rnda,  the  carrier  or  bearer  of  Vishnu,  the  sec- 
ond of  the  Hindo«^  -.  d,  Garuda  being  to 
Vishnu  what  the  ea^  ■•;  .  o  Jupiter.  Garuda 
is  worshipped  by  the  i;,-,nve9  of  Madras ;  and, 
his  living  type,  a  kind  of  large  hawii,  is  dili- 
gently fed  by  the  devotees:  the  writer  has 
often  seen  the  worshippers  with  little  baskets, 
filled  with  fliesh,  which  is  thrown  skilfully,  a 
small  piece  at  a  time,  into  the  air,  while  they 
shout,  "Hari!  Hari!"  a  name  of  Vishnu,  and 
the  bird  stoops  on  the  wing  and  takes  the  prey. 
Garuda  is  supposed  to  possess  human,  or, 
rather,  divine,  intelligence,  and  is  much  rev- 
ered. Many  stories  are  told  of  his  discernment 
and  cunning ;  and  it  is,  probably,  on  this  ac- 
count that  the  native  artist  has  made  his  lock 
in  the  form  of  Garuda,  a  suflRcient  guaranty, 
in  his  notion,  for  its  acting  as  a  safety  or  de- 
tector, equal,  or  even  superior,  to  tne  more 
mechanical  and  scientific  inventions  of  Bramah 
or  Chubb.  We  should  add,  that,  in  this  Indian 
lock,  the  keyhole  is  on  the  side,  one  of  the  wnga 
of  the  bird  serving  as  a  shifting  escutcheon. 


HOW  TO  LIVE. 

Nkrvo08  iHDnLOENCE.— All  ncrvous  and 
melancholy  people  should  not  only  seek  occu- 
pation to  divert  self- reflections  from  their  lead- 
ing grievance,  but  deter.-ninedly  not  think 


of  it,  even  though  they  can  find  nothing  else 
to  do.  Ever-present  apprehensions,  misgiv- 
in^.s,  and  even  sensations,  are  the  growth  of 
habit,  as  much  as  the  musician  is  always  sing- 
ing, the  poet  rhapsodizing,  or  the  artist  sketch- 
ing. No  man  can  do  two  things  at  once,  any 
more  than  a  man  can  be  at  two  places  at  the 
same  time ;  and  hence,  engage  but  the  mind 
in  a  new  task,  no  matter  whether  it  be  to 
count  a  hundred  or  set  off  on  an  errand,  and 
the  dull  thought  will  give  way  to  the  circum- 
stance of  the  moment.  "We  contend  it  is 
possible  in  this  way  to  subdue  grief — to  avert 
distressing  reflections,  and  to  struggle  agai.ist 
difficulties.  There  are  a  thousand  occupa- 
tions that  might  enga."  the  best  of  us,  success- 
fully too,  if  we  int^uire  into  and  can  find  our 
capacities.  Learning  a  language — studying 
music — singing — horticulture — dan  i'l"  (a 
most  excellent  device)— drawing — opei  •% 

— sight-seeing — riding  and  driving  out     ., 
elling  (above   all  others) — jaunting — makir 
excursions — following  the  pleasures  of  ti: 
day ;  and  if  none  of  these  possess  attractions, 
it  IS  unwise  to  indulge  in  the  one  thought — for 
brooding  rivets  the  malady,  and  the  chances 
are  against  our  ever  resuming  the  position  in 
life  we  have  fallen  from. 

Think  of  the  shortness  of  life,  and  what  a 
piece  of  extreme  folly  it  is  to  waste  an  hour  in 
needless  lamentation  and  wo.  Fretting  never 
repaired  a  loss — never  filled  up  a  chasm— 
never  mended  a  broken  limb — ^never  smother- 
ed a  fire.  The  moment  a  circumstance  is 
past — if  it  be  inimical,  set  instantly,  like  the 
oird  with  its  stolen  nest,  to  repair  it.  The 
mischief  often  happens  for  the  best. 


f  ' 

J'         - 

1  ''^ " 

8  ■*"  V  * 

1  4.  »-« 
1  *  "''*' 

hi    , 

^  ■■> «  =v 


248 


HOW  TO  LIVE. 


On  Exercise,  Horse-Riding,  and  Gym- 
nastics— Nothing  can  exceed  the  value  of 
exercise.  Nature  made  man  to  be  moving  as 
birds  are  made  to  fly;  and  it  is  unnatural  not 
to  use  the  powers  we  are  supplied  with.  In 
walking— which  is  before  every  other  action, 
except  horse-ridinff,  and  that,  by-the-by  (only 
we  are  told  "  all  things  are  made  for  our  use") 
IS,  by  some,  a  questionable  right  of  man's  au- 
thonty— every  muscle  is  brought  in  play.  In 
consequence,  the  blood  circulates  with  weater 
torce  and  rapidity;  and  so  long  as  we  do  not 
excite  the  same  too  powerfully,  so  long  may 
we  walk  and  move  about,  short  of  fati^e. 

Horse-exercise  is  sanatory  and  recreative. 
Healthy  Irom  securing  thereby  abundance  of 
exercise— getting  over  distances  and  far  into 
the  country,   procuring  thus  fresh   air  and 
mental  occupation— and  of  an  agreeable  kind ; 
because  the  very  management  of  a  steed  re- 
quires some  little  address  ond  attention.    It 
strongly  behooves  all  dyspeptics  to  whom  time 
IS  an  object,  and  who,  besides,  may  not  be 
strong  enough  to  walk  two  or  three  miles,  to 
^cure  by  hook  or  cnK,k,  a  cob  or  a  poney. 
Ihe  anxious  man  may  plead  expense  os  a 
hindrance  ;  but  surely  the  hiring  might  be  sub- 
stituted in  the  case  for  purchasing :  more  also 
IS  made  of  the  latter  than  need  be.     Seventy 
or  eighty  dollars  will  be  begrudged  for  a  horse  • 
whereas  the  same  money  will  be  spent  in  a 
teast,  or  parted  with  in  an  incautious  credit, 
or  laid  aside  for  some  little  unnecessary  ex- 
travagance.    Many  a  man  has  to  reflect,  that 
It  would  have  been  better  for  him  to  have 
b<iught  his  horse,  than  to  have  done  so  and  so 
with  hi8  money. 

Where  ambling  and  cantering  ore  quite  im- 
possible, and  a  two-legged  conveyance  is  all 
that  can  be  comraonded,  pray,  my  friend,  be 
you  invalid  or  otherwise,  use  it ;  do  not 
"stick"  indoors  all  day,  but  make  an  effort 
and  get  over,  by  gentle  or  brisker  efforts,  some 
three  or  four  miles  a  day.  If  your  business 
confine  you  from  eight  till  eight,  or  six  till  six, 
there  is  still  time  feft  before  and  afterward! 
Have  that  to  yourself,  and  spend  it  in  walking 
in  the  sun,  if  possible,  at  least  in  the  air,  and 
where  you  can,  as  far  from  town  or  narrow 
streets  as  may  be. 

There  are  thousands  of  people  whose  only 
complaint  is  want  of  exercise.  A  bloated 
paunch  may,  by  exercise  and  abstinence,  be 
rendered  classically  spare  and  elegant.  The 
"  city  "prenrice,"  the  friendless  youth,  or  the 
young  gentleman,  all  of  whom  service,  re- 
straint, or  indolence,  forbids  stepping  beyond, 
scarcely,  can  it  be  called,  in  and  out  of  bed. 

ntKn*-    .......1.1      ^1 .       ■         t  ^  ' 


pale  face,  bloodless  lips  and  sunken  eyes  of 
many  a  young  maiden,  also  might  be  rostored 
to  roseate  health,  by  an  hour  or  two's  morninc 
wolk  m  th.'  parks,  or  the  high  roads,  or  the 
fields:  and  how  it  behooves  fathers  and  mothers 
to  insist  upon  their  doughters  that  need  it 
doing  as  much,  if  the  young  ladies  have  nd 
taith  in  the  means  themselves. 


what  would  they  not  derive  from  a  couple  of 
hours'  daily  walk  in  the  fresh  oir  ?  It  would 
moke  a  hero  of  eoch— every  lad  might  become 
a  Whittington— mony  of  them  mayors.    The 


Uif  remaining  tight  to  tieallh  and  recreation. 
i.  his  IS  a  good  division  where  practicable. 

The  Flesh  Brush.— Korse-hair  gloves 
soft  and  hard  brushes,  to  rub  the  body  with 
or  friction  or  shampooing  of  the  same,  witli 
the  uncovered  hand,  are  severally  recommend- 
ed by  medical  men.  I  am  a  believer  in  the 
usefuiucss  of  each  variety;  but  I  give  prefer- 
ence to  the  latter,  the  use  of  the  hand ;  ond 
I  advise  its  application,  local  and  general. 

b  riction  of  the  abdomen,  in  coses  of  torpid 
liver,  distended  bowels,  or  a  morbidly  irritable 
stomach,  18  of  great  service.  It  will  not.  how- 
ever, suffice  merely  to  rub  the  hand  over  the 
belly  half  a  dozen  rimes.  The  bowels,  liver 
and  stomach,  should  be  regulorly  kneoded, 
tor  at  least  fifteen  or  twenty  rimes  every  day  • 
the  easiest  times  certainly  are,  before  rising 
and  on  going  to  bed ;  but  the  best  time  is  be- 
tween meals,  when  the  food  is  all  but  digested. 
In  young  and  delicate  persons,  friction  of 
the  entire  body  is  highly  serviceable  ;  and  it 
IS  no  bad  additional  morning  and  eveninf 
omusement  for  an  odult  to  use  the  "hair 
brush"  or  the  "flesh  brush,"  or  the  hand, 

^A  'mu  ^***  ^"^^  '^^*'  '^^^'  and  entire 
body.  1  he  advantages  of  this  process  are, 
that  it  con  be  done  without  assistance ;  but 
with  elderly  and  infirm  people,  a  rubber  is 
indispensable.  The  result  will  be,  that  oil 
the  digestive  organs  will  be  excited  into  some- 
thing like  ocrion.  Where  exercise  is  forbid- 
den, by  involuntary  confinement  or  other 
causes,  the  shampooing  supplies  its  place; 
but  It  must  be  continued  (it  will  not  hurt)  all 
the  year  round ;  and  it  should  form  u  species 
of  gymnastics,  night  and  morning,  from  five  to 
ten  minutes  more  or  less  each  time.  The 
stomach  receives  thereby  a  glow  that  diffuses 
itself  over  the  enrire  abdomen;  and  I  have 
known  cases  of  constipation  most  agreeably 
relieved  by  the  same. 

The  use  of  dumb-bells  is  salutary,  as  indeed 
are  all  gymnastic  recreations,  fifting  light 
weights,  suspending  the  body  by  the  hands, 
swinging,  skipping,  etc.,  etc.  Bottledore  and 
shuttlecock  is  an  excellent  game  for  grown-up 
people.  Get  into  an  unlumbered  room,  or  a 
courtyard,  and  alone,  or  with  a  playmate, 
determine  to  number  a  thousand  jerks  of  the 
feathered  cock.     Never  mind  the  seeming 


lue    I 
Qing 


18  lips  and  sunken  eyes  of 
iden,  also  might  be  restored 
)y  an  hour  or  two's  inorninr; 
or  the  high  roods,  or  the 
ehoovesfutliersnnd  mothers 
if  daughters  that  need  it, 
the  young  ladies  have  no 
themselves. 

be  thus  distributed :  eight 
hours'  application  to  our 
'ies,    worl/Jlij   duties,    and 
'■  to  health  and  recreation. 
sion  where  practicable. 
USH. — Korse-hair  gloves, 
hes,  to  rub  the  body  with, 
pooing  of  the  same,  with 
,  are  severally  recommend- 
.     I  am  n  believer  in  the 
■ariety;  but  I  give  prefer- 
the  use  of  the  hand  ;  and 
ion,  local  and  general, 
xlom^-n,  in  cases  of  torj)id 
els,  or  a  morbidly  irritable 
service.     It  will  not.  how- 
tt)  rub  the  hand  over  the 
imes.    The  bowels,  liver, 
d  be  regularly  kneaded, 
■  twenty  times  every  day ; 
srtainly  are,  before  rising 
;  but  the  best  time  is  be- 
he  food  is  all  but  digested, 
icate  persons,  friction  of 
ighly  serviceable  ;  and  it 
11  morning  and   evenin" 
adult  to  use  the  "hair 
9h  brush,"  or  the  hand, 
'er  legs,  arms,  and  entire 
iges  of  this  process  are, 
without  assistance;  but 
firm  people,  a  rubber  ia 
result  will  be,  that  all 
vill  be  excited  into  some- 
iVhere  exercise  is  forbid- 
iT   confinement  or   other 
Ding  supplies  its  place; 
aed  (it  \v\\\  not  hurt)  all 
it  should  form  u  species 
ind  morning,  from  five  to 
r  less  each  time.     The 
•eby  a  glow  that  diffuses 
!  abdomen;  and  I  have 
tipation  most  agreeably 

jlls  is  salutary,  as  indeed 
Bcreations,  lifting  light 
the  body  by  the  hands, 
c,  etc.  Battledore  and 
llent  game  for  grown-up 
unlumbered  room,  or  a 
.  or  with  a  playmate, 
a  thousand  jerks  of  the 
ver  mind  the  seeming 


tm 


ZOOPHITES,  OR  PLANT  ANIMALS. 


249 


puerility  of  playing  "  with  trifles  light  as  air." 
Vou  will  get  into  a  wholesome  glow,  and  de- 
rive much  amusement  at  the  fun  of  it.  "  Let 
those  laugh  who  win."  Cricket  is  a  splendid 
j;uine ;  bowls  an  amusing  one ;  billiards,  if 
i)!uyed  only  for  friendly  contention,  are  mental- 
ly recreative  and  p.iysicolly  useful.  In  short, 
whether  you  be  man  or  woman,  boy  or  maiden, 
old  or  young,  move  about  and  take  escrcise 
in  the  best  way  you  can,  ond  as  much  "un- 
housed" as  possible.  Exercise  is  positively 
a  virtue;  and  "virtue  is,"  as  the  school-boy's 
copy  has  it,  "  its  own  reward." 


ZOOPHITES,  OR  PLANT  ANIMALS. 

These  wonderful  productions  are  so  denom- 
inated, on  account  of  their  existing  in  the  shape 
of  plants.  They  are  very  numerous,  and  the 
greater  part  of  them  have  so  great  a  resem- 
blance to  vegetables,  that  they  have  generally 
been  considered  as  such,  although  the  horny 
and  stony  ajipearance  of  several  of  the  tribe, 
declares  them  at  first  view,  to  be  of  a  widely 
ditferent  nature  from  the  generality  of  plants. 
In  others,  however,  the  softness  of  their  sub- 
stance, and  the  ramified  mode  of  their  growth, 
would  lead  any  one  not  acquainted  with  their 
real  nature,  to  suppose  them  vegetables.  Tfle 
hard,  horny  or  stony  zoophites  are  in  general 
known  by  the  name  of  corals ;  and  of  these 
several  distinctions  are  formed,  either  from 
the  structure  and  appearance  of  the  coral  or 
hard  ])art,  or  from  tne  affinity  which  the  soft- 
er or  animal  part  bears  to  some  other  genus 
among  soft-bodied  animals,  or  mollusca.  The 
zoophites  may  be  therefore  said  to  unite  the 
animal  and  vegetable  kingdoms,  so  as  to  fill 
up  the  intermediate  space. 

Belonging  to  the  class  of  zoophite  worms, 
the  fresh  water  polypes  are  infinitely  curious. 
These  animals  may  be  found  in  small  streams, 
and  in  stagnant  waters,  adhering  to  the  stems 
of  aquatic  plants,  or  to  the  under  surface  of 
the  leaves,  and  other  objects.  If  a  polype  be 
cut  in  two  parts,  the  superior  part  will  pro- 
duce a  new  tail,  and  the  inferior  part  a  new 
head  and  arms ;  and  this,  in  warm  weather,  in 
the  course  of  a  very  few  days.  If  cut  into 
three  pieces,  the  .middle  portion  will  produce 
both  head  and  tail ;  and  in  short,  polypes  may 
be  cut  in  all  directions,  and  will  still  repro- 
duce the  deficient  organs.  The  natural  mode  of 
propagation  in  this  animal,  is  by  shoots  or  off"- 
sets,  in  the  manner  of  a  plant ;  one  or  more 
branches  or  shoots  proceed  from  the  parent 
stem,  dropping  off"  when  complete;  and  it 
often  happens  that  these  young  branches  pro- 
duce others  before  they  themselves  drop  off 


from  the  parent;  so  that  a  polype  may  be 
found  with  several  of  its  descendants  still  ad- 
hering to  its  stem,  thus  constituting  a  real 
genealogical  tree.  The  polype,  likewise,  du- 
ring the  autumnal  seasons,  deposi'^s  eggs, 
which  involve  themselves  afterward  into  dis- 
tinct animals  ;  and  thus  possessing  two  modes 
of  multiplication.  It  seems  paradoxical  that 
a  polype  should  be  able  to  swallow  a  worm, 
three  or  four  times  as  large  as  itself,  which  is 
frequently  observed  to  happen  ;  but  it  must 
be  considered  that  the  body  of  the  animal  is 
extremely  extensile,  and  that  it  possesses,  in 
an  extraordinary  degree,  the  power  of  stretch- 
ing itself  according  to  the  size  of  the  substance 
it  has  to  swallow.  It  seizes  its  prey  with 
great  eagerness,  but  swallows  it  slowly,  in  the 
same  manner  as  a  snake  swallows  any  small 
quadruped.  The  arms  of  a  polype,  when 
microscopically  examined,  are  founcl  to  be  fur- 
nished with  a  vast  number  of  small  organs, 
apparently  acting  like  so  many  suckers,  by 
the  means  of  which  the  onimal  can  hold  a 
worm,  even  though  but  slightly  in  contact 
with  one  of  its  arms ;  but  when  on  the  point 
of  swallowing  its  prey,  it  then  makes  use  of 
all  its  arms  at  once,  in  order  to  absorb  it  the 
more  readily. 

Corals,  on  being  gathered  perfectly  fresh, 
and  planted  in  sea-water,  appear  to  put  forth 
small  flowers  from  all  the  minute  cavitie?j  or 
hollow  points  on  the  surface.  These  sup- 
posed flowers  (for  such  an  idea  has  been  en- 
tettained)  are  real  animals;  and  consequently 
corals  are  to  be  considered  as  aggregates  of 
animals,  either  forming,  or  at  least  inhabiting 
the  calcareous  substance  of  the  coral  in  which 
they  appear.  The  smaller  corals,  commonly 
known  by  the  name  of  corallines,  or  sea-mos- 
ses, are  so  many  ramified  sea- polypes,  covered 
with  a  kind  of  strong,  homy  case,  to  defend 
them  from  the  injuries  to  which  they  would 
be  liable,  in  the  boisterous  element  destined 
for  their  abode. 

The  harder,  or  stony  corals,  are  equally  of 
an  animal  nature  ;  the  entire  coral  continuing 
to  grow  as  an  animal,  and  to  form,  by  secre- 
tion, the  stronger  or  homy  exterior  which  jnay 
at  once  be  considered  as  Us  bone,  and  the  Hab- 
itation in  which  it  has  constantly  to  dwell. 
A  coral  of  this  kind  is  therefore,  a  large  com- 
pound zoophite,  springing  up  from  the  rock, 
in  which  it  seems  to  have  taken  root,  and 
shooting  out  into  branches  like  a  vegetable 
production. 

cJponges  afford  another  curious  instaii.t.'  of 
-"•''phitic  life.  T'^iere  are  forty-nine  species 
of  this  zoophite,  '  ach  of  which  is  character- 
ized in  tl)()  Tiinniean  system  as  «  f'xr/?  animal, 
flexile,  '.ovpid,  of  various  fovnw,  <.>tnpo8ed 
of  either  reticulate  fibres,  or  nias5ie!a  of  small 
spines  interwoven  together,  and  ct'.ithed  with 


m 


s.  M 


rt 


850 


BELEM,  OR  PAHA— THE  SELF-TORMENTORS. 


a  gelatinous  flesh,  full  of  small  mouths  on  its 
surface,  by  which  it  absorbs  and  rejects 
water.  The  existence  of  the  animal  inhabi- 
tant  within  its  cell,  has  been  satisfactorily  as- 
certained by  the  observations  and  experinientfl 
of  Ellis,  on  the  spongia  tormi'iii'-ya.  He 
remarked  its  contraction  whenerpu.i?fl  to  pain 
or  injury,  as  well  as  the  expi.Aiii..n  avi'  inspi- 
ration of  water  through  its  tiiu  s.  .'ile  thus 
established  the  position  that  sp  trige  i.-  art  ani- 
mal, and  that  the  ends  or  o;,irriDri8  cf  ihe 
branched  tubes  ore  liie  mouUit*  ioy  wL:ch  it 
receives  its  nourishm'^nt  and  d'scharges  its 
excrementiivious  matter.  This  pr-jinon  chym- 
istry  has  sinre  abundantly  swr^ported,  by  prov- 
ifi!»  the  arinioiliical  property  of  the  cellular 
rnibstance  o*  sponge. 


resisting  the  action  of  water  in  a  surprising  de- 
gree. Vanilla  is  also  plentiful,  and  the  Indians 
eather  large  quantities  of  wax  and  resin.  The 
forests  contain,  besides,  dye-wootls  of  various 
kinds,  and  in  considerable  quantity. 


BELEM,  OR  ?i\U. 

Tmk  city  of  Belem,  to  which  our  illustra- 
tion refers,  is  situated  at  the  entrance  of  one 
of  the  largest  ana-branches  of  the  river  Ama- 
zon, and  \n  a  position  to  influence  greatly  the 
future  stream  of  commerce,  which  will  doubt- 
less vivify  the  present  bou;'.i1less  wastes  and 
impenetrable  forests  of  the  interior  of  South 
America.  The  capabilities  o''  this  quarter  of 
the  world  are  at  present  litvit  known,  though 
the  public  attention  of  several  *^aropean  coun- 
tries has  of  late  been  directed  to  tne  subject. 
The  recent  expedition  under  f-Ar  R.  Schom- 
berg,  has  been  followed  by  one  instituted  by 
the  desire  of  the  French  government,  not  to 
be  behind  us  upon  the  subject  of  correct  geo- 
graphical and  general  information  as  regards 
Central  South  America.  From  sources  such 
as  these,  we  learn  that  in  this  neighborhood, 
extensive  forests  of  wild  cocoa  exist,  and  no- 
where has  nature  developed  her  riches  in  a 
more  lavish  manner ;  it  is  impossible  to  ima- 
gine the  diversity  and  extreme  beauty  of  the 
trees,  and  particularly  the  palms  which  form 
these  forests.  The  creatures  that  animate  the 
countries  are  not  less  remarkable  for  their  sin- 
gular forms  than  the  brilliancy  of  their  colors 
— ^the  jaguars,  the  tapirs,  the  ant-eaters,  the 
tatons,  more  than  twenty  species  of  monkeys, 
birds  of  the  most  dazzling  hues,  couroncous, 
colinf[is,  and  parrots,  show  themselves  in  every 
part.  The  former  has  on  its  head  a  singular 
crest,  in  the  shape  of  a  parasol,  and  the  sec- 
ond displays  in  its  plumage  all  that  the  sun  of 
the  equator  can  produce  in  purple,  emerald, 
and  gold.  These  regions  also  ..i'oand  in  mag- 
nificent woods,  and  produc  'i  nbundance 
everything  required  in  ship-'i  ^.  uiiig ;  such  as 
birch,  hemp,  and  exr^llen';  -  ^age,  made  of 
the  fibres  of  the  pakn-J  ••<     and  capable  of 


mZ  SELF-TORMENTORS. 

THvai;  is  no  situation  in  life  for  which 
candidufns  will  not  be  found  to  offer  them- 
selves, no  matter  how  degrading  or  disgusting 
it  may  be ;  and  it  is  indeed  most  fortunate 
that  there  are  those  whose  habits  and  tastes 
are  not  too  refined  for  occupations  which  to 
others  would  be  absolutely  appalling,  for  thus 
no  rkpartment  is  left  unfilled  :  the  hangman 
is  never  sought  in  vain ;  the  scavenger  spends 
his  .lays  amidst  the  filth  of  the  streets,  and 
does  not  hold  himself  one  whit  the  worse ; 
butchers  are  not  loath  to  slay ;  and  surgeons 
perform  amputations  con  amore.  The  ac- 
quirement of  the  means  of  subsistence  oiimn- 
laten  all,  and  thus  the  business  of  the  world  is 
conuucied  with  undeviating  completeness. 
But  there  is  a  class  of  human  beings,  and  no 
inconsiderable  one,  who  devote  themselves  to 
hardshipa,  and  submit  to  privations,  from  mo- 
tives wholly  apart  from  the  desire  to  earn  a 
livelihood.  This  is  the  class  of  self-torment- 
ors. Some  of  the  most  extraordinary  exam- 
ples of  these  are  to  be  found  among  the  Fakirs, 
who,  from  their  strange  tenets  respecting  the 
Deity,  and  the  sacrifices  which  they  think 
pleasing  to  him,  inflict  the  most  severe  tor- 
tures on  themselves.  Some  of  them  make  a 
vow  to  continue  for  life  in  one  posture ;  others 
carry  a  weary  load,  or  drag  a  heavy  chain, 
from  which  they  have  vowed  never  to  disen- 
gage themselves.  Some  have  doomed  them- 
selves to  crawl  upon  their  hands  and  knees  for 
a  term  of  years ;  and  others  roll  their  bodies 
along  the  ground,  from  the  shores  of  the  Indus 
to  the  banks  of  the  Ganges.  Some  have  con- 
demned themselves  to  swing  before  a  slow 
fire  for  the  remainder  of  their  days ;  while 
others  suspend  themselves  with  their  heads 
downward,  exposed  to  the  fiercest  flames. 
Many  of  the  Hindoo  fanatics,  pledged  by  a 
religions  vow,  are  to  be  found  at  the  \'illage8 
where  the  ceremony  of  swinging  is  observed 
at  stated  times.  It  is  thus  contrived  :  in  the 
centre  of  an  area  a  pole  of  from  twenty  to 
thirty  feet  high  is  erected,  on  which  a  long 
horizontal  beam  is  fixed,  with  a  rope  run  over 
a  pulley  at  the  extremity;  to  this  rope  an 
iron  hook  is  fastened,  which  being  run  through 
the  integuments  of  the  swinging  devotee,  he 
is  suspended  high  in  the  air,  a  spectacle  of 
admiration  to  the  assembled  multitude,  who 


ORS. 

of  water  in  a  surprising;  de- 
o  plentiful,  and  the  Indinns 
;ie8  of  wax  and  resin.  The 
de»,  dye-woo<ls  of  various 
lerable  quantity. 


^T0RMENT01lS. 

tuation  in  life  for  which 
;  be  found  to  offer  them- 
3W  degrading  or  disgusting 
is  indeed  most  fortunate 
B  whose  habits  and  tastes 
for  occupations  which  to 
wlutely  appalling,  for  thus 
ih  unfilled  :  the  hangman 
ain ;  the  scavenger  spends 
e  filth  of  the  streets,  and 
self  one  whit  the  worse ; 
lath  to  slay ;  and  surgeons 
na  con  amore.  The  ac- 
eans  of  subsistence  aiimu- 
he  business  of  the  world  is 
indeviating  compltteness. 
I  of  human  beings,  and  no 
who  devote  themselves  to 
nit  to  privations,  from  mo- 
from  the  desire  to  earn  a 
( the  class  of  self-torment- 
inost  extraordinary  exam- 
)e  found  among  the  Fakirs, 
ange  tenets  respecting  the 
;rinces  which  they  think 
tlict  the  most  severe  tor- 
I.  Some  of  them  make  a 
life  in  one  posture ;  others 
,  or  drag  a  heavy  chain, 
ave  vowed  never  to  disen- 
Some  have  doomed  them- 
I  their  hands  and  knees  for 
id  others  roll  their  botlies 
om  the  shores  of  the  Indus 
Granges.  Some  have  con- 
I  to  swing  before  a  slow 
der  of  their  days;  while 
mselvee  with  their  heads 
I  to  the  fiercest  flames. 
30  fanatics,  pledged  by  a 
0  be  found  at  the  ^^llage8 
f  of  swin^ng  is  observed 
is  thus  contrived  :  in  the 
\  pole  of  from  twenty  to 
erected,  on  which  a  long 
ixed,  with  a  rope  run  over 
tremitv;  to  this  rope  an 
,  whicn  being  run  through 
the  swinging  devotee,  he 
in  the  air,  a  spectacle  of 
issembled  multitude,  who 


§■ 
a 
^' 
2. 

» 


hJ 
5 


i 

r 

e 

e 
a 


:% 


17 


tt. 


■y| 


f 


252 


THE  SELF  TORMENTORiJ. 


<iiH 


>  V 


tffstify  their  npprobntion  by  the  loudest  nc- 
clnmaiiuns:  the  more  violently  he  swinsa 
hirn^lt'  round,  the  more  vehtrnont  is  the  ap- 
plause :  ihe  llesh  often  gives  wny,  ond  the 
unfortunate  performer  is  released  by  a  pre- 
cipitate fall,  very  frecpiently  nt  the  ex])ense 
of  tt  broken  limb.  The  voluntary  socriiicc  of 
the  Hindoo  widows  to  the  flames  is  too  well 
known  to  need  any  description  of  the  ceremo- 
ny here.  There  are  many  devotees,  who,  in 
tl)e  very  prime  of  life,  anxious  to  propitiate 
the  Deity,  resolve  to  bury  themselves  alive — 
no  trilling  sacrifice  for  those  who  might,  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  nature,  look  for  along  term 
of  years.  Un  the  day  appointed  for  the  sac- 
rifice, crowds  assemble,  a  circular  pit  in  which 
a  mtin  can  stand  upright  is  then  dug,  into 
which  the  self-devoted  victim  descends  ;  the 
earth  is  then  thrown  over  him,  until  he  is  com- 
pletely covered ;  a  massive  tomb  is  immedi- 
ately erected  over  the  spot,  where  sacred  rites 
are  performed,  and  garlands  of  flowers  are 
olFered  at  stoted  intervals,  in  memory  of  the 
holy  inan  who  has  sealed  his  devotion  by  this 
act  of  self-immolation. 

The  self-inflicted  cruelties  which  take  place 
at  the  festival  in  honor  of  Siva,  u  Hindoo  god, 
apjiear  almost  incredible.  The  Hindoos  who 
are  to  be  the  principal  actors  at  the  ceremo- 
nies, have  assumed  the  name  of  Sunnyassis, 
and  gone  through  some  preparations  for  ten 
or  fitteen  days  before  the  exhibition  begins. 
On  the  first  day  of  the  festival,  they  fling 
themselves  from  a  biimboo  stage,  which  has 
three  resting-places:  the  highest  is  twenty 
feet  from  the  ground :  hn^rs  of  straw,  struck, 
with  iron  spikes,  have  been  placed  underneath 
to  receive  them  :  however,  the  spikes  are  so 
arranged,  that  they  generally  fall  down,  in- 
stead of  entering  the  body :  it  sometimes, 
however,  happens  otherwise,  and  many  per- 
sons have  been  killed  and  wounded  by  them. 
In  some  villages,  several  of  these  stages  are 
erected,  and  two  or  three  hundred  have  cast 
themselves  on  the  spikes  in  the  course  of  one 
day.  On  the  third  day  of  the  festival  there 
is  a  large  fire  made,  opposite  to  the  temple  of 
Siva ;  and  when  the  buined  wood  has  been 
formed  into  a  great  mass,  one  of  the  chief 
Sunnyassis  flattens  it  a  little  with  a  bunch  of 
canes  which  he  holds,  and  walks  over  it  with 
his  feet  bare  ;  the  rest  of  the  Sunnyassis  then 
spread  the  fire  about,  and  walk  over  it,  and 
dance  upon  it,  and  throw  the  burning  embers 
into  the  air  and  at  each  other.  This  pastime 
over,  the  next  morning  is  appropriated  to  the 
work  of  piercing  the  sides  and  tonsjues.  It  is 
thus  described  by  Mr.  "Ward,  who  went  to 
Kalceghatu,  in  company  with  two  or  three 
friends,  in  the  year  1806,  to  witness  the  rites. 

"  We  orri ved,"  he  says,  "  above  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning.     We  overtook  numerous  com- 


panies who  were  proceeding  thither,  having 
with  them  drums  nnd  other  instnimrnts  of 
music,  also  spits,  rones,  uiid  ditl'crent  ortirlrs 
to  pierce  the  tongues  and  sides.  .Some,  with 
tinkling  rings  on  thi'ir  ankles,  were  dancing  as 
they  passed  along,  while  others  rent  the  air 
witn  sounds  of  their  filthy  soni;^.  As  we  en- 
tered the  village  where  the  temple  of  this 
greot  g(Kldess  is  situated,  the  crowds  were  so 
greot,  that  we  could  with  difficulty  get  our 
vehicles  along,  and  at  last  were  eomplotoly 
blocked  up.  Wc  then  alighted,  and  went 
among  the  crowd  :  but  who  can  describe  a 
scene  like  this?  Here,  men  of  all  ages,  who 
intended  to  have  their  tongues  pierced  or  their 
sides  bored,  were  bringing  garlands  of  flowers 
to  hang  round  their  necks  or  tie  round  their 
heads.  There,  others  carrying  their  otrerings 
to  the  goddess.  Above  the  crowd  were  seen 
nothing  but  the  feathers  belonging  to  the  great 
drums,  and  the  instruments  of  torture  which 
each  victim  was  carrying  in  his  hand.  These 
wretched  slaves  of  superstition  were  dis- 
tinguished from  others  by  the  quantity  of  oil 
rubbed  on  their  bodies,  and  by  streaks  and 
dots  of  mud  all  over  them.  Some  of  the 
chief  men  belonging  to  each  company  were 
covered  with  ashes,  or  dressed  in  a  most  fan- 
tastic manner,  like  the  fool  among  mounte- 
banks." 

He  goes  on  to  describe  the  operation  of 
piercing  the  tongue.  "We  went  into  the 
temple-yard,  where  two  or  three  blacksmiths 
had  begun  the  work  of  piercing  the  tongues 
and  bonng  the  sides  of  these  infatuated  disci 
pies  of  Siva.  The  first  man  seemed  reluctant 
to  hold  out  his  tongue ;  but  the  blacksmith, 
rubbing  it  with  something  like  flour,  and  hav- 
ii.'g  a  piece  of  cloth  between  his  fingers,  laid 
firm  hold,  dragged  it  out,  and  placing  his  lancet 
under  it,  in  the  middle,  pierced  it  through, 
and  let  the  fellow  go.  The  next  person  whose 
tongue  we  saw  cut  directed  the  blacksmith  to 
cut  it  on  a  contrary  side,  as  it  had  already 
been  cut  twice.  This  man  seemed  to  go 
through  the  business  of  having  his  tongue  »l:t 
with  perfect  sang-froid.  The  company  of 
natives  were  entirely  unmoved ;  and  the  black- 
smith, pocketing  the  trifling  fee  given  by  each 
for  whom  he  did  this  favor,  laughed  at  the 
sport.  I  could  not  help  asking  whether 
they  were  not  punishing  these  men  for  lying. 
After  seeing  the  operation  performed  on  one 
or  two  more,  we  went  to  another  group,  wliere 
they  were  boring  the  sides.  The  first  we  saw 
uncfergoing  this  operation  was  a  boy,  who 
might  be  twelve  or  thirteen  years  old,  and  who 
had  been  brought  thither  by  his  elder  brother 
to  submit  to  this  cruelty.  A  thread,  rubbed 
with  clar^fiyd  butter,  was  drawn  through  the 
skin  on  ^■n  side,  with  a  kind  of  lancet  having 
an  eye  lift  a  needle.    'He  did  not  flinch,  but 


•  -gjEgsg^y.- 


>  proroi>(lin!j  thithor,  hnvinj; 
na  nnd  otlwr  inslnimriifH  of 
,  rnncs,  nml  (lifli-rcnt:  nrtirlcs 
iiur^  ami  niilfs.  .Somo,  with 
their  nnklrs,  were  dnneing  nu 
ig,  while  r)thprs  rent  the  nir 
heir  filthy  son^s.  As  we  eii- 
e  where  the  temple  of  this 
sitnnted,  the  crowds  were  so 
;ould  with  difficulty  pet  our 
Bfid  Qt  last  wore  complrtrly 
Vc  then  alighted,  antl  weiit 
r'd :  but  who  can  describe  a 

Here,  men  of  all  nges,  who 
I  their  tongues  pifrceii  or  their 
B  bringing  garlands  of  flowers 
deir  necks  or  tie  rounri  their 
others  carrying  their  olFerings 

Above  the  crowd  were  seen 
eathers  belonging  to  the  great 
instruments  of  torture  which 
carrying  in  his  hand.  These 
s  of  superstition  were  dis- 
others  by  the  quantity  of  oil 

bodies,  and  by  streaks  and 

over  them.  Some  of  tlio 
ging  to  each  company  were 
les,  or  dressed  in  a  most  fan- 
ike  the  fool  among  mounte- 

to  describe  the  operation  of 
ngue.  "  We  went  into  the 
lere  two  or  three  blacksmiths 
vork  of  piercing  the  tongues 
ides  of  these  infatuated  disci 
he  first  man  seemed  reluctant 
tongue;  but  the  blacksmith, 
lomething  like  flour,  and  hav- 
oth  between  his  fingers,  laid 
d  it  out,  and  placing  his  lancet 

middle,  pierced  it  through, 
V  go.  The  next  person  whose 
;ut  directed  the  blacksmith  to 
trary  side,  as  it  had  already 
This  man  seemed  to  go 
ness  of  having  his  tongue  sl:t 
ng-froid.  The  company  of 
rely  unmoved  ;  and  the  black- 

the  trifling  fee  given  by  each 
d  this  favor,  laughed  at  the 

not  help  asking  whether 
uiiishing  these  men  for  lying. 

operation  performed  on  one 
went  to  another  group,  where 

the  sides.     The  first  we  saw 

oi)eratioii  was  a  boy,  who 
or  thirteen  years  old,  and  who 
t  thither  by  his  elder  brother 
s  cruelty.  A  thread,  rubbed 
itter,  was  drawn  through  the 
:,  with  a  kind  of  lancet  having 
idle.    'He  did  not  flincb,  but 


TUB  SRLF  TOKMENTORS. 


25U 


hung  by  the  hands  over  the  shoulders  of  his 
l)ri)tlier.  We  usked  a  man  who  had  just  had 
his  sides  bored  why  he  did  this.  He  said  he 
liad  made  a  vow  to  Kulce  at  a  time  of  danger- 
ous illness,  and  was  now  performing  this  vow; 
a  i)ystnndcr  added,  it  was  ua  act  of  holiness 
or  merit.  Passing  from  this  group,  we  saw 
a  mull  danciui;  backward  and  forwu.-d,  with 
two  cuiies  run  through  his  sides  as  lliiek  as  a 
man's  little  finger.  In  returning  to  Calcutta, 
we  saw  many  with  things  of  diirereiit  thick- 
nesses thrust  throui;h  tlieir  sides  and  tongues, 
uiid  several  witll  the  pointed  handles  of  iron 
sill ivels,  containing  fire,  sticking  in  their  sides. 
Into  this  firo,  6very  now  and  then,  they  threw 
Iiidiun  pitch,  which  for  the  rnomi.'iit  blu/.ed 
very  high.  We  saw  one  man  whose  singular 
mode  of  self-torture  struck  us  much ;  his 
oreust,  arms,  ami  other  parts  of  his  body  were 
(ititirely  covered  with  pins,  as  thii^k  as  nails  or 
pucking-ncedles.  This  is  called  vanu-phora 
(that  is,  piercing  with  arrows).  The  person 
hud  made  a  vow  to  Siva  thus  to  jiierce  his 
body,  praying  the  god  to  remove  some  evil 
from  him.  Some  Sunnyassis  at  this  festival 
put  swords  through  the  noles  in  their  tongues, 
others  spears,  others  thick  pieces  of  round  iriui, 
which  tiiey  call  arrows;  many,  as  a  bravado, 
put  other  things  through  their  tongues,  as  liv- 
ing snakes,  bamboos,  ramrods,  &c.  On  the 
evening  of  this  day  some  Sunnyassis  pierce 
the  skins  of  their  foreheads,  and  place  a  rod 
of  iron  in  it,  as  a  socket,  and  on  this  rod  fasten- 
ed a  lamp,  which  is  kept  burning  all  night." 

.Such  are  a  few  of  the  self-inflicted  tortures 
borne  by  those  who  think  that  by  such  the 
wrath  of  the  cruel  deity  to  whom  they  do 
homage  can  only  be  ajipensed.  The  details 
of  bodily  torments  inflicted  by  the  victims 
themselves  to  propitiate  his  favor  are  so  nu- 
merous, that  thoy  might  fill  volumes ;  but 
these  limits  are  so  brief  to  allow  of  a  more  ex- 
tended notice  of  them ;  and  for  the  present, 
we  will  turn  our  attention  to  other  self-tor- 
mentors, who  are  actuated  by  ^potives  of  a 
totally  difTerent  nature.  Such  are  impostors, 
whose  livelihood  depends  on  the  alms  of  the 
charitable,  who  maim  and  disfigure  themselves 
that  they  may  make  a  more  forcible  appeal  to 
compassion.  It  is  no  uncommon  practice  with 
Shem  to  drive  needles  into  their  flesh,  thus 
Vj  produce  swelling  and  inflammation,  which 
-an  be  displayed  on  fitting  opportunities,  and 
turned  to  profit. 

There  was  an  unfortunate  young  woman,  a 
patient  in  Richmcnd  hospital,  Dublin,  who 
liad  to  undergo  amputation  of  the  arm,  it  was 
Hi  dreadfully  diseased  from  needles  in  the 
lesh.  She  afterward  confessed  that  she  had 
iiersclf  forced  them  into  her  hand  and  arm. 
\f'oar  hundred  needles  were  extracted  from 
liircrent  parts  of  the  body  of  a  woman  named 


I'll 


Rachel  Her/,  of  Copenhogen  ;  they  liiid  re- 
duced her  to  the  most  frightful  stale.  It  wiis 
afterwaril  discovered  that  she  hud  herself  in- 
serted them  jiurposely.  There  are  oihers, 
e(pially  impostors,  who  have  been  known  to 
undergo  the  most  a(!Ufe  bodily  anguish  willi 
out  flinching,  impelled  to  it  by  having  growr. 
Weary  of  the  way  of  life  in  which  they  uio 
engaged,  and  pining  for  a  return  to  home  and 
friends.  Uecejition  under  any  exigency  or 
temptation  whatever,  is  to  be  held  in  ublior- 
reiice  ;  but  certainly  a  touch  of  pity  iiiiist 
mingle  with  the  feelings  with  which  we  reuiird 
it  under  such  circiimstaiiees.  'IMie  liard-iliips 
which  the  soldier  and  the  sailor  are  culled  to 
endure,  and  the  separation  from  lioine  and 
kindred,  must  teach  us  to  look  witli  enmpas- 
sioii  wliili!  we  Illume;  and  the  torture-^  wiiich 
they  so  unhesitatingly  undergo,  tell  a  inelan- 
clioly  tale  of  wearisome  existence,  and  of 
henrt-yearnings  after  curly  scenes,  that  may 
well  suggest  to  the  reflecting  mind  a  hope  that 
some  improvement  in  the  mode  by  which  their 
services  are  procured,  and  llii!  regulations  1 
which  they  are  governetl,  may  make  sn( 
guilt,  if  not  impossible,  ut  least  of  compara- 
tively rare  (M-currence.  With  the  desire  of 
being  declared  unlit  for  service,  they  have  been 
known  to  inflict  the  most  serious  injuries  upon 
their  sight,  and  to  mutilate  themselves  in  a 
frightful  manner;  something  cutting  ofl' one  or 
more  of  their  Hiigcrs,  pretending  that  accident 
had  produced  the  mischief.  A  woman  in 
Dublin  actually  made  a  livelihood  by  selling 
to  the  recruits  u  mixture  of  soft  soap  and  lime, 
which,  on  being  applied  as  she  directed,  |)ro- 
duced  ulcers.  Soldiers,  anxious  to  be  free, 
have  been  known  to  make  an  incision  in  the 
log,  into  which  a  copper  coin  has  been  inserted, 
and  then  bound  up.  So  common  was  the 
practice  among  the  patients  in  the  military 
hospitals  of  tamjiering  with  their  sore  legs,  to 
prevent  their  cure,  in  the  hope  of  ])roruring 
discharges  from  the  army,  that  the  surgeons 
were  fre(|uently  obliged  to  seal  the  bandages 
with  which  they  bound  them ;  but  this  has  not 
always  succee(fed,  as  the  men  often  force  pins 
and  needles  through  the  bandages,  so  that  at 
last  a  box,  with  lock  and  key,  was  found  ne- 
cessary to  keep  the  leg  confined,  so  that  it 
could  not  be  got  at  till  the  surgeon  went  to 
dress  it.  Soldiers  have  often  broken  tlieir 
front  teeth,  to  render  it  Impossible  for  them  to 
bite  the  cartridges.  A  deserter  who  had  been 
arrested  and  put  in  jail,  in  the  year  1811,  sub- 
mitted to  remain  in  a  state  of  ajiparent  insen- 
sibility from  the  5th  of  April  to  the  8tli  of 
July ;  everything  to  rouse  him  that  could  be 
thought  of  was  tried,  but  in  vain  ;  he  took  no 
nourishment  but  a  little  that  he  sucked  through 
his  teeth",  as  his  jaw  was  fixed,  and  could  not 
be  opened.     The  medical-people,  supposing 


"  ^^VISfp^TiPf'^W'^P*^^' 


:gj»aa^awjsMi.as^8g 


254 


THE  SELFTORMKNTOaa. 


•i   . 


%   .  .  , 


$i^^ 


M' 


ift- 


there  was  some  injury  in  the  hend,  dftcrmined 
on  an  opcrnuon.  'fhc  sculp  was  removed, 
thut  an  tx  nination  nii);ht  take  place.  So 
liltle  did  he  appear  Bensiblc  of  pain,  that  a 
very  "liiiht  groan  wns  the  only  sign  of  feeling 
whieh  he  gave.  lfi'<  case  being  considered 
hopt'iesa :  lie  was  dischnrgcd,  and  sent  home  to 
hi-i  father.  A  day  or  1  o  uft«r,  he  was  seen 
'lateliing  a  lifl\  li'  k  ! 

There  is  a  still  more  extraordinary  class  of 
self-tormentors  to  be  found  in  those  who  are 
not  cxeitcd  by  a  mistuken  zeal,  or  who  have 
no  chance  ot  restoration  to  some  cherished 
object,  or  loathing  of  some  forced  pursuit; 
but  who,  as  it  were,  for  a  mere  whim,  or  a 
suilden  pi()ue,  consign  themselves  to  lasting 
privution-*  and  •orments,  more  difficult,  per- 
liui  ■     t     ,1,    .  ■  ,   •    than  bodily  pain,  because 
timre    enduring,   and   to   the   observance  of 
which  they  adhere  with  a  constancy  worthy 
of  a  belter  calling.     Miss  Mary  Lydia  Lu- 
crine   is  mentioned   in    "  Dodslev's    Annual 
Register"  for  1778,  as  "  a  maiden  lady  of 
genteel  fortune,  who  lived  in  Oxfoid  street, 
London.     She  had  beendi8ap|X)ini<  li  in  love, 
and  made  a  vow,  in  consequence  tli  reof,  nev- 
er to  see  the  light  of  the  sun  again.     Accord- 
ingly, the  windows  of  her  apartment  were 
closely  shut  up,  and  her  vow  was  never  broken. 
Another  lady,  under  similar  circumstances,  ond 
condemning  herself  in  like  manner,  is  men- 
tioni'd  in  the  same  volume.     She,  like  Mary 
Lydi     was  disappointed  in  her  matrimonial 
pro»|«ct8,  and  vowed  to  live  shut  up  from  the 
light  of  the  sun;  however,  ver    w'  i.,,  she 
made  herself  some  slight  amends,  oy  occasion- 
ally indul4iiig  herself  with  thelightofalampor 
candle,  1-  t  she  never  admitted  'lieraysof  tlii' 
sun  int     ..  r  presence  again.     !•  rom  the  saiui 
autlmrity,  in  the  volume  for  :  777,  we  also  find 
the  fdllowing  curious  uccount  of  the  mistres 
of  Beau  Nash,  in  fh(  u  'ices  of  deaths;  "Died 
<xt  Bishop's-view,  her  native  place,  near  War- 
minster, in  Wilts,  Juliana  Papjoy,  in  the sixty- 
8Cve:    h  year  of  her  age.     In  her  youth  she 
had      en  the  mistc^ss  of  the  famr-is  Nash  of 
Bu        ind  after  li'  r  separation  fn.in  him,  slir 
tix.A  to  a  very  uncommon  way  of  life;  her 
principal  residence  she  took  up  in  a  large  hol- 
low tree,  now  standing,  within  a  mile  of  War- 
minste  ■.  on  a  lock  c'*   itraw,  resolving  never 
more  .u  lie  in  a  bed;  and  she  v>as  as  good  ns 
her  word,  for  she  matie  that  tree  her  habit 
tion  for  between  thirty  a.nd  forty  years,  unle 
when  .1'  made  short  peregrinationH  to  Bot 
Bristol,  nnd  the  ger"l(men'8  houses  uljacent : 

he  thf  f     ly  in  .-iome  bam  or  outhou-u."    Not 
li-e        ifittble  was  the  ul    le  selected  by  h 

lan  lived  in  Dunsta*  in  SutTolk;  ' 

iiijr'  ,  Ot  »eenof  a  day  seat'  '  on  a  chaif  read- 
ing the  newspaper,  in  a  largi-  'e,  which  was 
placed  in  the  middle  of  the  towi.,  and  in  which 


he  had  lived  for  upward  of  thirty-four  years, 
never  quitting  it.  He  resiMeJ  all  the  en- 
treaties of  his  friends,  who  endeavored  to  jier- 
suode  him  to  chonge  his  residence  ;  ond,  true 
to  the  character  of  a  genuine  self-tormentor, 
he  never  left  his  strange  dwelling-plnre.  The 
cage  was  ju-t  large  enough  for  him  to  i^vc  in, 
and  in  all  rc»{  cts  but  size  was  like  the  com- 
mon cages  solti  for  birds. 

Ill  success  in  love  otfairs  appears  to  be  the 
most  frcipicnt  cause  of  extraordinary  vows. 
Poor  J  'hu  Baker  of  Charming,  the  county  of 
Kent,  I)  was  liom  in  liie  year  1700,  wns 
but  a  laborer.  It  was  his  misfortune  to  fall 
in  love  at  tli  e  early  oge  of  sixteen,  and  she  he 
loved  "pri'Ved  untrue,"  whereupon  John 
liound  himself  by  a  solemn  vow  never  to  take 
otr  his  clothes,  or  to  go  to  bed,  till  he  should 
regain  the  aHectionsof  his  mistre-^^ — a  felicity 
to  which,  alas  '.  ho  never  attained  ;  but,  iii  ac- 
cordance with  his  vow,  he  never  took  of!"  his 
clothes,  or  rested  himself  in  bed,  for  the  rest 
of  his  life,  which  lasted  for  forty  years.  He 
never  slept  but  in  a  chair  or  on  the  ground. 
The  neighbors  d  ■  il  kindly  to  put  a  patch  upon 
his  clothes  when  they  saw  that  it  was  requir- 
ed, 80  that  at  the  time  of  his  death  his  coat 
was  entirely  composed  of  patches  of  every 
shade  and  hue.  Even  in  thi'^  ''<isty  sketch  it 
is  marvellous  to  see  what  torin  ;ts  have  been 
voluntarily  endured,  \at  bodily  anguish  and 
what  cruel  privations  have  been  persevcringly 
borne.  But  many  as  have  devoted  themselves 
to  these  tor;  ires,  there  is  a  much  larger  class 
of  self-tormt  /itors  than  those  already  noticed ; 
and  that  is,  those  tormentors  who  make  the 
torturing  of  t'tic'..  mind-  '^ic  cat  object  of 
.     Among  ilu,  the  cnt  attendant 

a  spectacle  which  is  t  '  lown  the  ap- 
plause of  an  admirin  -rowd  i.ies  not  allure  to 
the  pursuit ;  the  ^tic  circle  is  the  favorite 

scene  of  its  uno      .tatiousdi     'ay.     They  can 
not  boast  of  i       desper'^  ''ep'  with 

which  the  poor  Hi  <loo  r 

the  wheels  of  the  car  of  J  u,  or  Uie 

profound  serenity  with  which  tin:  holds 

up  his  arm,  with    it  motion,  till  it  di      and 
withers  awn    .  noi  of  the  puhcnt  exertion  of 

he  devotee  who  rolls  himself  along  from  the 
shores  of  the  Indus  to  the  banks  of  the  Ganges, 
nor  of  the  carcl'ss  tramjuillity  wit!  which  the 
S  unnyassi  swiii  j;s  himself  u  jwn  his  hook.  Hap- 
py, indeed,  would  it  be  if,  like  those  who  maim 
and  excorittt  their  bodies,  or  who  live  apart 
in  the  holl<        of  trees,  or  in  the  cages  hung 

4)  m  the  I  ic  streets,  the  mental  self-tor- 
Hientors  kept  their  sull".  rings  to  themselves: 
but  those  who  can  not  If  happy  teithout  a 
misery,  are  too  generous  nic  to  snare  their  en- 
joyment with  their  friends  ard  near-  «»  '>f  kin; 
I  for  it     ay  be  observed,  that  those 


,  suffer 


from  imai,.nary     iuries  and  griev  nces,  draw 


nwiMf 


■^ 


UAHRIAUK. 


255 


pward  of  thirty-fimr  yearH, 
IIo  rcsiHtoi)  oU  the  cn- 
iils,  who  pndfBVorcd  tn  pt-r- 
cc  his  rcsiilencR  ;  nnci,  true 
f  a  f;ptiuinfi  self-tormentor, 
rnnge  ilwdling-place.  The 
n  enough  for  him  to  hvo  in, 

!)Ut  «izo  was  like  the  com- 
■  birds. 

ve  otrairs  appears  to  be  the 
jse  of  extraordinary  vows, 
of  Channin)?,  the  county  of 
om  in  ih«  year  1700,  was 
t  was  hi'*  niiifortune  to  full 
y  o);e  of  rtixtucn,  and  she  he 
untrue,"  whereujjon  John 
a  solemn  vow  never  to  take 
to  pit  to  bed,  till  he  should 
ns  of  bin  mistre'^.s — a  felicity 
e  never  attained ;  but,  in  ac- 

vow,  ho  never  took  olT  his 
himself  in  bed,  for  the  rest 
lastf'd  for  forty  years.  lie 
n  a  chair  or  on  the  ground, 
d  kindly  to  put  a  patch  upon 
they  siiw  that  it  was  requir- 
}  time  of  his  death  his  coat 
vnosed  of  patches  of  every 
Even  in  this  liasty  sketch  it 
te  what  torrii  Is  have  been 
ed,  lat  bodily  anguish  and 
ions  have  been  perseveringly 
f  as  have  devoted  themselves 
there  is  a  much  larger  class 
I  than  those  already  noticed ; 
B  tormentors  who  make  the 

mind.'    '>""      eat  object  of 

,u,  the  ■  i-nt  attendant 

lich  is  i(       1     down  the  ap- 

rinc.  .irowd  does  not  allure  to 

i«tic  circle  is  the  favorite 

iiatiuusdi    Hy,    'Hieycan 

despera  trepi'     y  with 

Hi!  (loo  c  imsf  If  u)  !er 

e  car  of  Ju^,    rnn'      or  the 

with  which  the  I  ai  r  holds 
:'  It  motion,  till  it  di(  ^  and 
r  of  the  pjutunt  exertion  of 
rolls  himself  along  from  the 
s  to  the  bunks  of  the  Ganges, 
( tramiuillity  wit!  which  the 
liimselfui>on  his  hook.  Hap- 
itbe  if,  like  those  who  maim 
jir  bodies,  or  who  live  apart 

trc(  8,  or  in  the  cages  hung 
streets,  the  mental  self-tor- 
sir  sull  rings  to  themselves: 
an  not  !  ■  happy  without  a 
•nerous  ni/t  to  snare  their  en- 
ir  friends  hi  '1  neare'^t  of  kin; 
erved,  that  those  '      i  sufTer 

juries  and  griev mces,  draw 


■  largely  on  those  about  them  for  sympa- 
,  than  those  who  labor  under  real  alTliction. 
lie  piuigsof  tlu!  self-tormentor  are  many  and 
shnri),  and  pnKluce  a  constant  state  of  etl'cr- 
vcscing  agouy.  The  forecasting  of  evil,  and  all 
the  petty  annoyances  of  pii|UCM,  and  utlVonts, 
and  rnisconiusptions,  which  one  word  might 
sit  right;  uud  the  -uistrust  of  friendship,  and 
tin;  doubts  of  love,  and  all  the  nameless  little 
caprices,  and  suspicions  and  jealousieis  and 
estrungemeat^,  and  unreasonable  exactions, 
which  they  engender,  if  to  be  touchiid  <m, 
would  recpiire  a  chapter,  and  a  long  cha|  r, 
to  themselves.  In  very  trutl ,  they  are  oi  loo 
grave  a  cast,  and  the  cause  o  '  t(Ki  much  dis- 
cwufort  aiid  unhuppiness,  to  be  longer  dwelt  on 
in  a  spirit  of  leuity. 


Menes  the 


MARRIAGE. 

In  nations  most  primitive  and  savage,  mar- 
riage is  the  unceremonious  appropriation  of 
one  or  more  females  by  the  right  of  tlie  strong- 
est. We  may  suppose  that  t1ie  same  was  the 
case  before  the  duwnings  of  civilization.  But 
very  early  i«  the  history  of  our  race,  we  liiid 
contracts  made  withccrtain  impressive  solem- 
nities. Covenants  were  made  memorable  by 
i»u  exchange  of  presents,  still  a  custom  among 
barbarous  tribes,  and  the  "  know  all  men  by 
tlu'se  presexits,"  preserved  in  fonns  of  law, 
may  bear  such  a  meaning.  Abraliam  made 
presents  of  sheep  and  oxen ;  the  Phenicians, 
set  ui)  a  pillar  or  raised  a  heap  of  stones ;  the 
Scythians  poured  wine  into  a  vessel,  mixed 
with  it  the  blood  of  the  contraitting  parties, 
and  dipoed  into  it  a  cimeter,  arrows,  a  jav- 
elin, and  with  imprecations  on  whomsoever 
should  break  tht;  agreement,  the  [larties  and 
their  witnesses  drank ;  the  ancient  Arabians 
cut  their  hanJs,  and  sprinkleil  the  blood  upon 
seven  stones,  invoking  the  gods  ;  the  ancient 
Medes  and  Lycians  sucked  the  blood  from 
each  other's  arras ;  the  Nasamoncs  drank  with 
each  other;  the  Greeks  and  Humans  shook 
h^nds  and  swore  by  the  gods,  and  the  tombs 
of  their  ancestors. 

But  the  most  common  pledge  of  good  faith, 
is  eatiig  together  Inn  i-i  considered  all 

over  the  world  as  a  pledge  of  m  ty.  A  feast 
is,  therefore,  one  of  the  eai  id  most  gen- 

eral modes  of  sole«mi/.ina  ;t  u  ■<  •  i  lage  contract ; 
and  for  ages,  and  in  many  countries,  it  was  the 
only  one  known.  Marriage,  as  a  religious 
ordinance  or  lacrament,  has  been  recognised 
by  but  a  sni  I  portion  of  the  human  race.  It 
was  such  an  ig  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  who 
connected  reunion  with  all  the  actions  of  their 
lives  Slid  in^  ked  the  gods  in  thsir  most  sim- 
ple Ui      amiliar  labors  and  pastimes. 


All  nations,  of  whom  we  have  nny  histori 
cnl  aei-ount,  ascribe  the  regulutioi 
gt:s  to  their  first  luw>»ivers.  Thus  l>lenes 
first  king  of  Egypt,  is  said  to  have  (irst  intro- 
duced mutrimony,  and  fixed  the  laws  concern- 
ing it ;  the  Greeks  attribute  the  some  institu- 
tions to  Cecroiis  ;  the  Chinese  to  Fo  Hi ;  the 
Peruvians  to  Manco  (japac  ;  and  the  Jew  s  to 
(i(«;  himself.  Mythology  would  seem  to 
l(iiri  mono<{ainy,  thiiugh  polygamy  was  oc- 
casionally the  jiractice.  Thus  Jupiter  had 
only  his  Juno;  Pluto  his  Proserpine;  Osiris 
hi--  Isis;  and  the  stolen  omours  of  the  gods, 
u  ih  t!i  ■  jealousies  of  their  wives,  point  very 
signill  ily  to  the  idea  of  confining  the  rela- 
tion to  u  single  coujilu,  in  theory,  whatever 
irregularities  of  practice  were  tolerated. 

Hut  if  we  !iK)k  back  to  the  patriarchinl 
ages,  in  the  oriental  countries,  where  the  high- 
est type  of  humanity  is  hi'ld  to  have  its  origin, 
we  hnd  jiolygamy  to  have  existed  rime  out  of 
mind,  and  even  m  the  lifetime  of  Adam,  in 
the  antediluvian  pericxl.  In  the  i  ly  oges,  a 
wife  was  of  great  consecpu'ncc  ,id  'ue. 
Her  lobor  was  of  great  use,  for  i :  )m  iu  Kill 
in  handicraft,  men  derived  shelter,  clothing, 
and  many  of  the  comforts  of  their  simple  life. 
When  men  were  long  lived,  it  was  a  great 
object  to  have  many  children,  to  lake  core  of 
their  i'  icks  and  henls,  and  for  a  df^fencc 
againM  .i;j;Kression.  To  be  well  served,  there- 
fore, and  ><>  insure  a  numerous  progeny,  men 
took  a  number  of  wives,  and  each  wife 
strengthened  the  potriurch,  by  securing  the 
ftiendshin  of  the  family  from  which  she  was 
taken.  But  as,  in  the  order  of  Providence, 
men  and  women  were  bom  in  nearly  c(|ual 
[iroportions,  the  demand  for  women  coused  a 
price  to  be  set  upon  them,  and  the  husband 
was  obliged  to  purchase  his  wife,  by  paving  a 
liberal  sum  ;  and  this  is  still  the  case  in  China, 
where  customs  are  petrified,  and  generally 
over  Asia. 

When  the  price  agreed  upon  was  paid,  the 
marriage  was  celebrated  with  a  feast.  Laban 
gatiiered  his  friends,  and  bade  a  marriage  feast, 
wheu  he  pretended  to  give  Rachel  to  Jacob, 
for  seven  years'  labor,  and  then  defrauded  him 
by  placing  Leah  in  the  nuptial  bed,  instead  of 
her  more  beautiful  sister,  whom  he  married 
seven  years  afterward.  Samson,  when  he 
married  Delilah,  gave  a  feast  which  lasted 
seven  days.  The  Babylonians  carried  the 
splendor  of  their  marriage-feasts  to  such  an 
extravagant  and  ruinous  extent,  that  they  had 
to  be  restrained  by  law.  Among  the  Scandi- 
navians, the  celebration  of  a  marriage,  was  a 
scene  of  revelry  ond  drunkenness,  tre(|uently 
pr>"luctive  of  the  most  deplorable  ettccts. 
Sui  a  was  the  custom  omong  th.-  Jews  in  the 
time  of  Christ,  and  to  thi-  iny,  nnd  in  neariy 
all  countries,  marriage  is  celebrated  withfeast- 


I 


S  4 

13 


!**»• 


k    -.,    „-,  . 


256 


CUniOSITIKS  OK  AUiriiMKTIO. 


itiKund  ftMtivity.  Tlv*  fi»llowinj{  .T«wi»h  fnnii 
of  riiiirriii);)-  contract,  in  prolmbly  the  olilei»t  in 
the  Morlil. 

"Oil  siK-h  n  iliiv,  nicmtli,  mid  y<iir,  A,  tho 
win  of  H,  hiH  Nuii)  '«>  D.  till'  (liiimliicr  of  F., 
b.'  tliMii  iiiv  N|iouti',  iiccnnliiiji  I'l  »  law  of  Mo- 
HCM  mill  of'iht!  IjtraditcH,  hihI  I  will  givp  theo 
as  u  dowry  for  tliy  viiKiiiity,  the  sum  of  two 
hmidrcd  HU/.it>ii!«,  iin  it  in  orden  1  liy  our  law  ; 
mill  tlic  said  Dliiilh  coiisontrd  to  lie  liix  n|xiu.'«! 
u|ioii  the  i-oiiilitioii  ■  afortwHJd,  wliii  1i  th«>  said 
A  dolli  liiiiil  liiniii  I  mill  ull  tliiit  he  hnth,  to 
tlic  vi-ry  clouk  U|iiiii  lii;*  Imfk  ;  <iinnf!ing  liiin- 
»clf  tolovf,  honor,  fcf'd,  clothe,  Qiiil  protfct  hor, 
and  to  iiFrform  nil  that  is  generally  implitMl 
toward  InrucliiiHh  wives." 

Tliin  wi"*  the  written  foriri  of  betrothal,  and 
in  all  r(^|H;ct»  a  civil  contract.  A  Nirn|)ler 
form  was  by  a  verbal  a/^jreement,  and  the  i)ai*- 
siiiK  of  u  piece  of  money  before  witnesw-s. 

The  ancient  Ass^yrians,  in  the  front  rank  of 
easteni  civilization,  at  a  very  eurly  jx-riiHl, 
established  laws  of  marriage,  wliich  wi  re  of 
a  singular  character.  Once  a  year  they  a.<- 
sombled,  at  a  great  fair,  all  the  murringeablo 
girls  of  a  province,  when  the  public  crier  put 
them  U|>  for  sale  at  public  auction.  First 
were  put  up  the  most  beautiful,  for  whom  the 
rich  strove  against  each  other,  until  the  com- 
petition carried  up  the  price  to  the  highest 
point.  When  one  beautiful  woman  hod  thus 
been  disposed  of,  one  less  favored  by  nature 
wnf  put  up,  ond  here  the  auction  was  reversed, 
the  (piCMtion  was  not  how  much  will  ony  one 
give,  bit  how  little  will  any  one  take,  and  hes 
who  bid  i.  r  oir  at  the  lowest  don  ry  tiMik  her 
for  his  wife,  so  that  the  price  paid  for  the 
beauiiful  went  to  give  dowries  to  the  ugly, 
and  thus  husbands  were  provideil  for  all.  We 
often  find  nature  making  such  a  pnvvision, 
since  beauty  and  fortune  are  seldom  u   ited. 

The  great  attention  paid  by  the  Assyrians 
to  matrimony,  is  further  shown  by  their  hav- 
ing constituted  a  e])ecial  court,  or  tribunal, 
whose  only  office  was  to  see  that  young  wom- 
en were  jiroperly  married,  and  that  the  laws 
of  this  relation  were  observed. 

The  custom  of  purchasing  wives,  for  which 
we  have  given  some  reasons,  appears  to  have 
generally  prevailed  as  soon  as  the  rights  of 
))roperty  began  to  be  respected,  and  bargained 
and  exchanged  commwlities,  instead  of  taking 
them  by  force.  From  the  moment  property 
was  recognised,  everything  was  considered  as 
property,  even  to  a  man's  wives  and  <  •  ildreti. 
Men  bought  their  wives,  sold  their  daughters, 
and  it  is  8up|K)sed,  in  innny  cases  sold  their 
children  to  service,  since  slaves  were  aiiinng 
the  first  articles  of  property  and  commerce 
known  amongmankind;  and  the  sale  of  Joseph, 
by  his  brethren  was  no  extraonlinaiy  circum- 
stame  at  that  period.     The  idea  of'^  property 


in  wives  and  i-hildrcn  has  never  been  lout  and 
U  fully  rcnigiiiNfd  by  our  coiiinion  law,  wliich 
gi\cs  nn  nctiiin  of  duiiinuis  fur  aihilterv  nml 
Mcdiiction.  A  man  who  runs  nway  with 
uiiciihcr'*  wife  Im  iiiiilcteil  in  no  much  money, 
mid  the  »iiMie  for  the  "eduction  of  n  daiiglitcr 
— though  the  IegiMlntiire<iof  some  of  oar  statics 
have  recently  addi  il  other  iM-nalties. 

The  regulation  ot  the  sale  of  wives  by  the 
Assyrinns,  which  wan  an  imiirovement  •ipoii 
their  snif  l>y  parents,  since  it  provided  hus- 
bands for  I  ise  who  would  not  otljerwise  have 
been  sou^lii  tor,  was  not  the  only  example  in 
anti<|uity.  of  marriages  being  conducted  (ly 
the  sfati-  The  Thracions  pnt  np  their  fairest 
virgins  to  public  sole,  for  ibi-  benefit  of  the 
government ;  and  the  magistrates  of  Crets 
<'\erciscd  the  sole  jxiwcr  of  choosing  partners 
for  their  viiiing  men  ;  and  in  the  exercise  of 
this  power,  intercut  and  aflection  were  over- 
looked— the  good  of  the  state  being  the  only 
object  of  attention. 


CURIOSITIES  OF  ARITHMETIC. 

A  ?t  eastern  prince  was  so  murh  delighted 
with  the  game  of  chess,  w+iich  had  been  de- 
vised for  his  amusement,  that  he  desired  the 
inventor  to  name  his  own  reward.  The  phi- 
losopher, however,  was  too  motlest  to  seize  the 
op|x)rtunity  of  enriching  himself ;  he  merely 
begged  of  liis  royal  master,  a  grain  of  corn  for 
each  s(|uare  on  the  chess-table,  doubling  the 
number  in  proceetling  from  the  first  to  the  six- 
ty-fourth square.  The  king,  honoring  his 
moderation,  made  no  scruple  of  consenting  to 
the  demand ;  but  on  his  treasurer  making  the 
necessary  calculations,  he  was  surprised  to 
find  that  he  hud  .  ngagcd  to  give  away  the 
impossible  (juantity  of  84,07'),4'J5,54«  692,656 
grains  of  com,  or  near  two  hundred  milions  of 
bushels. 

The  sti  11  V  of  the  horseshoe  is  of  the  same 
kind,  and  like  tin  above,  is  usually  met  with 
in  books  of  scientific  recreation.  A  man  sel- 
ling a  fine  horse  is  to  receive  for  him  nothing 
more  than  the  value  of  the  twenty-fourth  nail 
of  the  animal's  shoes,  snp|Mising  that  the  first 
nail  is  worth  a  farthinq,  the  second  two,  and 
80  on  doubling  each  time.  The  bargain  is  a 
tolerably  good  one,  since  the  twentv-fourth 
noil  at  this  rate,  proves  to  be  worth  eighty 
thousand  dollars. 

Among  the  curiosities  of  arithmetical  ex- 
pression, may  be  mentioned  that  produced  by 
the  multiplication  of  any  row  of  figures,  no 
matter  how  extended,  by  the  figure  9. — The 
product  of  such  a  multijilication,  when  added 
laterally,  will  invariably  be  even  nines. 


'«ftiWia.M)wmgiJi8 


rrrt  hon  n^vrr  hi-cn  lout  «?iil 
liv  oiir  niiiinion  Inw,  wliirh 
iliiiiinni"4  lor  aihilirry  nml 
nil  wild  runs  nwny  wiih 
mlctfil  in  Hi»  much  moiirvi 
hn  •ft'dnction  of  n  iliiii^ilitcr 
laturdtof  Homn  ot'onrstaltrs 
1 1  ofhor  iM-nnltipfi. 
)t  thn  nale  of  wivpn  by  fh«< 
waM  an  impnivcmt-nt  -ipon 
iitR,  Riiii-f!  it  proviilvil  hus- 
()  would  not  oth«rwiftp  have 
as  not  thf  only  rxam|iln  in 
'\oge»  being  conilncted  ty 
firnciuns  pat  np  thi-ir  fairest 
Mulc,  for  ilie  benefit  of  th« 
tho  magistrates  of  Crete 
jKiwer  of  ch(X)«inf(  partners 
■n  ;  and  in  t)ic  exercise  of 
t  ond  ntlection  were  over- 
if  the  ;'tate  being  the  only 


S  OF  ARITHMETIC. 

ICO  was  80  much  delighted 
chess,  w^iich  had  been  de- 
ement,  that  he  desired  the 
lis  own  reward.  The  phi- 
was  too  motlest  to  seize  the 
iching  himself;  he  meruly 
1  master,  a  grain  of  corn  for 
8  chess-table,  doubling  the 
ins  from  the  first  to  the  six- 
The  king,  honoring  his 
no  scruple  of  consenting  to 
)n  his  treasurer  making  the 
tions,  he  was  surjirised  to 
iigaged  tf>  give  awuv  the 
/  of  84,07f>,4'-i5.546  692,656 
lear  two  hundred  milions  of 

p  horseshoe  is  of  the  same 
above,  is  usually  met  with 
fie  recreation.  A  man  sel- 
to  receive  for  him  nothing 
le  of  the  twenty-fourth  noil 
)cs,  supposing  that  the  first 
thin<>,  the  second  two,  and 
h  time.  The  bargain  is  ■ 
e,  since  the  twenty-fourth 
proves  to  be  worth  eighty 

iosities  of  arithmetical  ex- 
nentioned  that  produced  by 
of  any  row  of  figures,  no 
Jed,  by  the  figure  9.— The 
multiplication,  when  added 
iriobly,  be  even  nines. 


§■1— r« 

1  :F: 


.*' 


I  ■'*'•*¥■». 


!«»!«' ' 


258 


ENGLAND  TO  AMERICA. 


ENGLAND  TO  AMERICA. 

ADDRESS    OF   REV.   MR.    TIMPSON. 

Wk  have  much  pleasure  in  presenting  to 
our  readers  a  correct  and  faithful  portrait  of 
the  Rev.  Thomas  Timpson,  of  London,  the 
author  of  many  valuable  works,  and  the 
founder  of  various  benevolent  movements  in 
that  great  emporium.  His  address  to  the 
citizens  of  the  United  States,  will  be  found 
an  invaluable  document,  and  well  worthy  of 
a  careful  perusal,  by  every  lover  of  his  race. 
Every  document  like  the  present  adds,  as  it 
were,  another  link  between  the  United  States 
and  the  parent  land ,  tend  ing  greatly  to  strength- 
en, perpetuate,  and  cement  those  good  feelings 
which  now  subsist  between  our  respective  na- 
tions. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Timpson  has  enlarged  so 
eloquently  on  the  blessings  of  a  "  union  of  the 
two  countries,"  which  must,  in  all  probability, 
continue  to  grow  out  of  an  increased  inter- 
course between  them,  as  to  leave  us  little  room 
for  remark.  But  we  feel  desirous  to  add  our 
humble  testimony  respecting  the  navigation 
of  the  ocean  by  steam.  The  idea  of  a  "  fly- 
ing bridge"  across  the  wide  Atlantic,  was  only  a 
few  years  ago  deemed  an  impossibility.  Now 
we  nave  a  weekly  communication  with  the 
old  world,  and  additional  steamers  are  in  prog- 
ress of  building.  The  enthusiastic  reception 
our  first  American  steamer  met  with  at  South- 
ampton and  Bremen,  where  all  classes  vied 
with  each  other  in  doing  her  honor,  sufficient- 
ly indicates  that  our  brethren  abroad  are  equal- 
ly alive  with  ourselves  to  the  incalculable 
benefits  arising  from  our  ocean-steamers  on 
both  sides.  Like  a  weaver's  shuttle,  may 
they  continue  to  pass  to  and  fro  across  the 
Atlantic,  weaving  a  web  of  forgiven  sss,  love, 
and  friendship,  between  the  two  nat'ons. 

London  (Lewisham),  Dec.  16,  1847. 

To  Robert  Sears,  Esq. — And  the  Wor- 
thy Citizens  of  the  United  States  of  America : — 

"During  a.'  ut  half  a  century,  from  my 
childhood,  I  have  felt  an  intense  interest  In 
your  great  and  celebrated  country ;  and  that 
mterest  has  been  much  heightened  and  in- 
creased from  the  first  by  all  that  I  have  since 
heard  and  read  of  the  history  of  its  discovery, 
the  principles  of  its  early  colonists,  the  es- 
tablishment of  its  independence,  and  the  un- 
exampled progress  of  America,  as  indeed  a 
*  New  World.'  But,  for  many  of  the  latter 
years,  my  mind  has  been  more  closely  drawn 
to  your  people  by  various  considerations. 
Among  these  are,  their  descent,  chiefly,  from 
ray  own  forefathero  in  Britain ;  the  identity 
of  our  origin,  our  language,  our  institutions, 
and  our  divine  religion ;  from  the  fact  of  many 
of  my  own  friends  having  settled  in  your 


country  from  personal  acquaintance  with 
some  of  your  learned  ministers  of  the  gospel  ; 
from  correspondence  with  others ;  from  the 
writings  of  your  divines;  and  especially  from 
the  honor  which  your  people  have  done  me  in 
republishing  several  of  my  volumes  for  their 
edification  in  things  relating  to  the  Holy 
Scriptures.  I  must  not  omit  to  notice,  partic- 
ularly, my  '  Bible  Companion,'  with  an  '  In- 
troduction by  the  Rev.  Dr.  S.  Ttng,  of  New 
York.' 

"At  present,  however,  my  design  is  not  to 
dwell  on  either  of  these  topics,  but  to  frame 
an  appeal  to  your  whole  people,  to  cherish  that 
spirit  of  union  between  our  two  nations,  which 
will  benefit  the  entire  human  family,  andsecuie 
to  all  the  blessing  of  God.  My  desire  is  to 
assure  the  American  people  of  the  interest 
cherished  by  my  countrymen  in  the  welfare  of 
America,  and  to  excite,  or  rather  to  promote  a 
spirit  of  mutual  and  fraternal  regard  and  unfail- 
ing confidence  between  Britain  and  America. 
It  is  true,  that  several  classes  in  this  kingdom 
look  across  the  Atlantic  through  different  me- 
dia ;  but  all  with  profound  admiration  of  youi 
people,  and  the  highest  anticipations  of  their 
future  glory.  And  as  I  have  the  means  of 
knowing  their  views,  I  may  briefly  advert  to 
the  more  important  classes,  severally,  with 
some  degree  of  propriety. 

"1.  British  Merchants. — These  may 
justly  be  supposed  to  have  a  peculiar  interest 
m  the  prosperity  of  America.  Such  is  the 
fact.  A  large  number  of  this  influential  class 
there  are  in  Britain,  whose  wealth  has  prin- 
cipally been  derived  from  the  American  trade. 
My  earliest  norions  of  mercantile  afTairs  are 
identified  with  honored  men  who  were  engaged 
in  important  transactions  with  America.  I 
need  only  mention  the  names  of  Baring  and 
Brown,  and  our  Alexander  Baring,  now  the 
Right  Honorable  Lord  Ashburton,  and  his 
special  mission  to  your  government,  in  forming 
a  recent  treaty,  to  prove  the  deep  interest  that 
is  taken  in  the  welfare  of  America  by  British 
merchants. 

"2.  British  Manufacturers.  —  Thou- 
sands of  these,  in  diflierent  districts  of  our  coun- 
try, look  to  America  with  the  utmost  solicitude 
for  its  ])eace  and  progress,  as  individually  inter- 
ested in  the  prosperity  of  its  people.  /  am  a 
native  of  Birmingham,  that  vast  centre  of 
British  ingenuity  and  mechanical  skill,  and 
intimately  acquainted  with  the  feeliiigs  that 
pervade  the  great  body  of  manufacturers  in 
iron,  steel,  brass,  japan,  silver,  gold,  glass, 
porcelain,  silk,  cotton,  wool,  ice.,  &c.,  toward 
your  country.  Regarding  it,  therefore,  sim- 
ply as  a  place  of  consumption  and  demand  for 
their  endlessly-diversified  productions,  their 
most  ardent  wishes  are  breathed  fcrth  for  your 
onward  progress  and  unlimited  greatness. 


ersonal  acquaintance  with 
led  ministers  of  the  gospel  ; 
ice  with  others;  from  the 
i vines;  and  especially  from 
our  people  have  done  me  in 
ral  of  my  volumes  for  their 
ngs  relating  to  the  Holy 
St  not  omit  to  notice,  partic- 
Companion,'  with  an  '  In- 
Rev,  Dr.  S.  Ttng,  of  New 

jwever,  my  design  is  not  to 

these  topics,  but  to  frame 
whole  people,  to  cherish  that 
veen  our  two  nations,  which 
ire  human  family,  and  secui  e 
y  of  God.  My  desire  is  to 
can  people  of  the  interest 
ountrymen  in  the  welfare  of 
ccite,  or  rather  to  promote  a 
J  fraternal  regard  and  unfail- 
ween  Britain  and  America, 
^eral  classes  in  this  kingdom 
lantic  through  different  nie- 
profound  admiration  of  youi 
ighest  anticipations  of  their 
id  as  I  have  the  means  of 
iws,  I  may  briefly  advert  to 
int  classes,  severally,  with 
Dpriety. 

Merchants. — These  may 
i  to  have  a  peculiar  interest 

of  America.  Such  is  the 
mbjr  of  this  influential  class 
in,  whose  wealth  has  prin- 
ed  from  the  American  trade, 
is  of  mercantile  affairs  are 
lored  men  who  were  engaged 
isactions  with  America.  I 
m  the  names  of  Baring  and 
Alexander  Baring,  now  the 

Lord  Ashburton,  and  his 
your  government,  in  forming 

prove  the  deep  interest  that 
ilfare  of  America  by  British 

Manufacturers.  —  Thou- 
lifferent  districts  of  our  coun- 
ca  with  the  utmost  solicitude 
rogress,  as  individually  inter- 
enty  of  its  people.  /  am  <■ 
gham,  that  vast  cen*:ro  of 
and  mechanical  skill,  and 
tited  with  the  feelings  that 
t  body  of  manufacturers  in 
,  japan,  silver,  gold,  glass, 
tton,  wool,  ice.,  &c.,  toward 
legarding  it,  therefore,  sim- 
consumption  and  demand  for 
[versified  productions,  their 
«  are  breathed  forth  for  your 
md  unlimited  greatness. 


ENGLAND  TO  AMEEICA. 


259 


fl 


"  3.  British  Statesmen. — Our  senators, 
as  a  body,  are  persons  of  liberal  education, 
possessing  extensive  information  and  expanded 
minds  ;  and  from  their  knowledge  of  our  na- 
tional resources,  of  our  incalculable  mineral 
riches,  and  of  the  indefatigable  industry  of  our 
artisans,  they  can  not  fail  to  entertain  the  con- 
viction of  the  sound  policy  of  our  friendly  al- 
liance and  mercantile  intercourse  with  Amer- 
ica. I  need  only  refer  to  the  late  most  grati- 
fying visit  to  your  country  of  a  nobleman,  who 
is  now  an  active  member  of  the  queen's  gov- 
ernment. Intelligent  and  benevolent  as  was 
Lord  Viscount  Morpeth's  regard  for  the 
United  States  before  his  visit  to  America,  it 
has  been  much  increased  by  the  cordial  wel- 
come he  received  from  your  citizens,  and  by 
the  discovery  of  the  real  greatness  of  your 
Union.  And  his  conce-n  for  a  closer  alliance 
between  the  two  countries,  is  shared  by  his 
colleagues  in  the  government ;  and,  as  is 
manifest,  by  every  public  character  in  Great 
Britain. 

"4.  British  Christian  Ministers — 
These  of  every  denomination  throughout  the 
British  isles,  feel  the  liveliest  interest  in  the 
progress  of  religion  in  America.  They  look 
upon  the  grand  army  of  nearly  twenty  thou- 
sand of  the  faithful  ministers  ot  Christ,  labor- 
ing in  every  part  of  the  extensive  Union — a 
noble  band  of  whom  we  delighted  to  see  at  our 
evangelical  alliance — many  of  them  profound- 
ly learned,  and  possessing  the  rarest  talents 
and  the  most  exalted  virtues — and  a  goodly 
host  of  them  occupied  in  important  missionary 
enterprise  among  the  heathen — they  reflect 
upon  them  with  udmiratiou  of  the  grace  of 
God  our  Savior,  and  cherish  gratitude  on  their 
account,  for  his  sovereign  gifts  and  the  bles- 
sings of  his  Holy  Spirit. — These  they  look 
upon  as  the  hope  of  America. 

"5.  British  Theologians.  —  America, 
though  comparatively  a  young  country,  has 
reason  to  glory  in  the  number  of  her  learned 
orthodox  di  vines.  Many  of  their  volumes  are 
venerated  in  Britain.  President  Edwards, 
Duvies,  Dwight,  Alexander,  Hodges,  Barnes, 
Bush,  Mason,  Robinson,  Sprague,  Spring, 
Staart,  and  many  others  of  distinguished  em- 
inence, are  held  in  deserved  honor  in  England 
and  Sv-otland  by  those  of  the  highest  reputa- 
tion in  the  churches  of  Ohrist.  The  fruitful- 
ness  bf  the  United  States  in  the  useful  labors 
of  their  excellent  divines,  more  than  on  other 
accounts,  unites  to  them  the  hearts  of  the  best 
men  in  Great  Britain,  in  the  sacred  bonds  of 
Christianity. 

"  6.  British  Phii-anthropists. — A  gen- 
erous band  of  these  are  found  in  Great  Britain, 
whose  '  charity  begins  at  home,'  but  does  not 
end  there.  America  has  very  largely  engaged 
iheir  warmest  sympathies.     They  see  in  that 


mighty  confederation  of  the  states,  a  vast  field 
for  the  exercise  of  philanthropy ;  and  they 
cherish  it  with  the  utmost  ardor.  I  need  only 
mention  the  sacred  breathings  of  my  late  valued 
friend,  Joseph  John  Gumey,  Esq.,  brother  of 
my  late  venerated  colleague  and  fellow-lal)or- 
er,  Elizabeth  Fry,  whose  names,  and  the  fruits 
of  whose  philanthropy,  are  imperishable. — 
Every  British  philanthropist  is  prepared  to 
subscribe  to  the  declaration  of  the  amiable 
Gurnet,  as  he  published  it  in  America,  in 
1839,  and  in  England  in  1840,  on  his  return 
from  his  visit  of  three  years  to  the  West  In- 
dies and  America :  '  I  heartily  desire  to  cul- 
tivate peace  and  gootl  will  among  all  mankind; 
and  though  /  am  no  American  citizen,  I  ad- 
mire the  federal  union  of  this  great 
country,  and  cordially  desire  its  un- 
broken PERMANENCE,  AND  CONTINUED  AND 
INCREASED  PROSPERITY.' 

"British  philanthropists  feel  interested  in  oil 
the  reforms,  Sec.,  going  on  in  America.  They 
believe  that  if  British  and  American  Chris- 
tians do  their  duty,  the  boy  is  at  school  who 
will  live  to  see  half  the  human  family  speak- 
ing the  English  language,  and  half  the  habita- 
ble surface  of  the  globe  covered  with  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race,  and  blessed  with  its  civili- 
zation. The  railroad  engines  that  shall  thun- 
der through  the  heart  of  Asia,  Africa,  and  the 
American  continent,  will  speak  and  teach  the 
English  language,  and  so  will  the  mounted 
lightnings  on  the  highways  and  wire  bridges 
of  thought  that  shall  be  erected  for  the  con- 
verse of  the  world's  extremes.  Let  us  lay 
hold  of  the  hopeful  side  of  all  vexed  questions, 
ind  follow  those  things  that  make  for  peace, 
remembering  that  •  God  has  made  of  one  blood 
all  the  children  of  men,  to  dwell  on  all  the  face 
of  the  earth ;'  let  us  bury  and  forget  all  past 
animooities,  and,  in  our  respective  nations,  do 
everything  in  our  power  to  promote  the  litera- 
ry and  religious  instrucrion  of  all  classes,  with- 
out distinction.  Let  virtue  and  merit  be  the 
only  test  of  character,  and  all  be  invested  with 
the  right  of  cirizenship  on  equal  terms ;  let 
every  civil  prize,  every  useful  employment, 
every  honorable  station,  be  thrown  open  to  the 
poor  as  well  as  the  rich.  Let  us  encourage, 
and  never  depress,  the  natural  desire  to 
rise.  If  this  be  done,  every  man  would  rest 
on  his  own  responsibility.  Character,  like 
other  things,  would  find  its  natural  level ; 
LIGHT  AND  TRUTH  would  Spread  without  ob- 
struction ;  »  nd  the  great  North  Am<>rican  Union 
would  afford  to  an  admiring  world,  a  splendid 
and  unsullied  evidence  ot  the  truth  of  that 
mighty  principle  on  which  the  constitution  is 
founded,  'All  men  are  created  equal,  and 
are  endowed  by  the  Creator  with  certain  in- 
alienable RIGHTS  —  LIFE,  LIBERTY,  AND 
THE  PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS.' 


4> 


r  M''f  ? 


!*«'* 


260 


LITERATUKE  OF  CHINA. 


"Suflficient  is  here  testified,  on  which  to 
found  my  ii|)()oal  to  the  people  of  Ameiicn,  to 
('titer,  with  all  their  hearts,  into  an  indissolu- 
ble compact  of  friendship  and  alliance  with  us 
Hiitons.  GihI  has  rendered  us  worthy  of  their 
esteem,  attachment,  and  confidence.  Such 
an  alliance,  founded  in  virtue  and  benevolence, 
and  sanctified  by  Christianity,  will  assuredly 
bless  both  the  contracting  parties.  From 
America  and  Britain  it  will  bless  the  whole 
world,  and  secure  the  blessino;  of  Almioiitt 
God,  the  Father  of  all  Nations. 

"'  Coi.UMBiA.  child  of  Britain— noblest  child  I 

1  piiMHe  the  gldwing  lustre  of  ihy  worth. 
And  fain  would  see  thy  great  heart  reconciled 

To  love  the  mother  of  so  blest  a  birth ; 
For  wo  are  one.  Columbia  !  still  the  same 
In  lineage,  languafje,  lawn,  and  ancient  fame, 

The  natural  nobility  of  earth  ; 
Yes,  we  are  one.  the  glorioua  days  of  yore 

When  dear  old  England  earned  her  storied  name 
Are  tliine,  as  well  an  ours,  for  evermore ; 

And  thou  hast  rights  in  Milt&n,  even  as  we — 
Thou  too  canst  claim   'sv.eet    Shakspere's  wood- 
notes  wild,' 

And  chiefest,  brother,  we  are  both  made  free, 
Of  one  religion,  pure  and  undeliled  ! 

"  ',\  blame  thee  not.  as  other  some  have  blamed— 

The  highborn  heir  hath  grown  to  man's  estate; 
I  mock  thee  not,  as  some  who  should  be  shamed, 

Nor  ferrei  out  thy  faults  with  envious  hale  ; 
Far  olherwine,  by  generous  love  inflamed, 

Piitriot,  I  praise  thy  country's  foreign  son, 
Rejoicing  in  the  blaze  of  good  and  great 

Tliat  diadems  thy  head  j  go  on.  go  on  I 
Young  Hercules,  thus  travelling  in  might. 
Boy  Plato,  filling  all  the  west  with  bght. 

Thou  new  Thcniistocles  of  enterprise, 
Go  on  and  prosper— Acolyte  of  fate! 

And— precious  child,   dear  £phraim — torn 
eyes— 
For  thee  thy  mother'*  yenming  heart  doth  wait, 


those 


"With  ardent  prayers  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  these  grand  objects,  I  remain,  a  Brit- 
ish lover  of  America, 

•'Thomas  Timpson." 


LITERATURE  OF  CHINA. 

If  there  is  any  one  thing  which  more  than 
another  elevates  the  Chinese  character,  it  is 
their  literary  institutions.  In  letters  and  edu- 
cation China  takes  the  first  rank  amongbeathen 
nations. 

There  are  few  countries  in  which  education 
is  so  widely  diffused  as  in  China;  but  it  fails 
to  produce  its  due  improvement  on  the  mind 
from  the  fact  that  it  is  pursued  for  the  pur- 
pose of  obtaining  office,  literary  eminence  be- 
ing the  only  path  to  political  distinction.  Ed- 
ucation is  consequently  rarely  bestowed  upon 
females ;  and  few,  if  any,  of  the  other  sex 
pursue  knowledge  for  its  own  eake. 


Chimese  Namks.— a  child's  first  name  is 
given  when  about  a  month  old.  This  is  called 
the  milk-name ;  and  is  usually  some  trifling 
epithet,  as  the  name  of  a  flower  for  girls,  nnd 
of  sorne  distinguished  virtue  for  boys.  This 
name  is  dropped  when  the  child  grows  up. 

The  children  associate  together  till  they  are 
about  eight  years  old,  when  the  boys  are  sent 
to  school,  nnd  the  giris  kept  secluded  in  the 
house.  When  a  boy  enters  school,  he  re- 
ceives another  name",  called  the  hook-name, 
which  is  conferred  with  much  ceremony,  and 
which  he  afterward  retains.  In  the  family, 
however,  he  is  often  called  familiariy  by  his 
milk-name. 

Persons  engaged  in  business  have  what  is 
called  a  shop-name,  not  putting  their  own 
proper  naines  on  their  stores.  This  shop-name 
is  somewhat  analogous  to  our  names  for  hotels ; 
consisting  sometimes  of  such  phrases  as  "mu- 
tual advantuge,"  "  abundant  profits,"  &:c.  A 
man's  last  name  is  given  to  him  after  his  death, 
on  account  of  his  moral  qualities,  and  is  equiv- 
alent to  the  epitaphs  on  our  tombstones. 

Education  of  Children. — Wealthy  fam- 
ilies prefer  to  educate  their  children  at  home, 
and  sometimes  two  or  three  families  will  unite 
and  engage  the  services  of  a  teacher.  In  such 
case  the  daughters  are  sometimes  instructed ; 
and  perhaps  nine  tenths  of  all  the  educa- 
ted females  in  China  obtainer'  their  learning 
under  such  circumstances.  "There  is  not," 
said  Mr.  Willioms,  "as  far  as  I  know,  a  single 
girls'  8(>hool  in  Canton." 

At  the  door  of  the  (school  is  a  tablet  in  honor 
of  Confucius,  to  which  the  scholars  bow  as 
they  enter,  and  sometimes  ofTer  incense.     The 
masters  are  as  severe  as  in  any  country.     The 
first  task  is  to  learn  the  characters.     The  boys 
learn  to  form  the  characters  by  tracing  them 
with  a  pencil  on  paper  which  is  tbin  enough 
for  the  characters  to  show  through.     They 
learn  the  names  of  the  characters  by  standing 
up  in  a  class  before  the  teacher,  who  reads 
off  the  first  six  characters  in  the  books,  and 
they  re  peat  them  after  him ;  six  more  are  then 
gone  over  in  the  same  way,  and  the  boys  are 
then  sent  to  their  seats  to  learn  them  by  neart, 
twelve  being  considered  enough  for  one  lesson. 
As  they  always  stiudy  aloud,  they  make  not  a 
little  noise  over  their  tasks.     When  they  have 
committed  the  first  twelve  characters  to  mem- 
ory, they  recite  them  to  the  teacher,  who 
gives  them  twelve  more,  and  so  on,  till  they 
have  gone  through  the  whole  book,  which 
contains  two  hundred  and  seventy-six  lines,  of 
six  characters  each.    During  all  this  time  they 
are  entirely  ignorant  of  the  meaning  of  what 
they  have  learned,  knowing  nothing  but  the 
names  of  the  characters.      In  every  school 
they  always  be^n  with  the  same  book ;  and 
when  this  is  finished  they  go  through  a  second 


KS. — A  child's  first  name  is 
a  month  old.  This  is  called 
»nd  is  usually  some  trifling 
me  of  a  flower  for  girls,  and 
shed  virtue  for  boys.  This 
vhen  the  child  grows  up. 
isociate  together  till  they  are 
old,  when  the  boys  are  sent 
i  girls  kept  secluded  in  the 
boy  enters  school,  he  re- 
Jme,  called  the  book-name, 
I  with  much  ceremony,  and 
rd  retains.  In  the  family, 
;en  called  familiarly  by  his 

J  in  business  have  what  is 
ne,  not  putting  their  own 
eir  stores.  This  shop-name 
;ous  to  our  names  for  hotels ; 
lesof  such  phrases  as  "mu- 
'  abundant  profits,"  ice.  A 
given  to  him  after  his  death, 
loral  qualities,  and  is  equiv- 
hs  on  our  tombstones. 
Uhildrkn. — Wealthy  fam- 
:ate  their  children  at  home, 
1  or  three  families  will  unite 
vices  of  a  teacher.  In  such 
I  are  sometimes  instructed  ; 

tenths  of  all  the  educa- 
ina  obtainer:  their  learning 
istances.  "  There  is  not," 
,  "  as  far  as  I  know,  a  single 
iton." 

le  Jschcol  is  a  tablet  in  honor 
i'hich  the  scholars  bow  as 
letimes  offer  incense.  The 
re  as  in  any  country.  The 
1  the  characters.  The  boys 
;haracters  by  tracing  them 
aper  which  is  thin  enough 

to  show  through.  They 
the  characters  by  standing 
>re  the  teacher,  who  reads 
laracters  in  the  books,  and 
fter  him;  six  more  are  then 
me  way,  and  the  boys  are 
jats  to  learn  them  by  heart, 
ered  enough  for  one  lesson, 
dy  aloud,  they  make  not  a 
ir  tasks.  When  they  hove 
twelve  characters  to  mem- 
bem  to  the  teacher,  who 
more,  and  so  on,  till  they 
I  the  whole  book,  whicn 
id  and  seventy-six  iiKes.  of 

During  all  this  time  they 
it  of  the  meaning  of  what 
knowing  nothing  but  the 
acters.  In  every  school 
with  the  same  book;  and 
i  they  go  through  a  second 


L 


LITERATURE  OF  CHINA. 


261 


book,  which  contains  a  thousand  characters; 
after  vvliich  the  teacher  ;^ives  his  pupils  some 
idea  of  what  they  have  bcyii  rfadiiig  in  tile 
first  book.  In  this  way  they  go  throujih  their 
nine  classics,  the  whole  of  which  are  learned 
by  heart ;  but  neither  history,  geograjjhy, 
natural  philosophy,  religion,  nor  arithmetic, 
is  taught  in  the  schools. 

LiTKHART  Examinations — These  are 
peculiar  to  China.  They  are  four  in  number, 
and  ])rogressive  in  degree.  The  first  examina- 
tion takes  place  in  the  town  jr  village,  and  all 
persons  are  eligible  as  candidates.  Those 
who  pass  this  trial  are  said  to  have  "  a  name 
in  the  village." 

The  second  examination  is  held  in  the  dis- 
trict town,  before  the  literary  chancellor.  All 
in  the  district  who  were  successful  at  the  first 
examination  are  eligible  for  the  second ;  and 
sometimes  as  many  as  thirty  or  forty  thousand 
students  are  collected  on  these  occasions  at 
Canton.  The  examination  last  three  days, 
and  on  each  day  a  theme  is  given  on  which 
the  candidates  are  to  write  an  essay.  The 
successful  candidates  receive  the  first  literary 
degree. 

The  third  examination  is  held  in  the  pro- 
vincial town  every  third  year,  and  is  open  to 
all  the  students  in  the  province  who  have  re- 
ceived the  first  degree.  Two  examiners  are 
sent  from  Pekin,  who,  with  the  literary  chan- 
cellors, form  a  board  of  twelve  examiners. 
In  the  place  of  examination  are  several  thou- 
sand small  cells.  The  competitors  give  their 
names,  age,  lineage,  &c.,  and  are  ".arefuUy 
searched  to  see  that  they  have  not  secreted 
any  copy  of  the  classics  about  them.  They 
are  then  furnished  with  writing  materials,  and 
shut  up  separately  in  small  cells  for  two  days, 
during  which  time  they  are  required  to  com- 
pose essavs  and  poems  on  given  subjects. 
The  same  subjects  are  given  to  all  the  can- 
didates, and  each  is  expected  to  use  at  least 
two  hundred  characters  in  bis  composition. 
At  Canton  i  here  will  sometimes  be  seven  thou- 
sand candidates  at  this  examination,  of  whom 
only  seventy-two  can  be  successful,  the  di- 
plomas being  limited  to  that  number. 

To  read  and  determine  the  merits  of  seven 
thousand  essays  on  the  seme  subject  is  a  tedi- 
ous and  laborious  work ;  but  sometimes  the 
examiners  lighten  their  task  by  passing  over 
many  of  the  essays  without  retiding.  A  stu- 
dent who  suspected  this,  once  wrote  an  essay 
severely  criminating  the  chancellor,  knowing 
that  if  It  were  r^'ad  he  should  be  called  to  ac- 
count for  it.  He  heard  nothing  of  it,  how- 
ever, and  rightly  concluding  it  had  never  been 
read,  he  published  it;  and  the  result  was  that 
the  officer  was  discharged.  Bribery  is  often 
effectual  in  procuring  a  favorable  award  from 
the  examiners :  but  not  to  such  an  extent  as 


entirely  to  vitiate  the  benefits  of  the  examina- 
tion. 

Tile  names  of  the  candidates  to  whom  the 
degree  is  awarded  are  announced  at  midnight 
from  one  of  the  watch-towers,  and  placarded 
next  morning  over  the  city.  The  candidates 
themselves  are  honored  with  a  feast  in  the 
governor's  palace,  and  afterward  receive  the 
congratulations  of  their  friends. 

Unsuccessful  candidates  are  allowed  to  try 
again  at  subseipient  examinations,  as  long  as 
they  please ;  and  there  have  been  instances 
of  lather,  son,  and  grandfather,  appearing  as 
competitors  at  the  same  time. 

The  ^ur^  examination  takes  place  at  Pe- 
kin ;  and  all  who  have  passed  the  previous 
examinations  are  allowed  to  compete.  The 
manner  of  proceeding  is  similar  to  that  pursued 
in  examining  for  the  second  degree.  Those 
who  are  successful  receive  the  third  degree, 
and  are  eligible  for  important  oflBces ;  but  it  is 
said  that  in  the  distribution  of  honors  and  offi- 
ces the  Mantchous  are  more  favored  than  the 
Chinese. 

The  fourth  degree  is  an  office  of  itself. 
Those  who  obtain  it  reside  at  the  court ;  and 
by  this  policy  tho  men  of  the  greatest  talents 
are  collected  at  the  capital,  where  they  u^n 
be  best  directed  and  controlled.  The  empe- 
ror's son  passes  through  these  examinations 
the  same  as  other  persons. 

Effkcts  of  this  Plan — The  benefit  of 
this  system  of  examinations  is,  that  it  excites 
the  mass  of  the  people  to  apply  themselves  ti) 
learning,  and  keeps  up  a  high  standard  of 
literature,  as  the  books  they  are  required  to 
study  are  the  best  in  the  language;  and  to 
have  any  chance  of  success,  they  are  com- 
pelled to  make  themselves  so  thoroughly  ac- 
quainted with  their  contents  that  they  can 
never  forget  them.  Those  who  are  not  suc- 
cessful in  reaching  the  highest  degree  have  not 
spent  their  time  in  vain,  as  they  generally  ob- 
tain situations  as  schoolmasters,  government 
clerks,  &c. 

Among  the  evils  of  the  system  may  be 
mentioned,  that  the  plan  of  carrying  every 
student  in  the  empire  through  the  same  routins 
of  ancient  lore,  aiid  bur  'ening  his  memory  with 
it,  destroys  the  power  of  invention,  and  begets 
a  blind  admiration  of  anti(|uity,  so  that  the 
people  of  China  neither  hope  nor  desire  to  be 
any  wiser  than  their  fathers ;  a  mental  uni- 
formity pervades  ther., ;  the  lapse  of  centuries 
brings  little  or  no  intellectual  advanceirent, 
the  minds  of  th»;  whole  people  continuing  to 
run  in  a  sort  of  railroad  track  after  Confucius, 
who  though  he  flourished  as  far  back  as  the 
time  of  Ezra,  yet  exerts  perhaps  a  greater  in- 
fluence over  his  fellow-men  than  any  other 
man  we  have  ever  heard  of. 

The  Literatdre  or  China  is  very  ex- 


t 


I 


^^Si 


iitiwiirnw)- 


!f 


A    ^^,lt^* 


I-  JliS'S: 


262 


LITERATUKK  OF  CHINA. 


tensive,  though  it  can  not  be  said  to  contain 
much  that  would  repay  the  study  of  foreigners. 
The  most  celebrated  writings  are  the  nine 
volumes  already  referred  to,  and  which  may 
be  regarded  as  their  sacred  books.  They  are 
called  the  Five  Classics  and  the  Four  Books, 
and  are  chiefly  written  by  Confucius.  They 
contain,  among  other  things,  the  early  history 
of  the  empire,  and  abundance  of  moral  pre- 
cepts, minute  directions  for  human  conduct 
from  childhood  and  upward.  Many  of  the 
latter  would  appear  to  us  childish  and  trifling, 
but  not  so  to  the  Chinese,  who  are  taught  to 
revere  and  govern  themselves  by  them. 

Of  historians  they  have  many,  and  their 
works  are  very  voluminous.  They  have  only 
two  or  three  distinguished  poets ;  but  are  very 
fond  of  making  poetry,  as  an  amusement.  A 
person  at  the  table  will  give  out  a  subject,  and 
each  of  the  company  will  write  verses  upon 
it.  Their  poetry  is  mostly  in  heptameter,  the 
character  of  their  language  not  allowing  the 
variety  of  metres  that  we  make  use  of.  Some- 
times they  vfiW  adopt  a  very  urtiiicinl  style, 
making  all  the  words  in  a  line  end  in  the  game 
sound ;  the  number  of  characters  having  the 
same  sound  affording  great  facility  for  this 
kind  of  composition.  Novels  are  very  abun- 
dant, and  some  of  them  very  licentious. 

Chinese  Proverbs — The  Chinese  are 
very  fond  of  aphoristic  proverbs  and  sayings. 
Mr.  Williams  repeated  many  of  these,  from 

which  we  select  the  following  a?  specimens : 

"  Never  climb  a  tree  to  catch  a  fish." 
"  Win  a  cat,  and  lose  a  cow"  (ridiculing  the 
folly  of  going  to  law  for  trifles). 

"Good  iron  is  not  used  for  nails,  nor  are 
soldiers  made  of  good  men." 

"Ivory  does  not  come  f'om  a  rat's  mouth." 
"An  avaricious  man  is  like  a  serpent  wish- 
ing to  swallow  an  elephant." 

"  Two  skins  can  not  be  stripped  from  one 
cow"  (meaning  that  there  is  a  hmit  to  oxtor- 
cion). 

"To  instigate  a  villain  to  do  wrong  is  like 
teaching  a  monkey  to  climb  trees." 

"The  chick  will  come  out  of  the  egg" 
(equivalent  to  our  '•'  murder  will  out.") 

"  Exaggeration  paints  a  serpent,  and  adds 
legs." 

"  All  that  a  fish  drinks  goes  out  at  its  gills," 
(applied  to  a  spendthrift). 

"  A  blustering  fellow  ip  like  a  paper  tiger." 
"Dig  a  well  before  >ou  are  thirsty." 
"  Let  every  man  sweep  the  snow  from  his 
own  door,  ind  not  busy  himself  about  the  frost 
on  his  neighbor's  tiles." 

Chinese  Language.— The  Chinese  is  the 
only  modem  Ic  nguage  in  which  the  characters 
do  not  represer.t  counds.  The  whole  number 
of  characters  in  then-  dictionaries  is  upward 
of  foi  ty  thousand  ;  but  as  many  of  them  are 


obsolete,  or  duplicates,  the  actuol  number  is 
not  more  than  thirty  thousand.     Thev  may 

be  arranged  under  the  following  classes : 

Imitative  symbols,  which  bear  some  resem- 
blance to  the  things  they  are  designed  to  rei)- 
resent. 

Indicative  symbols,  in  which  something  in 
the  form  of  the  choracter  indicates  its  mran- 
ing ;  as  a  dot  under  a  line  signifies  "  beneath ;" 
a  triangle,  "unity;"  a  stroke  drawn  through 
a  square  signifies  "  the  middle,"  or  "  to  Si- 
vide." 

Combined  symbols,  the  symbols  for  fire  and 
surround,  when  united,  signify  "  to  roast." 
An  eye  with  legs  under  it  means  "  to  see." 
A  child  in  the  house  signifies  "  letters,"  be- 
cause learning  requires  long  study  in  a  house. 
There  are  &]sQinverted  and  syllabic  symbols, 
but  their  number  is  not  large. 

All  the  characters  in  the  language  may  be 
resolved  into  two  hundred  and  fourteen  radi- 
cals. The  greatest  number  of  strokes  in  any 
one  character  is  forty-seven.  The  number 
of  characters  in  actual  use  is  not  more  than 
ten  thousand. 

[Mr.  Medhurst  says  that  by  a  careful  colla- 
tion of  an  historical  novel  in  twenty  volumes, 
and  of  the  Chinese  version  of  the  Scriptures, 
it  appears  that  the  whole  amount  of  characters 
used  in  both  does  not  much  exceed  three  thou- 
sand different  sorts.l 

There  are  several  dialects  in  China,  but  as 
their  written  language  represents  things,  and 
not  sounds,  it  may  be  perfectly  intelligible  to 
persons  who  could  not  understand  one  anoth- 
er's speech.  In  this  respect  it  resembles  our 
figures,  or  characters  to  represent  numbers, 
which  are  as  intelligible  to  a  Frenchman  or  a 
Spaniard  as  to  us;  yet  each  in  speaking  would 
designate  the  numbers  by  words  which  we 
could  not  understand.  Tlie  Japanese,  Mant- 
chous,  and  Chinese,  can  understand  one  another 
when  they  write,  although  their  spoken  lan- 
guages are  very  different. 

The  variety  of  spoken  dialect  in  China  are 
rather  perplexing  to  travellers,  who  find  it  ne- 
cessary to  learn  the  court  dialect,  which  is 
understood  by  some  persons  in  all  parts  of  the 
country. 

Books. — Books  in  China  are  very  aburn'ant 
and  cheap ;  but  the  charge  for  almanacs,  dic- 
tionaries, and  topographical  works,  is  higher 
than  for  other  books.  They  are  printed  from 
wooden  blocks,  on  each  of  which  a  page  of 
the  matter  has  been  cut.  These  blocks  v  ;il 
give  three  thousand  impressions  before  tJ'*  / 
are  so  worn  as  t>:  require  retouching.  Tlrir 
paper  is  very  thin,  and  printed  only  on  .>  (■ 
side.  The  top,  bottom,  and  back  of  the  vi  ]- 
ume,  are  cut,  bnt  in  front  the  folds  pre  h  ft 
uncnt,  so  that  the  blank  sides  of  the  leaves  pre 
not  seen.     The  books  are   merely  stitched 


'icates,  thn  nctuol  number  is 
hirty  thousand.     They  may 

;r  the  following  classes : 

'ols,  which  bear  some  rescin- 
ngs  they  are  designed  to  rej)- 

iboh,  in  which  something  in 
choracter  indicates  its  mcun- 
er  a  line  signifies  "  beneath ;" 
y;"  a  stroke  drawn  throuijh 
s  "the  middle,"  or  "  to  di- 

bols,  the  symbols  for  fire  and 
united,  signify  "to  roast." 
s  under  it  means  "  to  see." 
ouse  signifies  "letters,"  be- 
rjuires  long  study  in  a.  house. 
Inverted  and  syllabic  symbols, 
is  not  large. 

ters  in  the  language  may  be 
I  hundred  and  fourteen  radi- 
38t  number  of  strokes  in  any 
forty-seven.  The  number 
ictual  use  is  not  more  than 

says  that  by  a  careful  colla- 
al  novel  in  twenty  volumes, 
e  version  of  the  Scriptures, 
3  whole  amount  of  characters 
not  much  exceed  three  thou- 
;s.1    _ 

ral  dialects  in  China,  but  as 
uage  represents  things,  and 
y  be  perfectly  intelligible  to 
1  not  understand  one  anoth- 
;his  respect  it  resembles  our 
;ters  to  represent  numbers, 
ligible  to  a  Frenchman  or  a 
1  yet  each  in  speaking  would 
nbers  by  words  which  we 
md.  Tlie  Japanese,  Mant- 
!,  can  understand  one  another 
although  their  spoken  lan- 
iSerent. 

spoken  dialect  in  China  are 
to  travellers,  who  find  it  ne- 
;he  court  dialect,  which  is 
le  persons  in  all  parts  of  the 

in  China  are  very  abunt'ant 
le  charge  for  almanacs,  dic- 
Bgraphical  works,  is  higher 
ks.  Thej'  are  printed  from 
I  each  of  which  a  page  of 
n  cut.  These  blocks  viil 
id  impressions  before  they 
require  retouching.  Tlrir 
I,  and  prnted  only  on  unc 
ittom,  and  back  of  the  vcl- 
in  front  the  folds  ore  h  ft 
ilank  sides  of  the  leaves  pre 
ooks  are   merely  stitched 


mam 


in    ^  (fiJte  u 


through,  and  have  no  stiff  cover,  or  durable 
binding,  like  ours ;  consequently  they  do  not 
lust  long :  and  very  few  old  books  are  to  be 
seer.. 

The  Chinese  begin  their  books  at  what  we 
should  cull  the  last  page;  and  the  lines  go 
down  instead  of  across  the  pi.ge. 

The  Chinese  do  not  write  with  pens,  but 
with  sable  pencils.  Their  escritoire  is  made 
of  11  piece  of  polished  marble,  in  the  ends  of 
which  are  holes  for  the  cakes  of  ink,  and  for 
water :  the  cake  of  ink  is  moistened  and 
rubbed  against  the  marble  until  it  becomes 
li(|uid  and  fit  for  use.  The  brush,  ink,  paper, 
and  marble,  are  designated  by  a  (simple  word 
which  signifies  the  four  precious  things. 

The  Chinese  bookseller,  as  represented  in 
our  engraving,  has  no  store,  but  carries  his 
books  about  v/ith  him. 


SAINT  PETERSBURG. 

No  greater  or  nobler  mer.-ly  Imman  task 
was  ever  undertaken,  than  that  with  which 
Peter  the  Great  charged  himself,  when  the 
death  of  his  brother  called  him  to  the  throne. 
It  was  to  civilize  the  barbarous  race  over 
whom  he  was  called  to  rule.  To  fit  himself 
for  this  [jurpose,  he  left  his  kingdom  and  trav- 
elled into  western  Europe,  to  observe  and 
study  the  progress  there  made.  In  Holland, 
especially,  did  he  learn  what  triumphs  the  art 
and  genius  of  man  can  acquire  over  nature 
itself.  Wishing  for  a  navy,  he  there  .ecame 
a  practical  ship-builder,  and  returned  to  his 
home  determined  to  rear  a  second  Amsterdam 
among  the  frozen  waters  of  the  northern  Bal- 
tic. Men  of  genius  and  skill  were  taken  free- 
ly into  his  service. 

The  gulf  of  Constadt  appeared  to  liim,  from 
the  size  and  depth  of  the  Neva  at  its  mouth, 
suitable  to  hia  designs,  and  he  determined  to 
make  it  a  mercantile  and  naval  station.  To 
protect  this  establishment  a  fortress  was  con- 
structed on  an  island  formed  by  the  two  arms 
of  the  Neva.  Then  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
grand  Neva  was  reared  the  Admiralty,  and 
then  the  wooden  palace.  With  Amsterdam 
as  the  model  in  his  eye,  he  now  determined 
on  the  site  of  his  future  city,  the  foundation 
of  which  was  laid  in  Wassili-Ostroff,  an  island 
formed  by  the  large  and  smaller  Neva.  Canals 
were  dug,  and  wooden  houses  were  erected  on 
it.  As  the  difficulties  of  the  project  increased, 
so  did  the  determination  of  the  czar.  More 
canals  wer'e  dug  and  drains  made  to  rid  it  of 
the  water  which  stagnated  in  it,  until  finally 
streets  having  taken  the  place  of  the  canals, 
Wassili-Ostroff  is  now  one  of  the  finest  quar- 
ters of  St.  Petersburg. 


Now  (lid  the  genius  of  Peter  lead  him  to  lay 
out  a  plot  of  his  new  city  on  a  scaio  suitable 
to  the  camtal  of  his  vast  empire.  Both  banks 
of  the  Neva  were  lined  with  marshes.  To 
enable  them  to  bear  the  weight  of  the  superb 
edifices  he  contemjjlated,  thov  must  be  thor- 
oughly reclaimei.  and  drainc^I.  It  ,>ns  an 
herculean  task,  w  rthy  of  such  a  mor;..roh. 
Streets  of  groat  width,  large  and  superb  »<|unrts 
were  traced  out,  and  the  northern  capital  was 
to  be  the  admiration  of  Europe.  The  seat  of 
government  located  there,  the  nobility  and 
courtiers  naturally  flocked  thither,  and  it  was 
easy  to  jiredict  the  brilliant  future  which  await- 
ed the  city  of  the  marshes. 

Viewed  in  connexion  with  the  rest  of  the 
empire,  no  capital  in  Europe  is  so  badly  lo- 
cated.    It  is  in  a  distant  and  remote  corner, 
situated  on  a  mars.h  of  Ingira,  in  the  sixtieth 
degree  of  north  latitude.     The  climate  is  most 
severe,  the  adjacent  country  desert,  sterile  and 
unhealthy— no  other  man  would  probably  have 
thoughtof  rearing  a  capital  in  such  a  position. 
But  Peter  just  then  was  Dutch-mad.    He  had 
the  Holland  mania  on  him,  and  Amsterdam  in 
the  midst  of  its  dikes  and  canals  was  prefera- 
ble in  his  eyes  to  the  splendid  locations  of 
many  other  great  Europeans  cities.     The  po- 
sition of  St.  Petersburg  and  the  wretched 
country  around  it,  renders  its  inhabitants  de- 
pendent upon  remote  provinces  for  a  large  por- 
tion of  their  provisions.     As  a  maritime  posi- 
tion, too,  it  is  most  wretched,  as  the  Neva,  on 
which  it  is  located,  is  frozen  steadily  'uiing 
six  months  of  the  year,  so  that  vessels  .o",,j 
from  it  on  voyages  of  any,  even  moderate  di,  - 
tance,  are  obliged  to  leave  late  in  the  season 
and  return  early;  they  can,  moreover,  only 
go  out  with  easterly  winds,  and  those  from 
the  west  prevail  chiefly  during  the  summer; 
while  the  soft  water  of  the  Neva  is  very  prej- 
udicial to  them. 

Add  to  this  the  dreadful  ravages  which  tie 
constantly  made  by  the  breaking  up  of  the  ice 
m  the  Neva,  and  the  numerous  destructive 
fires,  resulting  from  the  immense  number  of 
wooden  buildings,  used  in  preference  in  con- 
sequence of  the  severity  of^  the  climate,  and 
we  have  a  catalogue  of  drawbacks  against  the 
location  of  this  memorable  city.  Peter  wish- 
ed, however,  to  force  a  people,  who  are  not  by 
nature  maritime,  to  become  so.  In  this  re- 
spect, like  all  other  attempts  to  force  things 
out  of  their  natural  channel,  and  in  opposition 
to  those  immutable  laws  which  Providence 
has  wisely  ordained  for  the  government  of  the 
human  race,  he  failed. 

In  his  determination  to  un-Russianize  the 
Russians,  Peter  acted  wisely  in  removing  his 
capital  from  Moscow.  So  long  as  the ;;  great 
and  "holy  city"  remained  the  capital  of  the 
empire,  he  must  have  found  insurmountable 


rti 


jeniusnf  Peter  lead  him  to  Jay 
s  new  city  on  a  scnii-  suitnlile 
his  vast  empire.  Both  banks 
,'re  lined  with  marshes.  To 
jear  the  weight  of  the  suporl) 
enii)!ate(l,  they  must  be  thor- 
'i.    and   drnint^I.      It   .,ns  an 

w  rthy  of  such  a  mori.inh. 
I'idth,  large  and  superb  »(piiires 

and  the  northern  capital  was 
lion  of  Europe.  The  scat  of 
ited  there,  the  nobility  and 
ly  flocked  thither,  and  it  was 
e  brilliant  future  which  await- 
;•  marshes. 

nnexion  with  the  rest  of  the 
al  in  Europe  is  so  badly  lo- 
a  distant  and  remote  corner, 
rsh  of  Ingirn,  in  the  sixtieth 
titude.  The  climate  is  moat 
;nt  country  desert,  sterile  and 
herman  would  probably  have 
;;  a  capital  in  such  a  position, 
en  was  Dutch-mad.  He  had 
ia  on  him,  and  Amsterdam  in 
ikes  and  canals  was  prefera- 
to  the  splendid  locations  of 

Europeans  cities.  The  po- 
tersburg  and  the  wretched 
t,  renders  its  inhabitants  de- 
lete provinces  for  a  large  por- 
isions.  As  a  maritime  posi- 
it  wretched,  as  the  Neva,  on 
ed,  is  frozen  steadily  'u;ing 

year,  so  that  vessels  .."v-k' 
s  of  any,  even  moderate  di,  - 

to  leave  late  in  the  season 
;  they  can,  moreover,  only 
3rly  winds,  and  those  from 
chiefly  during  the  summer; 
:erof  the  Neva  is  very  prej- 

dreadful  ravages  which  tie 
y  the  breaking  up  of  the  ice 

the  numerous  destructive 
m  the  immense  number  of 

used  in  preference  in  con- 
Bverity  of  the  climate,  and 
ue  of  drawbacks  against  the 
morable  city.  Peter  wish- 
ce  a  people,  who  are  not  by 

0  become  so.  In  this  re- 
er  attempts  to  force  things 

1  channel,  and  in  oppositi>)n 
le  laws  which  Providence 
d  for  the  government  of  the 
led. 

ation  to  un-Russianize  the 
ted  wisely  in  removing  Ms 
:)w.  So  long  as  the  i  great 
jmained  the  capital  of  the 
ave  found  insurmountable 


SAINT  PETEESBURG. 


2G5 


obstacles  in  removing  thi  prejudices  of  his 
people.     It  is  much  easier  to  change  the  char- 
acter of  men  by  removing  thrm  to  other  places, 
than  to  etlect  it  in  the  spot  in  which  all  their 
eiirly  prejudices  have  been  born  and  grown. 
His  first  attempt  was  of  coui'«e  on  the  higher 
classes,  and  through  them  gradually  on  tneir 
(Icpendants.     In  this  view  of  the  case  some 
removal  vsas  as  wise  as  necessary  in  this  case. 
Hut  should  St.  Petersburg  have  been  the  spot? 
Its  distance  from  the  centre  of  the  empire 
and   its  vicinity  to   the  frontier,  answer  no. 
Hud  the  seat  of  government  been  more  in  the 
heart  of  the  empire,  so  that  the  government 
could  have  been  earlier  apprized  of  his  move- 
ments, the  rebel  Pontgatscheir,  the  false  Peter 
III.,  would  net,  at  the  head  of  his  insurgent  peas- 
antry, have  been  enabled  for  a  time  to  sweep 
all  opposition  before  him,  and  cause  Catherine 
II.  to  tremble  for  life  and  throne.     Its  vi- 
cinity to  the  frontier  rendered  it  in  1790,  al- 
most a  prey  to  the  Swedes,  who  disembarked 
within  live  miles  of  the  city.     There  is  noth- 
ing to  prevent  a  superior  naval  power  from  at 
any  time  giving  great  disquietude  to  the  city. 
We  have  spoken  of  the  inundations  of  the 
Nevu.     We  will  briefly  glance  at  several  of 
the  most  striking.     M.ntion  is  made  of  thom 
from  the  eorliest  times.     On  the  5th  of  No- 
vember, 1715,  the  whole  city  wos  under  wa- 
ter.    On  the  same  day  in  1721,  an  inundation 
whieh  filled  the  lower  part  of  the  city  to  the 
ilcptii  of  seven  feet  four  inches  occurred.     In 
thi;  ui)])er  parts  of  the  city  the  water  was  u.p  to 
the  breasts  of  the  horses.     The  czar,  who  was 
at  a  ball  at  the  English  embassador's,  regained 
his  palace  with  great  difficulty.     Inundations 
also  occurred  twice  in  1726,  in  1729,  1732, 
17.^^,  1744,  1752  (in  which  year  ^he  waters 
i-'.se  to  <)\'C'  eight  feet  in  the  lower  part  of  the 
city,  and  jo.Tiained  so  for  eight  days),  in  1757, 
^762,  and  1777,     This  last  was  the  most  for- 
>Au  'ibleof  the  eighteenth  century.    It  occurred 
i    Ute  IGth  of  September,  during  the  night, 
'"  .  by  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  had  raised 
the  waters  in  the  streets  to  a  depth  of  over  ten 
feet.     They  passed  all  through  the  city  in 
boats,  large  vessels  were  driven  up  in  the 
streets,  and  one  of  considerable  size  rested  on 
the  steps  of  the  winter  palace — a  very  large 
number  of  lives  were  lost,  and  much  property 
destroyed. 

We  pass  by  several  others  of  minor  import- 
ance, more  or  less  destructive,  however,  to 
note  the  great  one  which  occurred  on  the  7th 
of  November,  1824.  The  waters  of  the  Neva 
had  been  swollen  by  copious  rains,  and  on  that 
day  overflowed  their  banks.  The  capital  was 
soon  under  water  to  the  depth  of  many  feet, 
which,  agitated  by  the  furv  of  the  wind,  re- 
sembled in  the  streets  of  tlie  city  the  waves 
of  the  ocean.     Vessels  were  driven  through 


the  streets;  and  so  sudden  was  the  inunda- 
tion, that  very  many  were  surprised  by  it  in 
the  streets,  who,  unable  to  escape  by  climbing 
to  the  nearest  resting-places,  were  drowned. 
Four  hundred  and  eighty  persons  were  ofliciol- 
ly  announced  to  hove  perished,  which  wos, 
however,  believed  to  be  short  of  the  mark. 
Four  hundred  an<l  sixty-two  houses  were  en- 
tirely destroyed,  three  thousand  six  hundred 
and  eighty  damaged.  Three  thousand  six 
hundred  head  of  rattle  were  drowned  ;  and  at 
the  customhouse  j)roperty  to  the  value  of 
several  millions  of  roubles  wos  totally  lost. 
Since  then  there  have  been  several  inundations, 
but  none  so  destructive.  The  most  ond  worst 
of  these  occurred  from  the  violence  of  the 
west  wind,  in  meeting  the  waters  of  the  river 
swollen  with  heavy  rains,  and  forcing  them 
back  toward  their  source.  To  this  casualty, 
against  which  no  human  power  can  guard,  St. 
Petersburg  is  always  liable. 

The  climate  of  this  city  in  winter  is  what 
its  latitude  indicates.  Its  coldness  and  hu- 
midity require  the  utmost  care  to  guonl  against 
its  influences.  The  thermometer  indicates  a 
range  S(  'ow  as  to  be  almost  incredible  that 
civilized  man  should  have  voluntarily  selected 
it  for  a  residence.  The  rich,  whose  houses 
are  warmed  constantly  to  a  summer  heat,  and 
who  never  expose  themselves,  if  they  can 
avoid  it,  unless  entirely  mutHed  in  furs,  do 
not  sufl^er  from  it,  as  do  the  jioor.  The  nights 
are  frightful.  The  boutechuiks  (inferior  po- 
lice agents)  and  sentries  are  sometimes  found 
frozen  to  death.  The  exposure  of  the  least 
part  of  the  body  is  dangerous.  Individuals 
are  constantly  seen  gravely  nibbing  each 
other's  frozen  nose  or  cheek  ^s  ith  snow,  to  pre- 
vent it  from  becoming  gangrened .  Thus  with- 
out, all  is  ice,  cold ;  within,  the  stifling  heat 
of  the  stove.  No  air  can  be  inhaled  in  out- 
door exercises  during  that  greater  portion  of 
the  year  in  which  St  Petersburg  i>  buried 
several  feet  deep  in  snow  and  ics.  The  prin- 
cipal topic  of  conversation  is  the  weather,  and 
thermometers  are  studied  with  an  assiduity 
which  renders  a  sojourner  in  St.  Petersburg 
an  adept  in  them. 

One  of  the  most  curious  spectacles  affordeu 
by  St.  Petersburg  at  this  season,  is  the  mar- 
ket for  frozen  provisions.  Housekeepers  lay 
in  their  stock  for  tlie  season.  All  that  is  bought 
is  frozen,  and  it  is  to  be  kept  in  the  same  state. 
It  is  curious  to  see  around  you  numerous  dead 
bodies,  having  the  appearance  of  petrified  ani- 
mals. Oxen,  sheep,  lambs,  calves,  pork,  game, 
all  are  reduced  to  the  stiffness  of  marble,  and 
when  a  piece  is  to  be  cut  off,  it  ie  done  by  the 
hatchet.  The  supply  taken  home  is  buried 
in  the  snow,  and  thawed  when  required  for 
use. 

The  greatest  curse  which  con  befall  St. 


tl 


ii 


II 


266 


8ELFG0VEUNMKNT. 


Petersburg  during  this  season,  is  a  thaw.  By 
it  provisions  are  destroyed,  and  the  capital 
dependent  on  distant  provinces  for  a  supply* 
is  threatened  with  a  famine.  The  roads,  too, 
become  such  as  to  forbid  any  hope  of  immedi- 
ate ussistancc.  The  eflTect  of  this  rise  of  tem- 
perature, by  melting  the  upper  crust  of  the 
snow,  is  to  render  the  streets  almost  impassa- 
ble, and  when  the  final  and  general  thaw 
takes  i)lace  in  the  spring,  you  are  reminded  in 
wading  through  them  of  the  original  marshes 
out  of  which  they  sprung. 

The  aspect  of  St.  Petersburg  is  grand  and 
imposing.  It  may  be  called,  however,  like  a 
large  portion  of  its  inhabitants,  always  in  uni- 
form, always  under  arms.  Its  regularity,  its 
immense  palaces,  its  immeasurable  squares,  its 
streets  laid  out  by  a  line,  its  masses  of  stone  and 
granite,  always  fill  the  mind  with  surprise  and 
admiration.  It  wants,  however,  that  variety 
wliich  is  the  great  charm  of  some  of  the  older 
E  uropean  cities.  The  immense  scale  on  which 
everything  is  laid  out,  deprives  it  of  that  life, 
which  is  the  charm  of  many  other  capitals. 
In  the  f|uarters  of  the  city  and  the  streets,  which 
are  remote  from  the  haunts  of  promenaders 
and  of  business,  a  dulness  which  may  be  felt 
reigns.  In  this  respect  it  resembles,  but  on  a 
large  scale,  many  portions  of  our  sister-city. 
New  York.  It  has  been  likened  by  a  likely 
French  writer  to  Versailles,  on  a  large  scale, 
but  Versailles  as  it  now  is,  empty,  pompously 
insignificant,  and  majestically  insipid ;  not 
Versailles  as  it  exis'fd  in  the  times  of  Louis 
.XIV.,  with  its  tlinisunds  of  courtiers  and 
populace  of  lackeys. 

The  Grecian  style  of  art,  with  its  long  facade, 
its  lofty  columns,  its  noble  porticoes,  does  not 
appear  to  us  suitable  to  the  climate  of  Russia, 
and  yet  it  is  this  which  the  inhabitants  of  St. 
Petersburg  have  sought  to  acclimatize  in  their 
cold  and  wintry  regions.  It  seems  strikingly 
out  of  place  to  see  the  Parthenon,  which  over- 
looked the  sunny  waters  of  the  south,  trans- 
ferred to  the  ice-bound  shores  of  the  Baltic. 
The  temples  which  graced  the  rocky  steeps 
of  the  Egean  seem  out  of  keeping  on  the 
marshes  of  the  Neva.  And  yet  it  is  to  this 
style  of  architecture  that  they  have  so  much 
resorted.  Th  >se  are,  however,  rendered  worse 
by  being  adorned  with  ornaments  of  tinsel 
show,  whose  very  beauty  in  their  native  climes 
is  their  chaste  simplicity. 

By  the  side  of  all  this  magnificence  is  found 
th".  ever-present  Russian  filth.  ITiese  two 
words,  says  a  traveller,  describe  the  city. 
The  hotels  especially,  abound  in  this.  They 
are  most  uncomfortable  within,  and  form  a 

*  There  are  frequently  seen  on  the  same  table,  the 
■terlet  of  the  Volga,  the  veal  of  Archangel,  the  mutton 
of  Astrachan,  the  beef  of  the  Ukraine,  and  the  pheaa- 
aat  of  Hunt;ary  and  Bohemia. 


I  Striking  contrast  to  the  splendor  that  reigns 
I  around.     Nor  is  the  attendance  better.    There 
,  is  a  perfect  contempt  of  comfort,  on  the  part 
of  those  charged  to  administi.'r  it  to  you.     "  I 
resided  in  a  hotel,"  says  M.  Marmier,  "  which 
had  been  recommended  to  me  us  one  of  the 
I  best.     Every  seven  or  eight  dayf<,  my  riioujik, 
I  tired  of  yawning  on  the  staircusc,   and  not 
j  knowing  what  else  to  do,  came  to  take  the 
;  covering  off  my  bed  and  pour  a  liiile  fresh 
water  into  a  jug  when  he  went  iiwiiy,   en- 
chanted at  having  accomplished  such  iiiurvcls. 
Cleaning  a  bureau  or  dusting  a  chair  was  work 
unworthy   of    him.      He   <iuietly    pennitted 
floods  of  dust  to  accumulate  on  the  furniture." 
.Such  is  a  brief  glance  at  St.  PctiTsburg. 
To  have  considered  it  more  at  ltMi,L!th  would 
hav  led  us  into  details  inconsistent  with  our 
plan. 


SELF-GOVERNMENT. 

Ir  the  midst  of  events  which  seem  to  be- 
speak predestination,  man  still  feels  that  h».  is 
free.  The  planets  wheel  throujjh  the  heav- 
ens :  the  earth  revolves  on  its  axis,  and  per- 
forms its  vast  annual  circuit ;  the  seasons  come 
and  go  ;  the  clouds  rise  and  vanish  ;  the  rain, 
the  hail,  and  the  snow,  descend ;  and  in  all 
this,  man  has  no  voice.  There  is  a  system  of 
government  above  beyond,  and  around  hirn, 
declaring  a  sovereignty  which  tokes  no  coun- 
sel of  him.  But  still,  in  the  midst  of  nil  this, 
man  possesses  a  consciousness  of  freedom. 
The  metaphysician  may  be  confounded  with 
the  seeming  inconsistency  of  an  omnipoti.'nce, 
ruling  over  all  things,  yet  granting  free  ngriicy 
to  the  subjects  of  its  power.  But  common  sense 
does  not  puzzle  itself  with  an  attempt  to  discover 
the  precise  point  at  which  these  seeming  prin- 
ciples of  opposition  may  clash  or  coalesce.  It 
contents  itself  with  the  obvious  fact  that  God 
is  a  sovereign,  who  has  yet  creatoul  beings, 
and  given  them  their  freedom,  j)iescribing 
boundaries  to  their  powers  and  cajiacities,  in- 
deed, but  within  these  limits  permitting  them 
to  act  by  their  own  volition. 

Man  then  is  free ;  he  has  the  power  to  seek 
happiness  in  his  own  way.  He  enters  upon 
existence,  and  sets  forward  in  the  path  of  life. 
But  as  he  passes  along,  a  thousand  tempters 
beset  him.  Pleasure  comes  to  beckon  him 
away,  ofTering  him  present  flowers,  and  unfold- 
ing beautiful  prospects  in  the  distance.  Wealth 
seeks  to  make  him  her  votary,  by  disclosing 
her  magic  power  over  men  and  things.  Am- 
bition woos  him  with  dreams  of  glory.  Indo- 
lence assays  to  soften  and  seduce  him  to  her 
influence.    Love,  envy,  malice,  revenge,  jeal- 


»wi 


v^gSg'WSiS 


to  the  splendor  that  rnigns 
the  ftttnndance  better.  There 
em[)t  of  comfort,  on  the  port 

to  oilminister  it  to  you.  "  I 
,"  says  M.  Mnrinier,  "  which 
mcniled  to  me  us  one  of  the 
•en  or  eight  days,  my  uimijik, 
e  on  the  stQircusc,  iiiiil  not 
Ise  to  do,  came  to  tuke  the 
bed  and  pour  a  little  fie^*h 
X  when  ho  went  away,  en- 
g  accomplished  sueh  uiiirvcls. 
u  or  dusting  a  chair  was  worit 
im.  He  ([uietly  pritnilted 
iccumulate  on  the  fiiniiture." 
al  glance  at  St.  Petersburg, 
red  it  more  at  li'iiyth  would 
details  inconsistent  with  our 


-GOVERNMENT. 

)f  events  which  seem  to  be- 
tion,  man  still  feels  that  h",  is 
ets  wheel  through  the  heav- 
svolves  on  its  axis,  and  per- 
mal  circuit ;  the  seasons  come 
ids  rise  and  vanish ;  the  rain, 
B  snow,  descend  ;  and  in  all 
voice.  There  is  a  system  of 
fe  beyond,  and  around  hirn, 
■eignty  which  takes  no  conn- 
;  still,  in  the  mi<lst  of  nil  this, 
I  consciousness  of  freedom. 
Ian  may  be  confounded  with 
nsistency  of  an  omnipotence, 
ings,  yet  granting  free  agency 
its  power.  Butcommoii  sense 
ielf  with  an  attempt  to  discover 

at  which  these  seeming  prin- 
on  may  clash  or  coalesee.  It 
ith  the  obvious  fact  that  God 
(vho  has  yet  created  beings, 
I  their  freedom,  prescribing 
;ir  powers  and  capacities,  in- 

these  limits  permitting  them 
(vn  volition, 
ee ;  he  has  the  power  to  seek 

own  way.  He  enters  upon 
ts  forward  in  the  path  of  life. 
!8  along,  a  thousand  tempters 
asure  comes  to  beckon  him 
m  present  flowers,  and  unfold- 
ipects  in  the  distance .  Wealth 
im  her  votary,  by  disclosing 
•  over  men  and  things.  Am- 
with  dreams  of  glory.  Indo- 
often  and  seduce  him  to  her 
!,  envy,  malice,  revenge,  jeal- 


TRAJAN  AND  UOHRIIT  FULTON. 


267 


ousy,  and  other  busy  spirits,  assail  him  with 
X-ir  various  arts.     And  man  li  free  to  yield 
to  thos.-  temptations  if  he  wil  ;  or  he  has  the 
„,wer  to  resist  them  if  he  will.    Goil  has  sur- 
rendered him  to  his  own  discretion,  making 
him  responsible,  however,  for  the  use  and  the 
abuse  of  the  liberty  bestowed  upcm  him.       _ 
If  a  peison  mounts  a  high-spinted  horse,  it 
is  important  that  he  should  be  able  to  control 
him,  otherwise  he  may  be  dashed  to  pieces. 
If  an  engineer  undertakes  to  conduct  a  loco- 
motive, it  is  necessary  that  he  should  be  able 
to  guide  or  check  the  panting  engine  at  his 
i.leusurc,  else  his  own  life,  and  the  lives  ot 
others  may  be  sacrificed.     But  it  is  still  more 
imlispensal)le  that  an  individual,  who  is  in- 
trusted with  the  cure  of  himself,  should  be 
able  to  govern  himself. 

This  might  seem  a  very  easy  task  ;  but  it 
is  one  of  the  most  ditlicult  that  we  are  called 
upon  to  perform.  History  shows  us  that  some 
of  the  greatest  men  have  failed  m  it.  Alex- 
onder  C(")uld  comiuer  the  legions  of  Persia,  but 
he  could  not  comiuer  his  i)assi(m9.  Cmsar  tri- 
umphed in  a  hundred  l)attles,  but  he  tell  a 
victim  to  the  desire  of  being  a  king.  Bona- 
parte vanquished  nearly  the  whole  ot  fcurope, 
but  he  could  not  vamiuish  his  own  ambition. 
And  in  humbler  life,  nearer  homo  in  our  own 
every-day  atlairs,  most  of  us  are  often  drawn 
aside  from  the  path  of  duty  and  discretion, 
because  we  can  not  resist  some  temptations  or 
yrercome  some  prejudice. 

If  we  consider  that  self-government  recjuires  , 
two  things :  ^rst,  whenever  we  are  tempted 
to  deviate  fro...  the  path  of  rc'titude  or  to  act ; 
imprudently,  or  whenever  we  are  tempted  to 
neglect  any  duty,  that  we  should  possess  and 
exercise  the  power  to  check  ourselves  in  the 
one  case,  and  to  compel  ourselves  to  the  re- 
quired action  in  the  other,  we  shall  see  that  it 
is  the  great  regulator  of  conduct,  the  very 
balance-wheel  of  life.  Without  it,  a  person 
is  almost  sure  to  miss  happiness,  however 
great  may  be  his  gifts,  however  high  his  lor- 
tune;  with  it  the  humblest  individual  may 
command  not  merely  the  world's  wealth,  but 
the  world's  respect;  and,  what  is  better, 
peace  of  mind,  and  the  consciousness  of  Heav- 
en's approbation. 

If  parents  would  not  trust  a  child  upon  the 
back  of  a  wild  horse  without  bir  or  bridle,  let 
them  not  permit  him  to  go  forth  into  the  world 
unskilled  in  self-government.  If  a  child  is 
passionate,  teach  him,  by  gentle  and  patient 
means  to  curb  his  temper.  If  he  is  greedy, 
cultivate  liberalitv  in  him.  If  he  is  selhsh, 
promote  generosity.  If  he  is  sulky,  charm 
him  out  of  it,  bv  encouraging  frank  good  hu- 
mor If  he  is  indolent,  accustom  him  to  exer- 
tion, and  train  him  so  as  to  perform  even  on- 
erous duties  with  alacrity.    If  pnde  comes  in 


to  make  his  obedience  reluctant,  subdue  him, 
by  either  counsel  or  discipline.  In  short,  give 
your  children  the  habit  of  overcoming  their 
besetting  sins.  Let  them  feel  that  they  can 
overcome  temptation.  Let  them  ac(pnr(!  from 
experience,  that  confidence  in  themselves 
which  gives  security  to  the  practised  horse- 
man, even  on  the  back  of  a  high-stning  steed, 
and  they  will  triumph  over  the  dirticulties  and 
dangers  which  beset  them  in  the  path  of  life. 


TRAJAN  AND  ROBERT  FULTON. 

THE   CONNEXION  OF   THEIR   WORKS. 

The  close  of  the  first  century  bt^held  a 
Spaniard  on  the  throne  of  Rome.     He  was  a 
native  of  Seville,  and  was  at  the  heail  of  the 
army  in  Germany  when  the  aged  Nerva  called 
him  to  share   the  cares  of  the   government. 
The  death  of  the  old  emperor  soon  after  oc- 
curred, and  Trajan  was  left  to  reign  alone. 
When  the  eyes  of  millions  were  turned  tow- 
ard him  with  the  most  profound  interest,  he 
jiroved  himself  to  be  ade(iuato  to  his  place, 
and  for  nearly  twenty  years  continued  to  fill 
the  Roman  world   with   the  renown  of  his 
achievements.     His  immediaW;  predecessors 
had  professed  to  maintain  the  peaceful  policy 
of  Augustus,  but  their  vices  rendered  them 
quite  incompetent  to  carry  it  out  with  dignity 
and  success.     The  concessions  which  Augus- 
tus had  won  by  diplomacy,  they  could  not 
keep,  either  by  wisdom  or  by  force.    Although 
they   were   troubled   by  incursions  on   their 
eastern  borders,  yet  the  Roman  name  was 
most  grossly  insulted  by  the  barbanans  of 
Dacia,  north  of  the  Danube,  who  crossed  the 
river,  ravaged  the  country,  defeated  the  le- 
gions, and  even  imposed  a  tribute  on  Domitian. 
At  last  the  humbled  army  were  surprised  to 
see  an  imperial  soldier  at  their  head,  march- 
ing on  foot,  sharing  their  fatigues,  and  content 
with  theit  fare.     Under  the  eye  of  Trajan,  the 
ancient  discipline  and  valor  were  revived;  and 
the  Dacian  king,  Decebalus,  ranked  among 
the  first  warriors  of  his  age,  was  thrice  de- 
feated ;  his  hordes  were  driven  back  beyond 
the  Danube,  and  his  kingdom  was  reduced  to 
a  iirovince  of  the  empire. 

The  victories  of  Trajan,  however,  would 
hardly  be  thought  of  now,  but  for  the  stony 
records  which  proclaim  to  the  traveller  along 
the  confines  of  Dacia,  the  bold  projects  of  the 
emperor  to  spread  the  civilizing  arts  into  those 
northern  regions,  and  to  naturalizx  those  sav- 
age tribes  to  the  Roman  life  and  maiiners. 
Indeed,  a  fresh  reminiscence  of  his  history 
was  brought  to  light,  ten  years  since,  by  a 
Servian  fisherman,  who  discovered,  m  the  bed 


18 


•* 

1 
i 

t 


i- 
>*, 

i 

if 

I 

i 
i! 


I* 
.1 


i .,-,  - 


I  i'l 


(!*»  %<, 


268 


TIIAJAN  A'  D  KOBKttT  i  UtTON. 


of  tho 


rh'tr,  nonr  'ho  village  of  Praona,  a 
bronze  i)U9t  of  'I'lujan.  Aljout  twenty-five 
miles  abov!>  this  spot,  uro  vot  to  bo  soen  thn 
remains  o(  that  sulcndid  briifgn  "f  gtorip,  which 
Trajan  rciucil  across  the  Daniuie,  at  a  point 
where  tho  river  is  two  thi'  i-<anii  and  four  hun- 
dred feet  in  width,  guin  od  i"  with  strong 
castles  ut  botli  I  iwls,  and  '  !ted  i  *'i  be  a  per- 
manent thorougiifare  to  L;>nnect  new  con- 
quest with  the  old  dominion.  Li  tlo  did  In- 
think  tliiit  it  would  ever  fall  by  tltt!  hands  ol 
Romans  !  L"niit  of  nil  could  he  ima^ne  thm 
his  sui'ccssor,  ncknowlcdijinjj  his  iiicaparii  v 
to  goveni  so  wide  a  realm,  would  df-stroy  rhU 
noble  m'luiiiiient  of  imperial  powui.  iji; 

day,  the  bases  of  tho  ca*»fl('s  are  visi!  ,  an^i 
buttresses  ei!»ht('t'n  feet  thick.  Eleven  piles 
may  bo  seen  in  tho  bed  of  thf  river,  nt  low 
water.  Apollodorus,  of  Damn  j,  t'  '•eat 
architect  of  the  time,  whose  naii  /da- 

ted witii  much  of  the  ma^nificcn.  ui  Rome, 
planned  and  exi mited  this  structure,  anima- 
ted, no  doulil,  by  the  full  belief,  that  he  was 
*'  buildin!^  for  posterity." 

Not  u  long  time  after  the  coii;  iletioi  f  the 
bridge,  tho  nortlirm  traveller  of  the  sicond 
century  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  a  wellfoi! 
structed  roail,  cxteniling  from  the  Danube  i'u 
into  the  interior  of  the  savage  Dacia,  termini 
ting  near  Bender,  about  fifty  miles  from  the- 
Black  sea.  It  was  a  bold  conception  of  the 
emperor,  and  its  traces  indicate  his  faiili 
the  principle,  that  whatsoever  is  worth  doing 
at  all  i  worth  doing  well;  for  great  difficul- 
ties were  overcome,  and  in  some  places  it  is 
cut,  with  signal  skill,  through  solid  rock. 
Seventeen  hundred  years  ago,  a  man  might 
pass  with  some  degree  of  comfort  through  that 
land ;  but  in  these  days,  if  one  venture  to  trav- 
el there,  as  he  finds  himself  seated  in  a  car- 
riage of  the  rudest  form,  and  jolted  over  a 
rough  and  rutty  Moldavian  wagon-track,  drag- 
ged, too,  by  ponies  destitute  of  all  tackle,  ex- 
cept a  few  frail  cords,  with  many  a  <igh  will 
he  coll  to  mind  the  signs  of  civilization  in  the 
days  of  Trajan. 

But  special  praise  is  due  to  the  emperor  for 
his  etforts  to  improve  the  navigation  of  the 
Danube,  and  to  make  it  subserve,  through  all 
time,  the  interests  of  commerce.  As  the  ge- 
ographer looks  upon  the  map  of  Europe,  and 
beholds  this  magniScent  river,  springing  up  in 
the  very  heart  of  the  continent,  fed  by  si.Kty 
streams  which  flow  down  from  the  Carpathian 
and  Alpine  heights,  bringing  its  constant  tribute 
to  the  feet  of  many  ancient  und  mighty  cities, 
— now  boldly  pushing  its  way  through  mount- 
ain ramj)arts,  and  making  forests  echo  its  roar 
of  waters,  and  now  again  spreading  itself  out 
into  a  lake  of  beauty,  reflecting  scenes  of  the 
richest  fertility  upon  its  glassy  bosom,  then 
rolling  on  with  turbid  and  rapid  volume,  till, 


at  la»t.  it  blendi  with  the  waves  of  the  F.uxine, 
to  wn  h  the  coast  A^ia — luiwcan  he  moid  be- 
ing filled  with  admiration  at  the  ■     I     ilfsHch 
a  8|)lcndid  avenue  of  commerce,  n.         knowl- 
edging  the  design  of  Providence  i     make  it 
the  means  of  bringing    'kindreU  and  tribes" 
of  men  together,  in  a  friendly  mf     bange  of 
benefits,  and  uniting  them  in  bun       if  social 
intercourse  7     A     s  have  rolled  awn  v,  how- 
ever, during  whi.  It  the  scholar,  the  merchant, 
the   voyager,   and   the    jihilarifhro|)ist.    have 
read,  in  the  records  of  geogrupny,  thin     ■the 
Danube  i-  not  navign    c  to  the  Kuxine    'n  ae. 
count    'f  the  cataracts."     Too  true,  indeed, 
l».t  wl.   t  a  melancholy  testimony  is  this  to 
the  leaden  slowness  of  'jirnpo,  iti  the  career 
of  improvement,  and  t..  ibc  long,  buij  retro- 
ce8si(m  of  art.  science,  and  eivilization  in  the 
I  old  world  !      i  .  , ,  in  the  reirjn  of  Trajan,  there 
i  was  a  spirit  of  enterprise,  awakened  and  fos- 
\  1  red  by  his  genius,  which  could  mock  at  such 
■  Di.Ntacles  to  its  cour^^e,  as  thi^e  "  citnraets," 
that  sank  to  littleness  before  the  march  of 
'  lloman  art.     This  sction  of  the  Eiscn  Thor, 
;  or  Iron  Gate,  on  accimiit  of  the  bold  sweep  of 
I  the  1'  'v  banks,  and  the  normous  rocks  of  a 
us  color  which  make  the  river's  bed, 
the  passage  t^  .ipp.       as  if  entirely 
''rlhcr  than 
'  rrounded, 
iiiil,  beau- 


fcrr' 

i-n' 

-cd  up,  extending  not  ii 
en  thousand  feet,  was  i 

ii   the  time  of  Trajan,  by  c 


ii  ally  chiselled  out  aecordii.^tt  ins  directions, 
u  ,igned  by  him  as  a  lasting"  hoc  in  to  northern 
Europe.  .But  nlas!  he  left  no  heir  to  his  com- 
prehensive views,  and  his  lofty  s])irit.  Ilis 
plans  were  abandoned,  and  this  great  work 
was  left  to  dilapidation  and  ruin  ;  to  be  almost 
choked  up  by  falling  stones  and  earth  ;  to  re- 
main for  centuries  a  monument  of  the  solemn 
truth,  that  the  old  Roman  civilization  had  then 
spent  its  last  energies,  and  that  humanity  mu:it 
pause  in  its  career  of  jirogress,  to  wait  for 
some  new  impulse,  ere  it  could  advance  an- 
other step,  or  gain  new  triumphs  over  the 
gloomy  reign  of  barbarism. 

"Be  patient — bide  thy  name."  This  is 
God's  lesson,  tauglit  by  history  to  every  honest 
worker  in  the  cause  of  man.  It  is  taught 
here — "The  night  is  far  spent."  The  impulse 
long  waited  for,  has  come  at  last.  It  has  come, 
not  from  the  bosom  of  paganism,  but  of  Chris- 
tianity— not  from  the  shores  of  the  Tiber,  but 
of  the  Hudson.  The  mind  which  grappled 
successfully  with  the  problem  of  applying  the 
expansive  power  of  steam  to  navigation,  set  at 
work  a  moral  force  which  has  lately  reached 
the  borders  of  Dacia — has  broken  the  deep 
sleep  of  ages — has  given  to  the  people  new 
ideas — has  kindleu  a  desire  ff)r  knowledge — 
!  has  opened  new  plars  for  enterprise — hiis  called 
I  art  from  its  tomb  to  renew  its  \-outh — and, 
I  having  disinterred  tlie  ship-caiml  of  Trajan 


^ 


)N. 


<  with  th'^  wavf'Hof  ihe  Kiixine, 
1st  \*\n — liiiwi'iin  lie  moid  be- 
nilmirnlion  nt  th<!  ■  I  nf  Dud) 
luo  of  commerce,  n  knrnvl- 

liftn  of  Proviilenco  i.  make  it 
ringing  '  kindreiln  nnd  tril)e»" 
r,  in  a,  friemlly  infr  haiigr  of 
iiting  them  in  boui.  .if  mwial 
*  ;  have  rolleil  awny,  how- 
tlie  '-rholiir,  the  merchant, 
lUKi  the  ,ihiliifi''iro))ist,  'inve 
orils  cif  Koogrui.iiv,  thni  'the 
lavipn  I-  to  the  l-fuxine  ii  ne- 
atiirncH."  Too  true,  inileed, 
ilaiicholy  teatinmtiy  is  thi^  to 
'nesfi  of  V'lirnpo,  iti  the  career 
t,  and  t..  I  In;  lonji;,  \'<us  retro. 
science,  luid  civili/iitioii  in  the 

i,  iii  the  rei^nof  Tniiiin,  tliero 
enterprise,  awukeneij  and  los- 
lius,  whicli  cohM  mock  at  such 
course,  as  thi  ■'C  " '  unracts," 
ttleness  before  the  march  of 
'his  ""'tion  of  tii.  Kisen  Thor, 
1  account  of  the  bold  sweep  of 
,  and  the  i  normous  rocks  of  a 
)r  which  make  the  river's  bed, 
isac;e  to  iippe"'  as  if  entirely 
nding  not  m         further  than 

feet,  was  i  irrounded, 

["rajan,  by  v  ual,  beau- 

out  accord  1 1, -t.  us  directions, 
n  as  n  lasting  boon  to  northern 
lias!  he  left  no  heir  to  his  com- 
ws,  and  his  lofty  sjiirit.  His 
indoned,  and  this  great  work 
lidation  and  ruin  ;  to  lie  almost 
ailing  stones  and  earth  ;  to  re- 
ies  a  monument  of  the  solemn 
Id  Roman  civilization  had  then 
ergies,  and  that  humanity  mu;it 
ireer  of  jjrogress,  to  wait  for 
Ise,  ere  it  could  advance  an- 
gain  new  triuinphs  over  the 
■  barbarism. 

— bide  thy  name."  This  is 
ught  by  history  to  every  honest 
cause  of  man.  It  is  taught 
;ht  is  far  spent."  The  impulse 
has  come  at  last.  It  has  come, 
5om  of  paganism,  but  of  Chris- 
m  the  shores  of  the  Tiber,  but 
.  The  mind  which  grappled 
;h  the  problem  of  applying  the 
r  of  steam  to  navigiition,  set  at 
srce  which  has  lately  reached 
Dacio — has  broken  the  deep 
has  given  to  the  peojde  new 
le:I  a  desire  for  knowledge — 
plars  for  enterprise — hhs  called 
mb  to  renew  its  \()uth — and, 
red  the  ship-cunul  of  Trajan 


aM/ind  the  Eisen  Thor,  is  giving  to  the  work  I 


"id  causing  it  to  be  a  con- 
•he  couimercc  of  the 

■orld. 
.  -.teaui  navigation  was 
iiiulie,  it  may  lie  well  to 
xpiriinent   was   umde   a 
years  since,  by 


M 


r. 
Vienna.  The  want  of  |piiblic 
ihi?   pnietieubility  of  ihe    plan. 


its  lliiisliitig  sirok- 
neetina   link   ' "•' 
wesrern  and  ili 

Tile  iii.iunei 
Oiiriiiiieiiei'd  iiu  I 
record.     The  lii 
lit  tie  more  than  iwelv 
Amirew  , 
couHdemie   iu 

\V!is  tli(!  cause  of  much  discuuriii;eiiietit  during 
tlore  successiv  years,  when  IJle  voyilltc  Wll'~ 
o'ten  made  wiih  only  a  siu,'l''  jiasscnger.  Ai 
li  ii'^'th,  a  1,'reut  fair  at  Sinilin  roused  public 
(niri'"'ity,  uud  three  huni'ied  persons  embarked 
at  r  ■'it.  Fr-iii  liiat  day.  lie  project  became 
very  popular  ivith  the  llnugarians  and  llie 
Turks:  Old  'ui  t  S/.ocbeayi,  of  Pest,  who 
p        i  lie,  has  devoted  liis  time, 

tu;    a  ,1  its  promotion.     He  vis- 

iteil  K  ,  order  to  obtain  the  best  ma- 

chiuer  '  Kiiglish  engineers,  auil  stim- 

utale  i  .mil  and  the  Austrian  emperor  to 

])alrou  work.     Tlie  po^'^ ion  thus  taken 

l)y  Ausuu,  is  an  important  one,  considered 
politicuily.  us  it  is  asserting  a  general  right  to 
the  navigation  of  the  Danube,  raising  up  a 
barrier  against  the  amliitious  encroachments 
of  Russia,  and  bringing  Christian  and  Moslem 
couiilrii's  into  intimate  comminiication. 

Iinineii^e  and  far-iiaching  as  must  be  the 
elFects  of  steam  navigation  upon  the  social 
state  of  the  world,  they  will  ni'vcr  transcend 
the  measure  of  the  hopes  whitdi  ijlowed  in  the 
breast  of  IloBKRT  FuiiTO.N.  Tlis  was  a  great 
soul.  It  was  ever  inditing  brigiit  prophecies 
of  the  future.  It  was  a  living  spring  of  phi- 
lanthropy. Herein  lay  his  ';reat  strength  to 
bra\  disappointments,  failures,  anil  neglect. 
Altliuiinh  the  bent  of  his  genius  led  him,  even 
in  early  life,  like  Michael  Angelo,  to  seek  his 
amusemi.-nts  iu  the  shops  of  mechanics,  and  in 
works  .)f  art,  yet  we  see  the  moral  grondeur 
of  l'"'ult<jn's  mind  iu  the  fact,  that  his  strongest 
impulse  to  action  was  his  earnest  sympathy 
with  the  fortunes  of  his  race,  t'  A  universal 
free  trade,"  says  Mr.  Golden,  his  biographer, 
"  was  his  favorite  theory  in  political  economy ; 
and  thi!  war  system  of  the  old  world,  he  con- 
sidered as  the  cause  of  the  misery  of  the  great- 
est pornon  of  its  inhabitants."  He  cherished 
a  tirni  belief  in  the  progress  of  society,  in  the 
ultimate  triumphs  of  peace,  and  in  a  final 
prevaleitce  of  a  spirit  of  brotherhood  among 
the  nations  of  the  earth. 

Tlie  diireront  elFects  which  have  flowed  from 
the  lives  of  Trajan  and  Fulton,  exhibit,  in  a 
striking  light,  how  much  can  bo  done  by  sci- 
ence, and  how  little  by  war,  for  the  civiliza- 
tion of  mankind.  In  spite  of  all  the  emper.tr's 
achievements  in  Dacia,  and  his  colony  of  thir- 
ty thousand  Romans  settled  there,  seventeen 


centuries  have  rolled  over  the  inhohitnnts  of 

that  rinhf  coimtry  without  beholding  one  Mep 
of  morul  progress,  or  a  »ini;le  change  for  the 
better  in  their  social  state.  'I'lie  celeliruted 
Tuscan  eohnnn,  reared  by  Apollo(lorus  in 
honor  of  Trajan,  still  stuiids  in  "the  eternal 
cilv, "covered  with  basso-relievoes, portraving 
the  appearance  and  manners  of  the  Daeians. 
If  thi'se  same  fii;ures  had  all  been  just  carved 
by  the  hand  of  I'owers,  they  would  represent 
us  well  till  I  )iieiinis  of  the  present  day  as  these* 
of  thr  a^i-  of  Trajan.  They  wear  the  same 
mean  costume,  and  use  the  sanu'  awkward 
implements  of  agriculture.  They  live  in  the 
same  \ile  kind  of  straw  huts,  eoniparcd  with 
wiiieli  an  .Vmerican  loiti'iibin  is  a  palace. 
Tiicy  are  generally  small  in  stature,  iiinorant, 
iille,  faithless,  clothed  in  sheep-skiirs,  and 
either  goini;  barefoot  or  wearing  sandals.  'J'he 
cattle  of  their  farms  appear  untaiueil  and  wild, 
and  their  do^s  are  very  wolves  as  to  ferocity. 
Ir.ie\erv  point  of  chariicter,  thesi-  Wallachians 
uiiil  Moldavians  are  inferior  to  the  inhabitants 
of  Srrvia,  on  the  opiiosite  side  of  the  river, 
who  are  more  imineiliat(dy  inider  Turkish  rule. 
What  a  spectiude  in  the  si^ht  of  Chrisfendom  ! 
A  nation  of  Europe  livin;;  seventeen  hundred 
\rars  without  the  least  sign  of  improvement ! 
Their  state  is  laie  of  dull  and  dreary  monot- 
(uiy.  But  a  better  time  is  coming.  This 
gloomy  nicht  of  barliarisrn  is  besiiniing  to  |)ass 
away.  T'  .•  whi/./iug  sound  r)f  the  first  steom- 
er  w'hich  disturbed  the  repose  of  these  north- 
ern wilds,  WHS  the  herald  of  an  auspicious 
change,  and  the  impulse  ijiveii  to  the  march  of 
Christian  civilization  by  the  toils  of  Robert 
Fulton,  has  alreaily  extended  from  the  banks 
of  the  Hudson  to  those  of  tin;  Ditnulie  and  the 
Euxine.  May  Heaven  sjiceil  it,  nn<l  "the 
stars  in  their  courses"  favor  it,  until  it  shall 
girdle  the  earth  with  a  zone  of  light,  and 
hasten  the  era,  when  no  more  the  separating 
frith  or  ocean  shall  make  enemies  •'  nations, 
but  all — 

"  Like  kindred  drops,  be  min    'ed  iJito  one." 


THE  NIGEU. 

The  Niger  is  a  large  river  of  central  Africa, 
celebrated  for  the  uncertfiinly  and  mystery 
which  prevaileil  for  ages  respecting  its  course 
and  termination,  a  problem  which  has  been 
but  recently  solved.  Its  source  is  in  western 
Africa,  near  that  of  the  river  Senegal.  In  the 
upper  part  of  its  course  it  is  called  by  the  na- 
tives the  .Toliba,  and  in  the  lower  ]iart  it  is 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Quorra.  The 
noe.ie  of  the  Niger  was  given  to  it  by  JCuro- 
peans,  from  the  supposition  that  it  was  the 
same  river  mentioned  by  Herodotus,  Ptolemy, 


I 


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870 


AMERICAN  SCENERY. 


ami  others.  It  i«,  (loiibtful,  however,  whether 
itH  exiHteiico  was  known  to  tho  uncii-nt  ^niitra- 
plii'rt.  To  tho  inoilcriis  it  hii^  been  known 
but  very  irapurfectly.  Hy  niiiny  it  wnn  hv- 
licvetl  to  be  u  branch  of  tho  Nil«N  by  others  to 
lose  itsi'lf  either  in  u  lake,  or  in  thit  soniU  of 
the  (bsttertfl  of  At'rutn.  Thus  its  source,  ns 
well  as  its  course,  remained  in  obscurity  until 
the  latter  part  of  the  IMth  century,  when  an 
association  was  fiin/iiil  i'l  (Jreat  Uritain  for 
the  purpose  of  proniotins  il  4covery  in  Africa. 
In  1788,  this  society  tlcsn  'cheil  John  Led- 
yaril,  an  American  by  i)irtli,  wlio  had  been  j 
round  the  world  with  Captain  Oook,  ond  was 
u  remarkably  enterprising  traveller.  His  in- 
structina  were  to  penetrate  the  interior  from 
Egypt,  in  search  of  the  Niger.  He,  howev- 
er, unfortunately  peri-»hed  in  Cairo,  in  Kgypt, 
the  same  year.  Other  fruitless  attempts  were 
made  by  "tnglish  travellers,  proving  fatal  to 
themselves,  and  tho  course  of  t!iis  river  re- 
mained in  obscurity,  no  modern  traveller  hav- 
ing succeeded  in  reaching  its  banks.  The 
honor  of  accomplishing  this  hazardous  enter- 
prise was  reserved  for  the  celebrated  iMungo 
I'ark,  a  Scotchman,  sent  out  by  tho  associa- 
tion above  referred  to,  in  1795.  Landing  on 
the  western  coast,  he  penetrated  up  the  river 
Gambia,  which  he  left,  at  Medina.  Having 
crossed  the  Senegal,  he  arrived  soon  after,  at 
Jarra,  and  taking  a  course  southward  of  east, 
after  great  hardships,  he  at  length  arrived  at 
tho  long-sought-for  Niger,  which  he  beheld 
flowing  from  west  to  east.  From  Sego,  he 
continued  his  journey  to  Silla,  along  the  banks 
of  the  Niger,  where,  finding  himself  exhaust- 
ed and  destitute,  he  determined  on  returning  to 
England,  where  he  arrived  in  December,  1797. 
Park  was  sent  out  aga^n,  in  1805,  by  the 
Afriean  assoc  ition,  to  pursue  his  investiga- 
tions respecting  this  river,  but  this  second 
journey  terminated  fatally.  He  proceeded 
with  a  party  to  the  banks  of  the  Niger,  a  few 
miles  below  Sego,  where  he  accomplished  the 
building  of  a  vessel  and  embarked  with  four 
Europeans,  the  only  survivors  of  his  party, 
intending  to  descend  the  river  to  its  moutli. 
From  accounts  afterward  received,  it  ;ippeared 
that  they  were  attacked  by  the  natives  at 
Boussa,  and  killed ;  the  boat  was  lost  and  Mr. 
Park  drowned  in  the,  river.  Various  expedi- 
tions since  sent  to  Africa,  to  explore  this  river, 
have  proved  unsuccessful  and  fatal  to  the  ad- 
venturers, until  1830,  when  two  young  men, 
Richard  Lander  and  his  brother  John,  were 
sent  out  by  the  British  government  (Richard 
Lander  having  foniierly  accompanied  Captain 
Clapperton  on  a  similar  expedition).  They 
landed  at  Badagry,  on  the  west  coast  of  Afri- 
ca, and  proceeded  over  land  to  Boussa,  on  the 
Niger,  whence  they  ascended  to  Yaooric. 
They  then  descended  the  river,  and  finally 


reached  tho  «ea  hy  a  mouth  of  tho  Niger, 
which  had  been  before?  known  as  the  nver 
Nun,  thus  having  hud  the  honor  of  deciding  a 
(piestion  which  had  perplexed  geographers  for 
ages.  Thecoursi'ol  the  Niger  is  nearly  north- 
east from  its  sources  to  Timinict(M).  soon  after 
which  it  is  believed  toturn  to  tho  southeast,  un- 
til it  reaches  Ya(M)rie ;  thence  its  course  varies 
from  southen-'  to  southwest,  flowing  into  the 
bight  of  Benin  ^a  part  of  the  gulf  rjffJiiinea).  It 
is  su|>|)oscd  to  have  several  mouths,  allhougli 
l)Ut  one  is  known.  Its  course  has  been  traced 
for  two  thousanil  miles,  a  considerable  part  of 
which  is  navigable  for  steamboats,  through  a 
rich  and  pojiulous  country,  and  its  whole 
length  is  probably  three  thousand  miles.  Capo 
Formosa,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Nun,  is  in  lati- 
tude 4  '  'JO'  north,  longitude  0"  east. 

Our  engraving  exhibits  a  pleasing  view  on 
the  river  descrii>ed  above.  In  that  (juarter  of 
tho  world  there  are  few  roads,  anil  therefore 
it  is  very  diHicult  and  dangerous,  and  some- 
times almost  impossible,  to  travel  any  distance 
by  land.  But  by  means  of  the  great  rivers 
of  Africa,  which  have  been  well  culled  its 
high  roads,  the  task  of  reaching  central  re- 
gions has  become  comparatively  easy.  An- 
other river,  called  the  (Jhadda,  which'fulls  in- 
to tile  Niger,  enaliles  the  voyager  to  proceed 
many  hundreds  of  miles  toward  the  east.  The 
))eoi)le  who  live  in  the  neighborhood  of  these 
rivers  are  very  ready  to  trade  with  one  anoth- 
er, and  with  foreigners,  as  will  be  perceived 
by  the  market-boats  in  the  engraving;  but  the 
trade  chiefly  carried  on  of  late  years  has  been 
the  horrible  traffic  in  human  beings.  They 
have  sold  their  own  brethren  into  slavery ; 
and  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that,  at 
the  present  time,  according  to  the  most  mod- 
erate calculation,  Africa  loses  about  one  thou- 
sand of  her  inhabitants  every  day,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  slave-trade.  To  check,  and 
eventually  to  extinguish,  this  enormous  evil, 
is  one  of  the  most  important  duties  of  the 
Christian  missionarv.  Our  armed  prevention 
fleets,  may  check  the  traffic,  but  it  is  the  in- 
culcation of  Christianity  alone,  that  will  in- 
sure its  abolition. 


AMERICAN  SCENERY. 

* 

TiiK  essay,  which  is  here  ofTered,  is  a  mere 
sketch  of  an  almost  illimitable  auhject — Arr.:  • 
ican  scenery ;  and  in  selecting  le  theme  tn  i 
writer  placed  m'l;'-  confidence  in  its  overflow- 
ing ricl'*:..  p,  t'lnii  m  his  own  capacity  for 
treatirjj,  it  .u  a  rriRime'-  worthy  of  its  vastness 
and  "iftp-iri  ance. 

It  13  a  suujoct  that  to  every  American  ought 


■IP 


i 


a  by  a  mouth  of  tho  Nigpr, 
n  Ix^forn  kniiwn  n»  tho  river 
11^  hull  till'  hiinor  oCdrcidins  a 
hitd  [>»>r|iIi'X('cl  f;(?i);;rn|ih('r«  for 
rsc  ot  thi-  Ni^fr  Im  m-urly  iiorth- 
ircci  to  Timi)urfoo,  noon  uftnr 
vcdtotnrn  to  tho  xoiithonMt,  un- 
i<K)rio;  thoiion  itfx-ourHe  varies 
to  w)uihwi'»t,  llowinj;  into  the 
I  port  ot'iho  gidf  of  ( Juinon).  It 
iQve  scvorHl  moiilhM,  iilthoii;;h 
n.  It«  courso  has  l)oon  trnoed 
I  milfis,  a  coniiihirohlo  part  of 
lilu  for  Mtpambonts,  thronjjh  a 
OU9  country,  and  its  wholo 
y  threo  thousand  niihis.    Cape 

inouth  of  tho  Nun,  is  in  lati- 
h,  liinjjitude  6"  east. 
g  oxhibit-i  a  lOensinj;  view  on 
od  iibovi;.  In  that  (|unrtor  of 
arc  few  roads,  and  therefore 
lit  und  danfjoroiis,  ami  .some- 
jotisiblo,  to  travel  any  distance 
by  means  of  the  great  rivers 
:h  have  boon  wtdl  culled  its 

tosk  of  reoching  central  re- 
ne  comparatively  easy.  An- 
•A  the  (Jhudda,  which  falls  in- 
lubli's  tho  voyager  to  prooood 
ifmiles  toward  the  east.     Tho 

in  tii(!  noi;s;hborhood  of  these 
'eady  to  trade  with  one  onoth- 
■eigners,  as  will  be  perceived 
oats  in  the  engraving ;  but  the 
rried  on  of  late  years  has  been 
iRc  in  huinan  beings.     They 

own  brethren  into  slavery, 
jry  reason  to  believe  that,  at 
e,  according  to  the  most  raod- 
1,  Africa  loses  about  one  thou- 
ibitants  every  day,  in  conse- 
slave-trade.  To  check,  and 
ctingui>«h,  this  enormous  evil, 
nost  ii,  portant  duties  of  the 
narv.  Our  armed  prevention 
:k  the  traffic,  but  it  is  the  in- 
ristianity  alone,  that  will  in- 


LICAN  SCENERY. 

hich  is  here  oflered,  is  a  mere 
ost  illimitable  sutyect — ArAi;  • 
tid  in  selettting  le  theme  tn  i 
■ir-  confidence  in  it^  overflow- 
inn  in  his  own  capacity  for 
riftime''  worthy  of  its  vostness 

that  to  every  American  ought 


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F^xOtDgrapnic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


L25  ilL4   11.6 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  S72-4S03 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
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AMERICAN  SCENKRY. 


to  l.r  (.f  ^nrpn^^m-  inlrrost;  for,  wlictl.rr  ho 
,„.h„l,ls  the  llu'l^'-n  mindii..,'  ^vi.t.is  with  llu- 
Alluutic-oxi-lorcs  tho  control  wl.ls  ot  th  s 
vast,  c..nti..cnt,  or  stands  ..n  the  .nar.!->n  ot  t  ; 
clist-mt  Oregon,  l.e  i.  snll  u.  the  m,.  s  t 
American  scenerv-it  i>*  his  own  Um\,  Us 
u'Lty,  its  nm,.ulk-om:e,  its  subhmuv-^^^^^^^^^^ 
l,i.  ;  und  hew  un<h.scrvn>-  of  such  a  l.irthnglit, 
if  he  cm  turn  towarJ  it  an  unobservmg  eye, 
nil  niiairocted  heart ! 

Before  entcrinf;  into  the  proposrcl  subject, 
in  which  we  shall  treat  more  particularly  ot 
the  scenery  of  the  northern  and  eastern  states, 


whiitevrr  creates  such  n  disjKisilion,  by  in- 
creasing our  i.lcasures  niid  enjoyments,  can 
not  be  too  much  cultivated." 

It  would  seem  unnecessary  to  those  who 
can  see  and  feel,  for  me  to  eximtiare  on  the 
loveliness  of  verdant  fields,  the  sutilitnity  <.t 
loftv  mountains,  or  the  varied  imKi.ihcenre 
of  t1ie  sky;  but  that  themimberot  those  who 
seek  enjoyment  in  such  sources  is  con.|mrati ye- 
ly  smuil.  P>om  the  indilTerence  with  which 
the  multitude  regard  the  beauties  of  nature, 
it  might  be  inferred  that  she  had  been  un- 
necessarily lavish  in  adorning  this  world  for 


tu.;  ...,.^.j ^  .      ■"*'/'■"  ,.'*,";^:  hein-rs  who  take  no  pleasure  in  its  adornment 

we  shall  fe  excused  for  s™  a  f''^  ^^  'wh^ iuRr-^^^^       pursuits  forget  their  glori- 
on  the  advatitagesot  cultivating;  a  taste  tor  i,,.^;^„„^.     Whv  was  the  earth  made  so 

scenery,  and  for  exclaiminR  against  the  opathy 


scenery,  uiiu  lui  c.-vv-."-'""-in  ••^- 
with  which  the  beauties  ot  external  nature  are 
regarded  by  the  great  mass,  even  ot  our  re- 
fined community.  .  vi.  i  .„ 
It.  is  generally  admitted  that  the  liberal  arts 
tend  to  soften  our  manners;  but  they  do  more 
—they  carry  with  them  the  power  to  mend 

our  hearts.  , ,.  ,         -r 

Poetry  and   painting  sublime   and   punty 

thought,  by  grasping  the  f^^\'\%^''l''''l' 
and  the  future-they  give  the  mind  a  foretaste 
„f  its  immortality,  and  thus  jircpare  it  for  per- 
forming an  exalted  part  amid  the  realities  of 
if.™    And  rural  nature  is  full  ot  the  same 
.mickcning  spirit-it  is,  in  fact,  the^ exhaust- 1 
lUs  mine  From  which  the  piet  and  the  painter 
have  brought   such  wondrous   treasures— an 
unfailing  fountain  of  intellectual  enjoyment, 
where  all  may  drink,  and  be  awakened  to  a 
deeper  feeling  of  the  works  of  genius,  an.l  a 
keener  perception  of  the  beauty  ot  our  exist- 
ence.    For  those  whose  days  are  all  consumed 
in  the  low  pursuits  of  avarice,  or  the  gaudy 
frivolities  of  fashion,  unobservant^of  nature  s 
loveliness,  are  unconscious  of  the  harmony  ol 
creation : — 

"  Heaven's  roof  to  thorn 
1»  but  a  painted  culling  bung  with  lamps : 
No  raore-tl.at  lights  thera  to  their  PlirPO'es- 
They  wander- loose  about;'  they  nothing  see, 
Them^Wea  except,  and  creature,  like  themselvea. 
Short-livod,  ahovl  Bighted. 

What  to  them  is  the  page  of  the  poet  where 
he  describes  or  personifies  the  skies,  the  mount- 
ains, or  the  streams,  if  those  objects  them- 
selves have  never  awakened  observation  or 
excited  pleasure  ?  What  to  them  is  the  wild 
Salvator  Rosa,  or  the  aerial  C  aude  Lorrom  T 

There  is  in  the  human  mind  an  almost  in- 
separable connexion  between  the  beautiful  and 
the  good.  80  that  if  we  contemplate  the  one 
the  other  seems  present;  and  an  excellent 
author  has  said,  "  it  is  difficult  to  look  at  any 
obiecta  with  ,,leasarc-unless  where  it  arises 
from  brutal  und  tumultuous  emotions---with- 


ous  heritage.  Why  was  the  earth  made  so 
beautiful,  or  the  sun  8«  clad  in  glory  at  his 
risin.'  and  setting,  when  all  might  be  unrobed 
of  beauty  without  alfecting  the  insensate  mul- 
titude, so  they  can  be  "lighted  to  their  pur- 

^""Tuias  not  been  in  vain— the  good,  the  en- 
lightened of  all  ages  and  nations,  have  fonw\ 
pleasure  and  consolation  in  the  beauty  ot  the 
rural  earth.     Prophets  of  old  retired  into  the 
solitudes  of  nature  to  wait  the  'f  Ifi^;/,';!."* 
Heaven.    It  was  on  Mount Horeb  that  fclijah 
witnessed  the  mighty  wind,  the  earth<inake, 
and  the  fire ;  and  heanl  the  "st.H  small  voice 
I  —that  voice  is  tet  heard  ai.  -    g  the  mount- 
ains !     Si.  John  preached  in  the  desert— the 
wilderness  is  tkt  o  fitting  place  to  speak  ot 
God.     The  solitary  Anchorites  of  byna  and 
E-rypt.  though  ignorant  that  the  busy  world  is 
man's  n.  Mest  sphere  of  usefulness,  well  kne^w 
how  co.igenial  to  religious  musings  are  the 
pathless  solitudes.  , 

He  who  looks  on  nature  with  a     '' 


eye."  can  not  move  from  his  dwelling  w 
the  salutation  of  beauty;  even  in  the  city  lU 
deep  blue  sky  and  the  drifting  clouds  appea. 
to  him.     And  i«"  to  escape  its  turmoil— it  only 
to  obtain  a  free  horizon,  land  and  water  in  the 
play  of  light  and  shadow  yields  de  ight— let 
hint  be  transported  to  those  favored  regions, 
where  the  features  of  the  earth  are  more 
varied,  or  yet  add  the  sunset,  that  wreath  of 
glory  daily  bound  around  the  world,  and  he, 
indeed,  drinks  from  pleasure's   purest  cup. 
The  dehght  such  a  man  expenences  is  not 
merely  sensuol.  or  selfish,  that  passes  with 
the  occasion  leaving  no  trace  behind  ;  but  m 
gazing  on  the  pure  creations  of  the  Alrnighty, 
he  feels  a  calm  religious  tone  steal  through 
his  mind,  and  when  he  has  turned  to  mingle 
with  his  fellow-men.  the  chords  which  have 
been  struck  in  that  sweet  communion  cease  not 

to  vibrate.  n    i  j  ♦„ 

In  what  has  been  said  wc  have  nllmled  to 
wild  and  uncultivated  scenery;  but  the  cul 


&b,u.«l«n.l  ™..ul.«..  ^"'"'"•t""'^;  Sirrr  .     b.  fogoS  f..r  i.  i.  «ill 


isilidn,  hy  in- 
joyiniTifs,   can 

to  thdsn  wlin 
iMitiixtf'  on  tin? 
>  snl)Iiiniry  <'t" 
I  inncnificeiiro 
>r  of  till  ISP  who 
isconi|mrntiv('- 
re  with  -which 
tips  of  nature, 
had  boen  iin- 
this  worM  for 
its  adomment. 
get  their  glori- 
earth  ina<te  so 
in  pJory  at  his 
ight  bo  unrobi  (1 
;  insensate  mul- 
:d  to  their  pur- 

le  good,  the  en- 
)ns,  have  found 
e  beauty  of  the 
retired  intd  the 
le  inspiration  of 
lorcb  that  Elijah 
the  earth(innke, 
still  small  voice" 
1  .  g  the  monnt- 
the  desert — the 
ace  to  sj>eak  of 
tcs  of  Syria  and 
the  bnsy  world  is 
tlness,  well  knew 
musings  are  the 

with  a  "^'  ; 
dwelling  w  i 

en  in  the  city  il.t. 
ing  clonds  appeal 
i  turmoil — if  only 
I  and  water  in  the 
ields  delight-— let 
}  favore<l  regions, 

earth  are  more 
it,  that  wreath  of 
le  world,  and  he, 
ure's  purest  cup. 
jxperiences  is  not 

that  passes  with 
ce  behind  ;  but  in 
s  of  the  Almighty, 
one  steal  through 
( turned  to  mingle 
ihords  which  have 
mmunion  cease  not 

re  have  alluded  to 
lery,  but  the  cul- 
)tten,  for  it  is  still 
his  social  capacity 


AMERICAN  SCKNEllV. 


273 


-necessarily  bringing liun  lu  contact  with  the 
ruUurrd ;  it  enc-otnpasses  our  hoiiics,  and, 
ho  '..  >evoid  ..f  the  stern  sub  imitj;  of  the 
V  1.  :  its  quieter  spirit  steals  tenderly  into  our 
bJimns  minghd  with  .  thousand  domostic 
alV.rrloMs  uu.l  h.ait-touch.ng  associations- 
human  hnnds  have  wrought,  and  human  deeds 
hullowcd  all  nrotmd.  ,  •  ,   •    .i 

And  it  is  W-rv  that  taste,  which  is  the  per-  , 
coi.tion  of  the  beautiful,  and  the  knowledge  , 
of  the  principles  on  which  nature  works,  can 
be  appli.'d,  and  our  dwelling-places  made  fit-  | 
line  for  ntined-  and  intellectual  beings. 

If  then,  it  is  indeed  true  that  the  contem- 
ulation  of  scenery  can  be  so  abundant  a  source 
of  dcli-dit  and  i"rni.n)vemciit,  a  taste  tor  it  is 
ccrtaiuTv  worthy  of  i.articular  cultivation ; 
for  the  capacity  for  enjoyment  increases  with 
the  knowledge  of  the  true  means  of  obtain- 

'""in'this  nge,  when  a  meager  utilitarianism 
seems  reiuly  to  absorb  every  feeling  and  senti- 
ment, and  what  is  sometimes  called  i'nFov«- 
raent  in  its  march  makes  us  tear  that  the  bngh 
and  tender  flowers  of  the  imagination  shall  all 
be  crushed  beneath  its  iron  tramp,  it  would  Dc 
well  to  cultivate  the  oasis  that  yet  remains  to 
us,  and  thus  pres-rve  the  germs  of  a  future 
and  a  liurer  system.      And  now,  when  the 
swav  of  fashion  is  extending  widely  over  so-  , 
cletY-p.iis<)ning  the  healthful  streams  ot  true  ^ 
refiiiemr.it,  and  turning  men  from  the  love  ot 
simplicity  and  beauty,  to  a  senseless  idola  ry 
of  their  own  follies-to  lead  them  gently  into 
the  iileasant  paths  of  taste  would  be  an  object , 
worthy  of  the  highest  efforts  of  genius  and  ] 
benevolence.     The  spirit  of  our  society  is  to 
contrive  but  not  to  enjoy-toiling  to  produce 
more  toil-accumulating  in  order  to  aggran- 
dize    The  pleasures  of  the  imagination,  among 
which  the  love  of  scenery  holds  a  conspicuous 
place,  will  alone  temper  the  harshness  of  such 
a  state;  and,  like  the  atmosphere  that  softens 
the  most  rugged  forms  of  the  landscape,  cast 
a  veil  of  tender  beauty  over  the  asperities  ot 

'  Did  our  limits  permit  we  would  endeavor 
more  fully  to  show  how  necessary  to  the  coni- 
plete  appreciation  of  the  fine  arts  is  the  study 
of  scenery,  and  how  conducive  to  our  happiness 
and  well-being  is  that  study  and  those  arts , 
but  we  must  now  proceed  to  the  proposed  sub- 
ject of  this  essay— American  Scenery . 

There  are  those  who  through  ignorance  or 
nreiudice  strWe  to  maintain  that  American 
sceiierv  possesses  little  that  is  interesting  or 
truly  beautiful-that  it  is  rude  without  pic- 
tures.uumess,  an.l  monotonous  without  subhm- 
itv-tlmt  being  destitute  of  those  vestiges  ot 
anti(,uity,  whose  associations  «<>  strongly  affect 
the  mind,  it  may  not  be  compared  wth  Euro- 
pean scenery.    But  from  whom  do  these  opin- 


ions come?     From  those  who  have  read  of 
European  scenery,  of  Ureciun  ni.nintauis,  b 
Italian  skies,  and  never  troubled  ih.ni.elv. . 
to  look  at  their  own;  and  from  those  truvelled 
ones  whos(    eyes  were  never  oi-cned  to  tlie 
beauties  of  i.ature  until  they  beheld  lorei.n 
londs,  ar'  I  when  those  lands  fnd.d  from  the 
si.'ht  wf   .  again  dosed  and  "or  .r.cr;  disdain- 
in"  to  destroy  ,heir  trans-atlunlic  impressions 
by  the  observati.m  of  the  less  bisliioimble  and 
I  unfamed  American  scenery.     L-t  such  per- 
sons shut  themselves  up  in  their  narrow  shell 
of  prejudice-we  hope  they  an-  .;w-a«d  the 
community    increasing   m    intelligence,    will 
'  know  better  how  to  appreciate  the  treasures 
of  their  own  country. 

We  arc  by  no  means  desirous  of  lessening  in 
any  one's  estimation  the  glorious  scenes  of  the 
old  world-that  ground  which  has  been  the 
crreat  theatre  of  human  cvents-those  niount- 
Sins,  woods,  and  streams,  made  sacred  in  our 
minds  by  heroic  deeds  and  iiiimortal  son"— 
over  winch  t-me  and  genius  linve  suspended 
i  an  imperishable  halo.     No!     But  we  would 
!  have  it  remembered  that  nature  has  shed  over 
!  this  land   beauty  and  magnitic.mce,  and   al- 
'  though  the  character  of  its  scenery  may  diRer 
froriAhe  ol.l  world's,  yet  inferiority  must  not 
therefore  be  inferred;  for  though   Am..r.can 
scenery  is  destitute  of  many  of  th.ise  circum- 
stances that  give  value  to  the  1*>"'-"I'«""'  f " 
it  has  features,  and  glorious  ones,  unknown  to 

' T'vcrY  few  generations  have  passed  away 
since  this  vast  tract  of  the  American  continent, 
I  now  the  United  States,  rested  m  the  shadow 
of  primeval  forests,  whose  gloom  was  peopled 
by^savage  beasts,  and  scarcely  less  savage 
men;  or  lay  in  those  wide  grassy  plams  called 

prairies — 

"  Tl>.e  gardens  of  the  deBorta,  lliese  ^^ 
The  unihorn  fields,  boundless  uu.l  boauulul. 
And,  although  an  enlightened  and  increasing 
peoile  have%roken  in  upon  the  sc.htude,  and 
with  activity  and  power  wrought  changes  that 
Teem  magical,  yet  the  most  distinctive,  and 
perhaps  the  most  impressive  characteristic  of 
American  scenery,  is  its  wildness. 

It  is  the  most  distinctive,  because  in  civilized 
Europe  the  primitive  features  of  scenery  have 
long  since  been  destroyed  or  modihed-the 
extensive  forests  that  once  overshadowed  a 
great  part  of  it  have  been  felled-rugge^ 
mountains  have  been  smoothed,  aii.l  impetu- 
Ts  rivers  turned  from  their  courses  to  accom- 
modate  the  tastes  and  necessities  of  a  dense 
p,Zlation-the  once  tangled  wood  is  now  a 
SaC  lawn ;  the  turbulent  brook  a  navigable 
fS-crags  that  could  not  be  reuioved  have 
been  crowned  with  towers,  and  the  rudest 
valleys  tamed  by  the  plough.  ,„^„.p-_ 

And  to  this  cultivated  state  our  western 


*''^^.. 


274 


AMERICAN  SCENERY. 


world  is  fast  approaching;  but  nature  is  still 
predominant,  und  there  are  those  who  regret 
that  with  the  improvements  of  cultivation  the 


into  the  beautiful,  the  savage  tempered  by  the 
mapnificent. 

We  will  now  speak  of  another  comjionent 


Bublimity  of  the  wilderness  should  puss  away : ,  of  scenery,  without  which  every  landscape  is 
for  those  scenes  of  solitude  from  which  the ;  defective— it  is  water.  Like  the  eye  in  the 
hand  of  na.ure  has  never  been  liftetl,  atlect ;  human  countenonce,  it  is  a  mos'  expressive 
the  mind  with  a  more  deep-toneil  emotion  than  ;  feature  :  in  the  unrippled  lake,  which  mirrors 
aught  which  the  hand  of  man  has  touched.  |  all  surrounding  objects,  we  have  the  expression 
Amid  them  the  consei|uent  associotions  are  of  i  of  trun(|uillity  and  peace— in  the  rap.d  stream, 
God  the  creator— they  are  his  undetiled  works,  \  the  headlong  cataract,  that  of  turbulence  and 
and  the  mind  is  cast  Into  the  contemplation  of  j  impetuosity.  ,      ,     , 

eternal  things.  I      I"  »!''«  great  element  of  scenery,  what  land 

As  mountains  are  the  most  conspicuous  ob-  I  is  so  rich  ?  We  would  not  speak  ot  the  great 
jects  in  landscape,  they  will  take  the  prece-  lakes,  which  are  in  (net  inland  seas— posses- 
dence  in  what  we  may"8ay  on  the  elements  of    sing  some  of  the  attributes  of  the  ocean,  though 


American  scenery. 


destitute  of  its  sublimity;  but  of  those  small- 


It  is  true  that  in  the  eastern  part  of  this  i  er  lakes,  such  as  Luke  George,  Champlain, 
continent  there  arc  no  mountains  that  vie  in  ,  Winnii-isiogce,  Otsejio,  Seneca,  and  o  hundred 
altitude  with  the  snow-crowiiiid  AIjjs- that .  other.-,,  that  stud  like  gems  the  bosom  of  this 
the  Alleganies  and  the  Catskills  are  in  no  \  country.  There  is  one  delightful  cpiality  in 
point  higher  than  five  thousan.l  feet ;  but  this  nearly  all  these  lakes— tlie  jrority  und  trans- 
is  no  inconsiderable  height;  Snowdon  in  1  parency  of  the  water.  In  speaking  of  scenery 
Wales,  and  Ben-Nevis  in  Scotland,  are  not  it  might  seem  unneces=ary  to  mention  this ; 
more  lofty ;  and  in  New  Hampshire,  which  ;  but  independent  of  the  pleasure  that  we  all 
has  been  called  the  Switzerland  of  the  Uiiitetl  |  have  in  beholding  pure  water,  it  is  a  circum- 
States,  the  White  mountains  almost  pierce  ,  stance  which  contributes  greatly  to  the  beauty 
the  region  of  per|)ctual  snow.  The  AUe- i  of  landscajH;;  for  the  reQcctions  of  surrounding 
ganies  are  in  general  heavy  in  form  ;  but  the  \  objects,  trees,  mountains,  sky,  are  most  iierfect 
Catskills.  although  not  broken  into  abrujit  |  in  the  clearest  water;  and  the  most  perfect  is 
angles  like  the  most  pictures(|ue  mountains  of    the  most  beautiful. 


Italy,  have  varied,  undulating,  and  exceeding 
ly  beautiful  outlines — tb'  '  heave  from  the 
valley  of  theHudson  like  the  subsiding  billows 
of  the  ocean  after  a  storm. 

American  mountains  are  generally  clothed 
to  the  summit  by  dense  forests,  while  those 
of  Europe  are  mostly  bare,  or  merely  tinted 
by  grass  or  heath.  It  may  be  that  the  mount- 
ains of  Europe  are  on  this  account  more  pic- 
turesque in  form,  and  there  is  a  grandeur  in 
thtir  nakedness;  but  in  the  gorgeous  garb  of 
tht)  American  mountains  there  is  more  than 
an  equivalent;  and  when  the  woods  "have 
put  their  glory  on,"  as  an  American  poet  has 
beautifully  said,  the  purple  heath  and  yellow 
furze  of  Europe's  mountains  are  in  comparison 
but  as  the  faint  secondary  rainbow  to  the  pri- 
mal one. 

But  in  the  mountains  of  New  Hampshire 
there  is  a  union  of  the  picturesque,  the  sublime, 
and  the  magnificent ;  there  the  bare  peaks  of 
granite,  broken  and  desolate,  cradle  the  clouds; 
while  the  valleys  and  broad  bases  of  the  mount- 
ains rest  under  the  shadow  of  noble  and  varied 
forests ;  and  the  traveller  who  passes  the 
Sandwich  range  on  his  way  to  the  White 
mountains,  of  which  it  is  a  spur,  can  not  but 
acknowledge,  that  although  in  some  regions 
of  the  globe  Nature  has  wrought  on  a  more 
stujiendous  scale,  yet  she  has  nowhere  so 
completely  married  together  grandeur  and 
loveliness  :  there  he  sees  the  sublime  melting 


Wc  would  rather  recommend  a  visit  to  the 
'•  Holy  Lake,"  the  beautiful  "  Horican,"  than 
attempt  to  describe  its  scenery — to  behold  one 
rambling  on  its  storied  shores,  where  its  south- 
ern expanse  is  spread,  begemmed  witl;  isles 
of  emerald,  and  curtained  by  green  receding 
hills — or,  perhaps,  gliding  over  its  bosom, 
where  the  steep  ond  rugged  mountains  ap- 
])roach  from  either  side,  shadowing  with  black 
precipices  the  innumerable  islets — some  of 
which  bearing  a  solitary  tree,  others  a  group 
of  two  or  three,  or  a  "  gomlly  company,"  seem 
to  have  been  sprinkled  over  the  smiling  deep 
in  nature's  frolic  hour.  These  scenes  are 
classic — history  and  genius  have  hallowed 
them.  War's  shrill  clarion  once  waked  the 
echijs  from  these  now  silent  hills — the  j)en  of 
a  living  master  has  portrayed  them  in  tiie 
pages  of  romance — and  they  are  worthy  of  the 
admiration  of  the  enlightened  and  the  graphic 
hand  of  genius. 

Though  diflering  from  Lake  George,  Win- 
nifusiogee  resembles  it  in  multitudinous  and 
uncounted  islands.  Its  mountains  do  not  stoop 
to  the  water's  edge,  but  through  varied  screens 
of  forest  may  be  seen  ascending  the  sky  soften- 
ed by  the  blue  haze  of  distance — on  the  one 
hand  rise  the  Gunstock  mountains;  on  the 
other  the  dark  Ossipees,  while  above  and  far 
beyond,  rear  the  "  cloud-capt"  peaks  of  the 
Sandwich  and  White  mountains. 

We  will  not  fatigue  with  a  vain  attempt  to 


:empere(]  by  the 


thor  componpnt 
ery  1 
the 


lanilscr.pc  is 
eye  in  the 
mo-s*^  expressive 
.',  which  mirrors 
■etheex])rt'ssi()n 
he  rajnil  stream, 
turbulence  and 

nery,  what  land 
eak  of  the  great 
1(1  seas — posses- 
lie  ocean,  though 
t  of  those  sinall- 
•ge,  Champluin, 
a.  and  a  hundred 
IP  I)()som  i>f  this 
;htf'!il  quality  in 
lurity  and  trans- 
ukinj;  of  scenery 
;o  mention  this ; 
ure  that  we  all 
r,  it  is  a  circum- 
tly  to  the  beauty 
IS  of  surrounding 
are  most  perfect 
e  most  ))erfect  is 

;nd  a  visit  to  the 
"  Horicaii,"  than 
y — to  behold  one 
I  where  its  sotvfh- 
mrned  with  isles 
y  green  receding 

over  its  bosom, 
d  mountains  np- 
awing  with  black 

islets — some  of 
e,  others  n  gi'oup 
company,"  seem 
the  smiling  deep 
^hese  scenes  are 

have   hallowed 

once  waked  the 
hills — the  pen  of 
yed  them  in  the 
arc  worthy  of  the 
3  and  the  graphic 

ke  George,  Win- 
iiultitudinous  and 
ntains  do  not  stoon 
igh  varied  screens 
ing  the  sky  soften- 
mce — on  the  one 
ountains ;  on  the 
ile  above  and  far 
ipt"  peaks  of  the 
tains.  ~ 
a  vain  attempt  to 


AMERICAN  SCENKEY. 


275 


describe  the  lakes  that  we  have  named;  but 
would  turn  our  attention  to  those  ex<iui8itcly 
beautiful  lakes  that  are  so  numerous  m  the 
,„.rthern    states,    and    particularly   m    New 
Hampshire.     In  character  they  are  truly  arid 
peculiarly  American.     We  know  nothing  in 
Europe  which   they   resemble ;    the   famous 
lakes  of  Albano  and  Nemi  and  the  small  and 
exceedingly  pi.;tures<,uc  lakes  of  Great  Britain 
may  be  compared  in  size,  but  are  dissimilar  in 
I  almost  every  other  respect.     Ernbostimed  in 
the  primitive  forest,  and  sometimes  overshad- 
owed by  huge  mountains,  they  are  the  chosen 
nlacesoftranciuillity ;  and  when  the  deer  issues  , 
from  the  surrounding  woods  to  drink  the  Cfwl 
waters,  he  beholds  his  own  image  as  in  a  pol-  i 
ished  mlrror-the  (light  of  the  eagle  can  be 
seen  in  the  lower  sky;  and  il  a  lea*  falls,  the 
circling  undulations  chase  each  other  to  the 
shores  unvexed  by  contending  tides. 

There  are  two  lakes  of  this  description, 
situated  in  a  wild  mountain  gorge  called  the 
Franconia  Notch,  in  New  Hampshire.     1  hey 
lie  within  a  few  hundred  feet  ot  each  other, 
but  ore  remarkable  as  having  no  communica- 
tion—one  being  the  source  of  the  wild  Amo- 
noosuck,  the  other  of  the  Pemigiwasset.    Shut 
in  by  stupendous  mountains  which  re_st  on  crags 
that  tower  more  than  a  thousand  feet  above 
the  water,  whose  rugged  brows  and  shadowy 
breaks  are  clothed  by  dark  and  tangled  wchkIs, 
they  have  such  an  aspect  of  deep  seclusion, 
of  utter  and  unbroken  solitude,  that,  when 
standing  on  their  brink  a  lonely  traveller,  we 
were  overwhelmed  with  an  emotion  ot  the  sub- 
lime, such  as  we  have  rarely  felt.    It  was  not 
t'^at  the  jugged  precipices  were  lotty,  that  the 
encirclin.'  woods  were  of  the  dimmest  shade, 
or  thot  the  waters  were  profoundly  deep ;  but 
that  over  all,  rocks,  wootl,  and  water,  brooded 
the  spirit  of  repose,  and  the  silent  energy  ot 
nature  stirred  the  soul  to  its  inmost  depths. 

We  would  not  be  understood  that  these 
lakes  are  always  tranquil;  but  that  tranquil- 
lity is  their  great  characteristic.     Ihere  are 
times  when  they  take  a  far  different  expres- 
sion; but  in  scenes  like  these  the  richest  chords 
are  those  struck  by  the  gentler  hand  of  nature. 
And  now  we  must  turn  to  another  ot  the 
beautiiiers  of  the  earth— the  waterfall;  which 
in  the  same  object  at  once  presents  to  the  mind 
the  beautiful,  but  apparently  incongruous  idea, 
of  fixedr-ess  and  motion— a  single  existence  in 
which  we  perceive  unceasing  change  and  ever- 
!  lasting  duration.     The  waterfall  may  be  called 
the  voice  of  the  landscape,  for,  unlike  the  rocks 
and  woods  which  utter  sounds  as  instruments 
played   on   by   the  elements,   the  watertall 
strikes  its  own  chords,  and  rocks  and  mount- 
ains re-eeho  in  rich  nniscm.     And  this  i»  a 
land  abounding  in  cataracts;  in  these  northern 
states  where  shall  we  turn  and  not  find  them  T 


Hove  we  not  Kaaterskill,  Trentcm,  the  Flume, 
the  Genesee,  stupen.lous  Niagara,  and  a  hun- 
dred others  named  and  nameless  ones,  whose 
exceeding  beauty  must  be  acknowledged  when 
the  hand  of  taste  shall  point  them  out .' 

In  the  Kaaterskill  we  have  a  streann,  di- 
minutive indeed,  l)ut  throwing  itself  headlong 
over  a  fearful  precipice  into  a  deep  gorge  ot 
the  densely  w(«)ded  mountains— and  possessing 
:  a  singular  feature  in  the  vast  arche  1  cave  that 
'■  extends  beneath  and  behind  the  cataract.     At 
I  Trenton  there  is  a  chain  of  waterfalls  ot  re- 
'  markuble  beauty,  where  the  foaming  waters, 
:  shadowed  by  steep  cliffs,  break  oyer  rocks  ot 
'  architectur-il  formation,  and  tangled  and  pic- 
turesciue  trees  mantle  abrupt  precipices,  which 
it  would  be  easy  to  imagine  crumbling  and 
"  time-disparting  towers." 

And  Niagara  !  that  wonder  of  the  -vorld  .— - 
where  the  sublime  and  beautiful  are  bound 
together  in  an  indissoluble  chain.     In  gazing 
on  it  we  feel  as  though  a  great  void  had  been 
filled  in  our  minds— our  conceptions  ej-mnd— 
we  become  r.  part  of  what  we  behold !     At 
our  feet  the  tl<x)ds  of  a  thousand  rivers  are 
poured  out— the  contents  of  vast  inland  seas. 
In  its  volume  we  conceive  immensity  ;  in  its 
course,  everlasting  duration;  in  its  impetuosi- 
ty, uncontrollable  power.     These  are  the  ele- 
ments of  its  sublimity.    Its  beauty  is  garland- 
ed oround  in  the  varied  hues  ot  the  water,  m 
the  spray  that  ascends  the  sky,  and  in  tliat 
unrivalled  bow  which  forms  a  oomiilete  cinc- 
ture around  the  unresting  floods. 

The  river  scenery  of  the  United  States  is 
a  rich  and  boundless  theme.     The  Hudson  for 


natural  magnificence  is  unsurpassed.  What 
can  be  more  beautiful  than  the  lake-like  ex- 
panses of  Tapaan  and  Haverstraw.  as  seen 
from  the  rich  orchards  of  the  surrounding  hills ; 
hills  that  have  a  legend,  which  has  been  so 
sweetly  and  admirably  told  that  it  shall  not 
perish  but  with  the  language  of  the  land? 
What  can  be  more  imposing  than  the  pre- 
cipitous highlands;  whose  dark  foundotions 
have  been  rent  to  make  a  passage  for  the  deep- 
flowing  river?  And,  ascending  still,  where 
can  be  found  scenes  more  enchanting  .'  1  he 
loftv  Catskills  stan.l  afar  ofl— the  green  hills 
gently  rising  from  the  flood,  recede  like  steps 
by  w'hich  we  may  ascend  to  a  great  temple, 
whose  pillars  are  those  everlasting  hills,  and 
whose  dome  is  the  blue  boundless  vault  of 

licflvcn*  • 

The  Rhine  has  its  castled  crags,  its  vine- 
clad  hills,  and  ancient  villages;  the  Hudson 
has  its  wooded  mountains,  its  rugged  precipi- 
ces, its  green  undulating  8hores--a  natural 
maiesty,  and  an  unbounded  capacity  tor  im- 
provement by  art.  Its  shores  are  not  be- 
sprinkled  witli  venerated  ruins,  or  the  palMes 
of  princes;  but  there  are  flourishing  towns, 


■^^^i 


■^v.. 


276 


AMERICAN  SCENERY. 


and  neiit  villas,  nrnl  the  hnnd  of  tnsti!  lias  al- 
ready liccii  ut  work.  Without  any  crrnt 
streich  of  the  iiim^inotioii  we  may  nrilicipate 
the  time  when  the  iiinpli!  wutcM  shall  reflect 
temple,  and  tower,  and  dome,  in  every  variety 
of  picturesipieness  and  maiinitieence. 

In  the  Conneeticiit  we  Indiold  a  river  that 
diirers  widely  from  the  Hudson.  Its  nourees 
are  amid  the  wild  mountains  of  New  Hamp- 
shire; hut  it  soon  lireaks  into  a  luxuriant  val- 
ley, and  flows  for  more  than  a  hundred  miles, 
sometimes  lieneath  the  shadow  of  wooded 
hills,  and  sometimes  filanciii!;  throu^jh  the 
preen  expanse  of  (dm-hesprinkled  meadows. 
Whether  we  si.'e  it  at  Haverhill,  Northamp- 
ton, or  Hartford,  it  still  possesses  that  gentle 
aspect;  and  the  imuifination  can  scarcely  con- 
ceive Areadlan  vales  more  lovely  or  more 
peaceful  than  the  valli^y  of  the  Connecticut — 
Us  villages  are  rural  places  where  trees  over- 
spread every  dwellin!;.  and  the  fields  upon  its 
margin  have  the  richest  verdure. 

Nor  ought  the  Ohio,  the  Sus(|uehannah,  the 
Potomac,  with  their  tributaries,  and  a  thou- 
sand others,  be  omitted  in  the  rich  list  of 
American  rivers — there  arc  a  glorious  brother- 
h<xjd ;  but  volumes  would  be  insufficient  for 
their  description. 

In  the  forest  scenery  of  the  United  States 
we  have  that  which  occujiics  the  greatest 
space,  and  is  not  the  least  remarkable ;  being 

iirimitive,  it  diU'ers  widely  from  the  Eurojiean. 
n  the  American  forest  we  find  trees  in  every 
stage  of  vegetable  life  and  decay — the  slender 
Bajiliiig  rises  in  the  shadow  of  the  lofty  tree, 
and  the  giant  in  his  prime  stands  by  the  hoary 
patriarch  of  the  wood — on  the  ground  lie 
prostrate  decaying  ranks  that  once  waved  their 
verdant  heads  in  the  sun  and  wind.  These 
are  circumstances  productive  of  greot  variety 
and  pictures(|ueness — green  umbrageous  mas- 
ses— lofty  and  scathed  trunks — contorted 
branches  thrust  athwart  the  sky — the  mould- 
ering dead  bidow,  shrouded  in  moss  of  ever_, 
hue  and  texture,  form  richer  combinations  than 
can  be  found  in  the  trimmed  and  planted  grove. 
It  is  true  that  the  thinned  and  cultivated  wootl 
offers  les.s  obstruction  to  the  feet,  and  the  trees 
throw  out  their  branches  more  horizontally, 
and  are  cons(!(piently  more  umbrageous  when 
taken  singly ;  but  the  true  lover  of  the  pic- 
turesque is  s(d(iom  fatigued — and  trees  that 
grow  widely  apart  are  often  heavy  in  form, 
and  resemble  each  other  too  much  for  pic- 
turescjueness.  Trees  are  like  men,  difTering 
widely  in  character;  in  sheltered  spots,  or 
under  the  influence  of  culture,  they  show  few 
contrasting  points;  peculiarities  are  pruned 
and  trained  away,  until  there  is  a  general  re- 
semblance. But  in  exposed  situations,  wild 
and  uncultivated,  battling  with  the  elements 
and  with  one  another  for  the  possession  of  r. 


morsel  of  soil,  or  a  favoring  rock  to  which  they 
mav  cling — they  exhibit  striking  peculiarities, 
anil  sometimes  grand  originality. 

For  vari(!ty,  the  American  forest  is  nnrival- 
led  :  in  some  districts  are  found  oaks,  elriis, 
birches,  beeches,  planes,  pines,  hemlocks,  and 
many  other  kinds  of  trees,  commingled  — 
clothing  the  hills  with  every  tint  of  green, 
and  every  variety  of  light  and  shade. 

There  is  a  ])ecnliarity  observable  in  some 
mountainous  regions,  where  trees  of  a  genus 
band  together — there  often  may  be  seen  a 
mountain  whose  f(M)t  is  clothed  with  deciduous 
trees,  while  on  its  brow  is  a  sable  crown  of 
jjines ;  and  sometimes  belts  of  dark  green  en- 
circle a  mountain  horizontally,  or  are  stretched 
in  well-defined  lines  from  the  summit  to  the 
base.  The  nature  of' the  soil,  or  the  courses 
of  rivulets,  are  the  causes  of  this  variety ;  and 
it  is  a  beautiful  instance  of  the  exhaustlrss- 
ness  of  nature  ;  often  where  we  should  ex))ect 
unvarying  monotony,  we  behold  a  charming 
diversity.  Time  will  not  permit  me  to  speak 
of  the  American  forest-trees  individually ; 
but  I  must  notice  the  elm,  the  ])aragon  of 
beauty  and  shade ;  the  maple,  with  its  rain- 
bow Hues ;  and  the  hemlock,  the  sublime  of 
trees,  which  rises  from  the  gloom  of  the  forest 
like  a  dark  and  ivy-mantletl  tower. 

There  is  one  season  when  the  American 
forest  surpasses  all  the  world  in  gorgeousness 
— that  is  the  autumnal ;  then  every  hill  and 
dale  is  riant  in  the  luxury  of  color — every  hue 
is  there,  from  the  liveliest  green  to  deepest 
purple — from  the  most  golden  yellow  to  the 
intensest  crimson.  The  artist  looks  despair- 
ingly upon  the  glowing  landscape,  and  in  the 
old  world  his  truest  imitations  of  the  Ameri- 
can forest,  at  this  season,  are  called  falsely 
bright,  and  scenes  in  fairy  land. 

The  sky  wiU  next  demand  our  attention. 
The  soul  of  all  scenery,  in  it  are  the  fountains 
of  light,  and  shade,  and  color.  Whatever  ex- 
pression the  sky  takes,  the  features  of  the 
landscape  are  afFected  in  unison,  whether  it 
be  the  serenity  of  the  summer's  blue,  or  the 
dark  tumult  of  the  storm.  It  is  the  sky  that 
makes  the  earth  so  lovely  at  sunrise,  and  so 
splendid  at  sunset.  In  the  one  it  breathes  over 
the  earth  the  crystal-like  ether,  in  the  other 
the  liquid  gold.  The  climate  of  a  great  part  of 
the  United  States  is  subject  to  great  vicissi- 
tudes, and  we  complain  ;  but  nature  ofl"ers  a 
compensation.  These  very  vicissitudes  are 
the  abundant  sources  of  beauty — as  we  have 
the  temperature  of  every  clime,  so  have  we 
the  skies — we  have  the  blue  unsearchable 
depths  of  the  northern  sky — we  have  the  up- 
heaped  thunder-clouds  of  the  torrid  zone, 
fraught  with  gorgeousness  and  sublimity — we 
have  the  silver  haze  of  England,  and  the  gold- 
en atmosphere  of  Italy.     And  if  he  who  has 


tW^^ 


k  to  which  they 
ig  peculiarities, 

y- 

)rrst  is  uiiriviil- 
iml  oaks,  «'lfiis, 

hemlocks,  nrid 
cotnminj;l«vl  — 

tint  of  green, 
shiido. 

rvntilo  in  some 
oes  of  a  genus 
lay  be  seen  a 
with  (leeiduous 
satilo  erown  of 
(lark  p;reen  en- 
)r  are  stretched 
sinnmit  to  the 
or  iho  courses 
is  variety ;  and 
lie  exhaustloss- 
;  should  exiiect 
111  a  charming 
lit  mo  to  speak 

individually ; 
!>o  piirnijon  of 
,  with  its  rain- 
tho  suhlinie  of 
>in  of  the  forest 
wer. 

the  American 
n  gorgeoiisness 

every  hill  and 
lor — every  hue 
pen  to  deepest 

yellow  to  the 

looks  desj)air- 
pe,  and  in  the 
of  the  Ameri- 

called  falsely 

our  attention, 
•e  the  fountains 
Whatever  ex- 
catures  of  the 
ion,  whether  it 
"s  blue,  or  the 
is  the  sky  that 
sunrise,  and  so 
it  breathes  over 
r,  in  the  other 
F  a  great  part  of 
)  great  vicissi- 
lature  ofTers  a 
icissitudes  are 
r — as  we  have 
e,  80  have  we 
;  unsearchable 
e  have  the  up- 
B  torrid  zone, 
sublimity — we 
1,  and  the  gold- 
if  he  who  has 


AMKUIOAN  SCENKllY. 


R77 


:  hmdw  are  rural  -hveirui-s  shaded  by  elm-  lu. ' 
,.„rbinded  bv  (lowers— from  yonder  diirk  niiiss 
r.f  foliage  tlie  village  spire  beams  li.ie  a  star. 
You  see  no  ruim'd  tower  to  t.dl  ol  outrage- 
no  Ln>rKe.ms  temple  to  speak  of  ostentaMou  ; 
but  Freedom's oll'spring-peac.;,  ^ecuri.> ,  and 

,,„ler-    happiness,  dwell  there,  the  spirits  of  the  scene. 

.:;::i;'L    0,1  L  margin  ..f  that  gent^nver  the  _v.llage 


travelled  and  ol)served  the  skies  of  other  dunes 
will  spend  a  few  mouths  ou  il.c  banks  ,,l  tb. 
lludsl.u,  be  must  be  coiistniini'd  to  aeknowl- 
,.,b'e  ihut  for  variety  and  imiiiintK'eiie.;  Airieri- 
can  4ues  are  unsurpassed.  Italian  skies  have 
bien  lauded  by  every  tongue,  and  sun-  l>y  ev- 
nv  iioer,  and  who  will  deny  iheir  woiider- 
[  lleauiy  !      At  .unset  the  serene  are.  js    -;,;- ::';^;,;i--^,b;.t.d_and  tin    „ 

,iU.d  with  alehymy  »VV'T"    hL    i  i  -r    s      kiS 
uins,  and  streams,    and   t.Muples,  luto  livmg  ^  ^l;)}'!; '    ij^,,,,  „,„t  dwellings,  unpr.^tt  ndnig 
jrol.l.  „„  I  ,,,  nmimiticence,  are  the  abodes  ot  plenty,  vir- 

"  Hut   the  American  f '"'"",  "'^^"^''^■'f.^^  J^^S'S.^^  And  in  b.okingover  the 

without  many  sunsets  that  might  vu- with   he  ,  tue  «'^'^  '•^  ^l       ,  ,^^  „;„,].«  ..ye  may 

Italian,  and  many  std    more  gorgeous-that    yt^t  uncult^  ^.^^^^.^^_     ^^^^^  ^^^^  ^^.^j,. 

seem  peculiar  to  this  cbine.  !  ■        ,       .    ^    ^i  nlislen;  on  the  gray  crag  shall 

Look  at   the  h.avens  when    the    ^ '7  «    ,  M';;,l  3, '^.^^  ^ 
shower  has  pusse.l,  and  the  sun  stoops  bel  nd    '^^^^^^  "„„^  pathless  wilderness  ;  and  po- 
Ibe  western  mountaiu^lhere  the  l.nv  purp  e    d  mo  m  ten  ^^  ^^^^  ^^^.,_ 


clouds  hang  in  festoons  around  the  steeps— in 
the  hi'dier  heaven  are  crimson  bands  inter- 


lioim  III  m^  .."••    I --  .. 

cts  yet  unborn  shall  sanctify  the  s(nl. 

'  It  was  our  intention  to  attempt  a  description 


-  crimen  bands  ime  -  ^f'^^^;  ^  '-.;;;;;i^ble  for  their"  pic 
wovcn°with  feathers  ot  gold.  «'' <"f  ''V-^'^T  !  turesreness Id  truly  American  character; 
of  angels-and  still  above  is  spread  that  inte  -  |  ^^"^^  ^'^"^'^Vto  whicli  we  have  been  limited 
.aiuable  lield  of  ether,  whose  color  is  too  beau-  1 '^"/i,^  ft'^  Yet  we  can  not  but  express  soi- 
liful  to  have  a  name.  ,,    ,  .    ,    •„„„  I  row  that  the  beauty  of  such  landscapes  ore 

It  is  not  in  the  summer  only  that  American  ,  \2ci\wl^^^^^^-  away-thc  ravages  of  the  oxe 
skies  are  beautiful,  for  the  winter  evening  MU.ckly  pa  sm^^^^^^y^^  niost  noble  scenes 
often  comes  robed  in  purple  and  gold   and  u     a  o    la  y    .  c  g^^  „ft,„j;„es  with  a  ^yan- 

the  westering  sun  the  iced  ^''^'^.^  «     ".^^    "  ^,  ^^  Ld  barbarism  scarcely  credible  in  a 
beneath  a  shower  of  diamonds-and  thn  ugh    »'  ""^^  ,        j  ^he  way-side  is  becoming 

the  twilight  heaven  innumerable  stars  «1»»«,  T^'J^^'J/'^  another  generation  will  behold 
with  a  purer  light  than  summer  ever  knows.    1  shaaeiess,  ann__uu      ^    ^  _^      ,i„„„„,„tn,i  hv 

Wbat  has  been  considered  a  grand  detect 
in  American  scenery  is  the  want  of  associa- 
tions, such  as  arise  amid  the  scenes  ot  the  old 
world.  , 

We  have  many  a  spot  as  umbrageous  as 
Valloinbrosa,  and  as  picturesiiue  as  the  soli- 
tudes of  Vaucluse ;  but  Milton  and  Petrarch 
have  nut  hallowed  them  by  their  footsteps  and 
immortal  verse.     He  who  stands  on   Mont 
Albano  and  looks  down  on  ancient  Rome,  has 
his  mind  peopled  with  the  gigantic  associations 
of  the  storied  past;  but  he  who  stands  on  ttie 
mounds  of  the  west,  the  most  venerable  re- 
mains of  American  antiquity,  may  ex])erience 
the  emotion  of  the  sublime,  but  it  is  the  sub- 
limity of  a  shoreless  ocean  un-islanded  by  the 
recorded  deeds  of  man.  . 

Yet  American  scenes  are  not  destitute  ot 
historical  and  legendary  associations — the 
graat  struggle  for  freedom  has  sanctified  many 
a  spot,  and  many  a  mountain,  stream,  and  rork, 
has  its  legend,  worthy  of  poet's  pen  or  the 
painter's  pencil.     But  American  associations 


spots,  now  rife  with  beauty,  desecrated  by 
what  is  called  improvement ;  which,  as  yet, 
cenerally  destroys  Nature's  beauty  without 
substituting  that  of  Art.  This  is  a  regret 
rather  than  a  complaint;  such  is  the  road  so- 
ciety  has  to  travel;  it  may  lead  to  rctinernent 
in  the  end,  but  the  traveller  who  sees  the  place 
of  rest  close  at  hand,  dislikes  the  road  that  has 
so  many  unnecessary  windings. 

We  conclude,  with  the  hope  that,  though 
feebly  urged,  the  importance  of  cultivating  a 
taste  for  scenery  will  not  be  forgotten.  Na- 
ture has  spread  for  us  a  nch  and  delightful 
banquet.  Shall  we  turn  from  it  ?  AVe  are 
still  in  Eden ;  the  wall  that  shuts  us  out  of  the 
garden  is  our  own  ignorance  and  lolly.  W  e 
should  not  allow  the  poet's  words  to  be  ap- 
plicable to  us: — 

"  Deep  in  rich  paeture  do  tby  flocks  complain  ? 
Not  so;  but  to  their  master  is  denied 
To  share  the  sweet  serene." 

May  we  at  times  turn  from  the  ordinary  pur- 


valley,   begirt  with  wooded   hills— through  i  let  us 
those  enamelled  meadows  and  wide,  waving 


fields  of  grain,  a  silver  stream  winds  lingcring- 
ly  alone— here,  seeking  the  green  shade  of 
trees— there,  glancing  in  the  sunshine  :  on  Us 


"  Learn 
The  laws  by  whicli  the  Eternal  doth  sublime 
And  sanctity  his  works  that  we  may  ^e    __ 
The  bidden  glory  veiled  from  vulgar  eyes. 


.  'i  ■  . 


;.*,,*s 


■'%ii.,  i,i 
li-.  -    i- 


'■>^^ 


878 


DIVISIONS  OF  THE  GLOBE. 


DIVISIONS  OF  THE  GLOBE. 

TiiK  notural  division  of  the  Burface  of  the 
globe  is  into  sea  and  land,  about  three  fourths 
of  the  whole  being  occupied  by  water,   al- 
though probably  nowhere  to  n  (U'lah  beyond 
two  or  three  miles.      The  reinoining  fourth 
consists  of  land   elevated  more  or  less  above 
the  level  of  the  sea,  inters|)er»ed  in  some  parts 
with  smaller  collections  of  water  at  various 
heights,  and  in  a  few  instances  somewhat  low- 
er tluui  the  general  surface  of  the  main  ocean. 
Thus,  the  Caspimi  sea  is  said  to  be  about 
three  hundred  feet  lower  than  the  ocean,  and 
in  the  interior  part  of  Africo,  there  is  probably 
a  luke  'j(pi>«lly  depressed.     We  can  not  ob- 
serve any  general  symmetry  in  this  distriltu- 
tion  of  the  earth's 'surface',  except  that  the 
two  large   continents  of  Africa   and    South 
America,  have   some  slight   reseniblonce   in  j 
their  forms,  and  that  each  of  them  is  termina- 
ted to  the  eastward  by  a  collection  of  nume- 
rous islands.     The  large  copes  projecting  to 
the  southward,  have  also  a  similority  with 
respect  to  their  form,  and  the  islands  neor 
them.     To  the  west,  the  continents  are  exca- 
vated into  large  bays,  ond  the  islands  are  to  the 
east.     Thus  Cape  Horn,  has  the   Falkland 
islands ;  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  Madagas- 
gar ;  ond  Cape  Comorin,  Ceylon  to  the  east. 
The  great  continent,  composed  of  Europe,  Asia 
and  Africa,  constitutes  about  a  seventh  of  the 
whole  surfoce  of  the  earth  ;  America,  about 
a  sixteenth  ;  and  New  South  Wales,  about  o 
fifth ;  or,  in  hundredth  parts  of  the  whole, 
Euroj)e  contains  two;  Asia,   seven;  Africa, 
six ;  America,  six ;  and  Austrolia,  two ;  the 
remaining  seventy-seven  being  sea ;  although 
some  authors  assign  seventy-two  ports  only 
out  of  one  hundred  to  the  sea,  and  twenty- 
eight  to  the  land.     These  proportions  moy  be 
ascertained  with  tolerable  accuracy,  by  weigh- 
ing the  paper  made  for  covering  a  globe,  first 
entire,  and  then  cut  out,  according  to  the  ter- 
minations of  the  ditferent  countries.     Or,  if 


rivers.  Of  these  some  of  the  principal  are, 
the  Amo/on,  the  Missouri,  the  MiHsissippi, 
the  Niger,  the  Arkansas,  the  Nile,  the  Kian- 
Ku,  the  St.  Lawrence,  the  Honng-ho,  the 
Amour,  the  Rio  del  Norte,  the  Volga,  the 
Yensei,  the  Oby,  the  Danube,  the  Imlus,  the 
Orinoco,  the  (ianges,  the  Euphrates,  the  Sen- 
egal, and  the  Dnieper ;  and  thi»  is  nearly  the 
order  of  their  magnitudes. 

Wc  may  form  a  pretty  accurate  idea  of  the 
levels  of  the  ancient  continent,  by  tracing  a 
line  across  it  in  such  a  direction  as  to  puss  no 
river,  which  will  obviously  point  out  n  tract 
of  country  higher  than  most  of  the  neighbor- 
ing parts,     beginning  at  Cape  Fiiiisterre,  we 
soon  arrive  at  the  Pyrenees,  keeping  to  the 
south  of  the  Garonnle,  an<l  the  Loire.     After 
taking  a  long  turn  northwanl  to  avoid    the 
Rhine,  we  come  to  Switzerland  ;  and  we  may 
apjtroach  very  near  to  the  Mediterranean  in 
the  state  of  Genoa,  taking  core  not  to  pass 
the  branches  of  the  Po.     Wc  make  a  circuit 
in  Switzeriand,  and  pass  between  the  sources 
of  the  Danube  and  of  the  branches  of  the 
Rhine  and  Swabia.     Crossing  Franconia,  we 
leave  Bohemia  to  the  north,  in  order  to  avoid 
the  Elbe,  and  coming  nea'  to  the  borders  of 
Austria,   follow   those  of   Hungary,   to  the 
I  south  of   the   Vistulo.     The   Dnieper  then 
obliges  us  to  go  northward  through  Lithuania, 
leaving  the  Don  wholly  to  the  right,  and  the 
Volga,   to  j)ass  still  farther  north,  between 
Petersburg  and  Moscow.     We  may  then  go 
eastward  to  the  boundaries  of  Asia,  and  thence 
northward  to  Nova  Zcmbla.     Hence  we  de- 
scend to  the  west  of  the  Oby,  antl  then  to  the 
east  of  the  branches  of  the  Volga,  and  the 
other  inland  rivers  flowing  into  the  lake  Arel, 
ond  the  Caspian  sea.     Here  we  are  situated 
in  the  widely-extended  elevation  of  India,  in 
the  neighborho(Kl  of  the  sources  of  the  In- 
dus ;    and  lastly  in  our  way  hence   toward 
Knmschatko,  we  leave  Yensei,  ond  Lena,  on 
the  left,  and  'he  Ganges,  Sec,  on  the  right. 
The  direct!    •  <    the  most  conspicuous  mount- 
ains is,  how  vet,  a  little  different  from  this, 


The  principal  chain  first  constitutes  the  Pyr- 
enees, and  divides  Spain  from  France ;  then 


still  greater  accuracy  were  required,  the  great- 
er port  of  the  continents  might  be  divided  in- 
fo known  portions  of  the  whole  surface,  and  .  •  •  t,  ai 
their  remaining  irregular  portions  alone  weigh- I  passes  through  Auvergne.  to  join  the  Alps, 
ed  It  will  be  seen,  even  by  a  superficial  j  ami  through  the  south  of  Germany,  Daltnutio, 
glance,  at  an  artificial  globe,  that  the  great  Albania,  and  Macedonia.  It  is  found  again 
preponderance  of  land  lies  toward  the  north-  '  beyond  the  Euxine.  under  the  name  of  lau- 
ern  hemisphere  or  half;  all  the  conriiients  lie  '  rus,  Caucasus,  and  Imaus,  and  goes  on  to 
in  this  direction,  and  to  the  south,  is  a  wide  |  Tortary,  and  Kamschatka.  The  peninsula 
expanse  of  ocean,  studded  with  numerous  of  Iniiia.  is  divided  from  north  to  south,  by 
small  and  scattered  groups  of  islands.  It  will  1  the  mountains  of  Gate,  extending  from  the 
be  observed,  too,  that  the  continents  stretch  |  extremity  of  Caucasus,  to  Cape 
from  the  north  pole,  toward  the  equator  and 
south  pole,  or  parallel  to  the  lines  of  longitude, 
not  across  or  parallel  to  the  equator.  The 
general  inclinations  and  levels  of  the  conti- 
nents are  discovered  by  the  course  of  their 


Comorin. 
In  Africo,  Mount  Atlas  stretches  from  Fez  to 
Egypt,  and  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon  run 
nearly  in  the  same  direction.  There  is  also  a 
considerable  elevation  between  the  Nile  und 
the  Red  sea.     In  the  New  World,  the  neigh- 


TT-- 


an 


THE  FALL  OF  BABYLON. 


)  principnl  ore, 
hf!  MiHs'iMsijipi,  i 
Nile,  th«  Kinii- 
Hotinjr-hii,  tin; 
the  Voljjii,  thf! 
,  the  Imlus,  the 
hrotcn,  tlie  .Sen- 
lis  is  neorly  the 

irate  idea  of  the 
It,  by  tracinn;  b 
m  Bs  to  pass  no 
Dint  out  n  tract 
f  the  neiphbor- 
^  Kiiiisterrc,  we 
keeping  to  the 
e  Loire.  After 
(I  to  avoiil  the 
1(1 ;  ami  we  may 
[editerranenn  in 
are  not  to  ]ms» 
1  make  a  circuit 
^ccn  the  sources 
)ranche8  of  the 
;  Franconia,  we 
in  order  to  avoid 

the  borders  of 
iunpary,  to  the 
3  Dnieper  then 
ough  Lithuania, 
le  rinht,  and  the 

north,  between 

Ve  may  then  go 

Asia,  and  tlience 

Hence  we  de- 

,  and  then  to  the 

Volga,  and  the 
to  the  lake  Arel, 
we  are  situated 
ition  of  India,  in 
irces  of  the  In- 
y  hence  toward 
ei,  and  Lena,  on 
c,  on  the  right, 
ispicuows  monnt- 
ierent  from  this, 
stitutes  the  Pyr- 
m  France ;  then 
0  join  the  Alps, 
many,  Dalenatia. 
t  is  found  again 
le  name  of  Tau- 

and  goes  on  to 

The  peninsula 

)rth  to  south,  by 

;ending  from  the 

Cape  Comorin. 
ches  from  Fez  to 
of  the  Moon  run 
,  Thftre  is  also  a 
een  the  Nile  and 
World,  the  neigh- 


l„„h.M..I  of  the  wcxtrrn  roa,.t  is  in  grnrrnl  th»! 
,n„.t  cl.vutcd.     In  North  Amcr.ca,  tW  Mine 
,„„„uiuins.  ,.r  .St, my  mountains  an;  the  most 
.•oM.idcrable,  and  the  nmuutamt  of   Mexico 
i„ii.  the  Andes  or  Cordili.T.H.  winch  are  con- 
iinur.l  aionu'  the  whole  of  the  west  coast  ot 
.S.Miih  America.     There  arc  sevral  points  in 
both  licmi«i>hcrcM,  from  which  wc  may  observe 
river-,   scpurutin;;   to   run   to    ditliTcnt   seas. 
Tlic  lii'dicst  mountuins  in  the  world  are  the 
Ilinmbrvarannc.  in  Asiu.  which  are  uiiward 
„f  ivvrn"ty-eii;littliousBmi  feet;  ( Jumbora/.o. 
iu  America  twenty-one  thousand  j  the  Abys-  . 
<ini.m  mountains  in  Africa.  Iroin  ten  to  httee_n 
Ibousund;  Mount  Bbmc,  in  .Switzerland,  tif- 
tr.'u  tliousiind;  and  the  \ppcn.ncs,   upwanl 
of  nine  lli.usiind  feet.     The  plains  of  (iuito, 
in  l»,'ru,  are  so  much  elevated,  that  the  bar- 
,„r„.|(r  stands  at  the  height  i>(  fifteen  inches 
„„lv    wlii(di  at  th.i  level  of  the  sea,  stan.ls  at 
thirty   indios:    thus   the   air   is    reduced   to 
half  "its  density.     Hut  none  of  these  heights 
is   eniml   to  a  thousandth    part  ot    hall    the 
earth's  diameter,  and  the  greatest  ot    these 
miglit  be  represented  as  grains  of^and  on  a 
six-inch  silobe.  *  , 

The  internal  parts  of  the  body  of  the  earth 
are  little  known  from  actual  observation,  as 
the  deepest  mines  or  excavations,  are  com- 
paratively as  but  scratches  on  the  em    o    an 
ai.I)lc.     The  real  density  of  the  earth  then, 
beyond  the  mere  surface,  is  l)ut  matter  of  con- 
jecture     From  observations  on  the  attraction 
of'the  mountain  Shehallion,  Dr.  Maskylcn 
supposed   the   actual    mean  density   ot    the 
earth  throuijhout  all  its  mass  to  be  that  ot  wa- 
ter as  4  A  to'  1,  judging  from  the  probable  den- 
sity of  the  iuternal  substance  ot  the  mount- 
ains, which  he  supposed   to  be  a  solid  rock. 
Mr.  Cavendish,  has  concluded  more  directly, 
from  exiieriments  on  a  mass  of  lead,  that  the 
mean  density  of  the  earth  is  U)  that  of  water 
as  r>i  to  I.     This  density  assigned  by  Mr. 
CavJndish,  is  not  at  all  greater  than  might  be 
coniecturcd,  from  observations  on  the  vibra- 
tions of  pendulums.     The  great  Newton  had 
lon.r  a^o  advanced  it  as  a  probable  supposition, 
that  the  moan  density  of  the  earth  might  be 
about  five  or  six  times  as  great  as  that  ot  wa- 
ter, and  the  perfect  agreement  of  the  result 
of  many  modern  experiments  with  thin  con- 
iecture,  afTords  us  a  new  pnx.f,  m  addition  to 
in<iny  others,  of  the  accuracy  and  penetration 
oi  that  illustrious  philosopher. 


THE  FALL  OF  BABYLON. 


Truth  and  Justick  arc  the  immutable 
laws  of  social  order.  Far  from  us  be  t|ie 
dan-'erous  maxim,  thot  it  is  sometimes  usetul 
to  mislead,  to  enslave,  and  to  deceive  man- 
I  kind,  to  insure  their  happiness.  Cruel  expe- 
rience has  at  all  times  proved,  that  wuh  inipu- 
nity,  these  sacred  laws  can  never  be  mjured. 


Tut  history  of  the  fall  of  Habylon  rriOy  be 
found  at  large  in  HenHlolus,  mmI  in  Ioskphus's 
I  AnlinHilks  of  the  Jew.i.      h   .  ■■  ^^^T']  ''"' 
scribed  by  Strabo,  Xeiiophcn.  and  DuMlorus 
Siculus.      The   prolliu-ncy    unJ    impiety   o 
Helsha/./ar,    king  of  Habylon,    jfrandson  ot 
1  Neliuchadnc/./.ar,  had  excited  the  Divine  an- 
i  ger,  and  at  the  visibb-  interposition  ot  the  (..mI 
:  whom  he  had  derided  ami  Idasphenied,  be  lost 
i  at  once  his  kingdom  and  his  life.     Having 
I  provided  a  »pb'ndi<l  entertainment  tor  llie  lio- 
'  Lies  of  his  court,  lie  commanded  to  be  brouglit 
th.)  L'olden  cups,  those  npoils  ot  the  Jewish 
temple  which  Nel>iicha.irie//.ar.  after  his  siic- 
'  cessful  siege  of  .lerusalei.i.  had  carrie.l  into  the 
sanctuary  of  his  own   uod.     These  spl.'ndid 
i  m.blcts  In-  ordered  to  be  used  by  his  guests  in 
iheir  drunken  revelry :  thus  m.t  only  protaniiig 
Itho  sacred  vessels  originally  ih' voted  to  the 
purposes  of  the  Jewish  ceremonial  worsliip, 
Lut  likewise  polluting  those  othis  country  s 
'  g„ds;  as  those  Jewish  vessels  had  lieen  con- 
;  sccraterl  to  the  rites  of  his  own  religion.     1  his 
I  double  sacrilege  did  m.t  pass  without  its  rctri- 
I  hution.     During  the  feast,  the  most  odious 
i  blasphemies  were   uttered   by  the  king   and 
the  revellers  who  composed  his  court.      I  hey 
sang  praises  to  th.ise  divinities  of  wooil  and 
stone  which  were  the  objects  of  their  hollow  1 
adoration,   as  if  in  mockery  of  Hun,  who. 
though   "mighty    to    save,^'   proved   to   the 
Chaldean  king  and  his  nobles,  that  he  is  mighty 

also  to  destroy.  .        ..      ,  ^,     c„„„. 

In  the  midst  of  their  impious  least,  the  finger 
of  Go.1  inscribed  their  sentence  upon  the  wall 
of  the  court  in  which  they  were  audaciously 
deridins  him.     While  in  tlie  very  act  of  pro- 
fanin"  the  sacred  vessels,  the  king  perceived, 
to  his^  utter  consternation,  a  hand  tracing  upon 
the  wall  in  legible  characters,  the  ternble  rec- 
ord of  his  doom.     Astounded  at  a  sight  so 
singular  and  appalling,  he  sent  for  the  astro  o- 
gers.  who  at  that  time  were  regular  y  retain- 
!  cd  in  the  eastern  courts,  together  with  all  per- 
sons  who  had  ac<iuired  repute   as  il>v"'(">-s, 
prophets,  and  interpreters  of  '^^^'^^f,/''^ 
these  he  cunnanded  an  explanation  of  the  mys- 

terhms  writing.  The  seal  "f  G-'d; ^^"'^V  o,;! 
coul.l  not  break,  was  tipon  it.  Amazed  a 
confounded,  the  king  disinissed  them,  and 
cnlU:.l  others  to  unveil  the  fearfu  mystery  in 
which  his  destiny  appeared  to  be  shrouded. 
No  one  could  read  the  record.  The  royal 
blasphemer  was  abashed,  and  1"^.  ?""«"X„ 
shrunk  from  the  apprehension  of  impending 

destruction.  - „,„i:n„ 

Nitocris.  his  mother,  a  woman  /  "^"^f  ^"/^ 
energies,  who  had  successfully  fortihed  l^r 
native  cty  agoinst  the  Medes  ami  Persians, 
roied  tS  effeminate  king  from  the  stupor  of 


■'PC 


=^-== 


him  t..  i,.i.'ri.r.a  the  writing  which  htt.l  ball  c.l 
,1,,,  ,„.„..truti,.»  <.f  ttU  his  wiHc  mm..  Ihe 
(Jlml'l.'.iM  tno.mrch  promlsc.l  to  b.'stnw  u.xm 
Dai.irl  ilw  third  purt  <-f  hi«  (lominumH,  if  he 
Hh.iul.l  succ-.mI  in  unfoklinR  tho  a^lul  mys- 
t,.rv  si  ill  viniblo  u|K.n  the  wb  1,  where  it  had 
hern  triicfd  by  a  supernatural  hnnd.     Hut,  to 


that  which  i»  the  etrect  of  wis.lom  and  ot  Di- 
vine revx-lation  admits  of  no  Rifts,  and  bestows 
its,  ud vm.tiiKcs  on  jictitioncrs  freely ;  neverthe- 
h»*,  ihut  ho  would  explnin  the  wnlms  to  him, 
which  (b'uotcd  that  he  must  soon  die,  ond  this, 
beciuse   ho   had  not  learned  to  hoiior  0(«1 


TIIK  FALL  OP  BABYLON. 


— ~ '        "  .  ,.     -Tk     •  1  .1.-1. Al.nfNitocris  the  MUPen's  mother,  the  Hiiliy- 

d..pair.  hy  tellmg  him  '--'  - J'-;,f..''^«,  !  .1  derail  0..!  efr.t,  of  the  Persian. 
J,.w.  This  "  servant  of  the  1  v.  »r  «''  "•  °«  |  ,p,,  „„,,  ,,r.,vision«  sutlhr.rnt  or  a  ronsu.,.].- 
h„  is  el.ewli.Te  styled  in  Scnpture,  vm  then,    i  uy  ^,j^^  ^^,^„^  ,,,.  ,,„.,^  ,.,( 

with  many  of  hisii-ountryrnen,  ^  capt'v  y  a  »;  "^J' ,  ^  ^ly^, ,„  ,,,,„„,,  ,„.„>,  three  hun- 
lkhvlon.a..dh..dr.ndere.lh.mselfcelebrac<  |wore(    1        «  ^^^,   ,,i„hty-sevrn 

1 1,  the  Chaldeans,  by  having  'n^;nTe  «d  {^  ^  ""^n  e7 were  built  of  bricks,  forrried  of 
the  dr.M.ms  ..f  N«bueha.:ne//.ar.  _f '  «  ,»^  "«  r;";^-  ^,,1  Jfirm  in  texture,  as  to  be  harder 


intcK.      1 11' If  v><  ■'   •• ,      , 

a  materi.il  so  firm  in  texture,  as  to  be  harder 
tlnm  atmhc.  Th.'8e  brirks  wer.;  ^em- nted 
to«ethcrw'th  a  Rlutim.us  .-orth  that  in  lime 
became  as  har.l  as  the  ni.ixs.-s  which  it  .init.'d. 
In  spite  of  all  tlicnc  unshty  ..bKtridcs,  Tynis 
resolved  upon  the  reduction  .if  tins  nppar.'.itly 
impregnablo  capital.  T-  this  end  he  cm- 
structed  a  nutnb.-r  of  wo...l.'n  towers,  hi-her 


icrv  siiii  vi:ii."i.  "I -     ",  ;       ,      T.  .    ►„   Btructe.l  a  nutnu.'r  oi  i".,,, .w.,w,  ..-r.-  - 

b,,."u  tracc.l  by  a  supernatural  han,i.     mu,  ^  ^^^,,p  ^         ,U.,,,rrut.-  ef- 

„g..  the  words  of  Josephus.*  '' l^«"'''l '77'   i  A""   o  carry  the  place  by  storm;  but  .•very 
Zt  h.-  would  keep  his  ^ifts  to  himself;,  i.r  |  ♦';:^,':J,'^^^^'i^[y  f„.,,,,\.     He  next  .Ir.'W  a  lu,..  ot 


attempt  wus  foil.-.l  H«'  next  .Ir.'W  a  ....■  .it 
circumvallation  roun.l  tho  city,  thus  hoping 
to  starve  the  enemy  into  a  wrreiid.r.  I  wo 
years  were  spent  in  this  unnvmhna  I'lo.'ka.l.j, 
when  an  oi)p..rtunity  presented  its.dt  "'»"""';"- 
that  iMirposo  by  Btratnsem,  which  h.-  hail 


opposiie  SHU)  wiiiiD  ■•.  1-"' ■•  ■        .•     1  I  1„ 

to  enter  the  channel  wherever  it  WaS  for.lal  le 

He  then  detached  a  thir.l  party  t.)  ..pj  n  the 

head  of  a  canal  connected  with  the  Kuphra tcs, 

and  thus  admit  the  river  into  the  trenches 

which  ho  had  opened  roun.l  the  city,     iiy 

Thut,   therefore,   God  seeing  tm«. /^  "-   these  means  the  ri'ver  was  so  complet.;y.lrain- 

,,U,"a.s.=d  with  him,  and  h.i.l  declared  ^Y  tf "I  „;j„ij,hl,  that  the  tr.H.ps  easily  made 

writing  that  his  life  would  have  a  most  ™M  t^eir  way  along  its  be.l,  an.l  the  pates  upon 

teriniuati.m.     He  then  explained  the  writing  3         s  ^^^^  ^^^^  uncl.«e.l,  in  const- 

,s  tuUows._MENE:  This  if  It  be  expounded    he  banKs  ^^^  ^fc^^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^^^^^^^^  ^^ 

in  ih.;  Greek  language,  will  signify  a  «"»»j'^'^;  I  '„nfu8i„„  of  the  festival,  the  besiegers  tound 
because  God  has  numbered  so  long  a  time  tor  co.uuai _  ^     ^^.^  „rnarpss.     Havine 


„f  imiMkind.  Daniel  alw  out  Belshaz/.ar  in 
tnind  h  pw  greatly  he  had  blaspliemed  agamst 
God,  ...1,1  ha.l  nia-le  use  of  his  sacred  vessels 
umon-  his  .lepraved  nobles  and  concubines. 
Tlmt,"  therefore,   God  seeing  this,  was  dis- 


thy  life  an.l  for  thy  government,  and  that  wre 
remains  but  a  small  portion.— Tekel:  1  ms 
signities  a  weight,  and  means  that  God  lias 
weiirh.'.l  thy  kingdom  in  the  balance,  oid  hmls 
it  already  on  the  decline.— Pu_ARE3j^Thisal90, 

in  til    " 
will 

an. 

f 

tation;  iii.-vcii.iivj'^s-',  ">'"—'--•• --■  „ 

what  ho  had  promised.  Immediately  alter 
the  city  was  taken,  and  Belshazzar  put  to 
death.  The  manner  of  its  capture  was  singu- 
lar. About  540  years  before  the  birth  ot 
Christ  Cyrus  the  Great  had  invested  the  cap- 
ital of  Chiililea.  His  armies  had  been  every- 
where victorious ;  yet  trusting  in  the  prodi- 
gious strength  of  their  city,  and  the  vase  coun- 

ish  Antiquities,  Book  x.  Chap  xi. 


no  interruption  to  their  progress.  Having 
thus  penetrated  into  the  heart  ot  the  cnerny  a 
capital,  they  met,  according  to  agrccm.Mit,  at 
Uie  gates  of  the  palace.  Here,  after  a  ieeble 
resistance,  they  easily  overpowere.l  tl'e  S";""|»' 


Where  now  arc  Trov  an.l  iruKl.ti.   B^  ['»"  ' 
On  their  pn.rd  site  tlie  eiirth  18  wil.l  an.l  bare, 
o'er  them  stern  Time  has  a  f..ll  y-otory  worn 
And  they  are  n.ingle.l  wHh  tb-Uhu-ps     >    were. 
Thus  works  deHtrucUon  ;  from  h,M  «'7;«'.''  L._ 
He  skulks  nbroa.l  to  mar  what  "'»"  ^""  "'"^^ ' 
Decay,  slow  mh-.Mig,  meets  us  evrrywlioro^ 
H-Krth'n  oaeea  ir'os  are  '■..guive— horo  l.ido 
iu  thbgs  ITik.-  a.e  dcbtso?  m  u.re  lou.l  be  paid. 


-Sii 


f'fffi 


t%ti%«i 


r 


INDIANS  IN  OEEGON, 


283 


In  the  engraving  of  the  fall  of  Babylon,  the 
artist  has  endeavored  to  exhibit  tV.e  Chaldean 
c«    tal  at  the  height  of  its  glory.    In  the  dis- 
taTe  the  mighty  tower  of  Babel,  which  he 
u^poses  to  have^been  still  standing  upon  the 
nlains  of  Shinar,  rears  its  stupendous  bulk, 
Sidin.'  its  summit  in  the  clouds,  a  monument 
of  human  presumption  and  human  impotency. 
The  hi-h  tower  upon  the  bank  of  the  ri\er 
is  the  celebrated  temple  of  Belus,  the  external 
buil.lings  of  which  were  raised  by  Nebuchad- 
ncMar.     This  huge  tower  was  six  hundred 
feet  simare  at  the  base,  and  the  same  number 
of  feet  hiMi.     The  temple  was  set  apart  tor 
theworshfpof  Baal,and  the  treasure  contain- 
ed within  its  walls,  in  the  palmy  days  of  the 
Chaldean  empire,  has  been  estimated  at  torty- 
two  millions  sterling.  ,      c  -n  t 

Upon  the  right  of  the  temple  of  Belus,  as 
the  spectator  faces  the  water  on  that  sule, 
stands  the  palace  of  Semiramis,  four  miles  m 
circumference.  To  this  extraordinary  woman 
Babylon  first  owed  its  greatness,  blie  lett 
everywhere  immortal  monuments  of  her  genius 
and  of  her  power.  She  was  the  greatest  war- 
rior of  her  time.  To  facilitate  communica- 
tion with  her  capital,  she  hollowed  mount- 
ains and  filled  up  valleys,  and  water  was  con- 
veyed at  a  vast  expense  by  immense  aqueducts, 
to  deserts  and  unfruitful  plains.  _ 

The  bridge  seen  in  our  engraving  was  built 
bv  Nitocrls,  the  mother  of  Belshazzar.  In 
the  right-hand  corner  of  the  engravmg  is  seen 
the  palace  of  Nc'uchadnezzar,  eight  miles  m 
circumference,  and  surmounted  by  the  cele- 
brated hanging  gardens.  These  occupied  a 
square  of  four  hundred  feet  on  every  side,  and 
consisted  of  spacious  terraces  raised  one  above 
the  other,  until  they  reacaed  the  height  of  the 
city  walls.  The  whole  pile  was  sustained  by 
immense  arches,  built  upon  other  arches,  and 
supported  on  either  side  by  a  wall  twenty-two 

^  The'crowd  which  appears  in  the  bed  of  the 
river  is  the  enemy  setting  fire  to  the  Babylo- 
nian navy.  On  the  right  of  these  is  the  Per- 
sian horse  headed  by  Cyrus.  The  group  m 
the  near  foreground  consists  of  the  king,  and 
apartyoftheenemy;  these  attack  anddestroy 

him  in  sight  of  several  of  his  concubmes,  who 
had  escaped  with  him  from  the  palace. 

Here  is  one  of  those  awful  pages  m  the 
records  of  time,  which  may  be  summed  up  in 
this  brief  exclamation,  "How  are  the  mighty 
fallen !" 


INDIANS  IN  OREGON. 

We  will  first  describe  the  Indians  of  the 
plains.  These  live  in  the  upper  country  from 
the  falls  of  the  Columbia  to  the  Rocky  mount- 
ains,  and  arc  called  the  Indians  of  the  plains, 
because  a  large  proportion  of  their  country  is 
prairie  land.^  The  pry'^'lfl  t"'?f^  "/'  ^^'^ 
kez  Pcrces,  Cayuscs,  Walla  Wallas.  Banax, 
Shoshones,  Spokcins,  Flnthoa.ls,  C^cur  de 
Lions,  Pondcrns,  Cootanies,  Kcttletalls,  Uka- 
nagans,  and  Carriers.  These  do  not  inclule 
probably  more  thnn  one  half  of  those  east  of 
the  falls ;  but  of  others  we  have  obtained  but 
little  definite  knowled^.  Those  all  resenible 
each  other  in  general  characteristics.     In  their 


The  lust  of  dominion  innovates  so  imper- 
ceptibly, that  we  become  complete  despots  be- 
fore our  wanton  abuse  of  poweris  perceived ; 
the  tyranny  first  exercised  m  the  nursery  is 
exhibited  in  various  shapes  and  degrees  m 
every  stoge  of  our  existence. 


eacnoint-i  111  j^Kiitiu.  v,.....--..- 
persons  the  men  are  tall,  the  women  are  of 
common  stature,  and  both  men  and  women  are 
well  formed.  While  there  is  a  strong  natural, 
as  well  as  moral  resemblance  among  all  In- 
dians, the  complexion  of  these  is  niucli  the 
same  as  other  Indians,  excepting  a  ittle  tairer. 
Their  hair  and  eyes  are  black,  their  cheek- 
bones high,  and  very  frequently  they  have 
aciuiline  noses.  Thefr  hands,  feet,  and  ankles, 
are  small  and  well  formed;  and  their  move- 
ments are  easy,  if  not  graceful  They  wear 
their  hair  long,  part  it  upon  their  forehead, 
and  let  it  hang  in  tresses  on  each  side,  or  down 

There  is  a  great  resemblance  in  their  dress, 
which  generally  consists  of  a  shirt,  worn  over 
long  close  leggins,  with  moccasins  for  their 
feet      Those  are  of  dressed  leather  made  ot 
the 'skins  of  deer,  antelope,  mountain  goats, 
and  sheep ;  and  over  these  they  wear  a  blanket 
or  buffalo  robe.    The  borders  of  their  garments 
are  ornamented  with  long  fringes,  after  the 
manner  of  the  ancient  Jews.     They  are  fond 
of  ornaments,  and  according  to  their  means, 
their  heads  and  garments  are  decorated  with 
feathers,  beads,  buttons, and  porcupine  quills; 
the  last  of  which  are  colored  red,  yellow,  blue, 
and  black,  and  worked  with  great  skill  and 
variety  of  design.     They  appear  to  have  less 
of  the  propensity  to  adorn  themselves  with 
painting,  than  the  Indians  east  of  the  mount- 
ains; but  still  at  their  toilet,  vermilion,  mixed 
with  red  clay,  is  used  upon  their  faces  and  hair. 
The  dress  of  the  women  does  not  vary  much 
from  the  men,  excepting,  that,  instead  of  the 
shirta,  they  have  wUt  may  be  called  a  frock 
coming  down  to  the  ankles.     Many  of  them 
wear  Z  largo  cape  made  of  the  same  material, 
and  often  highly  ornamented  with  large  oblong 
bis  of  blue,  rfd,  purple,  and  white,  arranged 
in  curved  lines  covering  the  whole.     Some  ot 
the  aaughters  of  the  chiefs,  when  clothed  in 
tSei?  clean  white  dresses  made  of  antelope 
skins  with  their  fully  ornamented  capes  com- 
«"!"«  to  the  wiist,  and  mounted  upon 
sptrited  speeds,  going  at  full  speed,  their  or- 


LJ 


ti«»u,:-.i-.J 


19 


"■-V. 


284 


INDIANS  IN  our       N. 


4 


naments  glittering  in  the  sunbeams,  make  an 
appearance  that  would  not  lose  in  comparison 
with  e(|UPStrian  ladies  of  the  east. 

Their  horses  are  not  less  finely  caparisoned 
■with  blue  and  scarlet  trimmings  about  their 
heads,  breasts,  and  loins,  hung  with  little  brass 
bells. 

While  a  want  of  cleanliness  is  a  character- 
istic of  all  heathen,  the  Indians  of  the  plains 
are  less  reprehensible  than  others,  and  far 
more  neat  than  those  of  the  lower  country 
toward  the  Pacific.  It  is  not  to  be  understood 
that  there  are  not  those  who  are  poor,  sufTer- 
ing  from  the  want  of  food  and  clothing. 

Their  wealth  consists  in  their  horses,  and, 
in  a  great  degree,  their  consequence  upon  the 
number  they  possess;  some  owning  several 
hundreds;  and  that  family  is  poor  whose  num- 
bers ore  not  sufficient  for  every  man,  woman, 
and  child,  to  be  mounted,  when  they  are  trav- 
elling from  place  to  place ;  and  also  to  carry 
all  their  eH'ects.    In  these  respects  they  are 
far  better  supplied  than  any  tribes  we  saw 
east  of  the  mountains.    While  their  horses 
are  their  wealth,  they  derive  but  little  from 
them  for  the  support  of  themselves  and  fami- 
lies ;  for  they  do  not  employ  them  to  cultivate 
the  earth ;  and  the  market  for  them  is  so  low, 
that  they  command  but  a  small  price.     A 
good  horse  will  not  sell  for  more  than  enough 
to  purchase  a  blanket,  or  a  few  small  articles 
of  merchandise.    For  subsistence,  they,  of 
necessity,  depend  upon  hunting  and  fishing, 
and  gathering  roots  and  berries.     Their  mode 
of  cooking  is  plain  and  simple.     Most  of  their 
food  is  roasted,  and  their  excel  in  roasting  fish. 
The  process  is  to  build  in  the  centre  of  their 
lodge  a  small  fire,  to  fix  the  fish  upon  a  stick 
two  feet  long,  and  to  place  one  end  in  the 
ground,  so  as  to  bring  the  fish  partly  over  the 
fire,  and  then,  by  a  slow  process,  it  is  most 
thoroughly  roasted  without  any  scorching,  or 
scarcely  changing  the  color.     The  principal 
art  consists  in  taking  time,  and  our  best  cooks 
might  improve  by  following  their  mode. 

Their  habits.  The  habits  of  Indians  are 
said  to  be  indolent.  As  a  generol  remark  it 
may  be  true,  but  we  saw  but  very  little  to 
confirm  its  truth  among  the  Indians  of  the 
plains ;  for  we  rarely  saw  any  of  these  Indians 
without  their  being  engaged  in  some  object  of 
pursuit;  not  the  most  prodiicrive,  perhaps, 
but  such  as  enlisted  their  attention.  While 
we  believe  in  the  striking  resemblance,  both 
physical  and  moral,  of  all  the  different  nations 
and  tribes  of  Indians  spread  over  large  portions 
of  the  continent  of  America,  more  so  than  is 
seen  in  any  people  of  any  other  country  of 
equal  extent ;  yet,  if  it  is  true,  that  as  a  gen- 
eral fact,  they  are  morose  and  gloomy  in  their 
countenances;  sullen,  or  bacchanalian  in  their 
dispositions;  that  they  are  rarely  so  joyful  as 


to  Hu,jM,  unless  excited  by  ardent  spirits ;  that 


they  f.rc  taciturn  and  never  indulge  in  mirth ; 
that  they  are  obtuse  in  sympathy,  ond  destitute 
of  social  alFcctions;  that  in  proud  disdain  they 
turn  away  from  whatever  would  excite  curi- 
osity ;  that  no  common  motives  or  endearments 
excite  them  to  action ;  if  these  things  are  true, 
then  the  Indians  in  the  Oregon  territory  are 
on  exception  to  the  general  fact.    In  oil  the 
obovenomed  porticulars,  we  saw  no  special 
difference  between  them  and  other  natidTis. 
As  a  part  of  the  human  family,  they  have  the 
same  natural  propensities,  and  the  pome  social 
Directions.     They  ore  cheerful  and  often  gay, 
sociable,  kind,  and  affectionate ;  and  anxious 
to  receive  instruction  in  whatever  may  con- 
duce to  their  happiness  here  and  hereafter. 
It  is  worse  than  idle  to  speak  of _  "  physical 
insensibility  inwrought  into  the  animal  nature 
of  the  Indians,  so  that  their  bodies  approximate 
to  the  insensibility  of  horses'  hoofs."     The  in- 
fluence of  this  kind  of  remarks  is  to  produce, 
in  the  bosoms  of  all  who  read  them,  the  same 
insensibility  which  is  charged  upon  the  native 
character  of  the  Indians.     To  represent  their 
characters  and  their  restoration  to  the  com- 
mon feelings  of  humanity  so  hopeless,  is  to 
steel  the  heart  of  even  Christianity  itself,  if 
it  were  possible,  against  all  sympathy,  and  to 
porolyze  oil  exertions  ond  efftjrts  to  save  them 
from  the  twofold  destruction  to  which  they 
doom  them,  temporal  and   etemol.     Is  this 
the  reason  that  Christians  are  sitting  in  such 
supineness  over  their  condition,  and  the  heart- 
thrilling  appeals  from  them  for  teachers  to 
enlighten  them?     Is  this   the  reason,   that 
while  the  philanthropy  of  the  United  States' 
citizens  toward  them  is  so  widely  blazoned, 
that  those,  who  are  sent  to  teach  them  the  arts 
of  civilized  life,  ore  sitting  quiet  on  the  borders 
in  govemmentol  poy,  while  the  Indians  are 
roaming  still  over  the  prairies  in  search  of  un- 
certain and  precarious  game  ?     We  forbear  to 
tell  the  story. 

They  have  but  a  few  manufactures,  and 
those  few  are  the  most  plain  and  simple,  not 
extending  much  beyond  dressing  the  skins  of 
animals,  ond  making  them  into  clothing;  ma- 
king bows  and  arrows,  and  some  few  articles 
of  furniture.  In  dressing  their  skins,  they 
never  make  any  use  of  bark,  or  tanning  in  any 
way.  Their  process  is  to  remove  the  hair  and 
flesh  from  the  skins,  by  scrapinf,  them  with  a 
hard  stone  or  wood,  or,  when  it  con  be  obtain- 
ed, a  piece  of  iron  hoop,  and  then  besmearing 
them  with  the  brains  of  some  animal,  they 
smoke  them  thoroughly,  and  rub  them  until 
they  are  soft;  and  after  this  bleach  thernvvith 
pure  white  cloy.  Their  mode  of  smoking,  is 
to  dig  or  excavate  a  small  place  in  the  ground, 
at'out  a  foot  deep,  and  over  this  to  construct 
a  small  fixture  in  the  form  of  a  lodge,  a  few 


-_ti*WM<ii<»inir  II     I  'iiirrtilt^     '"       ^i'*i* 


rTfv«K 


THE  MIGRATION  OF  BIRDS. 


285 


!nt spirits;  that 
lulge  in  mirth ; 
y,  and  destitute 
ud  disdain  they 
Id  excite  curi- 
or  endearments 
things  are  true, 
n  territory  are 
ct.  In  all  the 
saw  no  special 

other  nations. 
,  they  have  the 
the  pame  social 
I  and  often  gay, 
e;  and  anxitjus 
Ltever  may  con- 

and  hereafter. 
k  of  "  physical 
e  animal  nature 
lies  approximate 
oofs."  The  in- 
ts  is  to  produce, 
them,  the  same 
upon  the  native 
)  represent  their 
ion  to  the  com- 
I  hopeless,  is  to 
tianity  itself,  if 
ympathy,  and  to 
rts  to  save  them 
1  to  which  they 
jtemal.  Is  this 
e  sitting  in  such 
n,  and  the  heart- 

for  teachers  to 
he  reason,  tliat 
3  United  States' 
videly  blazoned, 
ich  them  the  arts 
iet  on  the  borders 
the  Indians  are 
1  in  search  of  un- 
'    We  forbear  to 

anufactures,  and 
and  simple,  not 
sing  the  skins  of 
to  clothing;  ma- 
ome  few  articles 
;heir  skins,  they 
or  tanning  in  any 
move  the  hair  and 
[)inf,  them  with  a 
it  can  be  obtain- 
then  besmearing 
me  animal,  they 
I  rub  them  until 
bleach  them  with 
de  of  smoking,  is 
ice  in  the  ground, 
this  to  construct 
rf  a  lodge,  a  few 


feet  wide  at  the  base,  and  brought  to  a  point 
ui  the  top.     Then  they  build  a  small  fire  in 
the  contie,  and  place  the  skins  around  upon 
tlie  framework,  so  as  to  make  the  enclosure 
al„.„st  smoke  tight.     The  process  occupies 
ul.out  one  day.     Their  mode  of  dressing  buf- 
fulo-robes  is  ailTerent.     It  is  by  stretching  the 
skin  upon  the  ground,  flesh-side  up,  fastening 
it  down  with  pins  around  the  border.     Ihcn 
V  ith  an  instrument  formed  somewhat,  like  a 
coper's  adz,  made  of  stone,  or  wood  over  aid 
with  a  piece  of  iron,  brought  to  a  blunt  edge, 
like  a  currier's  knife,  they  clear  from  it  all 
remaining  llesh,  and  let  it  thoroughly  dry. 
Vfter  this,  with  the  same  instrument,  they 
'work  upon  it  with  a  pounding,  hewing  stroke, 
until  they  have  brought  it  to  a  suitable  thick- 
ness, ancl  rendered  it  soft  and  white,  in  the 
same  condition  as  our  buffalo-robes  are,  when 
Ijrought  into  market.     It  is  a  work  of  great 
labor  performed  by  women.    We  little  think 
how  much  toil  it  costs  a  woman  to  prepare 
one  of  these  robes,  and  then  how  httle  is  paid 
for  it  by  the  purchaser ;  a  pound  of  tobacco, 
or  a  bunch  of  beads,  is  as  much  as  the  Indian 
generally  receives.  ..!»•„ 

Their  bows  are  made  of  the  most  clastic 
wood,  strengthened  with  the  tendons  of  am- 
mals,  glued  upon  the  back  side,  and  a  string 
made  cf  the  same  substance.  Their  arrows 
are  made  of  heavy  wood,  with  one  end  tipped 
with  a  sharp  stone  or  pointed  iron,  nn'>  t'f 
other  end  pinnated  with  a  feather.  Whi.e 
the  first  is  to  pierce,  the  latter  is  to  govern  the 
direction.  Their  bows  and  arrows  perform 
astonishing  execution,  aad  they  manage  them 
with  great  dexterity. 

Most  of  their  cooking  utensils,  which  they 
BOW  use.  are  obtained  from  traders.     These 
do  not  often  extend  beyond  a  brass  kettle,  tin 
pail,  and  a  very  few  knives.     They  have 
bowls  which  they  manufacture  very  ingenious- 
ly from  the  horns  of  buffalo ;  and  sometimes, 
those  that  are  large  and  more  solid,  from  the 
horn  of  the  big-horned  mountain  sheep.    1  ney 
have  spoons  of  very  good  structure,  made  ot 
buffalo-horns;  also,  they  have  various  kinds 
of  baskets  of  Hide  workmanship.     Their  sad- 
dles are  rude,  somewhat  resembling  the  Span- 
ish saddle,  having  a  high  knob  forward,  and 
rising  high  on  the  back  part,  generally  sitting 
uneasy  upon  the  horse's  back.     Their  bndles 
arc  only  a  rope,  well  made  of  hair,  or  the  shag 
of  the  buffalo,  fastened  to  the  under  jaw  of  the 
horse,  very  long,  so  as  to  form  the  lasso  ;  this 
is  so  coiled  in  the  hand  as  to  form  a  noose 
when  thrown  over  the  horse's  head,  vvhich  is 
done  very  dexterously;  and  when  they  are 
mounted,  the  rope,  or  leather  thong,  which  is 
often  used  in  its  place,  trails  al""g  "P"" /5'- 
ground.     This  is  often  left  upon  the  horses 
neck,  when  he  is  turned  out  for  a  short  time 


to  feed,  for  the  convenience  of  more  easily 

catching  him.  ,     •      .    • 

Their  canoes,  before  they  obtained  iron 
hatchets  of  the  traders,  were,  with  great  labor 
and  patience,  made  with  hatchets  ot  stone ; 
and  even  now,  it  is  with  no  small  etlort.  A 
canoe  of  good  construction  is  valued  os  high 
as  one  or  two  good  horses.  Their  fishing  nets 
are  another  article  which  is  well  constructed, 
formed  of  wild  flax ;  and  in  every  particular 
like  our  scoop  nets. 


:,  - ::  "h 


THE  MIGRATION  OF  BIRDS. 

"  As  fables  tell,  an  Indian  aape, 

Tlio  Hindostani  woodo  among. 
Could,  in  Ilia  desert  liermitage, 
As  if  'twere  marlted  in  written  page, 

Translate  the  wild  bird's  song. 
"  I  wish  I  did  his  power  possess, 

That  I  might  learn,  fleet  bird,  from  the«, 
What  our  vain  systems  only  guess. 
And  know  from  what  widowildemess 

You  came  across  the  sea." 

The  migration  of  the  feathered  race  has 
occupied  much  attention,  and  afforded  subject 
for  many  interesting  inquines,  from  a  very 
eariy  period.  Nor  is  the  topic  exhausted ; 
numerous  important  facts  still  remain  unex- 
plained ;  and  a  vast  field  for  observation  still 
presents  itself  to  scientific  search. 

Birds  mi-n-ate  northward  and  southward ; 
so  that  there  is  in  our  laritudes  at  least  a  pe- 
riodical ebb  and  tide   of  spring   and  winter 
visiters.     The  former  gradually  work  their 
way,  as  the  season  advances,  from  the  wami 
regions  of  the  south,  where  they  have  enjoyed 
food  and  sunshine,  and  have  escaped  the  rigors 
of  our  winter,  and  arrive  here  to  cheer  us  with 
their  songs,  and  to  make  our  summer  months 
still  more  delightful.     The  latter,  being  in- 
habitants of  the  arctic  circle,  and  finding  m 
the  forests  and  morasses  of  that  region  a  sufli- 
cient  supnly  of  food  in  summer,  are  only  ed 
to  (luit  their  homes  when  the  eariy  winter  be- 
gins to  bind  up  the  lakes  and  the  surface  of 
the  earth,  and  to  deprive  them  of  sustenance. 
It  is  then  that  they  seek  our  milder  shores; 
wid,  accordingly,  at  the  season  when  our  sunri- 
mer  visitants  are  leaving  us  to  proceed  on  th^ir 
iourtiey  southward,  these  songless  inhabitants 
of  the  north  arrive  to  take  their  places,  and 
to  feed  on  such  winter  fruits  and  berries,  and 
such  insects  and  a.piatic  jilants  as  arc  donuMl 
to  their  own   inhospitable   chmale.       1  Uese 
visitors,  though  mute,  arc  of  no  mean  value  ; 
for  many  of  rtiem  are  esteemed  as  delicate 
food  ;  and,  in  conse.piencc,  the  redwing,  field- 
fare, woodcock,  siiipc,  widgeon,  tec,  are  wont 
1  to  receive  homage  and  admiration    r.m.  tli<«e 
who  could  listen  to  the  sweet  warblmgs  of  the 


.  %  .^t«' 


"^^-v.' 


r 


\ 

I 
! 


THE  MIGKATION  OF  BIRDS. 


nightingale  or  the  tcmlcr  cooingsof  the  turtle- 


ers;  and  of  those  which  do  not  intorn-'t  their 


(love  with  perfect  imliilerencc. 

The  visits  of  these  birds,  as  we.l  as  of  those 
from  the  south,  depend  greatly  on  the  state 
of    he  weather,  which  appears  to  l»asten  or 
retard  their  flight  as    the   season  may  be. 
Tim    we  often  find  that  a  few  of  our  summer 
bir.ls  leave  the  main  body,  and  amve  sooner 
than  the  rest,  while  the  others  have  been  kept 
back  by  a  sud.kn  return  of  unfavorable  ^^^ather. 
accordligtothe  adage,  "One.swa  lowdccsno 
make  a  summer."     It  is  a  singular  fact,  that 
the  early-comers  are  male  birds,  arriving,  as 
would  seem,  in  search  of  a  fit  spot  to  which 
0  introduce  their  mates      The  bird-catchers 
arc  aware  of  this,  and  prepare   their  traps 
accordingly,  so  that  nightingales  and  other 
singing-birds  are  often   snared  »n/*^"'  £ 
arrival,  and  spend  the  short  reinainder  of  their 
Uv"s  in  captivity.      Many  birds  return  no 
only  to  the  same  country,  but  to  the  very  spot 
thev  left  in  the  preceding  season,  a  fact  which 
has' been  ascertained  by  catching  and  marking 
some  of  them,  while  other  birds  do  not  con- 
fine themselves  to  a  particular  country,  but 
ran-e  from  one  to  another,  as  circumstances 

uiav  dictate.  .       .      ^ 

It  has  been  observed  that  certain  migratory 
birds  do  not  leave  their  summer  abode,  unless 
ihe  winter  is  to  be  one  of  unusual  seventy. 
This  fact  is  surprising,  and  the  question,    liy 
what  means  is  the  bird  instructed  as  to  the 
coming  season  1"  naturally  presents  itself  to 
the  mind,  but  still  remains  unanswered.    What 
their  instinctive  knowledge  is,  and  whether 
they  have  any  power  of  reflecting  on  the 
phenomena  by  which  they  are  surrounded, 
will  ever  probably  be  a  mystery  to  us;  but 
we  may  trace  in  this,  as  in  numberless  other 
instances,  the  core  and  wise  management  ot  a 
superintending  Providence,by  which  creatures 

small  and  insignificant  in  the  scale  of  creation 
are  lo,l  to  choose  the  climate  most  favorable 
to  them,  and  to  hasten  toward  another  region 
iuot  at  the  period  when  a  longer  tarry  m  the 
one  they  inhabit  would  be  fatal  to  them. 
"  Whero  the  northern  ocean,  in  vast  vvhirls 
Boils  round  the  naked  melancholy  isles 
Of  fanhest  Thnlo,  and  the  Atlantic  surge 
Pours  ill  among  the  stormy  Hebndes. 
Who  can  recount  what  transmigrations  the* 
Are  annual  made?  what  nations  come  and  go T 
And  how  the  living  clouds  on  clouds  arise  7 
Infinite  wings!  till  all  the  plume-dark  air 
And  rude  resounding  shore  are  one  wild  cry. 
Most  birds  perform  their  migrations  duririg 
the  night;  but  there  are  some  that  travel  only 
by  day,  and  others  that  stop  not  either  by 
nl-ht  or  by  day.    Among  the  first  are  the  owl, 
bkckbird,  &c.,  and  a  great  nunaber  of  aqua  ic 
birds;  among  those  that  travel  by  day,  are  the 
crow,  pie,  titmouse,  wren,  woodpecker,  chat- 
finch,  goldfinch,  lark,  swallow,  and  some  oth- 


flif-ht  are  the  heron,  wagtail,  yellowhammer, 
stork,  crane,  plover,  swan,  and  wild  goose. 
These  choose  a  bright  moonlight  season  m 
which  to  set  out  on  their  journey. 

The  flight  of  birds  ha'*  been  estimated  from 
fifty  to  a'' hundred  and  fifty  miles  an  hour, 
though  some  heavy  birds  scarcely  exceed  thirty 
milelan  hour.    Bishop  Stanley  mentions,  in 
his  "  Famihar  History  of  Birds,"  an  easy  way 
by  which  the  flight  of  birds  may  be  determm- 
ed  with  tolerable  accuracy.     Supposing  any 
bird— a  partridge,  for  instance— should  nse 
from  the  middle  of  the  stubble,  and  fly  a 
straight  line  over  a  hedge,  all  the  observer 
has  to  do  is  to  note  by  the  second's  hand  of  a 
watch  the  number  of  seconds  between  the 
bird's  rising  and  that  of  its  topping  the  hedge ; 
and  then  ascertain  the  distance  between  the 
point  whence  it  rose  and  the  hedge,  by  stepping 
and  counting  the  number  of  paces;  when,  sup- 
posing  each  pace  to  be  a  yard,  we  have  a 
common  rule-of-three  sum.     Thus,  if  a  part- 
ridge in  three  seconds  flies  one  hundred  yards, 
how  many  yards  will  it  fly  in  thirty-six  hun- 
dred seconds,  or  one  hour  ?         _        ,     fl.  .. 
Another  method  of  ascertaining  the  flight 
of  birds  is  by  carrier-pigeons.     The  same 
author  tells  us  of  a  recent  instance,  in  which 
fifty-six  of  these  birds  were  brought  over  from 
Holland,  and  set  at  liberty  in  London.    1  hey 
were  turned  out  at  half-past  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  and  all  reached  their  dove-cots 
at  home  by  noon;  but  one  favonte  pigeon, 
called  "  Napoleon,"  arrived  about  a  quarter 
before  ten  o'clock,  having  performed  the  dis- 
tance of  three  hundred  miles  at  the  rate  of 
abpve  fifty  miles  an  hour,  supposing  he  lost 
not  a  moment  and  proceeded  in  a  straight  line ; 
but,  as  they  usually  wheel  about  in  the  air  for 
some  time  before  they  start,  the  first  bird 
must  have  flown,  most  likely,  at  a  still  quick- 

^  It  is'probable  that  most  birds  perform  their 
ioumey  to  distant  countries  by  stages  of  a 
few  hours'  flight,  resting  and  recruiting  their 
strength  in  convenient  situations.     We  need 
not  suppose  them  often  to  cross  the  wide  ex- 
pause  of  the  ocean,  but  take  it  at  its  narrowest  | 
portions,  as  the  channel  between  France  and  , 
England,  the  Mediterranean,  &c.,  and  so  pur-  i 
suing  their  way  across  the  continent.     I  heir  | 
power  of  remaining  on  the  wing  does  not  ex- 
cite so  much  surprise  as  do  the  motives  which 
lead  them  to  undertake  such  distant  flights, 
and  the  instinct  which  guides  them  so  unernng- 
ly  in  their  aerial  course ;  for  though  we  have 
named  the  deficiency  of  food  as  one  of  the 
probable  causes  of  migration,  this  does  not  ap- 
ply in  many  cases;  and  we  are  more  ma 
more  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  facts  relating 
to  several  species  of  the  feathered  race, 


I 


^"VTi 


t  intrrrr't  tlifir 
ifcllowharniner, 
i(i  wild  goose, 
ight  season  in 
ey. 

estimated  from 
miles  an  hour, 
ly  exceed  thirty 
jy  mentions,  in 
3,"  nn  easy  way 
ay  be  determin- 
Supposing  any 
ce — should  rise 
)ble,  and  fly  a 
ill  the  observer 
■ond's  hand  of  a 
Is  between  the 
iping  the  hedge ; 
ice  between  the 
dge,  by  stepping 
ices;  when,  sup- 
ard,  we  have  a 
Thus,  if  a  part- 
B  hundred  yards, 
a  thirty-six  hun- 

aining  the  flight 
ms.  The  same 
istance,  in  which 
rought  over  from 
I  London.  They 
!t  four  o'clock  in 
1  their  dove-cots 
favorite  pigeon, 
about  a  quarter 
jrformed  the  dis- 
53  at  the  rate  of 
supposing  he  lost 
in  a  straight  line ; 
bout  in  the  air  for 
,rt,  the  first  bird 
y,  at  a  still  quick- 

irds  perform  their 
E8  by  stages  of  a 
id  recruiting  their 
ations.    We  need 
ross  the  wide  ex- 
1  it  at  its  narrowest  j 
■tween  France  and  i 
1,  &c.,  and  so  pur-  { 
continent.     Their 
wing  does  not  ex- 
the  motives  which 
ich  distant  flights, 
isthemsoanerring- 
or  though  we  have 
food  as  one  of  the 
m,  this  does  not  ap- 
we  are  more  and 
or  the  facts  relating 
athered  race. 


Of    all    migrating   birds  the  cranes  nmy 
perhaps  be  considered  the  most  remarkabe. 
Jn  ,  ;  cem  to  be  most  endowed  with  foresight, 
„,      have   every  appearance  of  consutatum 
Zd  regular  preparation  for  the  time  of  their 
l"  arturc.     They  utter  peculiar  cries  several 
.s  before,  an.l  assemble  with  much  no.se 
a    I  bustle.     They  then  form  themselves  into 
uvoliues,  making' an  anghs  at  the  vortex  of 
Xich  one  of  their  number,  who  is  looked 
,  m  as  the  general  director  of  their  proceed- 
i^kes  his  place.     The  office  of  the  leader 


and  moralists  will  be  i)re8ented  and  embalmed 
SutlWing  no  injury  from  translation,  the  on- 
^^Is  wfu  bo  explored.     I'lt-"---  i,  l''^ 
The  benefit  of  such  a  mcdiuiu.     Of  such  a 
speech  who  but  cai.  be  proud?     In  all  tlm 
properties  of  a  langutfe  it  is  great.     Its  Sh  .1- 
ing  vocables,  its  significant  l'"vs-ers,  its  hne 
di^riminations,  its  mo  estic  compounds,  leave 
u,^  Zing  to  desire.    Its  tones  stir  like  a  clarion 
and  sooth  like  a  lute.     There  is  u  ph.losop luc 
radix  and  a  multitudinous  expression.     It  bus 
inXorated  each  image  of  nutiK^^ 


icc  IS  taKcn  uy  ..... .--  |  -  :^^^  ^,f  tij„<,e  charges  we  are  very 

bird,"  while  he  retires  to  the  end  of  the  line  ,  ,  V^'  j  j  though  it  declines  to  admit,  and  is 
aid  thus  their  orderly  flight  is  accomphsliecK    ;   J^f'^XLf  receiving. ^^^ 

In  order  that  birds  may  fly  with  ea  e  and  ,  mt,  p  u„,.atural-it  loves  to  adopt  some 

continue  long  on  the  ^-".'g'  '^7  .f  ""^S  s  er"L  diulect-magniticent  stores-sump- 
Salnst  the  wind;  and  patiently  do  they  wm  ,  t  r,,.  g^.^^^^^^_^_^^^  p,  ,„  expounded  and 
for  a  favorable  time  m  this  respect.     1  be  sua  enunciated.   The  soions  grafted  on  it  ml 

den  change  of  the  wind  will  ^om.tme.^^-^^  \  ^3;,",^„,ened  to  its  own  temperament  and 
numbers  of  quails,  which  are  heavy  in  their  I'^^^/j^^  ji,;,  „,„,nent  science  has  made  it 
1  St.  to  be  drowned  in  crossing  the  Mediter-  \  ^^\^^^.^^^  ^^^j,  and  our  literature  stamps 
San  sea.     Yet  there  are  certain  seafaring    h"javorj^  permanence.      It   is 

'bids  so  wonderfully  endowed  as  to'^™?;"!*.Cr^^d^ ""mortal verse."     Itmustalwnys 
!!,..:L  -nnrinnallv  on  the  wing,  and  ^yl^^*^  1  ^^  ""["jieJ,  should  it  ever  become   obsolete 


almost  continually  on  the  wing,  and  which 
are  often  found  ot  the  distance  of  more  than  a 
ZusS  miles  from  land,  The  giga^uc  al- 
batross is  one  of  these,  with  its  eno  m^^a3  ex- 
panse of  wing,  measunng.  f^^^^'-^^^f 'j,;"^ 
even  more,  from  tip  to  tip.  But  the  bira 
Xl.  surpasses  all  others  i«  its  power  of 
fligh    is  the  frigate-bird,  which  seldom  visUs 

hfland  except  at  the  breeding  reason,  and  » 
never  seen  to  swim  or  rest  ^f^'^^J.^^^;^ 
With  such  an  instance  of  adaptation  to  the 

vviui  suL.  longer  wonder 

'  It^r  pier  bTwhfch  our  birds  L  enabled 
tJ  remain  so  lon^g  on  the  wing  as  to  perform 
their  periodical  migration  to  other  laads. 
■■  Yc  tell  U3  a  tale  of  the  beautiful  earth, 
Bird«  that  overBweep  it  >"  P"'',^'''.^  ™^^  ' 
Yet  through  the  wastes  of  the  iracklCBS  air, 
Vo  hive  /guide,  and  A-Ul  we  dcBpair? 
Ye  over  desert  and  deep.have  Passed 
So  shall  we  reach  our  bright  home  at  last. 


THE  ENGLISH  LANGUAGE. 


The  circulation  of  our  language,  will  seem 
to  us  no  slight  advantage,  when  we  think  on 
tslonsr  consecration  as  the  vehicle  of  religious 
ideas  and  of  noble  ^en^ments.  In  libraries 
where  now  it  is  almost  impossible  to  think  ot 
Tuch  a  collection,  the  minds  of  our  theologians 


and  dead:  its  poetry,  its  criticism,  Us  legisla- 
S    its  science,  its  ethics,  insure  it  an  im- 
r^"    aUty.     Commerce  repeats  it,  new  worlds 
"voke  U  as  their  parent  speech,  and  we  d.c- 
rai:  it  to  our  antipUs.     Without  a„  augury 
we  may  pred  ct  its  course.     It  bears  witii  it 
a  tra^n^ofmaster-spirits.     Wherever  the  enii- 
erairwandcr  he  will  talk  it,  though  it  be  on- 
&rechoes.     Wherever  the  lum-standard 
or  the  eagle-banner  sweeps  the  a, r  and  flaps 
to  Z  wi^d,  the  settler  loves  to  sing  his  name 
lavs      Rivers  unknown  to  song,  forests  w  hicU 
I  the  Ixe  is  just  beginning  to  thin  of  the  trunks 
which  cenuries  have  rooted,  deserts  in  which 
untU  almost  now  the  beast  of  prey  prow  ed 
'  unmolested  and  not  a  flower  grew-resound  to 
the  words  of  our  households,  our  exchanges 
our  Temples!     Who  can  but  exult  that  the 
strong,™  e  vivid,  the  flowing  language,  which 
in  our  infancy  we  lisped,  seems  destined  to 
become  The  uLrance  of  knowledge  of  vij^^^^ 
of  freedom !  the  passport,  through  J*  naUon^ 
of  generous  and  manly  sentiment,  of  pure  and 
exfuisite  emotion!  the  signal-cry  to  the  de- 
sSng  spirit  of  patriotism !  the  key-note  of 
tCuDlifted  chorus  of  liberty !  the  holy  ac- 
tts  C-l^-h  Christianity  shf  P-l«r  £ 
message  of  peace  and  good-will  to  men .     as 
frrafurn,orratherariver-source,whatbW 

,  ings  will  our  idiom  pour  out  upon  the  world. 


f:p.wys 


fi-v- 


i*^ 


I. '««»«  %,% 


^fe- 


leciJed  proof  of 
inual  labor,  with- 
» the  bench  of  the 
he  ancit-nt  motive 
a  later  invention 
Inygens,  a  native 
ipplied  it  to  the 
;  and  it  has  since 
ock. 

tower,  divided  in- 
s  of  strongly  gilt 
i  ornamented,  and 
ns  of  strongly  gilt 


=!l 


La    il  llhe   catholic   feasts  and   holy   days 

S   ve    i/ns  of  the^,odiac,  with  the  sun  a.>d 
n,  ,„  pursuing  their  -urse,  so  that  at  -    e 
j,luuce  we  can  ascertain  in  >vha   /^  f  j^f^  * f^.  : 
.o,liac  they  arc  at  the  tunc.    W fhm  th  s  a^ 
,.!,.  is  a  small  clobe,  poniling  out  the  proper 
L  es  and  aspects  of  the  moon  •,  and  wukm 
u     1  i.  are  the'  Hxed  stars  setting,  nttm'!\y. '»»; 
ZZnt  Orion,  Great  Bear,  Casseiopeia,  &c. 
T     1  mr  corners  of  this  chamber  are  emb km- 
■!.  'al  V  rn.'raved  with  the  names  of  those  na- 
£.f  ^.hoiave  con.,uered  kingdoms  at  an 

"'fLSithe  second  story  are  the  minutes 

;::-±i^=a;::L:f:^^^^ 

of  the  clock,  the  one  hgure  J^rns    he  hcmr 
glass,  as  an  cml)lem  of  time,  the  "'l  J  ™ 
the  sickle  of  dealh._    Above  e^"^  \f  .^J,  . 
ver  figures  is  a  Latm  verse  '  ^nd  m  the  m  I 
die  of   the  plate  is  a  simple,  yet  correct  y 
mathematical  representation  of  l'o«;  j^e  glob- 
Xr  form  of  thi  earth  is  perceptible  to  the 
eve       Above,  the  minute-hand  describes  a 
c^cuit  ot-  24  hours,  each  half  of  the  d.al- 
Xte  containing  12  hours;  the  day  hours  be 
ng  marked  with  the  image  of  the  sun,  and 
he  hours  of  the  night  with  the  ™age  o    the 
moon.     On  the  four  corners  of  the  dial-plate 
are  engraved  the  four  seasons  of  the  yea  .  , 

Vhe  third  story  also  consists  of  four  divis- 
ions whchprojec^t  in  the  manner  of  a  balcony . 
'^und  the  Venire  of  the  lower  dmsio"  m"ve 
the  seven  silver  figures  of  heathen  gods,  m 
har^otr,  every  defy  makes    ts  appearance 

once  in  seven  days,  exactly  '"  ^""/'.^J'^Vv 
remains  for  24  hours,  when  it  is  relieved  Dy 
the  next ;  these  godheads  represent  the  seven 

'Tletrrf  of  the  second  division  is  an  1 
imaae  of  the  virgin,  holding  her  son  Jesus  in 
h"r  'arms ;  two  aLels  are  seen  vY'^F^^'Z  ' 
and  garlands  on  iier  head;  and  during  tlie 
perfonnance  of  the  bells,  several  angels  make 
fheir  appearance  making  thdr  obeisance  be- 
fore the  image  of  Mary  and  the  Savior. 

W  thin  the  centre  of  the  third  division  is  a 
metal  bell  pending  on  a  gilt  plate  of  copper, 
r  whi.di  'is  represented  the  figment  day. 
Round  this  metal  plate  move  four  silver  fag- 

?res?set  in  motioil  by  -f --^^'J-S'- 
ing  the  four  states  of  social  lite.     1  he'«  "T 
ees  point  out  the  quarters  of  the  hour,  by 
f  trlkilig  the  bell ;  the  first  quarter  is  represen- 


ted by  a  youth,  the  second  by  a  grave  citi- 
zen, the  tliird  by  a  Roman  soldier,  and  the 


.«;,. 


*"YnMle  lur'tlfdivision  is  likewise  a  metal 
bell,  on  the  sides  of  which  there  are  cham- 
bers; on  the  left  side  is  the  fe,.rese„tation  of 
Death,    proclaiming  the   hours  ot  _  day   and 
St  bv  striking  the  bell;  abo^;e  it  maybe 
seen  a  "Latin  inscription,  fr.mi  Romans  vii. 
'  03.     To  the  right  side  is  the  image  ot  tlie 
i  Savior,  stepping  ti,rward.  with  the  ^.Je  in 
!  his  hand,  and  above  it  the  cross.     This  tigure 
i  proceeds  every  two  minutes,  in  a  «  ";^v  "?«"- 
ner,  and  then  for  a  moment,  hides  itself  tr  m 
view;  above  it  is  a  Latin  verse,  from  the 
prophet  Hosea,  chapter  xiu.  . 

'  IHiese  two  figures  arc  of  massive  silver, 
behind  the  bell  is  inscribed  the  name  ot  the 
artist,  and  the  date  1569. 

The  whole  is  covered  with  copper,  beauti- 
1  fully  worked  in  filagree  ;  on  the  extreme  top 
L  stationed  a  c<K:k,  which  at  the  close  of  the 
'  chiming  of  the  bells,  spreads  its  wings,  opens 
its  beak,  and  crows;  after  which  it  resumes 
its  former  position.  i  „;u  «„ 

On  the  side  doors  are  painted  and  gil  fig- 
ures of  the  Virtues,  with  flowers,  obelisks, 
aid  other  ornaments;  and  w  thm  are  figures 
of  the  Fates.  These  exquisite  figures  are 
stated  to  have  been  engraved  by  the  pupils. 
%his  clock  is  also  stated  to  have  been  made 
by  Habrecht,  for  Pope  Sixtus  V. ;  and  m 
many  respects  resembles  the  famous  Strasburg 
clock. 


THE  HEAD-STONE. 

The  cofTm  was  let  doxvn  to  the  bottom  of 
the  grave,  the  planks  were  removed  from  the 
heaned-up  brink,  the  first  rattling  clods  had 
struck  thL  knell,  their  quick  shovellingas 
over  and  the  long,  broad,  skilfully-cut  pieces 
of  turf  were  aptl?  joined  together,  and  tnmly 
^aiSby  the  bTJng-spade.  so  that  the  newest 
moumf  in  the  church-yard  was  scarcely  dis- 
1  dngui«hable  from  those  that  were  grown  over 
by  the  undisturbed   grass  and  daisies  of  a 
'  luxuriant  spring.     The  burial  was  soon  oyer ; 
and  the  partyf  with  one  consenting  motion, 
having  uncovered  their  heads,  in  decent  rev- 
erencfof  the  place  an.^  occasion,  were  beg^n- 
S  to  separate,  and  about  toleave  the  church- 

^^Here  some  acquaintances,  from  distant  parts 
of  the  paTsh,  w4o  had  not  had  opportunity 
o  aKssing  each  other  in  the  house  that  had 
beloneed  to  the  deceased,  nor  in  the  course 
othf few  hundred  yards  that  the  little  pro- 
cession  had  to  move  over  from  his  bed  to  his 


"^r^ 


H 


it 

r 


V 


290 


THE  HKAD-STONK. 


irrave,  were  shaking  hands  quietly  hut  cheer- 
fuUv,  and  innuiring  after  the  weltare  of  each 
other's   families.      There,   a  sn.nll  knot  ot 


neighbors  were  spenkinR,  without  exaggera 
tion,  of  the  respectable  character  the  deceased 
hod  borne,  and  mentioning  to  one  another  little 
incidents  of  his  life,  some  of  them  so  remote 
as  to  be  known  only  to  the  gray-headed  per- 
sons of  the  group.  While  a  few  yards  further 
removed  from  the  spot,  were  standing  together 
parties  who  discussed  ordinary  concerns,  such 
as  the  state  of  the  markets,  the  promise  of  the 
season,  or  change  of  tenants ;  but  still  with 
a  sobriety  of  manner  and  voice  that  was  in- 
sensibly produced  by  the  influence  of  the  sim- 
ple ccromony  now  closed,  by  the  (luict  graves 
around,  and  the  shadow  of  the  sinre,  and  gray 
walls  of  the  house  of  God. 

Two  men  yet  stood  together  at  the  head  of 
the  grave  with  countenances  of  sincere,  but 
unimpassioned  grief.  They  were  brothers, 
the  only  sons  of  him  who  had  been  buned. 
And  there  was  something  in  their  situation  that 
naturally  kept  the  eyes  of  many  directed  umm 
them,  for  a  long  time,  and  more  intently  than 
would  have  been  the  case,  had  there  been 
nothing  more  observable  about  them  than  the 
common  symptoms  of  a  common  sorrow.  But 
these  two  brothers,  who  were  now  standing  at 
the  head  of  their  father's  grave,  had  for  some 
yeors  been  totally  estranMd  from  each  other, 
and  the  only  words  that  had  passed  between 
them  during  all  that  time,  had  been  uttered 
within  a  few  days  past,  during  the  necessary 
preparations  for  the  old  man's  funeral. 

No  deep  and  deadly  quarrel  was  between 
these  brothers,  and  neither  of  them  could  dis- 
tinctly tell  the  cause  of  this  unnatural  estrange- 
ment.    Perhaps  dim  jealousies  of  their  father's 
favor— selfish  thoughts  that  will  sometimes 
force  themselves  into  poor  men's  hearts,  re- 
specting temporal  expectations— unaccommo- 
dating manners  on  both  sides — taunting  words 
that  mean  little  when  uttered,   but  which 
rankle  and  fester  in  rcmen.brance— imagined 
opposition  of  interests,  that,  duly  considered, 
would  have  been  found  one  and  the  same — 
these,  and  many  other  causes,  slight  when 
single,  but  strong  when  rising  up  together  in 
one  baneful  band,  had  gradually  but  fatally 
infected  their  hearts,  till  at  last  they  who  in 
youth  had  been  seldom  separate,  and  truly  at- 
tached, now  met  at  market,  ami,  miseroble  to 
say,  at  church,  with  dark  and  averted  faces 
lilie  diflerent  clansmen  during  a  feud. 

Surely  if  anything  could  have  softened  their 
hearts  toward  each  other,  it  must  have  been 
to  stand  silently,  side  by  side,  while  the  earth, 
stones,  and  clods,  were  falling  down  upon  their 
father's  coffin.  And  doubtless  their  hearts 
were  so  softened.  But  pride,  though  it  can 
not  prevent  the  holy  affections  of  nature  from 


being  felt,  may  prevent  them  from  being 
shown;  ond  these  two  brothers  stood  there 
together,  determined  not  to  let  each  other 
know  the  mutual  tenderness  that,  in  spit«  of 
them,  was  gushing  up  in  their  hearts,  ami 
teaching  them  the  unconfessed  folly  and  wick- 
edness of  their  causeless  quarrel. 

A  head-stone  had  been  prepared,  and  o  ner- 
sop  came  forward  to  plant  it  The  elder 
brother  directed  him  how  to  place  it— a  i)lain 
stone,  with  a  sand-glass,  skull,  and  cross- 
bones,  chiselled  not  rudely,  and  a  few  words 
inscribed.  The  younger  brother  regarded  the 
operation  with  a  troubled  eye,  and  said,  h)ud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  several  of  the  by- 
standers, "William,  this  was  not  kind  in  you: 
you  should  have  told  me  of  this.  I  loved  my 
father  as  well  as  you  could  love  him.  You 
were  the  elder,  ond,  it  may  be,  the  favorite 
son;   but  I  had  a  risht  in  nature  to  have 


mill  f     uuw     X     «■"•'■«    «    -•-., —  1  1.     1 

joined  you  in  ordering  this  head-stone,  had 
I  not?" 

During  these  words  the  stone  was  sinking 
into  the  ei'.rth,  and  many  persons  who  were 
on  their  way  from  the  grave  returned.     For  a 
while  the  elder  brother  said  nothing,  for  he 
had  a  consciousness  in  his  heart  that  he  ought 
to  hove  consulted  his  father's  son  in  designing 
this  last  becoming  mark  of  aflection  and  rosiiett 
to  his  memory;  so  the  stone  was  i)lantcd  in 
silence,  and  now  stood  erect,  among  the  other 
unostentatious  memorials  of  the  humble  diad. 
The  inscription  merely  gave  the  name  and 
age  of  the  deceased,  and  told  that  the  stone  had 
been  erected  "by  his  affectionate  sons."     The 
sight  of  these  words  seemed  to  soften  the  dis- 
pleasure of  the  angry  man,  and  he  said,  some- 
what more  mildly,  "  Yes,  we  were  his  aHec 
tionate  sons,  and  since  my  name  is  on  the 
stone,  I  am  satisfied,  brother.     We  have  not 
drawn  together  kindly  of  late  years,  and  per- 
haps never  may;   but  I   acknowledge   and 
respect  your  worth,  and  here,  before  our  own 
friends,  and  before  the  friends  of  our  father, 
with  my  foot  above  his  head,  1  exprci^s  my 
willingness  to  be  on  other  and  bettor  terms 
with  you,  and  if  we  can  not  command  love  in 
our  hearts,  let  us,  at  least,  brother,  bar  out  all 
unkindness."  ,   ,  ,    r         i 

The  minister,  who  had  attended  the  tuneral, 
and  had  something  intrusted  to  him  to  say 
publicly  before  he  left  the  church-yard,  now 
came  forward  and  asked  the  eWer  brother, 
why  he  spake  not  regarding  this  matter.  He 
saw  there  was  something  of  a  cold  and  sullen 
pride  rising  up  in  his  heart,  for  not  easily  may 
any  man  hope  to  dismiss  from  the  chamber 
of  his  heart  even  the  vilest  guest,  if  once 
cherished  there.  With  a  solemn  and  almost 
severe  air,  he  looked  upon  the  relenting  man, 
and  then,  changing  his  countenance  into  se- 
renity, said  gently : — 


fiummt'U'nm'm'^ip 


NATURAL  TI'EOLOQY. 


m  from  brinp; 
srs  stood  thert! 
let  ench  other 
hot,  in  spiU)  of 
cir  hearts,  ami 
folly  anil  wlck- 
•el. 

«re(l.  nnci  0  per- 
it  The  (•Idor 
(Ince  it — a  jilnin 
uU,  and  cross- 
11(1  a  few  words 
ler  regarded  the 
,  Qiid  said,  loud 
iral  of  the  by- 
iiotkind  in  you: 
lis.  I  loved  my 
ove  him.  You 
be,  the  favorite 
nature  to  have 
head-stonei  had 

one  was  sinking 
jrsons  who  were 
•etumed.  For  a 
I  nothiiijj,  for  he 
art  that  he  ought 
I  son  in  designing 
;ction  and  respect 

was  planted  in 
among  the  other 
the  hunilile  d(  ad. 
ive  the  nnnie  and 
that  the  stone  had 
tiate  sons."  The 
to  soften  the  dis- 
nd  he  said,  some- 
'e  were  his  ailcc- 

name  is  on  the 
r.  We  have  not 
te  years,  and  per- 
icknowledge  and 
e,  before  our  own 
ids  of  our  father, 
ad,  1  express  my 
and  better  terms 

command  love  in 
rother,  bar  out  all 

tended  the  funeral, 
,ed  to  him  to  suy 
church-yard,  now 
the  elder  brother, 
» this  matter.  He 
r  a  cold  and  sullen 
for  not  easily  may 
from  the  chamber 
est  guest,  if  once 
solemn  and  almost 
the  relenting  man, 
ontenance  into  se- 


.  BclioM  bow  «oorl  ft  tbing  It  ta, 
Ai'.il  how  becoming  weU, 
Together  mich  M  brethren  mo 
111  unity  to  dwell. 


Ill    UMIfcJ      ■«—-•- 

The  time,  the  place,  an.l  this  beautiful  cx- 

preVXn  "f  a  natural  «t"'''"'^"\'^'"r  ;?„,; 
pressi.m  ^^„,j^  ^^  not 

1  J^r,.  Inimunelv  toward  each  other. 
"iX  bZhers'stood  fervently,  but  com- 

nofedlv,  Rra^l-ing  •''^'^^  "'^"  '   u""  '      „  nf 
E  h^oUow  Iha?  lay  between  the  grave  of 

sr^l^&n:st;iy:^;lt*s 

fmm  liie  all  <.f  -Hist  to  .lust,  the  minister  stood 
r  ,, \v>,pn  his  tongue  demcd  its  oflice.     1 

When  the  nalsY  struck  him  for  the  last  time. 

Tears  were  in  his  eyes;  I  saw  them  there, 
learswere  1"  '"=•    J     ,  breath  came 

and  on  his  cheek,  too,  wnen  iiu 
fmrnhislios.  But  of  this  no  more,  tie  mea 
S  tWs  aper  in  his  hand ;  and  he  made  me 
SVi  Avas  to  read  it  to  you  over  his 
^nvp  I  now  obey  Inm.  '  MY  sons,  u  you 
S  kt  LXnes  L  quiet  in  Aa  ^a-  near 
the  dust  of  your  mother  depart  not  from  my 
burial  till,  in  the  name  of  God  and  Chn^t  y^n^ 
promise  to  love  one  another  as  you  used  to 

bear  bovs.  receive  my  blessing. 

SomeYurned  their 'heads  away  to  hide^^^ 

tears  that  needed  not  to  ^«  ^^'^  J"  '  ^"  Vlong 
the  brothers  had  released  ^''ch  from  a  long 
and  sobbing  embrace,  many  went  npt°  them 
and  in  a  single  word  or  two,  expressed  jneir 
inv  nt  this  perfect  reconcilement.     1  ^^^^"^'^ 
SttSes  walked  away  from  Jl^^^^^^^^^ 

^"^""o^tlSl^lgBabCtrth^^^^^^^ 
F;J  off  the  same  Bible  when  the  mmister 
;i^':i^4twenoutattheirownre 


nuest^,  of  which  one  verse  had  brrn  repontrd 
^^fl,\T  father'rt  crave  ;  a  larger  sum  than 
Su  was'on  that'sabbath  found  in  the  ph.e 
fo  the  poor,  for  love  and  chunty  are  ....«• 
A  Lever  after,  during  both  the  r-'^'-^  «"'/''" 
fr  ubks  of  this  life,  the  heart  of  the  broth.-rs 
were  ^  one,  and  in  nothing  were  they  divided. 


.  in-  . 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


Natural  theology  tells  of  the  crea  inn  of 
all  thing^of  the  mig'hty  power  that  fashioned 
ad  that  sustains  the  universe  ;  of  the  exquis- 
Uc  skill  that  contrived  the  wings,  and  beak, 
and  feet  of  insects  invisible  to  the  nuked  eye 
an    that  lighted  the  lamp  of  day,  and  launched 
"I'^osparrcometsathoi.snnd  ti.nes  largertlHin 
the  earth,  whirling  n  million  ot  times  switt.  r 
than  a  cannon-ball  and  burning  with  a  hrnt 
which  a  thousand  centuries  c.mld  not  quench 
iTt  exceeds  the  bounds  of  material  «if'  "-e. 
and  raises  us  from  the  creation  to  the  Author 
of  nature      Its  office  is  not  only  to  mark  what 
thinrrr;,but  for  what  purpose  they  were 
in&Y  the  infinite  wisdom  of  an  all-pow«r- 
M  Being  with  whose  existence  and  attributes 
S  high  prerogative  is  to  bring  us  acqumnted. 
^Versons  of  such  lives  as  should  make 
it  eit  emely  desirable  to  them  that  there  was 
no  God   an^  no  future  state,  might  very  well, 
i?;inannhers  dprivc  grat  tication  from  con- 

theVa?n  which  reflection  upon  the  past,  and 

f  „Jnf  the  future,  are  calculated  to  mflict 
fears  of  the  tutur  ,  ^^^^ 

r  sc  enTe'  de^i^es  an  int'erost'  incomparably 
Seater  f^m  the  consideration  that  we  our- 

Ss  wh"  ultivate  it,  are  ""'^t  •  V^Z," 
selves,  wno         ^^     y^  to,jrown  highest  des- 

Ses  are  i^vSved  in  the  results  of  the  inves- 
l^r^on      This  indeed,  makes  it  beyond  all 

mmm 

ons.  u.  'l"";  "",  ,he,°conn,.ect  tl,™»lvc. 
STSSblch 'of  human  knowWge, 
with  t""  g'""."  - .  ;„„  jnade  subservient  to 
?ST»?  "Se    »ly  in'»h.t  eomemnWion. 

nrsrr£"M;,^^-te: 
srorhoi."*p-^5"4  -«. 


44iM9in 


■•*^ 


292 


LIBEAUIEa  AT  CONSTANTINOVLB. 


beyond  the  sDlur  woy— giving  out  the  kw 
which  bind*  th«  universe  in  cteriiul  order! 
1I(!  tvHtrt,  at  hy  uu  inovitablo  necewity,  upon 

the  c(.iitcmi'l"t''>"  "*'  ''"=  ^""^^  ^y^^  ^"""f* 
and  hnl.l8  it  Ills  hishest  glory  to  Imve  nmde 
the  evidence  of  his  existence,  ami  llio  .lispen- 
BUtiona  of  lii»  power,  und  of  his  wisduin,  bet- 
ter understood  by  man.    If  such  are  the  pe- 
culiar pleasures  which  appertnin  to  this  sci- 
ence, it  seems  to  follow  that  those  plnloso- 
phers  ore  mistaken  who  would  r(;stnct  us  to 
a  very   few  demonstrations— to  one  or  two 
instances  of  design— os  suiricient  i.roofs  of  the 
Deity's  power  and  skill  iu  the  creulum  id  the 
world.     That  onn  sullicient  proof  of  this  kind 
is  in  a  certain  sense  eiKJugh,  can  not  bo  denied ; 
u  single  .such  proof  overthrows  the  dogmas  of 
the  udieist,  and  dispels  the  doubts  of  the  skep- 
tic ;  but  is  it  enough  to  the  gratilicationot  the 
contemplative  mind  ?     The  great  multiphca- 
tionof  proofs  undeniably  strengthen  our  posi- 
tions ;  nor  can  we  ever  allirm  respecting  the 
theorems  in  a  science  not  of  necessary  but  of 
contingent  truth,  that  the  evidence  is  sufti- 
ciently  cogent  without  variety  and  repetition. 
But,  independently  altogether  of  this  consid- 
eration, the  gratihcution  is  renewed  by  each 
instance  of  design  which  we  ore  led  to  con- 
template.    Each  is  ditlercnt  from  the  other. 
Each  step  renews  our  delight.     The  hnding 
that  at  every  step  we  muko  in  one  science, 
and  with  one  object  in  view,  a  new  proof  is 
added  to  those  before  possessed  by  another 
science,  allbrds  a  perpetual  source  ot  new  in- 
terest and  fresh  enjoyment.     This  would  be 
true,  if  the  science  in  (juestion  were  one  of 
an  ordinary  description.    But  when  we  con- 
sider what  its  nature  is— how  intimately  con- 
nected with  our  highest  concerns,  how  imme- 
diately and  necessarily  leading  to  the  adora- 
tion of  the  supremo  Being— can  we  doubt 
that  the   perpetually  renewed  proofs  of  his 
power,  wisdom,  and  goodness,  tend  to  fix  and 
to  transport  the  mind,  by  the  constant  nour- 
ishment thus  afforded  to  feelings  of  pure  and 
rational  devotion  1     It  is,  in  truth,  an  exercise 
at  once  intellectual  and  moral,  m  which  the 
highest  faculties  of  the  understanding  and  the 
warmest  feelings  of  the  heart  alike  partake, 
and  in  which,  not  only  without  ceasing  to  be 
a  philosopher,  the  student  feels  as  a  man,  but 
in  which,  the  more  warmly  his  human  feel- 
ing's are  excited,  the  more  philosophically  he 
ha"ndle8  the  subject.    What  delight  can  be 
irore  elevating,  more  truly  worthy  of  a  ration- 
al creature's  enjoyment,  than  to  feel,  wher- 
ever we  tread  the  paths  of  scientific  inquiry, 
new  evidence  springing  up  around  our  loot- 
steps,  new  traces  of  Divine  inteUigence  and 
power    meeting  our  eye!     We   are    never 
alone  ;  at  least,  like  the  old  Roman,  we  are 
never  less  alone  than  in  our  solitude,     we 


walk  with  the  Deity ;  wo  commune  with  the 
Great  First  Cause,  who  sustoins  at  every  in 
Btant  what  the  word  of  his  |K)wer  made.    The 
delight  is  renewed  at  each  step  of  our  prog- 
ress, though  as  far  as  evidence  is  concerned, 
we  have  long  ago  had  priwf  enough.     But 
that  is  no  more  a  reason  for  ceasing  to  contem- 
plate the  subject,  in  its  perpetually  renovated 
and  varied  lorms,  than  it  would  be  a  reuson 
for  resting  satisfied  with  once  seeing  a  long- 
lost  friend,  that  his  existence  had  been  sutli- 
cicntly  proved  by  one  interview.     Thus,  in- 
stead ot  restricting  ourselves  to  the  pnxifs 
alone  required  to  refute  otheisiii,  or  remove 
skepticism,  we  should  covet  ihe   indefinite 
multiplication  of   evidences   of   design   and 
skill  in  the  universe,  as  subservient  in  a  three- 
fold way  to  purposes  of  use  and  gratilicution  : 
First,  as  strengthening  the  foundation  where- 
upon the  system  reposes ;  secondly,  as  con- 
ducive to  the  ordinary  purposes  ot  scientific 
gratification,  each  instance  being  a  fresh  re- 
newal of  that  kind  of  enjoyment  -,  and  third- 
U),  us  giving  additional  ground  for  devout, 
])lea8ing,   and  wholesome    adoration   of  the 
Great  First  Cause,  who  made  and  who  sus- 
tains all  nature. 


I 


LIBRARIES  AT  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

"It  is  a  ridiculous  notion  which  prevails 
among  us,"  said  Sir  William  Jones,  many 
years  ago,  "  that  ignorance  is  a  principle  of 
the  Mohammedan  religion,  and  that  the  Koran 
instructs  the  Turks  not  to  be  instructed." 
There  is  little  question  that  even  now  we  are 
too  much  accustomed  to  regard  the  followers 
of  that  faith  as  necessarily  rude  and  ignorant 
beings,  men  who  will  neither  cultivate  learn- 
ing themselves,  nor  allow  others  to  do  so; 
there  is  still  less  question  that  the  articles  of 
their  creed  afford  us  no  ground  for  such  an  im- 
pression.   Mohammed  not  only  permitted,  but 
advised  his  people  to  apply  themselves  to  the 
acquisition  of  knowledge;  "Seek  learning," 
he  tells  them,  in  one  of  his  precepts,  "though 
it  were  in  China."     The  high  estimation,  in- 
deed, in  which  he  held  it,  is  abundantly  shown 
in  his  extravagant  declaration,  that  "  the  ink 
of  the  learned,   and  the   blood  of  martyrs, 
are  of  equal  value  in  the  sight  of  Heaven. 
Nevertheless,  it  must  be  confessed,  that  at  the 
present  day  there  is  no  Mohammedan  people 
remarkable  for  proficiency  in  literature  or 
science;  the  existing  race  of  Turks,  who  af- 
ford us  the  readiest  specimen  of  a  Moslem 
nation,  are  a  set  of  barbarians,  as  proud  as 
they  are  ignorant.    The  early  sultans,  as  well 
as    their    predecessors,   the    Saracen  calits, 
I  were  the  zealous  potrons  of  knowledge ;  "  Be 


J 


— :'3»B«a5W«S^?S« 


mm 


luno  with  tbo 
1  at  every  in- 
■  mnilc!.  Tiie 
I  of  our  pniR- 
iH  coiicf  rnc(l, 
;no«sl'-  Hut 
11(5  to  contcin- 
illy  renovated 
1  he  a  rfu8on 
seeing  a  long- 
id  bcfn  sutii- 
V.  Thus,  in- 
to the  pnHifs 
III,  or  rcmovo 
ihe  iniloKnite 
f  design  and 
ent  in  a  three- 
grntificution : 
dation  where- 
mdly,  as  con- 
!g  ot  scicntilic 
fig  u  fresh  ro- 
ll ;  niul  third- 
d  for  devout, 
iration  of  the 
and  who  8U8- 


MMfctJiri 


UTINOPLE. 

vhich  prevails 

Jones,  many 
a  pnncijilo  of 
that  the  Koran 
le  instructed." 
en  now  we  are 

the  followers 
e  and  ignorant 
lultivate  leam- 
lers  to  do  so; 
the  articles  of 
for  such  an  im- 
r  permitted,  but 
jraselves  to  the 
leek  learning," 
cepts,  "though 
estimation,  in- 
iindantly  shown 

that  "the  ink 
od  of  martyrs, 
lit  of  Heaven." 
ssed,  that  at  the 
mmedan  people 
in  literature  or 
Turks,  who  af- 
n  of  a  Moslem 
ns,  as  proud  as 
r  sultans,  as  well 

Saracen  califs, 
nowledge;  "Be 


LimiAlUKS  AT  CONSTANTINOPLK. 


293 


Sling » -r  u'b  '.s"S  s  bS 

•       „f  Tnrlcpv  have  testihed  to  posterity 

from  our  «"&/(re?green,  rWack),  and 
•"  '°  r«l  in  a  case  of  imikrmaterial,  which 
13  enclosed  in  »'="*«"         ^  f^om  the  worms. 


then  again  on  the  edge  01  I  ^^^ 

Cases,  with  glass  or  %'X«  Ubrarv  or  in  its 
ranged  along  the  ^f  I'^^^^t.^^^s  are 
5^S:"Js^:^SSles.  one  above 

■"^ms-e  librarie.  are  open  on  everjr  d«y^«f 

er  part  of  th«  ^^^^J^^       followed  in  the 
I  to  the  usual  studies  ^^mcn 

of  theinW  beautiful  .pec,m.i»  ot  pM- 

plu.  "VX"'  ''X*b"."~».ributio». 
lotprivuteindiviJu""-     lM«c™» 


s 


r-'ff 


y.S!$ 


«^3»,*»«iwt;»«(^>itt'-^  ■ 


rM 


71 


£04 


FIIANKNKBS  AND  HK8EIIVE. 


a  fine  hnnil,  ncncrnlly  rogonU  it  ai  ii  duty  to 
iniikf  n  traii-rriiitof  thu  Koran  nt  mmin  ]iPTm\  • 
of  hit  lit''.  iiikI  lii^stiiw  lh«  i;i>|iy  upon  otm  of  | 
fhf  Kiliil'Klmn(!n.     Notwithttnndinjj  ihf  nr- 
<iHMiry  (h'liriicM  of  liookst  where  printing  in 
riiii  prnrti^eil,  every  citi/.i-n  token  eare  to  ne- 
(iiiire  n  eertnin  nurnl)er  in  the  eourie  of  hiH 
hie;  iitiil  the  lawyer,  tho  iitatotirmii,  or  the  | 
man  of  letters,  who  jioBnefise*  a  lino  library, 
bciineathi  it  to  some  jiublic  library.thot  he 
may  receive  the  beiieilictions  of  thotio  who 
avoil  themselves  of  hin  liberality. 


FRANKNESS  AND  RESERVE. 

To  strike  ii  proper  medium  between  impru- 
dent n|uiiii'.'-i  of  commnnication  mid  fnrbid- 
dins  reserve,  is  an  attainment  which  will  be 
fimnd  of  conseipipncc  in  our  progress  throu;j;h  ] 
life.     While  an  open  ingenuous  disposition  i« 
nnturnlly  tnost  attractive,  it  is,  when  carried 
to  an  extreme,  ottended  with   many  serious 
evils ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  while  a  person 
characteri/.ed  i)y  preat  caution  in  his  conver- 
Bation  avoids  the  ftxilish   disclosures  (if  the 
former,  ho  is  in  danger,  if  he  maintoin  too 
close  a  reserve,  of  thereby  repelling  the  friend- 
ly feelings  which  depend  on  mutual  knowl- 1 
edge,  nnd  conseipient  symoathy.     Hut  before  I 
attempting  to  jxiint  out  the  course  to  b(!  piir-  I 
sued  in  order  to  steer  clear  of  both  these  ex- 
tremes, it  may  be  ns  well  to  delineate  a  few  j 
varieties  in  culii  class  ;  for  while  the  general 
etlect  may  be  the  same,  the  causes  which  lead 
to  it  are  often  very  dill'erent. 

There  are  first,  then,  the  constitutionally 
reserved — those  whose  natural  disposition  it 
is  to  withdraw,  like  the  snail,  within  its  shell, 
from  the  gaze  of  the  multitude,  the  tendency 
of  their  minds  being  to  restrain  the  outward 
expression  of  their  views  and  feelings. 

Then  there  are  the  reserved  from  consider- 
ations suggested  by  prudence.  Having  fie- 
(|uently  seen  mischievous  conseiiuences  flow- 
ing from  making  those  with  whom  we  come 
in  contP.oi  the  ropos'i  iries  of  our  information, 
they  II  r  1  guard  upon  their  lips,  lest  they 
sh()ul(J  be  led,  by  too  great  freedom  of  inter- 
course, into  some  awkward  and  unploasant 
predicament.  However  necessary  nrudencc 
m  this  respect  may  be,  persons  ot  tlli^.  class 
sometimes  carry  their  caution  to  a  riditndous 
extent.  So  guarded  is  their  correspondence 
with  all  around  them,  that  one  would  imagine 
they  believed  themselves  surrounded  by  per- 
sons resembling  the  emissaries  of  the  famous 
or  rather  infamous  Fouche,  ready  to  seize  on 
every  word  and  drag  them  into  judgment  on 
account  of  it.     iBuch  persons  seems  to  move 


In  an  atmosphere  of  my«tory  :  fhey  smrrely 
know  what  they  li-i  'hemsplvi-i,  far  le»s  how 
others  are  engaged.  A  deciiled  remark  M|Mm 
character  orevents  never  full-"  fr>>tn  their  Ii|m; 
the  fHrth(!»t  len^i  '  they  arc  c\<  t  known  to  ao, 
and  I  ven  that  is  u  -.trefeh,  it  to  mtntion  that 
they  had  heard  so  and  so — however,  it  wm 
but  a  rumor,  merely  a  float ii'  report,  as  like- 
ly to  be  false  ns  true.  Wni  such  persons, 
the  reply  "  I  don't  know,"  is  an  iinpetietrnble 
ipgis,  repelling  every  curious  itupiiry.  To 
judge  from  their  conversntion,  they  turn  the 
contingency  of  the  past  into  certainty  and 
adopt  as  thi'ir  motto,"  Since  ignorance  is  bliss, 
'tis  folly  to  be  wise." 

A  third  class  we  tind  charnrterlzed  hy  dig- 
nilied  reserve.  A  number  of  those  little  in- 
cidents and  events  which  ]iossess  interest  in 
the  e»timati(m  of  others,  ari'  passed  over  by 
them  as  unworthy  of  notice;  they  look  with 
a  fiM'ling  bordering  on  contempt  \ipoii  the  trilles 
which,  judging  from  the  conversation  in  vogue, 
seem  to  iKicupy  the  attention  of  others.  Their 
taste  becomes  gradinilly  more  fastidious,  and 
as  they  find  it  imi>ossibfe  to  intioduce  import- 
ant and  serious  subjects  at  every  season,  and 
in  all  eompnnies,  the  conseipience  is,  that  they 
learn  to  ri'tire  into  the  sanctuary  of  their  own 
thoiiirhts  for  entertainment. 

Then,  again,  there  are  the  consecpjentially 
reservtMl.  Tho  reserve  of  this  class  is  to  lie 
undi^rstoixl  with  limitations;  it  rather  consists 
in  the  withholding  sources  of  iiiforniutioii  than 
of  the  information  itself.  To  say,  "  I  read 
so-nnd-so  in  the  in-wspapers,"  or  "such  a  jier- 
son  told  me  this,"  would  in  their  estitnation  be 
an  unpardonable  loweringnf  I  heir  conseipience. 
Such  phrases  os  "  I  understand,"  or  "  I  am 
told,"  convey  a  far  grander  nnd  more  indefinite 
idea  to  their  hearers,  of  their  knowledge  of 
men  and  things. 

Reserve,  however,  may  very  often  proceed 
from  principle — from  a  rigid  determiimtion  to 
say  nothing  but  what  is  well  authenticated, 
and  which  will  not  prove  injurious  to  the 
character  of  any  one ;  and  although  such  a 
determination  shuts  up  numerous  subjects  re- 
8|)ecting  which  |)erfect  freedom  of  intercourse 
may  be  enjoyed,  it  also  ])revents  the  person 
actnig  upon  it  from  indulging  in  that  kind  of 
conversntion  in  which  it  is  most  dangerous  to 
throw  oil"  reserve. 

The  causes  leadin~  to  freedom  of  commu- 
nicati  in  are  ns  various  as  those  leading  to  the 
opposite.  There  is  a  constitutional  frankness, 
as  well  as  a  constitutional  reserve — with  some 
ii  -1  OS  natural  to  communicate  as  with  others 
to  refrain  from  communicating.  The  first  of 
this  class  may  be  denominated  the  benevolent- 
ly frank.  These  take  a  philanthropic  jilensure 
in  entertaining  an  •  interesting  those  with  whom 
they  meet,  and,  in  order  to  ertect  this  end. 


St 


?hpy  (trnrrrly 
^,  (iir  If'-*-*  how 

I  rc»niirl<  'limn 
"rumthi'ii  .i|    , 

r  known  111  -.), 
)  rniritidfi   flint 

IWCVt-r,    it     ^VU^I 

rcjiorf,  ot  likf- 

Mllc'h     pITUdll-', 

II  impfiicirnliln 
ini|uiry.      To 

tlii'y  turn  tin- 
rcrtniiity   luid 

uiroiirc  in  blisn, 

teri/.iMl  liy  ilig- 
thosn  little  ili- 
less  intcri'dt  in 
T  liy 
with 
uiiiiii  thf  trilli'H  j 
Hiitioii  in  vogue, 
otlliTs.  Their  I 
fuHtiilioiis,  mill 
tioilucc  iin|iort- 
"ry  Hcnwiii,  niiil 
ICO  is,  tliut  tliry 
ry  of  thi'ir  own 


iiisMcd  over  li' 
tlicy  look 


ponnptinnntinlly 

is  clnss  \*  to  l)(! 
;  rather  consists 
nformiitioii  thun 
)  i^iiy,  "  I  read 
or  "such  a  ])(;r- 
ir  cstiinntlnn  bo 
.•ircoiisei|U('nce. 
nd,"  or  "  I  Bin 
more  indotiiiite 
knowledge  of 

y  ofirn  proceed 
fcteriniimiion  to 
I  authenliciUed, 
njurious  to  the 
tlihou^'h  HucTi  a 
■ous  .subjects  re- 
in of  intercourse 
ents  the  person 
in  that  kind  of 
ust  dangerous  to 

dom  of  cominu- 
se  leadins;  to  the 
tionnl  frankness, 
;rve — with  some 
;e  as  with  others 
g.  The  first  of 
1  the  benevolent- 
ithropic  pleasure 
those  with  whom 
effect  this  end, 


FllANKNESS  AND  IlKPKUVE. 


„,..v  make  nil  th*.  .rocV  oflnformntion  wh  ch 

(JhU-  ..t  «nv   time  for  the   public  h«'" 'ht. 

S         11.  ..n*  rr..>.t  a..iduou.ly  .et  th-"'-  -. 

,  „,  '„t.^r  to  liieBrnfifieaUonot  their  com- 

uu--.     Iftherq.!ytothe.|U<-t.on"I  lave 

'v^  h.-nrd  m..und.Ho?"  Im  m  the  n.'Rnt.v«. 
IH  V  wuh  the  utmost  delight  proced  to  give 
a  lilll.  true,  ond  particular  account  of  tho 
'  h  lu  at  ..r,  t^inki..«  th..,n.elves  abundantly 

which  they  lli'i'*  Ponfef.  ■ 

As  there  ore  the  co,i»e.,ue,.n.lljr  reserved, 
«,  there  ore  also  the  couse.i:    Mttally   unre-  | 

nerved  If  V""'  ""»'  »  *«*='"^'  '"  ""^  "^  ." 
l.tter.  depend  upon  it  it  will  not  ^^f  J^^ 
,o.  The  pleiwtire  -f  Hbowing  t  t  he  has 
been  l.UH  disli.,«uishe.l  ,  m  thd  mUltudc, 
,erpower.u«e.te..thon,  -d  th.^ecret .« 
,.,„n,'nunicatedtoa,lardj„  '^  ««='•' ;7""'« J 
with  strict  injunct-ns  tU  ^  «»"'"''  8«/" 
farther,  <onveyed,  .erhapR,  «iicVi  termi  M 
Uefoll.vving:  "N.'W.  leM"    ttliww'itgo 

voml  these  walls,  and  I  tell  .t  you  k,  wmg 
Ihiit  it  will  be  perfectly  sate"  Xs  ex.a^e 
is  always  better  than  precept  n  i.aa.ijr 

l,e  conceived,   that   howi^ver 
reasoniil;-  may  lie  to  its  author 
ert  ft  very  ereat  iiilluence  on  t'l 
conduct  It  is  intended  to  «was . 

Another  srade  of  this  class  at 
vid.ials  who  speak  freely  of  theih 

opinions,    their   dinM«»,    tlieir   w 
!)ut  all  this  vs  done  :  roin  motives 
order  to  place  themsolves  in  as 
'  linht  as  possible. 
'     "These  various  ciiuses  ot  tlie 
tions  which  form  ''>.■  subject  ot 
,U,housh  distinct  in  th.M.ry,  are  genera.  .  tound 
blendi^l  more  or  lc«s  together  m  ar^.al  hie, 
sometimes  one  preponderating  and  -t^'"''  ^  ««« 
another.     In  regard  to  wl.other  tt  is  I,     t  to 
■ultivatc  the  one  o'  the  other,  it  ^,11  be      mU 
hat  tho  path  of  safetv  hcs  in  the  muUlb      he 
Ktremes  on  either  Bicfo  being  dangerous. 

The  iierson  who  keeps  his  sentiments,  joys, 
,   ,d  sorrows,  to  himself,  will  soon  h'.d  him- 
if  as  isolated  from  the  sympathy  of  his  M- 
1    .v-creatures  as  Robinson  Cru.soe  was  m  his 
n   ,ert  island,  having  placed  h;>nf  f  vAuntanly 
i      hat  forlorn  situation,  to  which  Defoe  s  hero 
V    s  forced  by  adverse  circumstances.      Uc 
tl,  H  deprives  himself  of  that  interchange  of 
f,,  line  which  enhances  the  joy  of  prosperity, 
an  1  so'othes  and  sustains  tho  mind  in  adversity , 
r  the  Creator  has  appointed  the  disclosure 
of    lur  foehngs  to  those  who  can  sympathize 
wi    1  hem,  as  a  kind  of  safely-valve,  in  those 
Till,  sof  extreme  emotion  when  the  heart  would 

bii    k  if  not  thus  relieved. 

\    hile  an  individual  of  a  too-reserved  char- 

actc  r  thus  deprives  himself  of  the  benefit  and 


happinoM  «ri.in«frotn  «Kial  mferchnnKe  of 
..    '.L-  f...„..ii,ete  voimoxite  eharnctrr 


sjve   this 

ill  not  ex- 
•  m  whose 

hose  iridi- 

'ves,  tlieir 

Clients ; 

iiity,  in 

iiiible  a 

'!  posi- 
.rticle, 


feel  ng,  one  of  5  complete Iv  op|«.«.te  character 

i«  theri'by  exposed  to  cvifi  which,  though  ot 

a  ditVerent  nature,  are  by  no  means  le«H  to  bo 

nvoid.'d.     Such  a  pernon  otien  errs  .v.ih  re- 

nard  to  those  whom  he  makes  his  c.mtidnntH 

—newly-formed  friend«,  casual  acipiainlaiices, 

or  even  perfect  strangers,  receive  coiniiiniiica- 

tions  fit  only  for  tho  ear  of  intimate  Iriends 

on  whose  prudence  reliance  may  be  place   . 

Certainly,    none    need    feel    t»!'""<f '"•    '';; 

tinguishe.l  by  th.'  ei  .ifidenco  ot  such  per^ms, 

I  which  i.  freely  bestowed  on  any  with  w  lom 

ll.ev  may  happen  to  cmo  in  contact.      1  Hose 

of  Aus  Chora.  U.r  err  also  in  regard  to  the  sub- 

jeers  on  which  they  .p.'nk.     Details  respect- 

i„,T  ner^   '  >land  family  matters,  which  n  light 

thinkii.  ,  i.ud  prudent  person  wi.uld  f '^'''l^J';";? 

allow;    g  to  pass  beyou.i  'he  circle  in  which 

thev    .curre.l.  are  made  known  to  those  whoso 

only  interest  in  them  is  the  >fr"t'hcat.on  ot 

tl,.-ir  curiosity,  mid  being  lurnished  vvith  tho 

means  of  cmimunicaling  to  others  what  was 

80  thoughtlessly  made  known  to  theni.     An-l 

it  were  comii  iratively  well  it  an  individual  ot 

this  disposition  restricted  hi.nse  f  to  his  own 

affairs;  but  it  schlom  happens  that  this  is  the 

case.     Ho  who  exposes  his  own  concerns  to 

the  public  is  not  likely  to  be  v.;ry  chary  abou 

those  of  others,  and  ra.sh  judgni.  nts  in  regard 

toeharacter    uiid  exaggerated  or  >ll-7' '^'"l'" 

cated  reports  of  matters  are  throwii  about    as 

if  the  individual  were  utterly  careless  of  the 

iniuries  which  gl.'ing  currency  to  such  ntato- 

i  mints  may  inffict  on  those  wlio  are  the  sub- 

'  .Tects  of  tLm.     Many  have  had  great  reason 

to  reiicnt  of  such  unreserved  and  imprudent, 

not  to  say  sinful  communications. 

But  it  may  be  said  here,  that  n  is  far  easier 
to  see  tho  evils  on  both  sides,  than  to  hit  he 
exact  medium  between  unsocmblcncss  on  ^lio 
one  hand  and  imprudenco  on  tl'^"'l^"■  ^'' 
it  is;  but  still  to  reach  this  is  a  p-nt  of  some 
importance  in  the  minor  morals  ol  ife,  and  it 
is  worth  while  to  make  an  effort  to  '^o  bo. 

To  gain  this  object  wo  should  use  discrini- 
ination,  both  in  regard  to  whom  we  sFak, 
and  what  we  speak  ab<,ut.  _  In  reference  to 
the  firstof  these,  our  communications,  especm^ 
Iv  in  as  far  as  they  relate  to  personal  teelings 
1  or  history,  should  grow  more  and  more  re- 
'  served  as  the  circle  widens,  for  there  are  many 
things  which  it  would  be  quite  proper  for  an 
ndividunl  to  speak  freely  of  in  his  owt.  family, 
which  it  would  be  manifestly  imprudent  to 
talk  of  in  the  same  manner  to  mere  oc-iuaint- 
ances  or  strangers;  for  while  in  the  one  case 
such  oJennessSends  to  strengthen  affection 
n  the  other  it  may  only  furnisli  an  alime-U  to 
the  curious,  or,  as  sometimes  happens,  w  tapons 

^''fn'^retSTwhatweBpeakof.weshoul 


all  I 


f  rrf. 


M 


':.i4 


^••-v. 


it 


be  careful  to  say  nothing,  either  directly  or 
indirectly,  for  the  mere  jjurposc  of  showinj; 
oil  ouriielveb,  our  amiable  character,  our 
knowledge,  our  connexions,  and  the  like  ;  and 
if  wo  are  tempted  to  introduce  subjects  for 
any  such  purpose,  we  should  immediately 
check  ourselves,  remembering  the  counsel  of 
the  wise  man — "  Let  another  praise  thee,  and 
not  thino  own  lips." 

Again,  in  all  our  communications,  we  ought 
to  have  a  strict  regard  to  character ;  putting 
out  of  view  altogether  a  worse  motive,  we 
ought  never,  for  the  mere  purpose  of  having 
something  interesting  to  say,  thoughth.'ssly 
make  statements  injurious  to  the  character  ot 
others.  On  the  other  hand,  we  ought  to  avoid 
making  a  mystery  of  trifles,  and  of  those 
thin!TS,''the  communication  of  which,  while  it 
raiiy"  gratify  others,  can  neither  injure  our- 
selves nor  them. 

Free  and  unreserved  communication  ot 
thought  and  feeling,  is  at  once  the  cement  and 
charm  of  domestic  life ;  but  there  is  a  vast 
variety  of  tojiics  of  general  interest,  which 
may  furnish  us  with  subjects  of  both  useful 
and  interesting  conversation,  in  the  other  cir- 
cles in  which  we  may  move,  and  thus  pre- 
serve inviolable  those  matters,  the  publishing 
of  which  often  manifests  both  imprudence  ond 
vanity. 


THE  SECRET  OF  SUCCESS. 


Theke  are  some  men  who  appear  bom  to 
good  fortune,  and  others  whose  destiny  seems 
to  subject  them  to  eternal  failure  and  disaster. 
The  ancients  represented  Fortune  as  a  blind 
goddess,   because   she   distributed    her  gifts 
without  discrimination ;  and  in  more  modern 
times,  the  belief  has  been  prevalent  that  the 
fortunes  of  a  man  were  ruled  chiefly  by  the 
planet  under  which  he  was  bom.     These  su- 
perstitions, however  ridiculous,  show  at  least 
that  the  connexion  between  merit  and  success 
is  not  very  conspicuous,  yet  it  is  not  therefore 
the  less  jierpetual.    To  succeed  in  the  world, 
is  of  itself  a  proof  of  merit ;  of  a  vulgar  kind, 
indeed  it  may  be,  but  a  useful  kind  notwith- 
standing.    We  grant,  indeed,  that  those  quali- 
ties of  mind  which  make  a  man  succeed  in 
life,   are,  to  a  great  extent,  subversive  of 
genius.     Nevertheless,   numerous  illustrious 
examples  might  be  given  of  men  of  the  high- 
est genius  being  as  worldly-wise  as  duller 
mortals.    It  is  the  pretenders  to  genius,  rather 
than  the  possessor  of  it,  who  claim  the  largest 
excmi)tion  from  those  rules  of  prudence  which 
regulate  the  conduct  of  ordinary  mortals,  and 
array  thenxselves  in  the  deformities  of  genius, 


in  the  idea  that  they  constitute  its  beauties. 
There  are  some  indiscretions,  wo  believe,  to 
which  men  of  a  vigorous  fancy  and  keen  sen- 
sibility are  naturally  heir,  and  for  which  it 
wouhi  be  unjust  to  condemn  them  with  vigor, 
as  it  would  be  to  blame  one  of  the  cold-blood- 
ed sons  of  discretion  for  being  destitute  of  po- 
etic fire.  Yet  every  deviation  from  prudence 
is  a  fault,  and  not  to  be  imitated,  though  it 
may  sometimes  be  excused.    ^ 

The  most  important  clement  of  success  is 
economy :   economy  of  money  and  of  time. 
I3y  economy  we  do  not  mean  penuriousness, 
but  merely  such  wholesome  thrift  as  will  dis- 
incline us  to  spend  our  time  or  money  without 
an  adecjuate  return  in  either  gain  or  enjoyment. 
An  economical  ajjplication  of  time  beings  lei- 
sure and  method,  and  enables  us  to  drive  our 
business,  instead  of  our  business  driving  us. 
There  is  nothing  attended  with  results  so  dis- 
astrous, as  such  a  miscolculation  of  our  time 
and  means,  and  will  involve  us  in  perpetual 
hurry  and  difficulty.     The  brightest  talents 
must  be  ineflective  under  such  a  pressure, 
and  a  life  of  experiments  has  no   end   but 
penury.      Our  recipe  for  succeeding  in  the 
world,  then,  is  this :  "Work  much  and  spend 
little."     If  this  advice   is  fo.lowed,  success 
must  come — unless,  indeed,  some  unwise  ad- 
venture, or  some  acciilent  against  which  no 
humon  foresight  could  provide,  such  as  sick- 
ness,  conflagration,   or  other  visitations  of 
Providence,  should  arrest  the   progress  on- 
ward ;  but,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  human 
affciirs,  success  will  ever  wait  upon  economy, 
which  is  the  condition  by  which  property  must 
be  earned.    Worldly  success,  however,  though 
universally  coveted,  can  only  be  desirable  in 
so  far  as  it  will  contribute  to  happiriess,  and 
it  will  contribute  to  happiness  very  little,  un- 
less there  be  cultivated  a  lively  benevolence 
toward  every  animated  being.     "  Happiness," 
it  has  been  finely  observed,  "  ib  the  propor- 
tion of  the  number  of  things  we  love,  and  the 
number  of  things  that  love  us."     To  this 
sentiment  we  most  coniially  subscribe,  and 
we  should  wish  to  see  it  written  on  the  tablet 
of  every  heart,  and  producing  its  fruits  of 
charity.     The  man,  whatever  be  his  fame, 
or  fortune,  or  intelligence,  who  can  treat  light- 
ly another's  wo,  who  is  not  bound  to  his  fel- 
low-men by  the  magic  tie  of  syrajiathy,  de- 
serves, ay,  and  will  obtain,  the  contempt  of 
human  kind.     Upon  him  all  the  giftsof  fortune 
are  thrown  away.     Happiness  he  has  none ; 
his  life  is  a  dream ;  a  mere  lethargy,  without 
a  throb  of  human  emotion,  and  he  will  descend 
to  the  grave,  "  unwept,  unhonored,  and  un- 
sung."    Such  a  fate  is  not  to  be  envied,  and 
let  those  who  are  intent  upon  success,  re- 
member that  success  'is  nothing  without  hap- 
piness. 


iiw-'ui!i^iittjlifcjn^Maa^Maii|iiliP 


te  its  beauties, 
wo  btlievf,  to 
•  nnd  keen  sen- 
id  fur  which  it 
ipm  with  viij;nr, 
the  cold-bldoil- 
destitute  of  ]K)- 
1  from  prudence 
:ated,  though  it 

nt  of  success  is 
y  and  of  time, 
penuriousness, 
lirift  as  will  dis- 
■  money  without 
in  or  enjoyment, 
time  beings  lei- 
us  to  drive  our 
less  driving  us. 
:h  results  so  dis- 
tion  of  our  time 
us  in  perpetual 
[jrightest  talents 
uch  a  pressure, 
las  no   end    but 
cceeding  in  the 
much  and  spend 
j.lowed,   success 
ome  unwise  ad- 
[jainst  which  no 
de,  such  as  sick- 
r  visitations  of 
he  progress  on- 
lourse  of  human 
t  upon  economy, 
ch  property  must 
however,  though 
if  be  desirable  in 
[)  happiness,  and 
iS  very  little,  un- 
'ely  benevolence 
"  Happiness," 
"ib  the  propor- 
we  love,  ond  the 
!  us."      To  this 
jr  subscribe,  and 
ttcn  on  the  tablet 
ling  its  fruits  of 
,-er  be  his  fame, 
10  can  treat  light- 
bound  to  his  fel- 
(f  sympathy,  de- 
the  contempt  of 
he  gifts  of  fortune 
)ss  he  has  none ; 
lethargy,  without 
id  he  will  descend 
bonored,  and  un- 
to be  envied,  and 
ipon  success,  re- 
ling  without  hap- 


44! 


I'Ih' 


•  « 


298 


THE  OLD  CITY  HALL,  NEW  YORK. 


THE  OLD  CITY-HALL,  NEW  YORK. 

The  f)lJ  city -hall  in  Wall  street,  at  the 
heail  of  Broad  street,  has  been  faithfully  coj)- 
icd  from  an  engraving  i)ublishe(l  by  Tiebout, 
in  1769.  It  had  been  a  short  time  previously 
enlarged  and  inii)roved  for  the  recci)tion  and 
accommodation  of  the  first  congress  convened 
under  the  new  constitution  of  the  United 
States.  In  compiling  the  annexed  succinct 
history  of  its  jiredecessors,  we  have  drawn 
largely  from  the  original  records  of  the  com- 
mon council. 

The  first  stadt-house  was  erected  by  the 
Dutch,  while  in  possession  of  the  colony  of 
New  Netherlands  and  the  city  of  New  Am- 
sterdam, under  the  jurisdiction  of  a  schout, 
bunjomaster,  and  schepen. 

Hudson  came  up  to  the  island  of  Monhat- 
tan,  called  by  the  natives  Manndoes,  in  the 
month  of  October,  1609,  then  occupied  bv  a 
ferocious  tribe  of  Indians:  he  navigated  as 
hi'Th  as  All- IT",  and  on  his  return  to  Holland, 
transferred  Ins  right  of  discoveryto  the  Dutch, 
who  i>fiersvii.-(f  granted  it  to  their  West  India 
compuny.  The  latter  the  next  year  sent  ships 
to  Manhattan  to  trade  with  the  natives.  In 
1614,  a  fort  was  built  by  the  Dutch  at  the 
southwest  extremity  of  the  island,  and  also 
another,  called  Fort  Aurania  (Orange),  where 
Albany  now  stands,  which  was  settled  before 
the  city  of  New  Amsterdam;  the  latter  prob- 
ably was  not  permanently  occupied  until  the 
year  1619.  From  this  period,  it  remained  in 
possession  of  the  Dutch  until  the  conquest  of 
the  colony  by  the  English,  in  1664.  A  few 
years  after,  it  was  granted  by  Charles  II.  to 
his  brother  James,  duke  of  York  and  Albany ; 
and  the  two  principal,  indeed  only  cities  at 
that  time  in  the  colony,  were  called  after  him, 
New  York  and  Albany. 

The  date  of  the  erection  of  the  stadt-house 
is  not  ascertained,  but  most  likely  it  was 
shortly  after  the  settlement  of  New  Amster- 
dam. It  was,  as  were  most  of  the  houses  of 
that  period,  built  of  bricks,  called  clinkers, 
imported  from  Holland,  as  ballast  for  mer- 
chant-vessels. Few  specimens  of  these  early 
structures  now  remain  here,  but  several  yet 
exist  in  Albany.  The  style  of  architecture, 
with  steep,  tiled  roofs,  gables  to  the  streets, 
and  alleys  between  the  houses,  was  Spanish, 
introduced  by  that  nation  into  Flanders,  now 
Belgium,  while  that  populous  portion  of  the 
Netherlands  was  possessed  by  Spain.  In 
consequence  of  the  long-protracted  civil  and 
religious  wars  between  Spain  and  Holland, 
which  terminated  in  the  independence  of  the 
latter,  a  most  rancorous  antipathy  existed  on 
the  part  of  the  Dutch  oi  New  Netherlands 
against  the  Spaniards,  which  was  scarcely 
obliterated  from  the  minds  of  their  descend- 


ants until  the  American  revolution.  Evidence 
of  this  fact  is  to  be  seen  in  the  history  of  the 
famous  negro  plot  in  1741,  when  the  absurd 
idea  was  propagated  and  believed,  that  it  was 
instigated  by  the  Spaniards  of  South  America. 
Indeed,  the  predatory  wors  of  the  English 
against  Spanish  America,  privateering  and 
buccaneering,  fostered  this  early  prejudice. 
To  kill  or  plunder  a  Spaniard,  was  regarded 
neither  robbery  nor  murder.  Wnat  dreadful 
principles  to  cherish  in  a  civilized  nation ! 

About  the  year  1695,  the  stadt-house  began 
to  require  repairs,  adequate  to  render  it  safe 
for  the  meetings  of  the  court  of  common  coun- 
cil, and  of  the  supreme  court.  After  several 
surveys  and  profound  deliberations,  the  Ho- 
gen  Mogens  of  the  day  determined  that  it  was 
most  expedient,  as  well  as  economical,  to  build 
a  new  city-hail,  at  the  head  of  Broad  street, 
and  to  lease  or  sell  the  old  one.  No  lessee 
ofTering,  it  was  sold  at  auction  to  Mr.  John 
Rodman,  merchant,  for  nine  hundred  and 
twenty  pounds,  equal  to  two  thousand  three 
hundred  dollars.  Three  thousand  pounds,  or 
seven  thousand  five  hundred  Jollars,  were  ap- 
propriated toward  building  the  new  city-hall : 
a  large  sum  in  those  days  to  be  raised  by  di- 
rect tax  on  a  population  not  exceeding  five 
thousand. 

The  stadt-house,  or  first  city -hall,  was  situ- 
ated in  Dock,  now  Pearl  street,  at  the  comer 
of  Coenties  (Countesses')  lane. 

The  site  of  the  new  city-hall  was  laid  on  a 
bastion  and  line  of  stone  fortifications  that  ex- 
tended across  the  northern  boundary  of  the  city, 
from  the  East  to  Hudson  river,  whence  the 
name  of  Wall  street  is  derived.  This  appears 
by  a  petition  of  the  corporotion  to  Lieutenant- 
Governor  Hanfen  and  his  majesty's  council, 
to  intercede  with  the  earl  of  Bellamont,  the 
governor,  then  absent  at  Boston,  for  pennis- 
sion,  as  the  fortifications  were  dilapidated,  to 
make  use  of  the  stones  for  building  a  new- 
el ty-hall,  which,  no  doubt,  was  granted.  No 
ceremony  appears  to  have  taken  place  on  lay- 
ing the  foundation,  which  was,  probably,  in 
the  spring  of  1700 ;  and  the  common  council 
held  its  first  meetings  there  in  the  summer  of 
1703.  This  edifice,  for  a  long  time  the  most 
magnificent  in  the  city,  was  frequently  im- 
proved and  embellished,  until  the  revolution- 
ary war.  While  in  possession  of  the  British, 
it  was  occupied  for  the  main-guard,  and  es- 
caping the  ravages  of  the  enemy,  it  remained 
entire,  although  much  injured,  until  the  evac- 
uation of  the  city  by  the  British  forces,  on 
the  25th  of  November,  1783. 

A  room  was  appropriated  in  the  hall  for 
the  use  of  the  New  York  Society  I  library, 
founded  in  1754,  whose  collection  of  books, 
though  not  extensive,  was  select  and  valuable, 
and  was  totally  plundered  by  the  British. 


^^^%i 


tion.  Evidence 
e  history  of  the 
hen  the  absurd 
ved,  that  it  was 
South  America, 
of  the  English 
rivatccring  and 
early  prejudice. 
1,  -.vas  regarded 

AV'nat  dreadful 
ized  nation ! 
adt-house  began 
3  render  it  safe 
f  common  coun- 
,  After  several 
■ations,  the  Ho- 
lined  tliat  it  was 
nomicol,  to  build 
of  Broad  street, 
one.  No  lessee 
ion  to  Mr.  John 
le  hundred   and 

thousand  three 
isand  pounds,  or 
Jollars,  were  ap- 
e  new  city-hall : 
be  raised  by  di- 
t;  exceeding  five 

y-hall,  was  situ- 
et,  at  the  comer 
e. 

all  was  laid  on  a 
fications  that  ex- 
indaryofthecity, 
iver,  whence  the 
d.  This  appears 
m  to  Lieutenant- 
lajesty's  council, 
f  ]3elIamont,  the 
ston,  for  pcrmis- 
•e  dilapidated,  to 

building  a  new 
iras  granted.  No 
ken  place  on  lay- 
,-as,  probably,  in 

common  council 
in  the  summer  of 
ng  time  the  most 
is  frequently  im- 
il  the  revolution- 
on  of  the  British, 
in-guard,  and  es- 
emy,  it  remained 
d,  until  the  evac- 
Jritlsh  forces,  on 
3. 

d  in  the  hall  for 
Society  I  library, 
llectiort  of  books, 
lect  and  valuable, 
,  by  the  British. 


The  present  library  was  renewed  in  1789. 1 
r   hL-er  also  co'ntained  a  large  Btan.n^  | 
arms  and  equipments  purchased  by  the  cor 
Nation  in  1764,  which  were  seized  by    he 
^higs  on  the  Sunday  afternoon,  ^'fen  the 
Tews   of  the  battle   of   Lexmgton,   19th   of 
AiTr  1,  1775,  arrived,  and  threw  the  c.ty  into 
fhe  u  most  Consternation.     The  chief  persons 
oncerned  in  the  sei/.ure.  viz    Colonel    sac 
Sears,  Col.  John  Lamb,  M/DougaU   Wd kt 
1  and  others,  w.re  the  "  Liberty  Boys,       so 
'  c"  ed    who  imuuMliutely  assembled  in  Van 
Dvck's  bull-alley,  northeast  corner  of  Broad- 
S;  and  John  st'reet,  and  formed  a  company 
which  patn.llc.l  the  city  to  prf=vcnt  any  .li.- 


1  natrolicd  iiu:  "-"-j    '■"  i„ •'    ..  , 

t„rbam?es-their  parole  was  Boston,  counter 
i,     Leri»^(on.     This   was  the  first  resort 
n  arms  in  tfie  province  of  Nr  ^  York.         . 
'  Ccity    r    tate  in  the  Union  suHered  in 
proporS,!  to  New  Vork-a  frontier  at  b.^h 
extremities;    exposed   on    the   north  to  the 
nredaTo  y  incursions  of  the  Canadians  and 
Ens    while  its  capital  at  the  south  was 
'    Sr^ne  fifth  desnllued  by  the  aw  ul  con- 
flagration on  the  '2lBt  of  September    1776, 
shortly  after  its  occupation  by  the  Bntisli, 
who  kept  possession  until  the  pea^  of  1783 
If  the  Tvacuation,  on  the  25th  of  Novem^^^^^^ 
the  patriot  families  returned,  after  a  tedious 
and  distressing  exile  of  seven  lo"?  >'««"•  »" 
mourn  over  their  homes,  'levfated  or  n^^u 
ins-their  fortunes  reduced  by        ^Vr^''^^^^ 
currency,  with  little  remaining  -f^J^f 

themsefves  in  the  enjoyment  .  '""™«;. 
nlain  but  redundant  comfor  ineir  ue 
Sants  of  the  present  day  .ad  the  enter- 
Sng  inhabitants  of  this  commercial  empo- 
Kf  the  ocean  an  *  ihe  lakes,  can  but  feebly 
Sate  the  privations  and  sufferings  of  the 

great  strugglo  for  hberty,  the  A  ^^ 

which  wa8  by  '"^^  ,J'",7,,"e^,'  airaoit  miraculous, 
which  present  Wf  °' '»"«  1'^.^™      ^^^  perseverance 

terprises^nd  ready  at  all  times  to^w'-y^  ,  j  ^f 
r"f'r;;udThoat.cffi.he;n^"ve,  together 
the  patnoUo  o«"°' ''™  "^ns  ^  Liberty."    Tlieir  or- 

S^FSSC^By^hS 

?a^?^t%^iHTofa:fi^{^^^^^^ 

their  peraevering  mdnstry  and  «e»'Jf,hC    ^hese 

excit^d.lo  OPP"''^  «'' f  "„',  ',,'°„rofTe  S^  armies 
bold  spirits  formed  the  nn^le'is  o,  ^ 

of  the  ttevolution ;  a°^  '»  »    °  t«^,^,^,    ^,o,„tion 

:i;i?^s«|^''lsri;;^i:';^^^ 
itrtS'jc^i^S^rrrir^^^^s-^-nd 

glorious  republic 


anti-revolutionary  famdics,  whose  survivors 
ma,  say,  as  Augustus  did  of  Rome  we  found 
our  city  in  brick,  and  leave  it  m  marble.  May 
thev  never  lose  sight  of  the  plain,  simple  .ru- 
cality  and  virtues  of  those  iirogenitors  whose 
word  was  their  bond,  and  whose  morals  were 
irreproachable. 

In  the  fall  of  1784,  the  revolutionary  con- 
gress removed  to  this  city,  and  the  court-room 
in  the  citv-hall  was  fitted  for  theiri.se.  On 
the  a.loption  of  the  new  constitution,  more 
extensiv^  accommodations  were  required  for 
the  senate  and  house  of  representntivt-s  about 
to  convene  in  the  city,  lor  which  purpose  the 
old  edifice  was  entirely  renovated.  a...l  an  ex- 
tensive addition  mode  in  the  rear.  i\^  ^f 
ate-chamber  was  in  the  f.irmer,  and  that  for 
the  house  of  re|.rescntatives  in  the  latter. 
The  expenses  of  these  extensive  improve- 
ments were  defrayed  by  lottery.  Mnj.  L  En- 
Tan  t  a  French  enginee'r,  of  great  «  "'it^^^;^" 
he  service  of  the  United  States  during  the 
war,  was  the  architect,  ami  his  skill  and  taste 
displayed  in  this  edifice  were  universally  ad- 
miredf  and  gave  the  chief  spring  to  a  more 
Improved  style  of  architecture  in  public  bmld- 
ings  throughout  the  United  States. 

\n  the  spring  of  1789,  the  first  congress  un- 
der the  new  constitution  assembled  in  this 
city,  and  met  in  the  new  edifice.    On  the  30th 
of  Ipril,  George  Washington  was  inaugurated 
the  tire    presilient,  in  the  gallery  in  front  of 
tJe  senate  chamber,  ^.l  view  of  an  immense 
concourse  of  citizens  collected  in  Broad  street 
-the  doors,  windows,  and  roof  of  every  honae 
were  thronged  with  exulting  spectators.     1  ne 
Tath  of  office  was  administered  by  Chancellor 
Livingston,  on  a  superb  quarto  bible,  then  be- 
longing to  the  grand  lodge  of  the  state  of 
'  Ne^  York,  which  is  carefu  ly  P'-c^f  .^^^by 
St  John's  lodge.  No.  1,  having  the  following 
f:d^pZ  im'printed  in  gold  letters  on  «s 
cover  of  an  event  so  auspicious  to  the  pros- 
perity and  happiness  of  the  United  States  :- 


..  On  this  sacred  volume,  on  the  thirtieth 
dav  of  April,  A.  M.  5789,  in  the  city  of  New 
York  was  administered  to  George  Washmg- 
S    thl  fir«t  president  of  the  United  States 
of  America,  the  oath  to  support  the  constitu- 
tion  of  "he  United  States.    This  important 
ceremony  was  performed  by  the  most  wor- 
shS  grand-mister  of  free  and  accepted  ma- 
Ktle  state  of  New  York^^  the  Honor^^^^^^^ 
Robert  R.  Livingston,  chancellor  of  the  state. 
..  .Fame  stretched  her  wings,  and  wkh  her  trumpet 

.  Oreat  WMhiiigton  is  near-what  praise  is  daef 
..  <  What  title  shaft  he  have  t    She  paused---and  sa id 

The  standard  belonging  to  the  se-ond  re^ 
I  ment  of  New  York  state  artillery   held  near 


4*      ; 


r  — 
300 


LINDLEY  MUIIHAY. 


the  iiicsidcnt  on  the  occasion,  is  still  m  pos- 
session ..(•  the  cori)oration  of  the  city,  which 
prescnf.l  another  elegant  stand  of  colors  to 
the  r."'inxent  in  exchange.  May  the  bihle  and 
standard  be  preserved  and  transmitted  to  u- 
ture  generations,  as  proud  memorials  ot  tins 
imiiorliint  e|>ocli  in  our  national  history. 

Tills  ediiicc,  becoming  ruperannuated,  re- 
(luiriii"  constant  and  expensive  repairs,  and, 
moreover,  not  conveniently  adapted  tor  the  i 
increasiii'  courts  and  municipal  ollices,  was,  | 
after  thc'building  of  the  third,  ineseiit  marb  e 
citv-hiill,  111  the  head  of  the  Park,  the  pride  , 
of  "the  eitv  and  admirotion  ot  every  visiter, 
,lein..lisli,a  ill  Iril-'.  and  the  site  hud  out  in 
l„ts   and    sold    to    private   individuals,      i  he 
Uniteil  Suites  afterward  inirchased  buildings 
upon   the   «te  for  a  euslomhouse,  which    in 
its  turn  became  too  eonliucd  -ud  inconveni-  ; 
cnt  for  the   immensely  growing  comniercia 
operations  of  the  city,  and  has  been  replaced 
by  the  present  splendid  and  more  commodi- 
ous structure. 


LINDLEY  MURRAY. 

LiNDLKY  Murray,  the  "  prince  of  Enghsh 
craininarians,"  was  an  American.  He  was 
born  in  the  memorable  year  174.'5,  at  Swetara, 
near  Lancaster,  in  the  state  of  Pennsylvania. 
His  father  was  an  active  and  enterprising  [ler- 
son,  very  anxious  to  imiirove  his  circutnstan- 
ces,  and  to  raise  his  family  to  independence. 
While  he  was  following  the  occupation  ot  a 
miller,  he  thought  of  devoting  his  attention  to 
some  other  branch  of  business,  and  began 
tradin"  to  the  West  Indies,  to  which  he  made 
several  successful  voyages.  Latterly,  he  be- 
came an  extensive  ship-owner,  and  engaged  m 
a  great  variety  of  mercantile  pursuits,  by  which 
he  amassed  a  considerable  fortune. 

To  his  mother,  an  amiable  and  clever  woman, 
voun-r  Murray  owed  much,  and  he  was  sen- 
sible of  it.  lie  held  her  in  greot  esteem,  and 
cherished  toward  her  the  feelings  ot  a  most  | 
atiectionate  and  devoted  son.  Both  his  parents 
were  members  of  the  society  ot  tnends,  and 
they  were  iiious  and  exemiilary  persons.  I  he 
Bible  was  read  daily  in  the  taimly ;  and  one 
of  the  first  things  which  made  a  strong  im- 
iiression  on  his  mind  was  seeing  his  lather 
sheddin-j  tears  as  he  sat  in  a  corner  oi  the 
room,  perusing  by  himself  the  sacred  page. 
This  may  ajipear  to  some  a  trifling  incident ; 
but  such  was  its  influence  upon  the  rmnd  ot 
Lindley  Murray  that  he  contmued  to  reter  to 
it  with  gratitude  and  gladness  to  the  end  o. 
his  days.  „        ,       , ., , 

Lindley  was  the  eldest  of  twelve  children. 


„. ey  was  tne  eiuesi  oi  iwciv^^  v,.... 

In  his  iniancy  he  was  very  delicate.     He  was 


playful  and  frolicsome,  howc'er;  ar.d,  being 
weak  and  sickly,  he  was  greatly  indulged, 
especially  by  his  grandmother,  who  liv(;d  in 
the   fanifly.     Indeed,  he  was,  in  every  sense 
of  the  term,  a  "  spoiled  child  ;"  and,  as  was  to 
be  expected,  became  very  jx  evish  and  obsti- 
natt;.     He  was  full  of  mischief  ami  tricks,  some 
of  which  indicated  anything  but  an  amiable 
disfiosition.     As  he  was  not  corrected,  he  be- 
came so  forward  and  ungovernable  that  it  was 
found  necessary  to  retnove  him  from  the  ob- 
servation of  hi"s  indulgent  grandmother,  mid 
place  him  under  the  care  of  an  aunt.     She 
was  a  woman  of  great  kindness,  as  well  as 
firmness  of  character;  and  it  wus  not  long  till 
the  wayward,  mischiev(m9  boy  found  that  he 
was  under  a  very  dilVerent  kind  of  training 
from  that  to  which  he  had  formerly  been  sub- 
jectcil.     To  this  discreet  ond  excellent  relative 
he  was  much  indebted  ;  and  in  after-life  he 
fre(iuently  confessed   that   to   her   wise   ami 
salutary  management  he  owed  in  a  great  meas- 
ure his' future  eminence. 

When  about  seven  years  of  age,  he  was 
sent  to  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  that  he  might 
have  the  benefit  of  a  better  education  than 
could  be  had  ot  Swetara.  But  he  was  not 
Ion"  at  the  academy  of  Philadelphia  till  he 
rctnovcd  with  his  parents  to  North  Carolina. 
Their  residence  there  was  temporary,  and  in 
1753  they  settled  at  New  York.  Lind!  .-y  was 
sent  to  one  of  the  best  seminaries  in  the  city, 
and  every  attention  was  paid  to  his  education 
by  his  |)arents  and  teacher.  Notwithstanding 
his  fondness  for  play,  he  scarcely  ever  neglect- 
ed to  perform  the  tasks  which  were  ])rescribpd 
to  him,  and  he  did  so  to  the  satisfaction  of  his 
teacher.  He  made  great  progress  in  his  ed- 
ucation, and  gained  a  reputation  for  talent  and 
scholarship. 

Krom  school,  young  Murray  was  removed 
at  a  very  corly  age  to  the  counting-house  of 
his  father,  who  was  most  desirous  that  his 
son  should  follow  the  mercantile  [irotession, 
though  all  his  eflhrts  and  solicitations  to  this 
elVect  failed  ;  Lindley  had  no  relish  font,  and 
would   be   anything   but   a  merchant.     His 
father  jiersevered  in  his  purpose.     He  was  a 
severe  disciplinarian,  and  went  the  length  ot 
compelliiii;  him  U)  enter  on  an  emploj;nient 
which  was  most  uncongenial  to  his  wishes. 
This,  together  with  certain  family  regulations, 
appeared  to  him  so  unreasonable  that  he  re- 
solved to  withdraw  from  the  countinjf#oiise 
and  the  parental  roof,  and  begin  the  world  tor 
himself.      After    having    received    a   severe 
chastisement  from  his  father,  he  packed  up 
his  books  and  any  little  jiroperty  he  possessed, 
and  set  out  for  a  town  in  the  interior  ot  the 
countiy,  where  there  was  an  ex:cellent  semi- 
nary.    Being  respectably  connected,  he  was 
received  into  the  establishment  as  a  boarder. 


1 


tmsm 


mmm 


mm 


LINDLEY  MUHRAY. 


301 


ft*:' 


•»er ;  ar.d,  being 
;reatly  indulswl.  I 
er,  who  lived  in  | 
s,  in  cvf ry  sonse 
;"  and,  an  was  to 
fovish  and  obsti- 
•t'nnil  tricliH,  some 
1  but  un  amiable 
coiTf'cti'd,  he  be- 
rnablp  that  it  was 
him  t'niin  the  oh- 
>randinotlier,  and 
)!'  an  unnt.  8!ie 
(hiess,  as  well  as 
t  V  as  not  lonj;  till 
bov  found  that  he 
t  kind  of  training 
ormerly  lieen  sub- 
1  fxeclfeiit  relative 
(1  in  after-life  he 
to  her  wise  and 
ed  ill  a  great  meas- 

■8  of  a;^e,  he  was 
ihia,  ihat  lie  mishl 
er  educari.m  than 
But  lie  was  not 
liladelpliia  till  he 
to  North  Carolina. 
tein]>orary,  and  in 
ork.  Lind;?ywas 
liuaries  in  the  city,  I 
.id  to  his  education  I 

Notwithstanding 
ircely  ever  neglect- 
ieh  were  jirescrilicd 
e  satisfaction  of  his 
progress  in  his  ed- 
;ation  for  talent  and 

irray  was  removed 
counting-house  of 
t  desirous  that  his 
Tcantile  jirofessioti, 
solicitations  to  this 
no  relish  for  it,  and 
a  merchant.  His 
urpose.  He  was  a 
went  the  length  of 
nn  an  employment 
nial  to  his  wishes. 
1  family  regulations, 
sonahle  that  he  re- 
the  counlin£!'<|»o"sc 
begin  the  world  for 
receivid  a  severe 
ther,  he  packed  up 
operty  he  possessed, 
the  "interior  of  the 
I  an  excellent  semi- 
r  connected,  he  was 
ihment  as  a  boarder. 


While  here  he  prosrcut.'d  his  studies  wih 
3ardor.,u.d\vould  have  been  perb^et ly 
h  n  1  y  i>ut  for  the  sorrow  which  he  tlicmuh 
Sl,L.nee  would  on-aMon  his  n.other.      1  bat 

«l,sen(,e,  how..v.-r,  was  of  ■^1""-.V''Y";";";  •  "'" 

.1  a     mrlieular   iriend    at    Philadelphia,   a 

vouthal.outhisownage.towhonihe,m,da 

visit.     When  ahnil  t.)  leave  the  citv .    u    «i.  t 
,.„,,„lnTmn  who  had  dine,!  at    ..slathers  a 

,ho.ttiuie   before,  wh..  asked  Imn  bow  lo^.g 

1„,   ,.xpeete.l   to  re.nai.i.       H'"    ««>'l    '"■   ^^"; 

..just  setting  oir."  The.  g.-utlruian  lia.l  just 
!  I,;...,,  with  a  letter  to  the  postolli.'e.  b.it  was 
'  t-,„  late;   ai.-l  it  bei.ig  about  Inismess  ot  givat 

inip-.rln.ice,  be  .VM.iestedl.i.ii  to  deliver  It  wuh 

l,i '  own  baud  as  so.,.,  as  h.'  arrived  at   ><  vv 
,  York.     Young  Murrav  was  taken  by  surprise. 
i  1„.  could  not  ...uster  sulli.M.'.-t  coun.ge  to  s.af 
'    ,„  l,„„  his  sit.iation,  iu.d  took  charge  of  tie 
^    l.tter.     At  r.rst  he  thought  ot  puttin-  it  into 
ii  ,Uo  postolfirc;  but  having  eiyia^ed  to  .leliver 
'  i,   p' rso..,.llv.  he  eould  not  tl.u.k  of  break.... 
his  word.     H<-  hurried  .m  to  New  Y.nk,  a..d 
',  ,l,.Uvere,l  the  letter,  expeeti.ig  to  return  i.n- 
:,  ,a,diately;   but   the   boat  which  cn.ss.^d     1h^ 
!l  |,av  did  not  sail  till  next  mor.i.ng.  and  he  1  a 
^i  ,0  remain  over  the  night.     Tli.mgh  he  ha.l 
il  conducted  his  business  with  great  ';"'"i«m,   h. 
i!  was  perceived  by  s<nne  person  who  knew  him. 
I  \n  uncle  visited  him,  who  urged  h.iu  strongly 
I  ,0  go  home,  telling  him  at  the  ^«!«e  tm>e  <>    i 
I  th<-   distress  of  his  mother  on   his  account.; 
Aftersome  remonstrunee  he  agreed  t'"-'»l  "1'"    ' 
'her-   she   received   him   nllectionately ,    imd 
Ij  ,lt..-ing  the  interview  his  fatb.^r  came  in.     He 
''  saluted  him  tenderly,  expressed  great  sntis- 
facion  at  seeing  him  again,  and   they  spe     , 
the  evening  together  in  great  harmony  and  , 
allection.     A  p.'rson  was  .lespatched  next  day  | 
to  the  place  of  his  retreat,  to  settle  all  accounts 
and  bring  back  his  property;  thji^.^'"?  ^T '^Z  I 
folly  was  hai.pily  terminated,  and  his  lather  s 
fireside  was  <learer  to  h.m  than  ever.     T  11 
his  death  he  referred  with  sorrow  to  the  Jolly 
..f  ..,i,;nii  hn  was  jTuiltv  in  leaving  his  home. 


ileatn  Ue  reierreo  wuii  .^ -...,..  -  :    ,        -^ 
ot  which  he  was  guilty  m  leaving  his  home 
and  likewise  with  gratitude  to  the  "—-•'"; 
which  he  was  brouuht  back.     In  one  of  his' 
Mters  he  says-"  When  1  reflect  on  this  rash 
,„„n,nprudent  adventure-on  the  miseries  m 
which  it  might  have  involved  me-and  on  tlie  , 
slv'ular  manner  in  which  I  was  restored  to 
,l,,n,„som  of  my  family-I  can  not  avoid  see- 
1,;.  the  hand  of  Divine  Providence   m   my 
pn-ervation,  and  feeling  that  T  ought  to  be 
h,n„'.;ly  and  deeply  thankful  for  the  gracious  , 

'"'slS'^lr  his  return  to  New  York,  he  I 
solicited  the  privilege  of  a  private  tutor  t.o 
..id  him  in  his  studies,  with  which  request  his  , 
^ther  kindly  complied.  The  ff"™"""]:; 
pointe,!  was  learned,  and  talented,  and  most 
Ittentive  to  his  charge.     Lindley  commenced 


and  prosecuted  his  studies  w.th  d.  igenee  m.d 
alacritv.  He  rose.'ariy.a..<lsat  ..p  ate.  1  h.s 
dose  .■.pplicalion,  however.  i..-oved  too  m.ieli 
torn  eonsiit..tion  n.itu-ally  del.c.ite:  the  in- 
cessant stu.lv  a.i.l  conli...'ment  injuiv.l  his 
h.'altb,  and  lie  w.is  oblige.l  f.)r  n  t.ir.e  t..  almte 
the  a.-.i..r  of  his  pi..suits.  and  to  .loui  bodily 
ex.-rcise  with  mental  appli'-ation.  _ 

Wh.'U   uniler   the   superinte...le.ice   ot    th.s 
l,.ur..(Ml  and  faiihf.il   pivcept..r,  he  was  very 
„„v  an.l   f,oli.-some,   a.,.1  was  led   H  appears  ^ 
r.  ,•„„,  U.-...V  folli.'s  mal  tra..sgre.siohs.        l?.it  ; 
he  ha.l  a  lu-h  v-'.ieratio,.   f..r  tl.osr  who  w.'.-..   j 
trulv  .vl...i.ms,  an.l  b.rall  b.H.kstl.at  luculeafed 
„.„n.r,tv"a..d   vi,tn.-.       Kv.mi   at   this   pe.-.o.i. 
ihou^dMiot  .l...-ide,lly  th.-  s,.l.,.vt  ot  rel..n.us  I 
i.npressio.is.  b.' ha.l  a  giviit  .sl.MM..  I..r    .bi.s- 
tia  nitv.     S.ane  ..f  his  inti.nat.^  a.M|..a.nlan.-es 
!re^k..p.i.'-^an.l.i.Ms.s;   1...'...  It'.-   ..^...- 
,„..nts  which  tl.ev  ...Ivam-ed.  and  all  th..>  ...tidel 

Udi.-a.io,,swhiVh  they  pu.    ..i.ohish.in.s 
;,ov..r  .listurbe.l  his  niiixl  or  l.'.l   h.n.  to  .h.ubt 
the  .livine  .a-igln  of  the  Christian  rehfi'."... 

Whe.i    between    s<-ve..tee..    an,      e.Ld.teen 
,  v,.ars,.f  age,  he  became  so  attache,  t..  literary 
;,u.-.uilsthat  th.-c.,.u.ti..g-h..ns..  had  i.ochainis 
f..r  him.     To  lollow  his  fa.her-s  b,.s,ness-to 
be  a   mer.dia.it-he   w.ml.l   not   cns.'nt.   it 
seem.Ml  to  hiin  a  most  unint.Test.ng  and  un.n-  | 
.dlectual    employment.      He    -...miumeated 
his  wishes  t..  his  father,  an.l  expresse.l  his   n- 
Untion  to  f.illow  the  l..gal  I-f--';-.  '1!^  - 
proposal  was  strongly  ob  ecfd  to.     H  s  lath. 
virin.le.1  him  of  itsUMnptations-..!  the  smal 
return  it  w..nl.l  viel.l  him  c...n|.are.l  with  ^^hat 
C  W..U1.1  lecdve  if  h..  became  a  ."''n' f""  " 
and  the  anxiety  he  felt  that  he  shou  1.    assist 
him  in  his  mercantile  pursmis;  but  al    argu- 

„;:nt  an.I  persuasion  faile.l  ;  ^^'^.^^^^l 
e,l  tof..llow  a  lit-'rary  J.rotessi.m,  th  ugh^  1^^^ 
his  father's  estimation,  it  was  neither  so  lu.^ra 
tive  nor  so  honorable  as  that  ol  a  merchan  . 

The  otHce  in  which  Mmray  was  placed   o 
acmire  a  kii.iwledge  of  the  law  was  (me  ot 
?he  iK-t  which  c.uld  be  ha.l  in  the  .Mty  of 
S:wY.irk.     The    principal   was   Ben,im.n 
Rissam,  Es.,..  an  intimate  tneii.t  oi  »";»;"[' 
a  man  of  great  integrity  and  einmence   n  h  . 
pr^'^sion.     .T..bn  Jay,  Es.,..  a  terwar.    g.v- 
em.r  of  New  York,  was  his  felb.w-student-- 
a  V  m  I"  >nan  wh..  then  gave  ui.licat,..ns  ot 
mle     an.l  excellence.     With  these  advantages 
^   ,e  m."ecute,l  his  stu.Ues  with  /.eal  an.l  .dac- 
1  rity   an.l  at  the  cb.se  of  the  fourth  year  he 
'  w?s  .-alle.!  to  the  b.ir,  an.l  receive.l  license  to 
i  ;^.tise  as  both  counscd  and  attorney,  ojjn^- 
n-  to  the  .Mistom  .>t  that  time.     Hi.-,  su.  ctss 
exceeded  his  expectations;  and  at  the  age  of 
twtMUV    Nv"  he    mirried   "a  young  w.mumot 
Pson'al  attracti.ins,  good  sense,  a  uuist  amia- 
ble .lisp.,siti<m.  and  of  a  w.nthy  and  icpecta- 
Ide  family." 


,«t 


m^ 


''^^^iSl 


flg^p^auiT^^v^l.-,  ir:  ■ 


Shortly  after  liis  marriage  his  father's  busi- 
ness reciuired  hiir  to  go  to  Eiiglatiil,  and  to 
remain  ior  a  time  in  that  country.  Circum- 
stances connected  with  his  own  profession  ren- 
dered it  necessary  for  him  to  go  there  likewise. 
In  1771  they  returned  to  New  Vork,  where 
he  resumed  the  practice  of  the  law.  He  was 
exceedingly  attentive  and  laborious,  and  was 
generally  esteemed  for  his  jirofessional  knowl- 
edge, as  well  as  his  private  worth.  He  never 
encouraged  litigation,  "ven  when  he  saw  it  to 
be  for  his  own  jiecuniary  advantage.  He 
uniformly  recommended  a  settlement  of  difler- 
cnces  by  arbitration,  and  never,  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  j)ractice,  did  he  undertake  a  case 
about  the  justice  of  which  he  had  a  doubt,  or 
advocate  the  claims  of  an  individual  which  he 
thought  unreasonable.  He  gained  for  himself 
the  reputation  of  an  "honest  lawyer;"  and  in 
consequence  of  his  integrity  as  well  as  his 
ability  he  acquired  great  celebrity,  and  enjoyed 
for  mony  years  great  success. 

But  "  there  is  o  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men:" 
like  others  he  had  only  his  day.     About  this 
time  the  troubles  in  the  colonies  commenced, 
which  were  followed  by  a  general  failure  of 
proceedings  in  the  law  courts  of  this  country. 
This  circumstance,   together  with  a  severe 
illness  which  impaired  his  health,  induced  him 
to  relinquish  the  profession  of  the  law,  and 
retire  for  a  time  into  the  country.     He  went 
to  Islip  in  Long  Island,  about  forty  miles  from 
New  York,  where  he  remained  four  years. 
They  were  the  idlest  and  most  unprofitable 
years  of  his  life ;  and  to  his  detth  he  spoke 
of  them  with  regret,  and  with  unqualified 
condemnation.     He  then  returned  to  New 
York,  and  began  business  os  a  merchant.    His 
father  gave  him  unlimited  credit  in  the  im- 
portation of  goods  from  England ;    and  by 
perseverance  and  a  great  command  of  capital 
be  succeeded  beyond  his  most  sanguine  ex- 
pectations.     He  became  every  year  more 
prosperous;  and  about  the  time  when  the  ques- 
tion of  American  independence  was  settled  he 
retired  from  business,  and  purchased  a  delight- 
ful country-seat,  about  three  miles  from  the 
city,  where  he  expected  to  pass  the  remainder 
of  his  days.     But  how  soon  are  our  hopes 
blasted !     Before  he  could  leave  New  York 
and  settle  at  Bellevue  (the  name  of  his  new 
atjode),  he  was  seized  with  a  most  alarming 
illness,  which  left  him  in  a  very  infirm  and 
debilitated  state.     As  soon  m  his  health  would 
permit,  he  repaired  to  the  spot  where,  to  use 
nis  rvrn  words,  "  he  promised  himself  every 
enjoyment  which  his  hrart  desired."     But  the 
fine  mansion,  and  the  noble  river  on  which  it 
stt)od,  and  "  the  pleasant  country  on  the  op- 
posite shore,"  and  the  elegant  nimiture,  and 
the  beautiful  garden,  and  the  verdant  lawns 
on  which  the  cattle  grazed,  yielded  him  but 


little  comfort.  Hishealth  declined,  every  year 
he  felt  himself  weaker,  and  his  friends  and 
himself  feared  that  death  would  soon  terminate 
his  earthly  existence.  To  remove,  if  ixMsible, 
his  complaint,  and  to  restore  his  health,  he  was 
recommended  to  try  a  change  of  scene,  ami  to 
leave  for  a  time  his  delightful  retreat.  He 
went  first  to  Bristol  in  Pennsylvania,  then  to 
the  ceiebroted  mineral  sjirings  in  the  mount- 
ains of  New  Jersey,  and  latterly  to  Bethk-hem, 
a  town  about  fifty  miles  from  Philadelphia. 
But  he  was  little  benefited  by  all  these  wan- 
derings ;  and  his  father  who  accompanied  liim, 
having  been  seized  with  sudden  and  severe 
indisposition,  they  instantly  bent  their  course 
homeward. 

Though  Mr.  Murroy's  heolth  was  not  much 
improveil  by  his  summer's  excursion,  it  was 
not  altogether  fruitless  in  gixxl.     He   found 
that  he  was  generally  best  when  the  weather 
was  cold,  that  Bellevue  was  too  secluded,  and 
that  the  atmosphere  was  not  sutliciently  bra- 
cing.    In  these  circumstances  he  was  advised 
by  his  physicians  to  try  the  elFect  of  a  change 
of  climate ;  and  Yorkshire,  in  England,  was 
fixed  upon  as  the  place  of  his  retreat.     Hav- 
ing made  certain  arrangements,  he  embarked 
with  his  wife  in  the  close  of  the  year  1784, 
and  reached  that  country  in  safety.     When 
he  left  America,  he  thought  it  would  only  bo 
for  a  short  season,  and  that  he  would  soon  re- 
turn to  his  own  country  and  spend  the  re- 
mainder of  his  days  with  his  early  friends. 
Two  years  was  the  utmost  he  had  assigned 
for  his  absence.     But  how  short-sighted  is 
man,  and  how  very  little  does  he  know  of  the 
fuiure !     He  never  was  able  to  return.     His 
health  was  never  restored ;  indeed,  he  never 
left  the  village  in  Yorkshire  which  he  fixed 
upon  as  a  temporary  residence.     He  lived 
there  an  invalid  for  tne  long  period  of  forty- 
two  years.  «_ 

It  was  not  till  the  period  of  bis  residence  in 
England  that  he  became  an  author.  Though 
he  was  confined  to  the  house  almost  the  whole 
of  that  time  by  bodily  indisi)OMition,  his  mind 
was  active  and  vigorous.  To  prevent  that 
tedium  and  irritability  which  botlily  infinnity 
generally  occasions,  and  also  with  the  view 
of  being  useful  to  others,  he  wrote  and  pub- 
lished a  work  entitled,  "  The  Power  of  Re- 
ligion on  the  Mind."  It  ajjpeared  anonymous- 
ly, and  his  object  in  publishing  it  was  purely 
benevolent.  He  distributed  five  hundred 
copies  gratis  among  the  inhabitants  of  York 
and  its  vicinity.  The  publication  was  well 
received ;  when  it  reached  the  sixth  edition, 
he  enlarged  the  work  and  put  his  name  to  it. 
After  this  he  disposed  of  the  copyright  with- 
out any  pecuniary  recompense  to  an  influential 
bookseller  in  London,  and  under  his  auspices 
it  gained  an  extensive  circulation.     Ai  he 


tmm 


;clinc(l,  every  year 
il  his  iVicnils  nml 
iiiM  soon  teriiiiniile 
(•move,  if  i)(wsil)le, 
his  health,  he  was 
rre  of  scene,  ami  to 
itful  retreat.  Ho 
n.sylvania,  then  to 
ngs  in  the  inimnt- 
crly  to  Bethk'hem, 
rom  Philadelphia, 
by  all  these  wan- 
aecompanietl  him, 
iuilden  and  severe 
'  bent  their  eourse 

lalth  was  not  much 
i  excursion,  it  was 
gmxl.  He  found 
when  the  weather 
8  t<K)  secludeil,  and 
ot  sufficiently  bra- 
ces he  was  advised 
3  etfect  of  a  change 
!,  in  Enf^land,  was 
his  retreat.  Hav- 
icnts,  he  embarked 
of  the  year  1784, 
in  safety.  When 
It  it  would  only  be 
t  he  would  soon  re- 
and  spend  the  re- 
hia  early  friends, 
it  he  had  assigned 
iw  short-sighted  is 
Iocs  he  know  of  the 
jle  to  return.  His 
;  indeed,  he  never 
ire  which  he  fixed 
idence.  He  lived 
ng  period  of  forty- 

j  of  Lis  residence  in 
n  author.  Though 
se  almost  the  whole 
lispoaition,  his  mind 
To  prevent  that 
ich  bodily  infirmity 
also  %vith  the  view 

he  wrote  and  pub- 
rhe  Power  of  Re- 
ipeared  anonymous- 
ishing  it  was  purely 
uted  five  hundred 
inhabitants  of  York 
ublication  was  well 
d  the  sixth  edition, 

put  his  name  to  it. 
the  copyright  with- 
ense  to  an  influential 
1  under  his  auspices 
circulation.     As  he 


LINDLEY  MURRAY. 


303 


never  contemplated  any  necuniury  advantage  ]  Murray  often  expressed  his  delight  that  the 
by  the  puoliciiiidn,  but  smiply  the  bcuctit  of  ,  coi>yriglUs  had  proved  advantageous  to  Uio 
others,  it  was  p<'<;uliarly  gratifying  to  him  to,  gentleman    in    Paternoster    Row 


receive  from  various  (luurters  tentimonics  of  |  iiiude  tjie  purchase  of  them 

approbation  and  assurances  of  the  advantage  "  ""  ^  "" 

which  hud  been  derived  from  its  perusal. 
This  was  to  him  the  source  of  gifut  delight. 
Often  did  h(!  ex|)res»  his  thankfulness  to  the 
Author  of  his  being  that  "he  hud  been  the 
instrument,  even  in  a  small  degree,  of  dis- 
seminating excitementjj  to  a  pious  and  virtuous 
course  of  life." 

His  secontl  publication  was  his  "  '^tramniar 
of  the  English  Language."  This  work,  which 
has  gained  such  celebrity,  was  completed  in 
(-SS  than  a  year.  It  was  comiiii'nccd  in  the 
sjjring  of  1794.  and  published  in  the  spring 
of  1 79.').  He  was  induced  to  write  it  by  some 
of  his  friends,  who  had  estal)lishe(l  a  school 
for  young  females  in  York.  Tlu'  first  teach- 
ers were  but  indiHerently  qualilicd  in  this 
respect.  These  young  persons  he  kindly  in- 
structed in  this  i)articular  branch  of  education 
at  his  own  house,  and  afterward,  chielly  at 
their  re(iuest,  published  the  grammar.  He 
never  designed  it  to  be  used  beyond  this  school, 
but  it  soon  found  its  way  into  other  seminaries. 
It  became  in  a  short  lime  a  standard  book,  and 
for  several  years  new  editions  of  from  10,000 
to  12,000  were  published.  The  numljer  of 
copies  sold  of  "The  Aliridgmentof  the  Gram- 
mar," which  appeared  in  1795,  has  been  many 
millions. 

The  great  success  which  attended  these 
publications,  together  with  the  beneficial  in- 
lluence  it  had  upon  his  mind,  induced  him  to 
publish  several  other  works.  In  the  year  that 
he  published  the  "Abridgment  of  the  (Gram- 
mar" he  published  the  "  Exercises  and  Key." 
Shortly  after,  there  appeared  the  "English 
Reader,"  the  "  Introduction  to  the  Reader," 
works  which  soon  obtained  an  extensive  cir 


who  had 
As  far  aa  he 
himself  was  concerned  it  made  no  diircrere- , 
for  his  views  in  writing  and  publishing  were 
never  mercenary,  his  sole  aim  being  to  benefit 
others,  the  young  in  particular.  The  profits 
of  his  valuable  publications  he  never  a|>plied 
to  his  own  private  use,  but  to  charitable  pur- 
poses, and  it  was  to  him  the  source  of  the 
purest  satisfaction  that,  while  he  was  the 
means  of  doing  much  for  the  education  of  the 
young,  he  at  the  same  time  was  enabled  to 
give  a  considerable  sum  to  religious  and  be- 
nevolent institutions. 

It  is  a  singular  fact  that  Mr.  Murray  should 
have  written  all  these  works  when  an  invalid. 
During  the  forty -two  years  he  spent  in  Eng- 
land he  could  take  little  exercise,  with  the 
exception  of  a  drive  in  his  carrioge,  or  being 
drawn  about  his  garden  in  a  chair  constructed 
for  that  pur])ose.  For  the  last  sixteen  years 
of  his  life,  he  was  entirely  confined  to  his 
room,  and  yet  his  mind  was  hale  and  vigorous. 
He  was  a  hard  student ;  and  when  his  wife 
or  his  friends  expressed  their  apprehension 
that  his  close  a])plication  might  prove  injurious 
to  him,  he  would  pleasantly  say,  "  It  is  better 
to  wear  away,  than  to  rust  away."  Not  later 
than  eight  o'clock,  summer  and  winter,  he 
was  rolled  in  a  chair  from  his  bed-room  to  his 
study,  where  he  spent  the  day  in  writing, 
reuduig  the  Scriptures,  and  religious  medita- 
tion. Never  was  a  murmur  heard  to  escape 
his  lips.  So  far  from  this  being  the  case,  he 
was  uniformly  pleased,  freciuently  cheerful, 
and  always  resigned.  He  often  referred  to  the 
kindness  of  God,  in  preserving  his  mental 
faculties,  and  in  giving  him  such  an  amount 
j  of  temporal  wealth  as  made  him  comfortable 


«.,.».=  wi.iv,..  o^-..  .~™ --     and  independent,  in  blessing  him  with  such  an 

cJa!ti°M7iii\he"^'hooTsTiFBritain'as"wellasin|^  and    beloved   wife,   and   in   the 

America.     Between  the  years  1802  and  1807    prospect  which  he  had  of  a  glorious  immor- 

"        •         '  --  '    -  1  tnlity  when  life'sjourney  closed.     Ihesewere 

'  some  of  the  things  which  cheered  the  heart 

'    f  this  excellent  man  during  the  period  of  his 


he  published  two  French  volumes,  and  a 
spelling-book  for  the  use  of  schools.  In  ad- 
dition to  these  works,  for  which  he  is  chiefly 
celebrated,  he  wrote  a  short  treatise  "  on  the 
Duty  and  Benefit  of  a  Daily  Perusal  of  the 
Holy  Scriptures,"  and  edited  "  A  Selection 
from  Bishop  Home's  Commentary  on  the 
Psalms." 

The  copyrights  of  all  these  works  were 
sold  to  one  of  the  first  publishing  houses  in 
London,  with  the  exception  of  the  "  Duty  and 
Benefit  of  a  Daily  Perusal  of  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures," and  the  "  Power  of  Religion,"  which 
were  presented  to  the  booksellers  without  any 
pecuniary  compensation.  The  sum  which  he 
received'for  the  whole  scarcely  amounted  to 
d£3,000.  The  price  was  considered  liberal 
by  both  the  author  and  the  publisher,  and  Mr. 


l(jng  confinement. 

It  is  a  singular  circumstance,  also,  that  his 
nii'titul  powers  shouhl  have  continued  unim- 
paired to  the  very  last.  When  fully  fourscore 
years  his  mind  was  as  vigorous  as  ever,  and 
lie  was  fully  better  than  he  had  been  for  some 
years  previous ;  and  what  was  not  less  singu- 
lar, his  hearing  was  good,  his  memory  uncom- 
monly retentive,  and  his  sight  was  so  little 
injured  that  he  could  read  the  smallest  print 
without  the  aid  of  spectacles.  But  the  longest 
life  must  close,  and  the  most  useful  man  must 
bid  adieu  to  the  present  scene.  On  the  10th 
of  January,  1826,  he  was  seized  \"ith  a  slight 
paralytic  atTection  in  his  left  hand  which  was 


■wf- 


-*j)il*i^ 


c.f  ».J.,.rt  .luiMtion.     On  thn  i:itli  of  l-  .•Unmry 
he  hiiil  II  n'tiiiii  lit'  thf  smni-  iiiuluilv.  uIik'Ii. 
l.v  111,.  iHrofniraiM.  vviwf..r!Mim''  iiiin',':ii';<l. 
lii  !!.,•  ..vc.it.a  111'  was  MM/..-,l  with  Mci.l..  jmirl, 
,„.,,-„i|mui.Ml  witl.  viol-ut  .icKin's-..  nii.l  all  ai- 
tfinpu  n.  litll.nl  r.-li.-f  pr-v,-,!  .nrllrcl  iial.     It  , 
^vJ  .U-utli,  uml   I...  hu.nau  >kill  (MmM   avprt  , 
ll„^   strnko.     Ho   iM.ic  \\v'  i-ain.   v.' ifh   was  | 
,.xr..ssivo,  Willi  un-af  i.i.-rkiirs-*  an.!  t...ntu.|p; 
»,„1  „M  the  Ifilh  nf  Frl.rimrv  lir  .■x|.inMi.     Ho 
was  int.Tr.Ml  <.ti  thr  'J-M  "ftlii'  sain.-  iri.ailli  in 
tin-  biirvin.'-sr.mii.l   of  tli-^   .jiiakfrs,   in    ihr 
rity  (if  York,  in  the  prcseM.'.'  of  a  lari;,'  ass.in- 
l)lv'    where  his  n'limin.s  lie,  "  tar  troin  truMi.l 
an'.!  fallifcr.an.l,"  till  the  resurrection  ot  the 

I       Such  is  a  brief  slu-teh  of  Lin.llry  Mwrray, 
the  .'raintnarian— an.l  we  iiiii.it  aiM,  the  phi- 
lantirroiiist  an.l  the  Ciiristian.     His  .•n.i.iw- 
ments.  intollectuiil  nn.l  moral,  wer.'  ot  n  su- 
perior or.ler ;  ond  few  men  h;iv..  lett  lieliiii.l 
them  a  hi.'her  reputation  for  wis.loin,  jiicty,  ! 
(in.l  hcnev^ilence.     His  writings  are  a  stan.l- 
in?  memorial  of  his  literary  anil  inteli.'ctual 
(lalilitieati.ms;  amJ  his  con.liict  in  al!  the  re- 
lations of  life  testifies  that  lie  was  a  virtuous, 
generous,  anil  noble-mindtMl  man.     He  was 
moilest  and  humble,  free  from  everyihins,'  like 
literary  egotism  or  pharisaieal  boasting.     He 
was  a  warm  friend  to  the  p.mr;  and  h.!  took 
a  deep  interest  in  all  religi.ms  and  chantalile 
institutions.     In  his  will,  after  making  provis- 
i.m  for  his  beloved  and  alleclionate  Hannah, 
an.l  giviiK'  certain  legacies  to  a  number  of 
relatives  and   friends,  he  left  £2o  i'^cM   tn 
seven  ditfercnt  establishments  at  \  ork,  .1.300 
to  the  British  and  Foreign  Bible  Society,  and 
^■200  to  the  African  Institution.     He  directed 
that  the  residue  of  his  property,  after  the  de- 
cease of  his  wife,  should  be  devoted  to  pious 
and  benevolent  uses. 

Mr.  Murray  was  a  member  of  the  society 
of  friends,     fic,  QS  might  be  expected,  was 
much  estecme.l  by  them,   and  they  greatly 
mourned  his  loss.      He  was  one   of  their 
bri-rhtust  ornaments.     But  though  attached  to 
tha't  highly  respectable  body  of  Christians,  he 
^vas  not  a  bigot :  he  had  a  great  respect  for 
religious  persons  of  every  name ;   an.l  used 
his  Influence  to  heal  the  breaches  which  un- 
hnopily  exist  in  the  Christian  churches.     He 
"  loved  the  brotherhood,"  ond  he  longed  lor 
the  day  when  Christians  would  be  of  "  one 
mind."     His  testim.my  on  this  point  is  so  ex- 
cellent, and  80  necessary  to  be  rememiiered 
in  these  latter  days,  that  we  must  give  it  at 

length: —  ...  •    ,  •    i 

'•  We  are  long  m  learning  to  judge  wisely 
of  one  an.ither,  ami  to  make  charitable  allow- 
ances for  ditference  of  understanding,  disposi- 
tion, elucation,  &c.  Monkind  are  all  breth- 
ren, the  children  of  one  Father;  they  should, 


thi'r('f.>r.',  when  we  bcli.'ve  lliciii  to  be  Kiiicf  re 
tiiid  upright,  be  r.'ci'iv.'.l  us  t'.llow-pariuk.'rs 
oi'lh-.  Slim.' |irivii.'gcs.  .  .  .  I  respect  pi.  ly  ^ 
uii.l  virt.i.'  wh.Tcv.r  I  in.'i't  tlii'in.  It  w.nild 
L('  a  proof  of  my  own  siiperti.iiility  or  ih- 
pravity  if  I  valur.l  a  truly  rcliui.iMs  man  tli" 
less  fo'r  tlie  name  an.l  the  professi.in  wliii'h  he 
sustains.  I  trust  that  I  shall  ever  be  in- 
lliience.l  by  the  cheering  sentiment  that  ev- 
ery man  w"lio  sincerely  loves  (J.id  and  w.irks 
ri'l'liteousness  is  accepted  by  him,  an.l  is  en- 
titled to  universal  esteem  on.I  regard." 

We  have  seen  a  portrait  .)f  this  interesting 
and  estimable  man.  He  had  a  iiolde,  a  majes- 
tic look;  ho  was  tall,  well  pr.iportione.i,  niiil 
rather  st.iut.  He  had  an  ojien,  cheerful 
coiinlenaiice,  with  a  foreheail  s.nnewhat  ele- 
vateil.  His  complexion  was  dark.  'I'hoiigh 
l.ing  contine.I  t.)  the  house,  he  was  not  sickly 
looking,  but  rud.ly.  His  hair  towar.l  the 
close;  of  life  became  perfectly  white  ;  an.l  his 
whole  appearance  was  dignified  and  [inp.is- 
scssing.  A  stranger  in  his  j'resence  felt  a 
mingled  sensation  of  a.irniration,  reverence, 
on.riove  ;  and  often  the  remark  was  ma.le 
that  he  reali/e.I  our  conceptions  of  the  aiiostlos 
and  holy  men  who,  in  the  eariy  ages  of  Chris- 
tianity, dedicated  themselves  to  the  service  of 
God  in  advancing  the  religion  of  his  Son. 


SHIP  ANCHORAGE  AT  WHAMPOA. 

The  engraving  gives  a  correct  view  of  the 
island  of  Whompoa,  lying  in  the  Peari  river, 
about  twelve  miles  east  from  Canton,  in  China. 
At  this  place  the  foreign  vessels  all  anchor, 
and  their  'oading  is  taken  out  by  Ixiats  and 
carried  to  Canton,  and  their  return  cargo 
brought  down.  At  the  bottom  of  our  engra- 
ving is  representf  a  part  of  Dane's  ishmil, 
whrch  is  a  small  rocky  hill,  where  sailors  are 
buried  who  die  at  this  port.  The  price  for 
burial-ground  here  is  sixteen  dollars,  and  ten 
more  for  permission  to  erect  a  grave-stone. 

West  from  Dane's  island,  at  the  lefthanil 
comer  of  the  engraving,  is  represented  a  part 
of  French  islaml,  on  which  are  the  tombs  of 
many  foreigners,  residents,  and  captains.  Th« 
price  of  land  here  is  very  high. 

Whampoa  island  is  long  and  narrow.  1  he 
ancliorage  extends  two  or  three  miles  m 
length;  the  American  vessels  generally  occn- 
pyiii"  the  higher  births,  and  the  English  the 
lower.  The  river  varies  from  fifty  to  one 
hundred  rods  wide,  and  from  three  to  eix 
fathoms  deep.  The  tide  rises  from  three  to 
eight  feet.  The  village  on  Whampoa  island 
contains  several  thousand  inhabitants. 

At  the  west  end  of  this  island  is  a  petty  cus- 


sg-^.<B^«t^a«aaia 


•rrct  view  of  the 
I  the  Poarl  river, 
Canton,  in  Chino. 
ssels  nil  anchor, 
ut  by  boots  anil 
eir  return  carjjo 
)m  of  our  engra- 
)f  Dane's  isluncl, 
where  sailors  ore 
t.  The  price  for 
n  dollars,  and  ten 
a  grave-stone. 
I,  at  the  lefthaiid 
•epresented  a  part 
are  the  tombs  of 
nd  captains.  The 
igh. 

md  narrow.  The 
ir  three  miles  in 
lis  generally  occu- 
id  the  English  the 
from  fifty  to  one 
rom  three  to  six 
rises  from  three  to 
I  Whampoa  island 
ihabitants. 
land  is  a  petty  cus- 


U06 


PROUHKSS. 


tfimhousp,  or  pnanlliouw,  whcro  nil  Chinese 
Ix.BtH,  l;'.viMK  iinvthiii«  to  do  with  «or(i«n«r«, 
are  oIj1i>j:<m1  t..  »t(V)  ami  otitnin  a  prrinit.  railed 
a  chop,  ami  tlui  house  is  hence  colled  a  ckop- 

lioune.  . 

Three  pagiHlas  are  ropresrntcd  in  our  en- 
craving.      That  on  the   left   hand  neor  the 
edL'c,  the  top  of  which  only  is  visible,  is  «-nlled, 
"the  hulf-way  paf-odu,"  it   beinK  halt-woy 
from  the  onchoruge  to  Canton.     It  is  much 
decayed.     This  is  the  one  from  which  some  ^ 
American  suitors,  some  years  a|i').  in  a  Irolic,  , 
t.M)k  WW  of  the  sinuU  imujies  wl  ich  are  kept  | 
in  the  first  ntorv,  and.  on  beinn    iiMiovered,  | 
they  drown.'.l  the  idol  in  the  river,  wnith  cost 
the  comiirador  and  others  some  hundreds  ot 
dollars.      The   lar^e   pagmla,    is  colled,    by 
foreigners,  the  Wham|)oa  pagoda.     It  is  huUt 
of  brick,  nine  stories  high,  amounting  to  trom 
two  hunilred  to  two  hundred  and  twenty  teet. 
It  is  said  to  be  in  good  rejinir.     It  is  unin- 
habited, hollow,  and  octagonal.      The  dote  ot 
its  erection  is  said  to  be  preserved  within  it, 
'  and  to  be  about  four  hundred  years  ago.    The 
natives  believe  that,  being  very  lofty,  it  has 
an  inrturnce  on  the  air,  and  serves  to  avert 
storms  and  tempests. 

The  other  on  the  right  side,  is  a  small  and 
moileni.built  i.agoda.lwo  orthree  stones  high, 
and  was  built,  as  is  said,  to  commemorate  their 
victory  ovnr  the  British  navy  in  1808. 

From  the  anchorage,  ot  Whampou,  to  the 
sea  is  about  seventy  Hve  miles.  Macao  lies 
neor  the  s.a.  Lintin  is  an  island  w  the  nver, 
bulf-wuy  from  Macao  to  Whaini>oa.  Lvcnts 
within  a  few  yeors  past,  have  open  several 
of  the  ports  of  China  to  the  commerce  ot  the 
world,  oud  given  a  now  impetus  to  trade  with 
the  celestial  empire. 


PROGRESS. 


Motion  or  progress  is  a  universal  condition 
of  created'  being.     There  is  nothing  in  a  srate  { 
of  re.-l  ;  there  is  no  standing  still.      1  he  plan- 
ets ore  in  motion,  and  so  are  the  suns  round 
which  they  roll.     We  speak  of  the  restless 
wind;    it  veereth   about  continually.       1  he 
douds  rest  not ,  the  rivers  rest  not ;  the  trou- 
bled sea— it  "  can  not  rest."     The  i)roblem 
of  the  perpetual  motion  is  demonstrated  every 
day  in  the  great  workshop  of  nature.     As- 
cending from  rude  to  organized  matter,  we 
meet  with  the  same  law  or  condition  ot  being. 
The  fluids  of  living  creatures,  the  juices  ot 
plants,  are  never  altogether  dormant.     W  hen 
[hey  cease  to  move,  there  are  dissoliUion  and 
denih-a  change,  but  still  no  rest.      The  ntia- 
terial  elements,  set   free  from  their  wonted 
channels,  are  thrown  into  the  great  laboratory 


of  nature.  They  are  ditBolved— rcsolvwl 
into  their  constituent  el.inent»— and  again 
thrown    into  new   eoniliinutions.      It   is  not 

0  mere  whim  of  funev,  to  gup|)o»n  that  the 
rose  of  last  summer  will  reappear  in  the  snow- 
drop of  next  spring,  and  that  we  shall  agom 
m.M*  t  with  the  lily  of  the  valley  in  the  blmim- 
iiig  hiother-bell. 

Passing  from  the  nialerinl  to  the  immatrria\ 
world,  the  some  renuirkuble  fact  meets  us 
In  the  regions  of  thouuht  and  consciousness, 
there  is  no  repose.  Th.;  man  of  to-day  is  dif 
ferent  from  the  mon  of  yesterday.  On  the 
wings  of  restless  thought,  he  has  surveyed 
■  onew  some  provinces  of  tlie  universe,  which 
he  hod  before  visited,  nnd  seen  thcrn,  as  he 
hod  never  seen  them  t)efori' ;  or  has  dived  to 

1  depths,  or  soare.l  to  heights,  profounder  or 
;  higher  than  upon  o.iv  of  his  former  wunder- 
i  in^s.  In  either  ease,  he  returns  changed  from 
'  what  he  was.     Others  of  the  shows  and  forms 

of  nature,  hove  been  mirrored  ximn  Ins  soul. 
His  emotions  and  atVections,  his  fee  ings  and 
passions,  have  been  stirred,  agitated— tossed 
it  may  hove  been— into  multitudinous  commo- 
tion      He   has  been  the  scene  of    a   moral 
storm,  and  a  cliange  has  passed  upon  his  mora 
nature.     The  body  of  the  stout-limbed  an.l 
strong-armed  man,  whose  "breasts  are  full  of 
milk,  and  whose  bones  are  lull  of  iimrrow 
is  not  more  ditTerent  from  that  of  the  red  p'll- 
pv  infant,  or  light-hearted   boy.  than  is  the 
Inind  of  the  one  from  that  of  the  other.     1  reg- 
ress is  a  universal  condition  of  infelieetual 
existence— with  one  exce|.tion  ;  and  that  is  in 
the  cose  of  Him  who  is  "  the  some  yesterday, 
to-day.  and  for  ever." 

Looking  more  closely   at    this  perpetual 
moti.m,  we  find  that  it  is  very  irregular— mjt  at 
all  straight  forward.     This  peculiarity  of  it  is 
as  universal  as  is  the  fact  itself.     It  prevails 
in  the  rude  unorgani/.rJ  world  ;  in  the  world 
of  organization ;  and  in  the  world  of  nm.d 
The  spheres  move  in  circles  or  el  hpses.      I  lie 
growth  of  the  vegetable  world  is  intermittent ; 
and  not  less  so  is  the  growth  of  our  intellect- 
ual and  moral  nature.     The  ocean  tides  are 
in   perpetual  flux  and  reflux,     1"  rom  singing 
its  hoarse  t.'mpest-tune,  the  vvind  procee.ls  to 
warble  its  breeze-melody.     Frona  racing  on 
the  skvev  plains  across  the  face  ot  the  moon, 
the  clouds  as«eml)le  together  as  if  to  celebrate 
their  sabbath  in  peace.     And  in  the  motions, 
and  progresses  of  mind  we  can  appeal  to  the  ex- 
perience of  our  intelligent  and  reflective  read- 
ers, whether  this  flux  and  reflux,  this  circular 
motion,  this  intermittent  life,  is  not  as  strongly 
marked  there  as  in  the  external  world. 

There  is  a  moral  signihcance  in  this  greot 
natural  fact,  commensurate  with  the  f^^f^^?^ 
of  the  fact  itself.  Does  it  "»*  «^i«''"7.*'3 
the  doctrine  of  human  progress  ?     And  is  not 


Ived — rcgolvpd 
t» — Biiil  nunin 
ns.  It  itt  not 
])]ww<!  tlint  the 
!ur  ill  the  »iiiiw- 
wp  shall  Ri;iiin 
y  in  the  l)l(M)m- 

the  immatpiia* 
fact  meets  us 
consciousness, 
of  to-Jay  is  ilif 
■rihiy.     On  the 
;  has  surveyed 
iiniver»e,  whieh 
en  them,  ns  ho 
or  hos  (lived  to 
,   jjrof'ouiKler  or 
former  wtuidcr- 
iis  ehun^jed  from 
nhows  nnd  forms 
(1  upon  hi:*  Noul. 
his  feeliiiRS  imd 
Q^'itatnd — tosned 
;u<linous  commo- 
5110  of    n   morul 
d  ajHrn  his  mornl 
itout-limt)e<l  nnil 
irettsts  are  full  of 
lull  of  innrrow," 
it  of  the  red  p'd- 
)oy,  than  is  the 
he  other.     Pro?- 
n  of   intelleetual 
)n  ;  and  that  \t  in 
I  same  yesterday, 

t  this  perpetual 
■  irreftulnr — not  at 
lenuliariiy  of  it  is 
self.  It  prevails 
rid  ;  in  the  world 
5  world  of  miiKl 
or  ellipses.  The 
Id  is  intermittent; 
li  of  our  int(>llect- 
le  ocean  tides  are 
{,     From  singing 

wind  proceeds  to 
From  racing  on 
face  of  ihe  moon, 
r  as  if  to  celebrate 
nd  in  the  motions, 
in  appeal  totheex- 
nd  reflective  read- 
eflux,  this  circular 
I,  is  not  as  strongly 
•rnal  world. 
:nnce  in  this  great 

with  the  preatness 
it  not  shadow  forth 
i'ress?     And  is  not 


FBOOftBBS. 


307 


ii'nKBnt 
iiplsto  1 


this  one  of  the  mo  ,.;»rtant  at. 

,|.„:tri«eH  wl.i.'h  ih.     mml  can  con 
We  nee  the  whole  i.mrenal  umversc  u.  n  oil.  n. 

The  h  w  of  proure..  ,.  »•  it.  n."l  g""'"'  '7 

t       1  w  it  'novTs  on  toward  some  grand  con- 
1  inmiation.   whi.h,  thoush   ever   nearmg.  it 

av  ver  rea.h.  In  imagination's  eye,  we 
Te  t -  worlds  rising  al.ovo  the  region  ot 
shadows,  nn.l  emancipating  themselves  Iron. 

hose  chn.aic  inlluences  hy  which  they  a  e 
S     partially  bound;  and  we  can  untu-.pate 

hJ     ine  win  -Mhe  light  o    the  moon  HhuU 
l"  as  Ihe  liuht  of  the  sun.  and  the  light  ot  the 

sun  fts  the  light  of  seven  days. 

Btl.vfarthe  highest  and  '"""t 'le  .g»  J 
.wpcct  oV  this  law  of  l-rogress,  is  that  which 
Ta     efer,.nee  to  rational  life  and  its  .lestinies 
ilcr    "l-"'.  us  in  the  material  world,  we  mee 
wh     circular  and   intermittent   motion,   and 
Onetimes  with  what  ftl-pears  t..  be  retrogres- 
si  ul  it  is  ii.ipossilde  f.;r  a  man  to  m..ve 

ou  d  a  circle  of  Ihought  without  increasing 
ds  U.Ueciud  vigor.  His. .notion  i.my  not 
bo  direcly  upward;  hut  in  sp.ra  circles, 
each  s  .,T  above  the  other.  By  this  wind- 
infsM  i  case  he  m..unts  to  higher  regions  of 
iufe  1  '".  e,  and  at  every  succeeding  step  has 

a  wlir   range  of    vision;    ""»'»,  "»^^.;;"«  J; 

1        1       f  ..I  inaf  he  "a/rs  around  him  \Mtu 

K;:;  r;^S;U^And  while  the  hori..n 

wrde.         ud  the"  future  brightens  u,Km  his 

rvo        h  le  he  descries  the  fur-oil  mouutain- 

X:  ra  iant  with  the  suns  of  eternity,  he  .Iocs 
tops,  rauiuii.  ,,,,,^,, 


our  bottles ;  or  when  friends  are  around  us. 
Tnieallh  dances  in  every  vein,  we  weud 

r„in  cling  to  both,  and  rather  make  s.ire  of  the 
oJswe'iave.thanriHktheloHsol.hem.  lor 

;Uers  which  we  know  not  ot.  »"»  "'f  j)  ?" 
«K)n  convinces  us  that  there  is  no  going  l.a<  k- 
word;  a  littl.'.nore.  thai  there  IS  no  standing 
Htill;  a.id  yet  a  little  more,  that  It  is  not  le- 
iJablo  to  ,i;,  either  the  one  or  the  other  :bu 
that  the  d.K.trii-  of  progress  is  as  .les.rable  a. 
it  is  ennobling.  ,  .  .  __ 

Hat,  after  all,  the  human  heart  sympati/.ea 
with   this   dwtrine   of   progress.      ^'■''l' ':' » 
I  sublitne  hymn  upon  l''M''^ '""  ^'•"'■.^''y.^l*^ 
'  ngitale  tumultuously  yet  delighttuUy  the  hu- 
man breosl : — 


S  wt^  of  th:  .;:t ;  but  i,s  j  y.  ...- 

'"^H^  ,  .1 '"  over-its  brightness,  still  bright- 
i^,l!;!jS:"on;>^of.gladne'ss  attuned  to  more 


msitiiing  melo.lie8.or  l>»V»""\"";/'~!  Z  | 
its  cares  and  sorrows  mellowed  by  tl  ^taiux      i 
i  8  Yesterdays,  hallowed  by  to-dav.  he  treas- 
u  e^l  iipin  Viis  memory   and  womlfer,  a  cease- 
less muM",  among  his  heartstrings. 

uTsu  -  essed  and  bliss-giving  doctrine,  this 
of  hu.  im,  progress.     Yet  sometimes  we  rebel 
01  nuiiiioi  1     6         ,    esteem  the  iiriceless  in- 
h?Hta;le'     We  woild  blolit  ou't  from  star 
S'rm;.t,'X..msntiandm..n    i^-^^^^^^ 
whole  host  of  heaven,  which,  in  their  c.ase 
less  motions,  hymn  it  in  our  ears.     We  v^ou     ] 
blot  it  out  from  the  million -fold  <'^J«"s  o 
wHch  it  is  written  over  all  the  earth.     We 
w\l    bl.  it  out  from  our  own  heart  and  soul. 
For  We  we  not  regrets  and  l<-g  J^  -J^  ! 
nast  ?     Do  we  imt  8.)met.ines  suv  o  the  pres 
^nt   .' here  would  we  make  our  .est  louver  ? 
Ss  iiotditticult  .0  explain  those  f^J-^f  ^^  "«;>. 
SE'lt^l^ttllTt^o^Sii^ul^tes 

sr  uiut-we  wiuM  willingly  take  refuge  m 


•  The  future  m  mnn'«  immemorial  liymn, 

In  vBiii  ruiiit  Itio  |>rf«oiit  »-wB«linKi 
To  a  Rol.ien  g<'«l  in  ll'o  ;liHt»i"'e  <lim. 

Tl  e  world  -row-  old.  Biid  yo.mK,  8'"1  "  | 
ycl  tCauc'lcnt  »tory  -till  bears  to  bo  to  d 
.  Hoi.0  -mile-  on  llie  boy  from  the  hour  ol  hi.  birth. 

To  the  youU.  it  Rive.  bli».  wi.hout  limit  j 
It  iilenm»  for  old  aso  a.  a  .tar  on  eailh. 

Ami     "e  dttrk.,c.»of  death  -an  not  dim  it; 
lu  i-ttV.  will  KiH  even  tiitliomle...  k''.'"'",'     .      , 
When  tlTe  pilgrim  of  life  lie.  down  ...  ibc  .o.ub. 
..  Never  deem  il  a  .hUd,oIelh  ,.l.rn»e  of  the  crowd. 
Never  cull  il  iho  drean.  o    a  'H'"f-, 
The  ii...i.»'l  of  nature  |.rocla..:..  it  i.lo..d- 
\Ve  uru  de.ti.ied  for  w.n.elh.nx  .»bl.m.!r 
Thin  trull),  whi.h  11,0  wii..eH>;wiH|in  reveal., 
The  purest  wor.hil'per  diJupiuHt  leoU. 

Seems  it  not  as  if  an  angel  hail  sy.ng  it  ?  "nd 
nsl    while  he  sung,  another  angel  hn.l  drawn 
aside-thr..wn  to  right  and  l.-tt-the  curtain* 
of  futurity,  an.l  a  1I.M..1  "f  filorV  tr-"  '^e 
!   an.     hat -is  afar  otV  had  spr.-a.l  around  our 
mth'      Who    wouhJ    go    backward    no...' 
'  Cwouhl  stand  still?     What  are  the  per- 
ils that  lie  between  us  and  those  regi.ms  wh.th- 
cr     he   bright  inhabitants  are   inv.ting   us? 
Thev  are  not  "worthy  to  bo  compared  w  th 
the  ghry  which  shall  be  revealed."     It  eclip- 
ses  the  brightness  of  our  midsummer  sunlight; 
i  t  Wots  out  all  the  stars.    It  «>raws  us  w,  h 
the  cords  of  a  sweet  comi-^lsion  towan    its 
,wn  f  untains  ;  and  we  willingly  leave  behind 
I  Tour  dearly-iherished  earth,  and  go  onward 

'•'C^S^ine  of  progress  is  pniclaimed 

trumpet-tongued.  by  i""""'"^ ^^^  £1 
fLcts     History  instructs  us  that  ttie  human 
rac^have  gravitated,  however  little  and  how- 
ever slowly,  toward  the  centre  "f  P"  -'>-: 
i  It  is  cncraven  on  the  human  heart— it  is  en 
I  [wine.!  with  our  intellectual  being;  and  hence 
those  loniings  after  i.nmortality,  those  asmra- 
Ss  Sm'ething  holier  an.l  su  hmer  wh.h 
we  have  oil  experienced  in  our  better  nioous 
That' which  e'xtemal   nature   .'-l-£   -J 
which  our  hearts  long  for,  has  had  light  shed 


ItK 


f    ■ 


9 


■••!*«•» 


i 


1 


308 


THR  LAW  or  KINDNEMl 


uiMiti  It  frnin  tlic  pncft  "f  revrlation.  Thore 
wi<  lire  inxtructiMl  tn  Iciivi!  first  iirinriplr*  mid 
go  (in  111  iiiTli'ttiim— iirf  tnii;;lit  tn  iA|trrt  n 
inilh-niuin  lur  tin:  wnrM,  ami  KdiririhiiiK  iin)r«* 
Blori'iim  tliiin  t  v«  h«il>  Hfcii,  or  tar  lieiirti,  or 
hiiirt  liiith  ciHicriMil,  bpvnnd  it. 

CiiitfiniilftHMl  ill  thr'liaht  of  iliin  urunt 
trulli  III!  (iillifullii'H  viiiiish.  Tlir>  ciiinniii  of 
liuiunn  lifi'  liccomiH  a  lliiim  wliiili  a  'lulii  rnn 
unilrritiiii(l.  W<'  iirr  siirniiiinl'il  witli  I'vil 
and  Hutli'rinu.  A  nmriil  clinos  ra^cs  armnid 
us,  ill  till!  vurtirrsol'wliii'''.  we  arc  r<i>nirtiiru'H 

opt  ii>  lliiiiit,  ail  iM-nuty  and  n Im'n*  urn  in 

dniiiiiT  of  lii'inu'  xwullowcd  up  and  lo-*t.  TIliH 
it  liiis*  liern  for  in'iirly  »\\  lliousand  y<'ar-<. 
Nations  Iwivf  run  liic  circii!  of  criini!  and  siif- 
fcrin;,' ;  liuvo  lived  iinliappiiy  and  passed 
away  iii^loriou-ly.  Others  iiuvii  mieiM'ciltsd 
tlicin,  liiit  to  run  the  same  fatal  circle,  and  to 
reach  the  Hame  inglorious  ({oal.  A»  with  na- 
tions, sii  with  iniiividiials;  only  they  have 
played  a  briefer  part.  Ft  in  a  dark  and  iiielaii- 
eh(>ly  pieture.  But  when  surveyed  in  the 
light  of  this  law  of  prosress ;  when  we  arc 
ahle  to  bidievi' that  in  tliis  moral  elmcm  there 
has  been  a  princiiile  of  order,  ever  tendinij  to 
mould  it  into  an  harmonious  and  orderly  sys 


I  ihnt  tho  tliM'Iriun  of  human  perfeetnbility  is  ft 
'  fulilt  ,  it  will  also  tr.  '  him  of  aiiotln  r  and 
:  more  exulted  <loctrii.L-  ..lat  of  the  eternity  of 
'  hamuli  |irugrc««. 


Ilioiaivt    t\-      III!"'    »»•■     ••»>••••■•■••'-•-—     "' —         -     -      -     ,/  ; 

tern;  and  when  we  find  from  history,  that 
this  prineiplii  has  not  operated  altoijriher  in 
vain — we  seo  the  possibility  of  a  millenium 
for  the  world  ;  and  when  wu  think  upon  what 
inilividuul  men  have  become — when  wo  re- 
memlier  that  the  law  of  profjress  is  ui)on  all, 
and  that  a  moral  gravitation  attracts  all  to- 
ward its  centre  of  inconeeivable  hapjiincss  and 
unseen  beatitude — the  seemiiii;  chaos  ceases 
to  send  forth  its  discords;  light  flashes  upon 
its  darkness ;  it  begins  to  rise,  and  soar,  and 
sing — onward,  upward,  without  rest,  for  ever 
and  for  ever ! 

Our  brief  article  is  suggestive  rather  than 
illustrative.  But  its  leading  idea  radiates  in 
all  directi(ms — backward,  to  the  morn  of  liine ; 
forward,  through  the  cycles  of  eternity.  We 
must  read  history  with  a  faith  in  this  law  of 
progress ;  and,  with  the  same  faith,  we  must 
read  the  brief  and  feverish  history  of  our  own 
life.  Note  its  small  and  feeble  beginnings. 
LiKik  at  the  ho()o  in  the  cradle,  the  prattling 
child  at  its  mother's  knee.  Is  it  nut.  some- 
thing worth  thinking  of,  that  thot  child  has 
imiilanted  within  it  faculties  capable  of  ex- 
panding to  the  dimensions  of  those  of  the 
archangel — afJijclions  capable  of  loving  with 
a  love  pure  and  warm  as  that  of  the  seraphim  ? 
Not  only  so,  but  also  of  reaching  the  height 
to  whicli  those  great  and  jmro  beings  have 
nolo  attained  I  Here  the  optimist  can  revel, 
and  luxuriate  ;  the  great  facts  of  nature,  his 
own  reason,  and  revelation  also,  assuring  him 
that  his  faith  and  rejoicing  are  well  founded. 
And  while  a  sound  philosophy  will  teach  him 


THE  LAW  OF  KINDNESS. 

TiiK  iKiwer  which  this  law  now  hos  U]x)n 
•o''ietv  IS  one  of  the   happiest  elli'Cls  of  the 
diil'ii^uMi  (d'  Christiun  principles.     With  all  its 
pride,  Hclf-sei'kiiig,  and  vice,  it  need  not  be 
doubted  that  there   is  inori-   kindness  in  the 
world  at  present  tliaii  at  any  former  period  of 
;  its  history.     The  annals  cd'  antii|iiity,  while 
rccorchiig  not  a  few  insiances  of  he  roism  and 
,  devotion,  seem  to  hold  them  up  lallur  as  ex- 
:  ce|itii)ns  to  tho  prevailing  sclti'-luicss  and  cru- 
!  city,  than  as  examples  of  the  y.  neral  tonetd'so- 
'  ciely.     Their  heroes  are  exhitdted  ns  objects 
of  wonder  rather  than  |mllerns  for  imitation. 
Now-a-days,  mankind  ure  graiUmliy  gening 
on  niori!   friendly    terms  with   one   another. 
They  seem  to  liave  found  out  that  there  is 
really  more  ph'u,ure,  and  profit  too,  in  good- 
nature and  kindly  intercourse,  than  in  blus- 
'  tering,  iiuarrelling,  ond  liuhiing.     Deeds  of 
'  alrocity,  which  in  former  times  were  looked 
upiHi  pretty  much  as  matters  of  course,  can 
not  now  be  committed  with  im|)uniiy.     Any 
one  known  to  have  done  or  sanciioneil  an  act 
of  wanton  cruelly  to  a  fellow-creature,  or  even 
to  an  inferior  animal,  is  from  that  moment  a 
marked  man,  and  can  not  be  tolerated  in  any 
circle,  even  the  lowest.     Society  has  feelings 
attuned  to  the  great  doctrine  of  hiimnii  brother- 
hood, anil  will  not  submit  to  have  them  wan- 
t(«ily  outraged.      "  Ilypocrisv,"  says  an  il- 
lustrious moralist,  "  is  the  tribute  which  vice 
pays  to  virtue  ;"  and  even  the  nidest  natures 
must  uow  assume  at  loost  the  apncarance  of 
civility  and  courtesy,  if  they  would  not  dwell 
altogether  apart  from  their  kind. 

The  time  is  not  long  gone  by,  when  fighting 
was  hxjked  upon  os  almost  the  only  real  work 
men  had  to  do  upon  the  earth.  Only  a  few 
centuries  ago,  our  own  forefathers  were  much 
more  like  worshippers  of  Thor  and  Odin,  than 
Christians,  as  they  fancied  themselves.  Ev- 
ery country  in  Europe — every  province,  dis- 
trict, town,  nay,  family — had  their  "natural 
enemies,"  with  whom  they  deemed  it  (luite 
right  and  proper  to  fight  whenever  the  humor 
seized  them.  Up  to  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  hardly  one  of  the  kings  of  E^nglaiid 
or  Scotlond  died  a  naturol  death.  Fathers 
destroyed  their  children,  children  deposed  and 
murdered  their  fathers,  without  mercy  or  re- 
morse. A  man's  worst  foes  were  those  of  his 
own  household ;  ond  yet  the  jierpetrators  of 
these  atrocities,  so  soon  as  t  .loy  had  secured 


THB  LAW  OF  KINI)NKS«. 


309 


ffi'inliilil y  'm  ft 
it  niiiitlirr  itiiil 
the  t'tcrnity  of 


)NKSS. 

now  ImH  upon 
;  «'lli'CN  ol'  the 
t.  Willi  nil  ittt 
it  nciiil  not  bu 
.iiiiliii'SK  in  the 

itMHT  |)rrioii  of 
iiiti<|iiity.  wliiln 
iif  hiriiimn  uiid 
ip  niilirr  iiM  i;x- 
sliiii'-.!(  uikI  ('ru- 
iicriil  toiicot  so- 
litcil  on  oiijccts 
\H  for  iiiiitntion. 
adiinlly  K<'fliiig 
1   Olio   niiotlicr. 
It  tluit  tll«TO  is 
tit  too,  in  pood- 
',  thnii  ill  lilus- 
iiig.      Deeds  of 
les  were  looked 
a  of  coursn,  can 
nipiiiiiiy.     Any 
4m:lioiied  an  act 
venture,  or  even 
thut  tnotnent  a 
tolerated  in  ony 
iety  hiis  toelings 
rhnmaii  brothor- 
Imve  tliein  wan- 
IV,"  says  an  il- 
,l)utc  which  vice 
I)  rudest  natures 
0  npjiearniicc  of 
would  not  dwell 
ind. 

ly,  when  fighting 
le  only  real  work 
til.  Only  a  few 
thers  were  much 
ir  and  Odin,  than 
leinselves.  Ev- 
ry  province,  dis- 
if  their  "natural 
deemed  it  (|uite 
never  the  humor 
lie  of  the  fifteenth 
lings  of  England 
death.  Fathers 
dren  deposed  and 
out  mercy  or  re- 
were  those  of  his 
3  ])erpetrntors  of 
.Icy  had  secured 


iheir  own  |N..ilion.  went  l^rth    n  huih  .  nto 

;      , ,r.. .edar,n.to-uytl...yl.nd,b...e 

"     ,  ..        .r■ilne^■.^.■u.l.•• t  towenn« 

mt'iou  would  utterly  lull  in  ilM""l"""V'"' 

„.M.     Nun!ndene,.ii.-.-.M-.r.Mwb..   jno- 
l!„U,l.i,d..ofl.ovvu.m..     llwuri-,     d- 

„.„,led.    it   i*   cnrpelvoll    .he    |.b  U  nl    Mdt    I. - 

::_..„UoarHebulneee,M.rsk:.Hh 
re.ul,..in.l.toeheek.heeuer...tn..enHot    1- 

tvi.iiouM.e...  ly runny,  or  n.pii.  UN •     ^^  ^ 
„.,„.l.  b»s  about  itH  filoiMm.,  and  a  «rent  .1.    1 

;;'..,., .,t  it.  usele,.,.e.*.. ...p..  u^V,.u.d.m.j 

|),mll,nu.thut...o.tbarl...rouHle«„rvnt         - 

bunni.  tune.,  i.  fuM  be.om  n.4  ''"'''■>'',', 
u„|  ,.v.  11  ,mIiouh.  I'eiiul  law.-,  about  tl  e  h>< 
"  ,„.„  eaunouH  ...en  like  t.  m.d.  le  W..1..  are 
l;;.i„:  .n.duallv  ainelioni.e,!.  I'revui.ion  o  ; 
crime,  lulber'tban  llie  puhl»hl.ielit  ot  it.  l-J  1 
a  ,w  iW  n.on.ii.ei.t  teiidetiey  ol  our  eriminal 
e„a.t..J.v.auditHeem.tobelelttliatso,iie. 

,l,i„„  of  pity  for  the  eiiinmul  may  be  roii.-ii«l- 
;.:U,tlibaLlofciime.m.dtbeoreHemj.on 
of  .00.1  order.  For  all  thi.  wc  do  not  tin  k 
the  world  any  better  than  it  4.nul.l  be.  or  «.  t 
it  one  purtiii  of  credit.  It  is  all  P'-'^  '  ' 
iu,t  apparently  because  i.eople  can  not  h.  Ip 
It;  b,  e,'u.se  there  is  a  power  at  work  stronger 
tluiii  the  bad  passions  of  human  iiiitur.! :  De- 
cau"e  Christianity,  in  «pite  of  all  obstacles,  .s 
beeomiii"  the  great  law  ot  wKiety. 

Ii.t\^llome«tic  relations  of  life-those  sim- 

plest.  .no>t  spontaneous,  yet  ""«t .  If  •""""'' 
„f    ,,U    institutions- these    priueip  e.-    I mvt 
achieved  ..meoft^teir  noblest  triumph,  ^e^ 


actlieveubomeoi  lilt;"  •■"•'•■  "^ •-•  , 

sutVwieiitly  rellect  upon  what  has  thus  been 
done  for  iL  elev- .- .i- f—de  character. 


none  lor  u.«  e.uvaiionof  the  female  character 
Yet  that  revolution  which  raised  wmnau  trom 
the  rank  of  man's  slave  to  that  o    lus  cm- 
„  ,.;..„.  which  unfohled  all  the  tenderness  and 
str.  nglh  of  her  nature,  by  proelamnng  her  an 
heir  of  immortality  ..m!  a  daughter  ol  heaven, 
is  ,me  of  the  most  mnmenlous  ever  aelncve.l. 
U  has  made  her  a  help  meet  for  .iiau--h  s 
better  genius,  to  wean  him  from  vice  and  ol- 
luil  him  to  virtue.     We  hesitate  not  to  say 
that  the  true  c.hur.-»cter  ot  Nvonianis  u.ikn.mi . 
h,.r  ri^brs  unacknowledged,  bry.aid  the  bound- 
uries  of  Christianity.     Once  step  without  the 
soli.re  of  its  operalions,  and  we  hnd  her  de- 
.rud.Ml  and  oppressed,  a.id  men  by  eonseiptenee 
ten.u.l  ui.d   brutali/eu;  uii<l  esuetly   in  pro- 
portion to  the  strength  of  its  inlhiei.ce  m  any 
;,ua.ier.  is  the  true  dignity  ..t  woman  estmm- 
t,d.  and   her   power   uppi.-iinate  y   exert,  d. 
If  as  we  devoutly  believe,  o.i;  niul hers,  wives, 
;idaughters.1tre.on    the   whoe.   paterns 

to  their  sex   throughout  the  *..uld..    needs 

tt  0  penetration  t..  see  wbene.  this   o  ty  dis- 

....ion  is  derived.     That  u.iulc  and  dcvotd 

kindness  .,.  which  lies  th..  secr..f.  of  their  m- 

nue  ce  ,  bu^  tU  tellcct.on  of  the  universal 


bmievolenco   which   fhrfltuntiy   ineulra  .«. 

„„.lwhiehliaswoi.t„ribemtr h.  hauith.v 

b.rds  of  creation  somelbMvhkeuHe,pi:.lil>ot    I 

'"'lV.''the'r"<>'l"  in  wbieli  the  education  .,f 
ehildreii  is  now  cm  lueled.  y;  ly  gi-at  im- 
.n.venien.sareperceptible.  Weaou.Ml.ere- 
l.V  alludr  to  the  more  u^etulalld  pi'i.  Ileal  na- 
ture  ol  the  knowb.lge  m.parted  Out  to  tlio 
,„„re  kindly  manner  in  win.' .  ih.^  h  dune. 
Th.'storiesoururaiidlathers  tell  ii>.  about  their 

Hehoohnaslers  al st  make  our  hair  Mand  on 

1  ,.rd.     'IMiev  seem  to    imv<'  been  the   veriest 
i  tyrants  in  cMslenee.     They  taught  .heir  pu- 

1  ,lu  as  bears  are  taught  t" ''"'"■';-7''"l'\X,  J 
Hoa-ing;  and  ii.'ser  dreamed  that  the  little 
h'arning  they  had  to  coiimiu.i.ei;le,  coidd  be 
.driUed  in  byuiiy  other  process,      lo.heaxn.in 
'  .,f  the  wise  man.  "  He  tl."t  sparetU  .lie  rod 
hateth  the  child,"  they  U"v.;  .lie  I "11-1  and 
„,„st  literal  uiterpretation.     'I  be  teae  hms  ot 
,n,r  day   are   discovering   mii.h   mil-ie.    and 
„„,re  eileetual  modes  of  imparting  knowiMlg, 
Children  are  coming  to  be  regarded  as  beings 
who  have  ulli-ctioiis  to  be  won.  and  under- 
s.andings  to  be  appealed  to;  and  ot  course, 
the  birch  and  the  strap  are  fast  disappearing. 
Now,  we  hold  thi;  state  of  things  to  be  one 
of  the  surest  indications  of  an  iiiip.'oyed  mora 
tone  in  siK^iety.     No  teacher  who  rellects  that 
the  child  co.mnitted  to  h.s  charge  is  an  im- 
mortal creature  like  himself.  --  man  whose 
1  mind  is  .■mbued  with  true  ^^.l'"-'""  >'';7';;'- 
I  Iniee-and  such  only  are  entitled  to  hold  the 
'  hi-h   iiosition  of  instructors  of  youth-will 
seek  to  imimrt  knowledge  cnro-.tgh  the  m.M liutn 
of  cruelty.     In  fact,  any  one  who  should  at- 
tempt to  do  so  could  not  com|)cte  in  thi;  mar- 
ket.    His  method  would   not   work ;  or  it 
would  work  so  lamely  in  contrast  with  the  hir 
,nore  ciVeclual  systems  ot  which  kindness  .s 
the   basis,   that  he  would  be  c-mpelled 
change  it,  or  be  driven  fro.n  the  field.     Who 
can  estimate  the  progress  future  generations, 
trained  up  under  these  better  1"-"'^M";«.  "  J^ 
yet  destined  to  make  in  knowledge  and  virtue. 
In  many  of  the  other  relations  ot  s.    lety, 
,  the  same  tendencies  may  be  seen  111  operutioii. 
;  There  arc  a  great  number  of  goo.l,  kind  people 
'  in  the  worl.l  just  at  this  m.;n.en..     Ij<'t   any 
1 !;,.,,  look  around,  anionu'  his    riends  and  neigh- 
bors, and  try  to  reckon  up  the  various  ,ic  s  o 
!  realbeiievolence  they  have  ,,erl.u.ned  to^vard 
I  himself— the  many  obligations  he  has  reeeiMMl 
V^  persons  wh.rhadn,.tliingt.M.x,H-e    from 

'  him  except  perhaps  his  thanks-nnd  he  will 
"  "priied'at  thi  largeness  of  the  catalogue 
S  .h  tieople  may  not  be  Chnstnins  1.1  the 
hi  .les  selise  of  tliat  high  title:  but  the  ,,ow 
e  "of  Christianity  constrains  the.n  notwilh 
standi.!"  Then\.oK  at  our  benevolent  in 
stUu  ons-.)ur  hospitals,  our  infirmaries,  our 


»*:ii 


**»e. 


ii: 


310 


THE  LAW  OF  KINDNESS. 


*lft 


societies  for  the  relief  of  the  stranger  nn<l 
destitute,  our  bible  and  missionary  associations, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  heroiem  which  insjurcs 
hi"h-souled  and  disinterested  men  to  go  forth 
to"  distant  regions,  braving    pestilence,   and 
famine,  and  the  cruelties  of  savage  tribes,  to 
communicate  the  "glad  tidings  ot  great  joy," 
There  are  not  a  few  philosophers  who  puz- 
zle themselves  to  account  by  other  causes  than 
the  real  one  for  the  progress  society  has  made. 
They  would  seek  these  in  the  heights  above 
or  in  the  depths  beneath,  rather  than  iti  those 
sovereign  principles  by  which   the  diffused 
spirit  of  Christianity  speaks  everywhere  to 
their  own  hearts.     Some  ascribe  the  improved 
tone  of  manners  and  morals  to  a  vague  neces- 
sity of  advancement,  impressed  they  neither 
know  how  nor  why  on  human  aflairs.     Others 
look  for  its  cause  in  the  progress  of  commercial 
intercourse ;  and  place  the  gradual  regenera- 
tion of  the  world  to  the  account  of  mere  self- 
ishness.    Others,  again,  think  they  have  found 
it  in  the  diffusion  of  secular  knowledge,  and 
regard  intellect  as  the  great  ameliorator  of  the 
world.     Such  persons  are  not  perhaps  wilfully 
blind ;  but  they  show  how  willing  men  are  to 
take  credit  to  themselves  for  blessings  which 
they  owe  entirely  to  the  bounty  of  Heaven. 
There  is  in  the  world  one  power,  omnipotent 
and  everlasting,  and  that  power  is  love— the 
gift  of  Christ.     No  social  institution  can  con- 
flict with  it— no  one  based  on  it  will  ever  per- 
ish.    It  possesses  a  creative  and  sustaining 
energy  which  nothing  can  resist.     Pride,  am- 
bition, angor,  all  merely  human  passions,  ex- 
haust themselves,  and  leave  desolation  behind ; 
but  their  eBects  soon  disappear,  and  on  the 
ruins  they  have  ceased  divine  love  rears  new 
structures  which  will  last  for  ever.     That  si- 
lent but  sure  progress  of  society,  which  the 
atheist  ascribes  to  an  aimless  necessity,  the 
Christian  regards  as  the  natural  operation  of 
the  principles  of  the  gospel ;  and  he  views 
the  extended  intercourse  and  diffused  knovvl- 
edge  of  the  times  as  vehicles  whereby  its 
principles  may  be  more  widely  communicated. 
These  principles  go  forth  to  an  assured  tri- 
umph ;  for  their  great  law  is  the  perfection 
of  all  thiags— the  law  of  benevolence — of 

These  remarks  are  thrown  out  chietiy  as 
hints  for  reHection,  and  not  without  the  con- 
viction that  there  is  muck  to  detract  froin  t.ie 
cheerfulness  of  the  view  we  have  taken.  The 
law  of  kindness,  the  obligation  of  continually 
doin<r  good,  still  reciuires  to  be  far  more  uni- 
versally  felt.  Even  good  men,  who  would 
little  relish  to  be  called  unchristian,  must  be 
conscious  of  a  frequent  tendency  to  act  as 
thou-h  it  admitted  of  some  exceptions  and 
reservations.  There  is  current  among  the 
French  a  legend  of  one  of  their  early  confes- 


sors, which  very  quaintly  embodies  the  ope- 
ration  of  this  tendency  Craving  the  indul- 
gence of  the  reader,  we  shall  offer  it  in  ilhis 
tration,  the  more  readily  as  it  may  excuse  u? 
from  any  seeming  encroachment  on  the  i)rov- 
ince  of  the  pulpit.     Listen  then  to  the  porn- 


ble  of  the  Hermit  of  Gaul  :— 

At  a  time  when  the  majority  of  the  tribes 
of  Gaul  were  yet  ignorant  of  the  gospel  of 
Christ,  there  lived  an  old  man  called  Novairp. 
who  had  freely  received  the  glad  tidings,  and 
diligently  sought  to  comprehend  them  thor- 
oughly. Abandoning  the  pleasures  of  the 
world,  he  retired  to  a  solitary  hill,  near  the 
place  where  Lillebonne  now  stands,  and  there 
reared  a  cabin  of  turf,  where  he  dwelt  alone, 
alternately  occupied  in  endeavors  to  expand 
his  own  views  and  to  communicate  the  truth 
to  the  people  round  about. 

Here  it  came  to  pass,  after  much  meditation 
and  prayer,  that  the  dark  veil  which  shrouds 
the  invisible  world  from  mortal  view  was  lifted 
from  his  eyes,  and  he  was  permitted  to  gaze 
on  the  pathways  of  the  sky,  without  losing 
his  ken  of  earthly  things.  He  distinguished 
at  the  same  time  the  secrets  of  the  visible  and 
invisible  universe.  His  vision  wandered  over 
the  woods,  the  plains,  the  waters;  then, 
glancing  higher,  it  embraced  the  region  tra- 
versed by  the  messengers  of  light ;  while, 
above  all,  it  penetrated  into  the  celestial  hab- 
itations. He  listened  devoutly  to  the  music 
of  the  spheres,  the  voice  of  the  cherubim,  and 
the  hosannahs  of  the  blessed.  Angels  brought 
his  food,  and  freely  discoursed  to  him  on  thrse 
secrets  which  are  hidden  from  the  worid. 
Thus  his  days  passed  in  a  perpetual  and  heav- 
enly delight.  Familiarized  to  the  intercourse 
of  pure  intelligences,  he  gradually  felt  all  vul- 
gar ambitions  dying  away  within  him,  as  the 
lessening  stars  vanish  before  the  sun;  and, 
proud  of  a  knowledge  thus  lifted  above  the 
earth,  he  wished  still  further  to  penetrate  the 
mysteries  of  God.  While  listening  to  the 
living  accents  which  composed  the  eternal 
hymn  of  the  creation  to  the  glory  of  its  Au- 
thor, he  constantly  said  to  himself— 

"Why  can  not  I  understand  what  the  birds 
utter  in  their  songs,  the  breezes  in  their  whis- 
perings, the  insects  in  their  hummings,  t\w 
waves  in  their  rolling,  the  angels  in  their  ce- 
lestial hymns  ?— in  these  ought  to  be  found  ihe 
great  law  which  rules  the  world  !" 

But  all  the  cllbrts  of  his  mind  to  penetrate 
so  profound  a  mystery  were  useless :  he  aa 
quired  nothing  by  his  endeavors  save  hardness 
of  heart  and  'spiritual  pride.  His  visits  of 
mercy  to  the  plain  became  less  freipient,  and 
his  intercourse  with  its  inhabitants  moiehaugh 
ty  and  su])ercilious ;  for  the  growth  of  knowl- 
edge by  it««lf  can  only  be  likened  to  that  of 
the  trees  of  the  forest,  which  can  not  extend 


ies  the  ope- 
ig  the  inilul- 
br  it  in  illus 
ly  excuse  u? 
on  the  })rov- 
to  the  parH- 

of  the  tribes 
he  frospel  of 
lied  Novcire. 
I  tiihngs,  and 
I  them  thor- 
sures  of  the 
hill,  near  the 
ids,  and  there 
dwelt  alone, 
)r9  to  expand 
;ate  the  truth 

eh  meditation 
irhich  shrouds 
lew  was  lifted 
nitted  to  gaze 
t'ithout  losing 

distinguished 
he  visible  and 
trandered  over 
.faters ;  then, 
be  region  tra- 
light ;   while, 

celestial  hab- 
r  to  the  music 
cherubim,  and 
ingels  brought 
)  him  on  thrse 
m  the  world, 
tual  and  heav- 
he  intercourse 
ily  felt  all  vul- 
in  him,  as  the 
he  sun ;  and, 
ted  above  the 
1  penetrate  the 
itening  to  the 
d  the  eternal 
ory  of  its  Au- 
ielf— 
what  the  birds 

in  their  whis- 
lummings,  the 
;l8  in  their  ce- 
to  be  found  ihe 
d!" 

,d  to  penetrate 
seless:  he  nj 
I  save  hardness 

His  visits  of 
5  frequent,  and 
itsmoiehaugb 
BWth  of  knowl- 
;ned  to  that  of 
;an  not  extend 


THE  LAW  OF  KINDNESS. 


311 


,h.lr  ro.,ts  without  drying  up  all  ir"""'\tj^^,""- 
Tlmt  knowledge  may  be  benehcent  ami  truit- 
luljt  is  necessary  it  should  be  watered  from 
thu  fountains  of  the  heart.  ,    , 

One  day,  when  the  hermit  had  descended 
from  his  mountain,  which  preserved  a  per- 
peruul  verdure,iuorder_to  trave^  the  wi  uy    er« 


then  be  traced  except  that  worn  by  the_foot. 
steps  of  the  unreclaimed  beasts  of  the  torest. 
In  his  toilsome  way  he  had  to  ford  nvers,  trav- 
erse morasses,  penetrate  thickets,  sonlelmies 
finding,  at  wide  intervals,  a  few  poor  habita- 
tions, whose  masters  frequently  refused  him 
But   Novaire  sutlered   all   these 


vuUev  below,  he  saw  co.mng  In.m  another  di- 
rectum a  numerous  group  of  me",  ^vho  were 
loading  a  criminal  to  the  scatlold.  1  he  peas- 
ants gathered  to  see  him  pass,  and  spoke  loud- 
Iv  of  his  crimes;  out  the  doomed  one  smile.l 
us  he  heard  them,  and,  far  from  fZivmg  any 
.i.r„  of  repentance,  he  seemed  to  glory  in  I  is 
p;rst  misdeeds.     At  length,  as  he  passed  the 


entrance.      i^ui-   a-<"'"""  .•- —  . 

fatigues  and  privations  with  great  serenity 
Sustained  by  the  hope  of  once  more  recover- 
in"  the  lost  favor  of  Heaven,  lie  opposed  resig- 
nation to  grief,  and  patience  to  all  obstacles. 

In  this  way  he  at  length  arrived  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  peninsula,  not  fur  from  the  sixit 
where  the  celebrated  abbey  of  Jumieges  was 
afterward  built.*     Here  a  forest  then  extend- 


p^st  misdeeds.     At  length,  as  he  passed  the    ^^^«-^»-  ;^^^  ^^-..^^ed  shelter  to  pirates 

'recluse,  he  all  at  once  s^oppe.U  and    r  ed  .v^   ,  e^l,  wh  ,  e         ^^^^^^^^^^^  ^^^ 


in  a  tone  of  raillery-"  Come  here,  holy  man, 
and  give  your  blessing  and^the  kiss  of  peace 
to  one  who  is  going  to  die." 

But  Novaire  indignantly  repulsed  liim,  say- 
incr,  "Pass  on  to  your  fate,  miserable  wretch; 
pare  lips  may  not  be  contaminated  by  contact 

with  such  as  thee."  „:,K„„t 

The  poor  creature  turned  away  w  thout 
further  reply,  and  Novaire,  still  agitated,  pro- 
ceeded onward  to  his  hermitage- 


who,  in  light  shallops  of  osier  covered  with 
skins,  attacke.1  the  ships  which  nassed  up  and 
down  the  river  laden  with  merchandise.  One 
evening,  as  the  traveller  quickened  his  pace 
to  reach  the  banks,  he  came  upon  an  open 
glade,  where  f.mr  of  these  outlaws  were  sedated 
round  a  fire  of  dried  brushwood.  At  sight  of 
him  they  rose,  ran  toward  him,  and  brought 
him  near  the  fire,  the  more  easily  to  despml 
him.     They  seized  his  book,  his  cincture,  his 


eded  onward  to  his  hermitage.  „arment  •  and,  seeing  that  he  had  nothing  else, 

But  when  arrive.l  there  he  P-^^f^JiSv-    C  deliberated  whether  he  should  then  be 


looked  of  consternation  :  the  aspect  "f.  every 
thing  had  changed.  The  trees  which  the 
presence  of  angels  had  preserved  in  perennial 
verdure,  were  become  lealless  as  those  of  the 
valley;  there,  where,  a  few  hours  before,  the 
blossoming  eglantine  had  exhaled  its  delight- 
ful fVagrancefthe  white  hoar-frost  was  glisten- 
ing, and  the  scanty  and  withered  moss  reveal- 
ed the  bare  rocks  beneath. ,     ^       , 

Novaire  longed  anxiously  f^^r  the  coming 
of  the  celestial  messenger,  who  every  day 
brought  him  his  food,  to  learn  the  cause  of 
this  su.lden  change;  but  the  meBsengerap- 


garmeni;  aiiu,  occu.g  ,... — --  —  -  •■■     . 

Vhev  deliberated  whether  he  should  then  be 

set  at  liberty.     But  the  oldest  of  them  named 

Toderick,  suggested  that  he  should  be  kept, 

and  made  to  row  the  boat,  to  which  the  others 

"^Novaire  was  then  bound  with  chains,  and 
became  the  slave  of  the  four  pirates.  He  was 
compelled  to  cook  for  them,  to  clean  their 
arms,  mend  the  boat,  and  sometimes  to  steer 
it,  receiving  no  other  recompense  for  his  labor 
than  blows  and  hard  words.  Toderick  es- 
pecially showed  him  little  pity ;  and,  j.nmng 
raillery  to  cruelty,  constant  y  demanded  of  the 


thislulden  change;  but  the  messenger  "P-  ;^„'^^;yrirne7Xra;;K;d\      power  of  his 

peared  not ;  the  invisible  world  was  c  o,ed  to  F>^r  pri^ner      ^^^^^^^^  ^^^  four. pirates  as- 

him,  and  he  was  thrown  hack  into  the  ignor-  Uml        ^,^^J^^^^^^       ^j     geme.  which 

ance  and  miseries  of  humamty.    He  under  s  ^^  ^^^^^^  with  nch  merchan- 

stood  that  God  had  pumshed  him,  » h"«|J  J^f  d Ue ;  bu^^*  ^  happened  that  she  contained  a 
guessed notthefaulthehadcommitted.    How-    Ji«>'  J  n  ^^^  ^^^^^^^,  ^^  ,j  ^ 

Iver,  he  submitted  without  «?"/■""""?'«"?,  Eer  of  arrows  so  well  directed,  that  three 
kneeling  on  the  hill-"  Since  I  have  oflended  J^"  "^^j^  were  killed  on  the  spot,  an.l  the 
thee,  0"my  Creator,"  said  he,  "^  am  worthy    "J^^^^j^^  ^^,  Toderics,  received  a  wound 


ot  the  utmosi,  [juiiioui..>-"v J 

From  this  day  I  shall  <iuit  my  solitude;  and  I 
vow  to  travel  straight  on,  without  other  re- 
pose than  that  of  the  night,  till  thou  art  g  a- 
ci.usly  pleased  to  vouchsafe  me  some  visible 

t  )kpn"^of  thy  forgiveness."  . 

^^^aJthLw^rdsNovairetookup^sstafi^ 


ir.  the 'body,  apparently  mortal. 

Novaire  then  turned  the  prow  of  the  shal bp 
toward  the  river  bank  which  he  succeeded  in 
gaining.  He  now  at  ength  found  himself  a^ 
liberty,  and  his  first  impulse  was  to  fly  from 
a  place  where  he  had  endured  such  misery  , 
.1  ,1    _ -.1.   ..:»,,  f.^r  thnaf  who  had  so 


W      &  .™„1.  Novi-e  took  .p  1,U  .tad.    Jj;-^Xl  w  h  pHy  »'  >1>"»<=  -!•»  '■"''  ." 


beloveii  resiueuuc,  nv  ^.w^—- -  - 

ard  the  wild  peninsula  winch,  at  a  ater  time, 
received  the  name  of  the  "  land  o  blossoms." 
in  this  country,  now  covered  with  villages 
farmsteads,  and  cultivated  fields,  no  path  could 


M 


N«i, 


<Mr%«n 


318 


ST.  PAUL'S  CHURCH,  NKVV  YORK. 


tl.ree  slnin  iMrntos,  and  then  appronchrd  To.lc 
rirk  The  nnhai)pv  man,  judging  JNovnire 
bv  his  own  savage  disposition,  sujiposed  that 
\n-  would  now  take  vengeance  for  the  crutdty 
he  had  shown  him,  and  said,  "  Kdl  me,  but 
do  not  torture  me." 

But  Novnire  replied,  "So  far  from  takmg 
thy  life,  my  friend,  I  shall  do  all  in  my  power 

to  snvv.  it."  ,    ,      ,  ,       1  1 

The  pirate  wa«  astonished  and  .lepiil y  moved. 
"  That  is  not  in  the   power  of  man."  smd  | 
ho    '•  for  I  f 'fl  the  chill  of  death  crcopuig  fast  j 
round  my  heart  ;  In.t  if  you  iudee.l  wish  well 
to  me.  notwith-^tanding  all  I  have  made  you  , 
sutVer.  give  me  a  little  wate;   to  ([ueiich  my 

thirst."  .  , 

Novairc  ran  to  the  nearest  spring,  and 
brou-dit  water  to  t-ie  wouiide.l  mim.  When 
he  had  druidi.  he  raised  his  eyes  now  last 
Ma/iu"  in  death,  and  looked  steaddy  on  the 
hermit"!  "  Thou  hast  truly  returned  good  tor 
evil."  he  ^aid,  faintlv;  "wilt  thou  do  yet 
more,  and  aceonl  the  kiss  of  peace  to  a  guilty  1 
and  dviiig  creature?"  . 

••rwill,  cheerrullv,"said  Novaiie;  "and 
may  it  prove  to  thee  a  sign  of  pard-m  from 
that  merciful  God  whose  law  th<.u  hast  so 
Ion-  broken,  ami  whom  thou  hast  oliended 
more  .leeplv  than  thou  coul.  st  any  <jf  his 
1  creature^.""  With  these  words  he  knelt  be- 
side the  pirate,  who  received  the  kiss  of  peace, 
and  immediately  expired. 

\t  the  same  instant,  a  voice  resounding 
thr:  lU'di  the  air  uttere<l  these  words :  "  Noyaire, 
thv  trial  is  at  an  end.  God  has  punished  thee 
for  hav,:^ '  refused  thy  i)ity  to  one  who  wn.-* 
merely  guilty :  thou  shalt  now  lie  rewarded 
fur  having  blessed  him  who  was  thine  enemy. 
All  the  treasure  thou  didst  lose  by  hardness 
of  h.'art,  thou  hast  regained  by  a  victonous 
charity.  Raiae,  then,  thine  eyes,  and  open 
thine  ears,  for  now  again  thou  canst  hear  the 
voices  of  the  earth  and  of  the  heavens. 

Novaire.   who   had   listened   to  the  voice 

mute  and  tr.'mbling,  raised  his  head.      1  he 

trees,  bliuhted  by  the  blast  of  winter,  seemed 

all  at  once  to  have  become  verdant;  the  frozen 

,  brooks  a^aiu  flowed  in  their  channels;   the 

birds' sung   among    the   blossoming   shruf).s; 

while,  high  in  heaven,  he  beheld,  like  Jacob, 

die  anoels  ascending  and  descending  on  their 

missions  to  the  earth,  the  cherubim  sailing 

amid  the  clouds,  the  archangels  llashmg  their 

swords  of  fire,  and  the  saints  ehuntiiig  their 

celestial  hvmns!    And  all  these  several  sounds 

formed  one  harmonious  anthem,  of  which  the 

ev.r-r.,-curring  burden  was—"  Love  one  an- 

"  Tbi'u  Novaire  pressed  his  forehead  to  the 
ground,  and  exclaimed-"  Mercy,  O  t  ather, 
ever  blesse.l !  This  day  have  I  indeed  learn- 
ed w  hat  is  Ihe  great  law." 


ST.  PAUL'S  CHURCH,  NEW  YORK. 


EccLKSiASTicAi.  architf.cturc  in  tlieTTnited 
States  owes  much  to  the  taste  and  lilarality 
of  the  protostant  episcopal  church.     In  pro- 
portion to  Her  numbers  and  wealth,  sh»'  has 
surpassed  all  other  denominatifms  in  the  cost- 
liness and  elegance  of  her  edifices  for  public 
worship.     Her  churehes  are  among  the  most 
adinireil  ornaments  of  our  large  cities.     She 
has,  for  the  most  part,  adopted  the  stylt;  of 
architecture  be:  t  adapted  to  the  iiurposes  of 
religion,  and  lier  models  have  not  niirie(iuent- 
Iv   be<'n  selecti'd    from  the  most  chaste  jmd 
splendid  structures  of  jiast  ages.     New  York 
lia-i  from  an  eorlv  period  taken  the  lead  in  llie 
beautv  and  graiiileur  of  her  church  edifices; 
nud  several  of  them  are  nnsur|)assed  by  any 
similar  structures  in   this  country.     Trinity 
church  is  a  magnificent  building.     St.  Paul's 
and  St.  .lohn's  are  universally  admired  ;  and, 
in  point  of  beauty,  Grace  church  has  no  su- 
t  i)erior.     St.  Paul's,  though  erected  before  the 
I  revolution,  is  one  of  the  richest  and  most  im- 
i  jHjsing  ornaments  of  the  city,  and  is  universal- 
1  Iv  regarded  with  admiration. 
'  "  The  accompanying  beautiful  engraving  pre- 
sents a  view  of  this  most  ancient  and  venera- 
lile  of  the  episeo|)al  churches  in  the  city  of 
New  York,  taken  from  a  i>ositiou  near  the 
corner  of  Fulton  street  and  Broadway.     It  of 
course  presents  the  south  side,  the  eastern  por- 
tico, and  the  steeple  of  this  beautiful  church. 
The  plate  shows  also  the  junction  of  Broad- 
way and  Vesey  street,  and  on  the  opposite 
corner  from  -he  church,  the  Astor  house,  one 
of  the  largest,  and  the  most  costly  buildings  of 
the  kind  in  the  Union.     This  immense  pile 
was  erected  by  John  J.  Astor,  of  granite  from 
the  eastern  quarries,  at  the  cost  of  half  a 
million  of  dollars,  for  the  purjmse,  as  neorly 
all  his  investments  have  been,  of  personal 
emolument,  combined  with  public  utility.     In 
its  imposing  exterior,  in  the  arrangement  of 
its   various   apartments,    and    in  its   general 
adaptation  to  the  object  of  its  construction,  it 
is  lielieved  to  be  sujjerior  to  any  similar  estab- 
lishment on  this  continent.     The  sjjace  it  oc- 
cu|)ie3  in  the  engraving  seemed  to  retiuire  this 
brief  notice. 

There  are  few,  if  ony,  more  chaste  an<f 
finished  specimens  of  ecclesiastical  architec- 
ture in  the  United  States,  than  St.  Paul's 
chapel.  It  is  now  the  oldest  edifice  belonging 
to  the  episcopal  church  in  this  city.  The 
first  Trinity,  of  which  corporation  St.  Paul  s 
has  always  been  a  chapel,  was  erected  at  an 
earlier  period— so  also  was  St.  George's,  but 
the  former  was  destroyed  in  the  great  con- 
flagration of  177C,  and  the  latter,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  walls,  was  burnt  in  1814.  St. 
Paul's  was  commenced  in  17C4,  and  hnishca 


Jj 


in  tlio  T'^iiitoil 
1111(1  liliiTiiliiy 
rch.  In  pio- 
■nltl),  Af  bus 
ns  iri  iho  cost- 
i-es  for  i>nt)li(! 
ions  the  most 
I  cities.  She 
1  the  style  of 
le  jiiirposes  of 
ot  iiii(Vf>i|ii('nt- 
)st  rlinsto  mill 
I.  New  York 
the  Icud  in  the 
luri'h  eilitiees; 
passed  liy  nny 
ntrv-  Triuitv 
ij.. '  St.  Piiul's 
ndmireil  ;  and, 
ch  hns  no  sii- 
cted  l)ef<n'e  the 
it  nnd  most  im- 
nd  is  universul- 

1  encrnvin,;;  pre- 
piit  nnd  venern- 
!  in  the  city  of 
isition  near  the 
oadwny.     It  of 
the  enstcrn  por- 
noutiful  church, 
ction  of  Bronil- 
m  the  opposite 
stor  house,  one 
stlv  huildings  of 
is  immense  pile 
of  granite  from 
cost  of  half  a 
rpose,  as  nearly 
en,  of  personal 
iblic  utility.     In 
arrangement  of 
1    in  its   general 
s  construction,  it 
ny  similar  estab- 
fiie  sjiaco  it  oc- 
ed  to  require  this 

more  chabte  and 
iastical  architec- 
than  St.  Paul's 
edifice  belonging 
this  city.  The 
iration  St.  Paul's 
ras  erected  at  an 
St.  George's,  but 
in  the  great  con- 
itter,  with  the  ex- 
imt  in  1814.  St. 
1764,  and  finished 


]m  i'!!SSP''"'"a''^'-  ^I'  r, 


■*'?«^ 


■45^.1^ 


M — j.  Il,: 


314 


ST.  PAUL'S  CHUHCH,  NEW  YORK. 


in  17G6.  It  was  then  a  beautiful  edifice,  but 
there  have  since  been  niade  some  alterations, 
which  have  greatly  improved  in  general  ap- 
pearance, and  given  it  the  strikingly  chaste 
and  harmonious  proportions  exhibited  m  the 
en  "raving.  It  was  erected  by  the  vestry  ot 
Trinity,  and  chieEy  at  the  expense  of  that 

corporation.  .  ,     .v    c    . 

Divine  service  wm  perfonnea  for  the  tirst 
time  in  St.  Paul'*  on  th*  30th  of  October, 
1776.  The  Rev.  Samuel  Amchmuty,  D.  D., 
was  then  rector  of  Trinity;  and  the  Rev. 
Charles  Inglis,  since  bishop  of  Nova  Scotia, 
«nd  the  Rev.  John  Ogilvie,  D.  D.,  were  as- 
sistant ministers. 

St.  Paul's  chapel  \a  situated  on  the  west 
side  of   Broadway,  near  its  junction  with 
Chatham  street— the  grounds  connected  with 
it  being  bounded  on  the  north  by  Vesey,  on 
the  east  by  Broadway,  on  the  south  by  Fulton, 
and  on  the  west  by  Church   street.     The 
ground  on  which  it  stands,  with  the  surround- 
ing cemetery,  is  four  hundred  feet  in  length, 
by  one  hundred  and  eighty  in  breadth,  and  is 
enclosed  by  a  substantial  iron  railing.     The 
material  of  which  it  is  constructed  is  a  dark 
gray  stone.     The  order  of  architecture  is 
chiefly   Corinthian.     Its  thick  and   massive 
walls  form  a  parallelogram,  containing  eigh- 
teen thousand  two  hundred  and  twelve  square 
feet,  the  main  body  of  the  edifice  being  one 
hundred  and  twelve  feet,  six  inches  in  length, 
and  seventy-three  feet  in  breadth.    Its  east 
end  fronts  on  Broadway,  and  presents  a  hand- 
some portico,  composed  of  four  Roman  Ionic 
columns,  supporting  a  chaste  and  beautiful 
pediment.     The  depth  of  the  portico  is  eigh- 
teen feet,  six  inches,  and  it  is  raised  about 
three  feet  above  the  surface  of  the  ground. 

On  the  west  end  of  the  chapel  there  is  a 
tower  projection  of  seven  feet,  six  inches,  and 
a  tower  portico  of  thirteen  feet.  These  pro- 
jections, added  to  the  main  building,  make  its 
whole  length  one  hundred  and  fifty-one  feet, 
six  inches.  In  the  place  of  the  present  ele- 
gantly-proportioned and  handsome  steeple, 
there  was  originally  a  small,  ill-shaped  dome, 
which  served  rather  as  a  covering  for  the 
tower,  than  as  an  ornament  to  the  edifice. 

The  feeling  has  generally  prevailed  among 
churchmen,  that  the  eastern  end  of  their 
churches  was  the  appropriate  place  for  the 
chancel.  In  accordance  wth  this  feeling,  the 
tower  and  dome,  and  afterward  the  steeple 
of  St.  Paul's,  were  erected  on  the  western 
end,  the  east  being  reserved  for  the  chancel, 
as  its  proper  position.  The  height  of  the 
tower  is  one  hundred  feet,  and  it  is  construct- 
ed of  the  same  material  as  the  main  building. 
Above  the  roof  there  are  two  sections.  The 
lower  one,  with  the  exception  of  what  are 
called  rusticated  comers,  is  perfectly  plain. 


The  upper  one  has  pilasters  on  the  avgles, 
and  two  Ionic  columns  in  the  centre.  Th^e 
columns  sustain  a  small  pediment,  over  which, 
between  two  consoles,  inverted,  is  placed  the 
dial  of  the  clock.  In  this  upper  section  are 
two  bells,  which  formerly  belonged  to  Trinity. 
The  (juadrangular  section  immediately  above 
the  tower,  is  of  the  Ionic  order,  with  appro- 
priate columns,  pilasters  and  pediments.  The 
other  two  sections  are  octangular,  of  the  Corin- 
thian and  composite  orders,  supported  by 
columns  at  the  angles.  The  faces  i)f  the 
highest  section  are  well  panelled,  and  taper 
gradually  to  the  largo  gilt  ball  which  crowns 

the  apex.  ,     ,      ,   ,        r 

The  steeple  rises  one  hundred  and  three  teet 
above  the  tower,  to  the  top  of  the  vane,  ma- 
king the  whole  height  two  hundred  and  three 
feet  from  the  ground.     It  is  built  of  wtx)d,  but 
it  is  painted  to  resemble  stone,  and  it  has  much 
the  appearance  of  being  really  so.     It  was  not 
erected  until  some  time  subsetjuent  to  the 
revolution.     The  fine  proportions  and  beauty, 
which  now  render  it  scarcely  inferior  to  any 
other,  in  either  the  city  or  country,  are  owing 
to  its  having  been,  with  one  or  two  unimport- 
ant exceptions,  an  exact  imitation  of  the  stee- 
ple of  a  church,  which  was  designed  by  the 
great  architect.  Sir  Christopher  Wren,  gen- 
erally known  as  St.  Martin's  in  the  Fields— 
a  church  in  London,  much  celebrated  for  its 
architectural  elegance. 

The  front  of  the  chapel  is  generally  more 
admired  for  its  harmonious  proportions,  and 
general  beauty,  than  any  other  part  of  the 
building,  not  even  the  steeple  Being  excepted. 
The  portico  is  a  superb  specimen  of  science 
and  art.     Four  Roman  Ionic  columns  support 
a  pediment,  which  is  ornamented  by  fine  pro- 
jecting cornices.    The  effect  is  much  increasec 
by  two  circular  windows,  between  which,  at 
an  equal  distance  from  either,  in  a  niche,  is 
placed  a  colossal  figure  of  St.  Paul,  leaning 
on  a  richly  carved  sword.     The  altar-wmdow, 
under  the  pediment,  adds  greatly  to  the  beauty 
of  this  part  of  the  chapel.    It  has  three  com- 
partments, the  centre  of  which  runs  into  an 
arch,  and  is  separated  from  the  side  ones,  by 
I  two  Ionic  pilasters.     This  window,  the  glass 
of  which  is  colored,  lights  the  chancel.    From 
the  portico  there  are  two  entrances  to  the  in- 
terior of  the  chapel,  one  on  either  side  of  the 
altar  window;  and  over  each  of  them  is  a 
window,  with  an  arch  suitable  to  its  position. 
In  the  small  vestibule  at  these  entrances,  a 
spiral  staircase  leads  to  the  galleries. 

A  splendid  monument,  m  basso-relievo, 
erected  to  the  memory  of  Major-Gereral  Rich- 
ard Montgomery,  by  the  Congress  of  the  Uni- 
ted States,  occupies  the  middle  of  this  win- 
dow. The  following  is  the  inscription  upon 
the  monument : — 


on  the  avftles, 
centre.  Th^e 
ent,  over  which, 
il,  is  placed  the  ' 
ipcr  section  are 
tiged  to  Trinity, 
nediately  iibove 
ler,  with  appro- 
ediments.  The 
lar,  of  the  Corin- 
supported  by 
le  taccB  of  the 
elled,  and  ta])er 
Jl  which  crowns 

ed  and  three  feet 
(f  the  vane,  ma- 
mdred  and  three 
uiltof  wood,  but 
,  and  it  has  much 
Y  so.  It  was  not 
t)sequeiii  to  the 
tions  and  beauty, 
y  inferior  to  any 
untry,  are  owing 
or  two  unimport- 
ation  of  the  stee- 
designed  by  the 
jher  Wren,  gen- 
i  in  the  Fields — 
lelebrated  for  its 

3  generally  more 
proportions,  and 
rther  part  of  the 
e  Being  excepted, 
jcimen  of  science 
;  columns  support 
jnted  by  fine  pro- 
is  much  increased 
etween  which,  at 
iier,  in  a  niche,  is 
St.  Paul,  leaning 
rhe  altar-window, 
iatly  to  the  beauty 
It  has  three  com- 
hich  runs  into  an 
I  the  side  ones,  by 
window,  the  glass 
le  chancel.    From 
ntrances  to  the  in- 
either  side  of  the 
ach  of  them  is  a 
ible  to  its  position, 
these  entrances,  a 
galleries, 
in    basso-relievo, 
ajor-Gereral  Rich- 
ongress  of  the  Uni- 
liddle  of  this  win- 
le  inscription  upon 


ThU  monument  t*  erected  by  order  of  Conomss. 

■Uk  January,  1776,  to  tran.mlt  to   poatority  *  grateful 

remembrance  of  the  patriotiam.  conduct,  enter- 

Driae,  and  perievcrimce  of  Mmjor  Oetural 

RICHARD  MONTOOMERY, 

who,  after  «  aeries  of  luccoiae^  amldat  the  moat 

diacouraging  difflcultioa,  /til  In  the  atuck  on 

QUEBEC,  31at  Decbr.,  1775,  aged  37  year* 

Underneath  this,  cut  in  a  white  marble  slab, 
fixed  in  the  wall,  is  the  following  record  :— 

The  S«o<«  «/  Nf  York 

caused  the  remains  of 

JIajor  Gtnl  RICHARD  MONTGOMERY 

to  be  conveyed  from  Uuebec, 

Mrf  dtposiled  litMtih  (*'»  moHummt, 

the  8th  da      '  auly, 

Ib.o. 


IM  MBMOIT  or 

THOMAS   AD0I9    EMMET, 

Who  exemplified  In  his  conduct  and   adornoa  by  hU 

Int^Kriw  rtie  policy  and  principle,  of  the  Un'.tat*  xrlr,.-jon 

-^■Toforwird  «koli>erhoi)d  of  aftection,  a  community 

cf  riaht..  an  identity  of  intere.ta,  and  a  union  of  power 

"•'_?_.  i,i.v,.r,,n  nf  overv  reliirioua  persuasion,  aa 


among  Irishmen  of  every  religious  persuasion 
■  ily   means  of  Ireland's   chief  good, 

rtU' 


an 


The  interior  of  St.  Paul's  chapel  has  been 
not  much  less  generally  adtnired  than  its  ex- 
terior. Though  a  period  of  eighty  years  has 
passed  since  its  construction,  yet  there  are  few 
churches  which  present  an  interior  finish,  so 
chaste  and  beautiful.  .     .     i. 

The  chancel  is  raised  one  foot  six  inches 
above  the  ground  floor.  It  is  fifteen  feet  deep, 
by  twenty-nine  in  length,  and  «  enclosed  by  a 
carved  rafling.  Agaiast  the  wall«  which  sepa- 
rate it  from  the  eastern  vestibules,  are  two 
Ionic  pilasters,  from  the  entablatures  of  which 
an  arch  is  thrown  acrossthe  body  of  thechapci, 

forming  u  line  of  division  be :en  the  chancel 

end  the  nave.  .    , 

The  altar  is  placed  under  the  altar  wmdow, 
and  above  it  are  the  two  tables  of  the  law. 
The  whole  seems  to  be  ilbimmed  by  rays 
from  a  representation  of  the  visible  manifes- 
totion  of  the  Deity  on  Mount  Sinw.  Ihe 
walla  of  the  chancel  are  entirely  without  or- 
nament,  but  they  contain  six  niural  monu- 
ments of   beautiful   design,  and   admuable 

"^  In  S' cemetery  around  the  chapel,  there 
are  numerous  monuments,  some  of  which  are 
fine  specimens  of  art;  but  th».  most  remarka- 
ble one,  in  its  design  and  execution,  18  that  of 
Thomas  Addis  Emmet,  standing  near  to  the 
chapel,  on  its  south  side,  and  to  Broadway 
The  material  is  white  marble,  of  thirty  teet 
devation,  having  on  the  face  toward  Broad- 
way a  bust  of  Mr.  Emmet,  sculptured  m 
baMO-relievo,  and  on  three  sides  inscriptions 
iuTe  Latin,  English  and  Irish  languages; 
the  Latin  by  John  Duer,  LL.  D.,  the  Eng- 
ish  by  the  Hon.  Gulian  C.  Verplanck,  and 
the  Irish  by  the  late  Right  Rev.  Dr.  England, 
Roman  Catholic  bishop'of  Charleston  South 
CamUna      The  inscription  m  the  English 
Wuage  is  in  the  finest'taste.  and  exceelm^- 
rCtiful;  and  it  should  have  a  place  in 
e^yeiy  Si  description  of  St.  Paul's  chapel. 
It  is  as  follows : — • 


the'  only  means  of  Ireland  s  ch.>.  „---,   .- 

impnrtlHl  and  adequate  representation  In  an 

Irish  Parliament"      For  Ihn  (mysterious 

fateof  virtue  11  exiled  from  hU  native  land. 

In  America,  the  land  of  Ireedom.   ho  touod  a  «cond 

country,  which  paid  his  love  by  reverencing  hU 

geniii.    l-earlied  in  our  laws  and  the  lawa 

of  Europe,  in  the  literature  of  our  times, 

and  in  ths'  of  antiquity,  all  knowledge 

scomcd  subject  to  his  use. 

An  orator  of  the  Hrst  order,  clear,  copious.  f^vid,a«ke 

poweri-ul  to  kindle  the  imagiimt  ..n,   ouch  th.   affoo- 

•^  tTon"  and  sway  the  reason  and  will.     .Simple  In 

his  tastes,  untssuming  in  hi«  manners,  Irank, 

generous,  kind-hearted,  and  honorable, 

his  private  life  was  beauiilul,  as  bu 

public  course  was  brilliant 

Anxious  to  perpetuate  the  name  and  examples  of  such  • 

man  alike  illustrious  by  his  genius   lu,  vrtu".  and 

his  fate;  consecrated  to  their  aftections  by  hU 

"'•      vi'.  Li ;i.  .„.!  th.. .i«.tK.r  calamltie* 


lis  fate;  consccratea  u>  iiicir  ...t.^..""-  -^j   — 
,,criftMS,hi«  perils,  and  the  deeper  calamltiei 
of  his  kindred,  in  a  just  and  holy  cause  j 
hir.  sympathizing  countrymen  erect- 
ed this  monument  and  cenotaph. 
Bom  .t  Cork,  IMth  April,  1764.      lie  dfed  in  thU  dly, 
14th  November,  18i7. 

It  is  of  sufficient  interest  to  deserve  record 
here,  that  General  Washington,  during  his 
residence  in  New  York,  was  a  constant  at- 
I  tendant  upon  the  services,  and  a  communicant 
in  St.  Paul's  chapel.  That  great  and  good 
man  was  nowhere  more  highly  appreciated 
than  by  the  citizens  of  New  York,  and  no- 
where did  his  death  cause  more  sincere  and 
deep  lamentations.  His  funeral  obsequies 
were  performed  in  St.  Paul's,  with  imposmg 

*"  ThU  Si'urch  has  stood  eighty  years,  a  proud 
monument  of  the  taste  of  our  ancestors;  and 
it  is  still  one  of  the  richest  architectural  or- 
naments of  this  city,  so  much  distinguished 
for  the  costly  elegance  of  ito  churches,  and 
the  magnificence  and  beauty  of  Us  other  pub- 
lic edifices. 


LKCTURES  ON  ASTRONOMY.-P.  6. 

BY    PJlOrESSOB  O.   M.    MITCHELI.. 

In  the  examination  which  I  have  thus  far 
made.  I  have  confined  myself  exclusively  to 
our  own  solar  system.  I  have  announced  the 
great  laws  by  which  it  is  governed ;  I  have 
Ittempted  to  explain  the  manner  in  which 
these  laws  operate  upon  the  various  bod  es 
belonging  to  it,  and  to  show  you  how  worlds 
arSvi^ng  through  space  otedient  to  those 
laws  and  yet  subjected  to  the  influence  of  each 
other  But  wi  are  to  leave  this  systom, 
grand  as  it  is,  and  traverse  through  regions 
fTd  over  distances  which  we  have  not  up  to 


•fUlx. 


31« 


LECTUEE8  ON  ASTRONOMY. 


the  present  moment  dared  to  conceive. 
know  how  dimcult  i«  the  subject  which  I 


ed,  appreciated,  and  determined,  then,  know- 
ing the  distance  which  separates  the  two 
points  of  observation  and  the  amount  of  change 
occasioned  by  the  change  of  place  of  the  spec- 
tator, we  find,  without  difficulty,  the  distance 
of  the  object.  When  the  followers  of  Coper- 
nicus announced  that  the  earth  revolved  about 
the  sun  in  a  mighty  orbit  200,000,000  miles 
in  diameter ,  moreover,  that  the  axis  of  the 

1         .1  „  — .i.:„u  :»  •^•#/t1iraa  f\nnn.  in  twf^ntv- 


I 

am 
know  now  uiiii*^"**'  "■  •••"  w— "J---  ^ 
.bout  to  approach,  and  1  approach  it  with  em- 
Wrassmem.  I  know  how  difficult  it  is  to 
comprehend  these  immense  distanccs-these 
yast  periods,  and  these  mighty  and  innumera- 
ble objects,  in  such  a  manner  as  may  be 
presented  intelligibly  to  the  mind.     Still  we    ^^^  ^^^_^^^^^ 

uhall  venture  upon  the  attempt.  j^.  j^  ■   revolves  once  in  twenty- 

If  it  were  possible  to  '^  JsUm    Ind    £hrs  was  ever  parallel  to  itself ,  and  suU 

outermost  limits  of  our  solar  •>'»»«"'•''"''    '^ZlC,  .>,„,  ,hj»  .i;,  nrolor.ecd  to  meet  the 

thpre    restinu  upon  the  body  of  the  planet 

Neptune.  we^ouTd  l.x.k  backward  over  the 


.p;^e  we  have  traversed,  we  shoiild  find  the 
■un.  which  to  us  is  so  brilnant  and  so  magnih- 
cent,  already  diminished  so  as  not  to  appear 
larger  than  docs  the  planet  Venus  now  appear 
"us  on  the  earth.  'But  think  not  that  this 
diminution  in  apparent  size  will  diminish  in 
lik"  proportion  the  light  which  the  sun  throws 
out;  for  if  there  be  inhabitants  there,  they 
will  receive  more  light  from  this  dinriinishcd 
sun  than  could  be  tBrown  out  by  a  hundred 
of  our  full  moons;  so  it  is  still  dayhght  to 

*   Bkit  if  objects  are  diminished  by  accomplish- 
ing this  joimey  through  space  3,000,000,000 
of  miles,  what  do  we  see  when  we  attempt 
S  cross  ihat  ™ighty|ulf  which  sti  I  seprn^s 
us  from  the  nearest  fixed  stars?     It  »  across 
this  almost  illimitable  space  that  I  ;«^8h  to 
carry  vou.     The  unit  of  measure  with  which 
we  fiave  gone  through  the  examination  of  our 
.ystem,  has  been  tBe  distance  of  the  earth 
ffom  the  sun-the  radius  of  the  earth's  orbit. 
In  making  our  measurements,  we  must  adopt 
a  different  unit,  for  this  is  too  small ;  and  we 
propose  to  take  as  one  unit  of  measure  the 
'dist^ce  to  the  nearest  fixed  stare.     With 
that  unit,  if  we  can  attam  to  the  knowledge 
of  its  value,  we  shall  proceed  to  nieasure  the 
universe  by  which  we  are  surrounded. 

First,  then,  let  us  attempt  to  explain  what 
is  meant  by  parallax;  for  this  term  I  shall 
employ  frequently  in  the  course  of  my  remarks. 
The  parallax  of  any  body  is  the  apparent 
change  in  the  place  of  that  body,  occasioned 
by  a  real  change  in  tha  position  of  the  spec- 
tator.   If  I  change  my  position  in  this  room, 
occupying  that  of  yonder  individual,  I  hnd 
every  other  person  apparently  to  ha^c  changed 
his  place;  this  is  a  parallactic  change.     As 
you  have,  while  sitting  in  a  railroad-car  pass- 
fng  through  the  borders  of  a  forest,  fastened 
ytmr  eye  upon  an  individual  tree,  and  have 
Len  tfie  olhers   apparently    whirl    rapidly 
around  it,  so  is  th=s  apparent  change  in  the 
position  of  the  bmvenly  bodies.    Nowthe 
Question  is  this:  Is  it  possible  to.«Je«rmine 

-y  <:»^-?^-.»»!L?ll'=!,l?lifrlhrc* 


further,  that  this  axis  prolonged  to  meet  the 
celestial  sj.here,  was  the  north  pole  ot  the 
heavens,  the  objector  at  once  said,  "It  is  im- 
possible ;  because,  if  the  earth's  axis,  b^ing 
produced  to  meet  the  heavens,  touches  it  in  a 
particular  point,  this  jwint  corned  parallel  to 
Itself  around  a  mighty  orbit  of  200,000,000 
miles  diameter,   will  cut  in  the  heavens  a 
figure  having  also  the  same  diameter;  and 
certainly  this  circle  described  in  the  heavens 
will  be  visible  to  the  eye."    But  it  is  not  visi- 
ble to  the  eye.    If  the  whole  diameter  of 
200.000,000  miles  were  filled  by  a  globe  as 
brilliant  as  our  sun,  at  the  distance  of  the 
fixed  stars  it  would  shrink  absolutely  into  a 
point  which  no  micrometer  ever  made  by  man 
could  measure.     Here  there  was  a  sort  of 
indicative  knowledge  with  regard  to  the  dis- 
tance of  the  fixed  stars.    It  must  be  so  great 
that  the  whole  earth's  orbit,  viewed  from 
them,  would  shrink  into  an  invisible  point. 

So  soon  as  telescopes  were  perfected  and 
the  division  of  the  circle  obtained  in  the  most 
accurate  manner  possible,  by  means  of  which 
the  most  delicate  observations  could  be  made, 
the  human  mind  again  returned  to  this  grand 
problem  and  attempted  to  pass  these  hitherto 
seemingly  impassable  limits  to  measure  the 
distance  of  the  fixed  stars.  And  now  let  me 
attempt  to  explain  one  of  the  methods  adopted 
to  accomplish  this  grand  obiect.  , 

Suppose  it  ware  possible  to  erect  m  the 
centre  of  this  room  a  ro^ky  pier,  going  down 
through  the  base  upon  the  solid  rock  itselt,  so 
as  to  be  perfectly  immovable.     Now  then 
upon  this  rocky  pier  let  me  adjust  a  telescope 
ofthe  highest  possible  capacity,  and  let  the 
axis  of  that  instrument  be  erected  so  as  to  have 
a  direction  exactly  vertical.     Having  accom- 
plished this,  let  me  screw  it  to  this  rock,  so 
ihat  it  shall  never  move,  but  be  for  ever  per- 
manent.   Now  to  determine  the  exact  axis 
of  this  telescope  and  to  make  it  appreciable, 
let  me  fix  in  the  focus  two  most  delicate  lines 
of  spider's  web,  which  are  so  very  fine  that 
they  may  be  regarded  almost  as  invisible 
mathematical  lines.    Let  them  intersect  each 
other  in  the  axis  of  the  telescope  and  their 
point  of  intersection  upon  lopkmg  upward. 

'  .„  _! „:.oi.r  vArtirni  direction.     Plow 

make 


_  ,  in  thj  Pl«~  °; ."•'.""thenci   «i    riv.  .  mioMy  »«nic.l  ^'^<^«- 

^Zt^'  Sclt  £?:SI  ?i!.;.  .  Aof  ibi..„p«P«ed  u, 


^*.., 


LECTURES  ON  ASTRONOMY. 


317 


3(1,  then,  know- 
irates  the  two 
nount  of  change 
lace  of  the  spec- 
Ity,  the  distance 
jwers  of  Coper- 
1  revolved  about 
0,000,000  miles 
the  axis  of  the 
once  in  twenty- 
j  itself;  and  still 
god  to  meet  the 
)rth  pole  of  the 
said,  "  It  is  im- 
rth's  axis,  b»^ing 
8,  touches  it  in  a 
irried  parallel  to 
t  of  200,000,000 
I  the  heavens  a 
e  diameter;  and 
i  in  the  heavens 
But  it  is  not  visi- 
[lole  diameter  of 
ed  by  a  globe  as 
I  distance  of  the 
absolutely  into  a 
ivcr  made  by  man 
re  was  ft  sort  of 
regard  to  the  dis- 
;  must  be  so  great 
bit,  viewed  from 
invisible  point, 
ere  perfected  and 
tained  in  the  most 
ly  means  of  which 
ms  could  be  made, 
imcd  to  this  grand 
pass  these  hitherto 
U  to  measure  the 
And  now  let  me 
le  methods  adopted 
jject. 

(le  to  erect  in  the 
y  pier,  going  down 
solid  rock  itself,  so 
vMe.     Now  then 
e  adjust  a  telescope 
pacity,  and  let  the 
jrected  so  as  to  have 
1.     Having  accom- 
'  it  to  this  rock,  so 
but  be  for  ever  per- 
line  the  exact  axis 
nake  ii;  appreciable, 
3  most  delicate  lines 
■e  so  very  fine  that 
almost  as  invisible 
them  intersect  each 
telescope  and  their 
an  lopkmg  upward, 
ical  direction.    Now 
;ry  prepared  to  make 


my  examination  of  a  few  of  the  fixed  stars,  to 
determine  whether  there  be  any  change  from 
the  fact  that  the  earth  is  sweeprng  round  in 
its  orbit.      Place  the  eye  to  this  tube,  and 
watch  till  some  particular  star,  that  you  may 
hove  selected  and  which  lies  exactly  m  a 
vertical  direction,  passing  through  the  /.et.>'h 
8hull  reach  precisely  the  central  point  ot  u.c 
telescope,  so  thot  tlie   line  of  vision,  like  a 
prolonged  axis,  pierces  the  star  exactly.     Now 
we  record  the  observation  which  is  mode  »'  •» 
particular  hour,  and  when  the  earth  shall  have 
rolled  round  its  axis  and  brought  it  to  the  same 
iM.int  we  observe  it  anain.  and  ao  through  the 
whole  year.     Now  ihcti  il"  there  be  no  change, 
that  star  will  ever  pa»s  at  the  same  momeTit 
exactly  through  the  same  point  across  the 
axis  ot  the  telescope.     But  suppose  it  should 
deviate  a  little  from  the  point  ot  intej-section, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  year  it  shall  have  de- 
scribed a  minute  orbit,  the  centre  of  which  is 
the  central  point  where  the  axis  ot  the  tele- 
scope pierces  the  heavens  :  the  magnitude  of 
this  little  orbit,  occurately  determined,  is  the 
amount  of  apparent  change  r^casioned  by  the 
revolution  of  the  earth  in  it-s  orbit,  and  this 
would  be  the  parallactic  motion  of  the  star. 

This  method  was  adopted  by  one  of  the 
distinguished  astronomers  who  attempted  the 
resolution  of  the  problem  of  the  distance  of 
the  fixed  stars.     He  did  not  succeed  :  it  dehed 
his  ingenuity;  still,  he  was  rewarded  in  his 
etfortsT  if  not  by  the  attainment  of  the  object 
to  be  accomplished,  at  least  by  others  equally 
important.     He  found  the  star  uixin  which 
he  fixed  hi«  eye  moving,  not  as  he  supposed 
it  must  move,  in  parallactic  change,  but  taking 
a  difTerent  course.     For  a  long  time  the  cause 
seemed  to  be  wrapped  in  impenetrable  mys- 
tery; but  he  finally  found  it  to  be  due  to  the 
fact  that  the  earth  was  moving  with  a  certain 
amount  of  velocity,  and  light  also  was  coming 
with  a  certain  velocity,  and  the  two  forces 
combined  gave  to  that  star  an  apparent  motion 
which,  when  the  cause  was  known,  was  per- 
fectly explicable.     He  discovered  m  this  way 
the  abJalion  of  light,  and  also  a  certain 
other  change,  shown  by  the  fact  that  the 
earth's  axis  is  not  precisely  parallel  to  itselt, 
but  owing  to  the  influence  which  the  sun  and 
moon  exert  upon  the  protuberent  matter  around 
the  equator,  it  is  made  to  vibrate,  as  it  were, 
through  a  very  minute  arc  in  the  heavens. 
This  IS  called  kutotton;  and  these  two  great 
discoveries  were  made  in  the  effort  to  reso  ve 
the  problem  measuring  the  distance  ot  the 

fixed  stars.  ,     i.-  ^         r  »i,:.  »» 

I  desire  to  trace  up  the  history  of  this  ex- 
amination, to  show  how  science  has  progress- 
ed, and  how  art  has  been  gaming  one  victory 
after  another,  even  when  it  seemed  to  be  im- 
possible to  make  the  slightest  progress.     I 


pass  rapidly  down  to  the  second  great  effort 
made  to  determine  the  jiarallax  of  the  storM. 

Galileo  had  even  projected  this  plan,  but 
never  found  himself  in  piiusession  of  instru- 
ments re<iuisite  to    make   the   examination. 
The  plan  is  simple  and  will  be  easily  under- 
sUhkI  by  oil  who  heor  me.     In  examuimK  the 
heavens,  we  find  among  the  fixed  stars  certain 
ones  that  appear  single  to  the  common  eye, 
but  when  examined  with  a  powerful  instru- 
mnnt  they  arc  found  to  be  composed  of  two. 
three,  four,  and  sometimes  as  many  as  six, 
clustered  together  so  closely  that  to  the  nuked 
eye  they  appear  as  a  naked  object.     Now, 
after  Herschel  commenced  his  review  of  the 
heavens,  he  found  these  clustered  stars  scat- 
tered profusely,  and  the  idea  occurred  to  him 
that  the  apparent  near  proximity  of  them  was 
occasioned  by  the  fact  that  one  was  sunk  in 
spoce  far  deeper  than  the  other,  and  the  visual 
ray  passed  near  or  exactly  through  the  least 
distant  one.     In  case  thishypothesis  might  be 
received  as  true,  these  double  stars,  in  which 
one  of  the  objects  was  double  the  size,  and  m 
this  sense  appearing  to  be  half  the  distance 
of  the  other,  would  furnish  a  most  admirable 
means  of  determining  whether  any  parallactic 
change  took  place  in  consequence  of  the  revo- 
lution of  the  earth.     Suppose  I  am  so  situated 
as  to  occult  any  object  in  this  room  by  one  ot 
the  columns  before  me :  by  throwing  my  head 
slightly  to  the  right  the  object  hidden  will  ap- 
pear to  come  out  on  that  side ;  or,  by  throw- 
ing my  head  to  the  left  the  same  object  will 
appear  to  come  out  of  the  other  side.     Just  so 
in  these  minute  double  stars.     If  the  observer 
start  from  wne  extremity  of  the  earth's  annual 
orbit,  and  find  this  minute  star  on  the  nght- 
hand  side  of  the  larger  one— if  he  come  round 
and  continue  his  observation  till  he  reaches 
one  quarter  of  the  whole  circumference,  when 
he  finds  it  is  hidden  behind  the  larger  star— 
if  he  reach  the  other  extremity  of  the  circuit, 
and  find  how  the  minute  star  is  coining  out  on 
the  opposite  side— if,  moreover,  this  change 
occur  every  time  the  earth  makes  us  annual 
revolution— it  will  demonstrate  most  conclu- 
sively that  these  changes  are  paral  actic,  and 
occosioned  by  the  fact  that  the  observer  is 
sweeping   around  in  the   earth's  orbit,  and 
viewing  the  objects  from  different  positions. 

Such  is  the  nature  of  the  investigation  un- 
dertaken by  Herschel,  and  there  seemed  to  be 
every  reason  to  believe  he  would  be  success- 
ful. But  did  he  succeed?  No.  He  found 
that  these  stars  were  moving;  and  here  again 
were  his  efforts  rewarded  by  one  of  the  niost 
brilliant  discoveries  ever  made.  He  tounrt  in 
these  closely-united  objects  that  there  was  a 
motion,  but  not  of  the  kin.l  he  anticipated ; 
he  found  that  the  one  was  moving  about  the 
other,  and  on  a  better  view,  that  they  were 


il 


*. 


LBCTUBE8  ON  A8TE0N0MY 


both  revolving  about  tbe  common  c  itre  of 
SivitJ  Is  it  possible  that  these  .'..t^nt  orbs 
were  energized  by  the  same  kind  ol  inHuence 
whch  operates  on  the  earth's  surface,  and 
Ihat  this  law  of  gravitation  extending  over  this 
mmetuJable  gulf,  seized  tljese  suns  and  held 
them  obedient  to  it.  control,  causirg  them  to 
revolve  about  each  other  i 

The  announcement  that  these  motior«  were 
going  on,  filled  the  astronomical  world  with 
Kishment.     It  seemed  that .  new  held  was 
^ddenly  disclosed  which  promised  to  be  nter- 
minable.    If  these  stars,  so  profusely  scattor- 
T^nd  so  closely  united,  were  really  double 
suns  then  had  astroninny  only  begun  its  ca- 
reer:   If  to  find  the  perfods  and  measure  the 
orbits  of  the  planets  had  occupied  the  attention 
of  the  human  race  up  to  the  present  time  how 
much  time  would  ^enecewary  to  measure  the 
periods  and  determine   the  orbits  of  these 
mighty  suns,  sunk  so  deeply  m  space?     But 
L  effort  has  been  made  and  it  is  progressing. 
A  solitary  object,  one  of  a  beautiful  system 
waTtaking  uj  and  measures  made  year  after 
year,  till  tiniliy  a  sufficient  amount  of  data 
are  obtained  to  commence  the  computation  of 
the  elements  of  the  orbit.     But  what  law  sha  1 
be  adopted?     The  law  of  gravitation  is  ap- 
plied, and,  wonderful  to  relate,  these  far  iis- 
tant  suns  ;re  subjected  to  the  same  law  that 
carries  our  earth  about  our  sun.  ^    .     , 

And  now  such  is  the  knowledge  attained 
with  reference  to  these  various  systenos,  that 
.  .      .      ._ii   .v„;.  voru   iinsi».\nn   anil 


undertake  this  i)roblem  by  the  use  of  the 
heliometer,  hoping  this  way  to  obtain  a  series 
of  observations  that  might  render  it  successful. 
A  few  years  since  he  commenced  his  obser- 
vations. But  the  query  arose :  was  there 
among  the  myriads  of  stars,  some  one  object 
1  that  would  be  more  likely  than  all  others  to 
yield  U)  his  investigation?  How  could  a 
I  choice  be  made  ?  What  process  could  guide 
him  ?     Let  me  tell  you.         ,  -     ,    ,       , 

By  comparing  the  places  of  fixed  stars  de- 
termined by  ancient  astronomers,  with  those 
determined  recently,  it  is  found  that  th.«e  ob- 
iects  which  are  called  fixed,  are  not  really  so,  but 
are  changing  their  places  by  slow  and  almost 
imperceptible  degrees,  m  that  at  the  end  of 
two  thousand  years  there  is  a  manifest  paral- 
lax among  them.     In  later  times,  after  the  ob- 
servations of  other  astronomers  were  com- 
pared,  it  became  manifest  that  there   was 
scarcely  a  solitary  star  in  the  heavens  abso- 
lutely fixed  in  position.      But  if  this  were 
true,  inasmuch  as  the  sun  was  ore  of  the  fixed 
stars,  is  it  not  jiossible  that  it  too  is  sweeping 
through  space  ?     This  was  a  wonderful  idea, 
truly.     Now  this  apparent  change  among  the 
fixei  e-tars  might  possibly  be  accounted  for 
uiwn  the  hypothesis  that  the  sun  swept  through 
space,  carrying  the  earth  and  all  the  planets 
with  it,  and  thus  caused  these  objects  to  change 
their  apparent  places  among  each  other.     It 
this  hypothesis  were  adopted^  those  objects 
which  were  moving  most  rapidly  would  bo 


:J^s^"^s!r^?:55==  iS — -  "^  °":  "''^r 


periods,  a.  we  do  with  regard  to  the  plane  s 
Llongikg  to  our  own  system.    But  up  to  this 
time,  recollect,  we  knew  nothing  from  the  in- 
vestigation with  regard  to  the  distance  of  these 
obfecta     To  fhis  wonderful  discovery  I  shall 
again  refer ;  but  for  the  present  permit  me  to 
Jfursue  the  history  with  reference  to    he  de- 
termining of  the  parallax  of  the  fixed  s  ars. 
mLn  it  was  known  that  this  method  could 
H  not  be  successfully  adopte^.  it  seemed  that  the 
las^  hope  was  gone,  amf  there  could  be  no 
other  plain  mo?e  likely  to  end  in  s-iccess. 
But  the  skill  of  the  artist  had  not  yet  been 
exhausted.    In  all  precedmg  >n«t';»'"^"'JJ 
Memed  there  was  difficulty,  owing  to  the  fact 
that  the  micrometer  measured  with  accuracy 
small  distances,  but  failed  in  larger  opes. 

Finally,  of  late,  an  instrument  was  invented 
by  Frauenhofer,  which  measured  with  equal 
precision  both  great  and  small  distances,  it 
was  called  the  heliometer.  This  new  mag- 
nificent instrument  was  placed  m  the  hands 


yield  results.  .     ,  i      »  .  i.. 

Again,  he  choose  to  select  a  double  star,  be^ 
cause  if  he  could  find  a  set  wliich  was  united 
in  a  particular  way,  he  would  be  able  to  meas- 
ure with  more  accuracy  the  change  that  took 
place  in  the  centre  of  the  line  that  united  the 
stars,  than  in  any  other  way.     He  selected 
from  the  cmstellation  of  the  Swan,  double  star 
number  sixty-one,  and  commenced  nis  meas- 
ures ui)on  the  position  of  the  centre  of  the  line 
joining  the  two.    He  referred  the  penual 
iwint  to  the  intersection  of  this  Imejwith  an- 
other perpendicular  to  it.    Here  he  had  to 
fix  a  point,  to  which  with  the  utmost  possible 
precision  he  found  it  practicable  to  refer  that 
point,  to.  ascertain  whether  any  change  was 
going,  which  should  be  due  to  the  motion  of 
The  larth  in  its  orbit.    A  year  rolls  round  of 
unintermitted  observation  of  the  most  accurate 
kind.    He  forms  his  series  of  places,  notes 
every  object,  and  finds  to  his  mfinite  delight 
there  is  yet  a  certain  amount  outstandm^g, 


nificent  instrument  was  Pl'»«=«J„">  J.^.J'^^t  wh  ch  u^  examination  depends  upon  the 
of  a  distinguished  astronomer,  on«  of  t°«  "«»*  ^i"  n  ^cupied  in  moving  around  the  earth's 
illustrious  men  that  ever  graced  the  earth,  and    P^    «°^  /  ^^^^%  ^  announce  the 

one  better  adapted  to  its  use  »  ^«"  ^/ ^o  Ae  \^^J^  ^  j^  ^u  ^3^^  repeated  these 
critical  examinationof  the  great  problem,  than  ^»««;^^y^      ^^^      .  ^],^  following  year,  wd 


'^ 


he  use  of  the 

obtoin  a  series 
er  it  successful, 
iced  his  obser- 
«e :  was  there 
ome  one  object 
in  all  others  to 

How  could  a 
:ess  could  guide 

P  fixed  stars  de- 
lers,  with  those 
(1  that  those  ob- 
not  really  so,  but 
slow  and  almost 
it  at  the  end  of 
I  rnanifest  paral- 
les,  after  the  ob- 
ners  were  cona- 
that  there   was 
e  heavens  abso- 
lut  if  this  were 
8  one  of  the  fixed 
t  too  is  sweeping 
&  wonderful  idea, 
hange  among  the 
be  accounted  for 
jun  swept  through 
d  all  the  planets 
5  objects  to  chanae 
g  each  other.    If 
ted:  those  objects 
rapidly  would  bo 
nd  roost  likely  to 

t  a  double  star,  be-  I 
which  was  united 
Idbeabletomeas- 
i  change  that  took 
ine  that  united  the 
ay.  He  selected 
!  Swan,  double  star 
inienced  bismeas- 
te  centre  of  the  line 
ferred  the  central 

this  line  with  an- 
Here  he  had  to 
the  utmost  possible 
ticable  to  refer  that 
sr  any  change  was 
ue  to  the  motion  of 
year  rolls  round  of 
rf  the  most  accurate 
les  of  places,  notes 
I  his  infinite  delight 
imount  outstanding, 

depends  upon  the 
ig  around  the  earth's 
ire  to  announce  the 
e  has  repeated  these 

following  year,  tad 
jfaction  he  finds  the 


LKCTURK8  ON  ASTRONOMY. 


319 


some  series  (wcurring  precisely  in  the  same 
.rnler  as  before.  Night  after  night,  and  month 
after  month,  he  watche^.  this  point,  and  again 
cmiparcs  the  computation  of  the  place  and 
finds  the  same  changes  precisely  as  in  the 
preceding  year.  The  conclusion  could  no 
.mger  be  resided  :  the  mighty  gulf  had  been 
passed,  the  distance  of  that  object  is  known 
and  its  parnllax  is  determined. 

And  now  how  shiill  I  teJl  you  the  distance! 
If  I  speak  of  millions  of  miles  it  only  confuses 
the  mind.      Let  me  use  a  dilUrent  unit  of 
measure.     I  have  already  told  y.m  that  light . 
flies  with  a   vebx-ity  of  twelve   millions  ot  j 
miles  in  a  minute.     Now,  then,  in  order  to  , 
reach  us  from  this  star  in  the  constellation  ot  the  i 
Swan,  which  we  6up|K>se  to  be  the  one  nearest,  | 
it  must  in  its  flight  take  ten  long  years  to 
reach  this  planet.    And  this  is  the  nearest  of  all 
the  fixed  stars  by  which  we  are  surrounded. 

Here  then  is  our  unit  of  measure  ;  and  it  1 
have  succeeded  in  carrying  you  to  this  point, 
our  course  onward  is  easy  ;  for  the  moment  ^ 
we  know  the  distance  of  one  of  the  fixed  stars, 
we  feel  confident  that  we  can  attain  to  others, 
and  so  onward  and  onward.  Indeed,  this  has 
been  literally  the  case  ;  since  I  reached  your 
citv  I  have  received  iutelligence  fromStruve, 


^'^ 


that  he  has  determined  the  (wirallax  of  seven 
new  stars.  Although  we  find  differences  in 
these  distances,  we  have  reason  to  believe  the 
average  distance  can  not  be  less  than  that  ot 
number  sixty-one  in  the  Swan. 

So  soon,  then,  as  we  have  ascertained  the 
sphere  which  is  described  in  order  to  reach 
the  nearest  of  these  bodies,  the  (luestion  arises : 
Are  the  stars  scattered  equally  through  all 
space  1      la  there  any  aggregotion  of  those 
united  by  masses?     Is  there  any  law  which 
governs  these  exceedingly  distant  bmlies,  so 
L  to  make  clusters  in  particular  quarters  or 
regions  of  space  ?     If  we  look  out  upon  the 
sky,  the  eye  is  at  once  arrested  by  a  beautiful 
belt  of  light  that  sweeps  over  the  whole  heav- 
ens, called  the  Milky  Way.     This,  on  exam- 
ination, we  find  to  be  studded  with  millions 
of  objects  extending  entirely  around,  forming 
a  mighty  rone  of  congregated  stars  which  Ukes 
this  peculiar  figure.     Let  us  attempt  to  an- 
alyze this  figure  and  see  whether  it  be  possi- 
ble to  reach  the  uttermost  limits,  and  know 
pt«cisely  the  point  by  which  it  is  circum- 
scribed.    To  accomplish  this  we  must  make 
use  of  what  is  called  the  space-pcnetrating 
power.     All  I  have  to  say  on  this  ?<»«.  wi" 
depend  upon  the  manner  in  which  I  shall  be 
able  to  tell  you  the  meaning  of  that  tenn;  tor 
when  we  have  measured  the  distance  ot  the 
fixed  stars  it  seems  impossible  to  go  beyond 
that  distance  accurately:  yet  it  is  done  ap- 
proximately by  this  space-penetrating  power 
of  the  telescope. 


If  the  pupil  of  the  liumon  eye  could  bo  ex- 
panded to  twice  its  present  dimensions,  it  would 
receive  light  sufiicient  to  enable  it  to  penetrate 
twice  as  deep  into  space.     It  is  found  that  it 
can  now  see  a  star  of  the  sixth  magnitude. 
But  this  docs  not  give  an  exoct  idea  of  the 
space-penetrating  power  of  the  eye,  because 
the  distances  are  not  in  the  exact  ratio  to  the 
amount  of  light.     A  star  of  the  sixth  magni- 
tude is  twelve  times  more  distant  than  one  ot 
the  first.     The  luiman  eye  is  capable  of  iien- 
etrating  into  space  twelve  times  as  deep  as 
the  line  that  joins  it  to  the  nearest  fixed  star. 
If  we  could  increase  the  diameter  of  the  pupil 
and  moke  it  twice  as  large,  it  would  see  twenty- 
four  times  as  fur.     Now  if  we  aid  the  eye  by 
the  telescope  (it  moy  be  approximately  done) 
how  shall  we  determine  the  relative  approx- 
imative power  ?     I  answer:  By  the  diameter 
of  the  pupil,  or  the  object-glass,  of  the  instru- 
ment, we  can  arrive  at  a  very  accurate  meus- 
urement.  with  regard  to  that  matter.     Allow 
me  here  to  make  a  very  familiar  illustration. 
Suppose  upon  a  level  plane,  indefinitely  ex- 
tended, it  would  be  possible  to  erect  posts  a 
mile  apart.     On  each  of  these  posts  I  will 
place  a  board  which  contains  a  sentence  in  a 
given-sized  letter.     Now  the  first  one  is  just 
visible  to  the  eye  so  that  it  con  be  reod  ot  the 
distance  of  one  mile,  but  to  read  the  next  one 
is  im|)os8ible.     I,  however,  provide  myself 
with  some  assistance.     I  take  a  telescope  and 
find  that  with  it  I  can  just  read  the  sentence 
written  on  the  second  post.     I  take  one  with 
a  larger  object-glass  and  read  the  third :  anoth- 
er larger  still,  and  read  the  fourth.    1  hus  I 
will  always  know  the  sjjace-penetrating  pow- 
er of  the  instrument  with  which  I  read  any 
one  of  the  distonces;  and  here  is  the  principle 
—it  is  in  this  way  we  are  able  to  penetrate 
from  one  to  another  depth,  and  to  know  whot 
is  the  radius  of  the  mighty  sphere  of  which 
we  are  making  an  examination. 

The  first  question  is:  Whether  it  be  possi- 
ble to  penetrate  through  the  depths  of  the 
Milky  Way  ?     Herschel  attempted  this  again 
and  again.     He  takes  a  spot  just  visible  to  the 
naked  eye,  and  with  a  low  magmfying-power 
begins  his  examination.     He  hnds  this  spot 
showing  hundreds  of  stars,  and  behind  them 
appears  to  be  a  milky  whiteness  which  indi- 
cates other  stars  more  remote.     He  takes  a 
telescope  of  larger  power  and  this  causes  the 
spot  to  blaze  with  more  stars ;  yet  still  there 
is  a  milky  haze  indicating  that  he  has  not  yet 
penetrated  the  utmost  depths.     He  takes  an- 
I  other  still  more  ^Kiwerful  instrument,  and  yet 
he  does  not  attain  the  outermost  limits,  for  still 
there  is  a  haziness  beyond.     Finally  he  places 
his  forty-feet  reflector  in  the  direction,  and 
then  finSs  the  whole  to  glow  with  beautiful 
objects  like  diamond  points  upon  the  deep. 


•t'-iU^ 


f  ■ « i»'i 


*»*!»( 


^^ 


IBCTURE8  ON  A8TBONOMY. 


clear  vault  of  heaven,  without  a  a  am  beyond. 
Now  he  knowa  he  haa  penetrnte.l  to  the  out- 
«i,  e  an.l  he  knowa  how  much  power  waa  re- 
nu  r'.Ml"o  take  him  there,  for  he  ha*  gone  on- 
r  :.  ate  .  by  atep  .ill  the  laat  ha/.e  ,a  removed 
I  have  hod  occnaion  to  go  throufih  the  very 
amo  examination,  and  I  can  give  not  the 
aSueat  idea  of  the  f.-eling.  produced,  when 

u^m  opening  the.  full  P'-«' ''^ '^^f;7Th^; 
1  looked  entirely  beyond  the  '.m.t.  of  U^e 
Milky  Way  and  aaw  theae  orba  reatmg  upon 
the  deep  unataine.l  blue  "^  Heaven.  . 

Well,  now.   what  ia  th>    depth  of  theae 
atrara?     We  find  it  impo^    ble  to  gauge  it 
^e  throw  out  the  a,mndmg.lme.  aa  Herachel 
colls  it.  in  every  poaatble  direction.     He  ha» 
5o„e  it   and  the^ominent  part  «( thi.  pamc- 
ular  apot  extends  to  auch  o  depth  thot  there 
„u  tie  a  aeries  of  five  hundred  atara.  one 
behind  the  other,  and  each  p«nnt  la  remote 
f;^,m  the  other  as  ia  the  neareat  fi-^  'tar  from 
us.     Such  ia  the  depth  of  these  objects.     Wow 
we  are  able  to  measure  Us  figure  oi.d  tell  ita 
dimcnsioM.     This  hoa  been  done.     I  w'"  ""' 
delay  the  audience  by  going  t^iro^Sh  any  ex- 
planations of  the  manner  in  which  it  was  ac- 

''''^ali'ng'determined  the  figure  of  the  Milky 
Way,  thfnext  point  is  this :  When  we  stand 
out  upon  the  outer    circumference  ^f  this 
m"  ghTdrcle.  whot  is  bevond  T     Is  it  possible 
there  ts  anything  beyon/;  or  hove  we  reach- 
ed the  ultlmote  limit?     I  answer,  we  have 
not  reached  it.     When  we  look  out  upon  the 
Teavena.  we  find  not  only  hundreda,  but  thou- 
sands, omi.  with  the  aid  of  the  telescope  tens 
of  thousands  of  islands,  all  as  magnificent  oa 
this  mighty  cluster  with  which  we  are  united, 
who^aun^s  number  hundreds  of   mdlions. 
Now,  can  we  tell  anything  about  their  dis- 
fanre  t     Can  we  locate  them  in  atrato,  a«  we 
l,H:ate  the  atara  belonging  to  our  own  ay  a  em? 
I  answer  yea:  it  ia  easy  to  estimate,  with  a 
eiven-aized  aperture  to  anv  instrument,  how 
far  It  will  discerna  starof  tlie  fij't.'n'gn'.'^lj*: 
In  case  it  be  removed  till  it  la  juat  visible 
through  the  great  fifty-four  feet  telescope  of 
Lord^Rosse,Tt  is  ascertained  that  the  dinance 

is  no  great  that  ita  light  .^11  toke  -"xty  thou- 
sand yeara  to  wine  ita  flight  to  us.     Remem- 
ber, tTiis  ia  one  solitary  ob  ect-a  single  star. 
Sanpoae  it  were  possible  to  gather  up  the 
coTsffition  of  nSes.  which  is  another 
universe  somewhat  like  our  own,  and  ao  near 
Tua  that  by  the  aid  of  the  "r^'nary  ins  ra- 
ments  it  is  found  to  be  composed  of  brilliant 
^:?;     let  us  move  it  backward  and   b«k- 
ward  till  the  mighty  eye  of  Lord  Ros«>» 
crcat  telescope  ust  loses  sight  of  it.     W>iere 
E  YOU  it  wiil  be  ?    I  am  almost  afraid  to 
te    YOU  the  distance;  it  actually  overwhelma 
the  Snd;  it  gives  auch  on  idea  of  infinity  that 


itseemsimpoasibletocomprehen  t.  Thirty 
million,  of  yeara  will  it  require  for  the  light  to 
winit  ita  flight  before  it  can  reach  thia  earth. 

Such  are  the  distances  we  are  permittul  to 
penetrate  into  apace.  I  have  had  the  o,v,,or. 
Lity  of  examining  a  large  num»,er  of  th..»e 
magnificent  objects  with  one  of  the  hne«  ■,.- 
strumenta  ever  mounted.  We  hn.l  among 
them  every  possible  variety  of  f"'^'"-  7« 
find  theae  clustera  aometimes  m  a  globular 
figure,  occasionally  forming  a  nng  of  light,  as 
fb«  Milkv  WaY,  and.  in  short,  in  every  |)o«- 
i"le  fantLk  s^ipe  imaginable,  and  st^  they 
ore  all  governed  by  one  law-all  subject  to 
the  influence  of  gravitation,  and  their  stability 

"  ThavS'apoken  of  the  distance  of  the  atara. 
I  intend  now  to  carry  you  «1«"K  J'»»».'^,"r 
pve  yon  an  idea  of  the  period,  of  motwn 
fmong  these  mighty  objects.     We  know  that 
the  stara  which  compose  our  own  ayatem  arc 
not  fixed,  but  are  moving,  and  wr  have  reason 
to  believe  that  theae  remote  fjects  are  en- 
ergized by  the  same   pnnciple.     >\  e   find, 
moreover,  these  mighty  clusters  seen™  to  be 
scattered  through  apace  not  ""lifTerently,  but 
by  a  certain  law.     It  is  strange  that  a  certain 
stream  of  them  happena  to  occupy  a  position 
nearly  perpendicular  to  the  direction  of  the 
Milky  WS  itself.    Now  when  we  return 
home  again  and  commence  an  examination  of 
Srown  ayatem,  we  have  to  start  with  more 
minute,   smaller  periods.     We  find   among 
double  stars  some  moving  swiftly. ,  »«  ""' 
cules  there  is  one  whose  »"»»'""  '»*"  P"" 
ceptible  that  you  can  observe  the  c^-""??  »"" 
aVew  nights.     It  performs  lU  revolution  m 
thirty-seven  years  only.     There  is  another  m 
tSe  northern  crown,  which  completes  lU  rev- 
olution in  forty-two  y*";."'.™  we  are 
carried  by  analogy  atill  further,  to  the  coii- 
St1o7of  the  fiion,  where  there  i.  a  quad- 
ruple set,  formed  by  two  '»«V^<^    V.-«  »^« 
one  of  these  revolves  in  one  thousand  and  the 
Xrintwo  thousand  years;  and,  inasn^uch 
as  the  whole  four  are  awecning,   by  their 
prop«»r  motion,  together  through.  a,,ace  in  rela- 
Sve'  company,  there  is  ^^ery  reason  to  believe 
they  constitute  one  system :  and  in  case  that 
be  true,  the  motion  of  one  of  the  double  sets 
Lut  the  other  can  not  be  less  tjan  one  .mil- 
ion  years.     Thua  immense  are  their  penods , 
but  what  is  this  compared  with  the  vast  cir- 
cuit of  our  sun  itself.  ,  J  r„-.»«.l 
In  the  course  of  lectures  previously  delivered 
in  this  city,  I  attempted  to  ahow  to  tW  who 
heard  me'how  it  was  that  Maedler  had  re- 
cently determined  the  central  ?«•"*  '"  ««' 
great%tratum,  or  the  «,nrce  about  wh.ch^l 
fhe  stars, including ouraunitseinare  perfom.^ 
ing  their  mighty  revolutton.    Now,  althougn 
wl  can  not  rely  implicitly  upon  all  hia  deduc 


'  it.  Thirty 
tr  the  light  to 
1  this  earth. 

permittfcl  to  I 
id  the  oppnr- 
riber  of  th"f»e 
the  finent  in- 
Hnil  nmoDK 
■  form.  We 
in  a  jrlobnlar 
ng  of  light,  as 
in  every  \m»- 

and  still  they 
all  subject  to 

their  stability 

e  of  the  stars. 
;  with  me  and 
odt  of  motinn 
We  know  that 
wn  system  arc 
vp  have  reason 
objects  are  en- 
le.     We   find, 
srs  seem  to  be  , 
diflerently,  but  j 
;  that  B  certain    I 
cupy  a  position 
tirection  of  the 
hen  we  return 
examination  of 
itart  with  more 
Vc  find   among 
iftly.    In  Her- 
rtion  is  so  per- 
the  change  after  .. 
its  revolution  in  [1 
ere  is  another  in    ' 
impletes  ito  rev- 
Then  we  are 
her,  to  the  con- 
there  is  a  quad- 
I  of  double  stars : 
housand  and  the 
;  and,  inasmuch 
!cping,   by  their 
igh  sjiace  in  rela- 
reason  to  believe 
and  in  case  that 
f  the  double  sets 
ess  than  one  mill- 
ire  their  periods ; 
vith  the  vast  cir- 

evionsly  delivered 
ihow  to  those  who 
Maedler  had  re- 
itral  point,  in  our 
:e  about  which  all 
itself,  are  perform- 
I.  Now,  although 
upon  all  his  deduc- 


PBACB  B0CIBTIB8. 


321 


ti(.ns  V«t  that  he  has  made  a  close  approxi- 
tmns,  y"v  .  .  ^^  adopt  his 

iHh  n  we  r^re  to  have  the  measure  of 
II  men  w« .    ^,i,ie  almost  to 


And  we  may  «•>  «>"«  •*«?  f«"^"'''.  ^^  "^J 
.oM  ha've  anV.dea  of  the  -"---"re'l 
a.)d.  let  us  for  a  moment  reftfct  that  th.  re  s 
not  a  ".litary  particle  of  matter  throushout 
S  unrverH,/.h'at  is  not  operating,  to  .hnnub 

romulete  iu  orbil  about  im.  n— "•  -    ,»,«  movements  of  every  other  purticle.     ino 

Ken  we  desire  to  have  the  measure  of    ^^^^^Tr  has  shown  the  most  trnnscendent 
terS,it.eem.thatitUpoM«ble»lm.^^^^  ,^,  perturbai.on  of  a 

accompH-h  it  even  here  in  time.  1- ..r  let  ««  «^"'""j:^.;  ,!„,„'  bcxlies  belonging  to  h.s  "wn 
I^pS  the  hundred  million,  o  sun.  to  i«  r^y,^*",^  ,  ^^  Ood  ha.  compute,  the  vertur- 
ur^  eTunder  the  -ti-m/.f  that  A  lm.ghty|..w-  Uy    e^^^  ^  .^  ^^3  ,„,i      „„..^r.e. 

Z  that  started  them  in  their  orbits.  '  »"'y  "",  .  ),„„w»  precise  y  how  much  nfluence 
.weep  on    and  one  hundred    and   seventeen    and  he  Km.wy  y  ^^^  ^^0    other 

mSs  of  yeur.  roll  round  bo  ore  the  sun    c^     »    e«rted  J  y^  '""V^'rYCs, "' 

coinplishes  his  mighty  journey.     ^"^3k„„^*  f^U   well   that  this  mighty   sy.'*!  ««. 
2  all  back  again  to  the  •«";«X^^'^\.'::;:    ^h "h  he  has  calculated  with  .nhnUe  wmdom 
tuH.,  if  the  ratio  is  anything  l.k^,  wh«t  ^.^^    ^^j  .Kill,  is  so  arranged  that  it  shall  be  i«r 
pose  it  to  be.  taking  the  »'"«'"  'fJ'S'^,.    pctual-that  it  shall  never  end. 
,ur  own  sun  and  nolar  -yst*-""  "1.      „11  J  to  in 

then  indee<l  will  we  run  """"'.S'^'/J,  Z  ■ 

finity  and  vhroaghouteiernity  iUelf.b«-ior^^^^^ 
shall  have  accomplished  one  great  revolution 

-i?r;.' t'  r^hing.  *»,  *«  - '"jj «: 

unward  to  the  contemi)latu)i.  of  he  attnbutes 
0 •  n'm  who  sustain,  ail  things  by  the  m.gh 

°^sr^::e'if^;otVou;rkt;:;'hf/g!o:5! 


ii 


PEACE  SOCIETIES. 

'     r.viLiXED  nation,  are  evidently  for  a  ocason 

tired  of  war      The  universality  of  the  change 

l^arce  less  remarkable  than  its  suddenneM. 


thousands  of  other  •^«^«- V^/  "you  wo"uid 
compute  the  result.  B^J^;"'"^;  ^^n  ^omind 
have  an  idea  ot  the  eiernuy  h°'""  m. 

the  thought  that  all  J-;, -'J^^  wr^«;„  J^i: 


nel  cdtodon  harness  in  self-defence— oi  oeing 
Summoned  to  the  battle-field  by  the  plea^ng 
rs  of  sisters,  chUdren    and  wiv.     The 


mmm 


„p.e...on«r  k»  *"J,  ,i„  .Hion  «Uh  .he 
earth,  which  i«  now  ""/•"    IJ     .,    ..  ^^  j„. 

hehitenu  th..  •"' X^J^'^.'.T  "Sh  mw 

ivr^;is;r.r^r;Wh»ii»,5^ni»o.^^^ 


—the  diffusion  of  intormauo..  ». "  "-  -.-- 
of  knowledge  more  stnctly  "ff^"^"/"  "' "^ 
tnre  mav  have  done  aomething— the  expe 
"„rn/tKB  national  benefit  consequent  upon 

EnIS -=;!»•« 

any  other  we  could  specify,     me  i  _ 
J  .  ■    ,  ■ ^,.\  linvB  beco 


prehend  it. ~~^ 


»»t 


'^"T' 


%» 


'«*» 


III 


322 


FBACB  800IBTIKS. 


i«Un.(i  h«vo  got  tick  of  p««try.  Bynm  ef- 
fcrtPil  thp  Utter  change  just  aa  Napoleon  ac- 
omplinhp.!  the  other.  In  Ixrth  ca»ea  the  thing 
was  ovi'nirivin.  and  aatialion  haa  succeeded 
in  brgi'ttinK  disgust. 

Tired  of  war,  men  are  now  cultivating  the 
acicnci-s,  studyinff  politics,  reailing  boc>ks  and 
periixiicala  in  which  useful  information  and 
harmless   amusement  are  delightfully  com- 
bined.    This,  however,  will  not  of  itself  pre- 
vent them  eventually   from  relapsing  anew 
into  the  military  mania  of  other  days;  the 
old  spirit  will  come  back  u|K>n  the  world  un- 
less something  much  more  etVective  is  accom- 
plished than  that  which  the  mere  |H)litician, 
philosopher,  or  sage,  can  at  any  time  achieve^ 
But  it  is  obvious  that  the  same  cause  which 
at  present  facilitates  the  spread  of  merely 
secular,  facilitates  also  the  diflTusion  of  that 
more  iin|>ortant  learning  by  means  of  which, 
men,  by  becoming  wise  for  eternity,  become 
wise  also  for  time.     What  then  is  ihe  imme- 
diate duty  of  all  who  wish  well  to  the  best 
interests  of  the  human  roce  7     Is  it  to  waste 
time  in  merely  guessing  at  the  causes  which 
have  contributed' to  the  change  so  often  already 
specilied  ?     This  would  not  be  wise ;  it  would 
be  at  leasi   a  very  questionable  expenditure 
of  talents   and   of  time.      True   philosophy 
teaches  us,  previous  to  an  investigation  of  their 
origin,  to  take  advantage  of  circumstonces  as 
they  are.     Now,  one  thing  is  certoin,  mankind 
have  recently  become  fervent  in  their  praise 
of  peace;  they  are  inclined  to  listen  with  at- 
tentive patience  to  any  one  who  will  take  the 
trouble  of  discoursing  to  them  on  the  subject; 
and  the  man  who,  possessing  the  ability,  does 
not  avoil  himself  of  the  opportunity  which 
this  state  of  things  affords  to  advance  the  in- 
terests of  humanity  by  a  judicious  advocacy 
of  the  "cause  of  peace,"  proves  himself,  if  a 
Christian  at  all.  to  be  less  wise  in  his  gr.iera- 
tion  than  thousands  whose  pretensions  are  far  , 
less  high.      After  these  observations  it    wj 
scarcely  necessary  to  announce  the  deciileil 
pleasure  with  which  we  have  recently      it- 
nessed  the  advantage  which,  in  many  ;)«rt8 
of   the   world,   genuine   philanthropist!,    and 
Christian  patriots  are  taking  of  th*  improved 
tone  of  public  sentiment  and  fecliiig  in  refer- 
ence to  the  evils  of  war  and  the  advantages 
of  peace,  to  inculcate  doctrines  and  deliver 
maxima  calculated,  if  sincerely  imbibed  and 
followed  up,  to  render  permanent  a  change 
which,    but  for  this,   vrxW   assuredly  prove 
eqnaMv  fallaciius  and  temporary. 

Peace  societies,  our  readers  are  aware, 
have  been  in  existence  for  upward  of  thirty 
years.  They  started  into  organized  being,  both 
here  and  in  Great  Britain  (and  what  is  very 
aingular.  almost  simu'taneouslyV,  a  little  after 
the  battle  of  Waterloo.     They  have  since 


•risen   in  some  qoartera   on  the  continent. 
Without  attracting  much  mtice, the  membera 
of  these  institutions  prosecuted  their  philaii 
thropic  purpose  for  years;  and  they  now  hfcvo 
their  reward ;  a  tide  of  public  approbaticm  fa- 
vorable to  the  grand  object  they  are  striving 
to  promote,  is  fast  setting  in.     To  the  United 
StatrN  of  America  is  doe  the  honor  of  the 
actual  formation  of  the  iirst  society,  and  to 
the  city  of  New  York  must  be  awanled  the 
priority  in  this  noble  cause.     A  peace  society 
WRS  formed  here  in  the  year  1815,  as  also  in 
Massachusetts  and  Ohio.     The  London  so- 
ciety for  the  promotion  of  permonent  and  uni- 
versal peace,  was  formally  establishetl  about 
midsummer,  1816,  exactly  one  year  after  the 
awful  events  at  Woterio««     It  had,  however, 
been  projected,  and  preliminary  meetings  had 
been  held  so  eariy  as  1814;   but  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  war,  and  the  intoxicotion  of 
national  glory,  appear  to  have  impeded   irt 
public  establishment.     The  meeting  at  which 
the  formation  of  the  London  society  wojt/e- 
solvctl  on,  was  held  at  the  house  of  Williom 
Allen,  the  eminent  philanthropist  and  philoso- 
pher, lately  deceased,  in  Plough  Court,  in  the 
city  of  London.     It  is  not  uninteresting  to  ob- 
serve the  names  of  the  twelve  men  who  were 
then  first  appointed  as  the  committee  of  the 
infant  society.     The  committee  consisted  of 
the  venerable  and  venerated  Thomas  Clark- 
son,    his    brother  John  Clarkson,   William 
Allen,    William   Crawford,    ChaHes   St<.ke9 
Dudley,  Thomas  Harper,  minister,   Icobert 
Marsden,  Joseph  Tregellis  Price,  Evan  Eces, 
John  Scott,  Frederick  Smith,  and  Tnomas 
Stnrge.     Since  the  fonnation  of  f  .is  society 
in  the  United  Kincdom,  numerov    association)! 
have*         i()rmei=  for  the  sar.'fi  oiyect.     Tlie 
num!    ,     I  tracts  and  publicavions  printed  by 
tli«>  society  to  the  present  time,  is  about  two 
millions;  and  these  tracts  have  been  circulated 
in  various  languages,  and  in  all  the  quarters 
of  the  globe.     But  by  far  th    most  irnjiortant 
labor  of  the  society,  was  the  summoning  of  a 
convention  of  its  friends  from  various  piirts  of 
the  worid,  in  London,  in  1843.     The  object 
of  this  convention  was  to  deliberate  upon  the 
best  means  of  showing  to  the  world  the  evila 
of  war,  and  of  promoting  peace.     The  num- 
ber of  delegates  appointed  was  thrt  e  hundred 
and  twenty-four,  of  wh  in  two  hundrei'    nd 
ninety-two  were  from  Great  Britain  and  ire- 
land,  twenty-six  from  the  United  S.ates  of 
America,  and  six  from  the  continent  of  hn- 
rope.     The  convention  lasted  three  day-^.  and 
was  attended  by  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
of  the  delegates,  besides  a  number  of  visiter? 
both  ladies  and  gentlemen .     The  result  of  this ' 
convention  haa  been  to  give  an  impetus  to  the 
cause  greater  than  it  ever  before  receivpd. 
The  fnendaof  peace  have  been  stimulated, 


vs 


sns 


■«•. 


il 


the  continent. 
I,  the  mcmbert 
I  their  philaii 
they  now  hi.vn 
I p probation  fa- 
ly  are  ftriving 
To  the  United 

honor  of  the 
ociety,  and  to 
;  awanled  the 
L  peace  society 
B15,  o«  bIho  in 
le  London  so- 
lannnt  and  uni- 
[alil'thwl  about 
ear  after  the 

.jod,  however, 
y  meetings  had 
;  but  the  con- 
intoxication  of 
le  impeded  it* 
eeting  at  which 
wcietv  was  re- 
use of  William 
list  and  philoso- 
;h  Court,  in  the 
iteresting  to  ob- 

men  who  were 
immittce  of  the 
tee  consisted  of 
Thomas  Clark- 
rkson,  William 
Charles  Stokes 
ninister,  liobert 
•ice,  Evan  liees, 
h,  and  Thomas 
\  of  f  lis  society 
roT  associationd 
•,>e  object.  Tl»e 
lions  printed  by 
ie,  is  about  two 
c  been  circulated 

all  the  quarter* 
most  imiiortant 

summoning  of  a 
1  various  parM  of 
43.  The  object 
liberate  upon  the 
a  world  ih«>  evil* 
ace.  The  num- 
as  thri  e  hundred 
two  hnndretl  -ind 

Britain  and  ire- 
LJnited  S'-ates  of 
continent  of  E«- 
d  throe  days,  and 
tiundrcd  and  fifty 
umbej  of  visiterc 

The  result  of  this  ^ 
an  impetus  to  the 

before  received. 

been  stimulated, 


and  fresh  energy  \»  infused  into  the.r  opera- 
Sm  The  nuuiber  of  public.t.on.  and  ner,- 
2als  has  ben  extended;  l«c'"'«  •»•;« 
grcutly  incr.a«Ml ;  and  new  auxihanc.  are 
"onHti/ntly  muking  their  appearance. 

While,  however,  much  good  may  have  re- 
.ultcl  fr..m  the  agency  employed  by  such  la 
.titutions  to  circulate  tract,  and  P«"<-''"'* 
favorable  to  their  views,   we  can  not  he  p 
thinking  that  one  of  the  chief  blessings  soci.-ty 
ga  ,.s  from  them  is  the  amount  ot  .nduence 
Lcrci.e.l  over  the  popular  mind  by  the  speech- 
es  dfliver...!  »n  mu  asion  of  their  annual  and 
other  meetingH.     TracU  and  magazines  are 
all  very  well?  we  also  decidedly  appr<.vo  of 
the  advice  given  from  so  many  «l""'«»  '" 
reference  to  international  addres«!s;  but  for 
nnnlucing  a  general  sensation,  there  is  nothing 
^  cllcctive  S.  a  ^ckA  speech.     Even  the  con- 
vention  referred  to,  but  for  the  eh^quence  "f 
many   of  its  public  speakers,   would   have 
K;arce  achieved  the  triumphs  it  has  subse- 
quently gained.     These  speeches  are  not  mere 
aeclamatory  harangues  holding  ^^P  *«' ^^  «; 
testation  by  a  mere  exhibition  of  "•  »«>rro" . 
nor  .1.J  they  adv.Kjate  peace  merelv  from  the 
temporary  blessing  it  is  inculcated  to  impart. 
Se'^r  tendency  is  to  exhibit  how  utterly  a 


1  neir  icnueiicjf  m  •"  ^y —  -- 
variance  with  the  pr.nciples  of  the  gosp  , 
Christ  are  the  exercise  or  cultivation  of  those 
feelitiKS  in  which  war  originates.     N«'W  this 
is  what  all  along  vre  would  be  at.     We  may 
no  doubt    idvance  many  ««f  "*  »8''"*' *"' 
and  in  fav.^oi.pcace;  but  why  "houkl  ^ehev- 
er.  in  a  tiy^J.on  from  God  not  just  begin  at 
the  beginnirg  f     Why  not  »peak  out  wuh 
feariess.r.so  and  fidelity  T     Why  "ot  ""y   J^' 
men  u:e  by  nature  lovers  of  war-that  though, 
from  the  ndluence  of  the  same  causes  »ha» 
rerid^r  men  tc.  a  time  tired  of  any  h  ng,  the 
civilized  human  family  are  at  present  dispowd 
to  vote  war  a  nuisance,  they,  notwithstanding, 
vvhen  the  m<..d  comes  round,  will  be  as  much 
inclined  for  it  as  ever  ?     If  we  be  .verse  to  w  a  , 
because  we  are  l^e'^^'Chmtians  than  our 
forefathers,  it  is  good;  but  if  the  (eehng  on- 
ginate  merely  in  being  tired  ^r  a  time  of  the 
game,  it  will  not  be  lasting.     Now.  however 
fs  the  time  f.-r  the  Christian  philanthropist  to 
bestir  himself.     Christianity  alone  canrender 
permanent  a  change  whicti  ongmated  in  a 
mere  satiotion  of  war  as  a  trade.     Let  Chns- 
tian  ministers,  therefore,  bring  the  subject 
prominently  before  the  minds  of  the  hearers, 
giving  distinct  utterance  to  the  truth,  that,  as 
the  gospel  of  Christ  recommends  pe^e,  so 
notning  but  the  same  gospel  can  render  peaa 
permanent.     A  better  moment  than  the  pres- 
ent can  not  be  supposed  tor  the  '"culcation  of 
such  doctrines,  appalled  and  agonized  as  we 
have  been  by  the  recent  Mexican  war.     Let 
therefore  as  many  meetings  as  possible  be  got 


UD  for  the  puriKMM)  of  bringing  out  the  views 

„f  tho«>  wU  believe  that  '"»"'*'"••  P''"''"'/! 
b,  kept  from  relapsing  inU)  their  old  martial 
propensities  by  the  inlluence  of  genuine  Chris- 
iaiity;  for  we  can  not  conceal  a  suspicion 
ha    tK.  little  stress  ha.  been  laid  ufMrn  this 
view  of  things.     To  judge  turm  the  lanRuaKe 
which  many  use.  we  might  •>•««;. f-'l^y/l"' 
human  nature  «  in'P"?^'"*"' ''^''-1*''^^,;" 
are  becoming  pcacetul.just  through  the  ditlu- 
Mon  of  «:ience  and   literature       ^^^vmthan 
alas.  i.  not  to  b.  no  easily  tamed !     1  hey  have 
rcaa  history  to  little   purncMK.  wh,.  are  no 
aware  that  men  naturally  love  to  go  to  war, 
that  they  must  have  s<imething  to  do--*ome- 
thing  to  excite  them ;  and  that  the  r.iamaot  war 
will  never  yie'd  to  the  mere  mtluence  of  peace 
«)cietie.  unless  they  recognise  Christianity  as 
the  only  system  that  can  ultimately  regenerate 
mankind.     This,  we  are  ^M  to  '»'««"ver.  he 
member,  of  peace  institutions  are  almost  uni- 
versally doing:  and  this  being  the  case. j-e 
must.  In  the  use  of  our  influence,  bid  them 
S-«P«ed-      What  so  desirable  a.  peace- 
what'so  terrific  a.  war!     And  yet.  alter  all 
our  experience  of  these   there  ,.  «  pn"<=  1'  « 
in  human  nature  which,  un  ess  checked  by 
the  gospel  of  peace,  will  again  plunge  us  into 
all  iShorrors.'    There  is.  we  again  repeat,  a 
danger  that  at  present  we  mistake  the  mere 
lull  of  the  storm  for  a  permanent  calm;  that 
because  men  are  clamorous  fi.r  peace  now  they 
will  be  so  alwnys.     Nothing  can  reiider  us 
secure  but  the  eradication  of  the  principle,  in 
whkh  war  originates.     This  can  be  actiieved 
by  Christianity  alone.     Let  it  therefore  be 
distinctly  announced  that  such   is  the  fact. 
Shillv-shally  ■-.;«,  while  it  does  good  at  no  time, 
Ts  utterly  ruii^ue  here.    While  the  enemy 
sleeps  let  us  endeavor  to  eradicate  the  tares. 
..Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  peace  on  earth, 
and  g.^  will  to  men !"  ?ornied  the  b,.rden  of 
angelic  song  on  the  night  of  the  hmh  of  the 
PrLe  of  ^eace.     The  principles  he  taught 
when  universally  embraced,  will  hanishwar 
1  from  the  earth ;  but  nothing  else  will.     Sci- 
'  e^,  philosophy,  art,  may  be  cf -ated  whne 
men  are  under  the  influence  °f  » /^"P^^ 
satiation  of  the  game  of  war,  but  these  wiU 
never  eradicate  tTie  principle.     The  tendency 
to  war  has  its  origin  in  elements  with  which 
Se  reli^'on  of  Christ  onlv  can  •uccessfully 
papplef    This,  we  are  glad  to  observe,!. 
m,w  distinctly  recognised  m  the  majority  of 
the  speeches  deUvered  at  peace  meetmgs. 


E:!i 


I 


Thb  Object  or  Education.— The  aim 
of  T^caS  should  be  to  teach  -'"f /^  YoT- 
to  think  than  what  to  thmk-rather  to  im 
Drove  our  minds,  so  a.  to  enable  us  to  thinK 
For  ourselves,  than  to  load  the  memory  with 
the  thoughts  of  other  men. 


iiWr 


'%K 


S 


The  Eom»n  Standard!,  B 


I 


s.  P.  a.  R. 


The  Romans  bor-.  on  their  "'""^"^'J^ 
letters  S.  P.  Q.  R-.  meaning  Senatus  Popwf 
qTRomanlL.  It  has  been  adopte^  by 
certain  religionists  to  e''F«««  t^^^'J^S' 
Sena  populum  quern  redemish.  An  Italian, 
S  entfriSg  Rome,  applied  it,  Somjo^'^^ 
nuesti  Ronfani.  The  protestants  of  (Jermany 
gave  it.  Suhlatopapd  qutelum  regnum,  U^e 
catholics,  Salus  papa  quies  regnu  \  wit, 
seeine  it  inscribed  on  the  chamber  wall  ot  t 
pope,  newly  created,  put  this  question  to  him, 

Sancle  Pater,  quart  "'^"J  .  ^^ITthl 
head  of  the  church  answered  by  t^nimg  the 
letters  the  contrary  way,  Rxdto  quia  papa 
lum. 


WESTERN  SCENERY. 

Thk  traveller  who  first  visits  the  valley  of 
the  west,  advancing  from  the  east  to  the 
Ohio  river,  and  thence  proceeding  westward, 
•    •      lagnificenceofthevegetB- 


is  struck  with  the  m.B.....^— ^-  . 

tion  which  clothes  the  whole  wrf«ce.  The 
vast  extent  and  gloomy  grandeur  of  the  forest, 
the  gigantic  size  and  venerable  antiquity  of 
the  trees,  the  rankness  of  the  weeds,  th« 


luxuriance  and  variety  of  the  ''«'3e/brash.  the 
lone  vines  that  climb  to  the  tops  of  the  tallest 
branches,  the  parasites  that  hang  in  clusters 
from  the  bougL,  the  brilliancy  of  the  foliage, 
iTthe  exuberance  of  the  fruit,  aU  show  . 
land  teeming  with  vegetable  lif«-  JK'"^" 

is  seen  in  its  majesty,  »»>?/""?  ""^reun- 
the  wilderness  is  here.  Here  »  ""^"J^  "" 
sDoiled, and  silence  undisturbed.  A  tewyears 
.M  this  impression  was  more  striking  than  at 
Sei!  for  now.  farms,  villages,  and  even  a 
FeXge  towns,  ire  scattered  over  this  region, 

diver  Jving  its  landscapes,  and  breaking  m 
j3Xacteristicwildnessofitsscenery. 

StUl  there  are  wide  tracts  remaimng  in  a  state 
of  nature  and  displaying  all  the  savage  luxu- 
riance  which  first  attrac^d  the  pioneer;  and 
u^^n  a  gSneral  survey,  its  fe«t?'es  f^  " 
this  day.  to  one  accustomed  only  to  thickly- 
plopled  co^^'ries.  the  same  fresfine^  of  beau- 
[y.and  the  immensity,  through  rudeness  of 
outline,  which  we  hu^e  been  accustomed  to 
iiate  with  the  landscape  of  he  west. 

We  know  of  nothing  more  splendid  than  a 
western  forest.  There  is  a  grandeur  n  the 
immense  size  of  the  tree»-a  richness  in  the 
coSr'fdie  foliage,  superior  to  anything 
that  ".\nown  in  corresponding  latitudes-a 
wildness  and  an  unbroken  stillness  that  attest 
Ae  ab"nce  of  man-above  all  there  is  a  vast- 
iess.  a  boundless  extent,  an  uninterrupted  con- 


■ 


anderbrusli,  the 
ps  of  the  tallest 
lang  in  clusters 
y  of  the  foliage, 
uit,  all  show  a 
ife.  The  forest 
mp  and  pride  of  j 
e  is  nature  un- 
d.  A  few  years 
I  striking  than  at 
iges,  and  even  a 
over  this  region, 
md  breaking  in 
;88  of  its  scenery, 
naining  in  a  state 
the  savage  luxu- 
;he  pioneer  5  and 
latures  present  at 
only  to  thickly- 
reshness  of  beau- 
ugh  rudeness  of 
in  accustomed  to 

of  the  west. 
5  splendid  than  a 

grandeur  in  the 
a  richness  in  the 
erior  to  anything 
iding  latitudes— a 
tillness  that  attest 
all  there  is  a  vast 
uninterrupted  con 


nilvancing  wMtwiinl  as,ceiiu»       _,__,(.„^„ 


ut::^tJ;S;  sS:rr  The  Mo..n,aheh. 
Sng  through  a  mountainous  country,  over- 
hungwith  precipices,  ai.-l  shaded  .,y  heavy 
foreL  with  a  current  suffic.enlly  gentle  to 
be  ea:ily  navigable,  to  steamboat,  has  Us  .pe- 
/-•'  ...k;ok  nrp  mstanil 


.f   ii>i»ixi»<.<'  — -    -       •  ,    .-Up  easily  navigauits  lu  ov-"- •  -  j 

„1  o,cenJ.  1..  Ih.  level  ot     °'.f'!'il^,^,J,  wh«h  are  in.iemlj  l<»t  »*«» 
'■;■',";:;;«  „lai...>.l.ich  c,m,titut..  tin  .-reee    J™"  'Xr  h«i  pM«J  »n  llie  bo«..n  ..I  li.e 

'"'L' clitf  ih  re  S;  den  of  the  rattlesnake    ^^^^'J^Xr^^^^^^^^  ^J  l"^  T'' 

rocky  cliH,  wnerc ^^^^    til  tne  "vcr  uc  unbroken  lorest 


'^::!^s.riY'''«'^?'':»:'f£ 


now  beholds  it  in 


Tint  if  we  leave  the  gentle  current  of  the  Ohio. 
?„"]iTniXKenuckyortheCumel„^^^^ 
WP  aeain  find  rapid  streams,  overhung  witn 
nrecinices,  and  a  country  aboundmg  ui  the 
d  vers  tTes  of  a  wild  and  picturesque  scenery. 
ret:^e  seen  the  rapid  c^^^^^^^^ 


'"  ^'Uln^re't^rCsTbarE^sUte;  but    f:^^",^ ::r  ^^oFr^l '^r..^  the  tail 
""T  W.ls  it  Hts  festal  gurb,  reposing  in    «nde^^^^^  „bove  in  solitary  grandeur. 

%"£  di..i»«lo»  «  ««  ™.6i!»'?  ••  "  ";   IS  ItrSbimeSt  from  .b.  eryj.l 


sec,  theettectot  '^^"Xmeoio^xr  primitive 
1^  ^U'"a°Ey  -iWneTs,  that  tUws  a 
lorests  *,£«*."Vy  the  feelings;  a  some- 

cast  of  '»")^""';i^:"adVlitude%hich  sug- 
thing  m  the  wi»les?reau  »»  ^^^ 

gestf  to  the  «-«"!Litt,rn  the  companion, 
habitations  of  m"n-^j^°"*';„d  the  presence  of 
t'?''^"^''"Cttp?^A;Tand\caJe  awakens 
his  God.  But  tne  P™"'  „  jj^j  pre- 
a  different  tram  of  thought.  H^^^/^  ^  ^f 
dominates   nstead  of  Bh^d^.  and  aj^^^J^^^ 

hue  instead  of  a  weansome  ^^^^^ 


stenances  to  trees  uuu  u  western 

The    scenery    presented   on  the  western 

1  he    scenery  y  ^       ^^^j  different.    1  he 

shore  of  the  Ohio  18  auog  ^^^  ^.^  ^^ 

mountain,  the  rock,  tne  pr  j  traveller, 

torrent,  "««;/"  "»,Sw  over  Indiana,  Illi- 
as  he  wander?  ""^c^^^'^'y^^  wilderness  lying 
nois,  Missouri,  and  "^  v as  j       ((the 

beyond  is  "^""^i'^t^of  ^^^^^^^^  """^ 
fhrriS^^ArfS.  the  beauty,  of  Its 

widespread  meadows.  ^^^  ^,j^ 

I»  "•  .P^J^iT^'ri'rroLe  which  have  been 


dominates  instead  ot  «'}'^"«'' »""  t ';„ee  and       It  «.  pe^^aps,  n«_^"7.;;;~y,lch  have  been 
hue  instead  of  a  wean-meexub^^^^^^^^^^^^  ^^      ^^^ 

monotony  of  verfure,wh,^etm^^^^^^^^  ^^^^^  .^ 

landscape  allows  the  eye  to  rom  jj    g  |  pUins ;  for  they  nave  u^^^    ^,„„^^  of  Asia, 

the  imagination  to  expand,  over  an  e 

m  the  contour  of  the  »"»"!=*;.  "I^^^l  d  stricts. 
Srr^^a^^^Ss^rj^the-e. 


If  the  traveller  .m>Kuo«    ..".j.^---^^^^  ^ 

Snd  intersected  ^^^^JL^P'i  f  Suckyrand 
Pennsylvan^    y,rg -.^K^^^^^^^^^^ 


universally  excitea  "X  "'Yr;  j  ;„  various 
plains;  for  they  have  been  found  m      ^^.^^ 

Jarts  of  ^h^^^'fw^erica  and  the  deserts 
t.STeaUkeisSe  of  timber.    B-f 

whi  e  on^Xto  4"  tation,  and  another  snow- 
to  give  birth  to  y^g""''";, '  x^*  jn  tempe- 
clad  and  «^««Pr'^V^\S  amazing  fertility  of 
rate  climates  and  "i"^' ^^"^  are  va^ous 
goil.  These  facU  «Jow  that  the  ^^^^^^  ^^^ 
causes  inimical  to  the  growth  01         ^^^^^^^^ 


ern  Pennsylvania,  V  irgini«,iv--^»jj^-         ^^^,  i„;„,cal  to  tn^".?"^^,;- spontaneous 


tWi 


w 


f'S^ 


326 


VE8TERN  SCENERY. 


1' 


1^ 


wherever  its  surface  is  left  uncultivated  by 
the  hand  of  man.  The  vegetable  kingdom 
embraces  an  infinite  variety  of  plants,  "trom 
the  cedar  of  Lebanon  to  the  hyssop  that 
growcth  on  the  wall;"  and  the  plan  of  nature, 
in  which  there  is  no  miscalculation,  has  pro- 
vided that  there  shall  be  a  necessary  concate- 
nation  of  circumstances— a  proper  adaptation 
of  soil,  climate,  moisture— of  natural  and 
secondary  causes,  to  produce  and  to  protect 
each  •  just  as  she  has  assigned  the  wilderness 
to  the  Indian,  the  rich  i)08tare  to  the  grazing 
herd,  and  the  Alps  to^the  mountain  goat. 

We  apprehend  that  the  intense  astonish- 
ment with  which  the  American  pioneers  hrst 
beheld   a  nrairie.  and  which  we  all  feel  in 
eazina  ovut  those  singularly  beautiful  plains, 
18  the  Jtesult  of  association.     The  adventurers 
who  preceded  us,  from  the  champaign  districts 
of  France,  have  left  no  record  of  any  such  sur- 
prise;  on  the  contrary,  they  discovered  in 
these  flowery  meadows  something  that  re- 
minded  them  of  home;  and  their  sprightly 
imaginations  at  once  suggested,  that  nothing 
was  wanting  but  the  vineyard,  the  peasant  s 
cottage,  and  the  stately  chateau,  to  render  the 
resemblance  complete.     But  our  iin.'""^«ate 
ancestors  came  from  lands  covered  w    ..  '^  •>t<1, 
and  in  their  minds  the  idea  of  a  wi.-^       >^  *«« 
indissolubly  connected  with  that    t   ■     -iest. 
They  had  settled  in  the  woods  upon  the  shores 
of  the  Atlantic,  and  there  their  ideas  of  a  new 
country  had  been  formed.     As  they  proceeded 
to  the  west,  they  found  the  shadows  of  heavy 
foliage  deepening  upon  their  path,  and  the 
luxuriant  forest  becoming  at  every  step  rnore 
stately  and  intense,  deepening  the  impression, 
that  as  they  receded  from  civilization,  the 
woodland  must  continue  to  accumulate  the 


process  of  rearing  the  annual  flower,  or  the 
more  hardy  varieties  of  grass,  and  with  what 
ease  a  spot  of  ground  may  be  covered  with  a 
camet  of  verdure;   and  we   know   eijually 
well  how  difficult  it  is  to  rear  an  orchard  or  a 
grove,  and  how  numerous  are  the  accidents 
which  ossail  a  tree.     An  expanse  of  natural 
meadow  is  not  therefore  so  much  an  object  of 
curiosity,  as  a  continuous  forest ;  the  former 
coming  rapidly  to  perfection,  with  but  few 
enemies  to  assail    it,   the  latter  advancing 
slowly  to  maturity,  surrounded  by  dangers. 
Hence  there  is  to  my  mind  no  scene  so  im- 
iiosing,  none  which  awakens  sensations  of 
such   admiration  and  solemnity,  as  the  for- 
est standing  in   its  aboriginal  integrity,  and 
hearing  the  indisputable  marks  of  antiquity 
—where  we  stand  upon  a  soil  composed  of 
vegetable  mould,  which  can  only  have  been 
produced  by  the  undisturbed  occumulation  of 
ages,  and  behold  around  us  the  healthful  and 
gigantic  trees,  whose  immense  shafts  have 
been  increasing  in  size  for  centuries,  and  which 
have  stood  during  that  whole  time  exposed  to 
the  lightning,  the  wind,  and  the  frcwt,  and  to 
the  depredations  of  the  insect  and  the  brute. 

The  scenery  of  the jirairie  country  excites 
a  different  feeling.  The  novelty  is  striking, 
and  never  fails  to  cause  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise. The  extent  of  the  prospect  is  ex- 
hilarating ;  the  verdure  and  the  llowera  are 
beautiful;  and  the  absence  of  shade,  and  con- 
sequent appearance  of  a  profusion  of  light, 
produce  a  gayety  which  animates  the  be- 
holder. .     t       I  1 

It  is  necessary  to  explain  that  ir  =  m*  i, 

although  preserving  a  general  level  in  aspect 
to  the  whole  wiuntry,  are  yet  in  themselves 
not  flaU  but  exhibit  »  gracefully-wavmg  sur- 


woodland  must  «>™"«  ^^  *^;^J,;;^^^^^^^^    facefwelu^g  and  sinking  with  ^n  easy  slope 


burst  uiKin  their  enraptured  gaze,  with  its 
widely-extended  landscape,  its  verdure,  its 
flowers,  its  picturescjue  groves  and  all  its  ex- 
(jnisite  variety  of  mellow  shade  and  sunny 

'^Had  our  English  ancestors,  on  the  other 
hand,  first  settled  upon  the  plains  of  Missouri 
and  niinois,  and  the  tide  of  emigraton  were 
now  setting  toward  the  forests  of  Ohio  and 
Kentucky,  climbing  the  rocky  barrios  of  the 
Allegany  ridge,  and  pouring  itself  down  upon 
the  wooded  shores  of  the  Atlantic,  the  ques- 
tion would  not  be  asked  how  the  western 
plains  became  denuded  of  timber,  out  by 
vhat  miracle  of  Providence,  a  vast  region  had 
been  clothed,  with  so  much  regulanty,  with 
the  most  splendid  and  gigantic  productions  of 
nature,  and  preserved  through  whole  centuries 
from  the  devastations  of  the  frost  and  the  hre, 
the  hurricane  and  the  flood.     We  have  all 
remarked  how  simple  and  how  rapid  w  the 


the  unmeaning  horizontal  surface,  and  the  in 

terruption  of  abrupt  or  angular  elevations.    It 

is  that  surface  which,  in  the  expressive  lau- 

guago  of  the  country,  is  called  rdhng,  and 

which  has  been  sai'd  to  resemble   the  long 

heavy  swell  of  the  ocean,  when  its  waves  are 

subsiding  to  rest  after  the  agitation  of  a  storm. 

It  is  to  be  remarked  also,  that  the  praine 

is  almost  always  elevated  in  the  centre,  so 

that  in  advancing  into  it  from  either  side,  you 

see  before  you  only  the  plain,  with  its  curved 

outline  marked  upon  the  sky,  and  forming  the 

horizon,  but  on  reaching  the  highest  point, 

you  look  around  upon  the  whole  ol  the  vast 

The  attraction  of  the  prairie  consists  in  ito 
extent,  its  carpet  of  verdure  aad  flowers,  us 
undulating  surface,  it«  groves,  and  the  hinge 
of  timber  by  which  it  is  surrounded.  Ut  all 
these,  the  latter  is  the  most  expressive  feature 
—it  is  that  which  gives  character  to  the  land- 


r= 


WE8TKHN  8CKNBRY. 


327 


lower,  or  the 
id  with  what 
vercd  with  a 
now  ei|ually 
1  orchard  or  a 
the  accidents 
186  of  natural 
1  an  object  of 

;  the  former 
with  but  few 
er  advancing 

by  dangers. 

scene  so  im- 
gensations  of 
',  as  the  for- 
integrity.  and 
s  of  antiquity 

composed  of 
ily  have  been 
icumulation  of 

healthful  and 
3  shafts  have 
lies,  and  which 
me  exposed  to 
e  frost,  and  to 
nd  the  brute, 
iountry  excites 
;lty  is  striking, 
amation  of  sur- 
rospect  is  ex- 
he  flowers  are 
ihade,  and  con- 
'usion  of  light, 
imates  the  be- 
at tl"       .■"ii*S 
level  ii.  .aspect 
;  in  themselves 
lly-waving  sur- 
1  an  easy  slope, 
^ually  avoiding 
"ace,  and  the  in- 
r  elevations.    It 
expressive  lau- 
ed  rolling,  and 
emble  the  long 
en  its  waves  are 
:ation  of  a  storm, 
that  the  prairie 
n  the  centre,  so 
1  either  side,  you 
,  with  its  curved 

and  forming  the  j 
le  highest  point,  I 
fhole  of  the  vast 

rie  consists  in  its 
asd  flowers,  its 
68,  and  the  fringe 
rounded.  Of  all 
xpresrive  feoture 
rocter  to  the  land- 


KAxw,  which  imparts  the  shape  and  marks  the 
Cndary  of  the  plain.     If  the  pra.r.e  be  small, 
its  greatest  beauty  consists  m  the  vicmity  of 
the  surrounding  margin  of  woodland,  which 
resembles  the  sLre  of  a  lake,  indented  with 
deep  vistas  like  ba;>-s  and  inlets,  and  throwing 
out  long  points,  like  capes  and  headlands; 
while  .^casionally  these  points  approach  so 
close  on  either  hand,  that  the  traveller  passes 
through  a  narrow  avenue  or  strait,  where  the 
shadows  of  the  woodland  fall  upon  his  path, 
and  then  again  emerges  into  another  prairie. 
Where  the  plain  is  large,  the  forest  outbne  is 
seen  in  the  far  perspective  like  the  d,m  shore 
when  beheld  at  o  distance  from  the  ocean.— 
The  eve   sometimes  roams  over  the   green 
meadow,  without  discovering  a  tree,  «  shfub.  , 
or  any  object  in  ihe  immense  expanse,  but  the 
wilderness  of  grass  and  flowers;  while  at  an-  ] 
other  time,  the  prospect  is  enlivened  bv  the 
groves  which  are  seen  interspersed  like  islands, 
or  the  solitary  tree,  which  stands  alone  m  the 
blooming  desert.  j  .t.» 

If  it  bean  the  spring  of  the  year,  and  the 
young  grass  has  just  cov.red  the  ground  with 
a  carpet  of  delicate  green,  and  esoecially  il 
the  sun  is  just  rising  from  behma  a  distant 
swell  of  the  plain,  and  glittenng  upon  the 
dewdrops,  no  scene  can  be  more  lovely  to  the 
eve.  The  deer  is  seen  grazing  quietly  upon 
the  plain;  the  bee  is  on  the  wing;  the  wolt 

.  .  '.  ■      .    M   J 1    :»  «noo1rin>r  nwnv  tO  hlS 


the  plain;  the  nee  is  on  luc  •.ri-.j^,  ...-••---- 
with  his  tail  dropped  is  sneaking  away  to  his 
covert  with  the  felon-tread  of  one  who  is 
conscious  that  he  has  disturbed  the  peace  of 
nature;  and  the  grouse  feetling  m  flocks  or  in 
pairs,  like  the  domestic  fowl,  cover  the  whole 
surface— the  males  strutting  and  erecting  their 
plumage  like  a  peacock,  and  uttering  a  long, 
loud,  mournful  note,  something  like  the  cooing 
of  the  dove,  but  resembling  still  more  the 
sound  produced  by  passing  a  rough  finger 
boldly  over  the  surface  of  a  tamborine.     1  he 
number  of  these  birds  is  astonishing.     Ihc 
plain  is  covered  with  them  in  every  direction , 
and  when  they  have  been  driven  from  the 
ground  by  a  deep  snow,  we  have  seen  thou- 
tand*-or  more  properly  tens  of  thousands- 
thickly  clustered  in  the  tops  of  the  trees  sur- 
roundfng  the  prairie.    They  do  not  retire  as 
the  country  becomes  settled,  but  con  mue  to 
lurk  in  the  tall  grass  around  the  newly-made 
farms;  and  we  have  sometimes  seen  them  1 
mingled  with  the  domestic  fowls,  at  a  short 
distance  from  the  fanner's  door.     They  will 
eat  and  even  thrive  when  confined  in  a  coop, 
and  may  undoubtedly  become  domesticated. 

When  the  eye  roves  off"  from  the  green  plam 
to  the  groves  or  points  of  timber,  these  also 
are  found  to  be  at  this  season  robed  in  the 
m^t  attractive  hues.  The  rich  undergrowth 
S  in  full  bloom.  The  red-bud,  the  dog-wood. 
tU  crab-apple,  the  wild  plumb,  the  cherry, 


the  rose,  are  abundant  in  all  rich  lands;  and 
the  grape-vine,  though  its  bloom  is  unseen, 
fills  the  air  with  fragrance.  The  variety  of 
the  wild  fruit  and  flowering  shrubs  is  so  great, 
and  such  the  profusion  of  the  blossoms  with 
which  they  are  bowed  down,  that  the  eye  is 
regaled  almost  to  satiety.  ,   „•  . 

The  uayetv  of  the  praine,  its  embellish- 
ments, and   tlie  absence  of  the   gloom   and 
savage  wildness  of  the  forest,  all  contribute  to 
dispel   the   feeling  of   lonesomeness,   wliich 
usually  creeps  over  the  mind  of  the  solitary 
traveller  in  the  wilderness.     Though  he  nia;y 
not  see  a  house  nor  a  human  being,  and  is 
conscious  that  he  is  far  from  the  habitations 
of  men.  he  con  scarcely  divest  himself  of  the 
idea  that  he  is  travelling  through  scenes  em- 
I  bellished  by  the  hand  of  art.     The  flowers, 
so  fragile,  so  delicate,  and   so  ornamental, 
seem  to  have  been  tastefully  disiwsed  to  adorn 
I  the  scene.     The  groves  and  clumps  of  trees 
appear  to  have  been  scattered  over  the  lawn 
to  beautify  the  landscaiie,  and  it  is  not  easy  to 
avoid  t'lat  decision  of  the  fancy  which  per-  , 
suades  the  beholder,  that  such  scenery  has 
been  created  to  grotify  the  refined  taste  of 
civilized  man.     Europeans  are  often  reminded 
of  the  resemblance  of  this  scenery  to  that  of 
the  extensive  parks  of  noblemt;  which  they 
have  been  accustomed  to  adroir.  in  the  old 
worid;  the  lawn,  the  avenue,  the  grove,  the 
copse,  which  are  there  produced  by  art.  are  | 
here  prepared  by  nature ;  a  splendid  specimen 
of  mossy  architecture,  and  the  distant  view 
of  villages,  are  alone  wanting  to  render  the 
I  similitude  complete. 

In  the  summer  the  praine  is  covered  w  th 
long  coarse  grass,  which  soon  assumes  a  gold- 
en  hue,  and  waves  in  the  wind  bke  a  npe 
harvest.— Those  who  ha-  e  not  a  personal 
knowledge  of  the  subient  would  be  deceived 
by  the  accounts  whicli  are  pub  ished  of  the 
heights  of  the  grass.    It  «  seldom  «?  t^H  as 
i  travellers  have  represented,  nor  does  it  attain  | 
its  highest  growth  in  the  nchest  soil.    In  the 
bw  wet  prairies,  where  the  substratum  of 
clay  lies  near  the  surface,  the  centre  or  main 
stem  of  this  grasa,  which  bears  the  seed,  ac- 
quires great  thickness,  and  shoots  up  to  the 
Light  of  eight  or  nine  feet,  throwing  ou    a 
few  short  coamo  leaves  or  blades,  and  the 
1  traveller  often  finds  it  higher  thanhis  head  as 
he  rides  through  it  on  horseback.     The  plants, 
although  numerous,  and  standing  close  togeth- 
er, appear  to  grow  singly  and  unconnected,  the 
whole  force  of  the  vegetative  power  expand- 
ing itself  upward.     Butintherichundulating 
priiries.  the  grass  is  finer,  with  le«yf  «  ^"^^ 
and  a  greater  profusion  of  leaves.     The  roots 
spread  and  interweave  so  as  to  fonnacom. 
pact  even  sod,  and  the  blades  expand  into  a 
£e  thick  sward,  which  is  seldom  more  than 


'•«ll 


iiii 


i*«^ 


^% 


^Sl 


'"^ll*- 


328      CO 


NNEXION  BETWEEN  COMMERCE  AND  INTELLECTUAL  EMINENCE. 


eighteen  inchcB  high  and  often  le«,  ;jrtil  late 
in  the  season  when  the   seed-beanng  stem 

'  'The  first  coat  of  grass  is  mingled  with  small 
flowers;  the  violet,  the  bloom  of  the  straw- 
berry, and  others  of  the  most  mmute  and  deh- 
cate  texture.     As  the  grass  increases  in  siM 
these  disappear,  and  others,  tal  er  and  more 
eaudy,  display  their  brilliant  colors  upon  the 
ireen  surface,   and  still  later  a  larger  and 
coarser  succession  rises  with  the  nsmg  tjde 
of  verdure.     A  fanciful  writer  asserts,  that 
the  prevalent  color  of  the  prairie-flowers  is  m 
the  spring  a  bluish  purple,  in  midsummer  red, 
and  in  the  autumn  yellow.     This  is  one  of  the 
notions  that   people  gst.  who  study  nature 
by  the  fireside.     The  truth  is,  that  the  whole 
„f  the  surface  of  these  beautiful  plains  is  clad 
throucrhout  the  season  of  verdure  with  every 
imaginable  variety  of  color,  "from  grave  to 
gayr"     It  is  impossible  to  conceive  a  more  in- 
finite diversity,  or  a  richer  profusion  of  hues, 
or  tx)  detect  any  predominating  tint,  except  the 
green,  which  forms  the  beautiful  ground,  and 
relieves  the   exnuisite  brilliancy  of  all  the 
others.     The  only  changes  of  color  observed 
at  the  different  seasons  arise  from  the  circum- 
stance that  in  the  spring  the  flowers  are  small 
and  the  colors  delicate ;  as  the  heat  becomes 
more  ardent  a  hardier  race  appears,  the  flow- 
ers attain  a  greater  size,  and  the  hue  deepens; 
and  still  later  a  succession  of  coarser  plants 
rise  above  the  tall  grass,  throwing  out  larger 
and  gaudier  flowers.     As  the  season  advances 
from  spring  to  midsummer,   the  individual 
flower  becomes  less  beautiful  when  closely 
inspected,  but  the  landscape  is  far  more  vane- 
gated,  rich,  and  glowing. 

In  the  winter,  the  prairies  present  a  gloomy 
and  desolate  scene.     The  fire  has  passed  over 
them,  and  consumed  every  vegetable  sub- 
stance, leaving  the  soil  bare,  and  the  surface 
perfectly  black.      That    gracefully  waving 
outUne  which  was  so  attractive  to  the  eye 
when  clad  in  green,  is  now  disrobed  of  all  Us 
ornaments ;  its  fragrance,  its  notes  of  joy,  and 
the  grace  s  of  its  landscape,  have  all  vanished, 
and  the  bosom  of  the  cold  earth,  scorched  and 
discolored,  is  alone  visible.     The  wind  sighs 
mournfully  over  the  black  plain ;  but  there  is 
no  object  to  be  moved  by  its  influence — not  a 
tree  to  wave  its  long  arms  in  the  blast,  nor  a 
reed  to  bend  its  fragile  stem — not  a  leaf  nor 
even  a  blade  of  grass  to  tremble  in  the  breeze. 
There  is  nothing  to  be  seen  but  the  cold  dead 
earth  and  the  bare  mound,  which  move  not — 
and  the  traveller  with  a  singular  sensation, 
almost  of  awe,  feels  the  blast  rushing  over 
ktm,  while  not  an  object  visible  to  the  eye,  is 
seen  to  stir.     Accustomed  as  the  mind  is  to 
associate  with  the  action  of  the  wind  its  op- 
i    eratinn  upon  surrounding  objects,  and  to  see 


nature  bowing  and  trembling,  and  the  frag- 
menU  of  matter  mounting  upon  the  wind  as 
the  storm  passes,  there  is  a  novel  eflijct  pro- 
duced on  the  mind  of  one  who  feels  the  cur- 
rent of  air  rolling  heavily  over  him,  while 
nothing  moves  around. 


CONNEXION  BETWEEN  COMMERCE 
AND  INTELLECTUAL  EMINENCE. 

BT   ARCHIBALD    ALISON,    THE  HISTORIAN. 

TiiKRE  is  a  natural  connexion  which  has 
made  itself  manifest  in  every  age,  between 
commerce  and  intellectual  eminence;  and  the 
greatest  steps  in  human  improvement,  the 
greatest  marvels  of  human  exertions,  have 
arisen  from  their  combination.     It  was  to  the 
commercial  city  of  Tyre  thnt  we  owe  the  in- 
vention of  letters— that  wonderful  and  almost 
superhuman  discovery,  which  first  gave  per- 
manence to  the  creations  of  thought,  and  sends 
forth  the  "  winged  words,"  of  genius,  to  make 
the  circuit  of  the  globe,  and  charm  while  it 
endures.     It  was  its  fortunate  situation  on  the 
highway  from  Asia  to  Europe,  since  reopened 
by  British  enterprise,  which  gave  its  early 
celebrity  and  enduring  fame  to  ancient  Egypt ; 
and  we  owe  to  the  caravans  of  the  desert, 
more  even  than  to  the  power  of  the  Pharaohs, 
those  wonderful  structures,  the  pyramids  of 
Cairo,  and   temples  of  Luxor,  which   after 
1  the  lapse  of  four  thousand  years,  still  stand 
I  ''erect  and  unshaken  above  the  floods  of  the 

Nile  " 

IU.m«  herself,  the  mistress  of  the  world, 
owed  her  vast  and  enduring  domination  mainly 
to  the  enerries  of  commerce;  and  we  have 
only  to  cast  our  eyes  on  the  map,  and  behold 
he/  provinces  clustered  round  the  waters  of 
the  Mediterranean  to  be  convinced  that  more 
even  than  to  the  arms  of  the  legions,  her  pow- 
er was  owing  to  the  strength  of  the  maritime 
cities  which  glittered  along  its  shores.     It  was 
the  caravans  of  the  des-srt  which  raised  those 
wonderful  structures  which  still,  at  Tadntior 
and  Palmyra,  attest  the  niagnificence  ot  the 
1  queen  of  the  cast,  and  attract  the  admiration 
of  the  European  traveller.     It  was  in  com- 
mercial Alexandria  that  alone  a  library  was 
formed,  worthy  of  the  vast  stores  of  ancient 
knowledge;  and  when  the  «'"™";°"  "^ „^« 
consuls  had  fallen,  and  the  arm  of  the  Roman 
could  no  longer  defend  Italy  fr*""  t^^!,^!^' 
of  the  barbarians,  the  incomparable  situation 
end  commercial  greatness  of  Constantinople 
perpetuated,  for  a  thousand  yeara  longer,  on 
the  frontier  of  barbarian  wilds,  the  empire  of 


■  !-~Ali n  Ji>i.AViSRifSWW?, 


ENCE. 


1 


itid  tho  frag- 
the  wind  as 
ul  efl<:r,t  pro- 
eels  the  cur- 
r  him,  while 


COMMERCE 
aiNENCE. 

HISTORIAN. 

on  which  ha« 

age,  betwetH) 
lence;  and  the 
roveinent,  the 
(ertions,  have 

It  was  to  the 
ne  owe  the  in- 
•ful  and  almost 
first  gave  per- 
ught,  and  sends 
;enius,  to  make 
harm  while  it 
lituation  on  the 

since  reopened 
gave  its  early 
ancient  Egypt ; 

of  the  desert, 
f  the  Pharaohs, 
le  pyramids  of 
ir,  which  after 
sars,  still  stand 
de  floods  of  the 


I  of  the  world, 
mination  mainly 
;  and  we  have 
lap,  and  behold 
\  the  waters  of 
inced  that  more 
jgions,  her  pow- 
of  the  maritime 

shores.  It  was 
lich  raised  those 
still,  at  Tadmor 
»nificence  of  the 
t  the  admiration 

It  was  in  com- 
ne  a  library  was 
stores  of  ancient 
dominion  of  'he 
rm  of  the  Roman 

from  the  swcrds 
parable  situation 
if  Constantinople 

years  longer,  on 
ds,  the  empire  of 


^fulV"«^«!''«'fXr"nce  that  a  rival  was 
ufacturing  cuy  of  I-  oren«  tnai 

found  in  D'"«^''"'^^/,u"'?  Venice  that 
etry;  in  the  f  "^^^f  "^^^  Yustre  oTthe  c.n- 
painting  rose  to  ^«  »^  f -\']f;,h  that  daring 
vasof  \'V''"-"f",t  the  boundaries  of  an- 
spint,  which  first  l'"^^;"  .  j,,  European 
c  ent  knowledge,  an.l   <v\P";X  ^hemisphere. 

Camoens  to  celebrate  ^^  S'""j,g„„  „f '„en.  , 
aSd  for  ever  enshr.nc  it  m  the  near  j 

Great  as  these  ■><--l"«J„XVe  It  U  in  the  j 
Tttirc'lerce  and  .^-Uect  «^  tc,  i 
Setera^SS:^^^ 

a  commercial  <=''X-'"  ,X TrnfRubens  was 
exniuiu".  y^    storms  ot  na- 

rics  of  W an,  ot  '"'^7'S'  \l.,  [he  arm.  of 
which  arrayed  ih.  force,  thjt  me  _  ^ 

*'"l"'"^?Kr,SlrcL."hi=h..bjec»d 
";  n  "™  V  Zi.  SSbW  the  prodigy 

&:td  ?K^«^  Bhnix 
tr^iiraJfJ^ferS'S; 

RitoTctS.ilSS.»tcTn 
region,  of  the  sun- 


inn  i»uiiii». — 

T»r  naiTitar  of  huin.n  being,  on  the  earth  i. 

1  ,Xied  at  nearly  one  thou.and  million. :  all 
calculated  at  neat  y  ^^  ^^^    ^^^ 

theae  are  fed  troin  tne  FV"  „ro.Iuce  of 

for  ...n  ammal  f;»-  »  '«;     *"  .^  „.„,,, 

and  drop.  *"  Sjc  "a  W  <"f™'1" '>»■ 

-rSs:ii:tiE»te.e»r." 
F  tSSiisr^- -  ;^ 

'"Syts'^eiS-r^is 

'%'u?rhetffi  does  not  come  to  its  limit 

S^^e=E5BB«« 
The  Sup  d  mXns  range  freely.,  and  are 

S'Tndafly,  in  -8--;- ^-^^Vng" 
never  struck  a  spade.     We  speaK  |^ 

of  common  ^no^^l^'^.f :     ;eaUns  of  t^e  New 

Worid,  to  wuicn  m  ^        migration  of 

r^i^eds^hmyr^tjat 

Afrtc  J  is  almo/master  of  the  bnd 

Who  feeds  those  millions  ?  1  ^'^j^^f"  Pf  ,- 
du«  nothing  for  themselves  Bu  th-^^^^ 
«  spread  upp  the  ground     and  their  p^^  .^^  ^^ 

l££-£SnS^"elSfur- 
"'S  fhfsiStT/man'^d'the  quadruped 

E3rofTSS:heinsectUes.are 
all  to  be  fed  from  the  ground. 

Another  race  ^J^"  f  °Se  fow  s  of  ^e  ai?. 
SrSp^f  n-uteSn-ct  cal^^^^^^  their 


.«•*»!» 


330 


MASSACHUSETTS  8TATEH0USB. 


multitudes.  The  migration  of  a  smgle  tnbe 
""he  wo<Kl-pigeon9  of  the  North  American 
forert^has  covered  the  sky  with  a  column 
of  fliEht,  a  living  cloud,  ten  miles  long  and  a 
mile  broad.  In  some  instances  the  migration 
U  said  to  have  lasted  for  days,  continually 
darkening  the  sky.  Such  ni^mbers  defy  a^l 
countingT  yet  they  are  all  fed  from  the  prod- 
uce of  ?he  ground^  Even  the  bird,  of  prey, 
and  the  sea-birds,  are  fed  from  that  which  was 
originally  the  produce  of  the  ground. 

ft  is  computed  that  the  land  of  the  ^lobe 
would  be  equal  W  the  support  of  hfteen  times 
the  number  of  its  present  inhabitants,  or  might 
sustain  a  population  of  fifteen  thousand  mill- 
ions. But  the  ocean,  three  times  the  extent 
of  the  land,  probably  contains  even  a  much 
larger  proportion  of  life,  from  its  being  pene- 
trable, through  all  its  depths;  and  from  our 
knowledge,  not  merely  of  its  surface,  but  trom 
the  strong  probability,  amounting  almost  to 
certainty,  that  the  mountains  and  valleys  ot 
its  bed  are  filled  with  vegetation,  fed  on  by 


mighty  God,  The  old  statehourse,  so  rolled 
from  tiie  time  of  building  the  other,  was  long 
the  place  in  which  the  general  court  of  the 
province  of  Massachusetts  Bay  was  held.  It 
has  lately  been  well  repaired,  and  is  the  place 
of  the  meetings  of  the  city  authorities  and  for 
public  offices. 

The  comer-stone  of  the  present  statcliouse 

was  brought  to  the  si)ot  by  fifteen  white  horses, 

at  that  time  the  number  of  states  in  the  Union. 

The  building  is  seen  at  a  great  distance  in  all 

directions,  and  is  the  principal  object  visible 

when  the  city  is  first  seen  by  those  who  visit 

it.    The  form  is  oblong,  being  one  hundred 

and  seventy-three  in  front,  and  sixty-one  feet 

deep.     The  height  of  the  building,  including 

the  dome  is  one  hundred  and  ten  feet;  and 

the  foundation  is  about  that  height  aboveithe 

level  of  the  water  of  the  bay.     "  It  consists 

externally  of  a  basement  story,  twenty  feet 

high,  and  a  principal  story,  thirty  feet  hijjh. 

This  in  t"^  -i  centre  of  the  front,  is  covered  with 

an  attic  sixty  feet  wide,  and  twenty  feet  high, 

whi<-h  is  covered  with  a  pediment.    Iramedi- 


those  monstrous  animals  whose  "ke  etons  we    ^"^^'"»;    ^^^,  ,,,3  ,/„^,,  fifty  feet  in  diam- 
«,  constantly  find  embedded,  and  ''j^  l'-.^"  !  ^^^^  ^  ^„d'th?rty  in  height;   tie  whole  ter- 
served  in  soils  once  evidently  covered  by  the    «^  '•  f  "\;i  ^ -^^  elegant  circular  lantern, 
«a.      There  probably  exist  miihmis  of  th^^^^^^    ri'hlits  a  pine  cone.     The  basement 
huge  creatures,  no  more  capable  ot  ascending 
to  the  surface  of  the  ocean  than  man  to  the  sur- 
face of  the  atmoc^here,  yet  enjoying  their  ex- 
istence, grazing  in  their  submarine  forests  and 
prairies,  ranging  through  an  "tent  of  pasture 
to  which  the  broadest  regions  of  the  land  are 
tame  and  narrow :  and,  undisturbed  by  me 

I  hostility  or  the  molestation  of  man,  giving  in 

'  their  provision  and  their  enjoyment  proots,  to 


higher  than  mortal  eyes,  of  the  spontaneous 
and  boundless  beneficence  of  their  Creatoi. 


which  Supports  a  pine  cone.  The  basement 
story  is  finished  in  a  plain  style  on  the  wings, 
wit>>  i!<iuare  windows.  The  centre  is  ninety- 
four  feet  in  length,  and  formed  of  arches  which 
project  fourteen  feet,  and  make  a  covered  walk 
below,  and  support  a  colonnade  of  Connthian 
columns  of  the  same  extent  above.  , 

The  largest  room  is  in  the  centre,  and  in 
the  second  story,  and  is  occupied  as  the  rep- 
resentatives' chamber :  it  will  accommodate 
five  hundred  memberu.  The  senate  chamber 
is  also  in  the  second  story  and  at  the  east  end 
of  the  building,  being  sixty  feet  by  fifty.  On 
the  west  end  is  a  large  room  for  the  meetings 
of  the  governor  and  the  executive  council; 
with  a  convenient  ante-chamber. 
The  view  from  the  top  of  the  statehouse  is 

the 


MASSACHUSETTS  STATEHOUSE.        .^.^^  ^,^^  ,„„  ,„„  ^^  „.      ..    _.  _ 

TH.sele.antand.paciouaedifice.si...tedm   verye,^^^^^^^^^ 
Boston  on  elevated  g-und  adjmning^he^com-   ^r^^^T^Uy  aLd  harbor  of  Bosto^ 

interspersed  with  beautiful  islands;  and  in 
the  distance  beyond,  the  wide  extended  ocean. 
To  the  north  the  eye  is  met  by  Charlestown, 
with  its  interesting  and  meniorable  heichts, 
and  the  navyyard  of  the  United  States, 
the  towns  of  tJhelsea.  Maiden,  and  Medford, 
and  other  tillages,  and  the  natural  forests 
mingling  in  the  distant  horizon.  To  the  west, 
U  a  fine  view  of  the  Charles  nver  and  bay. 
the  ancient  town  of  Cambridge,  rendered 
venerable  for  the  university,  now  two  centuries 
old ;  of  the  flourishing  villages  of  Cambndge- 
port  and  East  Cambridge,  in  the  latter  ot 


mon,  and  near  the  centre  of  this  ancient  and 
flourishing  city,  was  erected  in  1795.  1  he 
comer-stone  was  laid  on  the  fourth  of  July, 
by  the  venerable  and  patriotic  Samuel  Adams, 
then  chief  magistrate  of  MassachusetU  (as- 
sisted by  Paul  Revere,  master  of  the  grand 
lodge  of  aasons).  He  succeeded  Governor 
Hancock,  who  died  in  October.  1793. 

The  lot  was  purchased  by  the  town  ot  Bos- 
ton of  the  heirs  of  Governor  Hancock,  at  four 
thousand  dollars.  The  building  wasnot  finish- 
ed  and  occupied  by  the  legislature  till  January 
1798 ;  when  the  members  of  the  general  court 
walked  in  procession  from  the  old  statehouse 


,,..» ,  ITpwIT    wh  ch  is  a  la  gedass^iSa^ufacturing  estab- 

at  the  head  of  State  street,  and  the  new  de  -    g^^'l  "//tge  fcighly-cultivated  towns  of 
fice  was  dedicated  by  solemn  prayer  to  Al- 1  hshment .  01  me  u  k    3 


-*5 


irse,  80  called 
ther,  was  long 
i  court  of  the 
was  held.  It 
nd  is  the  ])lnce 
orities  and  for 

ent  statchouse 
n  white  horses, 
8  in  the  Union, 
distance  in  all 

object  visible 
hose  who  visit 
p  one  hundred 
I  sixty-one  feet 
ding,  including 

ten  feet;  and 
sight  above  *he 
"  It  consists 
y,  twenty  feet 
lirty  feet  hijjh. 
is  covered  with 
venty  feet  high, 
lent.  Inmnedi- 
ty  feet  in  diam- 
ine whole  ter- 
ircular  lantern, 

The  basement 
le  on  the  -wings, 
lentre  is  ninety- 
of  arches  which 
3  a  covered  walk 
ie  of  Corinthian 
bove. 

e  centre,  and  in 
ipied  as  the  rep- 
ill  accommodate 
I  senate  chamber 
i  at  the  east  end 
■et  by  fifty.  On 
for  the  meetings 
ecutive  council; 
ber. 

the  statehouse  is 
] ;  perhaps  noth- 
,r  to  it.  To  the 
larbor  of  Boston, 

islands ;  and  in 
5  extended  ocean, 
by  Charlestown, 
morable  heights, 

United  States; 
en,  and  MedforJ, 
e  natural  forests 
an.  To  the  west, 
?s  river  and  bay, 
(bridge,  rendered 
now  two  centuries 
ges  of  Cambridgc- 

in  the  latter  of 
lufacturing  estab- 
iltivated  towns  of 


•<♦»»%! 


332 


THE  SONS  OF  THK  OCEAN. 


nrv'hunu  Brooklinc,  nw\  N.-wt-n  ;  nivl  to  the 
Mjudi  is  U..xl>urv.  which  scfti.s  to  U:  dhW  n 
cntinuation  ofH.Hton,  .DorrhoslrT,  a  hno, 
rich.  ».'riculturul  town,  with  Milfm  nml  On  m- 
cv  bcv.m.l.  a...l  Ht.ll  lurth.r  n.-uth,  tho  Ulue 
hills,  nt  th.i  .listun.;o  ..f  eiRhl  or  tun  miles, 
whif.h  B'-fm  to  bouiul  the  jinmiject. 


pride,  when  hn  i«  lonvins  or  rotnnnnR  to  it ; 
.'  it  i*  th(^  joy  of  his  Ht.)rmy  lif.-."      1  hf  r.Hirr.i 
lonrliiK'ss  1111(1  the  <lwp  n-llrction  whi.li  iir.i 
nt  all  tiiii.'s  poculiiir  to  his  Hituulioii,  (Icvclop 
in  thfi  soniiiiin  that  (Icjith  of  coiiteiniilntion 
whifh  rcRtinls  li»V,  from  nii  »-levtttf<l  imsition, 
ill  nccoriluncc  with  thi-  uiicoiisfions  result  ot 
his  imnticnl  stmhcs,  which  hmd  him  into  the 
boundloss  domain  of  astronomy.     He   con- 
siders our  planet  as  an  imprrfcet,  insignificant 
thinp,  ir.  mathematical  relation,  to  other  plan- 
i-t.^—the  univer.se,  as  a  region  of  etenial  mo- 
tion, where  solar  systems  revolve  around  other 
sohir   systems.      In   sueh  contemiilatums  ot 
creation  (forced  ujion  him,  ho  to  speak,  '>y  his 
cnllins),  he  feels  the  nothingness  ol  earthly 
life,  while  he  recognises  the  dignity  ol  the 
human  mind.     As  a  spirit  in  a  body  of  clay, 
he  is  able  to  fix  the  point  of  his  momentary 
existence  upon  the  ocean,  with  mi)re  or  less 
precision.     Conversant  with  the  oriuts  of  the 
stars,  he  arrives  at  the  elevated  degree  ot 
colculating  by  seconds  the  distances  ot  con- 
stellations, whose  motions  arc  as  iumdiar  to 
him  as  the  course  of  his  own  ship.      1  hrougti 
niatliemotical  demonstration,  faith  becomes  m 
him  the  conviction  that  a  higher  power  exists, 
which  directs  the  universe,  and  reveals  itselt 
uiion  our  planet,  through  its  works  as  nature, 
and  governs  the  tides— the  breathing  of  the 
ocean,  under  the  influence  of  the  tn.«)n  ;  the 
pulse-throb  of  a  mysterious  life.     Ojiposed  to 


THE  SONS  OF  THK  OCEAS. 

As  men  in  everv  station  and  condition  of 

life,  generally  fnirinto  ^,articular  .livisions.  a 

Bcafariii"  life  admits  ot   on  arrangement  (it 

cuptuins^of  vt^sels  in  three  classes,  distinct  in 

their  character  from  each  other.      Tliere  an-, 

among  sea-captains,  as  in  all  other  kind  of 

business,  men  who,  from  vocation  and  inclina- 
tion, and  others,  who,  by  chance,  or  a  whim 

of  fate,  follow  the  sea;   and  others,  again, 

who  enter  this  path,  bwause no  other  remains 

open  to  them.     For  the  designation  ot  these 

three  classes,    particular  generic   names  are 

necessary,  which  we  shall  here  make  use  of 

for  that  purpose.     There  are.  among  ship- 

cnptains,  seamen,  captains,  and  skippers.    1  he 

seaman  feels  himself  born  for  the  "cenn.  and 

however  the  circumstances  of  his  ehil.lhood 
may  shape  themselves,  he  wears  out  his  boy  s 

shoes  upon  ship's  deck,  and  "l^^'^'l^^'J;^    „^,,^.^.,.„ „  ...^„ .  . 

boy,  obtains,  in  a  manner,  an  elevated  m.w  "'"""'7^  of  the  universe,  worldly  lirillian- 
of life  and  of  the  wori.  ,  from  the  mainrnast  '»;«  ^"[J'  ,^^^^^  ^,,  insi^mificant  nothing- 
top,  where  his  commander  sends  hun  in  St  rmcyapp^^^^^^^  V^^^j^  ^„i,.,,  ^-.^ 

and  tempest.  Accustomed  o  the  adverM=  ^^7;,^. J^'^,?^  ^^^Uive  power,  which  re- 
elements,  deprived  ol  tran-iuilhty  an  con  ort  t"*"^'  S^,j.  ;  ^J  j^^ng  elevation  of  human 
S-d^r  Xra^S  SmS:^  I  ^UelSecalculating  theLationof  the  constel- 


reliance,'  and  manifests  itself  as  strength  of 
mind,  in  perseverance  and  endurance,  m  se  1- 
Tenial  and  privation.     This  courage  of  the 
seaman  has  nothing  in  common  with  the  so- 
called  "courage"  of  the  mercenary,  which, 
for  a  few  pence,  he  manifests,  as  the  blind, 
wiUess    instrument   of   absolute    despotism. 
The  s,eaman  passes  through  all  grades  ot  ser- 
vice, from  cabin-boy  to  commander,  and  de- 
ports himself  in  every  station  and  situation, 
as  a  born  seaman.     The  oceaii  is  his  element , 
the  storm  is  his  companion  ;  the  universe  his 
worid ;  and  the  central  point  of  his  lite,  his 
shis;.     The  seaman,  in  his  place  as  captam, 
reo^irds  the  ocean  os  his  home,  his  cabin  as 
his  dwelling,  his  .piarterdeck  as  his  promenade 
his  vessel  as  a  part  of  his  own  being.     Ihe 
seaman  on  shore,  longs  to  bo  on  board  ogam, 
as  the  youth  longs  for  his  beloved;  all  Ins 
thoughts  and  cares  hover  round  his  vessel.    In 
conversation  on  diirerent  subjects  he  is  all  the 
while  thinking  of  his  ship,  and  loves  to  talk 
of  notiing  Boiuch  as  of  the  dangers  he  has 
gone  through.     He  regards  his  vessel  with 

I 


intellect,  calculating  the  rotation  ot  the  constel- 
lations. He  is  emboldened  to  follow  the  path 
of  a  comet— to  enter  the  realms  of  infinitude  ; 
and  shrinks  hack,  with  holy  awe,  before  the 
impenetrable  mystery  of  the  magnet. 

The  seaman  treats  his  crew  as  men,  ami 
his  otlicers  as  friends.     Not  forgetting  that  he 
has  been  a  sailor  himself,  and  borne  the  toils 
and  hardships  before  the  mast,  he  endeavors 
to  liehten  the  lot  of  his  crew.     He  observes 
a  rigid  fulfilment  of  his  duties   as  captain, 
while  he  requires  from  each  man  equal  ex- 
octitude  in  service,  and  equal  respect  as  a 
man,  on  all  occasions,  and  at  all  times.     Ue- 
holding  in  his  otficers  men  who  may  become 
to-morrow  what  he  is  to-<lay,  he  treats  them 
08  he  desired  to  be  treated  by  his  commander 
when  in  a  similar  position.     More  accustomed 
to  thinking  than  to  talking,  the  seaman  is 
laconic  in  his  discourse,  and  likes,  least  ot  all, 
the  obtrusive  speeches  ond  far-fetched  ques- 
tions of   tedious   passengers,    which   are   os 
strange  to  him  as  are  life  and  the  worid  to 

If  accident  brings  him  in  conthct  with  a  man 


1^ 


THE  SONS  OF  THE  OCEAN. 


n33 


TtnrninR  to  it; 
."     Till'  rclircd 
•tiim  wliii'li  iirt) 
nutiiiii,  il<'vcli>|i 
(  contemiilntioii 
evutfil  ponition, 
s<*itm»  r<!siilt  ot" 
lad  him  into  the 
imy.     He  con- 
ecf,  insignificant 
m.  to  nthiT  )>l(in- 
fi  of  t'trrnnl  ino- 
)lve  nrounil  other 
intrmpiutions  of 

to  speak,  by  his 
gncss  of  earthly 
c  (lisnity  of  thfc 
1  n  body  of  clny, 
f  his  momentary 
ith  more  or  h'ss 

thn  orbits  of  the 
'vated  degree  of 
distunres  of  con- 
irc  ns  familiar  to 
>  ship.  Throujih 
,  faith  becomes  in 
;her  power  exists, 
and  reveals  itself 
(  works  ns  nature, 

breathinfi  of  the  , 
of  the  m(M)n  ;  the 

life.     Opposed  to  ' 
3,  worhlly  lirillian- 
ignifieunt  nothinjj- 

itself  allied  with 

[lower,  which  re- 
levation  of  human 
itioT)  of  the  constel- 
I  to  follow  the  path 
alms  of  infinitude ; 
,y  awe,  before  the 
ic  magnet, 
crew  as  men,  and 
t  forgetting  that  he 
ind  borne  the  toils 
nast,  he  endeavors 
rew.     He  observes 
duties   as  captain, 
ich  man  e()ual  ex- 
equal  respect  as  a 

at  all  times.  Be- 
n  who  may  become 
lay,  he  treats  them 
i  by  his  commander 
,  More  accustomed 
ing,  the  seaman  is 
tKriikes,  least  of  all, 
id  far-fetched  ques- 
icrs,  which  are  as 
fe  and  the  world  to 


nconttictwithaman 


ia  whom  he  finds  a  harmony  with  hw  own  f.  el- 
",r.  whether  it  be  with  a  passen^^er  on  board. 

1  rnxual  intercourse  <«.  shore,  the  pokr  or  ^* 
:r"e  which  encloses  his  heart  '-fy^f^ 
and  his  inward  nature  cqiens.  under  tUc  re 
c  ,r.K:al  attraction,  t.i  unrestru.ued communion. 
1  uutiful  and  generous,  without  extravagance, 
a  his  intercourse  on  shore   he  displays  hs 

eculiar  qualities  in  hospitality  on  b..ard  h  s 

E     He  relinquishes  the  details  o  tprovi- 

,  din^  for  the  crew  to  those  whose  othce  m- 

V    ves  this  duty,  while  he  gives  his  part.cula 

:  Sou  to  thi'-uj,plying  of  pure  water  and 

'  sullic.eut  stores.    T''" '"^'■>''«''"'t;  v  dear  o 
reouirud  hv  his  vocation,  are  especially  dear  to 
W  anl  1"«  l."*H-^i""^  "f  t^'*!  sort  approach 
a  l'"  ury  which  he  displays  n  nothing  else 
lu  his  toilet  he  is  neat  and  cleanly,  -tswdl 
as  in  his  ship.     He  is  less  '•'•^«'7"    <  [  »£ 
changes  of  fashion  when  on  shore,  than  of  the 
chuH.'Csof  the  moon  when  on  board,  but  takes 
cSrelo  have  a  wardrobe  suitable  to  the  varia- 
tio's  of  climate.     He  is  fond  of  reading  on 
b    rd,  and  keeps  on  increasing  a  Uulc  cabmet 
library,  though  few  authors  serve  him ,  he 
I    ikes  Ly  those  that  "sail  deep."  and  carry 
r^ch  carLs.     At  sea,  he  longs  to  see  his  voy- 
'  a-o  speedily  ended;  on  shore,  he  wishes  him- 
self a  sea  again.     His  manly  character  is  not 
only  evinced  in  imminent  danger,  but  more 
""'y_h,   .>..!.;.  „„„n,nm;t,v  and  patience  in 


s,.amnn.  for  the  most  part,  ends  his  li  e  m  ho 
wuve*-wherebv  the  owners  lose  nothing,  be- 
ruseshipand  cargo  are  insured.  TI.e.K-can 
o„  which  his  lite  was  'i«-velo|.ed.  most  gen- 
..rally  b.^comeshisurave.  and  tin- s  on,,  vsh.eh 


erally  liccomes  ins  ;;ik>'  .  " ■  . 

rai'ed  ab.mt  his  path,  an.l  provei    his  <ourag« 
a,ul  hardihood,  bt'coincs  the  only  witness  ot 


eso'eciallv  by  his  e(iuanimity  and  patience  in 
especially    y^^^^  i,i'„,rances.     Familiar  with 


rnhns  and  other  iiiiiiuuiiv.^"     - 

the  daggers  of  the  element  from  his  youth  up, 
he  b^omes  ciually  familiar  with  the  thoughts 
of  dS  wi  h  which  he   is  threatened  by 
:  -errd^ud  that  disturbs  the  hori.on.  and 
whic^i  may  bring  about  his  last  hour.     Al- 
£ugh  attLhed  ta  life  by  the  bonds  o    love 
and  friendship,  he  does  not  fear  death  in  t^^^t 
moment  of  da.'iger      Feeling  the  re^-"^b  >it^ 
which  rests  upon  him,  by  having  the  hvcs  ot 
other  men  confided  to  U  charge,  who  arc 
/acd  under  his  unrestricted  aut  >ority,  and 
who,  in  a  measure,  are  all  involved  m  his 
Se  within  a  limited  space,  are  m  depend- 
ence Co'  !»■>•".  ^'^  '"^i"'"!"^  ^^'^'T."^ ""? 

irescnce  of  mind  in  decisive  and  cntical  mo- 
ments.    Winhout  expectiBg  miracles  ot  a  su 
"Sural  character,' where  l>um«n  help  fails 
he  sustaius  himself  as  a  man,  upon  the  eleva 
tion  of  strength  of  mind,  the  ^--^^f  "'^^f^. 
on  earth,  since  "man,  revealed  m  the  sea 
man  "  dares  to  brave  and  contend  against  the 
"e^"  uctfve  power  of  the  elements ;,  "  a  worm 
Jlhe  Just"' floating  upon.the  raging  ocean 
allied,  as  spirit,  to  the  primitive  power,  who.c 
breath  pervades  all  nature,  and  roars  in  the 

storm  and  the  hurricane. 
In  churchvards  and  burial-places^  we  seldom 

see  the  memorial  of  a  seaman.  «^;" V.^^ 
seashore-as  a  boy,  growing  up  on  boarcl-as 
a  youth,  only  on  sLrc  to  go  to  sea  agam-thc 


hi7 death-hour.     Hut  stonu  and  K"'!"":'' >•»- 
ging  above  him  in  bis  lust  monici.ts  olbr  no 
r,rg;nofren..wn.     The  murinur  ot  . be  wave 
tells  not  to  his  people  the  l"«t  stru.|: b-  ot  the 
seaman.     N..  whispering  ot  the  '" ''' ^    '"  » 
calm    on  the  shore  ot  his  home,  briniis  Ins 
last  l^arewell  to  the  objects  of  his  atlec.ioii,  nor 
the  last  sigh,  which,  in  the  ;1>.^">«1  '"*':"; « 
of  the  raging  el.inents,  or  within  sight  ot  ih. 
coast  of  his  .lestiuation,  is  lost  amid  the  Imwl- 
iuTof  the  storm,  and  the  roani.g  ..  ibc  break- 
ers in  wh..se  companionship  death  ....braes 
him.     The  fury  of  the  tempest  which  cause. 
his  en.l,  closing  his  bursting  •'-V'-^  "'/-;;;'"'"    ' 
night,  and  his  heart  lu  everlas ni.g  «'b' '«  «' '^ 
appeased,  an.l  has  .lie.l  away.     The  sunbeams 
Xh  taiined  the  seammiVs  ch...^k,  shines  up.. 

no  tt.iwer,  sparkles  in  n..  -lew-drop,  ui.on  t  • 
grassy  sod  of  the  seaman's  grave.  His  t  i  ^ 
disappears  as  tracklessly  as  the  wake  wh 
he  leaves  behind  him  in  circumnavigatmg  the 
d„be,  while  his  nam.)  livs  in  the  recollect... 
ti  kimlre.1  hearts,  which  ku.'W  an.l  ackmm  - 
edced  him  in  his  worth,  as  a  man.  I  Ins  is 
2 "seaman,"  developed  in  «tru«gk^.  brav.nR 
every  danger,  in  the  consciousness  of  his  men- 
tal power  and  manly  dignity. 

Opposed  to  the  s.-ama.i,  we  see  the  skip- 
per." Theskipi.er  has  e.itere,  upon  a  sen- 
farin"  life,  bc<:ause  he  was  go..d  h.r  nothing 
on  shore  ;  he  ran  away  from  his  apprentice- 
hii  to  a  tail..r,  and  was  not  str.u,,  en..ugh 
for  a  blacksmith  or  carpenter.  H-^  sails  ten 
years  bef..re  the  mast,  an.l  at  length  becomes 
f«ate,becausethereisno.>neelsewh..canwr.  e 

the  accunt  in  a  table  o    ^-konin.  am    c    1 
"Stop '"  when  castmg  the  l..g.     He  Mn^^», 
in  twc  ve  years,  as  sec.n.l  mate,  s.i  far  that 
he  can  kee^p  a  "  l,.g-bo.,k,"  and  -'- '< Ac-rab  V 
near  the  latitude  by  means  ot  t^^^  sextant, 
when  the  horizon  is  not  to.,  iii.c.-r  an  ,  or  tlic 
Th  p  too  "  crank."     At  length  h.'  hmls  a  cap- 
S  who  makes  him  first  mate,  ""'l^tM-ps  h,.. 
in  his  employ  f.jr  years  because  he  is  as  stupid 
a   Wlf,  a^id  tolerates  him  because  he   as 
mate,  take's  no  notice  ..f  tl^ecuptaui-^  blunders 
He  becomes  captain  by  his  good  "a™,    as  a 
manager,  by  his  marriage  with  «  wi.  ..w   by 
r^irice!,fan.,ldw..n,an,.y|Aied.nih^ 

a  captain,  or  bv  the  lullueiK-c  ol  a  s  >t.  i  or 
^iStheseryice...fam.r..^.^un^ges 

ship,  to  repair  tlierigpi^-at  lube  siuU^^^^ 

b^.:;""^S^-'^^-'y™"';^! 

eKpecmions  of  the  stingiest  ot  owners  in  tins 


^A 


I 


]W 


'^r^ 


"«I4. 


**.  . 


TUB  BEEN  AND  THE  UNSEEN. 


r..,pect.  a  better  ve-nel,  with  a  »noro  nu  nor- 
m.«  rn'w,  i»  cmli.lo.l  to  hw '•  hunKtT  cur«. 
ilc  U  ■mV.-a,.tai.,,  D.ul  r.M.min,  so.  ami  l«ya 
u  ,  ,n  .  V^  tl. it  he  .nay  retire  a.  .«Hm  a,  ,.o»- 
Zl  lie  tralVusatul  cheatH.mboar.1  ami  on 
Sir.  and  ..-lU  hi«  own  clothe,  to  a  .a.lor  tn 

i^?:Xu^irA;;:S;Kar^^ 
.?  tte^r^co;:^:^ 

u*  no  acnuuintanr.,  with  any  8tar  m  the 

lie  .•nrried  r.o  chronometer,  for  he  ilo.  8  not 
k m.w  l^"  '^  t..  use  it.     On  a  h.n«  course,  he 
n  Is  urn  the  acn-lental  .neetu.«  o    a  «h  i. 
wl:;.;  llnows. he  longitude  am^  J...  hoas^;;  I 
his  n,ute  of  hi.  ,.ree...on.  it  he    a«  not  ma.  e 

^rrtrirh^l-   an? Kn<^. 
k"  ;  r  antH ;  -kink.,  a  glas«  <.f  w  ne  or  gro« 

K  ration  isHhort  by  ahalf  p..und,  he  thinks 
s  u  verv  well!  the  next  time  n>ore  can  be 

S  sets  hi.  bloo<l  in  a  ferment,  and  m  a  co,^- 
trnrv  wind,  er  even  in  a  calm,  he  loses  ma 
Ss  he  raves  about  like  a  madman  looks 
u,  he'cabin-boy.  to  find  some  fault  w.th  hitn 
andlei/cs  the  nearest  rope  to  cool  his  wrath 
n\  fm  If  the  wind  becomes  favorable,  he 
E  "h  tl .  man  at  the  helm  and  with  the 
cook,  and  promise.  Uio  mate  hm  mflucnce  to 
ZZJo  him  a  ship.     In  the  f  gh''"^^"";*  °f 

Ic  coast,  he  is  thrown  into  a  f^verot  anxiety, 
because  he  does  not  know  where  he  is ,  he 

flinibs  the  mast  ten  times  a  day,  and  msisis 
f a salloJmust  see  land  where  t);^;^"- 

If  he  should,  at  length  l.ud  «  l»l"'-^^^"if  ;> 

gets  intoxicated  with  J^^V  P^'«,  •";„%]''•„  lig 
to  the  pilot,  and  lays  himselt  down  in  ms 

'"on  land  he  is  a  sea-hcro,  and  relates  mira- 
cles of  his  ability  as  a  seaman.  He  is  tonu 
rf  Ltdatin,  wik  the  captains  with  whom 
he  once  sailed  before  the  ^"f'a'Ahe  sS- 
bim^elf  to  be  treat.<l  by  them  at  tne  smp 
c  "ndler's  and  at  hotels.  As  the  time  ap- 
proaches for  him  to  put  to  sea  again,  he  be 

^omes  cross  and  'l'^^'-'^'"'"'' J"',X'£  " 
»Pa  "  as  a  mi9era\)lr  inner  doe»  the  ae%ii 
He  keens  no  mate  with  him  for  more  than 
one  tova' e  ami  no  sailor  will  hire  with  him 
who  has  ever  met  with  any  one  who  has  sail- 
1  ■,h  b  m  before.  He  cheats  his  owners, 
i'knows  howt'save,  in  provisions  and  m 


the  inventory,  fort  .-m  nn.  for  h"n«''lf;  «"; 
retain-  their  r(m.1  .  .nnion  ..t  h.m  a.  an  able 
captain  -  When  he  ha.  raked  money  emmsh 
toSer,  hn  retire,  to  re,«.H..  and  becomes  a 
rS  or  tavern-keeper  in   «»;«"<■'»:  f"''''^' 

of  a  harbor,  frn,"'-"^'!  '-y  "«''''"•  n^'"  "t 
ie  s  at  the  thought  of  the  sea.  but  nlb.wshnn- 
Sneverthelest  to  be  -Ib-^  •.co....m,  and 
keeps  a  Pictur..  of  the  ship  .^^^"^'^  J  '""^Z,  '' 
cha  fie  oh  in  a  frame  an.i  p  a«s.  »  »'•»''*''« 
'  »kii.i»-r  "  as  contrasted  with  the     seaman. 

T;i^hird...r  properly.. he  mi.  lcc^^.» 
renresented  by  the  " cniuain."  He  »  neitm r 
'ZZ"L  s^ip,.er,  and  then,  is  m.tlung  fur- 
ther  to  be  said  (rf  him.  than  that  he  w  cap- 
tiiin  of  this  or  that  ship."  .    , 

it  is  elf-evident  that  the  true  seaman  .«  to 
be"  md  n  all  rank«-.  among  the  sailors  of 
t  chant-vessels,  as  v  11  as  amon«  the  mi.  -  | 
Khinmcn  of  the  navy;  although  mnn>  a  -.Kip- 
r'  and  captain,  favored  by  fortune  commands 
rfri%tc.  which  the  seaman,  ^hostunds  nt  the 
helm  as  a  sailor,  would  be  nmre  cnpaWe  "f 
g« id  nir.  In  respect  to  the  three  oboye  ap- 
f,ellal.ons,  we  remark,  in  c"n<'l«r";  ^  '  ."r 

'ZS  nlmcJt  from  that  of  a  g.Hxl  sailor 
frevery  iipi-r  and  captain  can  bo  a  good 
sailor— "if  he  has  a  good  wind. 


THE  SEEN  AND  THE  UNSEEN. 

Thfrk  is  a  spiritual   element  interfused 

through  the  whole  material  world,  and  which 

Sthe  sourceof  all  action.    /^  is  Ji-  wh^h 

ft«  the  world  out  of  chaos,  and  clothes  it  w  nn 

its  the  woria  o  ordinary  act  ^  i  .rings 

the  sou  .    ?t.f  r'f  *"  t  "n.     While  on  the 
sp  ritual  origin  is  torgotien.      y  jj 

commonplace.     J^?V''"?'",,„     .  cmmercial 


-m 


himnflf,  and 
I  n«  an  "  alilo 
lonry  cnouph 
1(1  hpromoi*  a 
ncidliborViofxl 
s.  Hi>  ihu'l- 
jt  nllownhim- 
cnptnii\,"  aritl 
;h  hi;  lii«t  hiul 
Such  is  iht! 
he  "scamnn." 
li.Mlo  class,  in 
llo  is  mitht-r 
19  nothing  fur- 
it  he  is  "cop- 

(i  scnman  if  ti> 
the  sailors  of 
monR  the  iniJ-  I 
1  mnny  a  nkip- 
uiu'.<"rimmn'>'l» 
lostunils  at  the 
)ro  capable  of 
ircp  above  ap- 
lusion,  that  the 
whore  skipper 
glinh  may,  per- 
"fjailor."     But 
V  is,  evideiitly, 
of  a  giwil  sailor, 
can  be  a  good 
d." 


]  UNSEEN. 

mcnt  interfused 
vorhl,  and  which 
It  is  this  which 
nd  clothes  it  with 
lUnary  act  >•  wrings 
ts  character  from 
only  because  its 
.  While  on  the 
Im,  it  is  startling 
'  passion  and  af- 

ve  will  hut  open 
no9t  ordinary  acts 
spiritual  clement ; 
f  can  be  tame  or 
'first  siiiht,  is  more 
inii  a  ci'inmercial 
y  with  the  afl'airs 
al  interests.    Yet, 
them,  its  driest  de- 
,n  hopes,  and  fears, 
luminate  what  was 
etter  breathe  with 
paper  of  to-day,  a 


THB  HEKN  AND  THE  UNSEEN. 


33fi 


,«i„  kind  of  busHM-HH.  :^^'\^l''';i^C  I  w.  uld  he  a,,  the  labor  of  l,rute».  Hut  nil  -he 
hn..  in  .ubMance,  b.-en  the  same  J  .^;  ;,'  ^^„,„,„  .,f  nmnV  labor  are  but  symbol  ,  n 
For  a  time,  he  sought  some  place  >*h  '  »  1''  \  ^^^^,^,^^1  ,if,;  b.^eath.  To  the  outer  eve. 
,„pn,.M.d  the  po..es.ion  of  busme«  hab.t.  n,       «J.;''^  "»  .  ,,,^,,        ,  ;,  ..ftontimes  the  l.fe 

,.t,Vn.men...  Then  th.  re  7"  «.:,^»"f,  J  ^a  „other  of  a  fnn.ily  !  She  labors  by  day 
Ih...  clow  of  the  advertnemrnt,  111  hcatinjj  Itiai    oi  u  '_,,__  ,^^,  ^._,,,,  .•' 


as  rmph.yment  i^  «'.••"■  ...  -^H « >oiiY       .:  i  ,,,,,„„,,„  i,k.„dcd   with   them, 

All  this  in  uninteresting  *^«""P''-   .^^.*.  "^  J,,,  i  hon.ewifelveare  she  goes  from  rrK-m  to  room, 

dvpths  of  life  may  he  ""<l;"'r'''»^   ™*    r^^     "    ' 
•  -         ...      •       _  .i„.„;i      ft  w  pnsv  tor  ine 


,.,. .    lie  underneath   «'y*   '^^y  1    XX  hd...   of  herhnnds  gr..w  up,  as  «n- 

(if  this  man 


fancy  to  seek  <)ut  and 

Coul.Uchut  look  through  these  long  line, 
of  advertisements  ir,to  the  hearts  of  those  who 
have  published  them,  what  a  r.veh.t.on  v.-oM 
l^re  be  of  Imniun  life!  Here  are  partner- 
ships formed  and  closed  ;  young  men  en  cnng 
inti  business,  old  men  gon.g  ''" V'tjV  " v« 
inveutions  and  speculnt.nm  :  «'l"^/»  '  '',»;^^^ 
of  luntsehold  furniture  and  dwclhngs.  These 
have  been  attended  by  the  n.ost  sauguu|e 
hopes,  by  utter  hopelessness,  by  «;];">' J^"^^, 
of  frar  niixiety,  and  sorrow.  This  \oung 
;;Lu    ii:ste;teri.^gbusiness,looksfc.rwardw.,^ 

antiriimtions  bright  as  the  morning  to  his  mar- 

ringeilay.     Thil  sale  of  furniture  sneaks  of 

d.>ath,  ifminished  fortunes,  a  srnttered  family. 

I  There  is  not  a  sale  of  stocks  which  .1  .es  uot 

straiten  or  increase  the  narrow  nieans  of  wid- 

I  ows  and  orphans.     This  long  column  of  ship 

i  news— a  thousand   hearts   are  this   moment 

'  beating  with  joy  and  thankfulness,  or  are  op- 

^eTe^bvanxVty.orcrusheddownby  sorrow^ 

because  of  these  records  which  to  others  se.-m 
so  meaningless  !     One  rends  here  of  his  nrus- 
,*ritv;  another  of  ruined  fortunes;  and    he 
wrecked  ship,  whose  crew  was  swept  by  \l- 
surge  into  the  breakers,  and  dnshed  on  the 
rocks-how  many  in  their  so  lit.      !™  T 
mourning  for  those  who  saih;;.    v.th  bngh 
hopes  in  that  ship,  but  who  shall  never  rt^tum ! 
And  more  than  this-could  these  lines  wh  ch 
record  the  transactions  of  daily  busmes,.  tell 
of  the  hearts  which  indited  them,  what  tempt- 
ationsand  struggles  would  they  reveal !     1  hey 
would  tell  of  inexperience  deceived  or  pro- 
tected, of  integrity  fallen  or  made  steadfast  as 
the  rock,  of  moral  trinls,  m  which  noble  na- 


virtues  of  a  hniipy  hoiiiv , 

Thus  .-ver  u.Mler  the  visible  ii  the  invisible. 
Thr.)ugh  <lea.l  mnterial  forms  circulnte  the 
currenrs  of  spiritual  life.     Deserts,  rocks,  and 
seas,  and  shor.'s.  are  humani/.d  by  the  pres- 
ence of  man.  and  become  alive  with  memories 
and  niVectious.     There  is  n  life  T^'"'  '•  "''1","  ."u 
and  under  it.  in  evry  heart,  isnlif.'  NMuh 
does  not  appear-whrch  is   to  the  f-rnier   as 
the  depths  of  the  sea  to  the  waves,  and  the 
bubbl.  s.  nnd  the  soray.  on  its  surface.     1  here 
is  not  an  obm  ,  -e  house  among  the  mountains 
where  the  wb  le  romance  of  life,  from  its 
dawn  1o  its  sett.,  Z.  through  its  '";:»""««'' ""J 
throu"h  its  ghxim.  is  not  lived  through.     1  he 
i™,nest  events  of  the  day  are  produces  of 
the  same  passions  nnd  aHeetions  which,  m 
other  spheres,  decide  the  iate  of  kinf^h-ms 
Outwaixlly,  the  ongoings  of  ordinary  life  nre 
like  the  movements  ot   mnchinerj-hfeless. 
meehani.^ol,  commonplace  repetitions  of  the 
same  trifling  events.     But  thcv  are  neither 
liHess.  nor^ild,  nor  trifling.    ^The  passions 
nnd  ntfeetions  make  them  ever  "•"^v'lnd  ori- 
cinal.  anrl  the  most  unimportant  acts  ot  tb., 
day  reach  forward  in  their  results  into  the 
shadows  of  eteniity.  •„  ,v„  ,r,;,kf 

Open  but  the  eye.  and  we  live  n  the  midst 
of  wonders.  The  enthusiastie  ond  ardent  pine 
ft^es  of  excitement  They  flv  to  s«d. 
them  in  foreign  lands;  they  bury  ^^^^^-^^^^y 
in  the  paces  of  poetry  and  romance  ;  the  ev- 
rvdav  world  aroun.l  tliem  seerasto  them  stale, 
Hat.  and  unpr.-fitabk.  But  it  is  only  in  seem- 
i„a  At  oar  very  d.xirs  transpire  reahties.  by 
whose  side,  were  the  veil  taken  away  which 
W  es  them,  the  fictions  ..froniance.w^ud 


the  r,;k.  of  moral  trials,  in  which  noble  na-    lu.le^  tn^    ,  ^^ -^^^  ^  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^^  ,„  ^.„j^, 

turcshavc  been  broken  •l"'^n°r^^^''VT.\,„.  wl    fnd  in  darkness,  is  going  on  the  mighty  mys- 


we  the  key  and  the  interpretation  of  what  we 
here  rend,  this  daily  chronicle  "f  t!''«^«„'?'""^'' 
be  a  sadder  tragedy  than  any  which  Shaks- 
pere  wrote.  It  is  the  same  with  «ill  human 
labor.  "The  spirit  giveth  life."  Were 
not  so  earth  wouhl  he  a  dui,  £on.     If  toil 


fnd  in^larkness,  is  going  on  the  mighty  mys 

?crY  of  life,  and  passing  before^ us  m  sha.low 

sThe  .IrenJ  m^    ery  of  death.     Want  and 


;^rer^l^eti;s^hi;hwearouttheV.an 
nouthr  passions  which  sink  it  *" .ff  ^iist 
hor8th;tlift  it  to  theheaven--hid  by  the 
veiW  custom  and  the  senses-these  are  alive 


I 


iW^«w« 


336 


GOVEKNMKNT  OF  THK  TKMVKR 


(lOYKUNMKNT  OF  TIIK  TKMPER. 


in  Hum.-  cl.-«r.-.-.  tneith.-r  ,«.,...,..  ,h.-v,.).,m-.*. 

rit' 
nut 


t^in^n-ihlotothi.;  f-r  the  pewm  ^  m  W. 
„.,t  ai.  injurv.  most  he   mr-M-ul-lc  '.t     ...n^ 

'wh..  treut  y.m  ill  willn.ut  ,,r..vo.nli.m.  ynu 
,u.alni..m..mt>.iny.HU..vvn.h«nity.  Hnf  i».m- 
,U-rl.)(».>this  while  you  «l»«.wnH.-nH.M. ftlKinm- 


Vi,h  r.,mr.t  to  .1..-  tir.t.  .t  .h  ;..  n.juno  m       1  ^  '^,,"^     ,,  ^j^j,   ean-lor  nn.J  rimrity.  -nd 


„„..  ..^ .      ...  ;,.„„  i„  1  rircuiiwtame  with   can-lor  nn.l  rlmrity.  ana 

...n..,v,  .....I  *.  '''i'^'^^r  •  »',ll    Lk    r  S^r  whether  your  nhowinK  .l.o  r.-^rnt- 
th...  (.••nml.  rh.r«.;..;r.  tlm    on.  ;''''  "^    '^"'N  ^^i    Jn-rve.!  mxsmtvr,n\nc<,M  conHrq-^- 


v.mna  lr>'v  from  K'vna  «ny  O  i  ;  for  n  m  m 
^.nbcn  ..>..«  hrr  rl.uructer  to  W  b.-troyml  ...to 

.he  ouM.i    to  i.c  ,xn\mn,ri\  <rt'  th.-  on«  a.  much 

,.n.i.n.v,ur..  hrr  ,„-cuVmr.lmt..Ktu,..s;  nn.1  an 
!,nn.u..i  w  oinan  i.  .me  of  the  nK«t  .hsagrecQWe 

siilhtH  in  natufe.  .         , 

It  is  pluin  from  experience  tT.nt  the  most 

when  they  hi-ve  a  motive  sunicietitly   Hfro 
-^uch  OS  the  presence  of  tho^e  they  fe«r.  or 
to  whom  they  imrticulnrly  desire  to  re(s.m- 

'r^e;;;  the  JvL  It  IB  ^!-"''-^p:zz 

I  to  permms,  whom  you  have  injure.  »>y  ™ 
re,  ron.:h.-«,  an.l  unjunt  nsperHioiw.  to  t.;ll  tht  n 
you  wuHinapasHi-^n:  the  nl!..w.„R  yourself 

'  to  speak  to  them  in  passi.m  «  e  I'^""«  "^  "" 


e  Clin  comniimd   tnemsenc»     "■■ ,         . 

0  motive  surticientlv  ntrong  Utr.,y  r.k,.)-  -'^^  '   '\«- 


riUMtilUT     ■Willi"''     J'- r.,  ..    .„ 

,.H..,it  .»e«.rve.l  mny  i«.t  l.r...lu.ee  .11  ...nnr  i'."/.- 
f,.8  f.  iimoeent  ,«-r*m*-ns  w  alrn.wt  ftU.'..^ 
the  case  in  family  .pmrrel^-nn.l  whe  her  .t 
rn^vV-.t  nc-nsion  the  l>r.-a..h  ..f  «.><«c  .l.i»y  '-r 
„.i>.Hnry  .•.H..«>M..n,  to  which  v..u  ou«ht  t., 
sacrifice  evrn  your  just  resent.n.  nfs.  A'...ve 
nil  thinus,  take  care  that  a  particular  . )He.ir- 
tov.mri.K-sn.,.-  •-  youunjuHtto  iU  ^ej^ 

erou»    ange-    --1..^.   «>\    'rtc\m\e   esteem    t  r 

whatever  «    re.lly  e,Ut    '''1"' p*!'''",*? ''    Tt 

m  of  Its  oliject :  it 


even  irrnvnen  -V  .it«n.-  overcoming  him  by 
benefits/ami  w  N.  *.  -itlictno  other  pumsh- 
Intthan  the  .  ^'ret  of  having  "JJ-'^J  "?«= 
wh.>  deserve,!  his  Kiwlnrss  -,  it  is  always  pla- 
cable  an.l  ready  to  be  recuieilwl  uj.  8.x.t.  as 
the  otV.n.1er  is  onvince.l  ..f  his  error;  nor  can 
„„.,...-, — .      .  f  .f  ,„    anv  subswiuent  injury  pmvoke  it  to  recur  to 

j^v-rb  Exrffo^  vo^  5  "^^^^^  -"  •»■•  -'  -  ^■ 


teiiow-creaiuris  "•"•■>■  "-■  ,r.   ",    ,  ^,,  r„,  „- 
When  once  you  fin.1  yourself  heatr.1  s.   far  as 
to  .lesire  to  siiy  what  you  know  w..uM  be  pr.>- 
vokin«  an.1  woun.ling  .t.^  """th'^r,  y-»  ^^f^ 
i,nin.-diate1v  res-ilve  either  to  be  sil.nt  .>r  to 
""the  rJom,  rather  than  t.>  give  utterance 
t,  anything  dictat.-.l  by  so  bo.l  an  mdination. 
Be  aLred'you  are  th..i  unfit  to  rea..n  .jr  o 
reprove,  or  t.)  hear  reusori  fr..in  others.     It  is 
thlrefore  vour  part  to  retire  tr.,m  sneh  an  oc- 
casion of  'sin;  nnd  wait  t,ll  you  n"'  ^-^^  ^Z' 
f.Ke  vou  presume  to  judge  of  what  has  jwissed. 
W  acculmin,  yourself  thus  to  e..n,,«er  and 


ROSES. 

Thi:  rose  has  been  from  time  immemorial 
rt/flower  par  exreUenee  ;  and  it  snll  retains 
rheU^rone^its  early  gL-ry.  «;tw,thstan.hns 
the  multitude  of  new  fkmers  that  have  be.n 
"e.l,  or  bred  out  of  the  old  vanet.es  by 
art,  and  the  extreme  beauty  of  many  of  these 
and  in  one  or  other  of  its  van-.ties  <.r  m.Mles  of 
treatment,  it  is  a  flower  of  all  civ.lize.l  coun- 

By  accusioiiui.n  J""'"- — .-,   ,      •,„„,„„„     tries-   it  is  a  fl.iwer  accessible  to  people  oi 

disappoi..t  your  anger  y,m  will,  by  degrees  X^nks  and  generally  possess.-.!  bv  them  if 
fi„.l  it  grow  weak  and  •""""R'-'"''^'';,,'"  "^  "  "i  '  hav;  even  the  smallest  plot  of  ground, 
leave  your  r.  usou  at  liberty:  you  will  ^«  »J'«  Uf^y  ^^^^'^  ;,  i^jj^.t  part  won  fr.,m  grosser 
to  restrain  your  t.mgue  from  evd,  ""f  J"^/, ^^'j"  3s  in  his  leisure  hours  bv  attemhng 
l.,oks  and  gestures  fr.)m  all  «'^J'y'^''"o"«  °M  °f  I'l  „^^^^^ 

;  Snce  ami  ill-will.  Pride,  which  pro.luros  to  th<^  ^«  f^/^  ,^^i„,.,  ^j.^  «il,l  and  luxu- 
so  manv  evils  in  tho  human  mind,  is  the  great    ot  gmum.,  ^     _  , ^,_  ^  ^.^  „>ttn-re. 


stturce  of  passion.  Whoever  cultivates  in 
himself  a  proper  humility,  a  due  sense  of  hi. 
o  "n  faults  and  insufficiencies,  and  a  due  re- 
spect for  others,  will  find  bitt  small  tempta- 
tion to  violent  or  unreasonable  anger. 

In  the  case  of  real  injuries,  which  ustify 
and  call  for  resentment,  there  is  a  noble  ,and 
;:Serous  kind  of  anger,  a  P-F^"-!  "  -„«; 
surv  part  of  our  nature,  wh.cli  has  nothing 
ZUor  degrading.     I  would  not  wi*h  you  to 


riant  .race  upon  the  rude  walls  of  his  c..tt8!:e 
maku.g  the  whole  appear  like  a  favonte  w..  k 
"f  nature  in  one  of  the  gayest  of  her  sp.,rt.^e 
mo.,ds.  Then,  if  the  man  of  rank  and  wea  t^i 
is  in  possession  ..f  a  complete  bed  of  ro  , 
with  Iheir  dwarfs,  shrubs,  f  «'?^''''^'\;:"J  ' '', 
lars,  all  in  the  Inxnnance  of  bl.H.m.  he  han  a 
;oi;ctionof  beouty  and  a  -hness  of  perfume 
which  no  other  production  of  art  and  nature 
can  equal. 


!  ill  (MmHfitivn* 
alm<i>«t  nlwov* 
nnd  whfthrr  il 

'   WiJIK!    lluty  'IT 

I  vein  oonlit  to 
iwnt*.     A'Mive 
irtiailor  otlr.ir* 
ust  l(»  tl»e  «<•»»- 
;  i)er«in.     Orn- 
iilc  ftiteem   tor 
nor  ()«)««  it  ilc- 
i)f  its  object ;  it 
•rairning  him  by 
rvo  othnr  imnish- 
ing  injtirei!  one 
it  is  nlwnys  pla- 
cilwl  as  SO""  ■* 
is  error;  nor  eon 
le  it  to  reenr  to 
i)  b«t'n  once  for- 


Hmn  in>nH»moriBl 
mil  it  srill  rctnins 
r,  notwithstanding 
■8  tbat  have  bp»n 
,e  olil  varieties  by 
of  Bisny  of  these ; 
fifties  or  modes  of 
all  civilized  conn- 
(ible  to   people  of 
ssesscd  by  them  if 
>8t  plot  of  ground, 
t  won  from  groeser 
honrs  by  attending 
orn  his  little  patch 
rith  wild  and  luxu- 
valls  of  his  cottasr, 
ike  a  favorite  work 
'est  of  her  s])ortive 
of  rank  and  wealth 
plete  bed  of  roses, 
standards,  nnd  jiil- 
of  bl(H)m,  he  ha»  a 
richness  of  perfume 
n  of  art  and  nature 


in 


m 


m 


-*^!;i  * 


W 


r* 


t'MH^ 


338 


OREGON. 


OREGON. 

That  extensive  portion  of  North  America, 
lvin<r  west  of  the  Rocky  nnounmnis,  and  ex- 
teniilng  to  the  Pacitic,  called  Oregon,  was  for 
a  long  period  a  subject  of  the  rival  claims  of 
Great  Britain,  and  the  United  States.  The 
whole  country  extends  from  the  Klamct  range. 
Snowy  mountains,  about  the  pafallol_  ot^ 


or 


or  onowy   iiiuuiii,ii...^-,  -       1  . 

fortv-two  degrees,  on  the  south,  to  hfty-four 
decrees,  forty  minutes,  on  the  north,  and  from 
the  Rocky  mountains  on  the  east  to  the  1  a_ 
cific  ocean  on  the  west,  comprising  an  area  ot 
about  four  hundred   thousand  s.jnare  miles. 


lished  a  trading  post  beyond  the  Rocky  mount- 
ains, on  the  hea.l-woters  of  Lewis  river,  the 
first  ever  formed  on  any  of  the  waters  ot  the 
Columbia.     In  1810,  the  Pacific  fur  company, 
under  John  Jacob  Astor,  of  New  York,  was 
formed  ;  and  in  1811,  they  founded  Astoria, 
pi^it  miles  from  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia, 
as  their  principal  trading  post,  and  proceeded 
to  establish  others  in  the  interior.     A  little 
later  in  the  same  year,  the  Northwest  com- 
pany sent  a  detachment  to  form  establishments 
on  the  Columbia ;  but  when  they  arrived  at 
^he  ir-iuth  of. the  river,  they  found  the  post 
occupied.    In  consequence  of  the  exposure  ot 


about  four  hundred  thousand  s.piare  mi^s  --^-^  ;j^;^;7^f"r81o,  the  post  was  sold 
The  section  more  immediate  y  "'J'^P^^^^.";^  |  ^^^to  tl^Northwest  company.  At  the  close 
that  watered  by  the  Columbia  river  and  its  ,  out  to  t^'^  ^  ^^^^  ^^^^^^^j,  by  order  of 

tributaries.  But  by  a  treaty  conclucled  «'  '^IXnu.h  ™ver:  ment,  to  its  original  fonn  ^. 
Washington,  on  the  fifteenth  of  June.1846, 
this  long-pending  question,  which  at  times  se- 
riously threatened  to  break  the  harmony  exist- 
incr  between  the  two  nations,  was  permanently 
settled,  by  fixing  the  line  of  boundary  between 


the  Brirish  gover;  ment,  to  its  ongmal  lonn 
ers  agreeably  to  the  first  article  of  the  treaty 
of  Ghent.  Various  attempts  have  been  rnade 
since  the  war  to  renew  the  fur  trade  in  Ore- 
con.  In  1821,  the  Hudson's  bay,  and  North- 
west  company,   who    had    previously  been 


serueu,  ujr    ..V...S  ...- f  .,nr.l,  pnuntrv   with    west    uim-p^.^v -     — .-     r,         .-    , 

the  respective  por  ions  of  «f '^  "^"fy' J^^  rivals,  were  united,  and  since  that  ti.ne  have 
some  minor  stipulations,  a  t^^'  *'J[  y™  I  greatly  extended  their  establishmeni  m  the 
parallel  of  latitude,  giving  to  Great  Uritainai     b      J      Qreeon. 

lying  north  of  that  line,  and  to  the  United  '^^^""  °A  ^^'f  ",„itor^r  is  divided  into  three 
Lti  all  south  of  it.  Thelatterportio,i,wh^,ch        TleOre^^^^^^^^^  ^^^^  ^,,^^^  ^^_ 

is  the  subject  of  this  article,  extends  trom  lat-  ■  [^"^'"/f.^f  ^^^ir,  „,ean  and  the  President's 

itude  foriy-two  to  ^^"7  J'Xh^^h^yr^^^^^^^ 

comprises  about  two  hundred  ami  htt>  '^^  ";  ; '""^  '     ^-^^  .  oA    That  between  the  Cascade 

sand  square  miles.     As  the  wil.l  regions  th  s  ^  e,n  j^^^^^     ~r^^  „,  „,,,,,{,,  section  ; 

side  of  the  Rocky  mountains  are  becommg    "'' Jf  ^j^"^'' ™~  ,h^ 

occupied  and  subdued,  under  the  geinal  influ-  ,  3  h    J  ^'^^'''^^  ;\!^  ^^^^^    section  :  and  this  divis- 

ence  of  civili/.ati,.u,  the  ti.  e  ot   .^"'V""-"'!';"    f',  ^m;    ally  apply  to  the  soil,  climate, 
begins  to  surmount  tli^at  hitherto  nnpassjl^^  ^  1^   ^^^^^   ,,^,^  ,,, 

barrier,  and  many  a  hardy  settle.,  in  s.rch  Columbia   river;    the  main 

of  a  new  home,  now  directs  his  -^^/^^  '^^  " ,  !  ^[^^^  J  j,  ^„n„ed,  in  the  middle  regi.m,  by  the 
the  distant  Oregon,  an.l  settlernents.  u.ul  ev  n    ^"^^^  ]^  {  branches  flowing  from  the 

cities,  are  already  risng  upon  the  Pacnh.^e^^^^  „„j    ,,,,i,i„g    i„    tl.eir 

board.     The  discussion  and  hnal    «  ;.   "^  '^    K  tKy  ^^^^^^^  ^^^.^^^^  ^^^ 

of  the  Oregon  boundary  question  having  ot  ^  ^'^^^  ^  ^ J^  ^  '  ^^^jj^,,,.  The  mountain  ranges 
itself  awakened  an  interest  m  that  re.note  '™'''[^  \'^'f '„,,t  part,  in  parallel  lines 
region,  a^  brief ^histoncaljnd  U.p^aphical  j  e^^^  „any 'places  above 

the  region  of  perpetual  snows  (here  o,C00 
feet  above  the  sea),  which  naturally  produces 
a  difibrence  of  temperature  between  them  am! 
also  affects  their  productions. 

The  Cascade  range,  or  t-.at  nearest  the 
coast,  runs  parallel  with  the  seacoast,  the 
whole  length  of  the  territory,  and  nsing  in 
many  places  in  regular  cones,  from  12,000  to 
14  000  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 

The  distance  from  the  seashore  to  this 
chain,  is  from  one  hundred  to  one  hundred  and 
fifty  miles,  and  the  ridge  almost  interrupts  the 
communication  oetween  the  first  ^iid  second 
sections,  except  where  the  Ctilumbia  river 
forces  a  passage  through  it.  The  climate  of 
this  section  is  mild  throughout  the  year,  ex- 
periencing neither  the  extreme^cold  of  winter 


may 


sketch  of  the  Oregon  terntory 
interest  to  our  readers.       _  ,  •    r-  i         I 

Captain  Robert  Gray,  in  the  ship  Coluin- , 
bia,  from  Boston,  discovered  and  entered  the 
mouth  of  the  Columbia  river,  Mav  .th,  17 J„ 
and  gave  it  the  name  of  his  vessel.     He  was 
the  first  person  that  established  t.ie  fact  of  the 
existence  of  this  great  river,  and  this  gave  to 
the  United  States  the  right  of  discovery.     In 
lS0t-'5,  Captains  Lewis  and  Clark,  uii'ler 
the  direction  of  the  government  of  the  Lmted 
States,  explored  the  country  trom  the  mouth 
of  the  Missouri,  to  the  mouth  of  the  Colum- 
bia, and  spent  the  winter  of  180o-'6,  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Columbia.     This  exploration 
of  the  river  Columbia,  the  first  ever  made, 
constitutes  another  ground  of  the  claim  oi  the 
United  States  to  the  country.     In  1808,  tne 


United  States  to  the  country.     '      ;"^;  ^      „  *  the  heat  of  summer 
Missouri  fur  company,  at  bt.  Louis,  estao  i  nor 


The   prevailing 


i. 


Rocky  mount- 
wls  river,  the 

waters  of  tlie 
;  fur  company, 
L'W  York,  was 
ided  Astoria, 
the  Columbia, 
and  proceeded 
rior.     A  little 
orthwest  com- 
establishments 
hey  arrived  at 
iiound  the  post 
;he  exposure  of 
e  post  was  sold 
.     At  the  close 
ed,  by  order  of 
original  foun  - 
le  of  the  treaty 
lave  been  made 
,r  trade  in  Ore- 
jay,  and  North- 
ireviously  been 

that  time  have 
shmeiii     in  the 


1,'ided  into  three 
:  Ist,  That  be- 
the  President's 
called  the  west- 
een  the  Cascade 
mifldle  section  ; 
id  Rocky  mount- 
:  and  this  divis- 
he  soil,  climate, 
ie  divisions  are 
river ;  the  main 
lie  region,  by  the 
lowing  from  the 
leiving  in  their 
inw,  draining  the 
mountain  ranges 
in  parallel  lines 
mv  places  above 
o\vs  (here  5,600 
aturally  produces 
)etween  them  and 

t'liat  nearest  the 
;he    seacoast,  the 
iry,  and  rising  in 
es.  from  12,000  to 
of  the  sea. 
seashore   to    this 
o  one  hundred  and 
nost  interrupts  the 
le  first  r.nd  second 
e  Columbia  river 
,     The  climate  of 
liout  the  year,  ex- 
eme  cold  of  winter 
The   prevailing 


339 


winds  in  the  summer  arc  from  the  northward 
nnd  westward,  and  in  the  winter,  from  the 
souti™l,   and    westward,    and    southeast. 
whSri'tempestuous.     T^e -niter  W 
,vi«cd  to  last  from  December  to  ]?  Lbruary 
Cn    u  uuUy  begin  to  fall  in  November,  and 
£     il    Ma^ch;    but  they  arc   "ot  heavy 
hough  frequent.     Snow  sometimes  falU^bu 
\t  seldom  lies  over  three  days.     The  Irosts 
Jre  eib    occurring  in  the  latter  part  of  Au 

a  rich  heavy  loam  and  unctious  clay,  to  a 
deep   h  avy^lack  loam,  on  a  trap-rock ;  and 
n  the  soutLrn  (the  Willamette  valley  .the 
sdi  is  generally  good,  varying  from  a  Uack 
vegetable  loam  to  decomposed  basal  ,^vlh 
stiff  clav.  and  portions  of  loose  gravel-soii. 
SSare  gelierally  basalt,  and  stone   and 
slate;  between  the  tJmpqua  "^^'^'J"'^..*;;' 
southern  boundary  the  rorks  are  prnnitn  e 
consisting  of  slate,  hornblende,  and  gram  e 
which  produce  a  gntty  and  P"""-  ^"^  ;;^^^;' 
are    however,  some  places  of  rich  praine, 
overed  with  liaks.    It  is,  for  the  mos    -r  , 
a  well-timbcred  country.     It  '%  "^'^^^^^J^^^ 
with  the  sours,  or  o  isets  from  the  Cascarte 
rLts:':hiW  render  its  surface  much 

broken  ;  these  are  covered  with  » jJ^nse  tor 
est.    The  timber  consists  of  pines,  firs,  spruce, 
Ss  (red  and  white),  ash,  -butus  arbor,  vi- 
ue,  cedar,  poplar,  maple,  billow,  cherry,  ami 
tew,  with  a  close  undergrowth  of  hazel,  rubus 
rores  X.     The  richest  and  best  soil  is  found 
on  h;  second  or  middle  Fairie.  and  is  be,t 
1  adapted  for  agriculture;  tbe high  and  lo-^b- 
'  ing  excellent  for  pasture-land.   Jbe  climate 
anil  soil  are  admirably  adapted  for  all  kind 
of  ^rain -wheat,  rye,  oats,  barley,  pei^.  «<?• 
than  corn  .Iocs  n/t  thrive  in  any  paj  "  th 
territorv  where  t  has  been  tried.    Many  iruiis 
am  ea  'to   ueceed  well,  Particularly  the  ap- 
p^ie,  and  pear.     Vegetables  grow  exceedingly 
well,  and  yield  most  abundantly. 

The  Bl.ie  mountains  are  ^^'^^^}^' '^'^^ 
course,  and  occasionally  interrupted,  but  gen 
Sw  running  in  a  northerly  direction ;  they 
Zence  in  the  Kla.net  -ge.  near  the  -uj^- 
em  boundary  of  the  territory  ;  theyare  oro 
k^n  rou-h  by  the  Saptin  or  Lewis  nver, 
S  Si  off  I  hills  of  -derate  eb^^^^^^^^^ 
,,nHl  thev  a-rain  appear  on  the  north  siae  oi 


and  the  winter  much  colder,  than  m  the  west- 
em  sect  on.    Its  extremes  of  heat  and  cold 
a^more  frequent  and  greater,  the  mercury 
at  thues,  falling  as  low  as  eighteen  degrees 
below  Tero,  F all renheit,  in  winter  and_  rising 
to  oM  hundre.1  and  eighty  degrees  in  the 
shade!  in  summer:   the  daily  dirterenc^  of 
empeiature  is  about  forty  ^^SJ^- .f^/^^t 
renheit.     It  has,  however,  been  iounU   ex 
remely  salubrious,   possessing  a   pure   and 
heaUhv  air.    No  dews  fall  in  this  section 
ThS  is,  for  the  most  part,  a  light  sandy 
S^in  the  valleys  a  rick  aH-al ;  and  the 
hills  are  generally  barren.     The  surtace  is 
about  one  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of 
he  we^^rn  section,  and  is  general v  a  roling 
nrairie  country.    In  the  centre  ot  this  sec- 

aUhough  there  are  portions  of  it  which  might 

be  advantageously  tarraed.  i,„„n,iarv 

The  Rocky  mountams  form  the  boundary 
of  the  eastern  section,  and  of  the  territory. 
Thev  commence  on  the  Arctic  coast,  and  con- 
S  wi  dmost  unbroken  chain  until  they 
merL  in  the  Andes  of  South  America.  The 
Simate  of  the  eastern  section  is  extremely 
variable      In  each  day  there  are  all  the  chan- 

fnnwient  to  sprint,  summer,  autumn,  and 
ges  incident  to  spnn,        ^^^^^^^  ^^^^^  ^^^^ 

TghTbe  SS  bVt  they  are  few  in  nurn  er 
The  soil  is  rockv  and  uneven,  and  presents 
an  almost  unbroten  barren  waste.  Stupen 
dous  mountain-spurs  traverse  it  in  all  direc 
thris  aff-ording  little  level  ground.  Snow 
es  ^n  the  mountains  nearly,  if  not  quite 
i!       uLf  tTip  vear.    It  is  exceedingly  dry 

Td'he  in  much.imVegnated  with  salt  . 
TliP  Columbia  is  the  great  river  ot  tne  lei 
•r,v      Its  northern  branch  takes  its  nse  in 
Sck^otSi^^,  in  latitude  fifty  degrees 
S  Situde  one  ^-dred  and  ^^^^^^^ 
thence  it  pursues  a  ^^l^'^J^^'^ZSs. 
lVT'GilUvarv'8  pass  m  the  R^'^'^y. '""V"',' . 


i. 


"> ' 


tsis 


at 


Jukes  l.etoro  it  roaches  ColviUe,  where  ic^is    ^__'._»._^^  ^^^_,  ^ntrnnr.R.      The  nio-ith  ot  the 


two  thousmi.l  and  forty-nine  feet  above  the 
kvfl  <.f  the  ^OQ,  havuig  a  full  ot  hve  hundred 
and  iiltv  feet  in  two  hundred  and  twenty 
miles.  'To  the  south  of  this  it  trerids  to  the 
westward,  receiving  the  Si.okan  nver  frorn 
the  east,  which  is  not  navigable,  and  takes  its 
rise  in  the  lake  of  Cocur  d'Alene.     Thence  '» 


navi-'anon  and  entrance.      The  nio-ith  ot  the 

Ctdunibia,  however,  is  every  diiy  becoming 

better  known.     A  new  and  excellent  channel 

has  recently  been  discovered.    It  is  to  the 

^i   northward  of   "Peacock   Spit,"  and  at  no 

ts   point  in  thi?  channel  is  there  less  than  three 

it   and  a  half  fathoms  depth  of  water.     1- rom 


rise  in  the  lake  of  Cocur  d'Alene.  /^ 'f  "j^/M  ""^radons  i«  ^^^^^^^^  '^'"''  '*  "^'"  "" 
pursues  a  westerly  course  for  aW  s'^  ^^fi  "Lth  chLel,  which,  should  it 
miles,  receiving  several  smanerst_ream^s,_anu    a%ai^^  ^^  ^^  ^^^^  ^^^^^^^^^  ^^.^^  ^^^^  ^^^^^ 

entrances  to  the  great  western  river. 

Fraser's  river  takes  its  rise  m  the  liocky 
mountains,  about  the  fifty-third  j.arallel,  and 


at  its  bend  to  the  south,  it  is  joined  by  the 
Okana^an,  a  river  that  has  its  source  in  a  line 
of  lakes,  attbrding  canoo  and  boat  navigation 
for  a  considerable  extent  to  the  northward. 
The  Columbia  thence  passes  to  the  south- 
ward, until  it  reaches  Wallawalla,  m  the  lat- 
itude of  forty-five  degrees,  a  distance  ot  one 
hundred  and  sixty  miles,  receiving  the  1  is- 
cous  Y'Akuirn,  and  Point  de  Boise,  or  Knty- 
atecoom,  from  the  west,  which  take  their  nse 
in  the  Cascade  range,  and  also  its  great  soutli- 
eastorn  branch,  the  Saptin  or  Lewis,  which 
has  its  source  in  the  Rocky  mountains,  near 
our  southern  boundary,  and  brings  a  large 
(luantitv  of  water  to  increase  the  v 
the  principal  stream.     The  Lewis  is  not  nav 
igable,  even  for  canoes,  except  in  reaches. 
The  rupids  are  extensive,  and  of  frequent  oc- 
currence.   Its  length,  to  its  junction  with  the 
Columbia,  is  five  hundred  and  twenty  miles. 
The  Columbia,  at  Wallawalla,  is  one  thou- 
sand two  hundred  and  eighty-six  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  sea,  and  about  thirty-tive 
hundred  feet  wide  •-  it  now  takes  its  last  turn 
to  the   westward,   rei-^-.r.ng    the    Umatilla, 
Quisnel's,  John  Day's,  and  De  Chute  nvers, 
from  the   south,  and   Cathlatate's  from  the 
north,   pursuing  its  rapid   course  of  eighty 
miles,  previous  to  passing  through  the  range 


after  receiving  the  waters  ot  several  smaller 
streams,  breaks  through  the  Cascade  ran^e, 
in  a  succession  of  falls  and  rapids,  and  emiities 
into  the  gulf  of  Georgia,  about  the  forty-ninth 
parallel,  its  whole  length  being  three  hundred 
and  fifty  miles.  The  Chikeelis  is  next  m  im- 
portance. It  has  three  sources  among  the 
range  of  hills  that  intersect  the  country  north 
of  the  Columbia  river.  After  a  very  tortuous 
course,  and  receiving  some  small  streams,  is- 


rt?.c:l.RwS    =l»5e^^^^^^ 


the  head-waters  of  Hood's  canal  and  Puget  a 
sound  it  disembogues  in  Gray's  harbor.  To 
the  south  of  the  Columbia  there  are  many 
small  streams,  but  three  of  which  deserve  the 
name  of  rivers.  Those  are  the  Urapqup 
Too-too-tut-na  or  Rogues'  nver,  and  the  Ki- 
met,  the  last-named  entering  into  the  ocei. 
south  of  the  parallel  of  forty-two  degrees. 

The  character  of  the  great  nvers  ot  Ure- 
eon  is  peculiar  :  rapid,  and  sunken  much  be- 
fow  the  level  of  the  country,  with  peri)endic- 
ular  banks ;  indeed,  they  are,  as  it-.-were,  m 
trenches,  it  being  extremely  ditficult  to  get  at 
the  water  in  many  places,  owing  to  the  steep 


„,;ies,  previous  to  passing  through  tne  range     -J^f^^V^iirai^d:  during  the  rise,  they  are 
„f  Cascade  mountains,  in  a  senes  of  1»1  «  "«»     "^t^"!)^'''^'  f "'    fi„ecf  bv  dalles,  which 


rapids  that  obstruct  its  flow,  and  forrn  insor- 
mountuble  barriers  to  the  passigeof  boats  by 
water  during  the  floods.    These  difficulties, 
however,  are  overcome  by  portages.     1  hence 
there  is  still-water  navigation,  for  forty  miles, 
when  its  course  is  again  obstructed  by  rapids. 
Thence  to  the  ocean,  one  hundred  and  twenty 
miles,  it  is  navigable  for  vessels  of  twelve  teet 
draught  of  water  at  the  lowest  state  of  the 
river,  though  obstructed  by  many  sand-bars. 
In  this  paifl  it  receives  the  Willamette  Irom 
the  south,  and  the  Cowelitz  from  the  north. 
The  former  is  navigable  for  small  vessels 
twenty  miles,  to  the  mouth  of  the  Klackamus, 
three  miles  below  its  falls;  the  latter  can  not 
be  called  navigable,  except  for  a  small  part  ot 
the  year,  during  the  floods,  and  then  only  tor 
canoes  and  barges.     The  width  of  the  Colum- 
bia, within  twenty  miles  of  its  mouth,  is  much 
increased,  and  it  joins  the  ocean  between  Cape 
Disappointment,  and  Point  Adams,  forming  a 


in  many  places  confined  by  dalles,  which 
back  the  water  some  distance,  submerging  is- 
lands and  tracts  of  low  prairie,  giving  tho 
appearance  of  extenswe  lakes. 

In  the  various  sections  of  Oregon  there  are 
many  lakes.     The  Okanagan,  Stuart's,  Quis- 
nell's,  and  Kamloon's,  are  the  largest  in  tlie 
northern  section.    The  Flatbow,  Coeur  d  Al- 
ene,  and  Kulluspelm,  in  the  middle  section, 
and  those  forming  the  head-waters  of  the  large 
rivers  in  the  eastern  section.     The  country  is 
well  watered,  and  there  arc  but  few  places 
where  an  abundance  of  water,  from  either 
rivers,  springs,  or  rivulets,  can  not  be  obtain- 
ed.    The  smaller  lakes  add  much  to  the  pic- 
turesque beauty  of  the  country.     They  ara 
generally  at  the  head-waters  of  the  smaller 

streams.  ,.•!.• 

There  are  extensive  fishenes  m  the  nvers 
and  on  the  coast.  They  all  abound  in  salmon 
of  the  finest  flavor,  which  run  twice  o  year, 


OREGON. 


!,  anil  causing 
Y  impoclps  its 
ino'ith  of  the 
lay  becoming 
client  clmnnel 
It  is  to  the 
,"  and  at  no 
ess  than  three 
water.  From 
;rc  is  also  an 
ich,  should  it 
11  make  three 
river. 

in  the  Rocky 
d  jmrallol,  and 
severnl  smaller 
Cascade  ran^e, 
ds,  and  emjities 
the  forty -ninth 
J  three  hundred 
is  is  next  in  im- 
ces  among  the 
e  country  north 
a  very  tortuous 
null  streams,  is- 
gh  ground  near 
nal  and  Puget's 
y's  harbor.  To 
there  are  many 
lich  deserve  the 
3  the  Umpqup- 
er,  and  the  K!'  i 
;  into  the  ocem 
-two  degrees. 
It  rivers  of  Ore- 
unken  much  be- 
with  perpendic- 
re,  as  it-,.were,  in 
difficult  to  get  at 
ving  to  the  steep 
he  rise,  they  are 
jy  dalles,  which 
e,  submerging  is- 
airie,  giving  the 
es. 

Oregon  there  are 
,n,  Stuart's,  Quis- 
lie  largest  in  the 
tbow,  Cceur  d'Al- 
e  middle  section, 
vaters  of  the  large 
.  The  country  is 
c  but  few  places 
rater,  from  either 
can  not  be  obtain- 
l  much  to  the  pic- 
untry.  They  ara 
iTS  of  the  smaller 

eries  in  the  rivers 
1  abound  in  salmon 
run  twice  a  year, 


frequently  captured  by  the  InUians 

fleurs,  which  are  e^^'="  "iL!  ,,esignated  as 
Tn  the  middle  section,  or  that  (lesifciia 

;;. X ?»"'. r frumrli.  Tt 

e..ter„  action  *■: '"""'«  »™' "number, 

out  regard  to  fason.     x  company 

t  sWan'dSl  tte^s  L  literally  c^ 
tne  spring  a-""  „„,i  ntlipr  water-iiivi 

dation  of  a  town  caiieu      ^    „-      jj  jg  jVom 
view  of  which  IS  given  on  p.  337.  J^ 
a  sketch  taken  on  the  spot.    J'^^f  P^^^.n^e 
'"""'  rer'aJ;^raltmlenc:d  making 

S  themselves  into  a  government  for  sel 

;"  tection,  and  adopted  »  eon^^^™',^,:^'^^ 
institution  recogmzxsrehgou^nd  CIV  11^ 

Surl-  ^S.;iS  Shan  be  estab 


i;  l.pd  for  the  "enerul  education  of  the  i.eoi)le  ; 

that  ?he  u  n..^t  good  faith  .hall  be  observ.,-d 

^Ird  tie  Indians;  and  that  slavery  and  in- 

iSlX  «  ».S     The  h»™  .,.,.».«. 

»u=   oVinll  he  entitled  to  a  citi/en  s  \ni\i 
Sef 'The  curre'nJy  laws  are  founded  upon 
leges.     i»  the  importat  on  or  manut:ic- 

Lrt  ardent   rirUs "prohibited,  by  an  act, 
Xh  imposes  fines  for  Iransgressnig  its  pro- 

^^  The"upper  colony  from  the  United  States, 
is  linS  on  the  Villamette  nver  nmety- 

[°-  i;^:oSs  of  ruToLTunteJS 

mmmm 

.*  ot  .he  Col«~hi.  me.  ft.»  h  _D.te 
t„  Oregon  city.  "»"";„,°  from  the  Blue 
.  o„»p..r....ely  'Syr'te  Will™«»  « 

rr&nX»te.'Hep...«...or 
Caumbi.,  ninety  "''i  !rB*iAfnr.trade. 

.ire'ff=fiS3...A5-s 

seaboard,  the  settlers  >?  ^rego^  arc       ^ 

attacks  f--  Jj;'27;eatment  of  disease, 
race,  from  their  ruue  '  ^  |    Viits,  are 

and  their  reckless  •^"'^^^'f  ^^j  fast  dis- 
rapidly.  decreasing  in  nu™^^^^^^         ,,, 
appeanng  from  the  country      ,^^^^^„j^      ii 

s^"".ei  £*3xvS«i; 

rM.tWks«ttl'i»'»«8"»«- 


*» 


m 


„*s 


•■T 


11 


■ii 


Portrait  of  Christoplier  Columbus. 


CHRISTOPHER  COLUMBUS: 

AND    THE   DISCOVERT    OF   AMERICA. 

The  discovery  of  a  new  planet,  so  small 
and  distant,  that  to  the  greater  part  of  nmn- 
kind  it  must  ever  remain  invisible,  has  lately 
been  exciting  the  curiosity  of  the  public,  and 
will  in  all  probability  secure  immortality  to 
the  fortunate  astronomer  who  first  observed  it. 
Such  are  amonj;  the  greatest  triumphs  reserved 
for  science  in 'the  present  day,  when  every 
corner  of  the  globe  has  been  searched  out,  and 
the  very  stars  of  heaven  numbered  as  they 
shine.     Far  dilferent  was  the   state  ot    the 
world  in  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
when,  awaking  from  the  slumber  of  ages,  men 
set  themselves  to  explore  the  laws  regulating 
the  system  of  the  heavens  and  the  earth,  and 
when  new  or  unknown  worids  remained  m 
both  to  reward  their  labors. 

Amontr  the  successful  discoverers  ot  that 
period;  the  name  of  Christopher  Columbus, 
or,  as  he  designated  himself  when  he  hxed  his 
residence  in  Spain,  Cristoval  Colon,  is  the 
most  iustly  distinguished.  Some  obscurity 
attaches  to  the  place  of  his  birth,  but  the  hon- 
or seems  due  to  Genoa,  where  his  father,  a 

poor  but  worthy  woolcomber,  was  long  resi- 


dent    AVlirn  his  name  had  become  illustnous, 
many  noble   families  claimed   kin.lrod  with 
Columbus,  but  on  such  uncertain  grounds  that 
his  son  and  historian  was  content  to  assume 
him  as  the  founder  of  the  family;  "for  I  am 
of  opinion,"  says  he,  "that  I  should  derive 
less  dignity  from  any  nobility  of  fcestry,  than 
from  being  the  son  of  such  a  father."     In  the 
ancient  city  of  Genoa,  then,  in  the  year  143o, 
or  143G,  was  Columbus  bom.     His  education 
seems  to  have  been  considerable  for  the  pe- 
riod, having  been  taught  reading  and  writing, 
arithmetic,  drawing,  and  painting,  with  such 
success,  that,  ns  one  of  his  historians  observes, 
by  these  acnuirempnts  he  might  have  earned 
his   bread.      At    Pavia,   then    a    celebrated 
school,  he  subse.|uently  studied  Latin  ;  and, 
with   more  diligence,  geometry,  geography, 
astronomy,  and  navigation  ;  to  which  ^rand^oH 
his  inclination  so  powerfully  led  him,  that  he 
afterward  ascribed  it  to  a  secret  impulse  from 
the  Deity,  leading  him  to  those  studies  which 
should  fit  him  to  accomplish  his  hich  destiny. 
His  birth  in  a  maririme  city  like  Genoa,  at  a 
time  when  reviving  literature  was  anew  un- 
folding the  geographical  knowledge  and  theo- 
ries of  the  ancients,  was  no  less  fortunate,  and 
must  have  tended  greatly  to  strengthen  his  in- 
i  clination  for  naval  pursuits. 


:ome  niustrioiis, 
1   kinilroil  with 
nin  grounils  that 
titent  to  assume 
lily  ;  "  fur  I  am 
[  should  derive 
)f  ancestry,  than 
Father."     In  the 
(1  the  year  1435, 
His  education 
ahle  for  the  pe- 
ing  and  writing, 
nting,  with  such 
torians  observes, 
ght  have  earned 
in    a    celebrated 
ied  Latin ;  and, 
;try,  geograjjhy, 
3  which  branches 
led  him,  that  he 
;ret  impulse  from 
ise  studies  which 
his  hiah  destiny. 
'  like  Genoa,  at  a 
re  was  anew  un- 
iwledge  and  theo- 
ess  fortunate,  and 
strengthen  his  in- 


CHRI8T0PHEE  COLUMIlUS. 


313 


His  life  after  leaving  the  university,  is  for 
Bomc  time  involved  in  obscurity,  P^r'^^l'^/^'" 
the   unwillingness  of  his  son  to  disclose  the 
„,e«n  conditinn  from  which  he  rose.     It  lie 
"v..r  followed  his  father's  trade,  us  has  been 
usserted,  it  could  only  be  tor  a  sh°"  "^^'J^ 
he  Kuvs  that  he  bouau  to  navmate  when  only 
J:un.^.fn  years  of  age.     The  ^'^f^"'^ 
su.Tound.Ml  by  numerous  independent  states, 
,,,,r„,MMl  not  only  in  mutual  commerce,  but  in 
firmrent  wars  ami  piratical  excursions,  formed 
a  .ood  .hou.hiou.h  school  lor  the  young  sa  1- 
orTiu  whuli  he  wouhl  soon  ac-iuirc  those  hab- 
its of  decision,  boldness,  and  comman.l  over 
i;;:r:iil:!ciat.;s,  ..essential  to  liisfuturesuc- 
'  c.ss.     In  1459,  he  was  employed  in  the  Gen- 
,,,..0  fleet,  which  assisted  the  duke  ol  Cala- 
;,ia  in  hi;  attempts  to  n'eover  the  throne  of 
Nui-les  for  his  father,  Count  R^ne  of  1   ov- 
cuce      Under  this  king  he  had  command  ot  a 
vessel  sent  to  Tunis,  to  capture  a  g^Hey  ly'"f 
there.     His  sailors,  frightened  by  reports  ot 
e  ciemy's  strength,  insisted  on  returning; 
but  Columbus,  while  seeming  to  ff^Jy 
alterim-  the  card  of  the  ^'""I'f «' ^''J.'^T,^, 
the  place  he  wished,  and  as  he  boasts  ot  his 
CO   "probably  succeeded  in  his  enterprise 
The  alte.npt  on  Naples,  aft.r  a  four  years 
coMiM  and  dolumbus  seems  lor  some 
lime  tohave bl-enoccupied in  commercial vov- 
a.^es  in  the  Mediterranean  in  one  ot  which  he 
is  known  to  have  visited  the  '^l''  "^  ^7"; 
Two  admirals  of  his  own  name,  or  Colombo 
us  it  is  in  the  Italian,  then  commanded    he 
fleets  of  Genoa,  which  were  usually  under 
the  influence  of  France  notwithstanding  the 
nominal  independence  of  the  republic,      fhe 
younger  of  these  was  so  iamou-for  his  ex- 
.loits" against  the  intidels,  that  it  is  said  the 
Moorish  women  use.l  his  name  t<>  quiet  their 
unruly  children.     Genoa  being  then  at  vvar 
with  Venice,  this  bold  corsair  on  one  occasion 
IS.Z\.  to'in.ercept  four  rich  Venetian  ga  - 
leys  on  their  return  trom  I  landers.    The  ves- 
sels  met  on  the  coast  of  Portuga  ,  and  a  des 
perate  battle  ensued.     The  ^ssel  commarided 
ly  Columbus,  having  grappled  ^v'th  her  op- 
ponent, according  to  the  custom  of  that  time, 
both  were  involved  in  flames,  and  it  heing  irn- 
possible  to  separate  them,  the  crews  had  to 
Sc  into  ihl  sea.     Columbus  being  an  ex 
pert  swimmer,  seized  an  oar,  and  hv  means 
of  it  reached  the   shore,  though  fuUy  two 
Sagues  distant.     In  this  strange  fashion,  hs 
son'relates  that  Columbus  fi'^ft'irrivecl  in  Por- 
tugal,  and  repairing  to   L^shon,  wherr    he 
foi^r^d  many  of  his  countrynrien,  t^k  up     ;* 
ab,>.!e  for  some  time  in  that  city.    As  th..   ,>-, 
t,.:  .  .  happened  ui  the  summer  of  148o,  u 
Commbui  was  a.:. ally  ^ng^gf  '".fj^^ 
must  have  '.v.cn  at  a  later  period  of  h  s  h  s^| 
ry,  after  I'o  i'.'id  been  some  time  -n  '  '....ugai. 


No  couirry  in  Europe  was  at  that  time 
better  adapted  for  the  future  discoverer.    1  or- 
tucal.  mider  the  influence  of  Prince  Henry, 
was  engaged  in  the  full  career  ot  maritime 
adventure.     Despising  the  fab  ed  dangers  of 
the  ocean  and  the  torrid  zone,  the  Portuguese 
were  gradually  extending  their  voyages  along 
the  African  coast,  and  the  prince  just  men- 
tioned already  foresaw  the  time  when,  fol  ow- 
hi-'tho  course  of  Hanno  round  the  sou  hern 
ex"trcmity  of  Africa,  a  direct  road  should  be 
opened  to  the  treasures  of  the  cast.     Colum- 
bus arrived  in  Portugal  in   1470.     Ho_  was 
then  in  the  full  vigor  of  manhood,  and  is  de- 
scribed by  his  contemporaries  as  tall   well- 
formed,  muscular,  and  of  an  elevated,  digni- 
fied  demeanor.      His   visage  was  long,  his 
complexion  fair  and  ruddy,  his  nose  nipuline, 
his  eyes  light  gray,  but  apt  t<.  enkii.de,  n.ul 
his  hair,  once  of  a  light  color,  now  white  with 
care  and  trouble.    He  ha<l  subdued  his  natu- 
rally irritable  temper,  and  was  amiable  and 
aflable  in  social  intercourse.     He  was  at  the 
same  time  strict  in  his  religious  observances, 
and  his  whole  character  was  tinctured  with  a 
lofty,  solemn  enthusiasm,  winch  led  him  to 
reganl  himself  as  the  appointed  agent  to  work 
out  some  great  designs  of  Heaven.     In  ih.s 
country,  and  with  these  feel.ngs,  i    required 
but  a  slight  impulse  to  direct  the  whole  mind 
and  energy  of  Columbus,  into  the  path  of 
maritime'^lliscovery.     And  t^.s  he  _  received 
from  an  apparent  accident  which  might  have 
rnther  seemed  destined  to  fix  him  at  home. 
When  attendiug  religious  service  in  the  con- 
vent of  All  Saints,  he  saw  and  became  enam- 
ored with  a  lady  of  Italian  descent,  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  distinguished  navigator  in  the  service 
of  Prince  Henry.     Havmg  married  the  lady , 
he  had  access  to  the  charts  and  papers  ot  her 
father,  now  dead,  and  thus  became  acquainted 
with  the  plans  and  routes  of  the  Portuguese. 
When  on  shore,  he  occupied  himself  in  con- 
structing maps  and  charts  for  the  support  of 
his  family,  but  occasionally  joined  in  the  ex- 
peditions of  his  adopted  countrymen  to  the 
coast  of  Guinea.     He  also  resided  f..r  some 
time  on  the  island  of  Porto  Santo,  the  gover- 
nor of  which  was  married  to  his  v-'ife's  s  s  cr. 
Here  his  son,  Diego,  was  born:  ami  Colum- 
bus hud   frequent  opportuni  les  of  meet  ng 
with  persons  engaged  in  the  discoveries  on  the 
coast^of  Africa.'  ^ere  rUo  rumors  oisknds 
seen  in  the  western  ocenn  were  frequen  ly 
heard  and  revived  the  belief  in  the  faWed 
Atlantis  of   Plato.     These  tales,  however 
Me  credit  he  might  attach  to  them  and  Ins 
trade  of  map-making,  soon  gave  a  deeded 
bias  to  his  miiid,  and  ripened  into  a  grand 

^^  ThL^  were  various  grounds  on  which  Co- 
lumbus  built  hi.  faith  of  new  lands  to  be  dis- 


.1*.  ■» 


I,,. 


344 


CHRlriTOrHKa  COLUMBUS. 


,„vcreJ  by  sailing  west  in  the  Atlantic  ocean. 
The  travels  of  Marco  Polo  had  um.lc  knovvn 
to  Europeans  the  vast  emi.irc  ol  China,  wi  n 
the  Japines*  islands  in  the  a.ljoi.nn«  sea   on 
excite/I  muns  cupidity  by  accounts  of  t  eu 
luxiUY  o"J  ^-calth.     Columbus  assumed  that 
the  omt!.  was  ".  sphere,  and  not  a  plane  as 
w«s   at,   that  tm.e   the   orthodox   belief,  and 
hence  ir.ferrei  tl  at  by  sailing  west  he  could 
reach  those  a-.^n'rics  to  which  a  1""^  «" 
..■eari..n.e   ovcland  journey  l'"'!.  ^   i      '' 
the  Venetian  i-avlhr.     Tlie  width  of  the 
intervening  uce.ui  Columbus  greatly  underra- 
ted, haviuR  adopted  very  erroneous  notions  of 
the  true  dimensions  of  the  globe  from  the  Ar- 
abic «eograph.-rs.  then  the  highest  authorities 
on  scTentilic  .ubjccts.     He  was  conhrnied  in 
thir  oiiui.m  of  land  to  be  discovered  m  the 
wcht,  bv  various  passages  in  ancient  authors, 
„m  ArW^Ue.  Plmy,  Strabo,  and  Senoca;  ot 
whom  the  l.v  t  in  a  remarkable  passage  proph- 
ecies that  the  time  should  come  when   the 
chains  of  ocean  should  be  Ifwsened,  and  new 
worlds  expand  to  the  astonished  ga/.c  ot  men. 
Columbus  also  collected  various  iiuhcations  ot 
unknown  land  in  the  west,  some  of  them  very 
curious— as  a  piece  of  carved  wood,  evident- 
Iv  not  labored  with  an  iron  instrument,  tounil 
far  west  of  Cape  St.  Vincent;  the  unknown 
trees,  seeds,  and  immense  reeds,  driven  by 
currents  on  the  Azores  and  coasts  ot  i!.urope  ; 
and  especially  the  dead  bodies  of  two  inen. 
with  features  unlike  any  known  tribe,  cast  on 
the  island  of  Flores.     His  religious  sinnt  ol- 
so  led  him  to  read  his  discovery  as  foretold  in 
Holy  Writ,  and  dimly  announced  in  the  mys- 
tic revelations  of  the  prophets.     These  are 
the  grounds  he  himself  assigned  for  his  opin- 
ion r  but  his  enemies  have  ascribed  his  beliet 


kinc  at  first  was  favorable  to  the  proposition, 
but  finally  refused  it  in  conse(iuence  ot  lus 
high  demonds  of  honors  and  rewards  An- 
other authority  states  that  the  king  looked  ,m 
Columbus  as  ivain-gloru.us  boaster,  and  only 
refened  his  proposition  to  a  junto  ol  I.  anie.l 
men,  'in  conse.pience  of  h's  „n|.ortun.tH  s. 
This  junto,  as  Was  to  be  expected,  treated  the 

1  project   as   extravagant    a.ul   visHmury.   a  d 
'when  it  was  brought  before  the  roval  n  unc 
I  their  decision  was  contirmed.     J"'"  "; ^"* 
thus  led  to  reject   the  i-roposal,  but  at  the 
same  time,  with  a  meanness  unworthy  ot  a 
i-reat  and  wise  princ.;,  endeavored  to  deprive 
Columbus  of   the  honor  due  to  his   genius. 
Having  obtained  all  his  maps,  plans,  and  ot  - 
er  documents,  a  vessel  was  secretly  htled  out 
and  directed  to  pursue  the  n-ite  indicated  by 
Columbus.     However,  a  storm  "ose,  as  it 
.lesigned  to  defeot  this  treachery,  and  the  sail- 
ors easily  frightened,  and  devoid  of  ^'Y'./f- 
turned  home,  ridiculing  a  scheme  which  they 
wanted  courage  to  proseciU..     Disgusted  n 
this  unworthy  attempt.  Columbus  refused  a 
further  negotiation  ^^:th  King  John,  and  his 
wife  being  now  dead,  he  resolved  to  leave 
P  rtugal.^  In  the  end  of  Lia-Lhe  eft  Lisbon 
secretfy,  either  fearing  that  the  k"^S  "i-?  '^ 
try  to  fletain  him,  or  more  probablv  wi^hn  g 
occlude,  his  creditors.     Next  year  U  was  in 
Genoa,  and  probably  then  made  that  proposi- 
Ibn  to'his  native  cit'y  which  has  V-n  -rone- 
ously  placed  at  an  cariier  period,     i  he  repuD 
lie,  exhausted  by  war,  an<l  with  declining 
commeSce,  was  in\o  condition  to  accep    this 
otTer.     Some  afTirm  that  he  then  carried  his 
proposal  toVenice,whereitwas.UoecW 


Wt  the  national  hostility  of  the  nval  repub- 


ion  r  but  his  enemies  have  ascribed  his  be  cf  >^^tne  m  ^^^  . ^^  ^^^j^„^^^ 

to  a  shipwrecked  pilot,  who  died  in  his  house,  '^^^^'^^Z  f^^,  ^^^^  ^han  doubtful.  . 

and  left  him  written  accounts  of  unknown  '^"g^mbus's  wanderings  are  for  a  time  hid- 

i__.i, ;„♦!,«  wo  it    nr  tn  a  man  ot  Martin  _    \^v>»u"  .V,„  ^ovt   trnee 


UUU     K^ib     mill     YYUi,.^.. . 

lands  seen  in  the  west,  or  to  a  map  ot  Martm 
Behera,  a  celebrated  contemporary  cosmogra- 
pher.  A  far  more  probable  source  ot  mtor- 
mation  is  to  be  found  in  Columbus's  inter- 
course with  Iceland,  to  which  he  made  a  voy- 
age in  1474,  as  its  inhabitants  are  well  known 
to  have  discovered,  and  even  founded  a  colony 
named  Vinland,  on  the  coast  of  North  Amer- 


Uoiumuuss  wuii">-i. ■■■,■'  "--  --  .  ,  . 

den  in  obscurity,  and  the  next  trace  of  h.m 
is  in  Spain,  on  Iiis  way  to  the  court  oil  trdi- 
nund  and  Isabella.  While  offering  the  gift 
of  a  new  world  to  monarchs,  he  hunse  f  wa 
in  want  of  the  merest  necessaries.  Near  the 
little  seaport  of  Palos.  in  Andalusia,  stood  a 
Franciscan  convent.    One  day  a  stranger,  ac- 


>,f  North  Amer-  Franciscan  ^"""^'^-    „^"^  "•'^topped  at  the 

ie"arsome"  centuries  before.     That  Columbus  -2'Zfa^cAiI2tLvoner  SUo  bread 

never  alluded  to  these  discovencs  may  be  a^  g^J;,°J„  f„,  ,,;,  child.    In  the  meantiine  the 

cribed  to  his  fear  of  thus  lessenmg  lus  ovvn  "^''J'JJ^^Verez,  passing  by  struck  with  his 

reputation,  and  to  the  fact  that  the  description  P"°^' ^'^'l"  ^^j^r^d  into  conversatiori  with  the 


reputation,  and  to  the  tact  that  ine  description 
given  by  the  Northmen  of  the  regions  they 
visited  did  not  correspon.l  with  the  brilliant 
picture  of  Cathay  and  Cipango,  by  which  lie 
hoped  to  induce  sonie  sovereign  to  aid  him  in 
liis  splendid  enterprise. 

Columbus  is  reported  to  have  first  proposed 
his  scheme  of  discovery  to  his  native  city,  and 
on  its  r<>jection  there,  to  have  apphed  to  the 
court  of  Portugal.    His  son  relates  that  the 


prior,  Juan  reru/;,  i<o^=."e,  -j  —  „  -f.  ,i,- 
appearance,  entered  into  conversa  ion  with  the 
stransrer  and  was  so  interested  in  his  story, 
as  toKn  him  as  his  guest.  The  stranger 
it  need  hardly  be  said,  was  Columbus,  on  his 
way  to  a  neighboring  town,  to  seek  his  broth- 
er-in-law, married  to  a  sister  of  his  late  wife. 
The  nrior  though  deeply  interested  m  the 
iiCt  viewl  of  CoUmbus  had  too  littb 
confidence  in  his  own  judgment  to  give  them 


proposition, 
uciicc  of  liU 
wurils.     Aii- 
iijr  liKikcil  on 
trr.  anil  oiily 
Id  of  liuniicl 
iiiliortuuiiifs. 
1,  trfiitid  llio 
sioniiry,    '""1 
•oviil  ('oun(;il, 
John  II.  W119 
1,  but  at  the 
iwortliy  of  a  1 
c(l  to  (lr|)nve 
1  liis   genius. 
Inns,  and  otli- 
L'tly  fitted  out 

iiulicatiHl  by 
I  arose,  as  if 
,  anil  the  sail- 
d  of  zeal,  rc- 
10  which  they 

Disiiustcd  at 
ms  refused  all 
John,  and  his 
)lved  to  leave 
he  left  Lisbon 
lie  king  mipht 
ibablv  wishing 
year  lie  was  in 
e  that  jiroposi- 
as  been  crrone- 
I.  The  repub- 
with  declining 

to  accept  this 
hen  carried  his 
IS  ilso  declined, 
state  of  affairs ; 
le  rival  repub- 
press  evidence, 
Lbtful. 

1  for  a  time  hid- 
tt  trace  of  him 

court  of  Ferdi- 
offering  the  gift 
he  himself  was 
iries.     Near  the 
idalusia,  stood  a 
y  a  stranger,  ac- 
,  stopped  at  the 
ter  a  little  bread 
he  meantime  the 
f  struck  with  his 
ersation  with  the 
ited  in  his  story, 
;.    The  stronger, 
:;olumbu9,  on  his 
:o  seek  his  broth- 
r  of  his  late  wife, 
interested  in  the 
bus,  had  too  little 
ncnt  to  give  them 


CHHISTOI'HEU  COLUMHUS. 


i,,n..dia,..  approval,  on.1  ;etj  1^. ^ --J^  J 

S'?rs:^n:;::;c::i^--a.-onsuita. 
t"-"ySi;:n:v:^';;rc.t.S'un.andad- 

ilecK  e.l  1"  '"y"^'.  ,  c  ,i„,  Spanish  ^n^-vx- 
^r'''''V^:S,m  ^^lisFriJrJuanrere. 
(iisns.      lo  ai.i  111  >  rccmimcndation 

to  Fernnndo  '  •  ]  "'  ;;^,'^^  i,,,;^',^^.,  terms,  but 
s.,r,  with  wh;>.n  \v  V''^  ^  j ;,  g„„  l)i,.g„. 

•"''''''TTv'uiikhidneswthnevv  hopes. 

history,  wh.  n  'I'-' .'"""^^.f ;  .„\  k  Ifidoms  of 
Isabella.  -^I^^^/^^;:  ;.a"  ho  povv'er  of  the 
Aragon  and  Cast  e  cxa  x   ^^  ^^^^^ 

cent,  .ri''  ''  ."-^^^./..f  Granada,  with  .I'.ni- 
culty  dj'fend.  ;l  tui.  u  „,,,inueen.thou^ 


theories  of   a  poor  unfriend.'.!  stranger  met 

Su  slow  h.-lmng.     For  s.j.m;  f.ne.   >;•  "P; 

„r.  tn  have  n'-nin  su|>p.>rle.l  hnns.U  by  tbe 

i;  1.    m  p'."vhiic  following  the  movem^n.s 

tl     e.mrt      Ilis  earnest  enthnsiiisn.   how- 

?„    re      fVi  or  with  his  sover...gns,  who  r.m 
Isuh    Ihmon  all  matters  ef.;o„s,.,pnMK-.-.  so 
'   lie  was  n«nu.l'' the  third  knig..f^|-.^^^^^ 
The  eanlinnl,  when  once  eonvin.'.d  tl  at  t be 
tl  eorv       C,  ln,nl.us  involvd  notlnng  hent, 
onl   Soeured  hi.n  an  audien.-e  at  .•nurt,  wli.   e 
,■     '      In.t  «plf-nos-^ession.  and  the  ]inH-tu-«l 
;iem£^i^withwl,i.-h  he  supported  his 
hiitntinc  ruis.  .        j   Kerdiwuid,  that  he 

rr  the  .luestion  an<l  make  a  r.-pv    ">  •""i- 
This  council  m.'t  in  the  l)o,nn„.-nn  .  onvent 


e^lty  defended  f^^^^^--^^^^    ."-nwlnl.  V.^^  Z.^^^^^-^^^^-'^^ 
powerful  empire.    1  1h  «'";  "  i,„lepcnd-    hospitality,      i'^^  ";;'^ ,    /  f  ,,j^rious  .liL'nitu- 

U-vingni,..rsepar^  n^itsas^.^^    ,^^^ 


naruu;  ii,'"—  ••-  •    . 

I .         ,.o»  made  mutual  cause  against 

ont  Bover.;igns  >e.  ma      ™      ^^.^^  ^  ^^-^^^  „„, 

theunbel,evr,>.     '  ^i^'"'  .  ,     n„,i  artful  sov- 

l-':'""^;;  i;;::?,Ser  Ir  tninion  than  glo- 
ereign,  biibtiii-  nun         ,  .  (^„jn  religion. 

rv.  and  iu-pired  more  by  >^  «"">  ^  „f  ,h(. 

Ilisthre;.  ^n^^t '''V«f  ^T^  Je  v  ,  an.l  the 
Moors,  the  «''I'"V'"V^  J.i„  ,ve,e  pursued 
establishment  of  the  "«  '"Vei^  ,i^ith  un- 

from  the  ---:"-J"il^;"  as  much  from 
relenting  -'.-r.  >  and  perhap      ^^  ^,,  ^^^  ^^ 


rclcniing  <■"> '-1' ',.  .   ■ 

motives  of  pi.lit.cs  as  '"'J'f  °";,„,;;,"i;,art  and 

she  exhiblte.1  much  firnriness  ona  i       i       ;^ 
but  was  >noro  .li^tingujshed  byher  / 

r  ^^''^^^T.  wh  "l^n'rftia^s  tl  inflicted, 

'^Tr'fosT  rit  ci  e  of  literature  and  sc- 

""  To  these 'princes,  Columbus  now  pro 

ence.     iotntsbpi»       i  ..  j^,^,| 

eeeded  with  his  i:T„fex'neete.r  Talavera 
that  ready  access  he  '^^d  fxpcc  eu 

regarded-his  sch.>me  ^^^^^xT^^^  -V^'^^^^' 
iers  contrasted  the  «P^f/^°;  "j,,    '!.  l]ecause 
tions  with  the  poverty  of  h>   ga.h        i 
he  was  a  strang.-r  and  -v^nt  h"Mn  sun         i^_ 
pareh.nor  otherwise  cred^^J/,  ^^^^.f  y„,  no% 

in  .'^«.  ?I,*,^  .'V,^,,''  ,;rried  away  to  preserve 


^ml;  well  believe,  likely  to  reganl, el... 
vvheti  ^  'l"'"7^;,\-tHe  mostlennuMl  convent, 

s::iKr'¥i^^-'^-4''^-''^-"'^^ 

ing  with  the  r  heus    i  ^^^^^  ^^^^ 

„,  r  ,  f  heresy  while  maintaining  the  truth  oi 
pcrot    'I'^rfj'y,  ,   t^iat   the   language  of 

scujnce  ;   ^f^'^^^^^J^  „„,,  adapted  to  pop- 
scripture  was  figuratne.  a  ^  ^^^^^ 

"^"  '="rtE;  li-     rillrisl:;  but  pious 
not  writing  P^'  "^"P'"^  strongest  argument, 

^''^rnUnh     notion  tiat  Uie  torrid  .,.,ne 
drawn  liom  i"\    "        ,,  .      ^^..^  „s  he 

the  moment  when  rt^t^^^-^'^f   „,,  3„,iges. 

„,„,i,,„vered  ^^l^^"   ^^/^  ;>;'   utation,  are 
The  argumen     ...e  P^^Mb         .^  ^^^^^^  ^.^ 

strikingly  exhibited,     nis  i'b 


111 


^: 


CHRISTOPHEn  COLUMBUS. 


eye  ci.kin.lloa,  an.l  his  whole  expression  ani- 
mQt.«l.  Around  him  are  seen  tlie  jmlrres,  with 
pity,  doubt,  inercduliiy,  and  conviction,  vari- 
ously depicted  in  their  countenances.  1  he 
elooTiencc,  truth,  and  .lovout  enthusiasm  ot 
Coluuil.us,  convincMJ  i.mny  ot  his  judj;es,  but 
the  inuioritv  remuined  incredulous,  conter.'n- 
cos  were  multiplied  without  resu  t,  and  a 
(iiml  decision  was  procrnstinuted  till  the  re- 
turn of  8uniinrr  (1187)  ngnin  called  the  court, 
to  be-in  the  cuinpuign  aguinst  the  Moors. 
Durin"  its  conlinui.ncc  there  was  no  time  to 
li,U.n  "to  his  suit,  though  Columbus  followed 
the  court  and  took  an  active  jmrt  in  the  war, 
leceiviu"  occusioniil  supplies  of  mor.-y. 

ThesiT  delays  do  not  aiijicar  to  have  ex- 
hausted his  hopes  or  i)atience,  as  in  the  spnng 
of  1 1H8,  he  th.clined  an  invitation  from  King 
John,  to  return  to  the  court  of  Portugal,  in 
which  ho  was  assured  ot  protection  from  all 
civil  or  criminal  suits  pending  against  him. 


1  Perhaps  disgust  at  the  conduct  ol  the  king, 
luul  some  inllu.nce  on   this  refusal,   as  his 
brother  Barlholoin.w  was  now  in  England,  en- 
deavoring to  prevail  on  Henry  VII.  to  engage 
i,.  this  pn.ject  of  discovery.     From  this  mon- 
ar.-h,  he  says  that  he  received  a  favorable  let- 
ter  thou'-h  at  what  time,  docs  not  appear. 
In  1189  Columbus  was  commanded  to  attend 
the  court,  in  order  to  have  a  conference  with 
the    kill",  but  the  Moorish  war  and  other 
matters  prevented  him  from  obtaining  an  au- 
ciience  1*111  the  winter  of  1491.  .  Tlie  court 
was  then  j.reparing  f<.r  the  catnpaign  in  winch 
Granada,  the  last  refuge  of  the  Moors,   ell, 
and  the  council  had  given  m  its  report  Miat 
his  scheme  was  vain  and  impossible.     Ihe 
most  learned  portion  of  its  members  were 
however,  in  his  favor,  and  hence  probably  he 
undecided  nature  of  the  royal  answer,  tha 
the  care  and  exi.ense  of  the  war,  prevented 
them  engaging  in  any  new  enter|)nse,  but  that 
on  its  co;cluJion,  they  would  treat  with  him 
about    his   i>rop(«al.      Bitterly   d'^appointed 
with  this  cold  and  evasive  answer,  Co  umbus 
turned  his  back  on  the  court  where  he  had 
wasted  so  many  precious  years.    But,  bouiitl 
to  Spain  by  attachment  to  a  lady  of  Cordova, 
he  was  unwilling  to  leave  the  country  without 
another  attempt.      He  applied  to  ttie  dukes 
of  Medina  Sidonia,   and  Medina  Ceh,  botl. 
possessing  vast  estates  in  the  mantimc  pr,.v- 
inccsof  Spain,  which  gave  them  the  power 
and  revenues  rath.T  of  princes  than  of  sub - 
iects      The  former,   however,   rejected   his 
proposal  a.s  the  dream  of  an  Italian  visionary; 
an.l  the  latti;r,  though  so  much  disposed  to 
engage  in  it,  that  he  had  actually  three  ves- 
sels ready  to  sail,  at  length,  dreading  the  d.- 
pleasuie  of  the  king,  dismissed  Columbus, 
advising  him  again  to  apply  at  the  cour  .  as 
the  undertaking  was  too  great  for  a  subject, 


and  fit  only  for  a  sovercisrn  power.  Thus 
ballled  anew  in  his  hopes,  Co!uitil)Us  rcMilved 
to  proceed  to  France,  but  first  returned  to  the 
convent  where  he  had,  seven  years  lietore, 
left  his  son.  Here  he  meant  to  leave  his  sec- 
ond son,  whom  the  hidy  mentioned  abov  had 
bonie  him,  and  whom,  though  illi'gitimate,  he 
alw.'ys  treated  with  the  same  favor  as  his  el- 
der brother. 

The  worthy  friar,  Juan  Perez,  wos  greatly 
moved  by  the  disajipointnient  of  his  friend  ; 
still  more  so  when  he  heard  his  determinulKm 
to  quit  Spain,  and  carry  his  impoitaiit  project 
to  another  laii.l.  He  again  consulted  Ins 
friend  tin:  physician,  calling  in  olso  Martin 
Alonzo  Pin/.on',  the  heod  of  a  distinguished  and 
wealthy  family  of  merchants  in  the  nrighbor- 
in"  town.  Pill/on  not  only  approved  the  plon 
of^Columbus,  but  otlered  to  bear  the  expense 
of)  a  renewed  application  to  the  court.  The 
friar,  who  had  formerly  been  conlessor  to  the 
(lueen,  undertook  to  write  her  on  the  subject, 
and  havin"  persuaded  Columbus  to  wait  an 
answer,  de^spatched  a  letter  by  a  trusty  mes- 
sen"er.  In  fourteen  days  he  brought  back  an 
answer,  thanking  the  friar  for  his  timely  ser- 
vices, and  requesting  Columbus  to  return  to 
court.  On  receiving  this  epistle,  Perez 
i  mounted  his  mule,  and  set  out  secretly  for  the 
court,  passing  through  the  newly-conquered 
'  ierritoiv  of  the  Moors.  Ho  found  the  queen 
busy  with  the  siege  of  Granada,  but  being 
admitted  to  an  audience,  pleaded  the  cause  of 
Columbus  with  so  much  earnestness,  that  Isa- 
bella a^ain  requested  him  to  be  sent  to  her,  | 
and  oriTcred  him  a  sum  of  money  to  jiay  his 
expenses.  This  favorable  result,  was  un- 
doubtedly aided  by  the  recomnK-ndution  of  the 
duke  of  Medina  Cell.  On  being  informed 
of  this  returning  favor,  Columbus  again  set 
out  for  the  court,  and  arrived  there  in  time  to 
witness  the  surrender  of  Granada,  the  mourn- 
ful departure  of  the  Moors,  and  the  triumjihal 
entry  of  the  Spaniards,  into  the  mognificent 
halls  of  the  Alhambra.  Amid  the  rejoicing 
multitudeshe  walked  melancholy  and  dejected, 
perhaps  contrasting  with  secret  contempt  the 
coiKiuest  which  swelled  every  bosom  with 
rapture,  with  that  nobler  and  bloodless  vieto- 
ry  which  he  felt  destined  to  achieve  over  the 
unbounded  ocean,  and  musing  on  the  vast 
realms  he  was  to  subjugate  to  the  cross. 

The  monarchs  were  faithful  to  their  prom- 
ise. Persons  of  confidence  were  appointed 
to  negotiate  with  him,  but  an  unexpected  dif- 
ficulty arose.  Columbus  demanded  princely 
stipulations  for  himself,  worthy  of  the  vast 
empire  he  had  to  bestow.  He  was  to  be  in- 
vested with  the  title  and  privileges  of  admiral 
and  viceroy,  over  the  countries  he  should  dis- 
cover, and  receive  a  tenth  of  the  gains  either 
by  trade  or  conquest.    These  tetms  were  at 


*■•.•■.> 


z,  wns  grnitly 

of  his  fVicinl  ; 
1  ilctcririiimlhm 
pDitiiiit  iirDJcrt 

cousiilti'ii  liis 
ill  also  Mnitin 
4iii'-;iii>>li<'il  on'l 
1  the  lui'^liliiir- 
irovcd  tlif  plan 
•nr  tliL"  cxiicnse 
le  court.  The 
:()ni'oss()r  to  tlie 

on  the  snlijcct, 
Inis  to  wuit  an 
y  a  tnisty  mes- 
)rouj;ht  bark  nn 

his  timely  ser- 
ins to  return  to 

epistle,    Perez 

secretly  for  the 
invly-comiucrecl 
found  the  queen 
ladn,  but  bein"; 
led  the  cause  of 
jstncss,  that  Isa- 

be  sent  to  her, 
oney  to  jiny  his 
resiilt,  was  nn- 
nK'ndntion  of  the 

being  informed 
iimbus  n,!;ain  set 

there  in  time  to 
lada,  the  moum- 
id  the  triumphal 

the  magnificent 
lid  the  rejoicing 
iolyandd('jecte(i, 
ret  contempt  the 
ery  bosom  with 
1  bloodless  victo- 

achieve  over  the 
sing  on  the  vast 
.CI  the  cross. 
;ul  to  their  prom- 
I  were  ap])ointcd 
n  nnexpected  dif- 
■manded  princely 
irthy  of  the  vast 
He  was  to  be  in- 
vileges  of  admiral 
ries  he  should  dis- 
if  the  gains  either 
!se  tefms  were  at 


rf 


■ 


i 


P.f* 


\:. 


348 


CHRI8T0PHKR  COLUMBUS. 


„„ec  r...ic.ctod  as  degrading  to  the  dignity  ..f 
the  rn.wn,  bnt  Colun.l.us  would  O'."  '^ 
n  thin"  l.H,.  und  ngain  mounlw.S  »"«  .""    . 
Sk  In.  departure  ft.r  Cordova  (I;  e  .rm.ry, 

Franco.  In  this  ^  ■  >rRciK-y.  Lum  do  bt.  An- 
Ll  receiver  of  ill-  nvcnuca  in  Aragon,  d.- 
f   Stoic  on.  bold  ertbrt  to  ,,n^^^^^^^ 

this  irreparabk-  lo»»,  an.l  dishonor  to  the  na 
,.      ric  <  "Hined  an  audienr--  of  the  quee... 
intedout   ,„  h.-r  how  small  ih.- nnk  com- 
S"     to  the  or.bablc  gain  bow  mucli  th. 
ent..rn..-<c  mifiht  advance  the  ^lory  ot  Go.1. 
eS     be  church,  and  extend  her  own  empire 
a,     'vlmt  cuune  of  regret  it  would  .f"rn,«h  o 
he    friends,  of  triumph  to  her  enemie..  shou  d 
it  be  acc«mi,li«hed  bv  Home  .ther  l''!  >^'/:  J/,^ 
ur'M'd  these  uud  oth-  r  arguments.  1 11  iMibtJla 
dec  nred  her  resolution  to  undertake  the  en- 
or,  HscN  but  Ferdinand  looke.l  coldly  on  the 
nS  a  ..represented  the  exhausted  condition 
ttttreLu'ry.     Hm  the  queen's  enthuMasm 
wa«  now  roused,  an,l   he  exclann.-d,  "  I  unde 
take   this  enterprise  for  my  "^n/^^"  5" 

Castile,  and  will  pl«<g«  '"y  J"^f ',1"  'rfo 
the  necessary  funds."      St.  Angel  ollered  to 
ad  van"  the  Lnev,  but  this  was  n-  •  requin. 
an.l  the  fun.ls  reallv  camr^  from  he      venue  o 
Aracon.  Ferdinand's  own  .ungdoni.     A  tnes 
fen|er;,nho,.eback  was  sent  after  Colum -us. 
who  overtook  bim  two  leagues  from  the  c,ty, 
Tmi  with  80,n.>.  difficulty  persuaded  him  to 

'^Columbus  was  now  received  with  great 
kindn' Z  and  in  .n  audienc    w.'    .he  queer, 
in.      ^ted  her  deeply  in  his  .      -- fc^^^ 
tiatu.  _  on  the  opportunities     ..'^'J^f^^Y,.^,^. 
t.  ndin.  the  Christir.        ith.  ,  ^J^f  '^    'ion^ 
tmued  cold  as  usu»  '  snaded  at  the  p  ons 

suggestion  of  Co'     .ou..  that     xe  tre  ^ures 
won  from  his  discu.cnessh.  "  co.       ra 

ted  to  recover  the  hu  y  sej.  ' 

power  of  the    infidels.     The  "»Jy 

agreed  to  were— that  Columbus  uud    ...      irs 

should  eVy  t*'"-  «»      "f  '^'^"'"'^^  "f  ^T^' 
r  °  in  We  .     mtnes  he  discos  .red,  and  be 
e,  ti  kd   o  a  tenth  of  .11  the  gold,  silver  pre- 
cious stones,  an.l  other  merchandise  gained 
Sin  his  ;dmu  Uy ;  or,  -  -nU    ut^mg  an 
eighth  of  the  cost,  to  an  eigh  h  "?  t^^^e  '"f «; 
This  agreement  was  signed  on  the  17th  o 
pril,  1492.  a'  Santa  Fe,  near  Granada,  and 
.nth,    30th..    that  month,  ail  order  was  18- 
,^  to  the  to.  a  of  Palo.,  to  have  two  cara 
8  8  ready  for  sea  in  ten  days,  to  be  placed 
under  the^.-mmand  of  Col   f -•  _  ««  «™; 
..as  in  the  meantime  appointed  P"S?  to  the 
young  -ince.     Thus.at  last .  icce.sf.d.  aft_er 


Sr^:-Ve-of"povc.ty.ne,l  a^ 
i.tter  ridicule.  C  imbus  returne,  to  P«J°« 
in  his  fifty-sixth  year,  to  prepare  lor  his  great 
enterprise. 


nut  his  diflienhies  v.     c  not  yet  at  an  end. 
When  the   royal      der    <va»  read  nt   i  a  om 
universid   terror    pi.  vaile.1,   and    the    boldest 
mariners  refused  to  take  part  in  an  exp.dition 
devoted,  ns  they  believed,  to  rertain  destruc- 
tion.    The  royal  mmidatr,  the  persuasions  of 
Columbus,  the  inlluenee  of  the  prior,   were 
alike  disregarded.     On  the  '.'qih  <d  June,  a 
new  order  was  issued,  empowering  the  magis- 
trates to  press  into  this  service  uiiv  vessels  or 
crews  they  might  think  proper ;  but  this  ox- 
„edient  was  no  less  fruitless.     At  last  I  iti/on, 
aheadv  mentioned  as  a  supporter  of  Colum- 
bus, came  forwanl,  and  with  his  brother,  not 
only  furnished  one  vessel,  but  oUcred  to  ac- 
company the  .expedition.     The.r  example  and 
inlluenee    encouriiRed    others,   so   that    tliri*. 
I  small  vessels  wer.)    rea.ly  for  sea  within   a 
month.     Only  one  of  them  was  fully  .lecke.  , 
the  others  w.>re  op.n  in  the  centre,  but  built 
high  at  the  prow  and  stem,  with  cabins  lor 
the  accommodation  of  the  crew      Columbus 
comm.m.ied  tl..-  largest  v;esscl,  Martin  P.n/.on 
the  second,  v.       one  of  his  brothers  as  p     t 
and  a  third  I  r  had  command  of  the  third 

vessel.  The  wli.ile  company  consisted  ot  one 
hundr.d  and  twenty  persons,  of  ^'l"''"  "";P;y 
were  sailors.  Before  seti.ns  sail,  Columbus 
confessed  himself  to  the  friar  J""" /"''f' 
an.l  partook  of  the  communion,  m  which  he 
was    oine.l  by  most  of  his  associates. 

C)     Friday,  the  3d  of  August,  1492,  half 
an  hour  before  sunrise,  Columbus  sailed  irom 
the  bar  of  Salt,  s  a  small  island  opposite  the 
town  of  Huelvn.  on  this  memorable  exped,- 
tion.     He  directe.1   his  course  first  f.)r  the 
Canaries,  where  he  arrived  on  the  9th,  anU 
was  detained  for  three  weeks  repairing  one  ot 
his  vessels,  which  was  already  injured,  mob- 
ablv  by  its  owners.     When  sading  past  1  en- 
eritie,  an  eruption  of  its  volcanic  peaks  terri- 
fied his  crew,  ready  to  interpret  every  event 
into  a  portent  of  disaster.     Columbus  reas- 
sured them  by  pointing  out  its  natural  cause 
being  more  concerned  by  a  report  he  heard  at 
Gomern,  where  he  had  stopped  to  take  ,u  pro- 
visions, that  three  Portuguese  caravels,  were 
cruisintr  about  with  an  intent  to  capture  hina. 
On  th.      b  of  September,  he  left  this  island, 
but  was  .  layed  by  calms,  so  that  it  w  . s  > 
9th  of  th..:    .nonth  before  they  lost  sight  ot 
Ferro,     u.    farthest  west  of  these   islands. 
Then  it        said  the  hearts  of  many  of  th« 
er..w  fail  .1  them;  tiiey  burst  into  tears  and 
1  lo-  1  lamenlati.  -,  at  thua  taking  leave,  as  for 
ever,  of  horn      m.ily,  and  friend^,  and  plun- 
'  Lg hea.ibmg         .  be  unknown  .'  "^sers  of  the 
fjkhm       an.     Columbus  enc.    ^ged  thein 
by  pictures  of  the  wealth  and  ?!'    "^or  oft.he 
regions  they  were  abot^t  <      ,sit,    nd  promis- 
es^o      oh  rewards.     He     ,  issued  orders  to 
the  c       nnnderH  of  the  oth      vessels  in  case 


-""WSK 


yet  at  an  end. 
(•ml  nt  Pttlos, 
111  the  bolilest 
ti  (in  px|M'(lition 
ortain  ilfstruc- 

pcrnuaui'ins  of 
he  prior,   were 
lOth  of  June,  n 
ring  the  inngis- 
;  any  vessels  or 
•r;  but  thin  ex- 
At  Inst  rinzon, 
irter  of  Cnlum- 
his  brother,  not 
X  olVered  to  ne- 
eir  examj)le  nnd 
,  «o  that   threi! 
ir  sea  within   a 
as  fully  ilerked 
centre,  l>\it  built 

with  enbins  for 
rew.     Columbus 
1,  Martin  Piii/.on 
brothers  ns  i)ilot, 
nund  of  the  third 
yr  consisted  of  one 
,  of  whom  ninety 
2  sail,  Columbus 
iiir  Juan  Perez, 
lion,  in  which  he 
ssociaies. 
Ufrust,  1492,  half 
imbus  sailed  from 
iland  opposite  the 
emorable  expedi- 
urse  first  for  the 
1  on  the  9th,  and 
IS  repairing  one  of 
ady  injured,  prob- 
I  sailing  past  Teii- 
Icanic  peaks  terri- 
■rpret  every  event 

Columbus  reas- 
;  its  natural  cause, 
report  he  heard  at 
)ped  to  take  in  pro- 
ese  caravels,  were 
;»t  to  capture  him. 
he  left  this  island, 
,  80  that  it  w  s  •■ 
they  lost  sight  ot 

of  these  islands, 
ts  of  many  of  the 
urst  into  tears  and 
taking  leave,  as  for 
d  frien('  <,  and  plun 


nown ' 


^  ngers  of  the 
usenc  raged  them 
and  sp  ndor  of  the 
(>  visit,  id  promis- 
Ui  )  issued  orders  to 
ith     vessels  in  case 


Col-nTTlImng  tl/uutmy  on  no.nUhe  Santa  Mari.. 


of  ceparation,  t.  .ail  <^-7-i::::^;tSt  t".". 
en  hundred  leagues,  ^^«"' ^  ','^  ^Xring  .ho 
\'  ^"•'^l^l'^tii^'Yorei"  t  e;Xkept^wo 

SonS^''Keship;s<^-:-S;:^ 
for  his  own  use,  the  "^^er  m  wU  en 

„f  leagues  were  ''"''y  "'^JXlns,  ection  of 

t^"^oft£^S;f"'Si^'",':hUighto^^ 

all.  uninein"  „' ,f„,i  .],»  terror  of  his 
"'llT  KXrafeThef'r'^he  first  time 
£:;:;dS:varja...ofa.e^o.pas.w^^ 

no  longer  pointed  to  the  P^'^  ^'t^^'     ^^^    He 

ally  varied  ™°^^«  ""f  jXromenon'on.  the 

T':'  "lo'^l^ot  w  th  u  eoson.  feare.l  that 
pilots,  who,  not  w"""""-  ,  ij  virtue,  and 
[he  compass  ^««f',"jVi  in  the  pathless 
to  leave  them  without  a  gu  de  in  i      ^ 

ocenn.  Columbus,  f"^;^^«««j'^;;i,^ed  their 
tronomerthey  had  great  ;««f  ^J'Jl^..^  ,,s  re- 

^--^-pr^^^L^^nnotsatis- 

'"Ve  M^  -eTot  in  the  region  of  the 
.aie-wS  which  '^^"tSXvL  -tt! 
^'^^^'r'1fra\rwa1edt£-lMyon 

fo;7.:-Su:nS!^ 'The  sk  balmy  air 


U  compared  to  the  pure  -  -  JJ-'^^H^/i" 
An.lalusia,  wanting  only  he -^  "»j.,,,„,    «f,,, 

'T'"  '\Ttt     r?e  pa    he.  of  floating  sea- 
sailors  regar.kcltms  ^^^^^^^^ 

^^"'t ;  Vf^':ir  t  rf  al!:>^;oiv^  to  u. 

TIL    t  mi"ht  be  found  in  that  .luarter^ 
cate  that  it  in'n''"'  ,  .     ,,u,„o8e,  steered 

But  Columbus,  hrm  »''  ^"*,  '"'l';;  ^os  con- 


* 


i 


'*'»^**, 


350 


CHUIS'lOIMIKK  COM'MIIUB. 


murinur«..f  hi*  crew.  Evrr>-nrw.1.»<.l.p<Mnt- 
in.-iit  tMv.\  t(.  thoir  Jiwontci.t,  on.l  tbey  wrrn 
»lr.MiMv  miking  of  c.tnpcllinR  hit"  t<>  r.nirn. 
„r  if  JiV  wtt»  |..«itive  in  r.-fuHin?,  (-Bilting  hirn 
int..  these..  Th<m«h  cm,,  iou.of  hm.UtiB.r, 
Cohmil)U«    remaincl    -.iretic   bii«I   conh.l.'nt. 

„therH  with  Bignal  punislunent.  One  inri.lent 
will  bIuiw  iI  ■•  .•xoit.inent  j.revnilinn  umiinfi! 
the  crew..  .e  liKhtne,-.  of  the  w.n|^s  l-.r- 

mitted  the  V,  -.1.  to  »uil  "0  rl.me.  that  the 
eom.nnn.lersco,.hl  fre.ju.ntly converse  t..geth- 
or  On  th.  '.'.^ih  «'f  Hepteniber.  Martin  1  in- 
/on  ulVinncl  that  they  luuHf,  b.'  :><arthe  island 


of  CinunK",  which  the  u.iin.rul  ha.l  entered  m 
l,i,  clnrr.     This  d..cument,   -"  -  "  —' 


lied  to  B  cor.i, 
was  flunK  iruin  the  one  vessel  to  the  other, 
and  Columbus  was  busy  examining  it.  when 
Pin/on   erie.l   out,  "Land,   land,    senor;    1 
claim  my  reward  :"  and  pointed  to  the  south-  ^ 
west,  where  indeed  there  was  on  appearance  i 
of  an  island.     Columbus  fell  on  his  knees, 
thanking   G.hI  ;    u"'l  I'in/on,  joined   by  the 
.•rew^.  rei)euted  the  "  Gluna  in  excelm.     1  he 
i(.V    i  the  people  could  not  be  restrained,  ami 
ihe  admiral  was  forced  to  sail  to  the  south- 
west, till  the  morning  sun  showe.!  the  land  to 
have  been  only  an  evenini,'  cloiid. 

Similar  .Icceplions  repeatedly  took  place, 
btkI  the  crew,  feuring  that  they  had  saile.!  be- 
tween two  islands  without  observing   them, 
began  to  utter  murmurs  and  menaces,  when 
r.mcwed  signs  of  land  revived  their  hopes. 
Even  Pinzon,  however,  on  the  Gth  of  Oct..ber, 
pn.nused  that  they  should  sail  south  ;  but  the 
admiral  maintained  his  course  to  the  west. 
On  the  m.irninK  of  the  7th,  land  was  again 
announced  in  the  west,  but  melted  away  be- 
fore the  evening  ;  and  Columbus  having  now 
reached  the  distam  <  where  ho  exported  land, 
or  750  leagues  (2G00  irJlf  s),  consented  to  sail 
to   the  8.)uthwest  to  which  he  saw  all  the 
smoU  land  birds  directing  their  flight  in  the 
ev.nin".     They  c'litinued  thr.e  days  m  this 
direction,  ihe  indications  of  their  approach  to 
land  always  increasing  in  number.     On  the 
evening  ./the  third  day,  the  cr.w  broke  ou 
in  open  defiance,  but  dolumbus  told  them  U 
was  in  vain  to  murmur,  as  he  was  determine, 
to  persevere;  and  next  day  the  signs  of  land 
were  so  decisive,  that  every  one  was  eagerly 
on  the  watch.    In  the  evening,  after  smging 
the  vesper  hymn,  and  addressing  the  crew  on 
the  prospect  of  tiiuling  land  that  night,  he 
took  his  place  on  the  high  poop  of  the  vessel. 
Suddenly,  about  ten  o'clock,  he  thought  he 
saw  a  light  glimmering  in  the  distance  ;  and 
calling  a  friend  pointed  it  out  to  him.     1  hey 
called  a  third  person,  but  it  had  disappeared, 
though  returning  afterward  at  intervals.     At 
two  In  the  morning,  a  gun  from  the  F mta, 
which,  as  the  quickest  sailjr,  usually  kept  the 


Irn.l,  nnnounce.1  that  land  was  in  sight.     A 
snil.)r,  K.Hlrigo  de  Trinnn.  claim.  .1  the  rewnrd, 
but  it  wa«  subseipiently  ndju.lu.'.l  to  (;..lum- 
|„H,    OH   having    previoii-.ly   ne.'n   the    light. 
Lam  I  was  now  dearly  seen,  when  they  jh.irl 
cned   sail  ami  lay  to  till  the  dawn.     What 
must  have  been  the  feelings  of  C.dunibus  in 
these  few  hours,  when  the  vision  that  ha.l 
1  haunte.l  him  f.)r  m  many  years,  for  whi.:h  he 
had  toiled  an.l  labore.l,  iiiduring  poverty,  re- 
'  pr.)a.h,  an.l  ridicule,  was  about  to  be  rcaliz.'d 
—when  the  barrier  of  the  ocean  was  to  b.- 
broken  .lown.  and  a  new  world  laid  open  U) 
civili/.ed  man  !  .     r  r» 

On  Ihe  moniing  of  Friday.  12th  of  Octo- 
ber, 1 49-->,  Columbus  first  saw  ihc  New  Worl.l. 
\  h,w  island,  densely  cov.red  with  trees, 
among  which  numerous  nake.l  savages  were 
running  to  ami  fro,  as  if  lost  in  astonishment, 
lav  bef.ire  him.  He  cast  anchor,  and  with 
the  two  Pinz.ms  put  olV  f.)r  the  shore  in  their 
boats.  On  landing,  Columbus  threw  himself 
on  his  knees,  kisse.l  the  earth,  and  returned 
thanks  to  CmI  with  tears  of  joy.  He  then 
t.)ok  iiossession  of  the  islaml  for  his  sovereigns, 
and  named  it  San  Salva.ior.  The  crew  had 
now  onsseil  to  the  opixmite  extreme  of  exnl 
.    '         1 1 1  :„  ..r<.rnauii<n>  nf  nilehtv 


r 


tati.m,  ami  were  loud  in  professions  ot  n''<'J|tyi 
and  entreaties  of  par.lon  for  the  past.     1  ho 
natives,  meanwhile,  watched  them  with  trem- 
bling anxictv.  but  at  last  ventured  to  approach 
their  guests",  whom  they  fancied  had  come 
down  from  heaven,  while  their  shijis  seemed 
to  them  monsters  inspired  with  hie.     Ineir 
coiiper-colored  and  painted  skins  were  eciually 
new  to  the  Spanianls ;  while  their  simphcity, 
gentleness,  and  confidence,  were  not  less  pleas- 
ing.     Columbus  examine.l  the  island,    but 
found  no  articles  of  commerce,  and  only  a  few 
ornaments  of  gold,  which  the  natives  seemed 
to  intimate  were  procured  in  the  south.     On 
the   evening  of  the   15th.  he  sailed  wuth, 
atnon"  the  Bahamas,  landing  on  several,  and 
everywhere  treating  the  natives  with  great 
kindness.      The   Spaniards   were   dehghted 
with  the  rich  vegetation,  the  beautiful  cli- 
mate, and  the  novelty  of  everything  they  be- 
held, b.it  disappointed  at  the  scarcity  of  goW, 
or  other  valuable  metals.     At  last  the  admi- 
ral reached  Cuba,  whoso  lofty  mountains  and 
fertile  plains  reminded  him  of  Sicily,  though 
far  surpassing  that  i-^land  in  the  tropical  lux- 
uriance of  the  vegetation,  and  the  brilliant 
plumage  of  the  birds  that  thronged  its  woods. 
Columbus  believed  this  island  to  be  the  Cipan- 
go  of  Marco  Polo,  or  perhaps  the  continent 
of  Asia,  and  was  in  constant  expectation  ol 
find'ng   gt^ld,  or  reaching  the  court  of  the 
Grand  Kl    n.    He  sent  messengers  into  the 
interior,  but  they  returned  without  discover- 
ing gold  or  spices,  or  any  trace  of  the  great    , 
monarch.    They  however  noticed  the  potato, 


(VBH  in  n\n)\t.  A 
»im'<l  the  rpwnnl, 
w\iivi\  to  ('idiim- 

nion    the    lifilit. 

whrn  thpy  »h<irt 
le  ilnwn.  Wlmt 
I  of  ('(ilnmliuii  ill 
?  vinion  tliat  liml 
•nrn,  for  whii:h  he 
nr'wfi  poverty,  re- 
joiit  to  be  reali/.fil 

Dci-an  was  to  Im 
rirld  laid  open  t«i 

lay,  12th  of  Octo- 
(V  the  New  World, 
vtreil  with  trrcs, 
kfd  sftvaRfs  were 
It  in  antoninhment, 

annlior,  and  with 
r  tht  shore  in  their 
lius  threw  himself 
anil,  and  returned 

of  joy.  He  then 
1  for  his  sovereigns, 
ir.  Th«  crew  had 
3  extreme  of  exul- 
ifemsions  of  fidelity, 
For  the  past.     The 


ed  them  with  trem- 
entured  to  apjirfiach 
fancied  had  come 
their  shijis  seemed 
1  with  life.     Their 
I  skins  were  equally 
lile  their  simplicity, 
were  not  less  pleas- 
ed the   island,   but 
;rce,  and  only  a  few 
the  natives  seemed 
1  in  the  south.     On 
ti,  ho  sailed  south, 
ling  on  several,  and 
natives  with  great 
rds   ■Wire   delighted 
1,  the  beautiful  cli- 
everything  they  be- 
the  srnrcity  of  gold. 
At  last  the  admi- 
lofty  mountains  and 
im  of  Sicily,  though 
1  in  the  tropical  lux- 
in,  and  the  brilliant 
t  thronged  its  v/oods. 
sland  to  be  the  Cipan- 
erhaps  the  continent 
istant  expectation  of 
ig  the  court  of  the 
messengers  into  the 
led  without  discover- 
ny  trace  of  the  great    i 
er  noticed  the  potato,    I 


352 


"■■"  '"*■■"*»-■ 

\^>.. 


and  s,.on  after  were  ast^sM;;y^;;7;;;;f 
selling  It  on  hre,   an  •  ^       important 

southeast,  witn  mfe"  ,  ,      forests, 

to  the  finest  parts  of  the  r  nanv 

im.pmate^eir  heavjj/  g  .^^^    ^^^^^ 

i:  r    and,  in  the  evening,  the  admiral  retue< 
no  sooner  had  he   e^tVedecK    ^^  ^  ^^        ^^^ 

man  gave  the  "'j"*  '"/^"    ^,ch  lay  down  to 

,h  ^--f  £  ta"  bSe  aJe  by  the 
^tTe^tsal^ruckonabankoverwhlchlhe 

™':;:elKeak..g;«thr^W;^,<£ 

z-^:j::i;?^tSor^.vei,ie|.g 

ihefr  commander  i"— their'  i'rtiS,  of 
U.ey  were  reproached    orjhe,'^.,^  ,„„,her 
their  vessel,  and  torceo  w  r<  i 
boat,  but  too  late  to  save  ^^^^  sb'P- ^Jj^» 
carried  more  and  more  among    ^e  breaHe 
The  crew  took  refuge  in  the  other     esse 
and  next  day.  with  the  a-slonce  of  the  In^ 
dians  landed  all  their  goods       l^e  con^ 
the  natives  was  "'  '"arable  in  the  exUeni 
nothing  was  a,,iis..ng  r^^""":^   ^^Mue 
oi.inion.  ot  ""^«f''"'*'^^^  'T^-,„'uo  console 
vLited  the  admiral,  and  e"'l''''^«'^^'' »  \^°  ,  ,.,. 
him  for  hismistortune.;  ">>'l^^'^;;'^  .^J  „"  „ar- 
tabli.hed   with  ;l'\""^ir?t,?nd  other  tri- 


Mile  life  of  the  natives,  entreated  o  be  allowed 
;  remain  on  the  island  ;  an.i  Columbus  wil- 
ne  tT  ay  the  foundations  of  a  new  colony, 
cZ,  he.i.^  He  erected  a  fort  from  the  wret« 
ofThe  caravel,  receivirg  eager  assistance  rom 
the  nat?ves-l  ttle  dreaming  of  the  yoke  they 
were  preparing  for  t.iemselves.  Tfte  cacique 
Snued^to  load  Columbus  with  gifts,  espe- 
cially gold,  having  soon  discovered  the  high 
3a?k,n  which  was  entertained    for  this 

1  mS      In  ten  days,  the  fortress  na«ied  La 
'  Sad  ortheNativity,inraemonal  of  their 

fhSwreck  on  Christmas-day,  was  completed, 
andrhTrty-nine  men  chosen  to  remain.  Co- 
lumbus cLrged  them  to  maintain  fnendly  re- 

crew  to  impress  the  natives  with  a  due  sense 

of  rtieSirowess.     The  thunder  of  the  an  - 

i  Wv  and  [rdestruction  which  the  stone  balls 

'pr^'uced  in  the  forests,  struck  them  mute 

with  awe  and  admiration.  ,  j  „„ 

On  t^e  4th  of  January,  Columbus  sailed  on 

his  return  to  Spain,  and  in  a  few  days  met 

S  Plnta.  whos'e  commander  endeavored  to 

sttS'S^irSty,^ 

Xr'ethTd  collected  --h  gold,  and  sliare 

irS£dX;r=!^w  Ji^fS 

^^irSwSel^tRS^'^^f 
V  Hike  race.     In  a  quarrel  severa^  of^em 

Eli;'th:'mS-tLp.ofV^^^^^ 
and  anxious  to  secure  the  discove.ies  he  .-au 

already  made.  .  ,.    ,     „.„  and 

The  favorable  wind  soon  d  ed  away,  auu 

they  experienced  much  opposition  frorE  the 

Ses!  t'ill  they  got  so  f- -f  -,  ,-  '\^l 

Spain  '^'^".t^'Y^/^^yS  aware  of  their 
not  un.leceive  jj  ■^'  \*^Xif  February,  they 
real  position.    /^    V^"  \^;„,,  which  continued 

!:;;^:^S;f^^-"V  ^beynow 


=-,  ■    rr 


ted  to  be  allowed 
I  Columbus,  wil- 
)f  a  new  colony, 
t  from  the  wrfitk 
jr  assistance  from 
of  the  yoke  they 
es.     The  cacique 
with  gifts,  cspe- 
covered  the  high 
ertained    foi   this 
irtress  named  La 
memorial  of  their 
y,  was  completed, 
1  to  remain.     Co- 
intain  friendly  re- 
to  keep  united  in 
javor  to  obtain  a 
hich  he  had  heard 
tho  2d  of  Febma- 
8ll  visit  to  the  ca- 
lk fight  among  his 
iS  with  a  due  sense 
lunder  of  the  anil- 
hich  the  stone  balls  i 
struck  them  mute    [ 

Columbus  sailed  on 
in  a  few  days  met 
nder  endeavored  to 
involuntary.     The 
ent  incredulity,  not 
y  altercation,     Pin- 
time  in  Hispaniola, 
uch  gold,  and  shared 
their  silence.    They 
t,  where  fresh  proofs 
ppeared,  which  the 
oticed.     Some  days 
ilf  of  Semara,  whose 
y  a  bolder  and  more 
irrel  several  of  them 
d  shed  by  Europeans 
but  C')lumbus  gained 
lef.     Some  of  the  In- 
m  to  a  large  island  in- 
and  he  set  sail  for  it ; 
rom  t'>e  west  having 
my  direct  for  Spain, 
temper  of  his  crew, 
he  discoveries  he  had 

soon  d 
1  oppositit)n 
far  north  as 
■e  they  pre^ 
»wledge  of 
lemselves  mi 
'  were.     Col 
though  awai- 
13th  of  February 

ricane.  wlr  ■'       "' 
ireral  days 


CHRISTOPHER  COLUMBUS. 


ward  of  a  thousanu  .^^  ^^^  ^^^^ 

ered  unope"ed      He   Uicn^p^  ^^^^^^ 
centre  of  a  cake  .  -^^^^^  ^  to  the 

whole  m  '^  J^fj^^-^l^na  was  descried;  but 
sea.  On  the  1  ;^  '  '?  ,  ^^^^la  reach  it, 
two  days  elap  e.l  betorc  U  J  ^^^^^^^^ 

when  It  proved,  as  ^"'""^  '"^      Marv's,  be- 
one  of  the   A/.ores,  named  St.  Mary  s, 
longing  to  the  Portuguese  ^^^^^^ 

Columbus  sen    -  >«    "J^ ^^^,„,  f,„„,  the 


"'""■  ^it  tob"     When  he  he.rd  of  .he 

sit';S;»orc-™j».h.^be- 
r„SJ.'t:e'p.i'^L>.sL.;^.. 


'""='■'*'  -••  -;  ^^,,f  ,.,,,110  of  his  men  on  siiu.v^,  ,  .■-.-^  ,  ,       *   severe  'and  reproachful  reply 
wkh  hi,  "'»J;  h"f  X  °ht.  ."e»  ».re  "-   "f  "«*"»»  ""yJhU'mpoS.  »«« it 

■•■^ras'eixte-™^^^^ 


i  arose,  which  I  to  Seville,    ^.'i'"; ;';;;;;nce  at  court,  and  de 


shatterea  nis  ^'jpr';  T„a  jread  of  the  For- |  siring  "''"  J"  r|'''''.^u™rwas'now  at  hand. 

l-eSS^Sgt'tS   r.e^^^^ 

soon  after  invited  tot^^/r^J^y^;  tempestuous    state,  and  ^vhen  he  knelt  ao  j.^ 

willingly  h-^ve  declineOut  the  temp^  ^^^  ^^   ^.^  ,^^^  ^Iw  of  rare  Cor    n  that  cer'emo- 
weather  would  not  /lUow  »"™        l"  jj    .^^s    ence-a  mark  of  rare  non  ^  ^^    ^^^ 

sea,  and  he  was  obliged  to  comply.  ^i,  J  nious  court,    ^e  was  then  requ  s.^,^ 

received  -ith  -uch  rnagmfi^^^^^^^^^^  TcHh^  whoinsTmblylk  on  their 

king  was  e'i'|«.""y,£^a  enterprise  had  been   of  which  the  whole  j         discovery 

-rrrrpr r fei.' »p-"  r^""  S  j^:;/=vs;: 

had  sufficient  honor  to/^J^fJ  private  arma-    tation  over  t^«  ™aa"n'"  lendor  of  his  dis- 
SheffifheSrSA^HL 


I 


IgjIS^^Vt'^eyaH'.!'''^   ' 


'1^" 


'  ■■■■  i- 


«»i 


354 


CHRISTOPHER  COLUMBUS. 


who  granted  a  bull  ceding  to  them  all  the 
rights,  privileges,  and  indulgences,  which  had 
formerly  been  accorded  to  the  Portuguese  in 
their  African  discoveries,  on  the  same  condi- 
tion of  planting  and  propagating  the  catholic 
faith.     Another  bull  was  issued  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  containing  the  famous  line  of  de- 
marcation between  the  territories  of  the  rival 
monarchs,  by  a  line  from  pole  to  pole,  pass- 
ing a  hundred  leagues  west  of  the  Azores. 
This  has  been  frequently  quoted  as  a  proof 
of  his  holiness'  ignorance  of  the  true  form  of 
the  earth,  but  perhaps  only  shows  that  he 
did  not  anticipate  the  possibility  of  the  cir- 
cumnavigation  of  the  globe.     The  negotia- 
tions with  the  court  of  Portugal  were  more 
difficult  and  tedious,  each  of  the  princes  en- 
deavoring to  deceive  and  outwit  his  rival. 
After  repeated   embassies,  the  matter  was, 
however,  arranged  on  the  7th  June,  1494,  the 
papal  line  of  partition  being  moved  three  hun- 1 
dred  and  seventv  leagues  west  of  tbe  Cape 
Verd  islands,  an'd  the  territory  on  the  west 
assigned  to  Spain,  that  on  the  east  to  Portu- 
gal." Meantime,  Columbus  was  hurrying  on 
his  second  expedirion,  afraid  that  the  Portu- 
guese should  anticipate  him  by  a  secret  at- 
tempt.    To  aid  him,  a  board  was  appointed 
under  Juan  de  Fonseca,  archdeacon  of  Se- 
ville, and  afterward  patriarch  of  the  Indies. 
Fonseca  is  represented  as  a  woridly  man,  of 
a  vindictive  disposition,  f>  grarify  which  he 
did  not  hesitate  to  sacrifice  the  inttiests  of  his 
master.    He  soon  conceived  a  most  rancorous 
hostility  to  Columbus,  which  occasioned  him 
many  vexations  and  delays,  and  proved  highly 
injurious  to  the  interest*  of  their  common 
master. 

A  fleet  of  seventeen  vessels  was  soon  ready 
at  Seville,  containing  many  skilful  mechanics 
and  miners,  and  loaded  with  horses,  domestic 
cattle,  grain,  sugarcanes,  and  other  plants. 
The  number  of  persons  had  been  limited  to 
a  thousand,  but  such  was  the  eagerness  of 
volunteers,  that  fifteen  hundred  eventually 
sailed,  eager  to  engage  in  the  new  field  of  ad- 
venture, end   reap  a  portion   of  its  golden 
fruits.     A.l  the  titles  and  privileges  promised 
to  Columbus  were  confirmed,  and  his  powers 
in  the  new  world  even  extended.   Under  such 
altered  circumstances  did  the  admiral  leave 
Cadiz  on  the  25th  of  September,  on  his  second 
voyage   to  the  Indies  ;   his  companions,  no 
longer  forced  on  board  like  condemned  crimi- 
nals devoted  to  sure  destruction,  but  (jlad  and 
rejoicing  in  their  good  fortune  in  being  per- 
mitted to  join  the  glorious  enterprise.     On 
the  5th  of  October,  the  fleet  anchored  at  Oo- 
mera,  one  of  the  Canaries,  and  increased  their 
live  stock  by  various  purchases,  among  which 
Las  Casas  mentions  eight  hogs,  the  fertile 
parents  of  the  innumerable  multitude  of  swine 


disjjersed  through  the  Spanish  colonies.  After 
being  becalmed  for  some  days  among  the  Ca- 
naries, Columbus  kept  further  south,  and  thus 
out  of  the  region  of  seaweeds,  which  had  so 
much  encouraged  his  sailors  on  their  former 
voyage.  The  tradewinds  again  bore  thtm 
gentiy  along,  till  the  end  of  October,  when 
they  were  awestruck  by  one  of  those  tremen- 
dous thunder-storms  common  in  the  tropics. 
The  electrical  iduid,  adhering  with  lambent 
flames  to  the  top  of  the  masts,  revived  their 
sjiirits,  as  the  sailors,  according  to  an  old  su- 
perstition, thought  it  was  St.  Elmo  with  seven 
lighted  tapers— a  sure  proof  that  no  danger 
would  befall  them.  On  the  2d  of  November, 
Columbus  thought  he  saw  signs  of  land,  and 
eariy  next  morning  a  lofty  island  appeared,  to 
which  he  gave  the  name  of  Dominica,  as  it 
was  discovered  on  a  Sunday.  This  event 
was  celebrated  by  loud  anthems  of  praise  and 
I  thanks  to  God  for  guiding  them  in  safety  over 
the  mighty  ocean. 

Columbus  had  reached  the  Antilles,  a  beau- 
tiful group  of  small  islands  shutting  in  the 
Caribbean  sea.  After  touching  on  one  island 
which  was  uninhabited,  they  landed  on  an- 
other, named  Guadaloupe,  with  a  lofty  mount- 
ain, from  which  streams  of  water  broken  into 
white  foam  descended.  The  natives  had  all 
fled,  but  their  tents  contained  orticles  of  earth- 
enware, bows  and  arrows,  plenty  of  provis- 
ions, domesticated  geese,  and  beautiful  parrots. 
Numerous  human  bones  and  skulls,  appa- 
rently used  as  vases,  filled  the  Spaniards  with 
horror,  and  some  women  whom  they  took  cap- 
tive on  the  following  day,  informed  them  that 
the  natives,  whom  they  named  Caribs,  were 
in  the  habit  of  killing  and  eating  their  prison- 
The  captain  of  one  of  the  ships,  with 


eight  men,  had  lost  themselves  m  the  woods, 
and   Columbus   entertained  great   ap  prehen- 
sions that  they  had  fallen  victims  to  die  sava- 
ges.    Fortunately,  however,  the  Carib  war- 
riors were  all  absent  on  some  predatory  expe- 
dition, and  the  stragglers  returned  just  when 
the  fleet  was  about  to  sail  without  them. 
Columbus  proceed-  d  to  the  nortb'vest,  being 
anxious  to  learn  the  fate  of  the  colyny  left  at 
Hispaniola,  passing  many  islands  on  his  way. 
At  Santa  Cruz  a  boat  was  sent  on  shore  for 
water,  and  on  its  return  intercepted  a  canoe 
with  a  few  Indians,  who  came  stxldenly  round 
a  point  of  land  between  it  and  the  ship.    After 
a  desperate  resistmice,  in  which  one  ci  the 
Indian^  was  killed,  and  their  car.oe  destroyed, 
the  others  were  ciptured   and  brought  on 
board  the  ship,  where  their  fierce  untamed 
demeanor,  so  unlike  the  gentie  manners  of  the 
natives  of  Hispaniola,  struck  the  Spaniards 
with  astonUhment.    They  passed  many  other 
islands,  among  them  Porto  Rico,  where  they 
landed,  but  saw  none  of  the  niktives,  who 


»  m 


jlonies.  After 
mong  the  Ca- 
3Uth,  and  thus 
which  had  so 

their  former 
in  bore  thtm 
October,  when 
those  tremen- 
n  the  tropics, 
with  lambent 
,  revived  their 

to  an  old  su- 
mo with  seven 
hat  no  danger 
of  November, 
8  of  land,  and 
d  appeared,  to 
)ominica,  as  it 
.  This  event 
s  of  praise  and 

in  safety  over 

ntilles,  a  beau- 
ihutting  in  the 
g  on  one  island 
landed  on  an- 
1  a  lofty  mount- 
,ter  broken  into 
natives  haS  all 
rticles  of  earth- 
enty  of  provis- 
mntiful  parrots. 
i  skulls,  appa- 
Spaniards  with 
I  they  took  cap- 
rmeo  them  that 
d  Caribs,  were 
ng  their  prison- 
the  ships,  with 
s  in  the  woods, 
;reat  apprchpn- 
ims  to  the  sava- 
the  Carib  war- 
predatory  expe- 
irned  just  when 

without  them. 
iortl"ve9t,  being 
le  colony  left  at 
inds  on  his  way. 
■nt  on  shore  for 
rcepted  a  canoe 
;  si'ildenly  round 
the  ship.  After 
hi  oh  one  cf  the 
canoe  destroyed, 
and  brought  on 

fierce  untamed 
le  manners  of  the 
k  the  Spaniards 
issed  many  other 
Elico,  where  they 
he  natives,  who 


were  always  at  war  with  the  Caribs.     The 
ruuer  poopl,  «aid  to  have  «Fea<l  from  the 

^  On  the  22d  of  November  the  fleet  reached 
the''"eaicm  point  of  Hispan b la   a,^  th^  ad 
miral  hoped  soon  to  arrive  at  the  lort  wnere 
he  had  left  his  followers  on  the  former  vov- 
On  naasin"  the  gulf  of  Samana,  the 
Teue  oth     &r  co4at  w.th  the  natives 
a  Joung  Indian,  who  ha.l  accompanied  him  to 
Snain    was  set  on  shore,  as  a  messenger  ot 
p^    'to  his  countrymen.     No  account  was 
ever  received  of  him  afterward,  and  he  ^^as 

r  She?  lI  Na"dad,'but  it  was  already 
"dark    'approach  the  coast  or  discern  the 
f  rt      Two  guns  were   fired  as  a  signal  to 
£r  comrades,  but  no  answer  was  returned 
no  sU  of  life  was  to  be  seen  on  the  coast.    A 
"c^nofsoon  after  appeared,  and  the  Indians  on 
seeing  Columbus,  came  on  board.     1  hey  tola 
him  that  some  of  the  Spaniards  left  in  the 
fort  had  died  of  sickness,  that  others  had  been 
ki  Id   n  quarrels  among  themselves,  and   he 
remainder  had  removed  to  another  part  of  the  , 
UW      Next  day  none  of  the  natives  ap- 
ared,  and  on  lamling.  a  burned  and  back- 
^Cd  ruin  alone  marked  where  the  fort  had  , 
sSl.    Continuing  their  researches,  they  next 
dSvered  a  grave  containing^  eleven  bodies  J 
'wWch,  roved  to  be  those  of  Europeans.     At 
Tas  soille  Indians  were  met  with  from  wW 
the  fate  of  the  garrison  was  ascertained.    1  he 
TpIZZ  werf  hardly  relieved  fnnn  the  au- 
thority of  the  admiral,  than  they  began  to 
IbuShe  poor  natives,  robbing  ^l^em  of  the. 
nrooertv  and  seducing  their  wives  and  daugh- 
n    %Ln  they  f  arrelled   «  *^-: 
selves,  disobeyed  the  orders  of  their  com- 
r^ander,  and  "dispersed  themselves  over  the 
Tuntry.     Eleven  of  them  set  out  fi,r  the  do- 
minions of  Caonabo,  a  wariike  chief  of  Canb 
Sn,  who  ruled  over  the  gold  niountains  in 
the^nterior,  where  they  expected  to  find  m- 
mense  wealth.    They  were  seized  imniedi-  , 
TtelY  on  entering  his  dor  inions  and  put  to 
deati  and  Caonabo  resolved  to  nd  the  island 
of  S;  strangers..   He  -^ade  a  descent  on  the 
fort    and  attacking  it  during  the  night,  haa 
Spossession  beff  the  few  men  remaining 
in  it  were  aware  of  their  danger.   Th«  ™ 
of  the  Spaniards  were  ^1""' «"^*'' 3?^ 
,  of  the  neighboring  Indians,  who  attempted  to 
defend  them,  bun.ed  to  the  P°«"J;^  ^he  h^ 
tory  of  this  first  E.iro,>ean  f,"!*"?"*  »,?° 
!  e,.ilome  of  many  "mt  have  followed-of  the 

L 


base  vices  and  lawless  abuse  of  their  superior 
J^wer  by  men  boasting  of  their  civilization 
!!!^f  the  Lrce  revenge  of  the  savage,  his  mo- 
mentary success,  his  final  destruction. 

The^cacique  or  chief  of  the  Indians  soon 
after  sent  a' message  excusing  l^'^/^-"^^; 
and  stating  that  he  was  eo"fit.ed  to  his  ten 
by  a  wound  received  in  defence  of  t'"  SP"^" 
iards.     Columbus  visited  hiii.,.  when  he  rela- 
ed  the  misfortune  of  the  g""^'-^' ^;'\^Jt\^, 
in  his  eves,  and  convinced  the  admiral  ot  Ins 
good  fahh,'though  some  of  his  followers  w-ere 
^f  a  different  opinion.     The  cacique   after- 
ward  visited  the  .hips,  where  he  was  lost  in 
astonishment  amid  the  new  and  ^"1^™  "J" 
jects  that  he  beheW.     The  horses  espeomlly. 
{heir  great  size,  their  appore.-  fierceness  yet 
perfect  docility,  filled  with  amazement  men 
^hoknewonljthe  most  'l"";"-'--;'"^^''™- 
1  neds.     The  females  rescued  from  the  Caribs 
were  also  a  special  object  of  attention,  in  par- 
ticular one  .li.tinguishe.i  by  her  loity  air  and 
manner,  with  whom  the  c,  cique   conversed 
repeatedly.     After  a  repast  die  chief  begged 
pTmtsio^  to  return  on  shore,  perhaps  feeling 
uneasy  at  the  dark  suspicious  looks  of  the 
Spaniards,  some  of  whom  advised  Co  umVms 
to  retain  him  jirisoner.    Next  day  the  brother 
of  he  chief  came  onboard  and  conversed  for 
'  °,me  time  with  the  women.     He  was  proba- 
bly concerting  their  escape,  as  in  the  night 
they  all  slipped  overboard,  and,  though  heard 
and^pursued.  swam  to  the  land,  three  mdes 
distant,  and  escaped.     Next  day,  when  Co- 
lumbus sent  on  shore  to  reclaim  -hem,  he 
found  the  village  deserted  and  the  na.v<^  fled 
into  the  interior.     Columbus  left  this  place, 
i  where  there  was  now  no  inducement  to  re- 
I  ma  nTas  the  locality  .eemed  unhealtl^and 
'unfit   for    a  permanent  settlement.      W hen 
Wking  for  a  situation  adapted  for  this  yiur- 
pose  he  was  driven  by  adverse  weather  into 
Tha^bo:.  and  being  pleased  with  Us  appear- 
ance, and  hearing  that  the  ™;«'"«;/^at  dis^ 
containing  gold  mines,  were  at  no  great  ais 
an Che'rfsolved  to  found  a  "ty.  named  Isa- 
bella from  his  royalpatroness.  J  planwas 
formed,  and  preparations  begun,  when  disease 
broke  ;ut  among  the  ^V-^^-'^'^'^l'fjS. 
fering  from  their  long  confinement  on  ship 
board  and  unaccustomed  to  the  climate  of  the 
topes      Disappointment, too, increased  their 
mXdies,  whe'n'their  golden  breams  meled 
awuv,  and  the  necessity  ot  hard  labor  ap 
nrared.    Even  Columbus  suffered  from  ex- 

rrre  to  the  climate  and  f «  "«-XVoufih 
Ptipq  in  which  he  was  involved,  tstill,  tnougn 
Sn^dt  his  bed.  he  continued  to  dire^^^^^^^^^ 
affairs  of  the  expedition  and  the  hnHdmg  oi 
the  towi.    The  ships  had  now  dischoiged 


l-*«-. 


."«*■. 


■■»*psi{* 


356 


CHRISTOPHER  COLUMBUS 


no  ueasure  even  asncrtamed  to  exist.     The 
coMcn  moJutains  were,  however,  nt  no  great 
flS  unce,  and  Don  Alonzo  do  Ojeda,  one  of 
SZ^  adventurous  of  his  f""o--,;et  rm 
with  a  party  to  explore  them.     They  tonmi 
Th    nativ'e.  friendly!  the .  sands  of  the  mount- 
ain streams  glistened  with  i)articlcs  ot  goU), 
and    ragment!  weighing  several  ounces  were 
collected.     With  these   glad  tidings  he   re- 
turned to  the  admiral,  who  -^  -^^  '';™<: 
twelve  ships,  retaining  hve  for  further  .lis 
coveries.     \    yet  Columbus  had  only  prom- 
ises o   wealth  to  give  in  return  for  the  supplies 
he  re, nested  to  be  transmitted  from  fel)a.n. 
Till  a  Hclos  of  more  value  could  be  procured, 
J  lumbus  proposed  sen.linghome  Caril,  s  avc.s 
Tn  return  For  live-stoek.  '^'^t  Isabdla  re  used 
her  consent  to  this  inhuman  project.  /Ihou^d 
no  wealth  was  brought  back  by  the  fleet  stil 
?^^e  rem,rts  of  the  gold  mines  prevented   hat 
dKpointment  whose  etleets  the  admiral  so 

^"oil  reroSng  from  his  illness   Columbus 
was  about  to  se?  out  to  explore  the  in  cnor 
when  he  discovered  a  ph^t  among  a  portion  ot 
Hs  followers  to  seize  the  ships  and  return  to 
Spa  n,  where  they  hoped  to  find  forgiveness 
by  accusing  their  chief  of  <lecepti<.n.     The 
rki-leaders  were  arrested,  the  chief,  Bernal 
Dii!  conF.ned,  in  order  to  be  .«e"t  to  bpain 
for  trial,  and  some  others  r|""^»'«l /''^^^  ^^- 
verely  than  they  deserved.     This  act  of  au- 
thority formed  a  new  ground  of  omM.CL^  and 
excited  the  national   feelings   of  the    bpan- 
iard    against  the  foreigner,  as  they  regarded 
Columbus.     On  the  12ih  of  March    how- 
ever, he  set  out  for  the  inten.,r,  with  about 
four  hundred  men.  leaving  the  command  of 
the  town  and  fleet  to  his  brother  Diego,  a 
rnan  of  an  easy  and  facile  disposition.     Ori 
"achin"  the   summit   of  the  hrst  range  of 
mou  tains,  the  Spaniards  were  lost  in  admi- 
ration of  the  beautiful  plain,  M  extended 
like  an  earthly  paradise  before  them.  Through 
thi,  re'ion,  which  he  named  the  Vega  Real 
or  Roy  al  plain,  Columbus  continued  his  march 
bein"  everywhere  hospitably  received  by  the 
Indians,  wLn  their  first  terror  at  the  strange 
spectacle  was  overcome.     On  the  second  day 
he  reached  another  chain  of  n.ountains,  higher 
and  more  rugged,  but  as  they  were  nov    in 
the  «,  den  region,  Columbus,  before  penetra- 
tKurlher,  resolved  to  erect  a  fort  and  com - 
Sice  to  work  the  mines  which  he  believed 
To  exLt.     The  fort,  named  St.  ^f — ' -'^,': 
built  on  an  eminence,  protected  by  a  sn  ^^^ 
nver.     Here  he  left  fifty-six  men,  and  set     -J 
on  his  return  to  th.  J:"^«t,  haltmg  some  tu^^c. 

however,  in  the  Indian  v^l^g^^Xlnf  4; 
He  thus  acquired  more  knowledge  ot  l^. 
manners  of  the  native.,  some  of  -hose  ';us- 
roms  and  opinions  are  very  cunous.     Je  at 


first  regarded  them  as  atheists,  but  soon  found 
that,  besides  a  belief  in  one  supreme  deity, 
thev  had  also  many  inferior  gods,  some  the 
neculiar  guardians  of  each  tribe,  others  allot- 
led  to  watch  over  every  special  department  of 
nature.     They  had  also  priests  or  magicians ; 
and  some  imperfect  notions  of  the  cn-ation  of 
the  world  and  universal  deluge.     They  be- 
lieved that  mankind  originally  carne  out  ot  a 
certain  cave ;  large  men  from  a  large  hole, 
and  the  small  men  from  a  small  one  -,  and  that 
thev  had  no  women  among  them  at  hrst,  but 
I  at  last  found  them  among  the  brnnchcs  of  a 
forest  near  a  small  lake.     The  ladies  were, 
however,  as  slippery  as  eels,  so  that  the  men 
could  not  for  a  long  time  catch  any  ot  them ; 
till  some  whose  hands  were  rough  with  a  kind 
'  of  leorosy,  succeeded  in  securing  four  ot  these 
slippery  females.     The  natives  appeared  an 
idle,  careless  race,  living  chiefly  on  the  spon- 
taneous produce  of  their  woods  and  "vers. 

On  reaching  Isabella,  Columbus  found  the 
sickness  continuing,  the  stores  of  provisions 
almost  consumed,  and  discontent  and  disap- 
pointment very  prevalejit.      The  last  were 
L  atly  increased  wtien  he  required  the  cava- 
liers to  aid  in  erecting  certain  public  works  of 
immediate  necessity,  the  proud  hidalgos  con- 
sidering all  labor  as  a  degradation.     Ihese 
circumstances  greatly  embarrassed  Columbus, 
who  was  desirous  of  jiroceeding  on  anotner 
voyage  of  discovery.     He  therefore  sent  all 
the  persons  who  could  be  spared  into  the  in- 
terior, under  the  command  of  Pedro  Marga- 
rite,  with  orders  to  explore  the  country.     He 
cave  strict  charges  to  treat  the  Indians  with 
kindness,  justice,  and  caution  ;  to  respect  their 
property  and  persons,  except  Caonabo.  the 
Carib  chief,  whom  they  were   to  seize  by 
stratagem.     An  incident  that  now  occurred 
cmvinced  him  that  there  was  little_  to  fear 
from  the  natives.    A  horseman,  returning  from 
the  interior,  found  five  of  his  countrymen  cap- 
tive among  a  crowd  of _  Indians.     Though 
more  than  four  hundred  in  number,  the  sight 
of  his  horse  put  them  all  to  flight,  and  he 
brought  otr  his  friends  in  triumph.^    Leaving 
his  brother  Diego  governor  m  his  absence. 
Columlius  sailed  in  the  three  smallest  vessels 
in  search  of  new  lands.  ,  .     ^       a  „a 

Ho  first  proceeded  west,  and  in  five  days 
came  in  sight  of  the  east  end  of  Cuba     He 
coasted  along  it  for  a  short  way.  but  learning 
from  the  natives  that  a  country  nch  in  gold 
was  to  be   found  in   the  south,  he   turried 
■'..t  direction.     The  blue  summits  of  Ja- 
„u::a  soon  rose  above  the  horizon,  and  on 
d.,Awing  near  land  they  were  met  by  a  fleet 
„r  seventy  canoes  full  of  gayly-painted  saya- 
i  ges,  decorated  with  feathers,  and  hrandishing 
'their  wooden  lances  with  loud  yells.    A  few 
presents  pacified  this,  angry  armada;  butr*xt 


CHaiSTOPHER  COLUMBUS. 


but  soon  found 
iuprcme  deity, 
jods,  some  the 
!,  others  allot- 
department  of 
,  or  magicians ; 
the  creation  of 
gc.    They  bo- 
came  out  of  a 
I  a  large  hole, 
1  one  ;  and  that 
?m  at  first,  but 
branches  of  a 
[le  ladies  were, 
;o  that  the  men 
1  any  of  them  ; 
ugh  with  a  kind 
ng  four  of  these 
es  appeared  an 
fly  on  the  spon- 
Is  and  rivers, 
mbus  found  the 
OS  of  provisions 
itent  and  disap- 
The  last  were 
quired  the  cava- 
1  putilic  works  of 
md  hidalgos  con- 
■adation.     These 
■nssed  Columbus, 
3ding  on  another 
herefore  sent  all 
nred  into  the  in- 
of  Pedro  Marga- 
he  country.     He 
;  the  Indians  with 
I ;  to  respect  their 
;pt  Caonabo,  the 
vere  to  seize  by 
lot  now  occurred 
was  little  to  fear 
lan,  returning  from 
s  countrymen  cap- 
[ndians.      Though 
number,  the  sight 
to  flight,  and  he 
riumph.     Leaving 
or  in  his  absence, 
ee  smallest  vessels 


;,  and  in  five  days 
end  of  Cuba.    He    I 
t  way,  but  learning 
jountry  rich  in  gold 
south,   he   turned 
ue  summits  of  Ja- 
he  horizon,  and  on 
ere  met  by  a  fleet 
gayly-painted  saya- 
ers,  and  brandishing  1 
I  loud  yells.    A  few 
■y  armada;  butr«xt    ' 


""i"  '''rs  ii  «  »■"  •'■•  I'"" "" ''" 

„,■  „„,„  ";■""  "X  t■■^«  "^*^^^ "'»'' 

turned  to  Cuba,    "'-^^''^^•^lan.is,  which  ren- 

this  way,  which  It  appears  «       J  ^^  ^„„. 
the  island,  which  ^^  ^^Ij^^^;;  navigation  he 

reached  a  co.mnent,  •»« '"'"fh.tteied  con- 

KS£|s,t^jKSSe 


butr«xt    I 


east  amon-  the  Caribbean 
aships,  exertions,  and  anxie- 
lonths'  voyage,  had,  howev 


er,  exh,u.sr.d  hi,  nu.ntalnndbodijy  powers^ 
he  was  struck  ^vi.h  a  «u'l'l'."/""'"'',>  „'   '    is 

,h,-  utmost  confuson  during  his  abM  nc... 
Co  mis  before  departing  on  Ins  voynge. 

scheme  by  I  nar  Coy  it,  i  ^^^^^_ 

"C:r"S"er.ang  hdi^^^^^^^  ,,  ,,a 
SSfVoi  S  :in:  le^.ving  the  army  -tLut  a 
head  and  without  disciphne.     The  men  be 

death  and  success  in  these  attempts  led  to 
n«;  undertakings.  Caonabo  resolved  to  at- 
^  J  the  fcrtres  built  without  permission  on 
Sf  t  Storierand  now  g-isoned  by  only 
fiftv  men     Thev  were  commanded  by  Aionzo 

ened  by  the  dispersion  of  the  ".^"P*  """  '  j^ 
Sness  of  tho^e  who  remamej.  He  mack 
a  league  for  this  P^^f  ^;  ^^'^  /'e  ,a  of  the 

apaniarus,  »v.  ,  .  ,  r-  i  ^  ihem,  and  deln 
r  reTprHrttufbrought  o..  himseU 
tuS^o^f  the  confederate.  Who  pW^^^^ 

iland,  punishin,'  some  of  the  chiefs,  a 


t 


is. 


i 


i 


I 


I 


358 


CimiSTOPHEIl  COLUMBUS. 


the  chief  on  a  pretended  friendly  mission,  and 
havin"  by  false  representations  induced   the 
simple  Indian  to  mount  behind  him,  nw\  sut- 
fer  himself  to  be  adorned  with  polished  shack- 
les, bore  him  off  in  triumph  from  anriong  his 
astonished   warriors.     This   deceit,  however 
contrnrv  to  our  feelings,  seen  •  to  have  been 
viewed" in  a  different  light  by  i  .  victim,  who. 
when  a  captive,  always  showed  Me  highest 
respect  for  Ojeda,  while  he  proudly  refused 
all  marks  of  deference  for  Colum>)Us,  thoufrh 
well  aware  of   his  superior  rank.     Another 
important  event  for  the  colony  was  th.-  arrival 
of  Antonio  Torres,  with  four  ships  loaded  wi  h 
provisions,  and  accompanied  with  many  work- 
n,en  and  mechanics.      The  despatches  from 
court  were  still  favorable  ;  insidious  enemies 
having  not  as  yet  pgisoned  the  ear  ot  the  prin- 
ces against  Columbus.    The  admiral  hastened 
the  return  of  Torres,  sending  with  him  his 
brother  Diego  to  support  his  interests  at  court, 
and  to  give  his  advice  in  settling  the  boun.la- 
ries  of  their  respective  discoveries  y.nhl  or- 
tugal.     In  the  fleet  was  sent  not  only  all  the 
gold  and  other  precious  metals  which  he  could 
procure,  but  also  above  five  hundred  Indian 
prisoners,  whom  he  recommended  to  be  sold 
as  slaves  at  Seville.     Thus  early  was  begun 
that  accursed  trade  in   human  flesh,  which 
has  produced  more   misfortune  to  mankind, 
than  all  the  wars  from  that  time  to  the  pres- 
ent ;  and  which  is  no  less  disgraceful  to  hu- 
manity, than  the  cannibalism  of  the  savages, 
for  which  the  Spaniards  express  such  horror. 
One  of  Caonabo's  brothers,  attempting  to 
.evenge  his  captivity,  had  been  deleated  by 
Ojeda,   but  this  did  not   prevent   the   ()ther 
chiefs  from  collecting  their  forces  for  his  res- 
cue.    Columbus  learning  from   the  fnen.lly 
Indians  that  they  had  assembled  in  the  Vega, 
marched  out  to  meet  them,  though  his  whole 
army  only  amounted  to  two  hundred  infantry, 
twenty  liorse,  and  the  same  number  of  Idood- 
hounds,  not  the  least  dangerous  opponents  to 
the  naked  Indians.     A  battle,  or  rather  mas- 
sacre, took  place  in  the  Vega ;  the  natives, 
who  had  trusted  to  their  numbers,  being  at 
once  dispersed  by  the  fire  of  the  infantry,  ami 
then  cut  down  by  the  cavalry,  or  hunted  like 
wild  beasts  by  the  savage  dogs.     Columbus 
followed  up  his  victory,  by  subduing  almost 
the  whole  island,  and  imposing  a  tax  of  a  cer- 
tain quantity  of  gold  dust,  or.  where  this  was 
not  produced,  of  cotton,  on  each  of  the  na- 
tives.    The  chiefs  remonstrated  against  this 
grievous  burden,  but  in  vain.     Their  people, 
seeing  no  hope  of  relief,  deserted  their  fields, 
and  retired  to  the  mountains,  hoping  that  iam- 
ine  might  drive  away  their  persecutors.    But 
this  onlv  increased  their  seventies,  and  af^cr 
a  large  'part  of  the  Indians  had  perished  by 
want  and  violence,  the  remainder  returned  to 


linger  under  the  yoke  of  slavery.  Even  the 
friendly  Guaranagari,  and  his  people  w«  n- 
subjected  to  the  same  impositions  and  cruel- 
ties, till  the  chief,  nnable  to  endure  the  re- 
proaches of  his  miserable  subjects,  retired  to 
the  mountains,  nrd  died  in  poverty— n  victim 
to  the  strangers  whom  liis  hos])itality  had  more 
than  once  preserved  from  destruction. 

The  malcontents  who  had  returned  to  Spain, 
were  not  wholly  unsuccessful  in  prejudicing 
the  sovereigns  against  Columbus,  who,  as  a 
foreigner,  had  no  influence  to  sujiport  him  at 
court.     Even  the  arrival  of  Torres,  with  news 
of  the  discoveries  made  in  the  recent  voyage, 
and  the  specimens  of  gold  which  he  brought, 
did  not  restore  Columbus  to  his  former  favor. 
Juan  Aguado,  was  sent  os  a  commissioner  to 
investigate  the  alliiirs  of  the  island,  and  though 
formerly  highly  indebted  to  Columbus,  soon 
becnme'his  bitterest  foe.     On  arriving  at  Is- 
abella, he  found  the  admira'    absent  in  the 
interior,  and  immediately  assumed  high  au- 
thority to  himself  and  interfered  in  all  pub- 
lic atlairs.     When  the  admiral  returned  from 
the  interior,  he  received  Aguado  with  all  the 
courtesy  due  to  the   royal  messenger;    and 
when  his  inciuiries  were  finished,  intimated 
his  intention  of  returning  with  him  to  Spain. 
Their  departure  was  delayed  by  a  tremendous 
hurricane,  which  swept  over  the  island  with 
such  awful  fury,  that  even  the  Indians  thought 
it  a  divine  judgment  on  the  crimes  and  cruel- 
ties of  the  white  men.     It  destroyed  all  the 
ve?f  "Is  in  the  harbor  except  one,  left  in  o  very 
si  utt  fcil  condition.      While  the  vessels  were 
repaiJi.,,',  t'ohimbus  received  news  of  great 
import.,  H-  .     A  Si)aniard,   Miguel  Diaz,  in 
the  service  of  his  broth'     Bartholomew,  had 
wounded  one  of  his  coi,>radcs  dangerously  in 
a  (oiarrel,  and  fearing  the  co:  ■^    j-iences,  had 
fled  to  the  south  side  of  the  island.     H  re  he 
had  won  the  heart  o*  n   t  •''lale  cnciqiK',  and 
i  lived  with  her  some  tirr,^  ve»  ;  hnppil:,       B  it 
I  at  length  he  became  desifx.    o.  returning  to 
his  friends,  and  fell   into  ■cl  >  melancholy. 
His  Indian  bride  learning  tht.  c-anse,  and  de- 
sirous of  drawing  the  Spaniards  to  her  part 
of  the  island,  that  he  might  not  thus  be  in- 
duced to  abandon  her,  informed  him  that  there 
were  rich  mines  in  the  i  eighborhood.     Diaz, 
having  ascertained  the    ruth  of  the  rejiort, 
returned  to  his  master,  who  was  easily  recon- 
ciled to  him,  and  set  out  personally  to  inves- 
tigate the  mines.     He  found  them  as  rich  as 
was  reported,  and  deep  pits  near  them,  as  if 
dug  in  former  times,  which  gave  rise  to  a 
curious  conje.;ture  of  Columbus,  that  he  had 
now  discovered  the  ancient  Ophirof  Solomon. 
The  tidings  were  indeed  highly  gratetul  to 
the  ad  T.iral,  both  as  decisive  proofs  of  the 
wealth  of  the  island,  thus  silencing  the  cavils 
of  his  enemies,  and  as  an  excuse  for  removing 


Even  the 
'oplc  \v(-r(! 

and  cnufl- 
re  the  xk- 
,  retired  to 
— «  victim 
y  had  more 
on. 

d  to  Spain, 
prejuiiicinfr 

wllO,  Q8    a 

lort  him  nt 
,  with  news 
>nt  voyape, 
lie  broHifht, 
rrncr  favor, 
nissioner  to 
and  though 
imbus,  soon 
ving  at  Is- 
3ent  in  the 
d  high   «u- 
in  all  pub- 
turned  from 
with  all  the 
Bnger ;    and 
I,  intimated 
m  to  Spain, 
tremendous 
island  with 
ians  thought 
;8  and  oruel- 
lyed  all  the 
eft  in  a  very 
vessels  were 
ws  of  great 
lel  Diaz,   in 
3lomew,  had 
ngerously  in 
■  ■leni'es,  had 
d.     H  re  he 
cnciquv.-,  and 
ippih       B  It 
returning  to 
melancholy, 
use,  and  de- 
I  to  her   part 
:  thus  be  in- 
im  that  there 
hood.     Diaz, 
f  the  rejiort, 
easily  recon- 
illy  to  inves- 
;rr.  as  rich  as 
,r  them,  as  if 
ive  rise  to  a 
,  that  he  had 
irof  Solomon, 
y  gratelul   to 
proofs  of  the 
ling  the  cavils 
for  removing 


CHttlSTOPHEH  COLUMBUS. 


359 


the  colony  from  its  unhealthy  suuation. 
Diaz  was  pardoned,  and  employed  m  various 
•hities.  all  of  which  he  discharged  with  fulel- 
itv  He  also  kept  faith  with  his  Indian 
spouse,  who  seems  to  have  become  a  Chris- 
tian, and  to  hove  been  baptized. 

On  the   10th  of  Marcfi,   1496,  Columbus 
sailed  for  Spain,  along  with  Aguado.     Keep- 
i„.  too  far  south,  within  the  tradewinds,  his 
passage  was  long  and  tc.lious,  s.,  that  he  had 
o  touch  at  Guadaloupe  for  provisions.      1  he 
shores  were  only  defen.led  by  the  women, 
some  of  whom  they  took  prisoners,  but  again 
set  free  before  their  departure.     One  heroine, 
however,  refused  her  liberty,  and  clwse  rath- 
er to  accompany  Caonabo.  whorn  Columbus 
was  taking  with  him  to  Spain.     But  the  Oa- 
ril)  chief  was  destined  never  to  arrive  there  ; 
his  Droud  heart  was  broken  by  his  misfortunes, 
and  he  died  on  the  voyage.     During  this  voy- 
age, the  Spaniards  were  reduced  to  great  ex- 
tremity, some  even  proposing  to  kill  and  eat 
their  Itidian  pris..ners.     On  the  11th  of  June, 
Columbus  at  last  reached  Cadi/,,  after  a  weary 
..assage  of  three  months.     His  hopes  and  re- 
ception were  very  ditlerent  Irom  what  they 
had  been  on  his  former  return,  three  years 
before;  and  the  miserable  emaciated  ligures 
1  of  his  sickly  companions,   and  their  yellow 
countenances-a  mockery,  says  an  old  writer, 
of  that  gold  they  had  gone  to  seek-was  no 
untit  emblem  oF  the  public  disappointment. 
He  however,  received  a  friendly  letter  irom 
the  court,  and  on  his  arrival  there  met  with  a 
kind  reception  ;  his  great  merits  not  being  yet 
wholly  forgotten.     He  proposed  t.)  un.lertake 
a  nevv  vovage  of  discovery,  which  was  read- 
ily agreed  to -,  but  numerous  delays  were  des- 
tinetl  to  intervene  before  its  acfomplishmen  . 
Aflairs  of  more  immediate  neces>  "n  demand- 
ed all  the  care  and  resources  .h    the  king, 
while  envious  councillors  insinuated  to  hun 
the  great  cost  an.i  small  proht  of  the  b.)a^ U^d 
discoveries.     At  length  th^  influence  ot  the 
(lueen  procured  certain  measures  favorabU  to 
Columbus,  and  adapted  to  promote  the  ,.ros- 
perity  of  the  colony  ;  but  the  management  ot 
Indian   affairs  was  committed   to  his  cold- 
blooded enemy.  Fonseca.  who  persecuted  him 
and  embarrassed  his  proceediar.i  by  the  mean- 
est and  most  despicable  artihces.  ^  ;'  Absent, 
envied,  and  a  stranger,"  as  he  saw  in  a  letter 
to  the  king,  every  one  was  against  him,  and 
it  was  only  his  gratitude  to  the  queen  that  in- 
duced him  to  persevere.  i40«   Pn 
At  length,  on  the  30th  of  May.  1498,  Co- 
lumbus sailed  with  six  vessels  on  his  third 
voyage  to  the  New  World.     He  proceeded 
«,^th  to  the  Cape  Verd  islands.      Thence  he 
continued  southwest,  till  his  ship  was  involved 
in  the  region  of  the  "  calms,"  near  the  enua- 
t^r      Here  the  wind  fell,  and  a  dead,  sultry 


I 


air.  us  from  a  furnace,  hung  oyer  the  shins, 
wasting  their  stores,  and  destroy-ng  the  hca  th 
and  spirits  of  the  men.     He  then  altered  his 
course  more  to  the  west,  and  reached  land 
with  his  provisions  nearly  exhausted,  and  only 
one  cask  of  water  remaining  in  each  ship. 
It  was  the  island  of  Trinidad,  which  Colum- 
bus named  from  a  vow  he  made  to  consecrate 
the  first  land  he  should  reach  to  the  Trinity. 
He  coasted  along  the  southern  shore  ot  tlie 
island,  and  was  surprised   at  its  fertility,  at 
the  coolness  of  the  uir,  and  the  fair  complex- 
ion of  the  natives— all  so  unlike  the  tropical 
character  of  Africa.     He  was  now  sailing  m 
the  stroit  between  Trinidad  and  th<^  mainland, 
on  some  parts  of  which  he  touched  in   the 
gulf  of  Puria,  but  without  knowmg  that  it 
was  in  reality  the  continent  he  had  so  long 
80U"ht.     The  strings  of  pearls  worn  liy  the 
nati'vcs  highly  interested  him  as  a  now' source 
of  wealth,  and  a  confirmation  of  his  theories. 
His  time,  however,  would  not  permit  ot  fur- 
ther  researches,  so.    retracing  his  way,    he 
sailed  through  the  narrow  jiassage  between 
Trinidad  and  Cape  Boto  in  Farm,  where  the 
sea  was  raging  and  foaming,  the  currents  be- 
ing swollen  by  the  large  mass  of  fresh  water 
then  poured  into  the  gulf.    He  passed  through 
it.  however,  in  safety,  and  examined  part  ot 
the  north  coast  of  Paria,  when  he  was  corn- 
pelled  to  sail  for  Hispaniola.     He  reached  it 
considerably  north  of  the  point  he  wished, 
having  been  carried  out  of  his  reckoning  by 
the  strong  currents.     Sending  a  message  on 
shore  to  his  brother,  he  sailed  for  the  nver 
Ozema.  and  was  soon  met  by  his  brother  liar- 
tholomew,  who  came  oft'  in  a  caravel  to  meet 
him.     In  a  letter  to  the  sovereigns,  relating 
his  voyage,    Columbus  enters  into  various 
speculations-some  of  them  wild  and  fanci- 
ful in  the  extremv;— concerning  his  new  dis- 
coveries.    He  however  rightly  conjectured 
from  the  quantity  of  fresh  water  flowing  into 
the  gulf,  that  it  must  come  from  some  conti- 
nent of  vast  extent,  which  he  still  ma.ntained 
I  to  be  a  part  of  Asia. 

'  From  his  brother,  who  had  governed  the 
island  under  the  title  of  Ade.lantado,  Colum- 
bus received  an  account  of  the  events  which 
had  cccuried  during  his  long  absence.  Bar- 
tholomew had  proceeded  to  found  a  fort  near 
the  mines  of  Hayna.  discovered  by  his  ser- 
vant, but.  from  want  of  provisions,  the  work 
had  made  slow  progress.  He  then  laid  the 
foundation  of  San  Domingo,  on  the  harbor  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Ozema  nver,  and  leaving  iv 
small  garrison  there,  set  out  to  explore  the 
western  region  of  the  island  He  was  well 
received  by  the  cacique  of  that  district,  who 
readily  agreed  to  pay  an  annual  tnbute  ot 
,  cotton,  alfeging  that  no  gold  was  produced  m 
his  part  of  the  island.     On  retummg  to  Isa- 


4u 


MMM^-^v^ae 


CHUISTOl'nER  C0LUMI1U8. 


.^ 


b,nn,  he  foun.l  nothing  but  tniscry  <^}j^- 
„ii,.r.     The  provisions  receivea  Irom  1m  rop.. 
^■e?e  c.m.u.m.l.  .he  Spaniards  .ntcnt  only  on 
nrocurina  "oM,  would  not  con.lesceml  to  u.l- 
llvute  .hrgrouna,  ami  yet   l.y  tl'o.r  cruelties 
ha.1  .Iriven  the  natives  to  the  mountains.     1  ht 
A,iulantu.lo  sent  all  the  men  that  couUl   be 
spared  into  the  interior,  where  the  climate 
vvu«  more  salubrious,  and  provisions  in  great- 
er  ubundanee.     He  then  established  m.htary 
po*tH  to  overawe  the  natives,  whose  mdisna- 
lon  was  rouM-d  anew  by  fresh  indignities. 
Two  friars  had  labored  with  small  success,  to 
cnvert  the  Indians,  who  could  not  be   per- 
Huaded  that  a  religion  was  true,  whose  to- 
lowers  perpetrated  such  atrocities.     In  one 
place,  tie  Iruirshad   built  a  small  chapel, 
i  with  erucitix,  images,  and  altar,  for  the  use  ot 
'  a  taiuily  of  converts.     Some  o  her  Indians 
had,  however,  entered  the  chapel,  and  broken 
tile  iina"es.     For  this  crime  the  ignorant  sav- 
u,-es  were  tried  by  the  ecclesiastical  law,  con- 
d"n,n.-.i,  and  burnt.     This  cruel  treatment  ex- 
cited the  indignation  of  all  the  natives,  and  a 
rebellion,  to  commence  by  a  general  massa- 
cre of  their  oppressors,  was  concerted.      u 
was  betrayed,  as  usual  to  the  Spaniards ;  and, 
bv   a  successful  stratagem,   the  Adelantado 
seized   fourteen  of  the   assembled  caci.iues. 
and  carried  them  prisoners  to  a  fortress.    1  wo 
of  the  principal  instigators  of  the  insurrec- 
tion wete  put  to  death,  but  the  others  vvere 
released-au  act  of  clemency  which  for  a  time 
restored  tranquillity  to  the  Vega.     Bartholo- 
mew  then  set  out  to  the  western  extremity  ot 
the  island,  where  he  received  for  tribute  sut- 
ticient  cotton  and  provisions  to  load  a  caravel. 
A  new  trouble  arose  from  the  machinations 
of  one  Francisco  Roldan,  who,  raised  from 
low  rank  to  be  chief  judge  of  the  island,  now 
turned  his  inQuence  against  Jtt^  ^^enefactor. 
During  the  absence  of  the  Adelantado,  he 
excited  mutiny  against  him  among  the  Span- 
iards at  Isabella,  and,  on  his  return,  set  out  into 
the  interior,  where  he  had  formed  a  friendship 
with  the  native  chiefs,  and  hoped  to  seize  one 
of  the  forts.    Disappointed  by  the  vigilance 
of  the  commander,  he  now  endeavored  to  ob- 
tHiiu  possession  of  it  by  force.     The  A.lelan- 
tado  marched  to  its  relief,  but  distrusting  the 
loyalty  of  his  men,  durst  not  attack  Rol<  an. 
He  had  an  interview  with  him  which  led  to 
no  result,  and  Roldan,  taking  advantage  ot  his 
absence  returned  to  Isabella,   entered  it  by 
surprise,  and  breaking  open  the  royal  ware- 
house, supplied  himself  and  his  followers  with 
arms  and  clothing.     He  then  returned  t,.  the 
Vega,  endeavoring  to  seduce  the  foUower^ot 
the""  Adelantado  from  their  allegiance.     iNot 
succeeding  in  this,  he  again  endeavored  to 
stir  up  the  natives  to  a  revolt,  and  continued  to 
1  sow  discontent  among  the  Spamards.     ihe 


whole  island  was  reduced  to  a  stateof  anorrhy, 
when  two  vessels  arrived  at  San  Domirigo,  in 
February,  140H,  with  RUi)plii-8  ot  i)rovi>inns, 
trwiis,  and  what  was  of  more  importance,  a 
royal  conlirinntion  of   the  authority  ot    the 
Ailelantudf..     RoWan  had  however,  gone,  too 
far  to  hope  for  pardon,  and  feeling  too  weak 
for  resista-     .  retired  toward  the  west  end  ot 
th.'  island.     '•  .le  Indians  in  the  Vega,  seduced 
by  his  machinations,  had  taken  up  arms,  but 
being  defeated  by  the  Spaniards,  their  ehiet 
lied  to  the  mountains  of  Ciguay,  where  he 
found  shelter  with  a  brother  cacupie.     1  liither 
I  he  was  f.jllowcd  by  the  Adelantado,  who,  not- 
withstaiKling  the  ditlicultics  of   a  mountain 
warfare,  with  savage  foes,  soon  dispersed  the 
Indians,  and  captured  both  the  chiets,  who 
hatl   sought   sheUcr   in   the   recesses  of  the 
mountains.     Such  was  the  state  of  the  island 
when  Columbus  returned  thither  from  Spam, 
and  such  the  immediate  results  of  that  imvvise 
policy,  which  the  Spanish  monarchs  instiga- 
ted by  his  private  enemies,  pursued  toward 
him      The  productiveness  of  the  colony  w-as 
ruined;  discontent,  disloyalty,  and  crime,  fo- 
mented among  the  white  settlers,  and   the 
poor  Indians  led  into  rebellions,  m  which  they 
iither  perished  miserably  by  the  sword  and 
famine,  or  were  reduced  to  a  state  of  cruel 
slavery,  to  which  death  in  almost  any  form 
was  preferable.  .    ^  •      t     ti- 

Such  was  the  condition  of  atTairs  5n  His- 
paniola,  when  Columbus  returned  from  Spain, 
instead  of  the  paradise  which  it  seemed  when 
the  white  men  first  set  foot  on  its  eoil.  it  had 
become  the  abode  of  war,  and  ^^'--^"'01 
strife,  famine,   and   Pestilence.     The  native 
population  was  melting  away  before  the  bale- 
ful presence  of  the  stranger;  and  their  once 
hospitable  towns  were  desolate  and  silent. 
The  Spaniards,  too,  were  now  reaping    he 
fruit  of  their  crimes;  vice  had  produced  dis- 
ease ;  indolence,  poverty;  while  cruelty  and 
oppression  had  turned  the  once  fnendly  In- 
diansinto  deadly  foes,  and  the  thickly-peopled 
country  into  a  lonely  wilderness. 

Columbus  endeavored  to  restore  matters  so 
far  as  it  was  still  possible.     He  denounced 
Roldan  as  a  rebel,  but  at  the  same  time,  of- 
fered him  pardon  on  immediate  submission. 
Roldan  had,  however,  strengthened  his  party, 
by  the  accession  of  many  criminals  who  had 
been  sent  from  Spain  at  the  same  time  as  Co- 
lumbus, but  had  arrived  m  the  island  before 
him,  and  now  refused  to  submit.     Columbus, 
1  surrounded  by  treachery  and  disaffection  was 
I  too  weak  to  enforce  comphance,  arid  could  on- 
'  lY  write  home  an  account  of  the  rebellion,  and 
ask  further  aid.     After  various  negotiations, 
an  agreement  was  made  with  the  rebels  Lv 
which  they  were  to  return  within  a  hmited 
Se  to  Spain ;  and  the  admiral  set  out  to  m- 


"■^WKJ^si.^ 


Bl 


CHRISTOPHER  COLUMBUS 


■f)f  nnnrrliy, 
Dunlin;;!),  in 

|)r()vi>intis, 
riporluncp,  Q 
iriiy  of  tht! 
,(!r,  R(in(;  too 
ng  too  weak 
west  cml  ol 
cgn,  reduced 
up  nrni!«,  Imt 
,  their  diicf 
ly,  whrrp  he 
ue.  Thithrr  , 
do,  who,  tiot-  jl 

n  mountnin 
dispersipd  the 
5  chiefs,  who 
lesscs   of  the 
I  of  the  island  1 
r  from  Spain, 
)f  that  \uiwise 
archs  instiga- 
rsued  toward 
he  colony  was 
and  crime,  fo- 
;lcrs,  and    the 
in  which  they 
;he  sword  and 

state  of  cruel 
Tiost  any  form 

iffairs  In  His- 
,ed  from  Spain. 
it  seemed  when 
its  soil  it  had 
nd  sediw-jn,  of 
I.  The  native 
jefore  the  bale- 
and  their  once 
ate  and  silent. 
ovr  reaping  the 
(1  produced  dis- 
hile  cruelty  and 
nee  friendly  In- 
thickly-peopled 

;ss. 

!store  matters  so 

He  denounced 
1  same  time,  of- 
iiate  submissiion. 
thened  his  party, 
iminals  who  had 
same  time  as  Co- 
the  island  before 
mit.     Columbus, 

disaflTcction,  was  I 
ice,  and  could  on- 
the  rebellion,  and 
ious  negotiations, 
th  the  rebels,  by 

within  a  limited 
liral  set  out  to  in- 


I 


1     •  i„„,l      rifpiimstanres  dehw^  t^" 
,prct  the  mland.     C.  c^^^^^^^^^^    Columbus  soon 

his  periil<  xitii »,  u**  '^  ^.    J     ^      I  i,e 

Uis  .■...■.niv«  ll'ff^-'    r'     r  He  had  thus  to 

treatnieui  ot  I'  ;;'''"    '     .^f  (:„la,„bu«,  and 
est  stums  ""    ^^;  ""  y,  .,f  u„,nanity  and 

r --"^  1  ^;= "- =;- 

purt  nt  lire  '-'"'■"„„,,,   ,1,,.  i,„l,|  ,.,,.lii.t 

ii-om  l-.mseea,  I  but  tnt  vt:,', 
to  the  gulf  of  I  ''"^-    /\^pri„o'  Vespuceio, 

;S;"rsirf i^Hh^'whoic  of  .,,i. 

,  V  Tfnlilnn  were  settled,      inthe  iiiii" 


Bomin,of,rhisli..nji^-luct;V.«t^ 

S.r:tiri.x:t"^H-.-^'Sirib 

l,v,.with  a  .trtuahterot  Cuo.iul.o,  t  u.  ta  > 
hi ef  and  intended  to  innrry  her.  when  Uol- 
1„       iris    sni.l.    from    ieulousy,    mterfer.'d. 

Rodm   r^ts        l.in.touM.,therplnee,buthc 

;^^!;;-j.andoni;s.;,mi..^^ 

„r  put  out  his  eye^;  liut  tlie  <  "1  <  . 

ol  was  beforehand  with  them,  "'•'/■'"'"'/» 
.  adeis.  and  sent  them  prisoners  to  the  nil.  i  - 
.1      C  uevara's  uncle.  M..xiea,  a  former  co.n- 
:  ie  ,       ioldun,  ineensed  at  this  aetiun.  be 

t     ..nll.el   his  old   fo  lowers  to   tree  his 
^;:;;i,evt\vi!fantieipatedbv  Columbus 

2eon'le.lbyR..ldun,s.,on.reduccd.thevvhole 

island  to  tt  state  of  tramiuiUity. 

Ti  however,  was  not  to  continue  long^ 
The  enemies  of  Columbus  were  busy  at 
rourr  where  his  friends  were  few  and  pow- 
erress.  F  rdinand  had  undertaken  these  dis- 
cove  ies  from  no  high  or  generous  mot  ve 
but  moved  only  by  hopes  of  -^aU^'' J^^ 
he  now  found  greatly  disappointed.  Jnsteau 
i^c'iling  sii^ppliejfrom  them,  •  W J-,^^ 

ty  t:  i^e  dissolute  men  who  returne  JJ>orn  : 

rnte'"ctw1^llly>--^^  P?tm  X 
Their  insolence  rnay  be  pgd  of  fro-  th^ 

IS  rxcltimi'^X  sonsof  the  admi.l,  the 

whelps  of  him  who  ;^>«<="^«'l'=i;i''  Shi- 
vanity  and  delusion,  the  R'"^;'", "^  ^l^™  J  , 
,lnl.To-i"      The   (lueen   had    long   been    m» 

he  sought  to  cover  one  act  "f  '"//"^"'"."^^ 


H 


it 


'ii 

1 


<4 


J 


■tmr^ifliawitf^ssyvw"  ■*■' 


ill,. 


if' 


'"■«!V. 


-'--»■  ilj.^ 


CHalSTOl'iiBH  C.-I.UMBU!*. 


nono«t  «n.l  religion.  ""»"•  "t^""' ri,"""'   ' 
Komblance  of  truth.  ■-  ..ody,  l'";*"  "»*«' ".^^ 
Bmbiti..u»,    He  was  emi).)wer.Ml  to  «xarni. 
into  the  late  rebellion,  an-l  the  r    '  '"^    ,n. 
tho  B.lmiral  an.l  his  broth.-rs;  uml    ..,  h     int 
them  KuiUy,  to  supersede  them  in  tl.  a.l.n,. 

'"  w' V  the  latter  part  ot  f.hi«  commissirm. 
Bobad.lb>  wn.  not  long  •''«=""»«''>■'"?;  ,   "^ 
reached  >an  Domingo  on  the  •-'■Id  «'f  Ao    i»t, 
1500.  and  having  1  '.d-d  the       -^^  «'"''''"?' 
order.vi  hi»  commission  to  be   .cad.  uuthon- 
7:   u  him  til  inx»-8tigate  the   late  rebellion. 
(    Aumhm  was  ab.-nt  in  th.'  inti-nor ;  but  \m 
brother  Diego  refused  to  giv-e  «,     1:  '  I-ri^n- 
pr»  till  b  s  return,  and  n«ked  for  u   opy  ot  this 
leir.r  t.. send  to  him.     ' '  Nadilla  reJuscd  this. 
uui  next  morning  read  a  second  roN  ul  patent, 
investing  iiim  with  the  government  ot  the  is- 
land, and  ai;ain  demanded  the  prisoners.     Vi- 
ego   replied,   that  he  he'd  the  prisoners  ,., 
obedieiice  to  the  admiral   vbo  was  m- -a<d 
vv  irh  higher  p..wers,  on  whu        -badilla  pro- 
duced n  third  mandate  from  the  i     wn,  oriler- 1 
inc  (^.l'^rab1lK       1  his  brothers  to  deliver  up 
to  hi'i'  *"        .esses,  ships,  ai.!  other  royal 
proiier     ;    and   a  fourth   mandate,         ering 
him  U)  i' >     all  arrears  of  wages  to  p  m 

the  royal  service,  which  was  recei  m 

sh,,       f.f  applause  by  the  multit .  _> .      tie 
aeaui  .iei     mled  the  prisoners,  and  wher  they 
were  refused,  repaired  to  tlu<  t»rt  where  they 
were  confined.      The  alcade.  Miguel  Diaz. 
had  the  gates  closed,  and  appearing  on  the 
wall,  declared  that  he  would  only  obey  his 
lord  the  admiral.    Enraged  beyond  (neosure, 
BobadiUa  assembled  his  followers  in  order  to 
storm  the  fort,  which,  having  no  garnson,  he 
entered  without  resistance.      He  then  took 
possession  of  the  house  of  Columbus,  and 
seized  upon  all  his  elTects,  books,  and  private 
papers.     When  information  of  these  events 
reochcd    the   admiral,   he  considered    them 
merely  as  the  acts  of  some  private  adventurer, 
and  moved  toward  San  Dommgo.     He  was 
met  by  an  alcade.  who  proclaimed  Bobadilla  s 
accession  to  office  ;  but  the  new  governor  took 
no  notice  of  him,  and  did  not  even  answer  a 
letter  he  had  written.     Columbus  was  in  great 
uncertainty  how  to  act,  when  two  messengers 
arrived  with  a  royal  letter  of  credence,  com- 
manding him  to  give  imidicit  faith  and  obedi- 
ence to  Bobadilla;  and  presented  at  the  same 
time,  a  summons  from  the  latter  to  appear  be- 
fore him.     Columbus  at  once  obeyed,  but  on 
reaching  the  town  was  seized,  put  in  irons, 
and  confined  in  the  fonress.    When  the  irons 
were  brought,  no  one  was  found  to  put  them 
on  him,  till  the  task  was  undertaken  by  one 
of  his  own  domestics,  "  a  graceless  and  shame- 
less cook,  who  riveted  the    fetters  with  as 
much  readiness  and  alacrity,  as  though  he 


were  serving   him   with  choice  and   sav.    v 
ands."     I  lis  two  brothers  met  the  soiri'^  f' 
ing  als.    lut  in  irons,  and  confined  sepi. 
aboard.       'avel.     Bobadilla  never  can 
..eo  them,  u,     five  them  any  account  ol 
•rimes  with  «  hirh  thoy  were  charged,  so  tli 
iti   tho   BdMiiral'^    own   words,    they    "w»i 
thrown  into  a  ship,  h.oded  with  irons,  with  lit- 
tle clothing,  and  mucl:  ill  treotment.  without 
1,1-2  H  nninoned   or   convicted   by  jur-tice. 
S     h  was  the  reward  Columbus  received  from 
li,.  unworthy  sovereign,  whom  it  is  in  vmn  to 
defend  by  throwing  the  blmne  on  the  misera- 
ble instrument  <if  his  mali-  ■   '>nd  1,    'at'tude. 
To  justify  his  conduct,  h'       blla  cnllectcd 
evidence  from  all  (lunrters  aj-ainsr  tht       mtrol 

....  .  1 .       nil       »llA       In... 


acV  Ot 

1  to  the 
.rnfully. 
•To  the 


and  his  brothers,  to  whom  all  the  Int.-         i rb- 
ances  in  tho  island  were  imjiuted.     ^\ 
was  completed,  he  sent  Cc  iim 
charge  of   Alonzo  de  Villejo. 
officer.     When  he  came  to  cot 
board.  Columbus  knowing  the 
his  enemies,  thought  it  was  to  I 
scafTold.      "Villejo."    said    li. 
"whither  -vve   you  raking  me  --   -;- 

ship.  yourexcelL-ncy.  to  embark,"  replied  the 
other.     "  To  embark !"  repeated  the  admira 
earnestly ;  "  Villejo,  do  you  speak  the  truth? 
»  By  the  life  of  your  excellency,  it  is  true, 
replied  the  honest  officer.     With  these  words 
the  admiral  was  comforted,  and  felt  as  one  re- 
stored  from  death  to  life.    Such  is  the  account    j 
of  this  touching  incident,  which  Washing  on  ,, 
Irving  has  taken  from  Las  Casas  who  j.roba- 
bly  received  it  from  his  fnend  Villejo  himself. 
Columbus  left  the  island  eariy  in  October, 
"  shackled  like  the  vilest  of  culprits,  amid  || 
the  scoffs  and  shouts  of  a  mi'-creant  rabble.     ,, 
Vllleio  would  have  removed   his  irons,  but  M 
Columbus  would  not  consent;  they  had  been 
imposed  by  the  authority  of  their  maiesties. 
and  said  he.  "I  will  wear  them  until  they 
shall  order  them  to  be  taken  off";  and  I  will 
preserve  them  as  relics  and  memonals  ot  the 
[eward  of  my  services."     "  He  did  so,    adds 
his  son  ;  "1  saw  them  always  hanging  111  his 
cabinet,  and  he  reciuested  that  when  he  died, 
thev  might  be  buried  with  him. 

When  Columbus  bt  ,ved  m  irons  at  Cadiz, 
from  the  world  that  ^  ,0  had  discovered,  a  uni- 
versal burst  of  ir.       nation  wa^  ^'^"^  ^^3' 
out  Spain,  and  ^^  as  responded  to  by  the  whole 
of  the  civilized  worid.     Even  the  cold  heait- 
less  monarch  quailed  before  it,  and  had  to  ex- 
press his  reprobation  of  such  ^n^of  j^y  ^^'?^^^ 
ment.     Columbus  was  ordered  to  be  set  free, 
was  received  with  many  marks  of  'f^J  « 
court,  and  the  charges  against  him  were  never 
listened  to.    But  the  true  vmdication  ot  his 
conduct,  that  which  justice  strongly  demand- 
ed? was  withheld,  notwithstanding  repeated 
solicitations.     He  was  not  restored  to  his 


t 


»  atu!    MV(  -V 
the  some  fn; 
icdsepii.       I 
never  can 
ncount  1)1 
arcerJ,  bo  thi 

tney  "w(i> 
irons,  with  lit- 
ment,  without 
I  by  ju^-tice." 
received  from 
it  is  in  vriiri  to 
on  thi-  niisera- 
1(1  ii     ratitude. 

lilla  cnllected 
nsl  tht  "lirnl 
lelnt'  '■ 

[1.     ■ 


on 
,    ,  of 
1  1  t('t  the 

I.  irnfuily, 

e  (  •  "To  the 
rk,"  replied  the 
ted  the  aihniral 
icak  the  truth?" 
ncy.  it  is  true."  || 
''ith  these  words  II 
id  felt  Qsone  re- 
■h  is  the  account  | 
ch  Washington  i 
isas",  whoproba-  11 


iVillejo  himself.  1 1 
rly  in  October, 
f  culprits,  amid    | 
screant  rabble."  i 
I  his  irons,  but  |l 
;  they  had  been 

their  mBJesties, 
them  until  they 
1  off;  and  I  will 
Tipmorials  of  the 
He  did  so,"  adds 
rs  hanging  in  his 
It  when  he  died, 
im. 

n  irons  at  Cadiz, 
Jiscovered,  a  uni- 
18  heard  through- 
d  to  by  the  whole 
in  the  cold  heart- 
it,  and  had  to  ex- 
1  unworthy  treat- 
red  to  be  set  free, 
larks  of  f'ivor  at 
8t  him  were  never 
vindication  of  his 

strongly  demand- 
stanching  repeated 
t  restored  to  his 


CHaWTOPHBa  COLUMBUS. 


363 


v-rnvaltVJ  and  Ferdinand,  while  disowning 

Cabra,  a  i  "rj  ^  1,500.  the  coast  of 

Ijf'  'r'Frrdtandt       .iwhi,  new  dotnin- 
Bra/.d.     1-  •^,  '•'"",     '„un,iie8S  extent,  and  m 
:irg:r':^'Sn;V:c;rhed..bv£erna- 
•  TI«  had  hmir  repented  of  the  pow- 

ITara.  ted  S,  C  lumbus,  and  every  new  d.s- 

•™holly  inca*;^^^^^^^  P-  '»-•  'rrZ' 
TLT^ZI  a.^Higned  to  Columbus,  and  a  prona- 
^T^v^n  him  of  being  restored  to  his  othcc  in 
rwryrrs'  wh..  all^ngry  passions  w^r.J- 

Si^S":nssr=-rp,:u 

WhTe  these  events  were  taking  place,  Co 
lumbu   remained  with  the  court  at  Grana 
Seavoring  to  S^so'•e^Sr;r?iSake 
re\pSorrrfcrr"tKoly  sepu^^^^^^ 

Seat  Sveries  were  only  prepara^ry-  but 
tion,  *"^  "°JTL,^ee„  the  countries  already 


vented  his  expedition  to  the  holy  »^V^^f[^ 
Heal.tra.>Iitted.  o  copies  ot  «^l  the  let- 
"r.  and  grants  he  had  -ccrved  fr.m.  .he    - 

ereigns,.  with  an  ^VV"'^  '\,^^;V  X"  i» 
>n<l  n  vmdicatton  oi  bis  rignis,  ly  ■»  • 

Ekr^^iraT^xs-i^i! 

Lir   He  had  four  small  ^e.^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

;-:::;ft^:nyEr:ndf^;f^i 

SlVru/aS-portoRico  for  S-  I)omingo 

where  he  wishe.i  t<.  '=^'^^'''^f^?,"'''r^^^''„l^^ 
srls  which  saile.!  extremely  ill.  This  course 
was  c.  ntrary  both  U)  his  own  plan  and  the  or- 
was  •:""",,./ i.i„„  i,v  which  he  had  been  for- 
ders  oi  the  King,  "y  21.         .  ,        fv,i,imhii« 

Sj  ScckJ  l.y  Ih.  op|..o..io»  or  the  ... 
W.T« .ho  h..W  »d .cglej«d  lj»  rep^^^^^^^^ 

rhSrhS„ts;rr.--'^; 

.„  .w  .rh.,™». :  .ho  .hip  «■»"»;"«  J^; 

Sr^re-'^or^isEfH 
5  ±=srro^7;o  i;i"Th. 

:e'';rjnV4ShrilsSofo's.s 


4- 


304 


CHEWTOITHBR  COLUMBUe. 


blv  Yucatan  or  Mexico,  but  Cdlumlms  turnrd 
east.  l.H.kinR   for   th«   .up|.o«n<l   .trait.     He 
ma.lc  but  slow  progrew.  btnnR  "I'l-"""' ^X, ''"= 
wiml.  an.l  c.rrcnts.  an.l  a  fm|..;Ht  which  he 
gays  surpassed  in  vi-lrnco  and  duration  any 
he  had  ever  seen.     At  iant  they  doubled  a 
cane,  which  he  mm>  .  <Jracms  a  Dios,  as  the 
coast  turning  direct  south  gave  tVm  a  trcj 
navigation  and  favorable  wind.   They  sf.pped 
at  a  river  to  take  in  wood  and  water,  but 
the  sudden  swell  of  the  sea  in  the  estuary 
swamped  one  of  the  boats,  whose  whole  crew 
perished.      Leaving  this  n>«l'»"«^y>y,.  l'"'.' • 
bolumbus  next  anchored  near  an  In.lmn  v  1- 
lace   named  Cariarri,  where  he  was  kindly 
en'tertained,  and  remained  sotnc  time  to  re- 
frenh  his  men.     He  next  sailed  «1""?  t'^'l  ff- 
Eion  afterward  named  Costa  Rica  or  the  Kith 
Coast,  from  the  mines  of  the  precious  metals 
found  in  its  mountains,  and  in  his  tratTic  with 
the  natives  procured,  for  the  merest  trifles, 
several  largo  plates  of  gold  which  they  wore 
as  ornaments. 


Their  various  arrangements  were  soon  com- 
,,l,.ted.  but  the  riv.-r,  lately  swollen  by  rain, 
in  the  mountains,  was  now  so  shallow  that 
his  vessels   could  not   poss  over  the  bar  at 
its  mouth,  and  he  wos  detained  till  another 
inundation  should  set  them  free.     Meantime, 
Quibian,  the  caci.iue  of  the  In.lians,  resolve, 
to  expel  the  unwelcome  guests,  and  collected 
his  warriors.     Diego  Mende/.,  notary  to  the 
fleet,  susp.cted  their  designs,  and,  venturing 
boldly  into  their  camp,  had  his  suspicions  con- 
firmed.    A  native,  too,  revealed  the  plot  of 
his  countrymen  to  the  admiral.   Ihey  inte^nd- 
ed  to  attack  the  fort  by  n.gR  set  it  on  firo. 
and  kill  all  the  white  men.     Tho  Adelantado 
resolved  to  anticipate  them,  and  marching  into 
their  camp   with    seventy-five   men,   seized 
Quibian.  and  sent  him  away  .-aptive  in  a  boa  , 
but  the  wilv  savage  contrived  to  free  himselt 
from  his  b.m,ls,  j.lungcd  int<.  the  sea.  and  es- 
caped.    Returning  to  his  dwelling,  he  found 
it  wosted  and  his  family  carried  into  captivi- 


tes  of  gold  which  tney  wore    -  «"-■•'  "— ^  ^^,,  „;^     .^  ..^t  to  sea. 
Many  reports  of  countries  in    ty     -^^he  adn  ral  ha^  ^  ^J^.^^^     ^^^^^^^ 


ind 


us  ornuiiu;"!"-''      i.*—j   .~^---- 
the  west,  rich  in  gold  and  silver,  were  com 
municated  to  him,  and  probably  had  reference 
to  Mexico  or  Peru;  hut  instead  of  following 
these,  he  continued  east,  looking  for  the  ima- 
einarv  strait  that  was  to  open  up  a  possoge  to 
the  east.   He  next  touched  at  a  harbor  nomei 
Puerto  Bello,  from  its  beauty,  and  afterward 
was  forced  to  take  shelter  in  a  sma  1  jwrt,  so 
deep  that  there  was  no  anchorage  till  the  ships 
almost  touched  the  land.    The  sailors  used  to 
leap  on  shore  during  the  night,  and  so  pro- 
voked the  Indians  by  their  bad  conduct  that 
they  assembled  in  great  numbers  to  attack  the 
ships,  but  were  dispersed  on  the   first  dis- 
charge of  artillery.    Here  Columbus  despair- 
ing of  finding  any  passage  through  the  main- 
land, turned  back  to  explore  the  nch  country 
he  had  left  behind. 

The  wind,  which  had  opposed  their  cast- 
ward  progress  for  three  months,  now  suddenly 
changed  to  the  west,  and  they  were  driven 
out  tS  sea  by  a  tremendous  storm,  which  con- 
tinued for  nine  days.  The  sea  boiled  like  a 
caldron,  and  at  night  its  waves  resembled 
great  surges  of  flame;  the  thunder  and  light- 
ning  were  almost  incessant,  and  the  rain 
poured  down  in  torrents  into  their  open  ves- 
sels. One  day  a  waterspout  posscd  close  by 
1    .    _  1^1 »  :„:....;»»  tViom   nni!  alter 


was  only  waiting  for  a  fair  wind.     Before  he 
rould  sail,  however,  the  Indians  had  attacked 
the  fort,  and  though  repulsed,  had  again  assem- 
bled  in   great  numbers,  massacre.l    ii   boat  s 
crew,  which  had  been  sent  on  shor,;  for  wtwd, 
and  shut  the  .Spaniards  up  willnn  their  deten- 
ces      The  admiral  was  in  great  onxiety  tor 
his  brother,  the  high  surf  prev.nting  any  com- 
munication with  the  shore,  when  during  the 
night  he  hoard  a  mysterious  voice  reproach- 
ing him  with  his  want  of  faith  in  God,  who 
had  given  him  the  keys  to  unlock  the  gates 
of  the  ocean  sea,  shut  by  such  mighty  choins. 
Immediately  after  this  vision  tlie  sea  became 
calm,  and  the  Adelantado,  willi  Ins  followers, 
embarked  onboard  the  vessels,  leaving  the  set- 
tlement deserted.     The  family  of  the  cacique 
confined  in  the  ships  had  partly  escaped  and 
partly  destroyed  themselves  in  despair    at 
leaving  their  native  land.  . 

Columbus  now  sailed  for  Hispaniola,  but 
the  winds  and  currents  earned  him  far  west 
of  his  appointed  port.  One  of  the  caravels 
had  been  left  in  the  riv,  Helen,  another  w- 
80  wasted  that  it  had  to  be  deserteu  r.  the 
voyage,  and  the  two  that  remaimd  w.re  so 
honeycombed  by  the  ti^redo  a-  to  bo  -scarcely 
seaworthy.     Columbus  'rjed  to  beat  v 


i'els:  One  day  a  waterspout  P-ed  close  by    s^awor^hy    ^^J^   -^^  ^^^^       ^^^  . 
the  ships,  but  without  injuring  them  and  after  j  "7™' j-^^^      y,  vessels  might  founder 
great  difficulties  they  atlas.  reach..d  the  rive.  ;  -'-l  "Jl^«J'^,*^^o^un  them  aground  on  the 
lelen,  or.  the  coast  °[}"''S:^''\'^llh^  \  Sast  of  Jamaica,  where  they  soon  filled  with 
niained  some  tim- .tUl  his  "7^^«„^- '^-«  ^^^^^^^ 
^tft.irn3:.Sr5r\^^|  P  -d  stem  fbr  ^crew.  and  remained 


very  rn-.i  >"  a'J'"-     v.w. ....--"  -o  -  "„  , 

he  ha<'.  fo'?n!  one  of  those  places  whence  bol- 
omon  had  procured  his  unbounded  wealth,  and 
resolved  to  f^'jnd  a  new  colony.  Eighty  men 
were  to  ren;ain  with  the  Adelantado,  while 
Columbua  returned  to   Spain  for   supplies. 


castled  in  the  sea.    His  trusty  follower.  Die 
ao  Mendez,  went  on  shore  and  arranged  with 
L  Indians  to  supply  them  with  provisions, 
and  then  offered  to  proceed  to  H.«pam^a  m 
an  Indian  canoe  to  ask  rehef.    With  hira  Co- 


s^l-^.  , 


mm 


wprfl  ioon  com- 
8W()ll)-ii  by  rains 
mt  tthullow  that 
ovrr  the  bar  at 
ineil  till  another 
Vrfi.     Meantime, 
Tndinnn,  rpmilved 
8t»,  and  collected 
fz,  notary  to  the 
i«,  and,  venturing 
liH  suspicion*  con- 
enletl  the  plot  of 
■al.   They  jntend- 
jjlit,  net  it  on  firo,  | 
"  Thf  Adclantado 
and  marchinp;  into 
five   men,   acized 
r.-nptive  in  a  boat, 
/fd  to  free  himself 

0  the  sea,  and  e»- 
Iwelling,  he  found 
irried  into  captivi- 
put  out  to  HPa,  and 

wind.  Before  he 
dinns  had  attacked 
d.had  apain  assem- 
lassocreil  n  boat's 
on  shoro  for  wixxl, 
williin  their  defen- 
n  preat  anxiety  for 
ireventing  any  com- 
e,  when  during  the 
)us  voice  reproach- 
faith  in  God,  who 
;o  unlock  the  gates 
such  mighty  chains, 
lion  the  sea  became 
,  with  111*  followers, 
isels,  leaving  the  set- 
amily  of  the  cacique 
partly  escaped  and 
lives  in   despair    at 

for  Hisponiola,  but 
carried  him  far  west 
One  of  the  caravels 
r  Belen,  another  w 

be  desertevl  ti  the 
at  remaini;d  w^re  so 
"do  a"  to  bo  scarcely 
•ried  to  beat  v;  '  - 
..rfrorta  were  'n  vain, 
vessels  might  founder 
them  aground  on  the 

they  soon  filled  with 
hatcned  cabins  on  the 

crewa,  and  remained 

1  trusty  follower,  Die- 
ore  and  arranged  with 
them  with  provisions, 
ceed  to  Hispaniola  in 
relief.    With  hira  Co- 


^S^SftW-r^f* 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-S) 


^ 


4r 


1.0 


I.I 


|50     *'^~ 

IS 

WUU 


2.5 
22 

1.8 


L25  11111.4   111.6 


V 


^ 


n 


%1:^> 


r 


^a^ '  i^L""  J^ 


>.^ 


PhotDgrapliic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


-1-.. 


1 


y 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  nicroreproductlons  historlques 


L 


IIR 


r-*-^(^*  „. 


CIIRISTOPHKR  COLUMBUS. 


365 


lumbns  sent  letters  to  the  sovereigns,  giving  a 
n  mo-'t  glowing  description  ot  the  Inml  now 
di-;covere(l,  nnil  imlulging  in  romantic  visions 
c.ntrasting  strangely  with  his  actual  condition 
_"liH)ke"n  'lown  by  oge  and  infirmities, 
racked  with  pain,  confined  to  his  bed,  and 
«hut  up  i>i  a  "vrcck  on  the  coast  of  a  r(;mote 


and  savage 


n„  ^u>»s-  islond."     Mendez  set  out  on  his 
(■xncdition,  accompanied  by  one  Spaniard  and 
MX   Indians.     He   reached   the   end   of  the 
i«imid,  but  was  taken  prisoner  by  some  hostde 
L'diuns  who  determined  to  kill  them.     He 
contrived  to  escape  in  his  canoe,  and  returned 
to  the  ships,  where  he  oflercd  to  make  a  sec- 
ond attempt.     He  was  now  accompanied  m 
another  canoe  by  a  Genoese  named  t  lesci), 
while  the  Adclantado  guarded  them  along  the 
coast.     T&king  advantage  of  a  calm  day,  the 
canoes  set  sail  and  !*oon  lost  sight  of  land,  but 
on  the  second  day  the  water  was  almost  ex- 
liaustod,  and  one  of  the  Indians  died  under 
the  heat  and  labor.     In  the  evening  even  the 
leaders  had  begun  to  despair,  when  the  rising 
moon  showed  them  the  island  of  Navassa,  a 
mere  barren  rock,  but  containing  water  in  the 
hollow  clefts.     They  remained  here  a  day, 
livincr  on  shell-fish,  and  on  the  fourth  day 
reached  Hispaniola,  distant  about  a  hundred 
miles  from  Jamaica.    Mendez  proceeded  along 
he  coast  for  San  Domingo,  but  hearing  that 
the  governor  ^^as  in  Haragua,  he  left  his  ca- 
noe  and   proceeded   overland  to  meet  him. 
Ovando  promised  to  send  immediate  relief,  but 
delayed  from  day  to  day  and  month  to  month. 
A.  new  misfortune  had  in  the  meantime 
fallen  on  Columbus.     Part  of  the  crew,  led 
bv  a  person  of  the  name  of  Porras,  rose  in 
m'utiny,  and  seizing  some  canoes  that  Colum- 
bus had  bought  from  the  natives,  deserted 
him  and  the    sick,  and  resolved  to  sail  for 
Hispaniola.     They  took  what  arms  and  pro- 
visions they  chose,  and  proceeded  along  the 
coast  plundering    and   abusing  the  Indians. 
They  made  two  attempts  to  leave  the  island, 
but  were  driven  back  by  the  wind,  and  tl  en 
wandered  about  the  country,  supporting  them- 
selves by  robbing  the  natives.     Columbus,  ov 
skilful  arrangements,  had  recruited  the  health 
and  spirits  of  those  who  remained  with  him, 
but  the  Indians  began  to  relax  in  supplying 
him  with  provisions,  and  as  the  toys  given 
in  iiayment  became  more  common,  asked  a 
far  higher  price  for  what  they  brought.     In 
this  extremity  Columbus,  knowing  that  on  a 
particular  night  an  eclipse  of  the  moon  would 
take  place,  resolved  to  use  it  to  intimidate  the 
natives.     He  assembled  all  the  caciques,  and 
told  them  that  the  God  of  the  heavens,  whom 
he  and  his  people  worshipped,  was  angry  with 
the  Indians  for  refusing  them  supplies,  and 
meant  to  punish  them  with  famine  and  pesti- 
lence. As  a  token  of  this  they  would  that  night 


see  the  moon  become  dark  and  change  its  color. 
Some  of  the  Indians  derided  the  prediction, 
but  when  they  saw  the  dark  shadow  stealing 
over  the  moon,  they  were  seized  with  terror, 
and  hurried  to  the  ships  with  provisions,  en- 
treating Columinis  to  intercede  to  avert  the 
threatened  calamity.  Columbus  rctiicd  to 
his  cabin  to  commune  with  the  Deity,  while 
the  Indians  filled  the  woods  with  their  wild 
lamentati<ms ;  and  when  the  eclipse  was  afc^at 
to  diminish,  Columbus  came  forth  and  void 
that  he  had  prevailed  with  God  in  their  bo 
half,  and  that  they  would  be  pardoned  (m  con- 
Jilion  of  fulfilling  their  promises,  in  sign  of 


which  the  darkness  would  now  withdraw  Irom 
the  moon.  Columbus  was  thenceforth  re- 
garded by  the  Indians  with  owe,  as  possessed 
of  supernatural  powers,  and  from  that  time  nc 
want  of  provisiims  was  felt  in  the  ships. 

EiMit  months  had  now  passed  oway,  with 
no  i)rospect  of  relief,  and  a  new  mutiny  was 
about  to  break  out,  when  one  evening  a  ves- 
sel was  seen  oil' the  harbor.    Next  Jay  a  boat 
came  from  it  to  the  ships,  in  which  was  Es- 
cobar, one  of  the  former  rebels  against  Colum- 
bus.    He  hud  been  sent  by  Ovando,  probably 
as  a  spy,  for.  after  a  short  convtrsation  with 
Columbus,  and  giving  him  a  letter  from  the 
governor,  he  departed.   The  crew  were  much 
disappointed  at  this  desertion,  but  were  reas- 
sured by  the  admiral,  who  m'iA  that  Escobar's 
vessel  was  too  small  to  take  the  whole,  and 
that  he  had  sailed  for  larger  ships.    Columbus 
afterward  sent  a  messenger  to  the  mutineers, 
offering  them  a  free  pardon  and  passage  home, 
provided  they  would  return  to  their  obedi- 
ence.    Porras  rejected  all  conditions,  and  to 
render  his  men  hopeless  of  forgiveness,  re- 
solved to  attack  and  plunder  the  ships.     Co- 
lumbus sent  his  brother  to  meet  them,  who 
agoin  offered  them  pardon,  but,  confident  in 
their  numbers,  the  rebels  would  listen  to  no 
terms,  and  attacked  the  Adelantado.     fhey 
were  well  received  by  this  experienced  sol- 
dier, who  took  Porras  captive  with  his  own 
hand,  when  his  followers  fled,  leaving  several 
slain.     Next  day  the  fugitives  sent  a  petition 
for  ])ardon  binding  themselves  to  obedience 
by  horrid  imprecations.     Columbus  granted 
this  request,  and  at  length,  after  a  year  of  de- 
lay, two  vessels  arrived,  one  fitted  out  by 
Mendez  at  the  admiral's  expense,  the  other  by 
Ovando,  whose  long  neglect  had  roused  the 
public   indignation   so  that  even  the  clergy 
were  condemning  it  from  the  pulpit.     On  tlie^ 
28th  of  June,  1504,  Columbus  took  leave  ot 
the  wreck  which  had  been  so  long  his  home, 
amid  the  tears  of  the  Indians,  who  regretted 
the  departure  of  their  celestial  visitants.     On 
the  13th  of  August  he  anchored  at  San  Do- 
mingo, where  he  was  received  with  the  high- 
est marks  of  distinction  by  the  people,  in 


•iiisiwi^ 


'^^ 


■  M 


rtk.-j 


'%M 


u4l 


366 


CHRISTOPHER  COLUMBUS. 


which  the  governor  saw  fit  to  Qn;ree,  There 
was,  however,  no  friendly  feehngs  between 
thum,  and  Columbus  found  reason  to  com- 
plain of  the  way  in  which  the  island,  where 
he  had  so  strong  an  interest  had  been  gov- 
erned. 

The  condition  to  which    Hispaniola  had 
been  reduced  during  the  absence  of  Colum- 
bus, is  the  best  refutation  of  the  calumnies 
of  his  enemies.     Ovando  had  been  accompa- 
nied to  the  island  by  a  large  band  of  adven- 
turers, who  on  their  arrival  set  out  for  the 
mines,  but.  unaccustomed  to  labor,  and  ignor- 
ant of  the  method  of  collecting  the  precious 
metals,  sewn  exhausted  their  store  of  provis- 
ions without  any  result,  and  returned  in  utter 
poverty  to  tlie  town,  where  more  than  a  thou- 
sand of  them  died  of  want  and  disease.     Isa- 
bella had  ordered  the  Indians  to  be  set  free, 
when  they,  of  course,  refused  to  labor  in  the 
mines.     A  new  decree  was  then  obtained,  by 
which  they  were  to  work  a  short  time  for 
hire,  and  in  order  to  aid  in  their  conversion. 
On  this  pretence  they  were  anew  portioned 
out  among  their  former  masters,  who  treated 
them  with  the  most  brutal  cruelty.     Las  Ca- 
sas,  an  eyewitness,  says  :  "  They  were  com- 
pelled to  labor  by  the  lash,  fed  on  unsubstan- 
tial cassava  bread,  and  so  si)aringly  that  they 
scrambled  like  dogs  under  the  table  for  the 
bones  thrown  to  them  by  their  masters ;  and 
when  at  last  dismissed,  they  were  found  dead 
on  the  road  home,  or  lyinp  gasping  under  the 
trees,    faintly    crying  'Hunger,  hunger!'" 
Many  fled  to  the  mountains,  others  killed 
themselves  in  despair,   and    before    twelve 
years  from  its  first  discovery  was  over,  sev- 
eral hundred  thousands  of  its  once  hap.'y  na- 
tives had  been  sacrificed  to  the  lust  and  ivar- 
ice  of  the  white  men.      A  more  striking  fate 
was  reserved  for  the  people  of  Xaragua,  still 
independent,  and  governed  by  Anaconda,  the 
wife  of  Caonabo,  formerly  mentioned.     Ovan- 
do marched  thither  with  three  hundred  men, 
and  was  received  in  tho  most  friendly  maimer 
by  the  natives.     On  a  Sunday  afternoon  he 
assembled  the  chiefs  and  people  to  witness  a 
mock  fight  among  his  soldiers,  but  at  an  ap- 
pointed signal  took  all  the  caciques  who  had 
met  in  his  lodgings,  to  the  number  of  eighty, 
prisoners,  forced  from  them  by  torture  a  con- 
fession of  guilt,  and  then  consumed  them  in 
the  flames  r.f  the  house.     His  troops,  mean- 
while, massacred  the  naked  and  defenceless 
Indians,  shut  up  in  a  square  whence  they 
could  not  escape.     The  excuse  for  this  treach- 
ery was  an  alleged  conspiracy  of  the  natives, 
for  which  Anaconda  was  subsequently  hang- 
ed, and  the  fertile  country  reduced  to  a  deso- 
late wilderness.    Another  orovince,  Higuey, 
was  still  independent,  but  the  Spaniords  soon 
penetrated  there  ulso,  and  after  an  obstinate 


but  unavailing  resistance,  massacred  or  sub- 
dued the  people,  and  taking  the  cacique  pris- 
oner, hanged  him  like  a  common  felon.  In 
this  war  the  Spaniards  committed  deeds  of 
horrid  and  atrocious  cruelty,  such  as  can  not 
now  even  be  related,  so  that  their  country- 
man. Las  Casas,  says:  "All  these  things, 
and  others  revolting  to  human  nature,  my 
own  eyes  beheld,  and  now  I  almost  fear  to  c- 
peat  them,  scarce  believing  myself,  or  wheth- 
er I  have  not  dreamed  them." 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  once  rich  and 
happy  island,  when  Columbus  returned  to  it 
after  his  long  absence,  more  like  a  region  giv- 
en as  a  i)rey  to  evil  spirits,  tbon  the  eurthly 
paradise  he  originally  imagined  it.     He  left 
It  for  Spain,  on  the  12th  of  September,  1.504, 
after  assisting  from  his  private  funds  many  of 
the  companions  of  his  misfortunes,  some  of 
whom  had  been  the  most  violent  among  the 
rebels.     His  vessel  suH'ered  much  from  tem- 
pests, and  he  himself  was  confined  to  bed  by 
the  gout,  but  arrived  in  Sjjain  on  the  7tV  of 
November,  and  took  up  his  residence  at  Se- 
ville.    Trouble  followed  him  even  here,  the 
revenue  he  should  have  received  from  the  Iri- 
dies  being  withheld  by  the  governor,  and  his 
remonstrances  to  the  king  unheeded.     The 
calumnies  of  his  enemies  prevailed  against 
him,  though  he  had,  in  his  own  words,  "  serv- 
ed their  majesties  with  as  much  zeal  and  dil- 
igence as  if  it  had  been  to  gain  Paradise." 
His  best  friend  was  now  gone,  Isabella  hav- 
ing died  on  the  26th  November,  of  deep  mel- 
ancholy caused  by  the  death  of  her  favorite 
children.     Columbus  remained  in  Seville  du- 
ring the  winter,  his  health  not  permitting  him 
to  proceed  to  court,  where  the  king  received 
all  his  applications  for  justice  with  cold  indif- 
ference.    In   May  he  was  able  to  travel  to 
Segovia,  where  he  had  an  interview  with 
Ferdinand,  who  received  him  with  cold  pro- 
fessions of  kindness  and  evasive  promises. 
The  king  never  meant  to  keep  his  word—-"  a 
little  more   delay,  a  little  more  disappoint- 
ment, a  little  more  infliction  of  ingratitude, 
and  this  loyal  and  generous  heart  would  cease 
to  beat;  he  should  then  be  delivered  from 
the  just  claims  of  a  well-tried  servant,  who, 
in  ceasing  to  be  useful,  was  considered  by 
him  to  have  become  importunate." 

And  this  event  was  now  at  hand.  Tortur- 
ed by  disease,  and  despairing  of  justice,  Co- 
lumbus having  made  a  will  settling  all  his  af- 
fairs with  scrupulous  exactness,  and  perform- 
ed the  pious  offices  required  by  his  religion, 
expired  with  great  resignation,  on  the  20th  of 
May,  1506,  in  about  the  seventieth  year  of 
his  age.  His  remains  were  first  deposited  in 
the  convent  of  St.  Francisco,  whence  they 
were  transferred  in  1513  to  a  monastery  at 
Seville,  and  in  1536,  along  with  the  body  of 


nossacred  or  snb- 
;  the  cacique  pris- 
ominon  felon.  In 
umitted  deeds  of 
',  such  as  can  not 
lat  their  country- 
All  these  things, 
umnn  nature,  my 
[  almost  fear  to  e- 
myself,  or  wheth- 
fi." 

the  once  rich  and 
bus  returned  to  it 
3  like  a  region  g^iv- 
,  than  the  eurthly 
^ined  it.     He  left 
September,  1.504, 
ate  funds  many  of 
sfortunes,  some  of 
violent  among  the 
J  much  from  tem- 
confined  to  bed  by 
loin  on  the  7th  of 
is  residence  at  Se- 
nim  even  here,  the 
reived  from  the  In- 
governor,  and  his 
I  unheeded.     The 
i  prevailed  against 
own  words,  "  serv- 
much  zeal  and  dil- 
to  gain  Paradise." 
!one,  Isabella  hav- 
mber,  of  deep  mel- 
ath  of  her  favorite 
lined  in  Seville  du- 
not  permitting  him 
e  the  king  received 
tice  with  cold  indif- 
s  able  to  travel  to 
an  interview  with 
him  with  cold  pro- 
l  evasive  promises, 
keep  his  word — "  a 
J  more   disappoint- 
ition  of  ingratitude, 
us  heart  would  cease 
be  delivered  from 
-tried  servant,  who, 
was  considered  by 
irtunate." 

ff  at  hand.  Tortur- 
iring  of  justice,  Co- 
ill  settling  all  his  af- 
ctness,  and  perform- 
ired  by  his  religion, 
ation,  on  the  20th  of 
!  seventieth  year  of 
ere  first  deposited  in 
neisco,  whence  they 
3  to  a  monastery  at 
ing  with  the  body  of 


his  son  Diego,  were  transported  to  Hispanio- 
la,  and  interred  in  the  cotliedral  of  San  Do- 
mingo. Even  there  they  were  not  destined 
to  rest  in  peace,  but  in  1795,  when  the  island 
was  given  up  to  France,  were  removed  to 
Havano,  in  Cuba.  Ferdinand  erected  a  mon- 
ument to  his  memory,  or  rather  of  his  own 
in'Ttttitude,  inscribed  thus  :  "  For  Castile  and 
Leon,  Columbus  found  a  New  World." 
The  true  monument  of  the  great  Genoese  is 
the  vast  continent  he  made  known  to  man- 
kind— his  true  reward,  the  gratitude  of  pos- 
terity, and  the  fame  that  will  attend  him  to 
the  latest  ages.  His  actions  show  his  char- 
acter in  its  truest  ond  noblest  light,  especiully 
when  contrasted  with  those  of  his  contempo- 
raries, with  whom  he  came  into  immediate 
contact.  His  imagination  was  ardent,  and 
apt  to  lead  him  astray,  but  regulated  l)y  a 
knowledge  of  science  rare  in  those  days. 
His  ambition  was  lofty  and  soaring,  and  thus 
the  source  of  much  misfortune  to  him.  He 
was  not  satisfied  with  common  rewards,  but 
sought  others  which  the  haughty  dignity  of 
the  Spanish  monarch  felt  degraded  by  grant- 
ing, and  the  very  imi>ortance  of  his  services 
became  a  reason  for  withholding  from  him  his 
due  reward.  Avarice  sci  "is  to  have  influen- 
ced his  mind  leas  than  '  r.  it  and  dignity,  and 
he  ivas  always  more  disposed  to  maintain  his 
authority  by  mildness  than  severity.  His 
conduct  to  the  poor  Indians  is  the  darkest 
spot  on  his  character,  and  when  we  read  of 
thf  misery  and  destruction  his  discovery  en- 
ta\Ied  on  that  unoffending  race,  we  almost 
feel  as  if  his  own  suffe.-ings  wjre  demanded 
by  justice.  Though  he  often  triet"  lefend 
the  natives  from  the  oppressions  i  j  T  1- 
lowers,  we  can  not  forget  that  it  wa^  h(i  :■.  n- 
stant  appeals  to  the  low  avarice  of  the  Span- 
ish court,  and  the  visions  of  gold  and  precious 
stones,  by  which  he  endeavored  to  prove  the 
value  of  his  discoveries,  that  drew  to  the 
New  World  that  horde  of  lawless  rutfians 
who  were  the  great  cause  of  all  his  trials. 
He  led  out  colonies  by  the  hope  of  gold, 
wrested  from  the  hands  of  weak  and  defence- 
less savages,  and  his  reckless  followers,  balk- 
ed of  their  prey,  turned  on  him  as  a  deceiver. 
This  curse  of  the  greed  of  gold,  has  adhered 
to  the  Spanish  colonies  even  to  the  present 
day,  like  a  malignant  pestilence,  wasting  their 
strength  and  never  suffering  them  to  take  root 
in  the  land.  It  is  but  justice  to  this  great 
man  to  remark,  that  many  of  his  errors  were 
those  of  his  time,  and  that  even  the  church 
justified  his  treatment  of  the  natives.  His 
l)ftiest  imaginings  also  fell  short  of  the  won- 
derful reality.  "  How  would  his  magnani- 
mous spirit  have  been  consoled,"  says  his  elo- 
quent historian,  "  amid  the  afflictions  of  age, 
and  the  cares  of  penury,  the  neglect  of  a  fickle 


public,  and  the  injustice  of  an  ungrateful  king, 
could  he  have  anticipated  the  splendid  em- 
pires which  were  to  spread  over  the  beautiful 
world  he  had  discovered ;  and  me  nations, 
tongues,  and  languages,  which  were  to  fill  its 
lands  with  his  renown,  and  to  revere  and  bless 
his  name  .to  the  latest  posterity." 

It  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  mention  the 
subsequent  fortunes  of  the  family  of  Colum- 
bus. He  was  succeeded  in  his  rights  as  vice- 
roy of  the  New  World  by  his  son  Diego, 
described  as  a  man  of  great  integrity,  of  re- 
spectable talents,  and  of  a  frank,  and  gentle 
dispos'.tion.  He  came  forward  to  claim  the 
r(!stitution  of  the  family  offices  and  privileges; 
but  Ferdinand  was  not  inclined  to  bestow  on 
the  son  what  he  had  withheld  from  the  higher 
merit  of  the  father.  After  two  years'  vain 
solicitation,  Diego  only  obtained  leave  to  pros- 
ecute his  claim  in  the  ordinary  courts  of  law. 
The  suit,  commenced  in  1508  and  continued 
for  several  years,  was  decided  in  his  favor, 
but  the  court  had  no  power  to  enforce  compli- 
ance on  the  monarch.  At  last,  Diego  having 
married  a  niece  of  the  celebrated  duke  of 
Alvn,  the  chief  favorite  of  the  king,  the  mon- 
arch yielded  to  this  powerful  influence  what 
he  had  denied  to  justice.  Ovando  was  re- 
called in  compliance  with  a  promise  lor.g  be- 
fore made  to  the  queen  on  her  deathbed  ;  and 
Diego  appointed  with  the  same  powers.  He 
went  out  to  San  Domingo  in  1509,  with  his 
wife,  his  two  uncles,  and  his  brother,  and 
ruled  with  a  degree  of  splendor  hitherto  un- 
known. But  he  could  not  reform  the  abuses 
that  had  cre|)t  into  the  colony  ;  factious  men 
still  disputed  his  authority,  and  the  oppression 
and  destruction  of  the  Indians  continued.  In 
1.519,  Cuba  was  colonized,  and  the  mines  in 
Hispaniola  being  exhausted,  the  culture  of 
the  sugar-cane,  a  more  certain  source  of  rich- 
es was  introduced.  On  the  representation  of 
the  Dominican  friars,  the  labor  of  the  natives 
was  diminished,  and  negro-slaves  from  Afri- 
ca employed  instead,  but  treated  with  a  bar- 
barity surpassing  even  that  infli.ted  on  the 
Indians.  In  1515,  Diego  repaired  to  court  to 
answer  charges  brought  against  him;  but 
though  his  innocence  was  admitted,  he  con- 
tinued involved  in  long  and  troublesome  liti- 
gation with  the  fiscal  officers  of  the  crown. 
He  returned  to  the  island  in  1520,  but  was 
recalled  about  three  years  afterward,  and 
spent  the  rest  of  his  life  i.i  the  vain  endeavor 
to  obtain  justice  from  the  court,  having  died 
near  Toledo  in  1526.  His  wife  claimed  the 
inheritance  for  his  son,  Don  Luis,  who,  find- 
ing his  dignities  and  privileges  sources  of  vex- 
ation to  himself,  resigned  them  to  the  empe- 
ror Charles  V.,  and  in  return  was  created 
duke  of  Veragua,  and  received  a  fixed  sum 
of  money  for  his  claim  to  a  tenth  of  the  prod- 


.....^ 


"%m 


'htH->-. 


3fl8 


KXKHCISK  OK  THE  EYES. 


,Ke  of  thn  In.lies.     In  1578,  all  the  bsUi- 
.urm«l"   hou:,of  C..luml.u.w,.r.  oxnnrt 
„  M."  lawsuit  c..Trun.>.H-e.l.  wh,,-h  wn.  «r, 

,,.11...  u  l,r«r,ch  of  tl.o  r..rtu,2«ose  h-use  f 
Bra"nn/.i,  and  the  gront-sranilson  of  Dicgo, 
tli<^  el.l.'st  son  of  Columbus. 

Columl.us's  l.rother.  the  A.l.lnnta.lo  s.u^- 
vivr.l  lii.n  several  yenrs,  but  wns  never  em- 
;:;:ainanyom/eofin.port«nce.U.ok^^^^^ 

!,.ini-  irulou.  of  the  t.«.  great  '""->'^""  '  J J^" 
famil V .     Femnmlo.  the  .econ.l  son  of  Colurn- 
bus.  umdv  several  voyages  to  the  Now  Wor  d. 
nn.l  also  travelled  over  many  parts  of  Lurope, 
Asia,  an.l  Africa.     He  p..sses9e.l  S""''  "»  »- 
ral  abilities  and  studious  habits,  and  collected 
a  library  of  more  than  twenty  thousand  vol- 
umes, which  he  left  to  the  cathedral  of  Se- 
ville, where  he  died  in  1539.  aged  about  <ifty- 
„ne  years.     He  wrote  several  vvorks,  the  on- 
ly one  of  which  that  is  known  being  his  h  s- 
tory  of  his  father  the  admiral.     It  19  singular 
that  this  history  only  exists  in  Spanish,  a  re- 
translation  from  an  Italian  translation  ol  tht 
original.     This  has  grven  rise  to  rnauyj:""'^ 
in  names  and  dates,  but  the  work  is  sti  1  en- 
title.l  to  great  credit,  and  forms  the  iounda- 
ion  of  aU  the  biographies  of  Cdumbvs;  one 
of  the  best  and  fullest  of  which  is  th  .  ,  ro- 
duction  of  Washington  Irving.      It;\'"f'^ 
work  that  we  have  been  chieHy  'nJ«>"f  '" 
drawing  up  this  account  of  the  fortunes  ot  the 
illustrious  Genoese,  whose  merits  have  sur- 
vived all  calumny,  and  are  indelibly  inscribed 
on  the  history  of  the  world. 


EXERCISE  FOR  THE  EYKS. 

BT    DR.   W.    A.    ALCOTT. 


come,  the  eyesight  of  the  race  th<'n  on  earth 
would  be  far  better  than  it  is  likely  to  be.  as 
things  are  now  going  on.  This  is  nit  saying 
ilint"spectaclps  may  not  in  some  instances,  be 
udvanta'-eouslv  used,  but  only  nt  the  extreme 
to  which  we  have  alluded,  would  be  tar  more 
tolerable  than  that  which  now  exists.  Nine 
in  ten,  perhajis  ninety-nine  in  a  humhed  who 
use  glasses  are  injured  by  them  m(«t  uixiues- 

tionably.  „  .      .  ».     r 

The  grand  point  after  oil  m  the  worK  of 
improving  the  eye--iusl  os  it  is  in  the  work 
of  improving  any  other  organ— is  to  give  it  a 
proper  amount  of  healthful  exercise.     In  one  | 
word,  it  must  be  used.  ; 

Exercise  of  the  eye,  to  be  useful,  must  be 
varied.     We  must  not  reod  always,  nor  al- 
ways refrain  from  reading.    We  must  not  al- 
ways read  the  coarsest  print  nor  must  we  go 
to  the  other  and  worse  extreme,  that  of  always 
using  small  print.     We  must  not  use  a  strong 
light  always ;  nor  must  we  resolve  not  to  use 
a  strong  light  at  all.     We  must  not  read  too 
much  by  artificial  lights,  nor  need  we  refuse 
to  use  a  lamp  or  candle  in  any  circumstance. 
We  should  not  read  much  when  the  mind  or 
the  body  is  in  a  state  of  considerable  fatigue;  i 
nor  need  we  go  to  ihe  other  extreme,  of  never 
reading  at  all  in  such  circumstances. 

The  course  which  science,  experience,  and 
observation,  would  seem  to  point  out,  is  the 
following.     Keep  the  eyes  c(K.l.~Use  them 
much,  generally  in  a  full  stron-  light,  and  in 
the  open  air;  but  at  any  rate,  use  them.    Ac- 
custom them  on  occasions,  to  almost  every 
degree  of  light,  every  kind  of  artificial  ar- 
rangement :  taking  care,  however,  especially 
in  reading  small  or  bad  type,  and  in  using  a 
light  badly  constructed  or  in  a  bad  position, 
not  to  go  so  far  as  to  induce  fatigue.    We 
believe  that  with  these  latter  cautions,  the  eye 
will  always  improve  by  use ;  and  that,  on  the 
contrary,' more  it  is  favored  and  nululged— 
babied  as  it  were— the  worse  will  be  its  con- 
dition.    We  believe  that  thousands  tend  or 
baby  their  eyes  into  chronic  or  deep-seated 
disease,  when  constant  and  vaned  exercise, 
and  a  due  attention  to  light,  air.  and  water, 
would  have  rendered  them  as  strong  as  our 
We  have  no  more  use  for  spectacles 


It  has  been  very  generally  supposed,  that 
in  order  to  strengthen  the  eye,  above  all,  it 
debilitated  or  diseased,  it  must  be  little  used. 
From  this  mistaken  view  have  arisen  a  thou- 
sand errors.     To  it  in  no  small  degree,  we 

owe  the  mighty  deluge  of  «Pf  \»';^^,^  °J„"^'    ;;^,;;\han  wriiad  7t  tw^^^^^  ""^ 

sorts,  of  which  we  have  «l'-«»'ly,^»"^XXl  Twe  mert^^^  use  any  for  twenty  years  to 
plaincl;  together  with  a  host  of  me'^han  cal    do  we  mean  to  ^.^^  im,;„nity-for 

Utrivances  for  favoring  weak  T„^'  "^^^  H.tie  while  at  once_in  all  sorts  of  light; 
proving  th<«e  already  strong.  To  it,  more  ^  '"{'^^^'^  ^  ,  h,j^,„  years— And  yet 
over,  we  owe  in  no  s""'"  J^/l"'.  •""'''' "1',°'  I  ^  ..E  to  c„m,„o„  appearances  no  man 
superHcialityinlearning^vhich.s  ^.m^^^^^^^^  ---^,,  b%  him,  so  far  as 

eyesight  was  concerned,  fifteen  or  twenty 
years  ago,  than  ourselves,  and  though  we 
could  not  lay  too  much  stress  on  the  experi- 
ence of  one  individual,  we  must  be  permitted 
to  believe  that  it  is  worth  something. 


r  which  IS  so  common    QiMinuiig    v"   ..w. ........    -,, 

to  regard  spectacles  as  a  sort  of  substitute  for 
thought  and  solid  knowledge. 

Nmv  we  are  of  those  who  believe  that  if  no 
person  in  the  world  would  use  any  sort  of 
spectacles  or  glasses  for  a  thousand  years  to 


rnr.n  then  on  enrlli 
t  is  likely  to  be,  hs 

This  is  nt  t  snyiiii,' 

soine  infctnni'os,  he 
mly  nt  the  nxtrenie  || 
,  would  he  far  more  J 

now  exists.  Nine  ! 
le  in  n  hundred  who 

them  most  umiues-  \ 

I 

1 

all  in  the  work  of  I 
ts  it  is  in  the  work  I 
rpon — is  to  give  it  a  ! 
ul  exercise.     In  one 

)  be  usefnl,  must  he 
end  always,  nor  al- 
ii.   "We  must  not  al- 
irint  nor  must  we  go 
retne,  that  of  always 
mist  not  use  a  strong 
kve  resolve  not  to  use 
c  must  not  read  too 
I,  nor  need  we  refuse 
ill  any  circumstance. 
;h  when  the  mind  or 
considerable  fatigue; 
her  extreme,  of  never 
•cumstances. 
ence,  experience,  and 
1  to  point  out,  is  the 
yes  cool. — Use  them 
ill  stn)ii  '  light,  and  in 
/  rate,  use  them.    Ac- 
ions,  to  almost  every 
kind  of  artificial  ar- 
?,  however,  especially 
type,  and  in  using  a 
or  in  a  bad  position, 
induce  fatigue.    We 
latter  cautions,  the  eve 
r  use ;  and  that,  on  tne 
avored  awl  indulged — 
worse  will  be  its  con- 
hot  thousands  tend  or 
:hronic  or  deep-seated 
t  and  varied  exercise, 
1  light,  air.  and  water, 
them  as  strong  as  our 
lore  use  for  spectacles 
venty  years  of  age;  nor 
ly  for  twenty  years  to 
•ad  with  impunity— for 

• in  all  sorts  of  light; 

fifteen  years.— And  yet 
1  apiwaronces  no  man 
t  before  him,  so  far  as 
•ned,  fifteen  or  twenty 
selves,  and  though  we 
ch  stress  on  the  experi- 
1,  we  must  be  permitted 
orth  something. 


flttit 


Fint  Governor  of  Connecticut 


JOHN  WINTHROP,  OF  CONNECTICUT. 

John  W.nthrof,   riRST  Governor  or 
CoNNECT.cUT.-This    distinguished   gentle- 
man  for  many  years  the  governor  of  Connec- 
ac"t.  "h^  eldest  son  of  John  Wmthrop, 
the  first  governor  of  Massachusetts,  and  found- 
er of  the  city  of  Boston-that  famous  pattern 
of  piety  ana  justice,  as  he  is  called  in  the 
early  cLonicks  of  New  England-whu  emi- 
gmted  to  America  in  1630,  and  brought  with 
him  the  confidence  and  respect  of  the  g<)vern- 
mL  he  had  left,  and  the.  most  exalted  and 
upright  faculty  for  the  d«l>ef  t'e^"™^  *«„ f  " 
,ume.     Graham,  adopting  the  thought  of  a 
.lassie  historian,  says  of  him  that  be  "ot  on  y 
performed  actions  worthy  to  be  >^'ntten,but 
produced  writings  worthy  to  be  /e«d.     His 
Lm  John-the  subject  of  this  brief  memoir- 
was  warcely  less  distinguished.    He  was  the 
E  of  idl  l»  father's  talent,  prudence,  and 


virtues,  with  a  superior  shore  of  hum^n  le^™" 
ing-much  addicted  to  philosophical  study 

and  especially  to  pl^y^x^^V  fiJ'Tn'ndo^ VIv- 
one  of  the  euriy  patrons  of  the  London  Kxjy- 
al  Society .     sfr  feans  Sloane,  and  three  otli- 
er  members  of  that  society,  some  fifty  years 
afterward,  in  commending  the   grandson  of 
this  gentleman  to  the  notice  of  tjieir  assoc^ 
ates,  bear  honorable   testimony  to  the  good 
repute  in  which  the  ancestor  was  held.     They 
speak  of  the  learned  John  W.nthrop,  as  "one 
o?  the  first  members  of  this  society,  and  who 
in  conjunction  with  others,  did  greatly  con- 
tribute  to  the  obtaining  of  our  char  er;   to 
vvhom  the  Royal  Society  in  its  eariy  days 
:;rnot  only  indebted  for  various  ingenious 
communications,  but  tl»eir  museum  snU  cm 
tains  many  testimonies  of  !>'»  f  "''/"^"{v":!: 
1  pecially  of  things  relating  to  the  natural  hi8- 
torv  of  New  England."  , 

iJohn  Winthrop  was  elected  governor  of 


^hr    ■  ■   •-■»*   Hh 


,•*:'■  «i^ 


370 


INDEPENDENCE  AND  ACCUMULATION. 


Connecticut  for  several  yenrs,  in  which  sta- 
tion his  many  valuable  (lualities  as  a  gentle- 
man, a  philosopher,  and  a  public  ruler,  pro- 
cured him  the  universal  respect  of  the  people 
under  his  government ;  and  his  unwearied  at- 
tention to  the  public  business  and  great  un- 
derstandins;  in  the  art  of  government,  were  of 
unspeakable  advantage  to  them. 

He  was  twice  married,  his  second  wife  be- 
ing the  daughter  of  the  celebrated  Hugh  Pe- 
ters. By  this  marriage  he  had  several  chil- 
dren, two  of  whom  were  sons.  The  elder, 
Fitz-John,  followed  in  the  fcnitsteps  of  his 
father — was  elected  governor  of  Connecticut, 
and  held  that  post  for  nine  years,  commencing 
in  1698,  and  continuing  till  the  day  of  his 
death.  Thus  father,  son,  and  grandson,  died 
in  the  highest  office  to  which  the  afllections 
of  the  people  could  exalt  them.  The  young- 
er son  was  a  member  of  the  Massachusetts 
council,  under  the  new  charter  granted  by 
William  and  Mary,  and  afterward  chief-jus- 
tice of  the  superior  court  of  thot  state.  His 
name  was  Wait  Still,  a  compound  of  two 
family  names— the  middle  name  being  deriv- 
ed from  the  intermarriage  of  Adam,  his  great- 
grandfather, with  the  family  of  Still. 

Wait  Still  Winthrop,  the  chief  justice,  ap- 
pears to  have  left  but  two  children,  of  whom 
John,  the  only  son,  resembled  his  grandfather 
in  an  ardent  devotion  to  science,  and  like  him 
became  a  distinguished  member  of  the  Royal 
Society ;  his  introduction  to  that  body  being 
greatly  facilitated  by  the  respect  in  which 
the  memory  of  his  ancestor  was  yet  held. 
Attracted  by  the  love  of  his  favorite  studies, 
and  his  attachment  to  the  society  of  learned 
men,  he.  removed  to  England,  and  died  in 
1747.  He  had  seven  children,  of  whom  two 
were  sons,  John  Still  and  Basil.  On  the  4th 
of  September,  1750,  the  former  married  Jane 
Boriand,  of  Boston,  whose  daughter  Ann 
married  the  late  David  Sears,  Escp,*  of  that 
place. 

•  Of  thU  gentleman  a  note  will  hardly  allow  u» 
the  proper  suaco  to  speak  of  his  cliaracter  and  vir- 
tues. He  was  bom  on  the  12th  ol  August,  1752. 
He  removed  from  Chatham  to  Boston  in  1770,  and 
visited  angland  in  1774.  He  became  acqmnnted 
with  Dr.  Franklin  in  London,  and  took  letters  to  his 
friends  in  France  and  Holland.  He  remamed  on  the 
continent  nearly  two  years,  and  with  difficulty  made 
hii  way  beck  to  Boston.  In  various  modes  his  ser- 
vices were  useful  to  his  country.  During  the  presi- 
dency ot  the  elder  Adams,  he  was  one  of  a  commit- 
tee of  the  citizens  of  Boston,  for  building  a  fngate 
(the  Boston),  toward  which  he  snhscnbed  three 
thousand  dollars,  and  presenting  it  to  government. 
He  was  largely  interested  in  the  India  and  China 
trade,  and  added  much  to  his  fortune.  He  was  dis- 
tinguished as  an  intelligent  and  able  financier-— a  di- 
rector in  the  first  "bank  of  the  United  States,  mm 
its  commencement  to  its  termination— often  a  referee 
in  intricate  cases  of  mercantile  equity ;  and  his 
whole  career  was  marked  by  the  most  incorruptible 
integrity,  which  never  for  the  sake  of  a  paltry  advan- 


The  name  of  Winthrop  will  bo  remem- 
bered as  long  OS  nations  exist.  It  will  rank 
with  Newton,  Boyle,  and  Locke,  and  those 
philanthropists  of  every  age,  who  are  an  or 
namcnt  to  human  nature,  and  whoso  lives 
have  been  devoted  to  the  cultivation  of  the 
moral  graces,  and  the  advancernent  ot  social 
and  religious  happiness ;  enlarging  the  circle 
of  the  human  mind,  and  adorning  the  princi- 
ples of  philosophy  with  the  precepts  of  piety. 
Their  fame  is  identified  with  the  progress  of 
knowledge  and  the  diBusion  of  virtue.  The 
history  of  such  men  sheds  a  bright  and  undy- 
ing lustre  upon  their  country,  and  will  call 
forth  the  grateful  recollections  of  unborn  gen- 
erations, so  long  08  truth  shall  triumph  over 
error,  and  the  influence  of  Christianity  bo 
felt  in  removing  vice  and  superstition  from  the 
hearts  of  men. 


I 


INDEPENDENCE  AND  ACCUMULATION. 

There  is  a  remarkable  harmony  between 
the  moral  and  physical  laws  of  the  universe. 
The  laws  of  the  unwritten  revelation  of  na- 
ture may  be  said  to  give  their  sanction  to  the 
laws  of  the  written  revelation  of  the  Bible, 
They  never  clash,  they  always  run  parallel ; 
indicating  a  common  source,  and  ]K)inting  to 
a  common  issue.  We  might  find  a  familiar 
illustration  of  this  great  truth  in  the  moral 
precept  of  temperance.  We  shall  find  the 
laws  of  health  and  orgonization  co-operating 
with  the  laws  of  our  spiritual  being,  to  bless 
the  man  who  obeys  this  moral  law — to  punish 
him  who  disobeys  it.  We  shall  find  the  tem- 
perate man,  other  things  being  equal,  in  the 
enjoyment  nf  vigorous  health;  we  shall  find  the 

tage  violated  that  ponctilious  delicacy  which  is  in- 
dispensable to  the  character  of  a  gentleman. 

"  An  easy  mien,  engaging  in  address, 
Looks  which  at  once  ench  winning  grace  express, 
A  life  where  love  and  truth  were  ever  johied, 
A  nature  erer  good  and  ever  kind, 
A  wisdom  solid  and  a  Judgment  clear, 
'ITie  smile  indulgent,  and  a  soul  sincere. 

Mr.  Sears  was  the  proprietor  of  a  large  estate  in 
Waldo  county,  in  Maine,  the  settlers  and  tenantry  of 
which  honored  and  revered  him,  and  as  they  became 
proprietors  of  the  soil,  testified  their  gratitude  for 
his  patriarchal  treatment,  by  naming  their  towns  in 
iiis  honor.  He  was  generous  and  charitable — the 
founder  of  the  widows'  fund  in  Trinity  church--and 
a  contributor  to  numerous  charities.  He  died  in  front 
of  his  house  in  Beaconatreet,  struck  instantly  dead 
by  a  stroke  of  apoplexy,  as  he  was  getting  into  his 
carriage  to  make  an  afternoon  visit,  on  the  19th  of 
October,  1816.  "  By  this  affecting  event,  this  town 
[Boston],  has  lost  an  eminent  merchant  and  excel- 
lent citizen;  an  only  child,  an  affectionate  parent; 
this  church  [Trinity],  a  distinpuisbcd  benefactor; 
society  at  large,  a  well  bred  and  hospitable  gentle- 
man. 


■"r^ 


p  will  bo  rcmom- 
ist.  It  will  rank 
Locke,  ond  those 
e,  who  nre  an  or 
and  whoso  lives 
cultivation  of  ih<> 
ncctncnt  ot  social 
ilarging  the  circle 
jrning  the  princi- 
prccepts  of  piety, 
h  the  progress  of 
1  of  virtue.  The 
I  bright  and  undy- 
itry,  and  will  call 
ns  of  unborn  gen- 
hall  triumph  over 
f  Christianity  bo 
perstition  from  the 


CCUMULATION. 

harmony  between 
8  of  the  universe. 
1  revelation  of  na- 
leir  sanction  to  the 
ition  of  the  Bible, 
ways  run  parallel ; 
;e,  and  jxiinting  to 
B;ht  find  a  familiar 
ruth  in  the  moral 
We  shall  find  the 
sation  co-operating 
tual  being,  to  bless 
)ral  law — to  punish 
I  shall  find  the  tem- 
being  equal,  in  the 
th;  we  shall  find  the 

delicacy  which  ia  in- 
r  a  gcutlcmau. 

dress, 

lining  grace  express, 

■ere  ever  joiiied, 

kind,  . 

ent  clear, 

lul  nncere." 

tor  of  >  large  estate  in 
lettleri  and  tenantry  of 
m,  and  as  thejr  became 
ed  their  gratitude  fi)r 
naming  their  towns  in 
IS  and  charitable— the 
in  Trinity  church— and 
itiei.  He  died  in  front 
,  itnick  instantly  dead 
e  was  getting  into  his 
n  visit,  on  the  19th  of 
Bcting  event,  this  town 
It  merchant  and  excel- 
■n  affectionate  parent; 
tintniished  benefactor  i 
and  hospitable  gentle- 


INDEPKNDKNCB  AND  ACCUMULATION. 


371 


intemperate  man  old  in  middle  life,  the  victim 
of  low  si.iritH,  headache,  pout,  dyspepsia,  and 
delirium  tn.ne.m.  We  might  find  an  illua- 
traliou  ciuully  striking  in  the  moral  precept 
of  chastity.  Terrible  are  the  sanctions  with 
which  th/physical  laws  of  health,  and  organ- 
izaticni  have  hedged  round  this  divine  statute. 
The  violation  of  it  is  indeed  tollowed  by  rot- 
tenness in  the  bones. 

Our  ourpose  in  this  orticle  is  to  endeavor 
to  show  that  this  harmony  b(;tween  moral  and 
physical  law.  prevails  most  strikingly  as  rc- 
ganis  the  vice  against  which  the  tenth  com- 
mandment is  directiM.     Many  and  solemn  are 
the  denunciatio..s  of  the  spirit  of  covetousness. 
We  are  told  that  the  love  of  money  is  the 
root  of  uU  evil :  that  we  can  not  serve  God 
and  mammoii  ;  that  a  rich  man  can  not  enter 
into  tlu.  kingdom  of  heaven.     We  are  taught 
that  a  man's  life  consisteth  not  in  the  abun- 
dance of  the  tilings  which  he  possesseth  ;  antt 
commanded  to  take  no  thought  for  the  mor- 
row.    How  does  external  nature  respond  to 
these  doctrines  and  precepts?     Most  emphat- 
ically and  uneciuivocally.      It  sanctions  the 
nrccept,  "Take  no  thought  for  the  morrow, 
by  declaring,  that  by  taking  ever  so  much 
thought  we  can  not  be  rich.     Whde  we  sigh 
for   independence,   and   pursue  it  with   our 
whole  heart,  nature  declares  that  we  can  not 
be  independent.     While  we  accurru  ate,  ad- 
din.r  house  to  house,  and  held  to  held,  nature 
dectares  that  there  shall  be  no  accumulation 
of  real  riches  in  all  her  wide  donriam. 

Palpable  facts  seem  to  contradict  these  as- 
sertions.    Men  do  become  rich,  accumulate 
property,  and  attain  to  that  sort  of  indepeno- 
ence  which  enables  them  to  dispense  with  the 
necessity  of  earning  bread  by  the  sweat  of 
their  brow.     These  arc  but  exceptions  to  the 
great  general  rule.    The  millions  of  the  hu- 
man family  are  poor;  they  have  always  been 
poor;  they  shall  always  be  pwr.      AH  the 
riches  in  the  world  were  no  more  to  the     ,  '>v- 
erty  than  a  drop  of  rain  to  the  sand  c.  •  x 
desert.     All  the  accumulated  property  in  t  .e 
world  would  not  sustain  all  the  men  in  the 
world  in  ladependent  idleness  for  one  month  ; 
an<l  it  is  written  in  the  law  of  the  seasons 
that  it  shall  never  be  otherwise. 

The  principal  riches  in  the  world,  ana 
that  without  which  all  other  riches  were 
worthless,  is  grain,  which  is  emphatically 
firmed  the  staff  of  life.  But  the  primeval 
curse  is  upon  the  earth,  and  it  does  not/"ng 
forth  double  harvests.  We  are  told  that 
seedtime  and  harvest  shall  never  cease  ,  and 
in  this  it  would  appear  to  be  i'}»«"»t«d,  gat 
the  annual  harvest  of  the  world  shall  suffice 
only  fur  the  world's  annual  rations.  At  all 
eve^nts  thus  it  is :  nature  declares  that  there 
shall  be  no  accumulation  of  grain;  hut  that 


ll'tttt 


yearly  as  the  seasons  revolve  we  must  sow 

our  fields  and  reap  our  harvests.     It  is  not  at 

all  probable  that  there  was  ever  a  year  nnd  a 

halPs  8up|)ly  of  the  first  necessary  of  nte  at 

one  time  in  the  world.     Two  thousand  years 

agt)  a  Roman  poet  thus  wrote : — 

"  The  sire  of  pods  and  men,  with  hard  decrees. 

Forbids  our  ri'fiity  to  be  bouglit  vvith  case, 

And  wills  tli.it  mortal  men,  inured  to  U)il,     _^ 

Shall  cxorciie  writh  pains  the  grudging  soil. 

'      It  is  still  the  same  in  these  days;  though 
the  science  of  agricdture  is  probabljr  better 
understood  and  more  successfully  reuuced  to 
practice  now  than  at  any  former  period. 

Clothes,  which  come  second  in  our   ist  ot 
necessaries,  are  suliject  to  the  law  which  reg- 
ulates and  limits  the  supply  ot  food.     An  er- 
roneous opinion  prevails,  that  by  means  ot  our 
mechanical    power   and   machinery,  we   can 
produce  clothing  studs  in  unlimited  quantity, 
and  with  as  much  facility  as  bank-notes.     It 
were  as  correct  to  suppose  that  millers  can 
produce   an  unlimited   (luantity  of  Hour,  or 
that  bakers  can  produce  loaves  in  unlimited 
numbers;  whereas  it  is  cleor  that  the  loaves 
must  be  limited  bv  the  quantity  of  flour,  and 
the  flour  by  the  "quantity  of   wheat  in  the 
world.     It  is  the  same  with  the  raw  material 
of  our  clothing.     The  sheep's  wool,  the  cot- 
ton wool,  the  flax,  the  raw  silk,  which  are  the 
materials  of  our   principal  textile  manutac- 
tures,  are  as  difficult  to  produce   as   grain. 
They  are  equally  subject  to  the  law  of  the 
seasons;  and  there  is  as  great  o  difficulty  m 
the  way  of  their   rapid  increase.     Indeed, 
there  are  peculiar  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
an  increase  of  our  clothing  matenals.     Oram 
1  can  be  grown  in  many  countries  where  cotton 
and  silk  can  not;  and  it  will  be  seen  at  a 
Clance  that  there  are  pecuhar  difficulties  in 
fhe  way  of  a  rapid  increase  of  the  quantity 
of  sheep's  wool.  ....       .v    •    r 

So  as  regards  food  and  clothing,  the  indis- 
pensable necessaries  of  life,  a  nation  can  nev- 
er  be  said  to  be  rich  or  independent.  It  can 
never  say  with  the  fool  in  the  parable,  Thou 
hast  much  goods  laid  up  for  many  years. 
But  yet  there  are  truth  and  meaning  in  such 
expressions  as  "  the  wealth  of  nations,  "the 
increase  of  national  wealth."  In  a  most  im- 
portant sense,  nations  may  be  nch,  either  as 
compared  with  each  other,  or  with  themselves 
at  different  periods  of  their  history. 

The  elementary  idea  of  the  wealth  of  a 
nation  is  exceedingly  simple.  It  consists  in 
I  the  facilities  it  possesses  for  performing  that 
'  work  which  must  be  performed  every  year. 
More  particularly,  it  consists  m  the  nunaber 
and  completeness  of  its  tools,  and  m  its  ekiU 
to  use  them.  Moral  law  commands,  "Lay 
Lup  treasure,  on  earth,"  and  the  pW 
cal  kw  of  the  seasons  effectually  prohAits 


'"^m 


;■  ■;■-".,.. 


■Ik- 


372 


INDEPKNDENCE  AND  ACCUMULATION. 


nations  from  breakirg  it.  as  roprds  thr  r  in- 
,li,m.tmal.lo   riches;    but  neither   moral  nor 
,M»ka\  law  intcrposrs  to  prevent  nations  or 
{.ulividuals  from  performinR  ilxir  work  w.th 
as  much  facility  and  (luicknensas  they  please. 
Accordingly,  men  have  souj-ht  out  many  in- 
ventions, in  which  wo  find  the  secret  of  their 
riches.      The  fertile  lands  of  a  country.  Us 
aariculturul  imidcments.  its  roads  and  canals, 
its  .mays  and  harbors,  its  shii.s,  its  factories 
and  muchinery-theHO.  and  I  lie  skill  to  use 
them,  are  the  elements  of  a  nation  s  wealth. 
They  are  Kk.Is  and  instruments  for  the  jiro- 
duction  and  distribution  of  its  annual  supiily 
of  fo<Hlaiid  raiment;    and  aeconlins  to  their 
number  and  i)erfection.  and  the  skill  to  handle 
them,  is  a  nation  rich  or  poor.     But  all  ibeso 
thinjjs  are    rather   the    potential    m.'ans  ot  ; 
weulth,  than  wealth  itself.     A  nation  may  be  , 
possessed  of  all  these  means  and  app  imiccs  , 
of  wealth,  an<l  yet  be  pcK.r  as  regards  that  in- 
dispeiisublu  wealth  of  nations,  food  aii(l  cloth- 1 
inc.     If  it  were  possible  to  multii)ly  all  these  ' 
thinirs  a  hundredfold,  still  the  nation  that  pos-  , 
sessed  them  might  be  only  a  little  way  n<-arer  , 
to  independence  than  the  most  untutored  tribe 
of  savages.  ,    ,.,       ,.      .      , 

But  sull  there  is  a  noble  liberality  in  the 
hand  of  nature.  Although  the  terms  on 
which  nations  holil  their  lease  of  life  arc  un- 
remitting toil  and  labor  from  year  to  year, 
vet  provision  is  made  for  the  support  ot  two 
large  classes  who,  from  diflerent  causes,  are 
incapable  of  toil.  We  allude  to  the  young 
and  the  old— the  wards  and  the  pensioners  ol 
society.  Nature  makes  ample  provision  for 
these  two  classes.  While  she  sternly  de- 
mands that  her  strong  young  men  shall  iollow 
her  as  she  walks  majestically  through  the 
seasons,  and  live  by  submitting  to  the  prime- 
val destiny,  she  pours  from  her  lap  an  abun- 
dant supply,  not  only  for  her  immediate  hil- 
lowers,  but  for  their  old  men  and  their  little 
ones.  Here  we  have  the  first  glimpse  of  a 
retiring  pension  fund  in  the  economy  of  i.a- 
ture.  We  shall  now  briefly  trace  the  process 
by  which  men  write  their  names  upon  the 
list  of  pensioners,  and  become  independent, 
long  before  nature  gives  them  their  discharge 
from  the  ranks  of  labor.  .    . 

The  social  compact  is  a  fable ;  but  it  is 
founded  upon  enough  of  reality  to  warrant  us 
to  reason  upon  its  prescriptive  laws.  One  ot 
the  most  universally  acknowledged  of  them 
has  reference  to  the  institution  of  property. 
Men  generally  submit  to  labor  as  to  a  neces- 
sary evil,  and  long  to  escape  from  it  t°  '"^ 
imaginary  elysium  of  independence.  Such 
an  escape  is  possible  only  by  mutual  accom- 
modation. In  a  simple  state  of  society  men 
could  not  be  rich.  They  would  soon  reach 
the  liraiu  of  that  accumulation  which  the 


physical  laws  of  the  world  permit.     They 
might  protluco  in  one  yoor  as  much  grain,  and 
weave    as  much  cloth,  as  would   le.il    and 
clothe  them,  sav  for  seven  years ;  but  their 
independence  ot  labor  would  still  extend  over 
only  sis  years;  ond  before  the  end  of  thot 
time,  the  rats  and  the  moths,  and  the  wearing 
elements,    would   have   ..  ade   inroads   upon 
their  stores.     But  the   independence   which 
man  can  not  win  singlc-haiKled  from  nature, 
he  secures  by  a  compact  with  his  brethren. 
Tht!  general  jirocess  is  as  follows :  He  labors 
hard,  anil  priKlures  more  than  is  reijuired  by 
his  immediate  wants.      He  gives  the  surplus 
to  soriety,  and  receives  in  return  a  bond  tor 
the  amount  U|.on  its  nrmliictive  powers.     All 
that  he  produces,  whether  of  corn,  rloth,  or 
other  less-necessary  commodities  ot  daily  use, 
as  well  as  the  ag,';regate  pr.Mluco  of  the  cntiro 
community,  is  consumed  during  the  yeaf  ;  but, 
ut  the  end  of  it.  the  hard-working  man  holds 
a  mortgage  upon  part  of  the  next  year's  prod- 
uce, even  before  it  exists.     He  repeats  the 
process.     He  goes  on  working  hard,  or  wnrk- 
lua  skilfully,  or  persuading  others  to  work  tor 
'  him,  disiHwing  of  his  surplus  protluce,  and  in- 
I  creasing  the  number  or  amount  of  his  bonds 
upon  society,  by  which  wc  simply  mean  mon- 
ey.    At  length  he  is  sotisfied   that  his  ac- 
knowledged  claims  upon  society  are  suthcicnt 
to  keep  him  independent  of  labor  all  his  lite, 
and  then  he  retires  upon  a  competence. 

An  independence  thus  won  does  no  violence 
to  that  natural  law  which  forbids  the  inde- 
penilencc  of  an  entire  community.  It  is  won 
by  an  honest  and  honorable  process  ;  and  the 
subject  of  it  con  comfort  himself  with  the  re- 
flection, that  he  is  only  receiving  back  from 
society  that  with  which  he  had  intrusted  it, 
or  for  which  he  hud  given  it  value.  While 
he  was  bearing  the  heat  and  burden  of  the 
day,  others  who  had  borne  it  before  him,  as 
well  as  the  little  ones  who  were  to  bear  it  at- 
ter  him,  were  living  upon  the  fruit  of  his  im- 
mediate labor.  All  parties  were  accommoda- 
ted.    They 


»  Held  their  being  on  the  term*, 
Kach  help  the  othet»." 

One  would  fain  hope,  that  the  time  will  come 
when  this  much-coveted  prize  of  independence 
will  be  held  out  by  society  as  within  the  reach 
of  all  its  members ;  when  the  honest,  indus- 
trious man,  instead  of  being  haunted  all  his 
life  by  the  fear  of  poverty  in  his  old  age, 
shall  have  the  consolation  of  knowing,  that 
after  a  certain  period  of  labor  he  shall  receive 
his  discharge,  and  be  admitted  m  virtue  of  his 
services,  into  the  great  hospital  of  society. 

This  were  a  consummation  devoutly  to  oe 

wished ;  but  after  all,  how  precarious  is  the 

I  independence  of  the  most  independent !    AS 


llAMiaiNO  KS3AY  «;PON  UOOMS. 


373 


pcniiit.     They 
mui'h  grnin,  and 
voultl  i'fcil    anil 
,rcQr» ;  l)ut  their 
■itill  cxtfiiil  nvfir 
ihi)   riid   of  that 
and  thit  wearing 
e   inroads    upon 
jendenco   which 
ed  from  nature, 
th  his  brothrtn. 
ows  :  1  lo  hibors 
n  is  ri'(|uirod  l)y 
fives  the  surplus 
cturn  a  bond  for 
ve  powers.     All 
)f  corn,  rloth,  or 
ities  of  daily  use, 
lucoof  the  entire 
nu  the  yciif ;  but, 
)rkins  man  holds 
next  year's  prod- 

Ile  repeats  the 
ng  hard,  or  wcirk- 
rthers  to  work  for 
9  produce,  and  in- 
)unt  of  his  bonds 
imply  iiKun  mon- 
lied  that  his  ac- 
;iety  are  sufficient 

labor  all  his  life, 
:otnpetence. 
n  does  no  violence 
forbids  the  inde- 
mnity.    It  is  won 

process ;  and  the 
nself  with  the  re- 
leiving  back  from 

had  intrusted  it, 

it  value.  "While 
ind  burden  of  the 
I  it  before  him,  as 
were  to  bear  it  af- 
he  fruit  of  his  im- 
were  accommoda- 

;he  termi, 
m." 

the  time  will  come 
ize  of  independence 
Eis  within  the  reach 
the  honest,  indus- 
ug  haunted  all  his 
ty  in  his  old  age, 
1  of  knowing,  that 
3or  he  shall  receive 
tted  in  virtue  of  his 
ipital  of  society, 
tion  devoutly  to  be 
V  precarious  is  the 
independent !    As 


w..  apprnn.h  the  wcekn  of  harvest,  we  a  e 

wi,biuu thortwoofalisolut.-.tarval.on. 

W.Tf  the  winds  ,oininwMon.Ml  f.  thrash  <>  ir 
|i,.l,lM,  <.r  the  iP.il'-cw  to  l.hMh'  thvn..  "r     '" 
cuter. ni.Mtud.-^  our  them,  the  rwh  an.    lie 
H.r.   the   nobleman  and   .be   l'"«.^"r.   «  j'"'''' 
Llike  be  «went  into  a  e.mnnon  ruin.     All  Ibe 
otber  ri.heH  In  the  world,  Uu\uv'  the  riehe-J  ot 
ur   K"l'l''"  harvo.t-fiel.U.  were  u.  worthless 
US  th,.  llaslM.o.e.  of  ll..>  former.     H.U.  us  re- 
t-ar.ls   this   indispei.siible   treasure,   we     lavi 
MM.n  that  neither  individuals  nor  nations  have 
Wen  or  ever  can  be  rich.     «'"'"'';".'/ '>;-'; 
is  measure.l   out  to  us.  and  our  < lady  bna.l 
„„ly.     IW  lakiiifl  thou-ht.  we  could  as  easily 
a.bl  a  cubit  lo  our  btuture,  or  wash  the  htm- 
„,,iun  white,  as  wc  c.uld  make  the  nations  in- 
depend..nt  of  labor  for  a  smyle  year.     And 
vet,  this  independence  is  one  ol  our  heroic 
words.     We  sins  songs  in  its  praine.     An  it.i- 
DorluMt  section  of  our  social  in.Htituiions,  insu- 
rance societies,  in  all  their  varieties,  is  louml- 
ed  upon  our  de»i.»-  of  it,  and  may  be  rcgardei 
■  .         , . .1,,,.....,   ,!,>   luiiiinst 


I  i^s 


\  iiANinuNii  KssAY  vm  mm. 

Wr  are  inclined  to  think  that  the  romance 

of  lite  li''>*  U|'<"'  '"*  '"""l*!"''-     S<"-i''»y  '*  ''."' 
heman  natur.'  seen  ihrougli  a  prism,  with  its 
rim  only  fringed  with  the  tints  ot  poetry,     in 
a  liiil.)  seaeoast  town  in  Massachusetts,  we 
foun.l  more  of  the  pure  spirit  ot  romume  tlinn 
we  have  ever  m.-t  in  the  most  crowibul  cities 
„r  the  most   fashionable  society.     It  was  o 
ubMuny  morninu,  and  a  driz/ling  rain  rougJi- 
cned  the  air.  wh.;n  we  set  out  upon  our  expe- 
dition.    But,  seated  in  a  high-backeil  cbair, 
in  an  old  weailier-beatm  and  timeworn  room, 
we  deti.Mj  the  day,  and  plotted  the  writing  ot 
this  essay  on  rooms. 

On  lii-st  entering,  we  knocked  our  head 
auainst  the  low  rafters,  which  j)rojeeIe<i  Irom 
tiie  c.iiling.  We  lor«ive  the  injury  in  con- 
siderali.m  of  the  eoiui.liment  to  our  stature. 
The  oreupMit  of  the  r.M)m.  an  old  withered 
woman,  rose  at  our  entrance,  gre-ied  us  cor- 
dially, ami  gave  us  the  old-fashioned,  high 


ed  uixm  our  de»ii»-  ol  it,  ami  may  "«  ..s"-'.    ■         " V-'. ,,   „i,,,i.    ,„.  ^,^^r  g,.nt 
as  s!.  .nany  breakwat..rs  thn^n  up  again^     -^  ^.^^  1J;^.  an.l 


"We  had   now 


tl.e   dremlJd  waves  of  uncertainty,   in   th. 
midst  of  which  we,  are  destined  to  lead  our 
lives.     After  long  years  of  incessant  toi  ;  al- 
ter the  limbs  have  been  stillened  with  labor. 
or  the  brain  wasted  with  thought,  or  the  lieart 
sbrivelled   with   feverish   longing,  one   in    a 
tlu.usand  attains  to  an  independence  which  is 
built  upon  the  world's  riches.      Society   is 
ple.lged   to  find   him   in   h.od   ami   raiment, 
thoush  thousands  should  be  in  want  of  both. 
But  society  can  discharge  its  obligations  to 
him  only  if  the  seasons  are  favorable;  or,  it 
it  does  so  in  unfavorable  seasons,  it  is  at  the 
expense  of  hunger  and  nakedness  to  many  ot 
its  members.     For,  we  repeat  it,  the  world,  as 
a  whole,  is  poor;  there  is  no  accumulation  ot 
real  wealth  in  the  richest  nation.     Poverty  is 
the  constant  companion  of  the  millions  ot  the 
human  family.     Starvation  is  olten  withm  a 
day's  march  of  countless  multitudes  of  theiri , 
once  a  year  is  within  a  month  of  them  all. 
But  God  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb , 
and  the  providence  which  gives  to  this  large 
Tamily  ite  daily  hread,  while  it  presents  a 
sublime  fact  upon  which  faith,  which  is  be  - 
ter  than  independence,  can  rest  in  peace,  ad- 
ministers a  severe  reproof   to  that  faithless 
faintheartedness  which  is  too  often  the  prin- 
ciiial  motive  to  the  pursuit  of  the  phantom 
independence. 

JuD0i«ENT.— The  most  necessary  talent  in 
a  man  of  conversation,  is  a  gootl  judgment. 
He  that  has  this  in  perfection  is  master  ot  his 
companion,  without  letting  him  see  it;  an<l 
has  the  same  advamage  over  men  of  other 
qualitications,  as  one  that  can  sec  would  have 
over  a  blind  man  of  ten  times  hia  strength. 

L 


leisure  to  look  about  us.  and  make  an  accurate 
survey  of  the  room.     The  unplastercd.  r^m^h 
walls;  an.l  the  bold,  out-jutting  ratters  ot  the 
ceiling,  were  imbued  with  a  brown  rich  color, 
which  the  smoke  of  many  years  ha.l  lent.     A 
small  tire  was  burning  on  the  board  hearth, 
I  over  which  swung  a  simmering  kett  e,  while 
'  the  taint  line  of  blue  smoke  curled  up  the 
deep  black  throat  of   the   chimney.       Ihe 
chimney  was  of  no  moilern  date,  and  con- 
structed   on    no   utilitarian    principles,      its 
breadth  and  depth  were  so  great,  that,  with- 
out inconvenience   from   the  heat,  three  or 
four  could  sit  within  its  wide  arms,  and  en- 
liven a  long  winter  evening  with  cossiping 
tales.     Bending  forward,  we  could  look  out 
into  the  sky  and  ^ee  the  lazy  clouds  trailing 
overhead.     The  un painted   floor  was  thinly 
spread  with  scattered  patches  of  carpet ;  and 
on  the  faded  rug,  which  covered  the  hearth, 
sat  an  old  gray,  purring  cat.     Through  the 
diamonded  panes  of  the  narrow  windows,  the 
eve  looked  out  upon  the  leaden  gray  ot  the 
ocean,  fringed  with  white  foam,  where  the 
surge  kept  beating  upon  the  ragged  line  ot 
rocks.     An  old  oaken  chest  of  drawers  stinxl 
in  the  comer,  crowned  with  a  row  of  ol.l  cups; 
and  the  high  mantal-piece  was  covered  with 
bits  of  china,  and  dingy  broken  glass,     i  hese, 
with  the  rusty  bluish-brown  coverlet,  thrown 
over  the  bed   in  the  comer,  and   strangely 
harmonizing  with  the  general  colorof  the  room, 
completed  its  contents.    Opposite  i.s  sat  our 
aged  hostess,  with  her  mob-cap  tied  snugly 
under  her  chin,  and  sitting  m  a  stulTed  high 
chair,  from  which  to  the  wall  ^y"«  ^""S  «" 
old  gieen  cloak,  to  protect  her  l^ack^ from  the 
cold  air  which  whistled  through  the  chinks 


''■fj" 


t*itl^4 


Wi 


374 


A  UAMBLINO  E8BAY  UPON  aooM8. 


iif  a  clonet-floor  Iwhinil  her.  In  a  low,  trcm- 
uldUH  voice,  iriit'rrii|itoil  by  OHthrnatic  imuMrM, 
Him  went  on  crooning  to  us  of  th«  old  IcucncU 
o(  the  |ilncc.  Shn  told  u«  of  drijadful  kIiohIh, 
niiil  Hi«iis,  nnd  otni'ns,  niithi>nticatin^  thftn  all, 
uriil  throwiiia  the  wfii^ht  of  her  own  lidinf 
iiitr)  tin-  Imlnnce — of  dead  m«'M,  lost  at  neu, 
who  Clime,  ull  driiipinp,  up  the  rlK«inR  of  oth- 
er xhips  nt  nisht — ot  fiailors,  who  returned, 
lifter  death,  to  their  wiilow».  while  itittiiig 
over  their  lonely  lire*  nt  niidiiii;lit,  listeniiin 
to  the  howling  of  the  storm— until  the  air 
Srew  minty,  nnd  a  sort  of  thrill  came  ov.r  im, 
and  we  waited  to  Hce  some  Hupernnturol  fchiipe 
rixe  up  liefore  us.  Nowhere  clue  tlimi  in  thut 
old,  dun  room,  eoulil  such  Ntorien  have  hren 
told  with  ellect  in  the  n(«)n  of  the  day.  Hut 
thi-  pliice  wnn  weathnr-heuten  nnd  rusty,  the 
light  was  deprived  of  its  cheerfulnesH  liy  the 
diiiKV  puneg,  and  the  hoarse  unih'r-tone  ot  the 
surge  kept  up  a  ghastly  nccompuniment  to  her 
quivering  voice.  When  we  left  her,  the  dny 
seemed  unnatural  and  loo  bright.  So  we 
wandered  to  the  shore  to  hear  the  l>iTiiking 
surf,  and  accustom  ourselves  to  the  daylight. 

We  are  all  pieces  of  furniture.  As  the 
trees  across  a  stream  prow  toward  each  other, 
and  interclasp  their  boughH,  grow  these  na- 
tures of  ours  to  that  which  is  next  them. 
The  invisible  tendrils  of  aH'eclion  spread  out 
on  every  side,  and,  like  the  innumernble 
threads  that  bound  Gulliver  t(»  the  ground, 
thoy  fasten  us  to  places,  and  things,  and  per- 
sons. No  one  can  separate  himself  from  his 
r(Hn.n.  His  home  is  a  sacred  jjlace,  and  a 
sacred  feeling.  The  young  spirit  seems  to 
have  left  some  traces  of  itself  there.  In  our 
room,  the  spirits  of  our  friends  are  around  us. 
The  old  conversations  that  once  moulded  the 
air  into  music  are  there  still.  The  conscious- 
ness of  having  been  happy  in  a  place,  lends  a 
reflection  of  light  to  cheer  our  overshaded 
mmids.  All  our  thoughts  have  a  dwidlin,--- 
place  in  our  room.  What  an  old,  familiar 
greeting  do  the  chairs,  books,  and  tables,  give! 
They  seem  to  invite  us  to  them.  The  sun- 
light there  is  appropriated ;  it  is  not  common 
sunlight,  but  the  same  that  slanted  through 
the  windows  years  ago;  it  comes  back  every 
morning  laden  with  the  freight  of  all  preceding 
mornings.  All  the  joys  of  the  summer-days 
of  our  youth  are  in  the  breeze  that  stirs 
through  the  room,  ami  ruffles  the  leaves  of 
our  books.  It  seems  as  if  joy  was  a  perfume 
that  time  could  never  efface  from  the  places 
wherein  the  spirit  exhaled  it. 

Man  is  as  much  a  thing  as  a  thinker.  We 
are  uneasy  nt  writing  in  a  foreign  place.  It 
takes  weeks  and  months  ere  we  can  become 
accustomed  to  a  new  room,  and  then  it  is  but 
a  poor  substitute  for  the  old,  time-hallowed 
one.     The  mind  can  not  break  away  from  the 


thraldom  of  piacc.  The  boy  who  eouM  not 
spell  his  word  liernuse  he  had  not  got  the 
"  hnng"  of  the  new  school-house,  was  not 
altogether  in  the  wrong ;  anil  the  world  niiiy 
have  done  injustiee  to  the  old  traveller,  who 
had  jumped  r  great  jump  in  the  island  of 
Rhodes,  but  could  do  it  nowhere  else.  We 
seem  made  up  of  little  sym|)athie»,  which  take 
a  l)iaH  from  the  most  trivial  facts  and  oeeur- 
rences.  The  strongest  tide  of  thought  is  turn- 
ed aside  by  a  featli<'r.  Even  thinking  seems 
to  lie  but  a  consta..  series  of  impulses  from 
external  facts  and  incidents,  nnd  from  reeol- 
leetions  and  reminiscences.  Goethe  woulil 
have  no  luxurious  furniture  in  his  rmiin,  for 
fear  thut  his  thoughta  would  h)8C  their  mascu- 
line vigor  and  force,  by  receiving  an  insensi- 
ble inlleetion  from  them.  His  study  is  bar- 
ren of  ornament,  and  studiously  simple;  so  is 
his  style.  Some  people  write  their  lives  by 
tables,  and  chairs,  and  sofas ;  others  with 
pen,  nnd  ink,  and  thought.  We  think  that 
we  may  see  the  peculiar  character  of  certain 
of  our  writers,  expressed  quite  distinctly,  by 
their  rooms.  The  hard,  nervous  strength  of 
Luther  was  begotten  of  that  mine  in  which 
his  youth  was  spent,  and  his  emergence  into 
day  a])lly  tyi)ifiesthc  part  he  played  in  after- 
life. Tennyson's  '•  little  rtxim  so  exquisite," 
necdiints  for  all  the  defects  in  his  stylo.  .So 
is  Walter  Scott's  room,  with  its  tuits  of  ar- 
mor, nnd  claymore,  and  shield,  and  antlers, 
and  sfnghoumi,  and  its  thousand  old  curiosi- 
ties, the  happiest  illustration  of  his  style  nnd 
(•hnracter  as  a  writer — both  a  curious  piece 
of  grotes<pie  patchwork — the  bold  energy  and 
endurance  of  the  age  of  chivalry  still  keeping 
a  place  among  the  refinements  and  efTemina- 
cies  of  miKlern  life.  No  comer  of  his  mind 
was  destitute  of  some  quaint  bit  of  a  story 
and  linllad,  and  his  collection  of  facts  was  a 
jierfeot  "curiosity-shop."  The  grand  back- 
ground of  his  room  is  nature  bold  and  strong, 
but  distant  and  in  perspective.  The  same  is 
the  fact  in  his  writings.  Nature  is  boldly 
sketched,  but  its  minute  traits  and  workings 
are  lost  bv  distance,  and  are  subordinated  to 
the  love  of  costume  and  tradition. 

By  a  room,  we  mean  a  room  par  errellenee, 
not  a  general  rendezvous  of  rha  wh.^lc  family, 
but  the  private  room'  of  the  individual — the 
library  of  the  literary  man — the  studio  of  the 
artist — the  inmost  shrine — the  appropriated 
spot.  The  parlor  is  no  room  at  all — it  is  a 
com  promise  of  all  the  tastes  of  the  house.  All 
the  arrangements  are  referred  to  the  standard 
of  fashion,  and  there  is  almost  no  scope  for 
the  individual  fancy  of  the  owner. 

We  would  always  have  a  room  in  one  of 
the  upper  stories,  if  we  lived  in  the  city. 
In  the  country,  it  is  not  of  so  much  import- 
ance.   There,  one  may  have  vines  curling 


A  UAMllt.IN(*  E88AY  UPON  BOOM9. 


ho  couli!  not 
not  ^i)t  t)u! 
i*n,  will*  not 
B  W(irl(l  miiy 
■nvclIiT,  who 
lin  iNlnixl  iif 
e  rUf.  Wn 
I,  which  tuko 
:8  nnd  (MU'ur- 
niRhtiH  tiirn- 
itikitig  Hrcnii* 
ijiiilgpH  from 
I  from  riTol- 
Dotho  would 
his  rcKun,  for 
their  ninscti- 
p;  an  inMi-rmi- 
itudy  is  Imr- 
timph;;  mi  i» 
heir  livps  by 
others  with 
e  think  that 
cr  of  certain 
listinctly,  l>y 
s  8trenKth  of 
ne  in  which 
lerpence  into 
lyed  in  ofter- 
10  exquisite," 
is  style.  .So 
t  tuits  of  Br- 
and antlers, 
1  old  curiosi- 
his  style  and 
;uriou8  piece 
d  energy  nnd 
still  keeping 
nd  etTemina- 
of  his  mind 
it  of  a  story 
'  facts  was  a 
grand  bnck- 
d  and  strong, 
The  santio  is 
ire  is  boldly 
and  workings 
lordinated  to 
1. 

•ar  errellence, 
wholi:  family, 
dividual — the 
studio  of  the 
appropriated 
it  all — it  is  a 
le  house.  All 
I  the  standard 
no  scope  for 

ST. 

wm  in  one  of 
in  the  city. 
Tiuch  import- 
vines  curling 


about  the  window-iilU,  and  peeping  into  the 
roo,n-thc  greca   tree*   waving  their   broa.l 
arm.  in  the  air,  an.l  the  dancing  shadows  on 
the  Kreen  sward  beneath  you.      Then,  in  the 
eoimtry,  and  in  summer,  one  can  make  the 
whole  sky   his  roof.    and.  embowered    in   a 
..  plae..  of  nestling  green."  almont  forget  hm 
wulled-iii  r.M)in.     But  in  the  city,  that  world 
of  liriek  and  .mortar,  ^ive  us  the  topmost  r.M.m. 
It  is  u  wearisome  trmlge  up  over  three  (  i«ht« 
,)f  stairs,  but  you  get  your  recompense.     1  here 
is  les.  ,luHt  an.1  Moise-peojde  are  not  h.r  ever 
tramping  bv  yourd.M.r;  it  is  tiH.  hig li  to  make 
it  a  eonvetueht  lounging-pl«''«  f;>r  idlers;  and 
if  friendship  is  not  a  sutlicient  in.lucem.  nt  to 
your  friends,  they  are  not  worth   regretting. 
You  see  the  diminished  people  walking  noise- 
lessly through  the  streets,  m    in  a  panorama. 
If  you  have  a  lower  room,  yur  sunset  is  the 
li«lit  shining  fiom  the  opposite  wall  ot  brick, 
llavin-  become  thoroughly  tired  o»  this,  we 
have  a  room  in  the  fourth  8t(,ry.     We  can 
sit  now  above  the  city,  and  be  "alone  wi  h 
the  nicht."     Beneath  us  gleam  the  lumps  in 
the  sleeping  chambers;  all  around  "«  «  t^"«- 
snnd  hearts  are  beating,  and  a  thoimn.l  heads 
rest  upon  their  pillows ;  the  mighty  shadow 
of  sleep  is  upon  the  city;    the  silent  moon- 
light glances  ui-on  th.;  vai.es  and  the  skylights, 
and  freckles  the  distant,  slowly-glid.ng  river ; 
the  noise  of  revelry  comes  dim  an.l  Jaint  from 
the  streets;   now  an-'   ihen,  «'""«,  "^S"^;! 
whistling  by,  and  the  sharp  ring  ot  his  bed 
upon  the  pavement  echf.es  through  the  de- 
Zicd  courts.     In  the  -laytime.  a  thousand  ] 
r.H,fs  send  up  their  thin,  curling  lines  of  smoke 

that,  minglliig.  hang  a  '^I'-^-'y  y^*  "V;^'  t 
city.  Overl.K.king  the  tops  of  the  housts. 
we  can  see  the  rim  of  the  ocean;  countless 
ships,  with  lithe  spars  and  fluttering  strearners. 
lie  sleeping  at  their  posts;  vessels,  with  their 
ails  widespread,  ar..  co.i.ing  «P  the  hori/.oru 
and,  as  the  sunlight  strikes  flat  agamst  the 
white  canvass,  they  look  like  sea-gulls  spread- 
rngthJ^^rwing;for^ight.     Lookin^ginjothe^r 

direction,  we  see  the  undulating  line  .f  b,  s 
shrouded  in  a  bluish  haze,  and  melting  into 
the  sky.  Is  not  all  this  worth  coming  up  two 
more  flights  of  stairs  to  have  ? 

A  room  should  have  a  picture  in  it;  eithtr 
an  ideal  head,  or  some  dreamed  landscape. 
ApStureis  like  a  beautifu  window  to  the 
blank  wall,  which  the  sunshine  never  leaves 
whereon  the  eye,  weary  with  reading,  may 
Tuxuriate  Ld  b^the.  in/new  and  exhilarat^^^ 
atmosphere.  They  refine  us,  »n«e'»«'Wy;  Jey 
help  thinking,  and  arefuUof  sug^ert.on;  they 
are  neacefuf,  unobtrusive  friends,  who  wait 
JourCure     they  are  the  cherished  thought 

Tsome  human  "V"'l-'^«/''^^lfTrd7re 
«,me  passing  sentiment  and  cmotion-and  are 

transcripts  of  the  happiest  moments.    We  I 


woulil  have  flowers,  tixi,  in  our  fiH.m ;  they 
are  s<i  full  of  the  warmth  of  huninniiy;  noth- 
ina  is  so  like  a  human  being  as  a  flower. 
Then  what  an  air  of  delicacy  and  refinement 
is  lent  tr-  a  r.K,m.  by  pictures  and  flowers! 
.Snrcly  wo  rea.l  the  clear,  kind  nature,  ariu 
ttenial  humor  of  Jean  Paul,  when  wc  saw  the 
rose  in  his  button-hole !  Here  was  the  tokea 
that  he  wus  a  poet. 

The  influences  under  which  wn  are  bred, 
d..mineer  over  us.  We  arc  like  soft  wax, 
taking  the  impression  of  all  about  us.  ine 
country  ghild,  who&e  room  is  nature,  whose 


^m% 


country  gniio,  wnosr  ■.<.....  .^  -— . 

roof  is  the  sky,  whose  curtains  are  the  j.urple 

elouds  of  sunset,   and    whose   carpet   is    the 

crass,  is  free,  vig.uous.  and  healthy,  in  her 

movements  and  tliou«lits.  as  the  air  that  siic 

breathes.     The  city  belle,  who  grows  up  un- 

.ler  the  shade  of  brick  wolls.  irlialing  noisome 

vapors,  deprived  of  the  healthy  exercise  ot 

her  limbs,  nnd  "  cribbed,  cabined,  and  con- 

(i,,,.,!-  in  narrow  streets,  becomes  puny  and 

sickly,  and   failes  early.     The   eyes  of  the 

one  see  the  cows  and  sheep  feeding  for  out  on 

the  distant   hills,   while  those  of  the  other 

hardly  distinguish  a  face   across   .ho  room. 

The  thoughts  of  the  <ine  arc  bold,  tree,  ami 

untrammelled,  like  the  flights  of  the  eagle- 

those    '   the  other,  forced  ond  conventional, 

like  the  feeble  hopjiings  of  a  caged  conary. 

One  inoy  easily  trace  the  rise  and  nrogrcss 
of  a  nation  out  of  its  liarborism,  by  the  sim- 
ple observation  of  their  rooms,     b  rom  the 
rude  hut  of  the  savage,  which  was  common 
to  all  the  occupants,  to  the  rmxlern  con..not.i- 
,)us  house     with    its    appropriated    r"'""".-- 
'  what  a  distance  ?     So  out  of  a  general  clanish 
nature,  grows  slowly  the  indivi.lual  nature. 
Society,  at  first  one  mass,  becomes  articulated 
into  persons,  as  the  body  separotes  into  fingers 
at  the  extremities:  eoch  man  has  his  oeculiar 
employment,  according  to  his  individual  ge- 
nius; and  thus  the  huge  machine  of  society 
becomes  gradually  perfected  in  all  its  par  s 
Amons  savages  these  is  one  general  trait  and 
employment,  and  therefore,  there  is  one  com- 
mon  room.     In  civili/.ed  life  each  has  a  dif- 
ferent part  to  perform;  all  work  is  apportion- 
ed,  and  each  has  his  own  room.  . 

As  we  can  tell  the  size  and  f  .rmation  of 
the  tort..ise  from  the  shell  which  remains,  so, 
were  all  history  washed  away,  and  the  ancient 
cities  left,  we  could  easily  tell  the  naanne^  s 
habits,  and  geni    .  of  the  people  who  built 
and  hihabitJl   th  .•  -     WitWn  one  century. 
the  city  of  Pompt      has  been  excavate-l- 
that  crumbled  shell  of  a  dead  F".pl«-     ^^^^ 
nerfect  preservation  of  this  onecity  ans  thrown 
aS  of  light  over  the  Roman  institutions 
aniUharacter,  as  well  as  given  us  tlie  pnrfe  t 
knowledge  of  the  habits  and  gcmus  of  the 
Pompeiians.     The   soul  of  it  has,  indeed, 


"*?f« 


»i.'i 


mm 


■  ii"'4iniiiiiiiiiimigi 


r 


passed  awav;  but  the  natnrahs    easily  tolls 

u.  psyche/from  the  chrysalis  that  remans. 

)),sorve   how   perfectly   the   genius  of   the 

•O  eHan  age,  nn't  evenof  its. litVerent  districts 

is  devcl.n)ed  in  its  architecture-the  graceful 

and  orna  e  Corinthian,  with  its  curling  leaves 

°n!l  (luted  columns-the  delicate  and  chaste 

Innic,  and  the  more  stately  and  sober  Done ; 

llu.„,    the   transplanted  composite   order  ot 

Rnnan  architecture;  and  last,  that  splendid 

stone  flower  of  the  middle  ages,  the  Gothic 

"'^Wliat  ijut  a  narrow  room,  wherein   the 
spirit  dwellelh,  is  this  body-this  frame  ot 
|,'or.es,  this  covering  of  muscle,  but  a  moving 
house  '     The  soul  sits  looking  from  the  win- 
dows of  the  eyes,  and  can  not  h'de  itse  f  from 
observation,  'out  of  the  mouth   -hich  is  its 
,l„or,  issue  the  softly-coined  words,  that  tissue 
„f  melodious  air,  whose  ^^^^>}^'^\'"'\'?;^ 
woven  around  the  soul  ot  him  who  hears. 
Within  th.>  brain  lie  stored,  as  in  a  magazine, 
the  curiously-elaborated  thougl;ts,  the  wild 
project,  the  Hreams,  fancies,  experiences,  and 
acts,    hat  we  have   gathered  fn.rn  foreign 
sources,  or  that  have  had  their  birth  m  our 
own  soul.     Then,  how  strangely  out  of  order 
seem  these  materials  in  some  brains,   how 
perfectly  and  precisely  arranged  in  others 
How  gracefully  and  easily  does  one  spirit 
move  about  this  strange  house,  while  another 
ran  never  tit  himself  to  his  home,  but  is  ever 
awkword   and    ungainly!      I«   ^h-  natura 
house,  the  soul  makes  its  marks  and  leaves 
its  im  .ressions,  moulding  and  moditying  con- 
tinually, until  the  strong  soul_  draws  his  out- 
ward covering  closely  around  it.  and  hts  *  to 
itself,  as  perfectly  as  the  kernel  of  the  nut  to 
its  intersected  shell.  . 

For  all  our  friends  our  wish  is,  thot  they 
may  possess  the  chamber  wherem  thepilgrinti 
lo.lged,  according  to  the  allegory  of  old  John 
Bnnvua.  Somehow  tbe  passage  has  a  sweet 
flavor  and  delicious  quaintness,  which  he, 
among  those  earnest  and  sincere  old  English 
writers,  most  especially  possesses :  The 
pil-rrim  they  laid  in  a  large  upper  chamber, 
whose  window  opened  toward  the  sunnsing. 
The  name  of  this  chamber  was  Peace,  wliere 
he  slept  tin  break  of  day,  and  then  he  awoke 

anil  sang."  .      ,  r  »i,„ 

How'full  of  character  is  the  room  of  the 
nainter'  All  there  is  dim  and  hazy  vi-itli 
ietniment.  From  the  moment  that  you  close 
the  door  behind  you,  you  feel  as  if  you  had 
shut  out  the  world.  There,  rank  takes  no 
pro-eminence.  The  artist  is  the  monarch. 
Here  is  the  true  luxury  of  work-the  intel- 
lectual married  to  the  mechanical,  and  love 
of  the  art  prompting  each  motion  of  fhe  Pen- 
cil. The  light  streams  m,  deprived  of  its  sun- 
shine, through  the  partly  closed  blind.    Slant- 


in<r  toward  it.  stanils  the  easel,  upon  whi.h 


lies   a   half-Hnished    picture.      The    painter^ 
with  his  palette  and  brushes  in  one  hand,  nnd 
his  magical  wand  in  the  other,  moves  tins 
way  and  that,  lends  a  tint  here  and  a  shadow 
there,  all  the  time  throwing  in,  carelessly  an 
observation.     The  outhnes  are  all  dim  and 
rounded,  and  there  is  a  smell  of  paint  in  the 
room.     Here  stands  the  velvet  chair,  on  its 
slightly  elevated  platform-the  throne  of  the 
sitter;  there  stands  the  graceless  draped  li.y- 
fi  -Ture.     There  are  no  harsh  noises— no  bust  le ; 
all  is  quiet,  and  has  a  secluded  air  ot  silence. 
The  noise  of  the  passing  wagons  in  the  streets, 
if  it  attracts  attention,  seems  foreign,  anc    a 
consciousness  that  you  are  alone  seems  dif- 
fused through  it.     the  painter  talks  much  of 
his  art;  tells  an  anecdote  of  this  artist  and 
that ;  speaks  of  such  and  such  a  picture,  and 
illustrates  his  remark  by  turning  round  to  you 
one  of  the  faces  of  those  canvasses  which 
have  piqued  your  curiosity  ever  since  your 
entrance:   and  thus  in  his  studio  lives  the 
artist.     The  painting-room  must  be  nke  hden 
before  the  fall:  no  joyless  turbulent  passions 
must  enter  there. 

Time  out  of  mind,  the  garret  has  been  ap- 
propriated to  genius,  perhaps  from  on  occult 
nun.  Whether  attic  wit  has  received,  latter- 
ly, a  difTerent  modification  or  not,  we  leave 
to  the  opinion  of  our  readers.  But  the  strug- 
gles of  genius  under  the  weight  of  poverty 
Ind  sickness,  and  "  all  the  ills  that  flesh  is 
heir  to,"  have  made  it,  in  some  respects,  a 
sacred  place.  Sorrow  and  misfortune,  and 
the  fierce  flame  of  longing,  and  the  illumina- 
tion 01  hope,  blend  into  an  aureole  to  crown 
it.  From  its  sill,  the  winged  bird  of  poetry 
has  flown— on  its  hearth  the  flame  of  humor 
and  wit  has  bumed-from  its  wmdows  the 
stinging  arrows  of  sarcasm  have  been  shot— 
and  within  its  walls,  the  souls  of  men  have 
become  mailed  and  armed  by  misfortune. 

If  we  iudged  correctly  of  human  character, 
we  should  admit  that  the  mechanic  who  made 
the  chair  in  which  Xerxes  sat,  when  he  re- 
viewed his  mighty  host,  or  witnessed  the  sea- 
fight  at  Salamis,  was  a  more  useful  member 
of  socief  than  that  great  king-ami,  that  the 
artisans  who  constructed  the  drmking  vessels 
of  Mardonius,  and  the  brass  niangers  in  which 
his  horses  were  fed,  were  really  more  worthy 
of  posthumous  fame,  than  that  general,  or  the 
monarch  he  served:  and,  if  it  be  more  virtu- 
ous, more  praiseworthy,  to  alleviate  human 
sufTerings  than  to  cause  or  increase  thenn, 
then  that  old  mechanician,  who,  when  Mar- 
cus Sergius  lost  his  hand  in  the  Pumc  war, 
furnished  him  with  an  iron  one,  was  an  in- 
comparably better  man,  than  that  or  any  oth- 
er raere  warrior. 


!';''   M 


:l|illi;:'   !i 


"iiiii  'i 

1  ^i 


liillll 


I,  upon  whiili 
Thfi  painter, 
one  lifinfl,  nnd 
r,  moves  this 
nnd  a  shadow 

cnreUjssly  nn 
■  all  ilim  nnd 
f  pnint  in  the 
t  elmir,  on  its 

tlirone  of  the 
83  draped  Iny- 
les — no  hustle; 

air  of  silence, 
lin  the  streets, 
foreign,  and  a 
me  seetns  dif- 

talks  much  of 
this  artist  and 

u  picture,  nnd 
g  round  to  jrou 
nvosses  which 
ver  since  your 
;udio  lives  the 
St  be  like  Eden 
l)ulent  passions 

;t  has  been  ap- 

from  an  occult 
received,  Intter- 
•  not,  we  leave 

But  the  strug- 
ght  of  poverty 
lis  that  flesh  is 
ome  respects,  a 
misfortune,  and 
nA  the  illumina- 
areole  to  crown 

bird  of  poetry 
flame  of  humor 
ts  windows  the 
ive  been  shot — 
la  of  men  have 

misfortune. 

luman  character, 
dianic  who  made 
at,  when  he  re- 
itnessed  the  se'a- 
3  useful  member 
g — and,  that  the 
drinking  vessels 
nangers  in  which 
illy  more  worthy 
It  general,  or  the 
it  be  more  virtu- 
alleviate  human 

increase  them, 
who,  when  Mar- 
1  the  Punic  war, 

one,  was  an  in- 
i  that  or  any  oth- 


'ill  111] 

ii    111  i|!l  !;i  1  l:!!i  !     1 
'  I  Pill  tiiP  i  ''illii  w    ' 

'^ilil|liil'iiki'l!!i|l 


ity'li'iiiiiiii* 


^'.istt 


""'^vS  ' 


mm 


tip*"*  *(Ml^B*- 


^i":'2^_ 


I 


378 


WEST  POINT. 


WEST  POINT. 

Thk  engraving  we  have  presented  on  the 
previous  page  may  give  to  those  of  our  read- 
ers who  never  beheld  the  original,  some  idea 
of  the  picturesque  beauties  of  West  foint. 
To  be  fully  realized,  however,  it  needs  to  be 
seen  ;  for  it  is  not  within  the  utmost  scope  ot 
the  limner's  pencil  or  the  graver's  art  to  do 
full  justice  to  the  magnificent  river  and  moun- 
tain scenery  there  displayed.     There,  indeed, 
does  the  Hudson  appear  "  an  immense  mirror 
in  its  mountain  frame."     All  that  is  grand  m 
the  prospect  of  rock  and  mountain,  or  beauti- 
ful in  the  waves  of  a  broad,  deep  river,  or 
venerable  from   the  associations  of  history 
and  patriotism,  may  be  seen  combined  in  the 
landscape  of  West  Point.     To  the  left  of  our 
picture  may  be  seen— eloquent  in  its  very 
simplicity— the  monument  to  Kosciusko,  the 
brave  Polander,  who  fought  in  our  revolution, 
and  afterward  battled,  martyr-like,  for  the 
freedom  of  his  native  land. 

Indeed,  the  spot  is  as  remarkable  for  mem- 
ories of  the  past,  as  for  its  extraordinary 
prospect  of  "  mountain  and  fl(K)d."  Hallow- 
ed by  the  footsteps  of  Washington  and  Kos- 
ciusko— consecrated  by  a  nation  to  the  Spar- 
tanlike training  of  a  few  devoted  sons— nor 
less  sacredly  secluded  by  nature  as  the  scene 
of  retirement  and  study— it  seems  alike  cal- 
culated to  please  the  pensive  sage  and  the  as- 
piring youthful  soldier. 

«  Bright  are  the  memoricg  linked  with  thee. 
Boost  of  a  glory-hallowed  land  ; 
Hope  of  the  valiant  and  the  free, 
Home  of  their  youthful  goldierband. 


If  each  bright  spot  on  earth  is  indeed  be- 
nignantly  shone  upon  by  some  "  bright,  par- 
ticular star,"  in  night's  splendid  canopy,  then 
may  we  hope  that  one  interwoven  in  "  mem- 
ory's web,"  with  such  glorious  associations, 
is  under  no  despicable  influence. 

West  Point  is  situated  upon  the  west 


ine  chief,  for  the  traitor  Arnold  had  already 
fled  to  the  "  Vulture,"  then  anchored  in  ilie 
channel,  and  his  wife  was  alone  in  her  deso- 
late home,  on  the  opposite  shore.  Washing- 
ton stepped  on  the  shore  of  West  Point,  ac- 
companied by  La  Fayette,  and  Hamilton— 
the  fortress  was  silent  and  almost  untenanted. 
Everything  was  ready  for  the  work  of  treason, 
but  the  hand  of  Providence  was  over  all,  and 
the  schemes  of  the  traitor,  ended  in  his  own 
diagrace.  and  the  death  of  his  friend,  .John 
Andre,  a  distinguished  young  British  officer, 
whose  sad  fate  has  been  regretted  by  many, 
among  both  friends  and  foes. 

The    United    States    Military  Academy, 
which  was  contemplated  at  an  eariy  period 
of  our  national  existence,  with  a  view  to  the 
acquisition  of  scientific  and  military  knowl- 
edge, and  the  enforcement  of  a  uniform  dis- 
cipline in  the  army,  was  established  here  in 
1802.    It  is  situated  on  a  plain  one  hundred 
and  fifty-seven  feet  above  tide-water.     The 
old  buildings,  first  occupied  by  the  Academy, 
Ihave  long  since  gone  to  decay,   and    been 
replaced   by  the  present  structures.     They 
consist  of  two  stone  barracks ;  a  building  for 
exercises  in  winter,  two  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  feet  long ;  a  building  of  Gothic  architec- 
ture, one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  long,  with 
three  towers  for  astronomical  apparatus  and 
an  observatory  j  a  chapel,  hospital,  mess-hall, 
seventeen  separate  dwellings  for  the  officers 
of  the   institution,   several  workshops,   and 
storerooms,  cavalry  stables,  a  magazine,  lab- 
oratory, soldiers'  barracks,  a  st»re,  and  about 
twenty-five  dwellings  for  families  connected 
with  the  establishment.    There  is  also  an  ex- 
tensive hotel  situated  on  the  bank  of  the  nver. 
The   annual  expense  of  the  academy  is 
about  $120,000,  averaging   about  $425  for 
each  cadet.     This  is  one  fourth  less  than  tho 
average  cost  of  each  cadet,  prior  to  1817, 
which  was  not  less  than  $550  per  annum. 
The  library  is  well  selected,  of  military,  sci- 
entific and  historical  works,  containing  ncariy 


Wkst  Point  is  situateu  upon  me  wcsi   ciimii- auu  ...=v«w^-m. — , .;  —   ,.    i" 
baS;  ofthe  Hudson,  where  the'  riv.r  makes    10,000  vdumes._  The  phiW^^^^^ 


an  angle  forming  the  point  from  which  it  de- 
rives its  name.    It  was  strongly  fortified  dur- 
ing the  revolutionary  war,  and  on  Mount  In- 
dependence, elevated  five  hundred  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  river,  still  stands  Fort  Put- 
nam, venerable  in  its  ruins,  stem  monument 
of  a  sterner  age,  which  survived  the  assaults 
of  the  minions  of  tyranny  from  withotit  and 
the  insidif)us  attempts  of  treason  within.    It 
was  here  that  Washington,  while  gliding  over 
the  river  in  his  barge,  observed  the  mountain 
tinged  on  its  summit  by  the  rising  sun,  ex- 
claimed :  "  It  is  strange  that  General  Arnold 
does  not  salute  us.    The  effect  of  the  cannon 
would  be  very  grand  among  these  mountain- 
gorges  !"    But  no  salute  greeted  the  approach- 


tus  lately  received  from  France  is  extensive 
and  constructed  with  the  latest  improvements. 
The  chymical  laboratory,  and  mineralogical 
cabinet  yet  require  enlargement. 

The  months  of  July  and  August,  in  each 
year,  are  devoted  solely  to  military  exerci'ses ; 
for  which  purpose,  the  cadets  leave  the  bar- 
racks and  encamp  in  tents  on  the  plain,  under 
the  regular  police  and  discipline  of  an  army 
in  time  of  war.  They  return  from  camp  to 
barracks  the  last  of  August,  and  the  remain- 
ing ten  months  of  the  academic  ye"  are  de- 
voted to  their  arduous  studies.  The  cere- 
mony of  striking  the  tents  and  marching  out 
of  camp,  is  so  imposing  as  to  be  well  worth 
an  effort  of  the  visiter  to  be  present  on  that 


L 


old  had  already 
anchored  in  »lie 
)ne  in  het  deso- 
lore.  Washing- 
West  Point,  ac- 
and  Hamilton — 
nost  untenanted, 
work  of  treason, 
vas  over  all,  and 
nded  in  his  own 
his  friend,  John 
g  British  ot!icer, 
;retted  by  many, 

Ijtary  Acadeniy, 
an  early  period 
ith  a  view  to  the 
1  mihtary  knowl- 
)f  a  uniform  dis- 
tablished  here  in 
ilain  one  hundred 
tide-water.     The 
by  the  Academy, 
lecay,   and    been 
tructures.     They 
18 ;  a  building  for 
dred  and  seventy- 
F  Gothic  architec- 
y  feet  long,  with 
:al  apparatus  and 
lospital,  mess-hall, 
gs  for  the  officers 
I  workshops,   and 
,  a  magazine,  lab- 
a  store,  and  about 
Families  connected 
i'here  is  also  an  ex- 
e  bank  of  the  river. 
f  the  academy  is 
g   about  $4'25   for 
ourth  less  than  tho 
et,  prior  to  1817, 
$550  per  annurn. 
d,  of  military,  sci- 
i,  containing  nearly 
iiosophical  appara- 
'rance  is  extensive, 
itest  imj)rovement8. 
,  and  mineralogical 
jment. 

nd  August,  in  each 
(military  exercises; 
dets  leave  the  bar- 
on the  plain,  under 
scipline  of  an  army 
etum  from  camp  to 
ist,  and  the  remain- 
idemic  year  are  de- 
studies.  The  cere- 
ts  and  marching  out 
as  to  be  well  worth 
0  be  present  on  that 


«asion.    On  the  previous  evening,  the  camp 
^:  brXntlv  illuminated,  and  enhvened  with 
Ls^dancl^g,  and  bevies  of  beautiful  stran- 
gers •  it  P^^'^ents  quite  a  fairy  scene. 
^  The  8tu.lies  of  the  first  year,  are  algeb  a, 
«ornetrv,  descriptive  geometry,  trigonometry, 
fndT  French  language.    Afl  the  mathemat- 
S  stuJies  are  practically  taught  and  applied 
to  numerous  problems  not  m  the  books;  on 
Se  resolution  of  which  greatly  depend  the 
renutat  on  and  standing  of  each  rival  candi- 
date '"^  pre-eminence.     The  studies  of  the 
seSnl  year,  are  the  theory,  of  shades,  shad- 
ows and  perspective,  practically  lustrated ; 
analytic   geonletry,   with   its   application   to 
conic  secti<,ns;   the  integral  and  dilferential 
calculus,  or  science  of   fluxions;    surveying 
an     mensuration;  the  French  language   and 
the  elements  of  drawing,  embracing  the  hu- 
man figure  in  crayon.     This  completes  the 
Turse  of  mathematics,  and  also  ot  Irench; 
which  the  cadets  learn  to  translate  freely,  as 
Tkey  to  military  science,  but  which  few  of 
them  speak  fluently.  r 

The  third  year  is  devoted  to  a  course  of 
national  philosophy,  including  mechanics ; 
oDtcs  electricity,  magnetism,  and  astronomy; 
toother  wth  ch;mis'ry,  and  sketching  land- 
2nes  with  the  pencil,  and  topography  with 
?he  FnTwhich  complete  the  course  of  draw- 

'"^The  fourth  and  last  year  is  appropriated  to 
the  study  of  artillery  and  infantry  tactics; 
he  scieiiL  of  war,  an^l  f-rificati.«  or  mi^ 
tarv  engineering;  a  course  of  civil  engineer 
n/ embracing  the  construction  of  roads  and 
bifdgeT  railroads  and  canals,  with  the   in.- 
pSfement  of  rivers  and  harbors ;  a  course  of 
KTlogy  and  military  pyrotechny;  togeth- 
™th  Ihe  elements  of  rhetoric,  mora    phi- 
losoThv,  and  national  and  constitutional  law. 
The  graduates  of  the  military  academy  are 
entitled^y  law  to  a  preference  over  other  ap- 
pUcants  for  commissions  in  the  ^rmy-  /«J« 
averaae  number  of  vacancies  is  only  about 
tSy-five  annually,  the  army  -"^J  «o-^e 
'  more  than  filled,  did  not  a  considerable  num- 
ber of  the   graduates  voluntan  y  resign,    n 
or^er  to  embrace  other  professions^orticu 
larlv  that  of  civil  engmeenng.     Al^l»o"Sf 
feenng  under  a  moral  obligation,  to  ofTer  thc.r 
servic'es  to  the  country  in  any  emergency   as 
mnnv  dii^  in  the  late  war  with  Mexico,  tney 
Tei^  :  ri,ht,  as  it  is  freely  permit^c^^^^^^ ' 
time  of  peace,  to  embrace  other  professions 
nwhih  they  may  seek  to  be  still  more  use- 
ful     Those  who  remain  in  the  army  are  at- 
tached as  brevet  second  lieutwants  to  the  dit- 
fe  em  corps,  until  they  may  receive  higher 
rank  on  the  occurrence  of  vacancies 

It  is  the  great  distinction  of  the  academy  ai 
West  Point  that  it  has  contributed  largely 


ill  I 


and  effectually  to  the  elevation  of  the  charac- 
ter of  the  military  establishment.     And  it  has 
accomplished   a  nobler  service,  by   sending 
forth  numbers  annually,  competent  to  super- 
intend the  construcrion  of  those  chains  of  in- 
ternal improvement,  which  are  to  be  the  eter- 
nal bonds  of  our  national  union.     The  rail- 
roads which  connect  the  interior  with   the 
seabord— the  improved  facilities  oi  communi- 
cation afforded  to  the  whole  country-the  new 
roads  which  have  augmented  the  wealth  ot 
the  West,  by  opening  new  channels  of  com- 
munication-and  the  secunties  extended  to 
the  internal  and  foreign  commerce  of  the  na- 
tion, bv  the  river  and  harbor  in-.provements— 
these  arc  some  of  the  enduring  memorials  of 
the  usefulness  of  the  Military  Academy,  and 
of  the  returns  it  has  made  for  the  care  and 
time,  and  money,  which  have  been  bestowed 
unon  it.      Other  tesdmonials  and  o  her  re- 
wards have  been  accorded  to  it,  by  the  liter- 
ary institutions  of  our  country  which  have 
invited  its  graduates  to  fill  important  profes- 
sorships.    No  words  can  demonstrate   with 
one  half  the  force  and  impressiveness,  the 
beneficial  influence  of  the  Military  Academy, 
upon  the  characters  of  its  rnembers,  and  upon 
the  national  reputation.     Withm  the   short 
period  of  forty  years,  this  institution,  whose 
own  high  reputation  is  now  sustained  by  pro- 
fessors, most  of  whom,  1^V%^«™  ^"^".^^^  f, 
within  its  walls,  has  not  only  furnished  to  the 
army  gallant  and  accomplished  officers,  and 
to  the  country  skilful  engineers,  but  has  sent 
forth  principals,  and  professors,  to  ornament 
and  sustain  colleges  and  literary  seminanes. 

But  while  we  would  thus  award  honor, 
where  honor  is  due,  and  show  that,  estimated 
according  to  her  contribution  of  national  sci- 
ence the  Military  Academy  takes  a  high 
stend,  far  be  it  from  her  sons  to  monopolize 
Sction,  or  to  say  that  she  has  done  more 
than  a  Military  Academy  ought  to  have  done, 
in  return  for  all  her  advantages. 


HABITS  OF  THE  ROMAN  LADIES. 

It  has  been  remarked  that  "  a  fondness  for 
adomin"  the  person  for  the  sake  of  obtaming 
admTranon  from  men,  is  natural  to  all  wo- 
mc^  '•  Now  allowing  this  to  be  true,  surely 
^o  one  can  condemn  so  laudable  a  desire  of 
Xasing  on  the  part  of  the  fair  sex,  whatever 
£y  be  its  ulterior  object.  The  female  mind, 
Khe  most  part,  has  so  few  "nt'o;^"^^; 
siderations  wherewith  to  occupy  tself,  and  so 
few  opportunities  of  publicly  '^^^V^Wj' 
u^^ment  and  taste,  except  m  'Patters  of  dress, 
lihat  we  can  not  wonder  at  seeing  so  much  at- 


•f«! 


I 


""^m 


i3iiy. 


"■'•"*., 


^Mg«| 


r 


380 


HABITS  OF  THE  ROMAN  LADIES. 


I 


tention  paid  to  it  by  women  "f  ^ve-^^^f  7^; 
hpsi.les  when  t  19  remcmbcreil  that  tne 
anit  expe:  >'! by  ladies  in  art.des  of  dro.s 
o.,,!  h;\n„tp-n  bv  far  exceeds  that  oi  me 
fqInK  he  creLon"  for  the  same  purpose 
a  female  fondness  for  ftshion  must  always  be 
^"ed  as  a  nation.,  blessing,  an    one 


produce  a  curl;  the  two  Intter  were  made  of 
sold  and  silver,  and  ..mamente.l  with  pearls; 
it  was  probably  with  one  of  these^  bodkins 
that  Cleopatra  gave  herself  a  death-wound, 
and  not,  as  is  commonly  supposed,  with  an 

adder.  .  i  i     -.i 

The  use  of  perfumes,  cosmetics,  and  depU 


considered  as  a  nationnl  blessing,  and  one  o  '^^ailed  to  a  great  ex'ent  among  the 

the  many  a.lvantages  derived  J""™  ''^Pl;"''^^^    iJ,,^,^^^  the  first  were  obtau.ed  at  a  c,,ns,d. 
« *     \H-  would,  however,  by  no  means  oe    ^^^^^^  expense  from  India.  Greece,  and  Per- 
sia; there  are  still  in  existence  a  few  recqes 
for  making  the  cosmetics  used  two  thousand 
VearagoT  and  which  will  be  found  to  have 
many  ingredients  iu    common   with   similar 
preparations  of  our  own  time.     Ovul  gives 
Ihe  following,  and  adds  that  those  who  use  it 
will  possess  a  complexion  sm.K.ther  than  the 
surface  of  their  polished  mirrors  :  "  Take  two 
pounds  of  Lybian  barley,  free  from  straw 
and  chaff,  and  an  mpial  quantity  of  the  pea 
of  the  wild  Tetch,  mix  these  with  ten  eggs, 
let  it  harden,  and  pound  it,  add  two  ounces  of 
hartshorn,  and  a  dozen  roots  of  the  narcissus 
bruised  in  a  mortar,  two  ounces  of  gum.  and 


court     We  would,  however,  by  no  means 

uSsto^l  OS  advocating  that  excessive  bv 

of  dress  which  is  indulged  m  by  sonie,  reck 

°es9  of  aU  consequences,  and  which  would 

ilmo^t  induce  the'm,  Tarpe  a-l.ke  to  sacrifice 

thfir  country  for  a  bracelet.  Ihe  opening 
emark  wasUe  on  the  R^'^f^iE 
thousan.1  years  ago,  and  it  is  of  theu  d  fler 
ent  dresses  that  we  now  propose  to  Yeat 
these,  in  splendor,  richness,  and  gracefulness, 
were  not  surpassed  even  by  those  of  the  pres- 
ent day,  if  we  may  udge  from  he  litt  e  in- 
sight a^TI^rded  us  by  old  Latin  writers  into  the 

immediltly  etioyed  the  '"-^  "J  ^J,^';t'•  |  ^oTunce:  7  m^alVreduce  the  whole  to  a 
which  was  sometimesof  perfumed  water   rt^e^  ^.^.^  .    ^„^j  ^^^  ^       ^imes  the  ,iuan- 

then  underwent  a  process  of  P'J'i"S  T7'M  fity  of  honey."     Some  used  poppy  juice  and 
pumice-stone  for  the  purpose  "f  ««^?°th  ng       y  ^^^^^^  ^         „,  p,,^,^,     „f  bread 

thp  «kln   and  after  being  anom  ed  with  rich    ""^^  '.„.   „^,^  ^y,-^,,  ^1,^^  comnletely  cov- 
nerfumes,  they  threw  around  them  a  loose 
^S  aTl  ;etire^  to  their  dressing-roorns.  where 
they  received  morning  visits  from  their  fnends, 
ffifscussed  the  merits  of  the  last  elcjent 
sneech  delivered  in  the  senate,  or  the  proba- 
bL  conqueror  in  the  next  gladiatorial  combat.  1 
After  the  departure  of  their  visiters  com- 
menced the  bu'siness  of  the.toilet,  which  occu- 
pied  a  considerable    portion    of  ^""^ ,    the 
Lids  were  summoned,  to  each  of  whom  a 
diflerent  duty  was  assigned:  some  formed  a 
Sd  o?  coun^cil,  and  only  looked  -  to  direct 
and  assist  the  others  by  their  afvice  and  ex 
perience  ;  one  held  the  minor  before  her  mis- 
tress; while  others  there  were  to  whom  it 

was  tt  J  g,  -  -  -_, 

The  boakin.  co:b,  and  e.°en^.  to  prepare;-         the  constanj  ™f^,,- ,  bottle  of  the  per- 
With  the  exception  of  the  looking-glass,  ^^  p^estum,  and  there  a  box  of  rouge, 

the  articles  of  the  toilet  were  much  the  same  ^^  ^^^.^        .  „     „„„ther  part  lay 

those  in  use  at  present.     The  glass,  or    "","        __:,_.  v,-„;,i  ^ffnUn  hair,  made  up  by 
mure  properly  speaking,  mirror,  was  composed 
ol  a  high  V-polisbed  plate  of  metal,'  generally 
silver  riciily  chased  around  the  edges,  and 

oiivt>i,    'J  .  t\^.a   Mina  Tint 


and  milk,  with  which  they  completely  cov- 
ered the  face,  and  kept  on  in  their  own  hou- 
ses ;  this,  when  removed,  left  the  skin  smooth 
and  fair.  Depilatories  were  used  to  form  anc 
adorn  the  eyebrows,  which  it  was  considered 
elesant  to  have  joined  across  the  nose. 

On  one  part  of  a  Roman  lady;s  dressing- 
table  might  be  seen  her  small  silver  tooth- 
bnish,  which,  with  the  assistance  of  a  httle 
pure  water,  and  occasionally  a  powder  of  mas- 
tic wood,  formed  her  only  dentifnce;  near  it 
stood    a  paper  containing  a  black  powder, 
which  when  ignited  sent  up  a  volume  of  thick 
smoke,  and  had  the  valuable  property  of  re- 
storing the  eyes  to  their  former  brilliancy,  if 
weakened  by  the   gayety  of  the  preceding 
evening,  or  by  a  sleepk  -  night  occasioned  by 
the  constant  serenades  o,  her  lover  boneatti 


adorned  with  precious  stones;  this  was  not 
fiVed  in  a  frame  like  the  modern  glass,  but 
held  by  a  slave.  The  combs  were  formed  of 
?voy/nd  rosewood.  Curling-tongs,  bwlkins 
and  hair-pins,  were  also  known;  the  former 
was  a  simple  bar  of  iron  heated  in  the  hre 
around  which  the  hair  was  turned  in  order  to 

•  I  n'.Xwa-slioxefVfcre  known  to  the  R<)niaiw,ai>a 
l,i>jKiiKfei<         •„;„„-  i.ni- tlipv  were  not  in 


a  large  coil  or  braid  of  false  hair,  made  up  by 
a  male  hair-dresser,  and   near  it  were  the 
bodkins,  the  chains,  the  rings,  and  hard  by 
the  richly-studded  bands  of  white  and  purple 
which  attorned  the  head ;  this  braid  was  worn 
on  the  crown  of  the  head,  the  ha, r  fnim  he 
nape  of  the  neck  being  all  pulled  out  by  the 
roots.     Continual  changes  were  taking  place 
in  the  fashion  of  wearing  the  hair;  at  first  it 
was  cut  ofT  as  a  votive  otTenng  to  the  gods, 
but  the  Roman  la.lies  soon  discovered  that    a 
•  L,«lunKff/'/«.'<e»were  knowntoti.e  i«...mM», -.;..    luxuriant  head  of  hair  was  *  Powerful  auxi - 
obtained  IVmB  the  PhajniciuuB,  but  they  were  not  in  j  .^^^,   ^^   j^^^^j^  beauty,"   and    allowed   it  to 
general  use.  . 


■"^-V:  :■<-.■. 


ntter  worn  tnoile  of 
lentcd  with  jioarls ; 
[J  of  these  liodkins 
elf  a  (Inath-wounJ, 
supposed,  with  an 

israetics,  and  depil- 
it  ex'ent  amonp  the 
ibtair.ed  at  a  eonsid- 
n,  Greece,  and  Per- 
stence  a  few  reci]  es 
used  two  thousand 
1  be  found  to  liiive 
mmon   with   similar 
time.     Ovid  gives 
lat  those  who  use  it 
n  smoother  tlmn  the 
rjirrors:  "  Take  two 
!y,  free  from  straw 
quantity  of  the  jica 
hese  with  ten  epRS, 
it,  add  two  ounces  of 
;)ot9  of  the  narcissus 
ounces  of  gum,  and 
duce  the  whole  to  a 
line  times  the  (juan- 
used  poppy  juice  and 
or  poultice  of  bread 
liey  completely  cov- 
on  in  their  own  hou- 
I,  left  the  skin  smooth 
vere  used  to  form  and 
ich  it  was  considered 
cross  the  nose, 
omnn  lady's  dressing- 
er  small  silver  tooth- 
assistance  of  a  little 
lally  a  powder  of  mas- 
nly  dentifrice ;  near  it 
ling  a  black  powder, 
it  up  a  volume  of  thick 
luable  property  of  re- 
nr  former  brilliancy,  if 
rety  of  the  preceding 
;  -  night  occasioned  by 
o,  her  lover  l)etieatri 
as  a  bottle  of  the  per- 
there  a  box  of  rouge, 
e  ;  on  another  part  lay 
false  hair,  made  up  by 
and   near  it  were  the 
he  rings,  and  hard  by 
ids  of  white  and  purple 
id ;  this  braid  was  worn 
head,  the  hair  from  the 
ig  all  pulled  out  by  the 
mges  were  taking  place 
ring  the  hair  -,  at  (irst  it 
ive  offering  to  the  gods, 
soon  discovered  that  "a 
r  v.'as  a  powerful  nuxil- 
ty,"  and   allowed  it  to 


HAHITS  OK  THE  llOMAN  LADIES. 


381 


i-row;  ut  one  tiinr  it  was  worn  high  in  bows 
with  n  n.Mgc  of  curls  in  froiu ;  at  aunt  i.r  u- 
l,t.o,rrnur;  lli.Mi   idlowd  to  llniit  in  tli.'  air 
i„  a  di-iu'Vfllcd  Mate,  and  again  a-l,i-»iiUlaue 
i„  ilu.   fonii  of  a  helmet.      VvM  l«';'f  ^^as 
K,mi.'tiin<'s  worn  over  that  of  a  naturally  dark 
shade,  nullum  beinir  the  color  most  eslc'inci 
u,„|   ftdmir.Ml  l.v  both  sexes;  those   who  had  | 
white  or  dark'huir  used  sallion  as  a  dye  to , 
i;iv.'  if  an  auburn  tinge.     S..tnc    adies  used  | 
%M  dust  as  a  hair  pow.ler.  "  whu'h  shed  such  | 
tt  rnv  (if  "lory  aroun<l  thciii  as  da/./.lcd  all  be- 1 
holders  and  "gave  their  heads  an  apiiearauce 
„f  hoin"  on  tire."     When  the  ladies  (hd  not, , 
.•w<-Mr1h<-  hair,"  they  wore  a  kind  ot  veil, 
and  a  turlian  or  bonnet,  called  mitra  ;    ihisj 
'  was  like  a  bishop's  mitre  in  sliape  but  not  so  i 
hi.h.  and  with   a  lajipet  hanging  over  each 
rheck.   somelhin:;,   in   short,  like   a  modern 
mob-euo,  which  elegant  head-.lress  owes  its 
„ri-in,  no  doubt,  to  »he  classical  mitre;  thus 
has' the  Roman  female  head-dress  descended 
to  our  times,  not  only  us  one  ..f  the  uisignia 
of  tlic  members  of  llie  right  reveren.l  beneli, 
but  also  in  the  shaiie  of  a  covering  bir  the  do- 
mestic matrons.  ,,.,,•  1 1 
After  having  performed  their  ablutions,  and  , 
gone  through  all  the  little  .lelicate  offices  ot } 
maUiii"  the  complexion,  pcrfutmng  the  per- j 
son,  and  endeavoring  by  art  to  excel  nature, 
the  Roman  ladies  were  prepareil  to  put  on 
1  their  costly  garments,  which  were  duly  pro- 
duced liy  "the  slave  who  ha.l  the  honorable 
post  of  "mistress of  the  robes."    In  the  eariier 
a.rcs  the  under  garment— which  in  other  re- 
sm-cts  dltrered  little  from  the  modern— was 
worn  as  high  as  the  chin  and  down  to  the  teet, 
so  us  to  leave  no  part  of  the  person  visible 
except  the  face  ;  in  time,  however,  it  was  cut 
lower  and  shortened  ;  over  this  was  worn  the  , 
tm'ica,  a  dress  composed  of  many  folds,  open  at  i 
the  sides  and  with  sleeves ;  these  sleeves  were  I 
left  open  from  the  shoulder  to  the  wrist,  and  fas- 
tened with  clasps  of  gold  and  silver;  one  end  ot 
the  tunica  wis  lixed  to  the  left  shoulder,  while 
the  other  was  carried  across  the  breast  and 
fell  negligently  over  the  right  shoulder  till  it 
touched  the  ground ;  this  train  was  generally 
cariidd  over  the  arm  when  walking,  «o  as  to 
show  the  right  ankle;  but  it  was  considered 
nesU"e  and  graceful  to  allow  it  to  drag  on  the 
ground  instead  of  holding  it  up,  and  conse- 
mKnitly  was  a  custom  much  in  vogiie  among 
the  dlllin^uees  of  ancient  Rome.      1  Ins  was 
the  dress  worn  during  the  republic,  but  it  is 
difficult  to  obtoin  a  correct  description  ot  it 
from  the  very  vague  accounts  handed  down 
to  us ;  probablv,  as  in  most  republics,  little 
attenti(m  was  'paid  to  dress,  at  all  events  it 
was    plain    and    sunple.     It   was   not   until 
the  time  of  the  emperors  that  the  goddess 
of  Fashion  reared  her  head  in  the  capital 


I 

>  J. 


of   the    world,    when,    though    considerable 
alterations   took   i)lace  in  dress,   yet   a   few 
traits  of  the  former  style  were  ri'tamed.    J  lie 
numl'cr  of  Ljarments  worn  varied  uccordmi;  to 
the  tfiniiemlurc  of  the  wearer;    they  were 
generally   three  :   the    first   was   the   simph;  , 
vest;  the  second    a  kiml  of  petticoat  ncliiy  , 
worked  in  front   and   surrounded  at  the  waist 
'  by  a  belt,  whi.di  .iiiswercil  the  purpose  <it  a  , 
I  corset  and  was  fi.rrned  in  front  like  a  sKuu- 
acher,  richly  studded  with. jewels;  then  came 
I  the  third  garment,  the  slula,  which  entirely 
i  super-cded   the   use   of  the   ancient  tunica  ;   \ 
this  was  a  rol)e  with  a  small  tram,  trimmed  , 
I  at  the  bottom  with  a  deep  border  ot   purple  ; 
I  anil  "old  ;  it  was  confined  at  the  waist  by  a  1 
'  belt,"and  the  uj.iier  part  thrown  back  so  us  to 
discover  the  embroidered  front  of  the  mcoikI 
garment  or  (lettieoat ;  on  this  front  was  worn 
the  latiflai-c,  an  order  or  dccorution  of  the 
empire   granted   to    distinguished   men,    and 
■-ometimes   assumed  by  females   in   right  ot 
their  husbands.*     Over  all  thesis  was  worn 
the  valla  or  cloak,  with  a  train  of  some  yards 
in   length,    which   fell  from    the    slMulders, 
where' it  was  fastened  by  two  richly  orna- 
mented filulfe  or  clasps;  this  train  was  trim- 
I  med  with  gold  nnil  silver,  and  sometimes  with 
I  iirecious  ston<!s.  and  was  usually  earned  over 
the  left  sh(Hilder  in  the  manner  of  the  ample 
I  roqudaure  worn  by  gentlemen.     It  will  be 
I  seen  from  the  above  description  that  there  is  , 
1  a  considerable  resemblance  between  the  an- 
'  cient   Roman   dress   and   the    modern  court 
dress,  the  former  (lerhaps  exceeding  the  latter 
in  gracefulness  and  elegance  of  ai)iiearance, 
from  its  numerous  folds  and  flowing  outline. 
The  materials  of  which  these  dresses  were 
composed   were    silk,  cashmere,    and   linen. 
Embroidery  was  procured  from  the  1  hwni- 
rians  an.l  Assyrians;   the  fonner  was  most 
esteemed  as  if  was  raised,  while  the  latter 
was  smooth  with  the  surface  of  the  cloth. 
The   only   color   used  for   robes  was  white 
trimmed  "with  purple,  colored  clothes  not  be- 
ing considered  "rommc  il  faut"  among  the 
higher  orders  at  Rome. 

'I'he  Roman  stocking  was  of  silk,  generally 
iiink  or  (lesh-colorcd,  over  which  was  worn  a 
shoe  or  rather  boot  reaching  above  the  ankle, 
turned  up  at  the  iioint  like  a  Chinese  shoe, 
and  laced  uj)  from  the  i;  stei>  tight  to  the  h-g. 
This  boot  was  made  of  white  leather  or  the 
napvrus  bark,  ornamented  with  gold,  silver, 
and  iewels.  Sandals  wre  also  in  us(^ ;  thev 
consisted  of  a  simple  sole  with  nl.aiid  attached 
to  it,  and  was  laced  \i\)  like  a  modern  san.lal, 


«  Orders  were  sometimes  oonforro,!  on  •«  l''''-  ^  « 
sennt.!  ^'r,mte.l  a  ril..u,.l  of  b  i.coulyir  l'»tlru  t  t  " 
w   "nn.l  motl.er  of  Coriolnnus  to  t.e  won,  by  tl  em 

i  h,  eon^.leration  of  valuable  sers.ces  pertormed  to 

I  the  state. 


"''^P: 


IwH 


•jsr 


382 


INFANT  EDUCATION. 


I 


at  the  same  time  sup,.1y>ns  th^  plnco  of  a 
garter  by  kecpiuR  the  stocking  u  . .     Wt  a  e 
informe.tthat  co.iuettes  used  cork-mes  a 
false  insteps  of  cork,  but  never  (tishpurcd 
thefr  per9.]ns  by  the  barbarian  ornannents  of 

"tt «ir; ialvf -baa  completed  her 
toifet  she  sallied  out.  followed  ^y;  ^l^^'/ 
a  promenade  beneath  the  porticoes  of  the  b  o- 
rL,  where  she  could  not  only  cheapen  g.xds^ 
but  also  hear  what  was  going  on  in  the  law 
courts  ;  after  continuing  !.er  walk  un  the  gen- 
tle ascent  of  the  gay  and  "owded  Suburra 
street    she  returned  to  her  own  house,  the 
threshold  of  which  (if  she  happened  to  be  un- 
rnarried)  was  adorned  with  garlands  of  flow- 
ers, placed  there  by  her  young  patrician  ad- 
mTer  ;  some  of  tliese  (lowers  her  attendant 
^kct;.'  to  mi  the  splendid  vase  which  stood 
in  her  chamber,  and  preceded  her  to  <iriv, 
aside  the  curtain  which  supplied  the  place  of 
a  d(K,r  into  the  tapestried  and  perfumed  a  art- 
ment  •    here  she  enters,  and   sinking  softly 
"own" into  an  ivory  and  gold  adorned  chair 
she  is  welcomed  by  the  chirping  notes  of  her 
ivorite  bird  which  hangs  near  >"  a  gdded 
ca-e.    By  her  side  stands  a  beaut  ful  page, 
who  gently  wafts  a  plume  of  peacocks'  feath- 
ers arouni herhead,  while  a  slave  present    a 
small  stick  wrapped  around  with,  apparent W 
a  roll  of  straw-colored  riband,  but    n  reality 
it  is  a  letter  from  the  young  Emilms,  who 
adopts  this  mode  of  wrfting  in  preference  to 
tha^usual  waxen  tablet  not  only  becau  e  it  is 
a  fashion  introduced  from  .Oreece,  but  be- 
cause it  preserves  most  inviolably  those  se- 
crets which  are  only  meant  to  meet  the  eye 
of  his  lovely  mistress;  far  be  it  from  us  to 
pry  into  these  secrets,  so  let  us  now  bid  adieu 
[o  the  fair  Lucretia,  who  begins  anxiously  to 
unrol  the  folds  of  her  papynan  epistle. 


INFANT  EDUCATION. 


To  those  persons,  yet  too  numerous,  who 
hold  secular  education  to  be  limited  to  read- 
ing, vmting,  and  counting,  the  eJucation  of 
inLts  has' appeared  a  practical  absurdity 
How  can  hahies  be  taught  to  read,  to  wnte. 
or  cast  accounts?     Wc  answer  whatever  may 
be  effected  in  theseaccomplishments  with  the 
older  children  of  infant-schools-and  much  is 
effected— reading,  writing,  and  counimg,  torm 
no  essential  parts  of  infant  (ducation.     In- 
hnitelv  higher  cares  demand  the  infant-train- 
er-s  stud  vT    The  germ  of  mind  is  in  his  hands. 
That  mind,  which  he  is  presumed  to  know  in 
its  future  full  development,  is  before  him  in 
its  first  feeblest  manifestalions-nmnifestations 
which  l>e  can  recognise,  and  mould,  and  direct 


ari"ht,  to  the  incalculable  good  of  the  individ- 
ualand  societAr ;  or  leave  undiroctod  to  all 
the  chances  of^ incalculable  evil.  His  posi- 
tion is  not  merely  important-it  is  awful;  and 
he  is  unfit  to  occupy  it  whom  it  fails  so  to 
impress.  The  function  of  the  highest  and 
latest  academical  chair  shrinks  into  insipnih- 
cance  when  compared  with  the  behest  ot  him, 
who,  in  the  person  of  a  Wilderspm,  was 
taunted  as  the  "  baby-professor." 

Education  begins  almost  with  birth.  W  hat 
is  called  an  infant-school  is  really  an  advanced 
stage,  strange  as  it  may  sourid  to  many  ears. 
The  infant-school  is  physically  impracticable 
with  children  in  the  nurse's  arms ;  they  must 
be  able  to  stand  alone  and  walk,  or,  as  a  rule, 
to  have  reached  the  age  of  two  years.     1  here 
are  then  two  precious  valuable  years  to  be 
accounted  for ;  how  have  they  been  bestowed  7 
The  future  man  may  have  been  made  or  mar- 
red in  these  two  years,  according  as  they  liave 
been  devoted,     ^he  infant  can  not  read  or 
write,  but  he  can  perceive,  and  feel,  and  act. 
It  is  born  with  some  mental  faculties,  in  lull 
capacity   to   act.      It   speedily  _  sees,  hears, 
taites,   smell,   touches,  mechanically,  moves 
and  resists,  and  shrinks  when  support  is  with- 
drawn for  an  instant.     It  feels  pam.     It  knows 
how  to  act  in  obedience  to  the  'nstinct  of 
food.    It  cries  when  unsupplied,  and  otten 
manifests  violence  and  passion.  _  It  is  soon 
engaged  in  perceiving  and  examimngrnatenal 
objects,  and  when  gaining  a  knowledge  of 
their  (lualities,  is  occupied  more  importantly 
than  it  will  ever  be  in  its  years  of  mature  ac- 
complishment.   Is  there  no  field  for  the  edu- 
cator in  all  this?     There  is,  and  one  of  the 
most  delicate  and  skilful  cultivation.    Keep- 
in"  in  view  that  education  has  two  great  ends 
—"to  train  all  the  faculties  to  proper  action, 
and  to  instruct  the  intellectual,  let  us  make 
the  attempt  to  describe  the  beau-ideal  ot 
secular  education,  commencmg.  as  it  ought, 
with  cradle-education,  soon  after  birth,     n 
has  been  said  that  we  can  imagine  a  niount- 
ain  of  pure  gold,  and  a  sea  of  wme;  let  us 
then  conceive  what  as  yet  is  almost  as  unre- 
alizable, a  series  of  educators,  ready  for  a  for- 
tunate human  being,  from  his  birth  onward 
to  his  maturity,  who  are  quahfied,  by  pnnu- 
ple  and  practice,  to  conduct  every  step  of  his 
Training  and  instruction  aright.    To  his  nur«e 
-and  iell  for  him  will  it  be  that  that  func- 
tionary is  the  nurse  of  nature,  the  mothcr-is 
assigned  the  deeply  responsible  f'^nctitm  o 
commencing  the  course  ;  and  we  are  entitled 
toZuire  that  the  child  shall  not  be  subjected 
to  any  counteracting  influences  from  the  ig- 
norance of  others  around  him.     We  presume  jj 


norance  oi  uuucio  tx.^"""  — ■—  .   „i,,,a; 

1  that  the  mother  knows  infant  nature  physi- 

I  cally  and  morally,  and  that  the  conditions  of 

'  bodily  health  and  right  mental  developirtnt 


ml  of  the  individ- 
undirnctpd  to  all 

evil.  His  posi- 
-it  is  awful;  anJ 
om  it  fails  so  to 

the  highest  ami 
iks  into  insifrnifi- 
;hR  behest  of  him, 
Wildcrspin,  was 
isor." 

vith  birth.  What 
enlly  an  advanced 
,nd  to  many  ears. 
nUy  impracticable 

arms ;  they  must 
kralk,  or,  as  a  rule, 
wo  years.  There 
table  years  to  be 
jy  been  bestowed  ? 
jeen  made  or  mar- 
irding  as  they  have 
t  con  not  read  or 

and  feel,  and  act. 
il  faculties,  in  full 
edily  sees,  hears, 
3chanically_  moves 
en  support  is  with- 
elspam.     It  knows 
to  the  instinct  of 
applied,  and  often 
ission.     It  is  soon 
examining  material 
g  a  knowledge  of 
I  more  importantly 
years  of  mature  ac- 
10  field  for  the  edu- 
;  is,  and  one  of  the 
cultivation.    Keep- 
1  has  two  great  ends 
;s  to  proper  action, 
jctual,  let  us  make 

the  heau-ideal  of 
encing,  as  it  ought, 
oon  after  birth.  It 
m  imagine  a  mount- 
sea  of  wine ;  let  us  i 
5t  is  almost  as  nnre-  1 
itors,  ready  for  a  for- 
ira  his  birth  onward 

qualified,  by  prinei- 
uct  every  step  of  his 
iright.     To  his  nurse 
it  be  that  that  func- 
iture,  the  mother — is 
iponsible  function  of 
;  and  we  are  entitled 
shall  not  be  subjected 
luencea  from  the  ig- 
i  him.     We  presume 
,  infant  nature  physi- 
that  the  conditions  of 
t  mental  developn  ent 


are  both  perfectly  understood,  and  kept  stead- 
ily in  view  by  her.     She  is  fully  instruct... 
S^infnnt  treatm.-nt,  ami  has  tally  abjure.l  all 
the  ,nischiev..us  absur.lities  which   peril  in- 
fant h.M.Uh.  an.l  multiply  infant  graves,     ^he 
kn,iws  the  grn.lual  and  successive  develop- 
ment of  the''  human  faculties ;   the  watcm's 
with  int.'nse  inter.-st  the  first  bud.bngs  of  the 
intu.it  min.l ;  sh.-  nccnpies  its  wakuig  moirn...  s 
Skill  in  this  occuputi.m  is  itselt  a  t-vt  ot  tUt 
merits  .>f  a  nurse.     It  hns  two  mmTtant  r.- 
^Uts:  it  ex..rcis..s  and  thereby  lu.^ov.-  th.^ 
senses  an.l  observant  p..wers,  and  «.t  cUrah 
from  the  inr.-ssant  importunity  .^t  the  anunn 
feelings,  less,.nin}.  th.-r.-by  their  intensity,  and 
luvinu  the  f.mn.lati.m  of  virtuous  habits.     A 
wide  dillerenc;  is  obse.'val>lo  ,.>no„!i  nurses  ,n 
,..,wernnd  .lispositi.m  t.)  amuse  mtants;  l)ut 
even  the  best  .rnrrlfr  w.iuM  gam  y.-t  gr.-utcr 
purchase,  if,  fr.mi  kn..wl.Misc'  ot  tl...  nature 
and  m.xlcof  a<ni.mof  the  sens..san.l  ...s.Tv,ng 

•s   she  otr.Tc.l  amusement  winch  w.)ul.l 


l?f 


tend  to  their  improvem.M.t.      1-  mms.   si/es. 
colors,  arran^.MncMt,  number,  relative  p.isiti.m. 
an.l    resistunee,   may   all   be   >'""'«/';;"" 
amusements,  less.)ns,  ami  exercises,  t-  tlK; ,"  ; 
fanf,  while  the  sevral  senses,  through  which 
their  perception  gains  a.lmittan.-e  t..  their  ap- 
pn.priatc  cerebral  ..rgans,  may  all   be  p.  sn,g 
hr.  ugh  a  curse  of  improvei.uMM:  by  various 
judicious  trials  of  their  vigor.     The  relati.ms 
if  musical  tones  arc  often  v.Ty  early   per- 
ceived.    We  have  heard  a  part  of  a  mel.Mly 
hummed,  in  imitati.m..f  its  nurse,  by  an  ii.iant 
scarcely  a  year  ol.l.     A  sinjimg  nurse  ,...sses- 
ses  a  grand    additional   .pialihcuti.m  tor  her 
office;  there  is  no  excitement  more  wholc- 
s.,me  to  the  infant's  spirits  than  a  lively  song, 
no  diversion  tV.im  excess  of  animaliMU  more 
powerful.     Animalism  is  pre-eminently  pres- 
ent in  the  infant,  for  the  wisest  en.ls.     Un- 
,,ualified  selfishness,  in  the  matter  «'*/'!'»';« 
essential  to  an  infant's  existence;  "^''-l .''  «^" 
not,  in  its  sphere,  more  benefit  the  s.)c  e  y  of 
which  it  has  become  a  member  th'in  by  just 
such  self-seeking.     But  even  the  infant  may 
ly  the  gluttonrand  form  a  hatnt  thus  ear  y 
which  will  unfav..rably  characterize  the  a.lult. 
Or"anizati.m   will    .iirect    the    phrem.logica 
m,.'therin  this  particular;  f''^  «f ''^^.XT^J 
matiifests  itself  a  few  h..urs  after  ^irth    "s 
cer.'bral  in.lication  is  early  developed.     JNext, 
in  .Kder  of  time,  to  the  alimentive,  t^"^"'"" 
bative  and  destructive  mstincts  show  them- 
selves.     The   plaintive  wail  of  pam  gives 


imnression.     Then  is  the  habit  of  irascibility 

firit  f..rmed,to  bec.mc  m..re  and  more  delia.it 

of  eontr..l,   till  its  strength  in  aflcr-lile  may 

,listurb  .louiostic  and  public  peace,  br.mk  out 

in  acts  of  violence  and  homici.le,  or  tonninate 

in    dangerous    insanity.      The    enlightened 

m,.ther  knows  all  this,  an.l  watches  cl..s  dy 

the  incipient  signs,  connecting  them  with  the 

rvi^^sorganizati..n.     Then  will  he,  powers 

o  .fivert  bt  calle.l  f.jr.     For  every  paroxysm 

'  of  temiirr  which   she  succeeds  in  averting, 

will  b.'so  much  gained  to  the  mo.lcration  of 

the  faculty's  activity-of  its    uture  strength 

„„,1  ,l,tiance  of  c.ntrol,  ti  I.  like  the  sk  If. 

physician,  wh...  by  mitigating  the  peruKhcal 

L,t-acks..f  disease,  lessens  at  ""'^e    '.ei    fre- 

MU.ncv  and  severity,   she  has  succeeded  in 

t'ormirl.T  a   character   of  patience,  am    even 

g  .  Uleness,  compared  with  what  would  have 

i:esuUed  from  leaving,  as  IS  yet  t'- ^''^  ^^« 

course  to  do,  the  coml)ative  and  destructive 

Lnpulses  to  their  own  wil.l  way-and  s..ciety 

to  niakc  fruitless  laws  for  "-e^'f «"","- /J^'";'- 

In  the  course  of  the  two  y.jars  of  what  may 
be  called  the  nursery  period,  other  fact. lies 
still  of  the  inferior  an.l  sellish  class,  will    n 
various  degrees,  but  always  according  t<    or- 
;anl,ation,%ucc..ssiv.ly  exhibit   themscdves 
The  .rermsof  faculties,  which  in  excess  are 
cov.tousness.  cunning,  pride,  vanity,  an.l  ..b- 
stiiiacv.  will  be  found  t..  answer  to  organi/a- 
ti.m;  and  the  well-prepare.l  mother  wdl  .le- 
t.^ct  them,  when  to  c.thers,  they  would  remain 
invisible;  till,  at  a  later  peno.l,  they  become 
unmistakable.  fV..m  the  .l.unest.c  ann.,yance 
which  thev  occasion.     These  are  the  mani- 
festathms  of  faculties  planted  ">  t^'^Tnot 
constituti.m  tor  wise  and  g.....l  ends,  when  not 
in  al.use,  of  which  abuse  the  above  series  are 
he  nau,;s.     The  skilful  nurse  wil  guide  them 
a.i.bt.  an.l  present  them  with  their  i^ropcr 
"bCctk     She  kn.,ws  that  she  will  hnd  the 
laniest  organs  certainly  the  m.)st  temling  t.. 
exc^'.'ssive  and  unfavorable  manifestation,  ami 
"these  her  corrective  attention  will  be  chiefly 

.lirected.  Her  powers  of  Ji^'^--^'""  ^^'(f  ""^.^ 
er  fail  her.  As  with  passi.m,  so  with  obsti- 
nacy she  must  .tivert  the  infant  from  Us  ex- 
cS  causes,  and  never  conten.  with  it;  and 
s.,  of  all  others;  she  will  avoid  an  unwise  or 
th.-ughtless  purveyance  of  their  objects. 

Having  succcded,  as  she  will  not  fail  to 
do,  if  there  be  no  .n.ire  than  an  average  en- 


dowment of  the  animal  Vr^'^^^'f^t^y'l' 

ducincT  at  least  the  negative  quahties  ot  pa- 

seivcs.      me    i>m.......    ..-..--    ■    ,„^"  „_  1  tipnce".  moderation   in  foot!,  and  absence  oi 

phiccin   ™any_  mfatits    1.  Je  ^la^  r  ^    --^^^    ^  °^---y'rt;^::^ 


place,  m   many   iiii.»..^=-,  v.-    -■--  -      .,  . 

ot  temper,  and  very  young  >"f''"%^;"^J''f^^ 
and  strike,  and  kick,  ami  roar,  till  they  are 
well  nigh  black  in  the  face.  PhreTiological 
physiologists  can  tell  the  ertect  of  this  over- 

exercise  on  the  pl«»ti«  \nf''"V^''''"'L,*'  "n 
later  period  of  life  will  it  make  so  deep  an 


cunning,  gree.liness,  °"*V  \b,  si^rns  of 
vanity  and  self-esteem,  shoul.1  the  s  gns  oi 
the  last  two  appear,  she  will  -  -mejie  h^^^^^ 
(.learns  of  the  higher  unselfish  leeimg  oi 
Colence.  Thi's  will  first  ap.jear  in  th 
passive  and  negative  form  of  a  gentle  sweet 


S** 


iins!«,  but  nm\    l'< 
i     t  ,  lnm.-s,i.-  a.nn.als  ,.ro„rn....  t-  ...<r.'  s 

rx  r.^..-  ll.us  far.  xviH  Ln  ot  .nrstnnal.l.  am, 
ami  w  11  t.ll  for  life  m-n  .1-  "'^l^^^^^ 
u-T  Hv  tlx-  tiin.^  ot  the  sccoial  anniv(  rsary 
f  ;.ur  Jfe-''.s  l--.rtl..la.-  arriv.H-l.r.-smn,ng,  n« 
ot  our  <>(«"  .■<  ,,„•.. ntive  pownrs  have  re- 
""'"■      {     n  ta     ■< 'x  •  -ir-  as  to  he  strcngth- 

:;;::rln:r^Siv:;,hk..owi..i,o  of  things  and 

tl  .  r  "  ."litifH  ^vhich  present  thenme  vos  in 
„,V,.i        -there  will  h.  intro.luc..lt..lhc 

f„{  the  .nore  ailvance.l  course   vh.eh  «    1  he 
mil  in  that  valuahle  seminary.      With  Ji'« 
f,  i  It  a.  1  hope  the  excellent  nwther  will  han.l 
e    ch  .    over  to  the  infant-school  teacher. 
ShetldoncadiUyofhighJ.«n,ty-    h 

rS;;::n«^heSJS;afs^^^^ 

t^  conformity,  than  l-^tory  has^ever  r  - 
cor.le.l  him,  with  the  image  '« J^"^,;'  ,,^;;, 
created.  But,  a  as  !  when  shal  such  things 
be  -When  shall  we  see  such  clnklren-when 

"gj'ii^ris  now  introduced  to  the  little 
w.Sd  of  the  infant-school,  where  he  will  en- 
;; advantages  denied  to  the  -I't-le  of    he 
nursery.     He  minijles  with  numbers,  ol  ^v  hicn 
Tment  the  importance  ^^^^n  iTiSow- 
h»  character  is  obvious.     He  hnds  his  ttUow 
„:„  in  a  variety  of -peots.  -th  a  -nety 
of  characters  resembling  <»nd   JiHen.ig  t«^in 
h  8  own,  in  his  intercourse  with  whom  he  will 
find  use  for  all   the   faculties  he   possesses 
whiehTmp  y  social  existence  as  man's  destiny. 
Some  of  llLe,  in  their  n--f-|f-- 't"o  hi 
-"11.-!'-. -7.^^^rrl°"  i"  "fo'l'mav 


reallv  I'e  eulleii,  ■■■  ■■  i -  .  ,       , 

tv   the  hi-di  moral  standard  which  guides  the 
i;,tVrcourse  of  the  little  comu.unity. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  d.  toil  at    engtV.   the 
curriculum  of  u  good  "''»"'-'"=^"'"'-„,.  :,,   ,,? 
„„    the    subject    are    numerous.       Those    ot 
Wilderspin.  the  great  imi.rover  ol  tl>'JJ«^" - 
inaries,  are    well   known.      The  number  ot 
Cltamher^'i,  Eclucatiomd  Course  ent.tle.l  "In-  , 
fant  Education.- is  itself  a  concise  SU'''';  f"'-"  ] 
whi<-h  a  judicious  person  might  establish  and 
;;  luet  an  infant-school.     '{I'f  nf"!  »>7"«!' 
of  the  svst.m  must  ever  he  held  the  most  im- 
portant."   It.  order  to  direct  this  branch  aright, 
}h«  teacher,  like  the  mother,  must  intimatelv 
know  the  faculties,  both  animal  and  moral, 
^vhich  all  act  blin.lly,  as  l^'-^.  f^;"'"'?;:  ^f;/, 
cuided  by  an  improved  intellect.      Ihe  liest 
1  infant-sch.K,!  teachers  we  have  met  ^v^th  arc 
practical   phrenologists.     Such  easily  ascer- 
'  iuin  the  diversities  of  organization.     But  they 
possess   other    advantages.      Aware   ot    tl^ 
fn.^ultie8,  they  observe  and  distinguish  the^ 
marked  manifestations,  and  know  well  how 
to  meet   them  with  restraint  or  encourage- 
ment, as  respectively  reMUired.     The  anin^al 
or  selfish  faculties  generally  recpure  the  rem 
_lhe  moral  or  social  thes,.ur;  and  delicately 
and  judiciously,  will  an  accomplished  mftn 
teacher  use  either.     His  mora    lessons  ^^Mll 
inculcate  how  the  selfish   ^^-^^^ ^^^^^ 
abused,  and  how  invanab  y,  by  t^,-  ^^"''L, 
moral  laws,  such  abuse,  besides  deteatingU 
own  end,  is  followed  by  su  lenng-and  not 
less  certainly  how  the  exercise  of  mercy  and 
truth  bring  not  only  delight  in  their  exercise, 
but  reward  in  their  consequences,     i.cssons 
of  temperance  tell  admirably  on  the  pupils 
of  infant-schools.     A  horror  of  drunkenness 
and  a  knowledge  of  all  its  evil  consequences, 
are  most  satisfactorily  prevalent  in  many  an 
infant-school ;  and  ot'ten  has  a  .-liild.  with  Us 

oome  .u  V....... -      ,         ,  .     ...  .,, }-:,    impressions  lisped  forth  at  home,  shamed  a 

comiianions,  may  encroach  on  his  right  to  his    ^        ^  '^  i„f„  sobriety,  and   been 

a  others  on  his  little  F"P"^y '  .Xh.vl    known  to  brin'g  him  from  the  ale-bench  when 
touch  his  self-esteem,  others  mortijrhm  love    K  p„,,eavors  have  been  brutally  re- 

„f  approbation,  and    n   o^^V^jV/y.  ^  r;;ii,a.     Mercy  and  kindness  to  animals,  pro- 
forbJarance :  such  feelings  it  will  be  the  J m  J     PJ  ^^^  ;,,,k  and  ""becile   respect  for 


forbearance:  sucn  ieeiiiis=>.^ -  ,  .- 

ess<m  and  exercise  of  the  place  to  control  m 
S  elf.  and  forgive  in  ^i V^^^-^f  J  '^ 
mates  and  he  will  be  led  to  love  his  litt  e 
"nSs  if  so  they.may  be  called  and  requie 
them  good  for  evil.  Such,  he  will  »earn.  is 
theT-ractice  of  good  and  great  men;  and  no 
man  is  creat  who  is  not  also  good. 

The  training  of  the  faculties,  begun  m  the 
nursery  will  proceed  in  the  infant-sch.Kil, 
nursery,   ""    i  ._„..,,    „„i„.    Thev  will  be 


lection  to  the  Weak  and  imbecile  respect  for 
Sn  mate  .lesiructible  things-delicate  atten- 
,"^  to  avoid  annoying  others  by  troublesome 
rieanly  l-ctices-willing  obedience^  to 
rules  and  regulations-punctual.ty-respect 
fulness  and  atlection  to  superiors— love  to 
JJuals,  and  kindness  to  all.  have  all  been  re- 
al  zed  in  well-conducted  infant-schoo  s. 
The  intellectual  branch  of  infant  education. 


infant-sch<Ki1,        The  mteiiectu^. :"  „ot  „ealected  in  a  school 

nur»i;iY,   ""'    I --         ,       rru^v  will  be  '  though  secondary,  IS  not  negietieiii"  » 

and  on  a  more  extended  scale.    They  wi  1  be    in  j^  j  ^^  ^^^_     rp^g^g  ,g  „« 

^r  ngthened   by  much  -^X''VTotZZ'^tZ^^-^ ^-^  overLrking  the  knowing  or 

_,    l„    nr.,1   pxercise.      The  etiect  ol  an  m-    i.r»'"""   h         ,•,,•„       rpUo  too<.Vipr  knows  the 

;:c"^  riv^lryTu  bebg  and  doing  good  willlreflectingfacult.es. 


lin  i^  (•<ii)Vf'r''niit 
nt  of  wliiit  "iiiy 
lit'  'ifiicriil  siir'w- 
ivliich  nuiilM  t)\e 
iHinity. 

W  at"  lcn^;tl>  ili" 
-schiiol.     W  rks 
miH.      Those  of 
vcr  iif  these  scm- 
Tli«!  niimluT  of 
ursf  entitled  "In- 
iticisi!  gui'le.  from 
iulit  establish  011(1 
rhe  moral  brunch 
held  the  most  iin- 
this  branch  ariKhti 
r,  must  intimiitelv 
luimnl  and  niornl, 
■re  fcolinps,  utdess 
;clkct.     The  best 
hove  met  wth  ore 
inch  easily  uscer- 
izutioii.     But  they 
Aware   of  the 
1  distinguish  their 
(1  know  well  how  I 
aint  or  oneourage- 
ired.     The  animal 
lly  require  the  rein 
|mr;  and  delicately 
ccomplished  infant 
moral  lessons  will 
I   fncultirs  may  be 
ly,  by  the  Creator's 
besiiles  defeating  its 
sullering:— and  not 
crcise  of  mercy  and 
ht  in  their  exercise, 
lequences.     Lessons 
rnbly  on   the  pupils 
rror  of  drnnkenness, 
ts  evil  consequences, 
•evnlent  in  raany  an 
has  a  ehild,  with  its 
at  borne,  shamed  a 
sobriety,   nm\   been 
the  ale-bench,  when 
ve  been  brutally  re- 
Iness  to  animals,  pro- 
imbecile,  resjiect  for 
jjfigs; — Llelicate  atten- 
thers  by  troublesome 
ivilling    obedience   to 
punctuality— respect- 

0  superiors — love   to 
all,  have  all  been  re- 

1  infant-schools. 

ch  of  infant  education, 
t  neglected  in  a  school 
to  be.  There  is  no 
•king  the  knowing  or 
'he  teacher  knows  the 


.UuncT  as  well  as  the  fruitfulness  of  such  Q 

rC     lie,  is  well  aware  ..f  the  prernaturo 

::;:;ofpn.oeiouschUdp,^gn.jranUyn.^ 

v,,;„..in'iously  ov.'rworked.     Uo  knows  ti  at 

S.  the  ,n.ir«l  organs  are  '^rcn^'^Ahy 

Tx 'rcise,  the  intellectual  arc  '"J"""'  '"y  ,"  ;^- 

w,rk       His  lessons  addressed    to  the   latter 

:rbeneidental,  having  much. ..the  nature  J 

,davH"d   never  too  long  continue.l  at  a 
i:-Mmd.  may  be  insensibly  c-mimunum-l 
,      ;.,  this  -viiv.     Lessons  on  objects  and  their  , 

.     i  '':;;l.  rendered  intensely  attramve 
i    we  1  as  instructive,  till  a  great  amount  ..t  1 
":J:     elementary    knowledge   is   requ.re.l -, 
0  .'experience  has  shown  that  many  ch.  dren, 
?n  the   r....r  years,  from  two  to  six,   duruig 

of  Arithmetic,  and  geography  l^';-!';  '^«;  ^ 

..  All  this  imparted  to  your  ^l'^-'''^^"^^,l 
single  rr//AW»«.v  lesson!"  will  probably  be  the 
Xna.ion  of  tnany.     We  answer^  ^nu 
„/•  it  without  religious    essons.",    ^    ^"^  J^ 
of  the   young,   who  is  himself  imbed  w.h 
he    eli.f  that  nature's  laws  arc  of  God  s  ap- 
o  n.rnent.  in  their  most  stupendous  and  mn- 
Ltest,  relations-that  he  !^''^-""^;\?^J>^'^,"  ', 
anil  not  li'ss  the  moral  world,  by  hx  a  laws, 
wh  ch  h is  intelligent  creatures  are  bound  to 
Wm  anTobeV-that  the  exquisite   adnpta- 
01  "  «d   hese  laws,  when  obeyed,  to  the  hap- 
Alof  sentient  beings  demonstrate  a  bcnev- 
u     au    the  sullerings  hehas  attached  to 
ttft.ce,a^stBeu^-nisj^^^ 

^:ti'\Z:t  Sh:rphysical  or  moral 
truth  without  discerning  the  present  God  in 
hi^  own  mind,  and  loving  hirn  in  his  own 
heart  and  imparting  that  knowledge  and  that 
love  by  instruction  and  sympathy,  to  his  pu- 
is     When  a  teacher's  attention  was  con- 

fants.  while  the  whole  ^<=l?f ""  '^^.^^^^^^ 
revelation,  unknown  as  it  was  to  the  instruc 
or  was  a  sealed  book  to  the  instructed,    buch 

discover,  so  to  spean,  "  t  ttiP  aim- 

good  God,  in  his  own  e'^'*'''"^^' ''"^^  Tr- 
i.le  and  intelligible  arrangeirients,  ^hich  sur 
ound  lim  and"  give  him  -  oyment  an^  ha^ 
niness  •  till  a  practical  conviction  that  uou  is 


!«| 


I  tudo  for  his  g.x..lnes«.  wouhl  e-iunlly  sreure 
'  h.ve.     A^deep   feelitifi  ol   ,Me,y   nn.V  Ih= 

'  kindled  in  the  infant  bosom  by  uumeomplish- 
'  ed  infant-school  teacher.        ,.    ,    ,       ,.,, 

inlrlwol,  where  are  assembled  the  children 
'  „f  narents  of  every  variety  ol  (lin-iimi  doc- 
i,  e   aud  of  some  perhaps  whose  behel  is  no 
•Christian  fuilh.  our  pertect  svst.n.  w.mh 
ruidlv  r^r.^yuU;  the  introduction  ol  the   intant 
mi    rto   -hat  must   be  the   tea.her's  own 
"::;'al    reUgious   beli.;f  on,     "I-;;'--,  ^ 
I  1  uve  presumed  an  enlightened  moth  rut  home, 
who  will  have  well  considered  and  conscien- 
'  isly   ix  d  her  own  faith,  and  care  u  ly  se- 
"Jher  religious  pastor.     She  atid^h^^ 
best  determine  the  lime  and  the  way  of  her 
be  ov'^1  child's  introduction  to  the  pall,  which 
lendeth  to  o  kingdom  not  ot  this  wurld-to 
"    nil  salvation."   Who  will  dare  to  antic.- 
1    ,ate  the  sacre.l  teachings  of  this  inner  school 
r  inculcate  faiths  and  forms  which  that  schoo 
may  repudiate,  nay,  it  may  bjN  »  -1""  ?     »"* 
•w.vfuUv  will  the  t«vor..l  child  be  receive 

to  that  sacred  sanctuary,  i.nbued.  as  he  w  11 
bo.  as  a  foundation  for  other  instruction  w,  h 
a  kn..wledge  and  h,vc  of  God  as  revealed  in 

his  natural  creation.  ,        -i     i  „,.  ,>„„, 

We  should  perhaps  have  described  s.K)ner 

the  provisions  made  in  the  mfant-school  for 
lyi^cal  education.  A  playground  .s  not  otilv 
.  ?ential  for  such  a  seminary,  but  is  the  chief 

department  of  it.     Bordered  with  the  neatest 

o,j  tivation,  stocked  with  the  ch.ncest  flowers. 

a.  orned  wilh  tasteful  and  even  fragile  erections 


aiornedwitniasieiui  •»•"'-•■',■ r--    - 

of  taste,  all  to  practise  in  rchnement  and  care, 
it  as  an  ample  space  for  exerc.ses,  be  .tting 
he  g.^.f  the  pu  .ils.  In  this  p  ace.  with  Us 
fres^air,  more'  than  half  their  tune  at  school 
s  8  ent,  their  sittings  in  schm,!  at  one  time 
being  short;  and  here  their  intercourse  is  free, 
imlfheir  social  feelings  the  l-^tter  ex..c,sed 

No  child  arrived  at  six  years  "f  "S*-'; ^   "  « 
not  unfortunately  or};anr/.ed,  a  8">y'=t  '''»'« 
watched   in   after-life,  can  leave   an  infant- 
Thol  without  much  of  that    mprovement. 
that  formation  of  character,  which  education 
tSa   at  once  trains  and  instructs  must  neces- 
sarilv  produce.     Our   supposed   cxpnunent 
having  joine.l  the  school  ^vUh  the  best  mate^r- 
5al  pre  .aration.  and  reaped  all  ttshenehts  the 
more  easily  and   perfectly   because  of  that 
preparation,  all  the  school  lessons  and  the 
school  execises  seconded  and    enforced   at 
home  the  health  and  strength  improved,  he 
itTs    hat  ^vill  do  most  credit  to  the  second 
stage  of  his  education,  the  infant-school,  and 
prove  its  incalculable  advantages. 
P  Ve  are  prepared  to  hear  that  ;."ch  viewB 
are  visionary  and  Utopian.      We^'   ^^^  ,^',' " 
r^v  are  emmentlv  practical— nay  more,  tney 
are^iraSle,  a^d^extreme  as  tf.ey  may  ap- 
pear,  they  will  yet  be  universally  lealued. 


'^  IS 


■i-^ 


f^ii*- 


386 


BUHNINU  A  I'lUKST  AT  TAVOY,  SUM. 


BURNING  A  PRIEST  IN  SIAM. 


TiiK  death  of  a  ronghnr.  or  presulent  of  a 
kyoung  \»  ruganlo.!  as  a  gn^at  ev.-nt.  an-l  the 
funcrttVis  conducted  with  pomn  and  c<rern..ny. 
The  l)o.ly,  being  .■ml)0W(,-l.Ml,  uml  it«  juices 
preL.l  out,  ■»  filled  with  hon-'V.  ".-d  swathed 
Fn  many  fol.l.of  vnrni.l.od  dutt,.  Tho  who  e 
is  coated  with  beeswax;  that  which  covers 
the  face  and  feet  being  »«  wrought  as  to  re- 
semble tl>e  deceased.  These  parts  are  then 
Cilded.  The  body  often  lies  in  state  many 
months,  on  a  platform  highly  ornamented  with 
fringes,  colored  paper,  pictures,  ficc 

Durin.'  my  stay  at  Tavoy,  occurre.l  the  lu- 
neral  of  a  .lintinguishcl  Ponghee.     If'^.ty, 
and  the   great  j.reparalions  which  hud  been 
made  for  it,  attracted  almost  the  entire  impu- 
luce.     The  boily  had  been  lying  in  state,  un- 
der an  ornamental  canopy  for  seyvral  month*, 
embalmed  in  Burman  fashion.     The  face  and 
feet,  where  the  wax  preserved  the  original 
shai)e,  were  visible,  and  completely  gilded. 
Five  cors  on  low  wheels  had  been  prepared, 
to  which  were  attached  long  ropes  ot  rata,,, 
and  to  some  of   them  ot  each  end.     1  l»ey 
were  constructed  chiefly  of  cane,  and  not  oniy 
were  in  pretty  good  taste,  but  (luite  costly 
withal,  in  gold  leaf,  embroidered  mushn,  &c. 
Wh<'n  the  set  day  arrived,  the  concourse 
assembled,  tilling,  not  only  all  the  /.ayats,  but 
all  the   groves,  dressed  in  theu  best  clothes, 
and  full  of  festivity.      Not  a  beggar  or  ill- 
dressed  person  was  to  be  seen.     Almost  every 
person  of  either  sex,  was  dressed  in  silk  ;  and 
many,  especially  children,  had  ornaments  ol 
gold  or  silver  in  their  ears  and  round  their  an- 
kles and  wrists.     Not  an  instance  ot  drunken- 
ness or  nuarrelling  come  under  my  eye,  or, 
that  I  could  learn,  ocnirreil  on  either  day. 
The  body  in  its  decorated  cortin  was  removed, 
amid  an  immense  concourse,  from  its  place  in 
the  kyoung  to  one  of  the  cars,  with  an  exces- 
sive din  of  drums,  gongs,  cymbols,  trumpets 
and  wailing  of  women.     When  it  was  prop 


and  wuUing  ot  women,     w  ncn  n  wa,  ,,..,,,     ---^  distance 

crly  adiusted  in  its  new  location,  a  number  of   ^'  ™,,i"^^t~' 

men  niounted  the  car  at  each  end,  and  hun- 1  nvrotechmc,  long 

dreds  of  people  grasped  the  ropes,  to  draw  it 

to  the  place  of  burning,  halt  a  mile  distant. 

But  it  had  not  advanced  many  paces  bctore 

those  behind  drew  it  back.     Then  came  a 

prmligious  struggle.    The  thousands  m  tront 

exerted  all  their  strength  to  get  it  iorwanl, 

and  those  behind  with  e(|ual  energy  held  it 

back.     Now  it  would  go  ten  or  twelve  paces 

forwaril,  then  six  or  eight  backward  ;  one  i)ar- 

ty  pretending  their  great  zeal  to  perform  the 

last  honors  for  the  priest,  the  other  declaring 

they  could  not  part  with  the  dear  reniains . 

The  air  was  rent  with  the  shouts  of  each  pp'- 

ty  tt)  encourage  their  side  to  exertion.     1 


bark  and  forth  in  the  same  manner,  hut  less 
vehemi^ntly.  This  frolic  continued  tor  a  t.  w 
hours,  ttiul  the  crowd  .lispersed,  leaving  the 
cars  on  the  way.  For  several  doys  the  pop- 
ulace amuse  themselves  in  the  snmo  mannei  ; 
but  I  attended  no  more,  till  intormiid  by  tho 
governor  that  at  thr.-e  o'clock  that  day,  tho 
burning  would  certainly  take  place. 

Repairing  again  to  the  si)oi,  I  found  tii«fd- 
vuncing  porty  had  of  course  succeeded.      1  he 
empty  curs  were  in  an  open  lielil,  while  that 
which  bore  the  body  was  in  the  place  ot  burn- 
ing, enclosed  by  a  light  fence.     The  lu'ight 
was  about  thirty  feet.     At  an  elevation  ot  tit- 
teen  or  sixteen  feet,  it  contained  a  sort  ot  fco- 
puichrul  monument,  like  the  Hquun:  tombs  in 
our    churchyards,   highly   oraainented    with 
Chinese  |)ui)er,  bits  of  variously  colored  glass 
arranged  like   flowers,  and  variously  mylho- 
lo.ncal  figures ;  and  tilled  with  combustibles. 
On  this  was  the  body  of  the  priest.     A  long 
spito  decorated  to  th<!  utmost,  and  festooned 
with  flowers,  comi)leted  the  structure,     boon 
after   the   appointed   hour,    a  procession  ot 
priests  approached,  and  took  their  seats  on  a 
platform  within  the  enclosure,  while  m  onoth- 
er  direction  came  "  the  tree  of  life,"  borne  on 
the  shoulders  of  men,  who  reverently  placed 
it  near  the  priests.     It  was  ingeuiously  and 
tastefully  constructed  of  fruits,  rice,  boxes, 
cups,  umbrellas,  stall's,  raiment,  cooking  uten- 
sils, ond  in  short,  an  assortment  ot  all  the  ar- 
ticles deemed  useful  and  convenient  in  Dur- 
mau  housekeeping.     Women  tollowi.d.  l.eor- 
iii"  on  their  heads  baskets  of  fruits  ami  other 
articles.      All   these   oflerings,   I   was   told, 
were  priaarily  for  the  use  ot  the  deceased. 
But  as  he  only  needed  their  spiritual  essence, 
the  gross  and  substantial  substances  remained 
for  the  use  of  the  neighboring  monastery. 

"  The  priests,  with  a  small  audience  ot  el- 
derly persons,  now  mumbled  over  the  ap- 
pointed prayers,  and  having  performed  some 
tedious  ceremonies,  retired.  Immediately, 
sky-rockets  and  other  fireworks  were  let  oil. 


^^  ^ From  the  place  of  the 

pyrotechnics",  long  ropes  extende<t  to  the  fu- 
neral cars,  to  which  were  fastened  horizontal 
rockets  bearing  various  pasteboard  fi  iiros,  as  1 
may  be  seen  in  the  engraving.     I'le.-ently, 
men  with  slow  matches  touched  oil  one  ct 
these  ;  but  it  whizzed  forward  only  a  little 
way  and  expircil.     Another  failed  m  the  sarne 
manner,  and  shouts  of  derision  rose  from  the 
crowd.     The  next  rushed  forward,  and  broke 
a  portion  of  the  car,  which  called  forth  strong 
applause.    Another  and  another  dashed  into 
the  Uttering  fabric,  while  several  men  were 
seen  throwing  fagots  and  gunpowder  into  it, 
.ar- 1  till  finally,  a  furious  rocket  entering  the  midst 
of  the  pile,  the  whole  blazed  up,  and  the  poor 


Sl^;  Z:ThT^^^'^^^<^^  1  ;^-  ^^-pWed  to  heaven Y    Fancy  fire- 


ivith  oi)niuu»lil)lc8. 
he  prictit.  A  lone 
lost,  niiJ  festooned 
e  structure.  Soon 
,  a  procession  ol 
)ok  their  seats  on  a 
ire,  while  in  nnoth- 
16  of  life,"  borne  on 
)  reverently  jilaced 
as  iiiyi'iiiously  and 
fruits,  rice,  boxes, 
tnent,  cooking  utcn- 
tinent  of  all  the  ar- 
conveuient  in  Bur- 
men  followed,  beor- 

i)f  fruits  and  other 
irings,  I  WHS  told, 
so  of  the  deceased. 
3ir  spiritual  essence, 
substances  remained 
^jring  monastery, 
irnall  audience  of  el- 
nbled  over  the  ap- 
injj  performed  some 
red.  Immediotely, 
reworks  were  let  ort', 
)m  the  place  of  the 

extended  to  the  fu- 
e  fastened  horizontal 
msteboard  fi  -iirps,  08 
graving.  I'lesently, 
)  touched  otf  one  tf 
forward  only  ii  little 
her  fulled  iirtliesiime 
lerision  rose  from  the 
id  forward,  and  broke 
ich  called  forth  strong 

another  dashed  into 
ile  several  itien  were 
d  gunpowder  into  it, 
ket  entering  the  midst 
lazed  up,  and  the  poor 
heaven  I     Fancy  fire- 


Ea*, 


it 


388 


THE  H0U8B  OF  ROTHSCHILD. 


work.  c..nclu.l.'.l  tlio  crromony,  nnd  ih'"  /';' 
,.f„w.l  .'..  .iu'r».c.l.  Ii>  the  horkKMund  i.f  llw" 
«i,.»ur(f  nr.-  huck«ltr«  vrn.lit.K  I'ruitN  tec.  and 
in  rV-  I  nitre  «J">"  inu»u;nl  lnill.Mmi. 

llov.  H  llaliimi  •<  Tr»voli. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ROTHSCHILD. 


ili...  to  iouv      MU.it  rxi-loit.  or  m..n«  lucky 
arci.lent,  whic h  .ud-l.i.ly  ru.scd  t\m  anrpstor 
of   thn  house;  fr..tii   (.l)KCUnly,   m"!    providrd 
him  ut  tlip  R-imn  lirnr  with  n  lcp<-Tid  to  hm 
ront  of  urii...     The  ri-|)r.-H<->>tat.ve8  of  »uch 
fntnilii's  nrr  horn  porsouQHcs  "f  history  ;  tli.'ir 
namo,  titin,  and  cHtatc— th<iir  posilKMi  in  the 
thfi  country— <lrsn<mdins  to  ilwtn  l.y  inhrnt- 
nnri!,  omrHO  conliiiuinK  from  <;.'nfTnti(m  to 
crneration.  till  wur  or  n-volution  .hmmsef.  or 
removes  the  ohl  liinchnnrks  of  society.     Hut 
there  ore  other  origin*  wliich  U   wouhl  he 
vnin  to  endeavor  to  arrive  at  hy  a  sinular 
proreBs  ;  the  ori)rins  of  houses  that  rise  oten.l- 
Ih  .  not  suddenly,  in  their  peculiar  career, 
ai  I  the  duccess  of  which  is  not,  secured  hy  a 
sinMo  incident,  hut  distrihuted  evenly  over 
tho'lifetimo  of  one  or  more  generations.    In 
such  cases,  the  uerm  of  prosperity  must  he 
eouaht  for  in  the  family  mind— m  the  idumyti- 
crasy  of  the  race— in  the  theory  hy  which 
their  conduct  in  the  world  is  governed  ;  and 
not  the  first  accident,  which  attracts  the  at- 
tention of  the  vulgar  as  the  orisin  of  their 
fortune,  is  merely  a  point  d'apvm  aelecte^d  hy 
forethouRht  and  resolution.     The  rise  of  the 
house  of  Rothschild  presents  a  very  remark- 
ahlc  illustration   of  his  view  of  a  question 
which  will  never  cease  to  ho  interesting,  and 
atlords  a  striking  instance  of  the  natural  and 
simple  means  hy  which  those  vast  results  are 
ohtained  which  it  is  customary  to  ascrihc  to 
chance  or  miracle.  , 

.     In   the  middle  of  the  last  century  there 
lived,  in  the  n)wn  of  Frankfort -on-the-Mame, 
ft  hushand  and  wife  of  the  Hebrew  persua- 
sion, who  lavished  all  their  cares  upon  a  son, 
whom  they  destined  for  the  profession  of  a 
schoolmaster.     The  hoy,  whose   name  was 
Meyer  Anselm  Rothschild,  and  who  . 'r  ,  botri 
at  Frankfoi»  in  the  year  1743,  exhiu.itd  si.rh 
tokens  of  capacity,  that  his  parent  i  ni  vIt 
every  efl'ort  in  their  power  to  give   )iin.  thf 
advantage  of  a  good  education;  ami  WjIu  this 
view  he   spent  some  years  at  Firth,  going 
through  such  a  curriculum  of  study  as  ap- 
peared to  be  proper.     The  youth,  however, 
had  a  natural  bent  toward  the  study  of  anti- 
quities, and  this  led  him  more  especially  to 
the  examination  of  ancient  coins,  in  the  knowl- 


rdgi'  of  which  he  attained  to  ronsitlrrahle  pro- 
ficiency. Here  was  one  step  onward  in  thn 
world  ;  for.  in  after  years,  his  anii'iuarian 
researcheh  proveil  the  means  of  exliiiding 
and  ratifying  his  connexions  in  Hociety,  as 
well  BH  of  opening  out  to  him  a  source  ol  mi- 
mediate  suiiport.  His  parents,  however,  who 
were  noted  as  pious  and  upright  eharncters, 
di<'d  when  ho  was  yet  a  hoy,  in  his  elevenlh 
year,  and  ->ti  his  xlurii  to  Frankfort  he  set 
himself  to  learn  practically  the  routine  ol  the 
counling-hoUHC.  . 

After  this  we  find  him  in  Hmiover,  in  the 
employ  of  a  wealthy  bankiiig-house,  whose 
ullairs  he  conducted  for  several  yi  iirs  with 
care  ami  fidelity  ;  ami  then  we  see  opening  out 
umlerhis  auspices,  in  his  native  city,  the  gerni 
of  that  mighty  business  which  wuh  desiincd 
to  act  8(1  powerfully  ujion  »he  povimrnents  of 
Kurope.  Before  eslabli.i.p  g  hi'  little  1  unk- 
iiig-house,  Mever  Anstdin  Rothschild  pre- 
pared himself  fV>r  thi;  advciiluie  l.y  marrying; 
ami  his  prudent  cIkm'  ,  there  is  no  doubt,  con- 
tributed greatly  to  hi"  eventual  success  in  the 
world.  .        . 

About  this  time  a  circumstance  is  said  to 
have  occurred,  to  which  the  rise  of  the  Roths- 
childs from  obscurity  is  ascribed  by  those 
who  find  it  necessary  to  trace  such  brilliant 
etlects  to  romantic  and  wonderful  causes. 
The  prince  of  Hesse-Cassel,  it  seems,  in  fly 


ing  from  the  approach  of  the  republican  arm- 
ies, desired,  as  he  passed  through  Frankfort, 
to  get  rid  of  a  large  amount  in  gold  and  jewels, 
in  such  a  way  as  might  leave  him  a  chance 
of  its  recovery  after  the  storm  had  passed  by. 
With   this  view  he  sought  out  the  humble 
money-changer,  who  consented  reluctantly  to 
take  charge  of  the  treasure,  burying  it  in  a 
comer  of  his  garden  jst  at  the  moment  when 
the  republican  troops  entered  the  gates  of  the 
city.     His  own  property  ho  did  not  conceal, 
for  this  would   have  occasioned   a  search ; 
and  cheerfully   sacrificing  the  less   for  the 
preservation  of  the  greater,  he  reopened  his 
office  as  soon  as  the  town  was  quiet  agoin,  and 
recommenced  his  daily  routine  of  calm  and 
steady  industry.     But  he  knew  too  well  the 
value  of  money  to  allow  the  gold  to  lie  idle 
in  his  garden.     Ho  dug  it  forth  from  time  to 
time  as  he  could  use  it  to  advantage ;  and,  in 
fine,  made  such  handsome  profits  upon  his 
f  Mpital,  that  on  the  duke's  return  in  1802,  he 
|..,.ored  to  re'iiu'  the   whole,  with  five  per 
I     at.  interesi.     This  of  course  was  not  ac- 
'  cepted.     The  money  was  left  to  fructify  for 
twenty  years  longer,  at  the  almost  nominal 
interest  of  two  per  cent.;  and  the  duke's  in- 
fluence was  used,  besides,  with   the  allied 
sovereigns   in    1814    to  obtain  business  for 
"the  honest  Jew"  iu  the  way  of  raising  pub- 
lic loans. 


=H« 


m»iilrrnMp  pro- 

I  otiwnril  iti  tlin 

hU  iiiiti>|imrian 

»   (if   t'xti'iiilin); 

in  Hdi'ifiy,  us 

n  Hiiiirrf  ot'  ini- 

H,  liiittcvtr,  who 

iylu  chnrnrtorH, 

in  liix  ricvi'ntli 

•'rniikfort  hi'  snt 

ho  routinn  of  tho 

Ilmiovrr,  in  the 
ii;;-h()usc,  whime 
crnl  yvuTH  with 
•.  N«'('  ii|i('iiing  out 
VI'.  city,  till!  perm 
i:\\  wiH  ilc'siinctl 
)  p.vi  rtiiniMitH  of 
jr  lii'  littli-  I  iink- 
KipthKchild  |)ro- 
luc  l,y  mnrryingi 
is  no  iloubt,  con- 
aol  success  in  the 

Rtnncp  H  "lid  to 
rise  of  tlir.  Roths- 
scrilicil    by  those 
ICC  Kiich  brilliant 
ondcrful    causes. 
I,  it  Beems,  in  fly- 
e  ropublifon  nrm- 
irouph  Kriinkfort, 
in  goM  and  jiiwels, 
avc  him  a  chance 
•m  had  possed  by. 
t  out  the  humble 
ited  reluctantly  to 
3,  burying  it  in  a 
tho  moment  when 
ed  the  gates  of  the 
0  did  not  conceal, 
tsioncd   a  search ; 

the  less  for  the 
•,  he  reopened  his 
vast  quiet  again,  and 
utine  of  calm  and 
knew  too  well  the 
iie  gold  to  lie  idle 

forth  from  time  to 
advontage ;  and,  in 
e  profits  upon  his 

rrturn  in  1 802,  he 
lole,  with  five  per 
:ourse  was  not  ac- 

left  to  fructify  for 
the  »lmo8t  nominal 

and  the  duke's  in- 
Ds,  with  the  allied 
obtain  business  for 
way  of  raising  pub- 


THK  iiorrtK  OK  uoTiw«;mi.n. 


3H9 


,Sv:r»hv.U,n'  ,hi,dutr.  ...   IM-  ;  Imt   lb.' 
wl.oL.,ry  would  app..ar, .... ..■....;.;■ 


;;':n,;::;:.^-:-Kn-ii^iy.;x,.««.r.u.d.  it..i. 

.{.       .Lnt  h..v^.lr.«dv  b....n  ...nu,...t  .... 
Ikor,  .The  would  bi.r.fly  huvc  b..,.  «.d.-'t  -d 
.1  r  ,.  .if  HesiiP-Cii^^'d  OS  tl..'  dcpoHit- 

Jy  of  tt  .u.n  a.no.i..ti.»«.  .t .»  .•«'».  to  «-'•'>.""'. 

w.^  in  ll/year  IHOl  h.'  was  ai.po...to.l  ug.-nt 
r  tl 'c  Itt  .dgrave,  afterward  .  hrtor  of  Hc.se  ; 
'.'.'".,  next  year  (indicated  in  the  story 

1  that  of  tho  p.  ice's  r-'turn)  a  loan  ol  f  » 
^iSltascoLtracteclw^hth,.   Junsl^m 

tl.rouiih  the  house  of  Roih-hild.  Uttore 
r^^J  ,.1  necessarily  so  n..  .ju,.bt_h.s  '..now l- 
e  «e,  a...l  the  tried  rectitude  ..t  h.^  e„.,duct, 
hud  «.a..ed  hi.n  general  conh.lence  •,  h,s  wealth 
la  i.rr.-use.l.  a...l  an  enor.nous  extensum  of 
th  11.  of  hsoperatious  had  taken  place. 
Sot       ppears  lobe,  that  by  this  t..„cth._ 

b....ker  of  Kr....kfort  was  .nore  •"  tl'O  '-';''  j; 
ren.lering  assistance  than  of  ro.iu.r.ng  it,  a  id 
h  «ru.ul  duke  of  the  Jay,  to  whom  the  Is- 
raelii owe,l  their  civic  and  P"'"'-  ."S*^  «i 
nominated  him  a  me.nber  ol  the  elect  ai 
coU.'ge,  expressly  as  a  reward  for  his  generous 
services  t.i  his  fellow-cituens. 

The  personal  character  of  Meyer  Ans.    n 
Rothschild  is  not  of  small  conse.,uencc  m    ■ 
history  of  the  house-for  their  den.l  tutl .  . 
nuv  be  said  to  direct  to  this  hour  the  op.'ra 
S  .Vhi.  children.      In   every   imp..rta.u 
crisis  he  is  calhid  into  their  counsiils;  m  tv 
crv  dilUcult  .luestion  his  judgtncit  is  i.iv.Aed , 
a^wh...  the  br..thersmect  in  consulta  um, 
,1...  naternal  spirit  seems  to  act  as  president. 
The  ex.  anati.  n  of  this  well-known  a.i.l  mos 
remurkible  trait  i.i  the  faini  y  is  "ot  d" 
to  those  who  are  in  the  Imbit  of  pn;^'»  "« 
through  the  veil  of  the  romantic,  in  order    o 
urriv.^  at  the  simple  realities  ot  life.      IDe 
Z  Rothschild  w'as  obviously  a  --  of  c:o,n. 
prehcisive  intellect,  who  did  ""' ^<^    ""u  e 
Lur  of  chance  or  necessity,  bu    »ff«'-  'nature 
relh.ction,  and  on  rules  distinctly  !«;;    !  ''^^ ' 
and  he  must  have  brought  up  his  children  in 
a  certain  theory,  which  survived  his  mortal 
;art  a..;;  Scam^::  identified  with  his  me.n.ry 
'riiis  is  the  only  idolum  conjured  by  the  piety 
of  his  descendants.     His  bearing,  we  «;«  toU 
W.1S  tra.i.,uil  and  unassuming;  and  alth.iugh 
a  devout  man.  according  to  his  views  of  rr- 
h-ion,  his  .levotion  was  so  c.mp  etdy  untinged 
wi  h  bi.n.iry,  that  in  his  charities  he  made  no 
dii iiic  ion  between  the  Jew  and  the  Christian, 
i."    812,    Rothschild   left  to   the   mighty 
fortunes  of  which  his  wisdom  had  la.d  the 
ou...lation.  ten  children-hve  sons  am    hve 
dauuhters;  laying  upon  them,  with  his  hist 
rea'th.  th^  injunction  of  an  inviolab.e  u..  .m. 
This  is  one  of  the  grand  principles  to  which 


tho  .ucce»H..f  Ih.-  f.....ily  ..."v  b.'  in...  d.    The 

.!l,l.lw,.,k..ptby.h.......w..br.^hu-^^^ 

li.lelilV.     The  e..purt...T>hil.   ...   whi.  l      b.  y 

wer-'left,  remai I  .......frmpl..   ;  and   t...m 

Z  ..  ..."V,.t  ..f   thfir    fu.l..r;s   .leu.b.   .-v.-ry 

.,,H.s,.lofm.m-  nt  wn,Hubm....-l  to 

.,i,.t  .r.M<ussi..n.  ami  earrie.l  ..ut  up.-n  u..  »  n-.  > 
,|„n,  each  ol  .he  brothers  shur...«.'.|U..lv 
he  result        The  oiner  great  pr...e.pe  ot  t  ..■. 
...Xl    -one  which  actuate,   .dl    pr...l.'nt 
uTond  isonly  d..servi..g  ot  spec...    r......  k 

i,^  them,  fr...n  the  almost  m..h«n.cal  r.  g.ih.r- 
Vwthwbchitwa,  act,.dup...,.th.s  was 

,1m,  .letermiimtion  nevct  to  run  thj  ^''^''"'^  ,"J 
n  pursuit  of  great  profit..  Tlu.r  ::.und  ob- 
cc   was  to  J  de«r\y  each  tr«.  .s«. .  .on  to  jt 

erminatio..-.   to  secure  tV"*!':""'..  .   Lv.n 
«. ,  ,do..Uth«t  human  forethought     -  ^»  »J' '  • 
and  to  be  satisfied  w  th  a  reusonm,  -  and  or- 


1  tho 

liUt  t.) 

-  path 

they 

ofl'ers 

e.r  de- 

'   en- 

less 

..  of 

tlttirs 


hat 

i.ed 

rMire 


mZer!    By  huslumdU  their  cap.,       they 
were  enables  to  take  advant,.   -^  of  a  tl    .^and 
recurring  commissions,  so  as     ■  r  x  e„     ,  ,eir 
connexion  day  by-day  ;  wh.l..         ^r  hu  j un 
caution  earned  for  ihejo  .  repu.      ■  "  "«  ^"  'J;', 
tv   which,  united  will   'h.  ir  rei,      eal  h,  *  ar- 
S;:d^heircredittoa,,.chwhicl,    vo..ld^hnve 
been  dangerous,  if  not  h.tal,  to  lo.  si.  ady 
teller.ts.  ^Credi^  however.  -^^Y^u     Z-no 
them.     They  aflected  no  master-tr.    es-^no 
\  coups  d'etat.      They  wouhl  hav 
lainp  of  Aladdin,  not  to  summon  ( 
'  li.du  their  steps  as  they  toiled  on 
of  genii.     The  only  secrets  by 
obtained   their  choice  of  u.nu.....ra 
,f  business,  were  the  rnoderutioii  ot 
„ands-the  punctual  fumiment  o 
^     „,ne„ts-and  the  s.niplicity  find 
/their  system.      In   short,   tho   u 
1  ..thschild  became  great  because  u 
Nvre  conducted  upon  th-  most  per  e. 
ol  mercantile  tactics,  and  because  th.' 

te-  of  its  members.  P«fJ«V"\7fr  .m.h 
oi  -he  original  banker  ot  Frankfort,  con 
ny.  :.y  of  those  amiable  qualities  which  . 
,„   uflarity  without  f'-rfc^ting  respect.     Th-V 
1    o,   ,ht  to  make  money  by  ^l^ll  »"•!,' £^',; 
no;    parsimony  ;  they  gove  a  hbcral  share 
Z      profits  to  all  wfiose  serv.ces  were  of  u.,.. 
ina    ainingthem;  and  their  hand- 

»  Open  as  Aaj  to  melting  cl.ority"— 
dou     '^l  the  value  of  the  gift  by  Uie  grace 
will    which  it  was  presented— the  grace  \m 
pros'     I  Con  the  external  man.ier  by  a  simple 

""^^'ml^S-ntion  another  circumstar^ 
whie«     on  various  occns...ns,  must  have  con 
Tr  bur  -d  lar-rely  to  the  .nercantile  su.-cess  of 
thel  .iy      Although  their  re.il  unmncon- 

tinu      indissoluble,  their  I'l-J'^'^-/ ;,;',^toS 
were  :  .r  asunder,  each  member  of  the  house 


"vr>j« 


390 


THE  HOUSE  OF  KOTHSCHILD. 


(Idmiciliiig  himself  in  a  different  country.  At 
this  moment,  for  instance,  Anselm,  bom  in 

1773,  resides  at  Frankfort ;  Solomon,  born  in 

1774,  chiefly  at  Vienna;  Charles,  born  in 
1~78,  ot  Naples ;  and  James,  b(.'m  in  1792,  at 
Piris.  The  fifth  brother,  Nathan,  bom  in 
1777,  resided  in  London,  and  died  at  Frank- 
fort in  1837.  The  house  was  thus  ubiquitous. 
It  was  spread  like  a  network  over  the  na- 
tions, and  it  is  no  wonder  that,  with  all  other 
things  considered,  its  operations  upon  the 
money-market  should  at  length  have  been  felt 
tremblingly  by  every  cabinet  in  Europe.  Its 
wealth  in  the  meantime  enobled  it  to  enjoy 
those  advantages  of  se))aration  without  the 
difficulties  of  distance.  Couriers  travelled, 
and  still  iiavel,  from  brother  to  brother  at  the 
highest  speed  of  the  time  ;  and  these  private 
envoys  of  commerce  very  frequently  outstrip 
the  public  expresses  of  government. 

We  have  no  means  of  giving  anything  like 
the  statistics  of  this  remarkable  business ; 
but  it  is  stated  in  the  "  Conversations  Lexi- 
con," that  in  the  space  of  twelve  years  from 
1813 — the  period,  we  may  remark,  when  war 
had  ruined  all  Europe,  and  when  governments 
were  only  able  to  keep  themselves  afloat  by 
flinging  the  financial  burden  upon  posterity 
— from  eleven  to  twelve  hundred  millions  of 
florins  ($500,000,000  to  $600,000,000)  were 
raised  for  the  sovereigns  of  Europe  through 
the  agency  of  this  house,  partly  as  loans,  and 
partly  as  subsidies.  Of  these,  500,000,000 
florins  were  for  England ;  120,000.000  for  Aus- 
tria; 100,000,000  for  Prussia;  200,000,000  for 
France;  120,000,000  for  Naples;  60,000,000 
for  Russia ;  10,000,000  for  some  of  the  Ger- 
man courts;  and  30,000,000  fir  Brazil.  And 
this,  it  is  added,  is  exclusive  ' '  of  those  sums 
for  the  allied  courts,  of  several  hundred  mill- 
ions each,  which  were  paid  as  an  indemnity 
for  the  war  to  the  French,  and  likewise  of 
the  manifold  preceding  operations  executed 
by  the  house  as  commissioners  for  difTcrent 
governments,  the  total  amount  of  which  far 
exceeded  the  foregoing."  This,  however, 
may  already  be  considered  an  antiquated  au- 
thority ;  for,  in  reality,  the  vast  business  of 
the  fimi  can  hardly  be  sold  to  have  com- 
menced till  after  the  dozen  years  referred  to 
had  expired.  Since  the  year  1826,  the  house 
of  Riiihsohild  has  been  the  general  govern- 
ment bankers  of  Europe,  and  if  it  were  possi- 
ble to  compare  the  two  circles  of  transactions, 
the  former  would  seem  to  dwindle  into  insig- 
nificance. 

In  1815,  the  brothers  were  appointed  coun- 
sellors of  finance  to  the  then  elector  of  Hesse ; 
and  in  1826,  by  the  presen*-  elector,  privy 
counsellors  of  r  nance.  In  1818,  they  were 
elected  to  the  royal  Prussian  privy  council  of 
commerce.     In   Austria,   they  received,   in 


1815.  the  privilege  of  being  hereditary  land- 
holders: and  in  1822,  were  ennobled  in  the 
same  country  with  the  title  of  baron.  The 
brother  established  in  London  was  appointed 
imperial  counsel,  and  afterward  counsel-gen- 
eral; and  in  the  same  year  (1822)  the  same 
honor  was  conferred  upon  the  brother  resident 
in  Paris.  The  latter,  the  Baron  James,  has 
the  reputation  of  being  the  most  able  financier 
in  France;  and  it  is  mainly  through  his  assist- 
ance and  influence  with  the  other  cnpitalists 
that  railways  are  now  intersecting  the  length 
and  breath  of  the  land. 

Nathan,  the  brother  who  resided  in  Eng- 
land, left  four  sons,  three  of  whom  rank  among 
the  most  distinguished  aristocracy  of  the  Brit- 
ish capital ;  the  fourth,  Nathan,  residing  in 
Paris.  The  eldest.  Lionel  de  Rothschild,  is 
privileged,  as  a  British  subject,  to  bear  the 
title  of  an  Austrian  baron ;  his  brothers  being 
barons  only  by  courtesy.  The  uecond  has 
been  recently  created  a  baronet  of  f^iigland, 
as  bir  Anthony  de  Rothschild ;  and  the  third. 
Baron  Meyer,  is  now  high  sheriflT  of  Buck- 
inghamshire. Baron  Lionel  de  Rothschild 
was  invited  by  the  reform  association  to  stand 
as  a  candidate  with  Lord  John  Russell  for 
the  representation  of  London  in  the  present 
parliament,  and  was  returned  third  on  the 
list. 

Most  of  the  members  of  this  family  have 
married,  and  live  in  great  splendor;  and  it 
must  be  observed,  as  something  characteristic 
of  the  race,  that  their  choice  of  wives  has 
usually  been  a  good  one.  In  London,  where 
we  know  them  best,  the  widow  of  Baron 
Nathan  is  held  in  great  esteem  for  her  inex- 
haustible charity,  in  the  course  of  which,  we 
observe  by  the  newspapers,  she  has  contribu- 
ted largely  toward  the  formation  of  an  educa- 
tional institution  for  children  of  the  Christian 
faith.  Her  sister,  the  lady  of  Sir  Moses 
Montefiore,  is  popularly  known  as  a  suitable 
helpmate  for  her  philanthrojiic  partner.  The 
sister  of  Baron  Nathan,  widow  of  the  brother 
of  Sir  Moses  Montefiore,  is  likewise  well- 
known  for  her  liberality,  and  more  especially 
for  the  large  funds  she  has  bestowed  on  the 
establishment  of  schools  for  all  religious  de- 
nominations 

But  there  is  another  female  of  this  remark- 
able family  whom  we  must  mention  in  a 
special  manner,  and  with  her  name  we  con- 
clude. She  is  the  widow  of  the  banker  of 
Frankfort,  the  mother  of  the  five  brothers, 
and  grandmother  of  those  flourishing  men  who 
are  now  rising  proudly  among  the  aristocracy 
of  Europe.  The  following  notice  of  this  ven- 
erable and  venerated  lady  we  take  from  "  Les 
Matinees  du  Samedi"  of  G.  Ben  Levi:  "In 
the  Jews'  street  at  Frankfort-on-the-Maine, 
in  the  midst  of  Gothic  facades,  black  copings, 


'^?^^^^>T^'i^3?Sr^:i.^^5g5n^-r^,SR;^i^*,MM^ 


'm-* 


ig  hereditary  lunJ- 
•e  ennobled  in  the 
le  of  baron.  The 
don  was  appointed 
word  counsel-gen- 
.r  (1822)  the  same 
he  brother  resident 

Baron  James,  has 
most  able  financier 

through  his  assist- 
le  other  capitalists 
rsecting  the  length 

0  resided  in  Eng- 
whom  rank  among 
ocracy  of  the  Brit- 
Bthan,  residing  in 

1  de  Rothschild,  is 
bject,  to  bear  the 
his  brothers  being 

The  oecnnd  has 
ronet  of  England, 
ild;  and  the  third. 
1  sheriff  of  Buck- 
lel  de  E-othschild 
issnciation  to  stand 
John  Russell  for 
Ion  in  the  present 
rned  third  on  the 

■  this  family  have 
;  splendor;  and  it 
bing  characteristic 
jice  of  wives  has 
[n  London,  where 

widow  of  Baron 
teem  for  hor  inex- 
urse  of  which,  we 
,  she  has  contribu- 
lation  of  an  educa- 
n  of  the  Christian 
[ly  of  Sir  Moses 
lown  as  a  suital'le 
pic  partner.  The 
low  of  the  brother 
is  likewise  well- 
id  more  especially 

bestowed  on  the 
r  all  religious  de- 

ile  of  this  remark- 
ust  mention  in  a 
her  name  we  con- 
of  the  banker  of 
the  five  brothers, 
nirishing  men  who 
ing  the  aristocracy 
notice  of  this  ven- 
ce  take  from  "  Leo 
T.  Ben  Levi:  "In 
Fort-on-the-Maine, 
les,  black  copings, 


TEAR8. 


391 


and  sombre  alleys,  there  is  a  house  of  small 
exterior,  distinguished  from  others  by  its  lux- 
urious neatness,  which  gives  it  an  ajjpearance 
of  singular  cheerfulness  and  freshness.  The 
brass  on  the  door  is  polished,  the  curtains  on 
the  window  are  as  white  as  snow,  and  the 
staircase,  an  unusual  thing  in  the  damp  at- 
niiisphere  of  this  dirty  quarter,  is  always  dry 
ami  shining. 

"  The  traveller  who  from  curiosity  visits 
this  street — a  true  specimen  of  the  times  when 
the  Jews  of  Frankfort,  subjected  to  the  most 
intolerable  vexations,  were  restricted  to  this 
infected  (juarter — will  be  induced  to  stop  be- 
fore the  neat  and  simple  house,  and  perhaps 
ask,  '  Who  is  that  venerable  old  lady  seated 
ill  a  large  nrtn-chair  behind  the  little  shining 
sijuares  of  the  window  on  the  first  story?' 
Tills  is  the  reply  that  every  citizen  of  Frank- 
fort will  make  :  '  In  that  house  dwelt  an  Is- 
raelite merchant,  named  Meyer  Anselm  Roths- 
child. He  there  acquired  a  good  name,  a 
great  fortune,  and  a  numerous  oir<pring;  and 
when  he  died,  the  widow  declared  she  would 
never  quit,  except  for  the  tomb,  the  unpre- 
tending dwelling  which  had  served  as  a  cradle 
to  that  name,  that  fortune,  and  those  children.' 

"Continued  prosperity  has  attended  the 
sons  of  the  pious  and  modest  widow.  Their 
name  is  become  European,  their  wealth  pro- 
verbial. They  inhabit  sumptuous  palaces  in 
the  most  beautiful  quarters  of  Paris,  London, 
Vienna,  Naples,  and  Frankfort;  but  their 
mother,  persevering  in  her  admirable  modes- 
ty, has  not  quitted  her  comparatively  humble 
house,  where  those  sons  come  to  visit  her  with 
respect  and  reverence,  and  discharge  their 
duties  in  memory  of  their  estimable  father, 
thus  presenting  bright  examples  for  the  pres- 
ent time." 


TEARS. 


The  connexion  between  laughter  and  tears, 
is  so  close  that  the  latter  is  often  the  natural 
sequence  of  the  former — an  ovcrllowingof  the 
eye  being  an  u'ifailing  accom^)animent  of  the 
convulsion  of  mirth.  In  the  midst  of  life  we 
are  in  death  ;  in  the  midst  of  laughter  we  are 
in  tears!  But  the  strange  association  does 
not  end  here ;  for  weeping  produces  joy,  by 
relieving  and  solacing  the  wounded  heart; 
and  through  the  gloomy  portals  of  the  grave 
we  pass  into  immortal  life. 

WeepingisanearUor  affection  than  laughter. 
The  former  comes  to  us  with  our  first  inflation 
of  the  lungs  by  atmospheric  air;  but  we  are 
not  sufficiently  reconciled  to  the  world  to  laugh 
at  it  for  some  little  time.     Crying  is  easy : 


we  take  to  it  by  instinct  the  moment  we  arc 
bom;  but  we  reipiire  a  month  or  two,  and 
sometimes  more  than  that,  to  find  out  the  jest 
of  life.  We  do  not  know  all  at  once  what 
people  mean  by  poking  us  in  the  ribs,  pinch- 
ing our  cheeks,"  throttling  us  with  their  kisses, 
and  addressing  us  in  an  unknown  tongue. 
But  the  fun  of  the  thing  at  length  dawns  upon 
us,  and  then  becomes  clearer  and  clearer,  till, 
lipginning  with  a  smile,  we  get  in  time  to  a 
downright  crow.  Weeping  is  not  only  first, 
it  is  likewise  last.  The  tears  of  infancy  are 
renewed  in  old  age ;  and  the  same  salutation 
we  give  the  world  at  meeting  sufificcs  for  our 
farewell.  But  midway  between  these  two 
points  we  are  freer  from  the  emotion.  Equi- 
distant from  the  softness  of  youth  and  the 
weakness  of  age.  the  "  mortal  coldness  of  the 
soul"  comes  down  over  our  manhood  like 
death  : — 

"  That  heavy  chill  hai  frozen  o'er  the  fonntain  of  onr 
tears, 
And  though  the  eye  may  sparkle  BtiU,  'tis  where 
the  ico  appears !" 

Weeping  is  not  only  first  ;nirl  k'jt,  it  is  a 
necessary  condition  of  ])erfect  liiV.  Laughter 
no  doubt  is  wholesome,  from  its  effect  upon 
the  lungs  and  the  circulation ;  but  tears  are 
indispensable  to  the  sight.  Some  people  get 
on  very  well  without  laughing ;  but  we  must 
all  look  at  the  world  through  our  tears,  or  else 
not  look  at  all.  Without  this  moisture,  the 
eye  would  lose  its  brightness,  the  cornea  would 
wither  and  dry  up,  and  we  should  become 
blind.  Laughter  is  an  accident,  an  exception, 
a  liberty  taken  with  nature ;  and  after  the 
convulsion  is  over,  our  features  recompose 
themselves  into  deeper  gravity  than  before, 
as  if  in  remorse  for  their  extravagance.  Tears, 
on  the  other  hand,  are  a  normal  suffusion  that 
is  necessary  to  the  organ  of  sight ;  and  after 
their  effusion  in  weeping,  we  feel  refreshed 
and  thankful — the  grief  that  has  called  them 
forth  being  softened  by  the  shower,  just  as 
any  acrid  matter  that  may  enter  the  eye  is 
diluted  by  its  protecting  tear". 

But  although  grief  may  be  the  most  com- 
mon cause  of  weeping,  it  is  by  no  means  the 
sole  cause.  Joy,  surprise,  sympathy,  and 
other  emotions,  affect  us  in  the  same  way. 
When  long-severed  friends  meet  again,  they 
not  nnfre(iuently  weep.  Thus  Joseph  was 
so  affected  by  the  meeting  with  his  brethren, 
that  "  he  made  haste,  and  he  sought  where 
to  weep ;  and  he  entered  into  his  chamber, 
and  wept  there."  Among  savages  there  is  a 
great  difference  in  this  respect.  The  Ameri- 
can Indian  would  think  his  manhood  foully 
stained  by  a  tear;  while  among  the  New- 
Zealanders,  weeping  is  practised  as  an  ac- 
complishment by  the  chiefs,  who  consider  it 


I 


392 


TEARS. 


still  more  necessary  to  be  able  to  cry  well  than 
Hf;ht  well.  The  western  strangers,  they  re- 
irrark,  ini'et  their  friends  like  so  many  dogs 
— civilized  dogs  of  course  they  mean — giving 
each  other  a  paw.  As  for  themselves,  they 
not  only  embrace,  and  rub  noses,  but  then  sit 
solemnly  down  face  to  foce,  p.nd  drawing  their 
mats  over  their  heads,  weep  for  joy,  as  if 
their  hearts  were  breaking. 

Triumph,  after  severe  suspense,  moves 
man  to  tears  as  commonly  as  the  joy  of  meet- 
ing. Laughter  is  said  by  some  writers  to  be 
a  manifestation  of  thi?  proud  feeling;  but  the 
same  thisig  might  be  said  more  correctly  of 
weeping.  We  remember,  when  visiting  the 
church  of  Notre-Dame  at  Mantes,  being  much 
struck  with  the  loftiness  of  the  vault  of  the 
nave,  from  which  some  men,  engaged  in 
whitewashing  the  roof,  swung  in  barrels,  hwk  • 
ing  like  so  many  spiders.  When  this  vault 
was  built,  and  the  supports  were  about  to  be 
withdrawn,  Rudes  de  Montreuil,  terrified  at 
the  boldness  of  the  arch  he  had  constructed, 
did  not  dare  to  look  on,  but  went  home,  and 
there  awaited  the  result  in  the  agony  of  sus- 
pense. Judge  pf  his  feelings  when  he  heard 
at  length  the  hasty  steps  of  his  nephew,  whom 
he  had  deputed  to  witness  the  operation. 
"  It  stands  !  it  stands !"  cried  the  young  man, 
bursting  into  the  room,  "  an  immortal  monu- 
ment of  your  fame !"  At  the  words,  the 
architect  fell  to  the  ground,  as  if  struck  down 
with  a  blow,  and  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

The  constructor  of  the  first  Menai  bridge 
had  more  nerve  than  Rudes.  He  looked  on 
while  the  kit  chain  was  fastening,  when  in 
another  moment  the  fate  of  his  remarkable 
work  would  be  determined ;  but  success  had 
the  same  effect  upon  him  as  upon  the  French 
architect,  and  when  he  saw  that  all  was  safe, 
he  burst  into  tears.  A  feeling  somewhat  dif- 
ferent from  this,  united  with  home  recollec- 
tions, affected  Bruce  when  he  saw  the  object 
of  his  adventurous  wanderings  completed ; 
and  his  full  heart  saluted  the  source  of  the 
Nile,  not  with  exclamations  of  wonder  aad 
exultation,  but  with  silent  tears. 

N('  more  than  thii  I    Whitt  geemed  it  now 

First  by  that  ■priiig  to  stand  7 

A  thousnnd  streams  of  loTelier  flow 

Bathed  his  o\7n  mountain  land ! 

Thence  far  o'er  waste  and  ocean  track, 

Tlieir  wild  sweet  voices  called  him  back. 

Ho  wept — the  stars  of  Afric's  heaven 

Beheld  his  bursting  tears, 

K'cn  ou  that  spot  where  fate  had  given 

The  meed  of  toiling  years  ! 

O  happiness !  how  far  we  flee 

Thine  own  iweet  paths  in  search  of  thee." 

But  tears  are  not  only  called  forth  by  op- 
posite feelings,  they  are  likewise  the  cause 
of  opposite  phenomena. 


"  I  saw  thee  weep — the  big  bright  tear 

Came  o'er  that  eye  of  blue  I 
And  then  methougfit  it  did  appear 

A  violet  dripping  dew  : 
I  saw  thee  smile — the  sapphire's  blaze 

Beside  thee  ceased  to  shine  ; 
It  could  not  match  the  living  raj's 

That  tilled  that  glance  of  thine." 

It  did  not  perhaps  occur  to  the  poet  that 
these  two  eH'ects  were  protluced  by  the  same 
cause,  and  that  his  mistress's  eye  owed  its  bril- 
liance, us  well  as  its  softness,  to  a  tear.  The 
power  attributed  to  the  eye  in  itself  is  in 
great  part  a  delusion.  It  is  not  a  kind  of  soul, 
as  i)eople  are  fond  of  representing  it,  but  a 
mere  body,  owing  its  greater  or  less  brightness 
to  the  greater  or  less  adaptation  of  it's  color 
for  reflecting  light  through  the  lachrymal 
li(iuid.  Its  expression  is  determined,  in  great 
part,  by  the  other  features,  but  more  especial- 
ly the  mouth.  Look  at  the  face  of  a  blind 
man,  and  you  will  see  that  it  expresses  the 
passions  pretty  nearly  as  well  as  that  of  a 
man  endowed  with  s";  ,ht — wanting  only  the 
effect  of  moisture  in  the  eye,  the  quantity  of 
which  is  to  a  certain  'Jegree  indicative  of  the 
emotion. 

We  tried  recently  an  experiment  on  this 
question,  the  converse  of  that  of  the  blind 
man ;  putting  out  the  other  features  instead 
of  the  eye,  and  leaving  that  alone  to  tell  its 
story.  This  was  accomplished  by  means  of 
a  paper  mask,  which  hid  the  whole  face  with 
the  exception  of  the  eye;  and  our  subjects 
being  chiefly  young  ladies,  it  may  readily  be 
supposed  that  we  obtained  as  much  expression 
as  nature  intended  to  give.  But  what  an  ex- 
pression! If  you  have  ever  witnessed  the 
unnatural  effect  of  a  glass  eye,  think  of  what 
tieo  would  have.  While  the  paper-mask  was 
quivering,  and  the  whole  frame  convulsed  with 
suppressed  laughter,  there  stood  the  eyes, 
staring  straight  forward,  cold,  stony,  mute, 
spectral,  destitute  of  feeling  and  of  life. 
There  was  something  strange,  almost  shock- 
ing in  the  contrast ;  but  when  the  mask  was 
torn  off,  and  the  young  and  mirthful  face  dis- 
closed entire,  the  expression  at  once  returned 
in  a  flood  of  light,  and  the  rekindled  eyes 
laughed  till  they  wept. 

The  lower  animals  bear  testimony  to  the 
same  thmg.  In  them  we  often  meet  with  an 
expression  of  either  amiability  or  moroseness; 
but  this  is  without  variety,  except  in  those 
species  gifted  with  mobility  of  feature.  The 
cat,  for  instance,  who  has  no  such  mobility, 
except  on  extraordinary  occasions,  looks  in- 
variably grare,  even  in  the  midst  of  her 
wildest  gambols.  The  dog,  on  the  other 
hand,  having  the  power  of  imitation,  has  a 
decidedly  human  smile  when  he  chooses,  and 
can  easily  be  moved  to  tears  by  soft  and 
melancholy  tones.    But  we  were  once  very 


TjBimMiuuiiiuiWB 


jright  tear 

10  I 
appear 

)liiro's  blaze 
iiie ; 
ig  rajT 
f  thine." 

to  the  poet  that 
ced  by  the  same 
eye  owetl  its  bril- 
,  to  a  tear.  The 
e  in  itsclif  is  in 
ot  a  kind  of  soul, 
senting  it,  but  a 
ur  less  brightness 
ition  of  its  color 
I  the  lachrymal 
ermined,  in  great 
ut  more  especial- 
face  of  a  blind 
it  expresses  the 
ell  as  that  of  a 
ranting  only  the 
,  the  quantity  of 
indicative  of"^  the 

periment  on  this 
liat  of  the  blind 

features  instead 
;  alone  to  tell  its 
led  by  means  of 
I  whole  face  with 
and  our  subjects 
t  may  readily  be 
I  much  expression 

But  what  an  ex- 
5r  witnessed  the 
fe,  think  of  what 
3  paper-mask  was 
ne  convulsed  with 

stood  the  eyes, 
)ld,  stony,  mute, 
ng  and  of  life. 
;e,  almost  shock- 
en  the  mask  was 
mirthful  face  dis- 
.  at  once  returned 
e  rekindled  eyes 

testimony  to  the 
ten  meet  with  an 
ty  or  moroseness; 
,  except  in  those 

of  feature.  The 
10  such  mobility, 
casions,  looks  in- 
he  midst  of  her 
)g,  on  the  other 
'  imitation,  has  a 
n  he  chooses,  and 
ears  by  sofi;  and 
5  were  once  very 


TEA.R8. 


intimat.W  anpiftinted  with  a  lady's  lapdog, 

7^XX■n^  uL  u  long  absence,  thejoy 
ws  overpowering,  and  poor  Fanny  fmnt.d 
Twuv  Tl'i''  '^""""*  manifestation  of  sensi- 
K^vn  havo  rn.c>  ^^»y  ^vitnessed  a  though 

liy'in  the  .M.se  oi  the  same  individual  of  our 

'^  Whlwl'S'l  t"  t^«  ^"'"''"  «pe"e9,it  is  not 
onlv  in  Iho  important  circumstances  and  grea 
emerK.-ncics  of  life  thnt  tears  come  uncalled 
W     ihev  are  produced  by  a  thousand  sym- 
"ath.'ic  emotions,  so  slight  and  evanescent, 
C  we  can  liurdly  trace  their  nature  or  their 
rack.     A  truit  of  generosity  or  nobleness  of 
feeling-a  picture  of  hopeless  devotimi-a 
seen"  of  humble  happiness-a  breath  of  mu- 
sic-a  wonl-a    look,   associated   with  our 
early  recollections-all  may  cause  a  sud  len 
Ssioa  in  the  eyes,  wanting  on  y  opportu- 
nitv  to  overllow.     A  deep  tragedy  affects  us 
Si      i^tY''ss«l.an  a  little  touch  of  senti- 
ment ocurring  in  a  comedy.     Our  taste  may 
ZarnMrA  by  the  pictured  gnefs  of  princes 
ami  irocs,  but  our  .e.rs  rise  morr  free  y  in  j 
"id    nc-e  to  so.no  thrill  of  the  chord  of  our 
e  e    '.  ay  feeling's  an,l  sympath.es.     Among 
fr  ,-dii,  those  are  the   most  "uccessfu     n 
mu-hi,.'  us  which  the  heart  can  translate  into 
common  language,  and  remove  into  the  hum- 
ble snhere  of  its  own  atlections. 

I   is  impossible  that  a  comedy  can  make  us 
laugh\Xch  does  not  here  and  there  make^us 
sad  and  tearful.    No  one  can  laugh  through 
several  acts,  any  more  than  he  can  refrai^ 
from  yawnii'ig  alter  the  fi;«'/-£f-^f^ 
iest-book.    We  want  contrast  to  give  reiiet, 
Tcarry  us  on  from  point  to  P-nt,  U,  ^ve 
piiiuQiicy  to  the  entertainment.     The  min  I 
Sleds  no  repose,  but  it  must  have  variety. 
When  "red  of  one  thing,  it  applies  itself  to 
Tther  of  a  totally  different  kind-^i^t  as  a 
tailor  gets  up  to  rest  himself  by  stan.nng. 
Tears  and  laughter,  besides,  are  natural  as- 
so^Utes  ia  fact  which  was  impressed  upon 
uT  man;  years  ago  by  the  admirable  actmg 
rf  the  eL?  Mathews.^in  a  trifling  lute-m.c 
nipce  called  "  My  Daughter's  Letter.       tie 

was  ronstantly  calling  at  the  postoffice  for  a 
ktter  from  his  daughter,  and  was  as  ..ften 
u"a,  ,.oi..te.l.  Here  were  slight  mater.als- 
'but 'Sews  was  a  man  of  genius;  and  he 
so  contriv.-d,  wiih  his  pathos  and  absurdit  cs, 
his  French  broken  by  Knglish.  and  English 
broke  by  French,  and  the  universal  language 
o  n  are  ..ver  all,  to  keep  the  audience  in  a 
cm  u  uous  alteration  of  sobs  and  laughter. 
Nev.^  did  we  hear  such  manifestations  of 


„rief_never  behold  such  enjoyment  of  fun. 
On.,  moment  everybody  was  .Irowned  in  tears, 
and  nothing  washeard  but  catching  of  breath 
and  bL.wing  of  noses;    the  next   a   gen  ral 
burst  of  laughter  swept  round  the  house  like 

"  A'Ttng  poet  desires  of  chymistry  to  turn 
a  tear  into  Q  gem,  that  he  may  wear  U  on  his 

bosom  : — 


ifti 


"  oil  tlmt  the  chvmist'a  mnk'ic  art 

Couia  crjstallize  this  siicrod  treamre, 
LonK  shoufa  it  glitter  nenr  my  heart. 
A  secret  source  of  pensive  pleasure  ! 

But  as  the  great  bulk  of  tears  consists  of 
water,  with   only  a  v^ry   small    portion  o 
saline  substances,  it  might  be  dilTncult  to  ob- 
tain  from  them  in  sufficient  (puuititv  (unless 
perhaps  in  New  Zealand)  even  ^"^.^''vanes- 
cent  crystals  as  are  left  by  evaporation.    The 
ordinary  use  of  tears  is  to  wash  and  moisten 
the  eve,  for  which  a  small  (piantity  suffices; 
but  nature  is  never  found  wanting  m  great 
emergencies,  and  accordingly,  in  the  case  ot 
an  accidental  injury,  the  li.pnd  pours  upon 
the   coniea  in   sucli   abun.lance  as   may  be 
re.,uisitc  for  its  protection.     It  guards  the  eye 
from  cold,  screens  it  from  liglit.assuages  its 
sutl-erings  from  smoke  or  other  ucid  vapor,  and 
breaks  Ihe  harshness  of  contact  with  a  ioreign 
body,  which  it  dissolves,  or  floats  away  m  its 
beneficent  stream.     Finally,  in  a»      "ions  of 
the  mind,  and  more  especially  p        at,  tears 
pour  in  until  they  overflow.     "    .  A,ars,'a8 
Metastosio  tells  us  through  Mrs.      .mans— 

•«  In  tears  the  heart  opprest  wil^  grief 

Gives  lancnaRe  to  its  woes ; 
In  tears  its  iulness  ,"    Is  reliel, 

W  hen  rapture's  tide  o  erflows  ! 
Who,  then,  uucloude.l  bliss  would  seek 

On  this  terrestrial  sphere, 
When  e'en  delight  can  only  speak, 

Like  sorrow,  in  a  tear  I 

In  such  emergencies  as  we  have  mentioned 
the  operation  of  nature  is  spontaneous.   When 
the  eye  is  wounded,  she  rushes  like  a  watch- 
ful  mother,  to  the  rescue,  and  v'lthou.  a„y 
solicitation  on  our  part,  pours  bountifully  out 
the  curative  waters  of  her  fountain.     But 
when  it  is  the  heart  that  is  torn  by  &re,xtfr^ei 
or  su.lden  emotion,  although  she  is  equally  on 
the  al.Tt  to  sooth  and  heal,  there  is  th-s  dif- 
ference, that  in  the  former  case  we  are  passu  e 
patients  in  her  hands,  while  in  the  ^ \"  7t 
Lre  often  able  to  exercise  control,  and  defy  at 
„„ce  the  doctor  and  the  disease.     Person   of 
stron.r  nerve  can  arrest  the  torrents  of  their 
ear  reven  when  the  big  drops  are  trembling 
on  tli^ir  lashes,  and  compel  the  nsing  waters 
to  sink  and  disappear.     Mariy  J  ^e  J'oks 
cold  and  calm  when  the  fountain  of  its  hot  and 
1  Ser  tears  is  boiling  beneath.     Many  a  pale, 
smooth  brow  is  raised  erect,  as  if  to  look  down 


.■,"1  jV 


'•^i 


lintWMMfflWI 


394 


THE  MALAYS. 


the  misery  that  besets  it  in  society,  when  the 
proud  man  would  fain,  like  him  of  old,  hide 
himself  in  his  chamber  to  weep  unseen. 

But  pride,  being  in  itself  unholy,  can  not  be 
expected  to  produce  good  fruits;  and  accord- 
ingly, wherever  the  dread  of  tears  prevails 
habitually,  and  in  an  excessive  degree,  we  find 
coldnessof  heart  instead  of  manliness  of  charac- 
ter,  and  an  incapacity  to  extend  to  others  that 
sympathy  which  we  shrink  from  ourselves. 
Abstractedly,  there  is  nothing  more  unmanly 
in  a  manifestation  of  sensibility  by  tears  than 
by  smiles.     The  one  is  no  more  a  proof  of 
weakness    than    the  other;    and    generally 
speaking,  the  former  have  their  origin  in  the 
hicher  and  more  refined  emotions.     When 
reading  anything  ridiculous,  we  smile  openly; 
but  when  the  subject  awakens  bur  better  sen- 
sibilities, we  either  repress  our  tears,  or  hide 
them  as  something  shameful  or  criminal.    Why 
is  this  '     We  have  heard  in  conversation  va- 
rious reasons  assigned  for  the  odium  into  which 
tears  have  fallen.     Their  hypocrisy,  for  in- 
stance, since  so  many  people  have  the  New- 
Zealand  faculty  of  producing  them  at  will ; 
and  the  constitutional  feebleness  they  betray, 
since  women  and  children  are  the  greatest 
weepers.    But  is  the  opposite  phenomenon 
more  rare  in  women  and  children  ?     Is  the 
"  sapphire  blaze"  always  a  natural  produc- 
tion T    Does  the  silver  laugh  invariably  come 
from  the  heart  ?    Have  we  never  heard  that^  a 
man  may  "  smile,  and  smile,  and  be  a  villain    f 
There  are,  of  course,  sensibilities  for  which 
weeping  would  be  as  unsuitable  a  manifesta- 
tion as  laughter;  and  there  are  likewise 

"  IhonghU  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tear* ;" 
but  we  suspect  that  our  dread  of  betraying  the 
softer  emotions  is  a  remnant  of  the  same  un- 
reflective  pride  which  keeps  the  western  In- 
dian in  a  state  of  savageism  to  this  day. 


THE  MALAYS. 


The  original  country  of  the  Malays  is  not 
known.  The  evidence  is  in  favor  of  Su- 
matra. Both  at  Celebes,  and  Sumatra, 
there  are  prevalent  ttaditions,  which  assign 
the  period  of  their  origin  to  the  middle  of  the 
twelfth  century.  About  that  time,  a  cele- 
brated chief  of  Celebes,  went  on  an  explo- 
rin<'  and  trading  voyage  to  the  vvestward, 
wh'ence  he  had  occasionally  seen  natives.  In 
the  course  of  the  expedition,  he  put  into  a 
river  of  Sumatra,  where  a  large  number  of 
his  followers  absconded  in  a  body  ;  and,  pas- 
sing into  the  interior,  settled  the  region  of 
Men-an-k&-bo.     Obtaining  wives  from  the 


adjacent  tribes,  and  possessing  more  civiliza- 
tion, they  gradually  formed  a  new  rnce  and 
rose  to  dominion.  Most  of  them  had  been 
slaves,  obtained  from  the  Moluccas,  and  em- 
ployed as  woodcutters,  ond  drudges  to  the 
fleet.  Hence,  they  were  called  Malays,  from 
Mala,  to  bring,  and  aya,  wood.  Sir  ritam- 
ford  Raffles  affirms,  that  to  this  day,  the 
people  of  Celebes  look  with  greot  contempt 
on  the  Malays ;  and  are  in  the  habit  of  re- 
peating the  origin  of  the  name.  A  general 
similarity  between  the  Malays,  and  the  in- 
habitants of  the  Moluccas,  has  been  often  re- 
marked. And  what  is  more  remarkable,  the 
Malay  language  is  spoken  more  \mrc\y  in  the 
Moluccas,  than  on  the  Malay  peninsula. 

If  this  origin  of  the  Malays  be  true,  it  ac- 
counts for  the  similarity  which  has  been  re- 
marked between  them,  at.d  several  of  the 
tribes  of  the  archipelago,  such  as  the  Eida- 
hans  and  Dayas  of  Borneo ;  the  Sabanus,  of 
Magindano;  the  Tagats  and  Pampangoes,  of 
the  Manillas;  and  the  Biscayans,  of  the 
Philippines. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  Arabs  m  Sumatra, 
the  Moslem  faith  rapidly  supplanted  pagan- 
ism, and  this  by  proselytism,  not  by  force. 
Whether  their  language  had  before  been  re- 
duced to  writing,  is  not  clear ;  but  it  now  was 
written  in  the  Arabic  characters,  which  con- 
tinue to  be  used.  Since  the  introduction  of 
European  influence,  the  Roman  alphabet  is 
becoming  prevalent,  and  the  larger  part  of 
those  who  can  read,  do  so  in  that  character. 

The  new  nation  extended  their  conquests 
and  colonies,  till  all  Sumatra  yielded  them 
feudal  homage.  In  the  thirteenth  century, 
they  passed  over  to  the  peninsula,  and  took  or 
built  Malacca  and  Singapore.  Gradually  ex- 
tending their  dominions  and  colonies,  the  chief 
seat  of  their  power  was  transferred  to  the 
new  territory ;  and  the  chiefs  of  Sumatra, 
began  to  throw  off  their  yoke.  Proceeding 
to  acquire  power  and  numbers,  they  at  length 
not  only  regained  Sumatra,  but  conquered 
the  Sunda,  Philippine,  and  Molucca  islands, 
with  many  smaller  groups,  and  are  now  found 
in  dl  these  regions,  as  well  as  Borneo,  and 
Luconia,  and  many  other  islands ;  but  with- 
out any  centre  of  unity  or  power,  without 
literature,  freedom,  or  civilization.  They 
have  sunk  to  insignificance,  and  are  apparently 
still  sinking  in  national  character. 

The  Malay  peninsula  (called  by  the  natives 
Tanah  Malayu,  "  the  land  of  the  Malays") 
is  the  only  great  country  wholly  occupied  by 
this  race;  and  is  now  divided  into  the  king- 
doms  of  Keda,  Perak,  and  Salengore,  in  the 
west;  Johore,  in  the  south;  Pahang,  Inn- 
gano,  Calantan,  Patini,  and  Ligore,  ir  ^ 
east.  There  are  states  in  the  interior 
known;  viz.,  Rumbo,  Johole,  Jompole 


,»-hiSUl 


uimmm 


^>r^ 


ng  more  civili/a- 

a  new  rnce  and 

them  had  been 

jluccas,  and  em- 

driulgcs  to  the 

led  Malays,  from 

Bod.     Sir  Stam- 

:o   this  day,  the 

1  great  contempt 

the  habit  of  re- 

ime.     A  general 

ays,  and  the  in- 

as  been  often  re- 

1  remarkable,  the 

ore  i)urely  in  the 

y  peninsula. 

ys  be  true,  it  ac- 

nch  has  been  re- 

l  several  of  the 

ich  as  the  Eida- 

the  Sabani,3,  of 

1  Pampangoes,  of 

iscayans,   of   the 

rabs  in  Sumatra, 
upplanted  pagan- 
>m,  not  by  force, 
d  before  been  re- 
ir ;  but  it  now  was 
icters,  which  con- 
le  introduction  of 
.ornan  alphabet  is 
;he  larger  part  of 
n  that  character, 
■d  their  conquests 
itra  yielded  them 
tiirteenth  century, 
insula,  and  took  or 
■e.     Gradually  ex- 
colonies,  the  chief 
transferred  to  the 
hiefs  of  Sumatra, 
yoke.     Proceeding 
)ers,  they  at  length 
ra,  but  conquered 
1  Molucca  islands, 
and  are  now  found 
bU  as  Borneo,  and 
islands ;  but  with- 
er power,  without 
ivilization.     They 
,  and  are  apparently 
aracter. 

ailed  by  the  natives 
id  of  the  Malays") 
wholly  occupied  by 
dded  mto  the  king- 
d  Salengore,  in  the 
th;  Pahang,  Trin- 
ind  Ligore,  in  the 
in  the  interior  less 
ihole,  Jompole,  Qo- 


THR  MALAYS. 


395 


minchi,   Sungie-Oojong,   S^jmenanri,   Nan- 
nine  Ulu,  C  alang,  Jellye,  Jellaboo,  Segamnt, 
Kemoung,  &c.     Some  of  these  are  divided 
into  separate  tribes  ;  as  for  instance,  Jellaboo 
consists  of  the  tribes  of  Bodoanda,  Tannah- 
Dottar,  Muncal,  and  Battu-Balang.     Scnme- 
nanti  embraces  twelve  tribes,  though  the  pop- 
ulation does  not  exceed  ten  thousand.     t>un- 
cie-Ooiong,  Johole,  Scrimenanti,  and  Rumbo, 
are  called,  "  Mcnangkabo  states."     The  en- 
tire population  is  very  small ;  some  of  the 
states  numbering  no  more  than  two  thousand 
souls.     The  whole  peninsula,  except  Rumbo 
and  Johore,  is  claimed  by  Siam ;  but  many 
of  the  tribes  are  indrpendent,  and  of  others, 
the  subjection  is  but  nominal. 

Scattered  over  the  peninsula,  without  spe- 
cific districts  and  locations,  are  several  wild 
tribes  of  whom  almost  nothing  is  known. 
East  of  Malacca  are  Udai,  Sak-kye,  and  Ray- 
at-Utan,  and  some  negro  tribes.  Ihese  all 
go  under  the  name  of  Orang-Benua,  or  coun- 
try people.  These  have  each  a  language  or 
dialect,  but  laigely  tinctured  with  Malay. 
Further  north,  on  the  mountains  are  negro 
tribes ;  but  evidently  distinct  from  the  Mn 


not  prevail  among  the  intenor  tnbes,  either 
on  the  peninsula  or  the  islnnds  of  the  Indian 
archipelago.  Over  these  ti.bes  they  may 
claim  some  authority,  and  take  precedence 
by  superiority  of  civilization,  but  their  lan- 
guage, manners,  and  government,  remain  un- 

*^  'a  general  character  can  hardly  be  assigned 
to  a  people  scattered  over  so  many  countries, 
and  intermingkd  everywhere  with  indigenous 
tribes.  They  have  generally  been  set  down 
as  disringuished  for  vileness  and  treachery. 
This  opinion  has  doubtless  neen  derived  from 
mariners ;  for  till  recently,  few  others  knew 
much  about  them,  and  the  piratical  tribes 
alone  have  brought  themselves  into  general 
notice.  It  can  not  be  denied,  however,  that 
European  and  American  captains  on  the  coast 
of  Sumatra,  and  elsewhere,  have,  by  their 
frauds  and  oppressions,  contributed  not  a  ht- 
tle  to  drive  those  people  to  make  reprisals. 

Disregard  of  human  life,  revenge,  idleness, 
and  piracy,  may  perhaps  be  considered  com- 
mon to  Malavs.  The  universal  practice  of 
going  armed,'makeR  thoughts  of  murder  fa- 
miliar.    The  right  of  private  revenge  is  uni- 


evidently  distinct  from  the  ^'n-    ™  •    ^— ^^   even  by  the  chiefs,  and  the 
Of  these  tribes  we  hope  s-nt^^^^  J„ed  for  by  a  small 


can  race.     —  ,         ,i    •     .. 

know  more.     They  seem  to  be  a  distinct  va^ 

riety  of  the  human  race ;  differing  from  both 

the  African  and  the  Papuan  of  New  Guinea ; 

and  inferior  to  both.     The  average  height  of 

the  men  is  about    four  feet  eight    inches. 

These  Malay  negroes  are  thinly  spread  over 

a  consideralile  district,  in  and  in  the  rear  of 

Malacca,  and  thence  northward  to  Meigui ; 

amounting  in  the  whole  to  but  few  thousands. 

There  are  at  least  five  tribes  of  them— the 

Joc-oons,   Sa-mangs,  Oo-dees,  Sak-ais,  and 

Ry-ots.     All  of  them  are  much  below  the 

Malays,  and  some  scarcely  above  the  apes ; 

dwelling  in  trees,  and  clefts  of  the  mountain. 

A  few  have  learned  a  little  Malay,  and  occa 


taking  of  life  may  be  atoned  for  by  a  small 
sum  of  money.     Treachery  has  been  consid- 
ered  the  leading  trait  of  Malay  character; 
but  probably  the  idea  is  exaggerated.    Their 
religion  teaches  them,  like  other  Mussulmans, 
to  use  treachery  and  violence  toward  infidels. 
But  there  is  full  reason  to  believe,  that,  in 
intercourse  with  each  other,   domestic   and 
private  virtues  prevail  to  as  great  an  extent 
as  among  other  heathen.     As  to  piracy,  it  is 
dromed  not  only  a  pure  and  chivalrous  occu- 
-.ation,  but  religiously  meritorious.     It  is  car- 
ried on  by  prince,  people,  and  priest,  and  is 
not  less  a  matter  of  pride  than  of  rapacity. 
In  the  arts  of  peace,  they  are  greatly  inte- 


A  few  have  learned  a  litt  e  Malay,  and  occa-     .  y'  "''^^  ;    neighbors  of  Java,  Japan,  Co 
sionally  venture  among  adjacent  tribes  to  pur     "^J"    J^  ;„"|  ^.,„,    They  have  e%en  les 


chase  tobacco  and  utensils ;  but  of  letters  they 
know  nothing.  Nor  have  any  religious  ob- 
servances been  discovered  among  theni. 
Their  only  weapon  is  the  sumpit,  a  small  hol- 
low cane,  about  eight  feet  long,  through 
which  they  blow  short  arrows,  often  poisoned 

at  the  tip.  ,         ,,  . 

The  Malays  arc  everywhere  Mohamme- 
dans. The  period  of  their  becoming  so,  must 
be  placed  near  the  commencement  of  their 
existence  as  a  nation  on  Sumatra,  but  it  is 
not  known  with  exactness.  Wherever  they 
have  spread,  they  exhibit  a  vigorous  spirit  ot 
proselytism ;  and  even  where  force  has  never 
been  attempted,  they  have  drawn  many  thou- 
sand pagans  to  the  worship  of  the  true  God. 

Commercial  and  piratical  in  their  character 
and  aims,  they  have  seldom  settled  far  from 
coasts  ard  harbors ;  "  '*"'■  **""  '"""•"'"° 


chin-China,  and  Siam.  They  have  even  less 
mechanical  ingenuity  and  skill  than  the  Bu- 
gis.  No  portion  of  the  Malays  are  much 
civilized,  and  some  are  truly  savage.  The 
feudal  system  prevails  everywhere,  in  all  its 
integrity.  The  whole  mass  of  the  common 
people  are  virtually  slaves.  Every  chief  not 
only  consumes  the  labor  or  the  property  of 
his  people  at  pleasure,  but  sells  the  services 
or  the  persons  of  his  vassals  to  any  persons 
who  will  purchase  them. 

The  Malay  language  is  pronounced,  by  all 
who  attempt  it,  an  easjy  language  to  acquire. 
This  is  doubtless  true,  to  a  certain  extent.  It 
has  no  sounds  difficult  for  Europeans  or 
Americans  to  pronounce;  its  construction  is 
exceedingly  simple,  and  its  words  are  tew. 
There  is  no  change  made  in  words  to  express 


!  seldom  settled  tar  trom    mere  w  "o  uuaue-  ."»«-  '"V  „"j  .:„„    -qJ 
so  that  the  language  does!  number,  person,  gender,  mood,  and  time,  and 


t;^;  .» 


.|IMfi# 


•^  . . 


my 


26 


r 


w 


396 


THE  BOSTON  CUSTOMHOUSE. 


the  same  word  is  often  used  ns  Q  noun,  adjec- 
tive, verb,  and  ndverl).     Even  the  tenses  to 
verbs  are  seldom  varied.      Hence,  so  much 
as  is  necessary  for  common  purposes  is  soon 
learned.     But,  whoever  would  speak  "!> '"er- 
ary  or  religious  subjects,  finds  Kfeat  ditti;:ul- 
tieM.     The  absence  of  grammatical  mllections 
and   particles  creates  great  ambiguity,   and 
makes  the  meaning  so  dependent  on  the  jux- 
taposition of  words,  as  to  make  great  skill 
necessary  to  propriety  in  discoursing  on  any 
critical  or  novel  subject.     Besides  this,  the 
language  is  so  p(K)r  in  abstract  terms,  as  to 
make  it  impossible  to  avoid  using  a  host  ot 
new  words.     These  are  adopted  by  one  trom 
the  English,  by  another  from  the  Arabic,  by 
another  from  the  Greek,  and  by  another  irom 
the  Portuguese,  occording  to  the  learning  or 
fancy  of  his  teacher. 


THE  BOSTON  CUSTOMHOUSE. 


This  costly  ard  imposing  edifice,  one  of  the 
most  striking  of  Boston's  architectural  orna- 
ments, is  situated  on  India  street,  nearly  op- 
posite the  foot  of  State  street,  a  hwation  more 
convenient  than  commanding.  The  artist  has 
selected  the  head  of  Central  wharf,  as  the 
point  of  view,  thus  giving  us  the  east  side, 
which  however,  corresponds  Ffcwely J^"" 
the  west  or  front  side.  It  would  be  difficult 
to  find  words  to  convey  an  ade<iuate  idea  ot 
the  effect  imwluced  by  an  inspection  of  this 
building,  either  within  or  without;  but  we 
give  our  readers  the  following  description  ot 
the  vorious  parts. 

The  laying  of  the  foundations  of  the  new 
customhouse  commenced  in  1837.  About 
three  thousand  piles  were  first  dnven.  cover- 
ing  an  area  of  nearly  fourteen  thousand  feet. 
On  these  was  laid  a  jdatform  of  granite,  a 
foot  and  a  half  thick,  and  well  cemented  to- 
gether  so  as  to  be  impervious  to  water.  On 
the  east,  south,  and  west  margins  of  this  plat- 
form, is  built  a  ten-foot  shield-wall,  and  with- 
in the  enclosure  thus  formed,  stand  the  walls 
proper  of  the  customhouse. 

The  cellar  story  is  much  cut  vip  by  arches, 
and  walls  of  vast  thickness,  required  to  sup- 
port the  immense  weight  of  ths  internal  stone 
work  above.  Numerous  rooms,  however, 
twelve  feet  high,  are  secured  for  storage,  and 
also  an  apartment  for  the  furnaces  for  heating 
the  whole  establishment.  The  first  story 
open  to  the  light  of  day  is  the  basement.  In 
addition  to  the  thick  wall  partitions  separating 
the  rooms,  two  granite  columns,  four  feet  in 
diameter,  and  eight,  two  feet  in  diameter,  are 
distributed  through  the  rooms  as  supporters. 


Besides  two  rooms  for  the  night-inspectors,  is 
a  nmm  ten  feet  by  thirteen,  for  the  engine  for 
carrying  the  fans  by  which  'he  heated  air  is 
to  be  forced  up.  The  remainder  of  the  rooms 
are  for  storage.  They  are  ten  and  a  half  feet 
in  height.  .  .     , 

In  the  second  story,  the  main  feature  is  the 
grand  entrance  vestibule,  or  rotunda,  nfty- 
eight  by  sixty,  formed  by  twelve  granite  col- 
umns, four  feet  in  diameter.     From  the  north 
and  south  sides  rise  two  grand  stair-cases,  fif- 
teen feet  wiile  at  the  bottom,  and  seven  at  the 
top,  terminating  in  smaller  vestibules  above, 
which  connect  with  the  various  offices  in  the 
third  story.      On  the  northeast  side  of  the 
grand  vestibule  are  the  assistant  treasurer's 
apartments,  nineteen  feet  by  twenty-two,  six- 
teen by  twenty-five,  and  ten  by  twelve,  the 
latter  being  the  vault,  or  Uncle  Sam's  strong 
box.     On  this  floor  are  two  measurers'  apart- 
ments, superintendent's  room,  two  for  weigh- 
ers and  gangers,  two  for  inspectors,  and  one 
for  the  markers  and  approvers  of  spints.     In 
one  of  these  rooms  are  four  fourteen-foot  gran- 
ite columns.     In  most  of  the  rooms  the  ceil- 
ing is  orched.  „    ,    ,  ^  .      • 
In  the  third  story,  we  find  the  great  busi- 
ness r(M)m  under  the  direction  of  the  deputy- 
collector.     It  is  sixty-two  feet  by  fifty-eight, 
and  lighted  from  the  dome,  and  by  six  side 
windows  opening  on  lighted  passages.     Ihe 
dome  is  supported  by  twelve  fluted  columns 
of  marble,  twenty-nine  and  one  halt  teet  in 
height.     Above  them  rises  the  dome  thirty- 
two  feet  more.     The  lower  circumference  of 
the  dome  is  one  hundred  and  ninety-five  feet. 
The  circumference  of  the  eye  of  the  dome  is 
fifty-six  and  a  half  feet,  and  it  is  furnished 
with    beautifully-variegated,    stained    glass, 
which  sends  down  a  flood  of  mellowed  light. 
This  is  said  to  be  the  .::;ost  perfect  and  superb 
hall,  in  the  Corinthian  style,  to  be  found  in  the 
United  States.     There  are  some  twenty  large 
desks  in  this  elegant  hall.     On  this  floor  are 
'  also  two  rooms  each  for  the  collectors,  navy- 
officers,  surveyors,  and  public  store  keepers. 
In  the  attic  IS  an  extra  room  for  the  marK- 
ersand  twofor  the  storing  of  par)ers.  Through- 
out the  building  the  flooring  is  stone,     llie 
roof  and  the  unglazed  part  of  the  dorne  are 
also  covered  with  tiles.     The  furniture  in  ev- 
ery part  is  new,  and  of  the  most  thorough- 
made  and  substantial  kind.  ^ 

The  material  of  this  costly  edifice  is  hain- 
mered  Quincy  granite.  The  architecture  is 
the  Grecian  Doric,  which  style  is  preserved 
throughout,  as  far  as  is  consistent  witli  the 
site,  and  the  business  to  which  the  building  is 
devoted.  The  extreme  length  of  the  build- 
ing is  one  hundred  and  forty  feet,  and  its 
depth,  omitting  the  porticoes,  seventy-tive 
feet.    The  height  from  the  basement  floor  to 


<a^- 


ight-inspectors,  5§ 
for  the  engine  for 
•he  heated  air  is 
inder  of  the  rooms 
en  and  a  half  feet 

lain  feature  is  the 
w  rotunda,  lifty- 
welve  granite  col- 
,     From  the  north 
ml  stair-cases,  fif- 
I,  and  seven  at  the 
vestibules  above, 
ious  offices  in  the 
heast  side  of  the 
isistant  treasurer's 
y  twenty-two,  six- 
ten  by  twelve,  the 
]ncle  Sam's  strong 
)  measurers'  apnrt- 
)m,  two  for  wcigh- 
nspectors,  and  one 
/ers  of  spirits.    In 
fourteen-foot  gran- 
the  rooms  the  ceil- 


ind  the  great  busi- 
tion  of  the  deputy- 
feet  by  fifty-eight, 
tie,  and  by  six  side 
ed  passages.  The 
Blve  fluted  columns 
nd  one  half  feet  in 
;s  the  dome  thirty- 
er  circumference  of 
ind  ninety-five  feet. 

eye  of  tne  dome  is 
and  it  is  furnished 
ted,  stained  glass, 
I  of  mellowed  light. 
it  perfect  and  superb 
le,  to  be  found  in  the 
e  some  twenty  large 
.  On  this  floor  are 
the  collectors,  navy- 
)ublic  store  keepers. 

room  for  the  niark- 
ofpajiers.  Through- 
(ring  is  stone.  The 
jart  of  the  dome  are 

The  furniture  in  ev- 

the  most  thorough- 
id. 
jostly  edifice  is  ham- 

The  architecture  is 
:h  style  is  preserved 

consistent  with  the 
which  the  building  is 

length  of  the  build- 
d  forty  feet,  and  its 
jrticoes,  seventy-five 

the  basement  floor  to 


'^m 


'A. 


398 


CURIOSITIES  OF  AUT. 


the  top  of  llio  ilome  is  ninety-five  font.  Ex- 
tirnully,  thirty-two  fluted  columns  ore  pre- 
scntcil,  each  five  feet  four  inches  inchometcr, 
ami  thirty-two  feet  in  heijht.  Of  these,  six- 
teen are  thrce-qunrter  columns,  ami  form  port 
of  the  walls,  the  spaces  between  them  being 
devoted  to  windows.  There  are  four  on  each 
end  of  the  building,  and  two  on  each  side  of 
the  porticoes.  Then  ot  each  corner  is  n  ncor- 
ly  full  column,  bo  that  eoch  end  of  the  build- 
ing presents  the  ai)pearancc  of  six  of  these 
line  columns,  and  the  sides,  including  the  por- 
ticoes, severally  exhibit  twelve  columns. 
Four  ontsc,  or  miuare  pillars,  stand  at  the  in- 
tersections of  the  porticoes  with  the  bcxlv  of 
the  building.  The  porticoes  are  ten  feet  deep 
by  sixty-six  in  width,  with  six  columns  eoch. 
of  the  dimensions  stated  above.  The  entab- 
latures are  ornamented  with  triglyph  friezes 
ond  multule  cornices,  on  a  li^e  with  the  cor- 
nices of  the  building.  The  porticoes  are 
reached  by  eleven  stone  steps,  on  the  front 
ond  sides. 

Something  over  a  million  of  dollars  wos  ex- 
pended on  this  building.  Notwithstanding  its 
immense  size,  such  is  the  increosc  of  business 
and  population  in  Boston,  that  it  is  nuestion- 
able  whether  in  a  few  years  it  will  not  be 
altogether  too  small  for  the  occomplishment 
of  the  amount  of  business  which  it  will  be 
desirable  to  transact  beneath  its  roof. 

Ammi  B.  Young,  Esq.,  was  employed  as 
architect  in  the  erection  of  this  edifice,  and 
we  need  not  odd  that  it  is  a  noble  monument 
to  his  taste  and  skilL 


CURIOSITIES  OF  ART. 


The  interest  excited  by  any  product  of 
ingenuity  or  skill  must  ever  be  comparative. 
The  musket  of  the  sailor  is  a  matter  of  won- 
der to  the  savage,  the  steam- vessel  a  marvel 
to  the  Chinese,  and  the  electric  telegraph  a 
curiosity  to  all.  Five  hundred  years  ago 
our  forefathers  would  hove  been  as  much 
struck  as  the  South  Sea  islander  with  the 
feats  of  the  musket;  forty  years  ago  steam- 
boats were  subjects  of  wonder  to  our  country- 
men ;  and  ten  years  hence  we  -shall  be  as 
familiar  with  electric  telegraphs  as  we  ore 
now  with  spinning-machines,  gas-light,  loco- 
motives, and  steam-frigates — all  of  which 
were  marvels  and  curiosities  in  their  day. 
Since  invention  is  thus  ever-active  and  pro- 
gressive, we  can  regard  as  permanent  curiosi- 
ties of  art  only  such  products  as  exhibit 
vastitude  or  boldness  of  design,  great  inge- 
nuity and  perseverance  in  accomplishment, 
intricacy  and  complication  of  parts  combined 


with  harmony  of  execution,  rninutpnpsR()f 
proportions  with  delicocy  of  finish,  ond  sim- 
ulation of  living  agency  by  inanimate  mcch- 

aniam. 

The  earliest  elTiirts of  mechanical  ingenuity 
in  Europe  were  chiefly  directed  toward  the 
construction  of  clcx  ks,  watches,  ond  outornnta. 
In  oil  of  these,  weights  and  springs  were  the 
prime  movers,  and  the  skill  of  the  mcchoT.ic 
was  expended  in  rendering  the  movements  of 
his  work  as  numerous  ond  complicated  as 
iwssible.  They  had  no  idea  of  Applying  their 
art  to  the  great  monufacturing  operations  so 
charocteristic  of  the  present  ago ;  not  that 
they  were  unskilful  workmen,  but  thot  they 
were  ignorant  of  thot  agency  which  has 
developed  our  steom-engine,  spinning-mills, 
printing-presses,  and  other  machinery.  Steam 
force  wos  to  them  unknown.  Their  sole  great 
moving  jKJwer  wos  falling  water— a  power  at- 
tainable only  in  a  limited  degree,  ond,  when 
attoinoble,  not  often  in  o  situation  to  be  avail- 
able. It  was  thus  thot  ingenious  workmen  so 
frequently  devoted  a  lifetime  to  the  construc- 
tion of  some  piece  of  mechanism,  which,  after 
all,  was  only  valuable  as  on  amusing  curiosity. 

BPEAKine    MACHIIfES. 

From  the  time  that  the  statues  of  Memnon 
emitted  their  mysticol  tones  on  the  bonks  of 
the  Nile,  and  the  oracular  responses  were 
delivered  at  Delphi,  through  the  period  when 
a  speaking  head  was  exhibited  by  the  pope, 
toword  the  end  of  the  tenth  century,  and  oth- 
ers afterward  by  Roger  Bacon  and  Albertus 
Mognus,  vorious  surprising  efforts  have  been 
made  to  produce  a  machine  capable  of  articu- 
lating human  words  and  sentences.  The  rec- 
ord left  us  concerning  the  Egyptian  statues  is 
by  far  too  sconty  to  afflird  basis  even  for  a 
probable  conjecturf  ,  and  with  respect  to  the 
oracle  at  Delphi,  the  cave  of  Trophonius,  and 
the  like,  we  have  every  reason  to  suppose  thut 
the  sounds  emitted  were  merely  those  of  some 
confederate,  rendering  more  surprising  by  call- 
ing in  the  aid  of  acoustic  principles  m  the 
construction  of  the  oracular  temple.  Agoin, 
the  speaking  instruments  of  the  middle  oges 
were  simple  combinations  of  pines  and  stops, 
concealed  by  an  exteniol  semblance  of  a  hu- 
man head,  and  capable  of  uttering  only  a  few 
simple  syllables. 

It  is  but  recently  that  ingenuity,  aided  by 
the  numerous  mechanical  facilities  of  the 
present  day,  has  been  able  to  complete  a 
machine  capable  of  simulating  the  human 
voice  in  a  tolerable  manner.  Of  the  three  or 
four  which  hove  been  constructed  during  the 
present  century,  we  shall  only  shortly  odvert 
to  that  of  Faber,  which  created  considerable 
sensotion  four  or  five  years  ago.    It  is  thus 


■^\ 


jmnxnencM  of 
finish,  and  »im- 
nanimate  mech- 
anical ingcniiity 
^teJ  toworti  th(! 
s,  and  automnta. 
springs  were  the 
of  the  mcchovic 
le  movements  of 

complicated  as 
jf  applying  their 
ng  operations  so 
t  ogc  ;  not  that 
n,  but  that  they 
incy  which  has 
,  spinning-mills, 
chinery.    Steam 

Their  sole  great 
ter — a  power  at- 
sgree,  and,  when 
ation  to  be  avail- 
lious  workmen  so 
)  to  the  construc- 
ism,  which,  after 
musing  curiosity. 

INES. 

atues  of  Memnon 
)  on  the  banks  of 
'  responses  were 
I  the  period  when 
ited  by  the  po|)e, 
century,  and  oth- 
icon  and  Albtrtus 
eflTorts  have  been 
capable  of  articu- 
ences.  The  rec- 
gyptian  statues  is 
basis  even  for  a 
ith  respect  to  the 
F  Trophonius,  and 
on  to  suppose  that 
rely  those  of  some 
surprising  by  call- 
principles  in  the 
temple.  Again, 
f  the  middle  ages 
f  pipes  and  stops, 
ambiance  of  a  bu- 
ttering only  a  few 

genuity,  aided  by 
facilities  of  the 
le  to  complete  a 
ating  the  human 
.  Of  the  three  or 
ructed  during  the 
nly  shortly  advert 
eated  considerable 
!  ago.    It  is  thus 


CURI0.SITIK8  or  ART. 


309 


!  known  thot  in  cafculotions  involvinj^the  pow- 


of 


Athcriinim: — 

..  You  are  aware  that  the  attemjits 
Cncninrd  b»  Tour,  Biot,  MuUer,  and  Stemle. 
to  iVrodiu-e  articulate  sounds,  or  even  to  imitate 
the  huinnu  voice,  have  not  been  very  success- 
ful •  in  fact,  our  knowledge  of  the  j.hysiology 
„r  the  Inrynx  and  its  api)endices  has  been  so 
limite.l.  that  we  have  not  even  an  cxpluriution 
„f  the  mode  in  which  the  falsetto  is  produced. 
Mr.  Fuller' •<  instrument  solves  the  ditfieulties 


ers  and  nnits  of  numbers,  progression,  eiiua. 
tions,  higorithms,  and  the  like,  it  not  only  re- 
quires great  expertness,  but  accuracy— an 
accuracy  which  is  scarcely  aummble  unc  er 
the  strictest  hutnan  attention.  .Such  calcula- 
tions areof  indispensable  utility  in  astronomy, 
navigation,  and  geography,  as  well  as  in  gen- 
eral  mathemutics;  mid,   for  op|>liculion-  are 


Mr.Kaber's  instrument  solves  the  ditticulties.  ""'  ';";';V  ^^,,  ;,  ,„,,„,„r  f„„ns,  embracing 
I  ,.,„.  only  give  you  a  very  '-"l":'*^;'^  '''«""/  ^1""  L.  led  .ages  of  thick-set  figures.  To 
the  instrument.  To  underHtaml  the  mechan-  ^^^  ^.ch  tables  with  perfect  accuracy 
ism  perlVctly.  it  would  '"V''''-'''''*"^  •    n     I  3l  re.n  ire  the  life-work  of  several  caf- 

^zr:^^:^^r:  sSf ; ;  i ; »» >;.,:s  -l:=;'r 'lis 


cessury  tor  sucn  a  purpisc.      x  m,   ..."...-■—  |  - 
consists  of  u  pair  of  bellows,  nt  present  only  i  ^^Vr; '" 
worked  by  a  pedal  similar  to  tlmt  ol  an  organ,  ]       1  h  m 


most  extensive 


of  tt  caoutchouc  imitation  of  the  liiryiix,  tongue, 
nostrils,  and  of  a  set  of  keys  by  which  the 
springs  are  brought  into  action.     The  rnpiditv 
of  utterance  depends  of  course  upon  the  rapid- 
ity with  which  the  keys  are  played ;   and 
though  mv  own  attem|)ts  to  make  the  instru- 
ment  si.eak  sounded    rather  ludicrous,   Mr. 
Faber   was   most  successful.      There   is  no 
doubt  that  the  machine  may  bo  much  im- 
proved, and  more  especially  that  the  limhre 
of  the  voice  may  be  agreeably  modified.     1  he 
Nvpather  naturally  allects  the  tension  of  the 
Inuiu  rubber;  and   although  Mr.  Faber  can 
raise  the  voice  or  depress  it.  and  can  lay  a 
stress  upon  a  particular  syllable  or  a  won  I, 
still,  one  can  not  avoid  feeling  that  there  is 
room  for  improvement.     This  is  even  more 
evident  when  the  instrument  is  made  to  smg ; 
but  when  we  remember  what  difficulty  many 
people  have  to  regulate   their  own   chorere 
vocales,  it  is  not  surpnsmg  that  Mr.  t  aber 
has  not  yet  succeeded  in  giving  us  an  instru- 
mental Catalan!  or  Lablache.     I  aber  is  a 
native  of  Freybourg.  in  the  grand  duchy  ot 
Baden ;  he  was  formerly  attached  to  the  ob- 


^,n.  „.,„„  . -. ._  and  ingenious  of  cal- 
culating ma.'hines  arc  undoubtedly  those  in- 
vented, and  so  far  perfected,  by  Mr.  Bubbn^'e. 
That  constructed  at  the  expense  of  tlie  Untisli 
eovernment  for  the  calculation  of  astronomical 
and  nautical  tables,  is,  we  believe,  not  yet 
completed,  in   cousetiuencc  of  some   misun- 
derstanding which  caused  a  suspension  of  Us 
progress  in  18.13.    This  employed  one  hundred 
and  twenty  figures  in  its  calculation.     At  a 
later  period.  Mr.  Babboge  began  another  on 
his  own  account,  intended  to  compute  with 
four  thousand  figures !     Of  the  former  inven- 
tion. Sir  David  Brewster,  in  1832,  sj.eaks  in 
the  following  terms :  "  Of  all  the  machines 
which  have  been  cimstrueted  in  modern  tunes, 
the  calculoting  machine  is  doubtless  the  most 
extraordinary.     Pieces  of  mechanism  for  per- 
forming   particular    arithmetical    operations 
have  been  long  ago  constructed ;  but  these 
bear  no  comparison,  either  in  ingenuity  or  in 
magnitude,  to  the  grand  design  conceived  and 
neariy  executed  by  Mr.  Babbagt.     Great  as 
the  power  of  mechanism  is  known  to  be,  yet 
we  venture  to  say  that  many  of  the  most  in- 
telligent of  our  readers  will  scarcely  admit  it 


Baden;  he  was  formeriy  at  ached  to  tne  oo-  -';«;;"";„;, hat  astronomical  and  naviga. 
servatory  at  Vienna,  but  owing  to  an  affection  ^Pj-^  P^;'^;/'^,^  accurately  computed  by 
of  the  eyes,  was  obliged  to  retire  ,7°"   H  ^^  ^"^^^^^^^^^ 

small  pension:  he  then  devoted  himself  to  the    machinery    thatii  ,„^,„;t_and  that 

study  of  anatomy,  and  now  offers    he  result     he  errors  J^h  ch    t       y       ^^^^^  ^^^^i^^.j 
of  his  investigations,  and  their  application  to    ^^f/^.  ^^  ^  ;J  ;,„„  ^e  printed  off  wi 


mechanics,  to°the  world  of  science." 


CALCnLATINO   MACHINES. 


free  from  error,  can  be  printed  off  without 
the  aid  of  human  hands,  or  the  opern'  on  of 
human  inlelligence.  All  this,  however,  Mr. 
Babbage's  machine  can  do ;  and  as  1  have 
had  the  advo-ta-c  of  seeing  it  actually  cal- 

Various  machines  have  from  time  ^^^^^^jf^JSt^'^^^^^^ 
been  invented  to  lessen  the  drudgery  of  long    rt^^emvent^^^^^^         ^  observation. 

and  continuous  calculation.    The  P""/'Pl^M  ^\°^  ^.^nTcon^ists  essentially  of  two  parts 
upon  which  the  increase  and  decrease  of  num-    Th'>  rn^me  co  ^            ^        .               ^^^^ 
bers  depend,  are  as  fixed  as  Nature  herself ,    -a  calculating  p,            t        Mfiiment  of 
and  tlJse  once  known,  wheel-machinery  of    rf  which  are  ^^^^^                     ^^^^  ^^,^^^^^  ^^. 
determinate  proportions  may  be  constructed  to  1  Mr.  Babbage  s   views^^ 


*•<,. 


Tm 


'*^«« 


viintngc  would  \>c.  lost  if  the  computatiimn 
inailt;  l>y  the  machine  were  copied  by  human 
hands,  and  transferred  t     types  by  the  com- 
mon process.     The  grc    .  r  part  of  the  calcu- 
lating machinery  is  already  constructeil,  and 
exhibits  workmanship  of  such  extraordinary 
«kill  and  beauty,  that  nothing  approachmjj  to 
it  has  been  wunessed."     At  a  later  perioil, 
wt!  h'nd  Dr.  Lardner  stating  that  the  princi- 
ple on  which  this  machine  wa»  founded  was 
one  of  a  perfectly  pcneral  nature,  and  that  it 
wua  therefore  appliciible  to  numerical  tables 
of  every  kind,  and  thut  it  was  capable,  not 
only  of  computing  and  printing,  with  perfect 
accurnry,  an  unlimittjd  number  of  copies  of 
every  numerical  table  wl    h  has  ever  hitherto 
been  wanted,  but  also  tin     it  was  capable,  of 
iiriiiling  every  table  that  lun  ever  be  recpiired. 
It  ap|it!or8  thot  the  front  elevation  of  the 
calculating  mochinery  presents  seven  upright 
columns,  each  consisting  of  eijjhteen  cages  of 
wheelwork,  the  mechanism  t)t  each  cage  be- 
ing identically   the  same,   and  coiisislinjj  ()f 
two  parts,  one  capable  of  transmitting  aildition 
from  the  left  to  the  right,  and  the  other  capa- 
ble of  transmitting  the  process  of  carrying 
upward  ;   for  it  sc-ms  that   all  calctilations 
ore  by  this  mochinery  reduced  to  the  process 
of  ad'dition.     There   will,  therefore,   be  one 
hundred  and  thirty-six  repetitions  of  the  same 
train  of  wheelwork,  each    acting  upon   the 
other,  and  the  process  of  addition  with  which 
the  pen  would  be  going  on  successively  from 
figure  to  figure,  will  here  be  performed  si- 
multaneously, and  as  the  mech.x'asm  can  not 
err,  with  unfailing  accuracy.      The  results 
of  the  calculating  section  are  transferred  by 
mechanical  means  to  the  printing  machinery, 
and  the  types  are  moved  by  wheelwork,  and 
brought  successively  into  tne  proper  position 


MI.NIATURE    MACIil.NEHT. 


to  leave  their  impressions  on  a  plate  of  cop- 
per; this  copper  serving  as  a  mould  from 
which  stereotyped  plates  without  limit  may 
be  taken. 

It  has  been  hinted  at  in  the  al.vsve  descrip- 
tion, that  various  calculating  machines  have 
been  invented — all,  however,  of  inferior  pre- 
tensions to  that  of  Mr.  Babbage.  Thus, 
Louis  Forchi,  a  Milanese  cabinet-maker,  con- 
structed a  machine  capable  of  performirig  the 
simple  rules  of  arithmetic  with  exactitude. 
This  invention  is  of  recent  date:  its  author 
was  awarded  the  gold  medal  of  the  Milan 
Institute  for  his  ingenuity.  In  1838,  an  in- 
strument called  the  Surveyors'  Calculator  was 
invented  by  a  Mr.  Heald,  for  the  purpose  of 
avoiding  the  necessity  of  long  calculanons  in 
surveying  estates.  This  instrument,  which 
is  8(3mewhat  ujion  the  principle  of  the  sliding 
scale,  can  also  be  used  in  extracting  the  roots 
of  numbers,  and  in  ordinary  operations  of 
niultij)licalion  and  division. 


Much  skill  and  perseverance  have  been 
displayed  by  the  ingenious  in  all  ages  in  the 
construction  «)f  miniature  olyecis — the  pur- 
poses to  be  gained  being  niinuteness  of  pro- 
portions  with  delicacy  of  finish.  Veritable 
watchea  have  been  set  in  finger-rin:;« ;  a 
dinner-set,  with  all  its  ap|)urtenunres,  placed 
in  a  ha/.el-nut ;  and  a  coach  and  four  enclosed 
in  a  cherry-stone.  Beyond  the  mere  training 
of  the  hand  and  eye  to  the  accomplislmient 
of  delicate  work,  tnere  can  be  nothi'ig  gained 
by  such  exhibitions  of  ingenuity,  end  were 
it  not  for  this  acijuirement,  we  mighr  safely 
pronounce  all  these  tiny  inventions  as  ti.e 
otisiiring  of  ingenious  trilling. 

Cicero,  according  to  Pliny's  report,  saw  the 
whole  Iliail  of  Homer  written  in  so  tine  a 
character  that  it  could  be  contained  in  a  nut- 
shell ;  and  jElian  speaks  of  one  Myrmecides, 
a  Milesian,  and  of  Callicrates,  a  Lacedamo- 
ni'TJi,  the  first  of  whom  made  an  ivory  chariot, 
so  rtmall  and  so  delicately  framed  that  a  fly 
with  its  wings  could  nt  the  same  time  cover 
it  und  a  little  ivory  shij)  of  the  same  dinien- 
8!oas ;  the  second  formed  ants  and  other  little 
animals  out  of  ivory,  which  were  so  extreme- 
ly small  that  their  com|H)nent  parts  were 
scarcely  to  be  distinguished  with  the  naked 
eye.  He  states  also,  in  the  same  place,  that 
one  of  those  artists  wrote  a  distich,  in  golden 
letters,  which  he  enclosed  in  the  rind  of  a 
grain  of  corn. 

The  tomb  of  Confucius,  a  miniature  mr»lel, 
of  Chinese  workmanship,  is  considered  as  the 
most  elaborate,  costly,  and  beautiful  specinien 
of  oriental  ingenuity  ever  imported  into  Eu- 
rope. It  is  chiefly  composed  of  the  precious 
metals  and  japan-work,  and  adorned  with  a 
profusion  of  gems ;  but  its  chief  value  consists 
in  the  labor  expended  on  its  execution.  Its 
landscapes,  dragons,  angels,  animals,  and  hu- 
man figures,  would  retiuire  several  pages  of 
description,  which,  after  all,  would,  without 
a  view  of  the  model,  prove  tedious  and  unin- 
telligible. The  late  Mr.  Cox  of  London  de- 
clcred  it  to  be  one  of  the  most  extraordinary 
productions  of  art  he  ever  beheld,  and  that  he 
could  not  undertake  to  make  one  like  it  for 
less  than  c£l500. 

Among  the  many  curious  works  of  art  pro- 
duced by  the  monks  and  nuns  of  ecclesiastical 
establishments,  none  have  been  so  much  ad- 
mired as  their  fonts,  real  and  in  model.  On 
these  were  often  lavished  vast  sums,  and  all  the 
ingenuity  which  the  sculptor,  carver,  or  work- 
er in  metal,  could  command.  The  font  of 
Raphael  has  long  been  known  and  admired  ; 
that  executed  by  Acavala  in  1562,  and  pre- 
sented by  an  emperor  of  Germany  to  Philip 
II.  of  Spain,  may  be  considered,  however, 


lll.tKHT. 

i-rance   huvc  beon 
I  in  all  u^i-H  in  tint 

objcctit — I  lie  pur- 
niinut(.'ni'H8  of  |iro- 

HmInIi.  Veriluble 
in  fin«i'r-rint;» ;  n 
lurtcnunres,  (ilnced 
h  Hnd  lour  oncloned 
(I  llie  mere  lrniiiinj{ 
he  arrornpliHliintnt 
1  be  nothi'ig  ^aineti 
genuity ;  oml  were 
tit,  we  mi({br  eul'ely 

inventions  an  ii.c 
ing. 

iiy's  report,  saw  tbe 
written  in  so  tine  a 
contained  in  a  «ut- 
jf  one  Myrmcrides, 
ates,  a  Loceda'mo- 
ide  an  ivory  chariot, 

framed  tiiat  a  fly 
le  same  time  cover 
of  the  same  dimen- 
ants  and  other  little 
;h  were  so  cxtreme- 
i|)onent  parts  were 
led  with  the  naked 
the  same  place,  that 

a  distich,  in  golden 
ed  in  tbe  rind  of  a 

,  a  miniature  mo<icl, 
is  considered  as  the 
d  beautiful  specimen 
r  imported  into  £u- 
osed  of  the  precious 
and  adorned  with  a 
9  chief  value  consists 
t  its  execution.  Its 
;l9,  animals,  and  hu- 
lire  several  pages  of 
all,  would,  without 
ve  tedious  and  unin- 
,  Cox  of  London  de- 
e  most  extraordinary 
r  beheld,  and  that  he 
make  one  like  it  for 

aus  works  of  art  pro- 
nuns  of  ecclesiastical 
k-e  been  so  much  ad- 
I  and  in  model.  On 
vast  sums,  and  all  the 
ptor,  carver,  or  work- 
mand.  The  font  of 
known  and  admired ; 
la  in  1562,  and  pre- 
if  Germany  to  Philip 
considered,  however, 


criuosn  «*■   i*"  akt. 


401 


1 


.,  the  mo-t  elaborate  of  these  perfi.rmances. 

X  :„?:;.l  >.  .ontained  in  a  --"^  -;-«':', 

a„ld   and  isitoclf  of  hoxw,HH\.      The  geru,  ol 

''i      In  n,av  l)c  r.«aarded  as  architectural.  «  n- 

13.^1  wi     ^veral  comparimentsof  s.  ul,. 

S  o    cSlnR.  consisting  of  vanou.  grn^ps 

,f  Lures  in  alto  and  ba.«.  rcl.ey.,e».     Thc«e 

HolttV  dillerent  events  in  the  hie  of  Chnst. 

frm  the  annunciation  to  hi.  cruc.hxum  on 

M       »  r«lv,irv      The  croups  are  dispersed 

Mount  ^7"'y;i  /.",,„\he'  outHule.and  in 

1 1;;,,':;::::  ;rl.rwithin.  some  ..f  the  figure. 

*   e  los:  than  a  .,uarter  of  «n    -J  !"  J^K*^  , 
I  b..t  though  thus  minute,  are  «['  f  "  ^Jj'^Xt 
I  the  oreatpst  precision   and   skill;  sn-i    wnai 

l..fulHrs    his  execution  still  more  curious  and 

wnitn  in.  ...ULB.  ,        J     twelve  inches 

are   executed,      rhouuh  on  y  .^^^^^ 


tectural  ornaments,  in  t^«/^'^;**^i''y„%„d 
Gothic,  an.l  also  figures  of  the  Y"?"  ""^^ 
rh\\.\   a  nelican  with  its  young,  six  lions  m 

1  he  wors.  IS  ^  microscopic 

^''  J,io„  U  was  ortlred  for  sale  in  England 
St  "biny  ;er  ago,  but  wo  are  ignorant 

"'wVw  "e'en  Tat  Arnold,  the  Won 
Jlh-nllki;  rstructed  a  -tch  for  George 
UL,  which  was  set  in  a  finger-nng  .  but  tm. 

r  rr^asTTaTTamlrL^o?  EngC 
Charles  v.,  as  w.u  »»  i-v,,.!.  of  their 

i..,i  .imiUr  ornaments  in  thejeweiBut 
had  »'""'* V;"'..:„8  of  mechanism  is  some- 

Barcelona  filbert  shell.    p,.u  completed 

In  1828,  a  "^•^^'•'"'^^^SJarriaBeVthT  whole 
a  miniature  cannon  and  carnage,  t 

of  which  on%--£„X  bore  and  touV 
teS^et?:lheT«a  was  of  steel,  the  car 


riaee  of  B->IJ.  •nA  th«  wh'-fil*    •  »ilv"r. 
wtfrkmaiMhit;  was  -.aid  '     >-   *-ut.f«l. 

C;Sfo?lHS:^'enti..n  .  -fe;.  ah^h^ 

p  essure  steam-engine-,  m  l'^'"  ""^  ""  "f.' 
watchmaker  wh..  o<:cup,e.  a  stand  at  the 
Polytechnic  Institution -so  sn^all  that  Jt 
Btands  u,H,n  a  fourpenny  piece,  w'th  ground  U^ 

""•"  ■''  ^icrnof  min"i"'-kman! 
r^rren  K"  .art  bl."  g  made  accord- 
i  to  "ale.  and  the  whole  occupying  so 
Imal  a^mce  that,  with  the  exception  ./the 
flv-wheE  might  be  c.vered  with  a  thimble. 
'  &s  n.  t  simply'a  '".Kiel  outwardly  ;.tjrfc. 

with  the  greatest  activity  l-Y  '««""V"\''Vl 
msnhenc  pressure  (in  Heu  of  steam);  and 
7ewoZ>  of  the  little  thing,  as  its  part,  are 
en"  boring  and  heaving  ""J"  ^^f'f ^'=""' 
is  indescribably  curious  and  beautiful. 


OIOANTIC   AND    CURIOUS    CAKN05S. 

We  n..tire  a  few  of  the  remarkable  field- 
„-Zs  which  have  been  constructed  in  va- 
?^u    countries  since   the  invention  of  gun- 
«  wder      Such  instruments  are  often  regard- 
ed with  interest,  either  on  account  of  thei 
fupelus  size,  or  the  ingenu.tv  dismayed 
in  their  construction  and  mo.le  of  aPl?""""' 
The  largest  known  guns  are,  we  believe,  to 
be  fouX  India,  where  they  were  cast  dur- 
SgE  meridian  of  the  Mohammedan  power 
One  of  these  brass  pieces,  known  as       ihe 
I  ord  of  the  Field,"  now  lies  on  the  bastions 
If  the  walls  of  Be  apoor,  and  is  not  less  than 
fourteerfeet  and  nine  inches  long,  wuh  . 
borf  of  two  feet  and  five  inches  in  dian«eter 
bore  01  iwo  .«  thousand  six 

—thus  requinng  a  onu  »•  <■ 

nendous  g'ln  ^^^^  ,jg 

ed  some  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  ag  . 
incT  destroyed  by.  an  overcfia^^  of  pow 
der  during  an  expenmental  exV.^^^^^^^^^   ^^  ^^^ 
hupe  instrunrientof  destrucnon^^  ^^^ 
l3L"'ga"nte.  the  Belgian  minis- 


%# 


m 


'  i^' 


"^^ 


^.  .»^'p!-^^  :'.''4"  .%^^S:' 


r 


402 


CUBI08ITIK8  OF  ART. 


ter  of  war.     It  was  five  fert  long,  and  three 
feet  an<l   four  inche*  in  .linmeter,  having  a 
bore  of  twenty-four  an<l  a  half  inchri,  and 
wiiahina  fourfinn  thi>u«on(l  ami  seven  hun- 
,lre(I  pound..     The  weight  of  the  cmntjr  .hell 
fitted   for  it  wan  nine  hundred  and  »ixtecn 
pound.  ;  of  the  powder  contained  in  the  shell, 
ninety-five  pounds ;  and  of  the  shell,  when 
fu/ly  charged,  ten  hundred  and  fifteen  oounds. 
Tne  powder-chamber  was  made  to  hold  thirty 
pounds;  but  a  considerable  less  (piantity  than 
this  sufficed  to  discharge  the  shell  when  the 
range  did  not  exceed  eight  hundred  or  nine 
hundred  yards.     The  weight  of  the  wo,Klen 
bed  which  contained  the  mortar  was  sixteen 
thousand  pounds.     "The  name  of  •  Monster 
Mortar,' "  says  the  United  Service  .Journal, 
"  was  well  selected,  for  it  is  scarcely  possi- 
ble to  conceive  a  more  ugly  or  unwicldly  im- 
plement.    With  the  exception  of  the  mortar 
at  Moscow,  the  bore  of  which  is  thirty-six 
inches  in  diameter,  and  which,  if  ever  used, 
must  have  been  employed  for  projecting  mas- 
ses of  gronite.  the  Antwerp  mortar  excee<led 
in  magnitude  ony  other  engine  of  the  kind 
hitherto  known.     The  immense  pieces  called 
karthauns,  which  were  common  on  the  con- 
tinent in  the  early   part  of  the  eighteenth 
century,   rorely   exceeded  between  seventy 
and  eighty  hundred  weight,  and  projected  a 
ball  of  not  more  than  sixty  pounds  weight. 

The  largest  gun  ever  made  in  Britain  was 
one  cast  a  few  years  ago  for  the  pacha  of 
Egypt.     It  weighs  nearly  eighteen  tons,  is 
made  on  the  howitzer  principle,  and  is  about 
twelve  feet  long,  with  on  immense  quantity 
of  metal  at  the  breech.     The  diameter  of  the 
bore  is  about  sixteen  inches,  and  the  vveight 
of  the  ball  with  which  it  will  be  shotted  four 
hundred   and    fifty-five    pounds.      Immense 
ficld-piecea  have  sometimes  been  constructed 
■){  malleable  iron,  by  fashioning  the  body  of 
oars,  as  a  cooper  forms  a  pail,  and  then  hoop- 
ing them  closely  round  by  other  bars  of  great 
strength.     The  old  piece  known  as  "  Mons 
Meg,"  and  exhibited  as  a  curiosity  on  the 
uuuer  parapet  of  Edinburgh  castle,  is  made 
on  this  principle.     It  is  now  a  wreck,  and 
wl     long  the  only  piece  of  the  kind;   but 
80iv.e  years  ago  the  United  States  govern- 
ment gave  orders  for  several  of  the  same  kind, 
of  much  larger  dimensions.     The  largest  of 
these  was  placed  on  board  the  "  Princeton 
steamer,  measuring  sixteen  feet  in  length,  and 
copable  of  carrying  a  bull  weighing  two  hun- 
dred and  thirty  pounds.     During  one  of  the 
experimental  trips  with  the  new  vessel,  this 
monster  gun  was  shotted,  and  fired,  when  un- 
luckily the  breech  exploded,  causing  the  death 
of  two  members  of  the  president's  cabinet, 
Messrs.  Upshur  and  Gilmer,  besides  killing 
and  wounding  a  number  of  others  on  board. 


Among  the  curiosities  under  this  heod,  we 
may  justly  notice  the  »(fam-ifun  of  Mr.  Per- 
kins, invented  (Mime  thirteen  or  fourteen  years 
ago,  and  which  many  of  our  rea<lers  may 
have  seen  exhibited  in  both  London  mid  Kdin- 
burgh.  It  consists  of  an  ordinary  metal  tube, 
of  any  calibre,  connected  with  a  compact 
steom  apparatus  of  proportionate  power,  ami 
movable  at  pleasure,  in  any  direction,  by 
means  of  a  universal  joint.     With  one  fourth 


additional  force  to  that  of  gunixiwder,  it  will 
propel  a  stream  of  bullets,   whether  musket 
or  cannon  halls,  nt  the  rate  of  eighteen  ()r 
twenty  a  second,  for  any  length  of  time  during 
which  the  steam-iHiwer  may  be  kept  up.    One 
gun  is  in  itself  a  battery  in  perpetual  and  iri- 
cessant  motion,  movWig  horizontally  or  verti- 
cally, sweeping  in  a  semicircular  range,  nn.l 
pouring  all  the  while  a  continued   volley  of 
balls  with  unerring   precision  when  directed 
point-blonk.     Two  of  these  guns  in  a  ship 
would  sink  any  vessel  instantly;  and  wliot 
lorce  could  pass  by  such  a  battery  on  land  ? 
In  the  models  generally  exhibited,  the  noiso 
mode  in  firing  is  little  more  than  that  coused 
by  the  rush  of  a  column  of  steam  from  a  nar- 
row aperture.     It  is  curious  to  see  a  small 
tube  of  polished  steel  spitting  (for  that  term 
is  most  expressive  of  its  action)  forth  a  show- 
er of  bullets  and  steam  without  the  least  ap- 
parent eflbrt. 


OPTICAI.  1MTR0MENT8. 

To  the  uninitiated,  a  common  convex  or 
concave  lens  is  a  curiosity.  Why  o  bit  of 
transparent  glass  so  fashioned  should  magnity 
or  diminish  the  objects  seen  through  it,  is  a 
marvel  until  the  optical  principle  is  explained. 
The  same  remark  may,  with  greater  justice, 
be  applied  to  convex  and  concave  mirrors; 
to  the  telescops  and  microscope— instruments 
with  which  every  schoolboy  is  now  less  or 
more  familiar.  Common  as  optical  instru- 
ments of  every  description  may  have  become, 
there  are  still  a  few,  the  ingenuity,  beauty, 
or  magnitude  of  which,  must  strike  every  re- 
flecting mind  with  curious  interest. 

Among  these,  we  may  mention  the  curious 
metallic  mirrors  of  the  Chinese,  in  which  the 
figures  stamped  on  the  back  ore  clearly  re- 
flected from  the  polished  surface,  as  if  the 
metal  had  been  a  transparent,  and  not  a  dense 
and  opaque  substance  !  These  mirrors  ore 
generally  from  five  to  ten  inches  in  diameter, 
have  a  knob  in  the  centre  of  the  back  by 
which  they  con  be  held,  and  on  the  rest  of 
the  back  ore  stomped  certoin  figures  ond  lines 
in  relief.  It  is  these  figures  which  ore  re- 
flected by  the  polished  face— a  fact,  the  cx- 
plonation  of  which  at  one  time  greatly  amused 
I  and  perplexed  the  savam  of  Europe.     One 


(!rr  thi«  licnd,  we 
-nun  of  Mr.  Prr- 

or  fourtcrri  ypors 
(lur  rcailrrn  may 
Ldiicloii  nncl  Kiliii- 
liimry  rii(  till  tube, 

with  a  cdinimrt 
onato  power,  aticl 
iny   direction,   l>y 

With  one  fourth 
{unpowiler,  it  will 

whtthi-r  inuskct 
tc  of  eiKhti'cn  or 
Rthdf  time  during 
I  be  kept  up.  One 
I  perpt'tnol  and  in- 
rizontally  or  vcrti- 
lircular  rancr,  ami 
ntinued  volloy  of 
ion  when  dirpcti'd 
30  Runs  in  a  tihip 
(tantly,  and  what 
1  battery  on  land  ? 
xhibiti'd,  thn  noisn 
e  than  that  cansted 

gtcam  from  a  nnr- 
)U9  to  see  0  sninll 
ting  (for  that  term 
tion)  forth  a  show- 
ithout  the  least  ap- 


UMERT8. 

:ommnn  convex  or 
y.  Why  a  bit  of 
nod  should  magnify 
en  through  it,  is  a 
inciple  is  explained, 
'ith  greater  justice, 
J  concave  mirrors; 
>8Cope — instruments 
boy  is  now  less  or 

as  optical  instru- 
1  may  have  become, 

ingenuity,  beauty, 
lUst  strike  every  re- 
s  interest. 

mention  the  curious 
hinese,  in  which  the 
lack  are  clearly  re- 
i  surface,  as  if  the 
rent,  and  not  a  dense 

These  mirrors  are 
1  inches  in  diameter, 
itre  of  the  back  by 
,  and  on  the  rest  of 
tain  figures  and  lines 
gnres  which  are  re- 
ace — a  fact,  the  ex- 
!  time  greatly  amused 
714  of  Europe.    One 


CUUlOaiTIES  OF  ART. 


403 


individual  IngrnUraily  conjecture«i  that   the 
£n  m' •        "v  have  their  origin  m  a  d.ir.-r- 
i,S   f  .le..    . .  m  ditll-rent  part,  of  the  metal, 
^^  .   nl.i  by  the.tam,nMgof  th«flgure»  on 
?he  back,  the  light  being  rcttected  more  or 
..s   tro,  gly  frnin  parts  tilat  have  been  more 
r   le.»  c*!.mpreHJ.I.     Sir   Davi.l   IJrcw^tcr 
however,  is  of  opinion  that  the  •l'«ctru,n  m 
the  luminouH  area  is  not  an   .mage  of  the 
figure,  .m  the  back  ;  but  that  the  Hgures  a  e  | 
a  cony  of  the  picture  which  the  artist  has 
draw.^,«  the  face  of  the  mirror,  «"'    •">  coa- 
realrd  by  polishing,  that  it  is  invisible  in    r- 
linary  hghts.  »..d  can  be  brought  only  in  the 
8un'H  rays.     "  Let  it  be  re.|Uired,  for  exum 
X  ••  Huvs  he,  "to  produce  the  drogon  whieh 
I  often  exhibited  ly  these  curious  mirrors. 
When  the  surface  of  tho  mirror  ,s  rea.ly  for 
iiolishiMB.  the  figure  of  the  dragon  n.ay  I"- 
::l&upon!\inextre„ielyHhaJw^ue. 

or  it  nmv  be  eaten  out  by  un  ocid  much  (iilutcd. 
so  as  to^remove  the  sm^dlest  I""«"''  «  r'"be 
„f  the  metal.     Tho  surface   »""«'  ''l'^"   ^ 
hiuhlv  polished,  not  upon   pitch,    ike  glass 
aliTs^ecula.  because  t>.\would  polish  away 
,1„,  fjgure,  but  u,K>n  clmh,  m  the  way    hut 
lenses  are  sometimes  polished.     In  this  nv  ay 
M    sunk  part  of  the  shallow  lines  will  be 
a.  aighly  polished  as  the  re.t,  and  the  ligure 
wil  only  be  visible  in  ver    strong  lights,  by 
Te  lee   i  the  sun's  rays  from  tlje  meta  he 
surface.^  When  the  space  occupied  by  t  e 
figure  is  covered  by  lines  or  by  etching,     t 
f^fmre  will  appear  in  shade  on  tlvo  wall ;  but 
ff'^thTsrpace\lleft  untouched,  and  the  parts 
round  it^e  covered  by  lines  or  e  ching     he 
figure  will  appear  most  luminous.       \V  hich 
ortheae  surmises  is  the  true  explanation  of 
the  phenomenon,  we  can  not  determine;  but 
Sther  way.  the  construction  of  these  curious 
m  ?rors  is^confinod  alor.e  to  the  Chinese,  no 
Xr  people  having  as  yet  hit  upon  the  secret 
nf  oroducinc  the  deception. 

Sf   late  years,   wonderful .  improvement^ 

have  been  efTectcd  on  the  '"•"o*';??^^^ '" 

in  the  common  compound  a.jiromatic  and  m 

the  oxv-hydrogen.    Of  the  tormcr,  we  lla^'e 

now  tL  TO08t%eautiful  and  perfect  mstru- 

meTits    magnifying  .objects  in  nature  niany 

thousand  times  their  real  sue,  and  ena  UnL 

Se  observer  to  view  them  not  ""Jy  J"  ''  f^ 

all  false  lints,  but  to  measure  an<f  ascertum 

at  the  same  time  the  comparative   sr/.es  of 

the  r  several  parts.    Of  the  latter,  some  have 

been  constructed   of  six  and  eight   iiowers, 

tviour  million  times;  as,  for  example,  the 
one  inadrby  Carey  for  the  Polytechnic  In- 
srimoninLndon.  Thus,  the  second  power 
of  h  sinstrumentmagnifiesthewingsofalocust 

to  twenty-seven  feet  inlength;  the  fourth  pow- 
er magnTfies  tV  .  sting  of  a  bee  to  twenty-seven 


feet;  and  by  the  iixth  jKiwer,  th«  hunion  hair 
it  maunilied  to  eighteen  inches  in  diameter. 

A.  wc  have  gigantic  mierosc.pes,  so  olw 
have  wo  Bigoiilie    tcleseopos;   that  of  Karl 
Ro.sc,  comiHeled  about  four  years  ago,  being 
as  yet  by  far  the  large.t  ever  emmtrueted.     It. 
1  completion  in  1H44  was  thus  described  by  Dr. 
lp.,b{nson  the  astronomer:  "The  speculum. 
which  weighs  three  tons,  and  has  a  diameter 
Lf  six  feet,  with  a  renecling  surface  of  fi.ur 
'thousand  and  seventy-one  s.iuoro  inches,  ho. 
been  ground  to  Figure,  and  can  be  polished  in 
a  dav.    The  tube,  partly  a  cubli'  chamber, 
where  the  mirror  is  tixcf,  and  partly  a  cyl- 
inder of  inch  deal,  strongly  hooi»;l.  «•'<'  »''K/" 
fret   in  diameter  at  its  centre,  is  complete. 
The  massive  centres  on  which  the  teles.ope  i. 
to  tun.  are  in  their  place,  and  the  iron  on- 
pnratus  which  supports  the  speculum  is  olso 
complete.     The  tc'.'sropc  is  not  to  be  turned 
to  any  part  of  the  sky.  Ut  limit.-.l  to  a  range 
of  half  an  hour  on  each  side  of  the  meridian, 
through  which  its  motion  is  given  by  pow- 
erful  clockwork,  independent  of  the  observer. 
For  this  purpose  it  stands  between  two  piece. 
„f  masoi'iry   of  (J'-thic   architecture,   which 
harn..^i/c^well  with   the   castle.      One   of 
these  pillars  will  sustain  the  ga  leries  for  the 
observer,   fti ".  the  other  th.    eOck work  and 
other  .nach!fle/y.     An  extremely  eUgant  ar- 
rangement  of    counterpoises  is   intended   to 
balance  the  enormous  mass,  so  that  a  compara- 
tively slight  force  only  will   be  re-iuired  to 
elevHtrt  or  depress  it.     The  arrangement  will 
not  permit  the  examination  of  an  .^)ject  at  any 
time,  but  only  when  near  the  m.»rtMan,  when 
iris  best  seen.     So  large  a  tel«*t..ve  will 
always  require   the  most   favorable  cucum- 
1  stances  of  air.  &c..  and  there  will,  always  be 
enough  of  objects  at  any  given  time  to  em- 
nlov  it  ^u!lv.     The  aperture  is  six  fe_et.  the 
lJ\  lenK 'a   fifty-eight.    <""'    the   reflecting 
surface  ft'ur  thousand  and  seventy-one  s^uara 
inches"       Herschel's    celebrated    telescope 
had  only  a  focal  length  of  fortv  fuet.  and  a 
reflecting  surface  of  eighteen  huntlrcd  and 
eleven  inches:  dimensions,  the  bare  mention 
of  which  will  enable  the  reoder  to  form  some 
conception  of  this  new  and  wonderful  instni- 
ment.    Herschel's  telescope  worked  wonders 
in  the  starry  field  ;  whot.  therefore,  may  we 
not  expect  t?om  that  of  Earl  Rosse,  of  more 
ample' dimension,  and  of  much  "^''^f  r'-'-J^' 
finish  ?     Indeed  its  wonderful  reve  ations  have 
already  commenced,  and  nebuhe  which  baffled 
the  instrument  of  our  greatest  astronomer  are 
now  resolved  into  clusters  of  stars. 


MANUrACTORES. 

The  weaving  of  damasks  and  otlur  figured 
fabrics,  whether  in  silk,  worsted,  or  linen,  13 


"?«« 


s# 


404 


CURIOSITIES  OF  ART. 


;(Js 


undoubtedly  one  of  the  most  ingenious  de- 
partments of  art,  though  famihonty  with  the 
process  has  long  age  abated  our  wonder. 
There  are  still,  however,  some  rare  achieve- 
ments in  tapestry,  weaving,  and  the  like,  which 
will  ever  be  regarded  as  curiosities.  1  hus 
»he  weaving  of  certain  garments  without  seam, 
even  to  the  working  of  the  button-holes  and 
the  stitching,  is  no  nieari  feat,  requiring  not 
only  considerable  dexterity  and  skill,  but  a 
greater  amount  of  patient  labor  than  the  gen- 
erality of  people  would  be  inclined  to  devote. 
Portrait-weaving,  but  recently  attempted  in 
Great  Britain,  is  also  a  cunous  and  dehcate 


It  has  been  long  known  that  glass  can  be 
drawn  into  threads  of  extreme  fineness,  but  it 
is  not  many  years  ago  since  it  has  been  sue 
cessfully  woven  with  silk;  a  fact  especially 
curious,  as  its  brittle  nature  would  appear  to 
render  such  a  method  of  manufacturing  it  im- 
possible.  "  The  fact,  however,"  says  the  Lon- 
don Times  of  1840,  "  is  indisputable,  the  new 
material  being  substituted  for  gold  and  silver 
thread,  than  either  of  which  it  is  more  durable, 
possessing,  besides,  the  advantage  of  never 
tamishinl.     What  is  technically  called  the 
warp,  that  is.  the  long  way  of  any  loom- 
manufactured  article,   is  composed  of  silk, 
which  forms  the  body  and  ground  on  which 
the  pattern  in  glass  appears  as  the  wett  or 
cross-work.     The  requisite  flexibihty  of  glass 
thread   for  manufacturing  purposes  is  to  be 
ascribed  to  its  extreme  fineness,  as  not  less 
than  fifty  or  sixty  of  the  ongmal  threads 
(produced  by  steam-power)  are  required  to 
form  one  thread  for  the  loom.     The  process 
is  slow,  as  not  more  than  a  yard  can  be  manu- 
factured in  twelve  hours.     The  work,  how- 
ever, is  extremely  beautiful,  and  compara- 
tively cheap,  inasmuch  as  no  similar  stun, 
where  bullion  is  really  introduced,  can  be 
purchased  at  anything  like  the  price  at  which 
this  is  sold ;  addfed  to  this,  it  is,  as  far  aa  the 
glass  is  concerned,  imperishable.' 

Besides  glass,   many  other  inaterials— at 
one  time  regarded  the  most  refractory  and 
unlikely— have  been  adopted  m  the  manu- 
facture of  textile  fabrics,  as  well  as  in  the 
fabrication  of  article*  of  economy  and  orna- 
ment.    Thus,  caoutchouc  dissolved  in  naptha, 
and  spread  between  two  layers  of  cloth,  con- 
stitutes the  waterproof  fabric  of  Macintosh ; 
cut  into  threads  and  ribands,  it  is  woven  into 
elastic  ligatures   and  bandages;    pecuUarly 
prepared,  it  is  employed  in  the  formation  of 
life-boats,  as  well  as  in  the  flooring  of  apart- 
ments ;  it  is  used  in  the  manufacture  of  btwts 
and  shoes.     The  new  substance  gutta-ptrcha, 
is  already  being  applied  to  innumerable  m- 
eenious  purposes.     The  same  may  be  said  of 
papiei  mache,  of  which  many  articles  of  do- 


mestic  use  and  ornament  are  now  fabricated, 
and  which  is  daily  being  adojjUAJ  by  the  carver 
and  cabinetmaker  as  a  substitute  for  their 
most  difficult  panelling  and  fretwork .  Leather 
also  has  recently  been  pressed  into  the  same 
service ;  and  so  tough  and  endurable  is  this 
material,  when  property  prepared  and  mould- 
ed, that  it  is  likely  to  be  very  extensively 
adopted  as  a  substitute  for  carvings  in  wood, 
castings,  compositions,  metal,  or  even  papier 
mache  itself.  There  seems,  in  fact,  to  be  no 
limit  to  the  economic  application  of  every 
substance  which  comes  within  the  reach  of 
man.  We  have  now  before  us  a  fair  speci- 
men of  writing-paper  made  from  the  straw 
of  the  oat  and  bariey. 

Several  years  ago  an  American  patented  a 
mode  of  making  cloth  by  a  pneumatic  process, 
without  spinning,  weaving,  or  any  analogous 
machinery.     The  mode  is  as  follows :   Into 
an   air-tight   nhambiT  is  put  a  (juantity  of 
flocculent  particle  of  wood,  which,  by  a  kind 
of  winnowing-wheel,  are  kept  floating  equal- 
ly ;  on  one  side  of  the  chomber  is  a  network, 
or  gauze  of  metal,  communicating  with  an- 
other chamber,  from  which  tb"  air  can  be  ab- 
stracted by  an   exhausting  syringe   or  air- 
pump  ;  and  on  the  communications  between 
the  chambers  being  opened,  the  air  rushes 
with  great  force  to  supply  the  partial  vacuum 
in  the  exhausted  chamber,  carrying  the  floc- 
culent particles  against  the  netting,  and  so 
interfacing  the  fibres  that  a  cloth  of  beautiful 
fabric  and  close   texture  is  instantaneously 
made.     The  only  objection  to  cloth  of  this 
kind  was  its  rawness,  or  liability  to  shrink 
after  being  wetted  ;  and  for  this  reason,  we 
believe,  it  has  never  come  into  anything  like 
use  for  clothing. 

As  an  appropriate  sequel  to  this,  we  notice 
another  American  machine,  which  has  been 
recently  constructed  for  facilitating  the  pro- 
cess of  sewing  and  stitching.     Its  capabilities 
are  thus  described  by  a  correspondent  of  the 
Worcester  Spy  :  "  llie  machine  is  very  com- 
pact, not  occupying  a  space  of  more  than 
about  six  inches  each  way.     It  runs  with  so 
much  ease,  that  I  should  suppose  one  person 
might  easily  operate  twenty  or  thirty  of  them ; 
and  the  woik  is  done  in  a  most  thorough  and 
perfect  manner.     Both  sides  of  a  seam  look 
alike,  appearing  to  be  beautifully  stitched, 
and  the  seam  is  closer  and  more  uniform  than 
when  sewed  by  hand.    It  will  sew  straight 
or  curved  seams  with  equal  facihty,  and  so 
rapidly,  that  it  takes  but  two  minutes  to  sew 
the  length  of  the  outside  seam  of  apajrot 
men's    pantaloons.      It    sets  four   hundred 
stitches  a  minute  with  perfect  ease,  and  the 
proprietor  thinks  there  is  no  difficulty  in  set- 
tinff  seven  hundred  in  a  minatc.     The  thread 
is  less  worn  by  this  process  than  by  hand- 


CURIOSITIES  OF  ART. 


405 


re  low  fabricated, 
iplul  by  the  carver 
jbstitute  for  their 
"retwork.  Leather 
96(1  into  the  same 
einlurable  is  this 
epared  and  mould- 
very  extensively 
carvings  in  wood, 
al,  or  even  papier 
8,  in  fact,  to  be  no 
plication  of  every 
thin  the  reach  of 
re  us  a  fair  speci- 
le  from  the  straw 

tnerican  patented  a 
pneumatic  process, 
,  or  any  analogous 
s  as  follows :  Into 
put  a  <|uantity  of 
1,  which,  by  a  kind 
kept  floating  equal- 
imber  is  a  network, 
lunicating  with  an- 
h  th«  air  can  be  ab- 
ng  syringe  or  air- 
unicBtions  between 
led,  the  air  rushes 
the  partial  vacuum 
r,  carrying  the  floc- 
the  netting,  and  so 
a  cloth  of  beautiful 
s  is  instantaneously 
ion  to  cloth  of  this 
r  liability  to  shrink 
for  this  reason,  we 
le  into  anything  like 

lel  to  this,  we  notice 
ine,  which  has  been 
facilitating  the  pro- 
ing.  Its  capabilities 
correspondent  of  the 
nachine  is  very  com- 
space  of  more  than 
ly.  It  runs  with  so 
1  suppose  one  person 
nty  or  thirty  of  them ; 
a  most  thorough  and 
jides  of  a  seam  look 

beautifully  stitched,  ] 
ud  more  uniform  than 

It  will  sew  straight 
iqual  facility,  and  so 
It  two  minutes  to  sew 
ide  seam  of  a  pair  of 
;  sets  four  hundred 
perfect  ease,  and  the 
IS  no  difficulty  in  set- 
1  minate.  The  thread 
recess  than  by  hand- 


spwina,  and  r..n8«<iuently  retains  more  of  its 
sm-S  1.  The  simplicity  of  the  construclion 
Sis  machine,  and  the  accuracy,  rupi.-ty.  an- 
perfection  of  its  operation.  wiU  place  it  in  tUe 
Ee  rank  with  tlie  card-machine,  the  straw- 
braider,  the  pin-machine.  and  the  coach  lace- 
h  om-mach  ncs  which  never  fail  to  comuiand 
he  admiration  of  every  intelligent  beholder. 


MIScrXtANKOOS    ECONOMIC    MACHINERY. 

Under  this  head  we  mean  to  allude  to  some 
of  the  more  wonderful  invention,  which  occur 
amcmg  the  vast  assemblage- of  machinery  t  at 
is  now  everywhere  employed  to  lessen  the 
amount  of  human  labor.  A  century  ago,  such 
apparatus  was  of  a  simple  and  scanty  descrip- 
aonT  agriculture  could  boast  of  nothing  ike 
machinery  ;  spinning  and  weaving  were  done 
Whaud,  ships  were  wafted  by  the  breeze, 
or  lay  at  rest  when  there  was  no  breeze  to 

waft  them;  printing,  P''P«';-""'''"-?,\  ^jmi" 
fact  almost  every  art.  was  done  w"h  1 "  "  ; 
tive  hand-machines ;  the  jomer,  blucksmilh.  ad 

mason,  toiled  on  with  patient  >ng«":"  ^'X^ 
dreaming  that  the  time  ^''»  ^I'l'^^.^'^'^S^when 
a  machine,  guided  by  a  single  hand  would 
accomplish  with  ease  the  work  of  fatty. 
Those'things  which  we  now  regard  as  rude  and 
primitive,  were  look  upon  as  marvels:  a  com- 
mon damask  l.«m.  or  a  thrashing  machine, 
was  a  curiosity  worth  a  fiftv  miles'  journey. 
Now  all  this  i's  changed,  an.f  there  ,s  scarcely 
a  single  manual  operation  which  is  not  less  or 
more  facilitated  by  mechanical  aids. 

In  agriculture,  the  flail  is  superseded  by 
machinery  driven  by  horse  or  steain  power ; 
Sowing,  planting,  and  raking  machines,  of 
ianume  able  variety,  are  becoming  of  almost 
universal  use,  doing  the  r  work  w,  h   such 
nicety,  that  we  might  "Imost  ascertain  the 
number  of  grains  necessary  to  the  planting  of 
a  field.     Ploughing  has,  in  some  instances, 
been  executed    by    steam    apparatus ;    and 
draining  has  also  come  under  the  ««m«  «m- 
nipotent  sway.     Even  reaping,  one  ot   the 
nicest  Lid  1st  careful  of  all  agricultural 
operations,  has  been  successfully  accomplish- 
ed by  machinery,  which  does  all  but  fasten 
the  sheaf  and  arrange  tne  corn  in  shocRs. 
Thus  one  of  the  homeliest  of  all  pursuit^  has 
its  curiosities  of  art  in  the  thrashing  mil ,  m 
the  ploughing  apparatus,  and  in  the  more  deli- 
cate and  complicated  reaping  machine. 

In  operations  little  removed  from  agnculture 
as  regards  nicety  of  manipulation  or  Jelicacy 
rf  finish,  the  potent  arm  of  invention  has  also 
been  ex'ercisilig  its  control.  An  excava  ing 
machine  has  been  perfected  in  the  United 
States,  capable  of  performing  the  work  of 
twent^-fivl  ordinary  laborers,  and  that  in  all 
sorts  6f  soils  unincumbered  with  rock.     Ma- 


chinery now  presses  peat  into  fuel,  and  fasli- 
i,  s  iLks  by  myriads;  it  breaks  stones  tor 
Tcadamising^  roads,  and  dresses  their  sur  ace 
for  pavement;  it  sweeps  streets  with  a  pre 
cision  and  rapidity  which  the  scavenger  can 
nl'    equal;  \t  saws  and  polishes  the  marble 
of  the  sculptor,  and  converts  the  most  relrac- 
tory  granite  into  the  most  beautiful  ornamenls. 
The  joiner  calls  in  its  aid  to  saw  and  plane 
his   timber;    the    cartwng lit    to   f.nisli    Is 
wheels  ;   the  cooper  to  buil^l  his  barrels ;  the 
carpenter  to  fashion  and  fanisli  hw  block,  , 
and  the  worker  in  metals  makes  the   same 
power  roll  his  material  into  sheets,  square  it 
nto  bars,  fashion  it  into  nails-makes  it  pierct. 
holes,   fasten  rivets;  directs  it,  '".l"^' 
cut.  file,  polish,  or  stamp,  with  a  rapidity  and 
precision  which  are  all  but  miraculous. 

Ajiain,  if  we  turn  U.  more  delicate  arts,  «e 
find  iw  aptitude  still  more  marvellous  and 
universal.  The  sculptor  and  engraver  per- 
form their  most  delicate  touches  a-jJ  hn«»t 
tints  by  its  aid-a  few  hours  produc  ng  a 
delicacy,  complexity,  and  regularity  ot  lines 
.  •  ,   -ii..  u.. „  lon.l   ran  never  possibly 


m^  V 


delicacy,  corapiexiiy,  nnu  ^y-a j 

^•hich  the  human  liaiid  can  never  possib  y 
Accomplish.      The   jeweller    and    goldsmith 
nakesSt  perform  his  most  del  cate  operations 
in  chasing  and  embossing ;.  the  wfitchmake 
calls  in  it!  power  and  precision  to  ashion  the 
nicest  parts  of  his  machinery ;  and  the  phil- 
osophical instrument-maker  forms  by  its  aid 
a  screw,  or  divides  a  scale  m   propo"'"-- 
which  the  microscope   alone  can  d<-^'P""- 
In  printing,  we  see  its  triumphs  in  the  steam- 
press  and  the  composing  machine;  and  also  m 
[he  kindred  apparatusfor  stamping,  enibossing. 
and  coloring  of  paper,  cloth,  ""^  other  orna- 
mental  fabrics.     The  paper-mill,  in  which 
mgs  are  cleaned,  converted  into  P"lP; -[-  uced 
to  paper,  and  that  paper  sized,  smoothed,  and 
cut  into  perfect  sheets,  s  mdeed  a  curiosity ; 
I  and  vet  it  is  only  one  of  a  thousand  such  m- 
ventLs.     Is  it  in  spinning  ?-then,  here  we 
have  the  numberiess  improvements  and  com- 
plications of  Arkwright's  invention  as  applied 
to  cotton,  silk,  linen,  or  wool-these  machines 
r^ol  only  cleaning  and  carding  the  material, 
but  drawing  it  out  in  delicacy  fane  as     ic 
slenderest  gossamer.     Allied  to  these  are  the 
thread,   cofd,   and  cable-making  inachinery 
scltteredove  our  land;  as  well  as  the  curious 

Sntions  for  braiding  and   plaiting  s  r a v^^ 
working  network,    lace,   braid,    caoutchouc 
Tbric^and  the  like.     As  i"  «P"'"'"f:,- ;  ' 
weavincr  we  have  a  vast  number  of  machines 
which,  "though  in  every-day  operation  around 
r  must  ever  be  regarded  with  curious  in- 
te  eTt      The  Jacquard.  damask,  and  carp. 
Ks  either  worlled  by  ^team  or  by  nianud 
I  Inl.or  are.  in  real  ty,  greater  marvels  than  tnc 
automa  a  with  wh^h  our  forefathers  puz^cd 
ItSelves,  and  would  be  so  esteemed,  did 


In  .mf 


^i 


my 


Wl™ 


.''^is^SSiiT 


406 


THE  KU8SIAN  EMPIKE. 


ii 


not  frequency  and  familiarity  banish  our  '.v(>n- 
der.  To  these  we  may  add  such  recent  in- 
ventions as  the  machine  for  the  fabrication  of 
card-web.  This  ingenious  piece  of  mechanism 
unwind*  the  wire  from  the  reel,  bends  it,  cuts 
it,  pierces  ihe  holes,  inserts  the  tooth,  drives 
it  home,  and  hstly,  gives  it,  when  inserted, 
tiie  re(iuisite  angle,  with  the  some,  or  rather 
with  greater  precision  and  accuracy  than  the 
most  skilled  set  of  human  fingers  could  ;  and 
with  such  astonishing  expedition,  that  one 
machine  performs  a  task  which  would  require 
the  labor  of  at  least  ten  men.  An  engine  of 
five  hundred  horse-power  would  drive,  it  is 
calculated,  one  hundred  such  machines. 

Though  wind,   falling  water,  and  animal 
power,  may  be,  and  are  m  many  instances  ap- 
plied to  the  movement  of  such  machinery  as 
we  have  above  alluded  to,  yet  there  can  be 
little  doubt  that,  without  the  aid  of  the  steam- 
engine,  many  of  them  would  have  never  been 
thought  of,  or  at  all  events  never  brought  to 
their  present  perfection.     It  is  to  this,  the 
most  powerful  and  most  uniform  of  all  known 
motive  forces,  that  the  modern  world  owes  its 
astonishing  advances  in  the  arts  of  civilized 
life ;  to  this  that  we  still  look  for  further  and 
still  greater  advances.     It  is  in  our  mines  and 
beside  our  furnaces;  in  our  factories  and  work- 
shops; in  our  mills,  bakehouses,  and  brew- 
eries :  it  is  on  our  roads  and  our  rivers ;  and 
on  the  great  ocean  itself,  bringing,  as  it  were, 
the  most  distant  and  inaccessible  places  into 
close  comtnunion  and  reciprocation  of  produce. 
Exerting  the  strength  of  one  man,  or  the 
power  of  one  thousand  horses,  with  ecpial  in- 
difference, the  steam-engine,  in  all  its  variety 
of   form,    is    the    most  powerful    auxiliary 
which  man  ever  called  to  his  aid.     In  all  its 
forms,  whether  atmospheric,  double-condens- 
ing, high-pressure  or  low-pressure,  rotary  or 
otherwrise,  it  is  a  curiosity  of  art,  as  is  the 
apparatus  with  which  it  is  connected.     Per- 
haps the  most  wonderful  forms  in  which  its 
power  now  manifests  itself,  are  the  railway 
locomotive,  shooting  along  at  the  rate  of  sixty 
miles  an  hour,  and  in  the  giant  iron  steamer 
of  three  hundred  and  twenty-two  feet  long 
and  fifty-one  broad— a  floating  mass  of  be- 
tween three  and  four  thousand  tons  weight. 

Had  our  limits  permitted,  we  would  have 
gladly  particularized  several  of  the  curious 
machines  to  which  we  have  merely  alluded  ; 
for  whether  in  the  making  of  a  pin,  or  the 
forging  of  an  anchor — in  the  spinning  of  n 
CO!  tuu°thread,  or  in  the  twisting  of  a  cable- 
in  the  framing  of  a  button,  or  in  the  weaving 
of  the  most  costly  fabric— in  the  fashioning 
of  a  curt-wheel,  or  the  construction  of  a  loco- 
motive, the  most  ingenious  machinery  is  now 
in  re(iuibition.  Time,  however,  will  blunt 
thi!  edge  of  our  curiosity.     Locomotive  en- 


gines, atmospheric  rnilwavs,  electric  tele- 
grajihs,  steamships,  and  otlier  present  won- 
ders, will  become  as  familiar  as  spinnini- 
wheels  were  to  our  grandmothers,  or  as  sttuin- 
engines  are  to  ourselves. 


THE  RUSSIAN  EMPIRE. 

It  is  scarcely  possible  that  the  space  whidi 
the  Russian  empire  occupies  on  tiie  map  of 
the  world  should  not  force  itself  upon  the  at- 
tention.    It  forms  the  ninth  part  oi'the  liiihit- 
able  iK)rti()n  of  the  globe,  and  far  excceils  in 
extent  the  empire  of  Rome  when  its  dominion 
extended  from  the  Euphrates  to  Britain.     On 
the  frontiers  of  China  the  Russian  boundary- 
line  is  above  three  thousand  miles  in  lei-gih, 
which  is  as  h)ng  as  a  line  drawn  from  the 
southwestern  extremity  of  Portugal   to   the 
nortiicastern  extremity  of  Europe,  while  from 
the   most  southern    point   of  Greece   to  the 
shores  of  the  Frozen  ocean  is  not  more  than 
two  thousand  ami  four  hundred  miles.     The 
distance  from  Riga,  on  the  Baltic,  to  the  haven 
of  Peter  the  Paul  in  Kamschatka,  is  above 
eleven  thousand  five  hundred  miles,  and  in 
the  Russian  "  Post-Book"  a  line  of  road  is 
marked  out  in  stages  to  a  distance  of  eight 
thousand  one  hundred  and  thirty-fimr  miles. 
A  courier  from  St.  Petersburg  to  Kamschatka 
is  above  a  hundred  days  in  performing  the 
journey,  and  tbough  for  the  hitter  part  of  it 
the  rate  of  t  ;  •elliiig  is  not  very  rapid,  yet 
the  usual  rate  is  one  hundred  and  sixty  miles 
a  dav  for  the  first  forty  days=. 

When,  however,  we  begin  to  examine  the 
available  strength  and  resources  of  such  an 
empire  as  that  of  Russia,  we  find  temtorial 
magnitude  is  one  of  the  causes  which  least 
contributes  to  substantial  national  power. 
The  population  of  the  empire  amounted,  in 
1836,  to  61,000,000,  or  about  one  fifteenth 
of  the  huinan  race,  but  it  consists  of  many 
different  races  of  people,  some  of  whom  are 
still  in  a  nomade  state,  and  wander  with  tiieir 
flocks  over  the  immense  plains  or  stepjies  of 
Asiatic  Russia,  while  others  obtain  aliveHliood 
otdv  by  fishing  and  hunting.  The  plains  jws- 
sess  the  ordinary  qualities  of  fertility  which 
are  usually  found  in  so  extensive  an  area, 
the  soil  in  many  parts  being  extremely  rich, 
but  in  others  its  properties  are  less  promii-ing, 
and  districts  occur  which  offer  no  inducements 
whatever  to  the  agriculturist.  Between  the 
river  Ob  and  the  Frozen  ocean,  immense 
marshes  and  swampy  forest  prevail.  The 
"  government"  of  Tobolsk,  though  a  thousand 
miles  in  width,  contains  but  about  five  hundred 
thousand  inhabitants;  and  in  the  northeastern 


L 


V9i  rlrctric  tclf- 
:1ipr  jircscnt  wun- 
niliur  ns  s|iimiiiv!.'- 
jlhers,  or  OS  stiiiin- 


EMPIRE.  ! 

at  the  space  wliitli  , 
ies  on  the  iiiii|i  of 
itsplf  upiin  tlic  ot- 
1  port  oi  the  Imbit- 
uni)  far  exceeds  in 

when  its  dorniiiion 
tes  to  Britain.  On 
Russian  boiimlary- 
d  miles  in  ler^'in, 
le  drawn  from  the 
F  Portugal  to  the 
Europe,  while  from 

of  Greece  to  the 
n  is  not  more  than 
ndred  miles.  The 
Baltic,  to  the  haven 
mschatka,  is  above 
(Ircd  miles,  and  in 
"  a  line  of  road  is 
a  di^>tance  of  eight 
I  thirty-four  miles. 
)urg  to  Knmschatka 

in  performing  the 
the  latter  part  of  it 
not  very  rajiid,  vet 
red  and  sixty  miles 
iys=. 

gin  to  examine  the 
sources  of  such  an 

we  find  teiTitoria'i 
causes  which  least 
il  national  power, 
npire  amounted,  in 
about  one  fifteenth 
it  consists  of  many 

some  of  whom  are 
d  wander  with  their 
>lains  or  steppes  of 
rs obtain  alivelihood 
g.  The  plains  pos- 
}  of  fertility  which 

extensive  an  area, 
ling  extremely  rich, 
s  are  less  promii-ing, 
jfTer  no  inducements 
irist.  Between  the 
en  ocean,  immense 
;)rest  prevail.  The 
L,  though  a  thousand 
It  about  five  hundred 
]  in  the  northeastern 


extremity  of  the  Russian  empire,  Captain 
cSne  travelled  four  hundred  miles  with- 
„u?  meeting  a  single  inJividuol.  and  m  the 
"ur  e    o     a  thoutund   miles   he   saw  c»,ly 
one   habitation.      In   the   "government"   of 
Archangel,  which  is  three  times  as  large  as 
Geat^riuin,  and   equal  in  e.te.it  to  the 
M  of  the  Austrian  domimons,  the  popula- 
"    scarcely  amounts  to  one  for  each  s-iuare 
me      Almost  the  only  uccomm<Mlat.on  winch 
Xe  traveller  fm-ls  in  ttie  inhospitable  regi.ins 
o  Eastern  Siberia,  are  the  "chanty  yourtes 
erec^d  every  twenty-five  miles  by  the  pub-ic 
authorities.     They   are  simply   umnhabited 
W  houses,  about  twelve  feet  s.,uare,  unP/- 
v^deJ  with  windows,  and  m  which  shelter 
«  dy  U  obtained.     This,  however,  is  the  leas 
Srable  picture  of  the  Russian  empire,  and 
is  t^ue  in  Reference  only  to  us  northern  j.arte. 
iSaLg  from  thirty-eight  to  seventy-eight 
deuces.  It  presenu  every  variety  ol  climate, 
from  thit  ot'^Spain  and  l^ortugal  to  the  rigors 
o^The  arctic  circle.     The  provinces  ot  the 
iTal  and  southern  parts  are  thinly  .nhabU- 
Tlhough  the  soil  and  climate  are  highly 
avorSto   the    I'-S^esB  "»   >»«l.-"y   ""^ 
population;  but  in  the  south  there  is  less  o^a 
nafioual   spirit  than  m  the  ""j"'  "    '^  ^^^ 
reach  the  disputed  territory  of  Georgia  onU 
Stsiia,  wh!=re  the  author.WotRus.ajs 
oouosed  bv  force  ot  anns.      i  he  progress  oi 
cunvSng  the  various  people  under  the  Rus- 
couvtruiig  II        p       ••     jjaiiits  and  ideas  is 
siau  domimoK  to  Kussian  iiuui 
however  proceeding  as  rapid  y  as  couia  ue 
Sorted.     In  the  centre   and  m  the  south, 
Sol- the  thick  fogs  which  brood  over  the 
Ihores  of  the   Frozen  ocean,  and  a  climate 
wS  drivesmentrom agriculture  to  the  rivers 

maKiug  w         n  .  forty-nine  and  hlty- 

S  the  Bci.ei.1  .ummerJiet  cun.uteJ  of 


m§ 


I  the  commencement  of  the  last  century.    Soon 
after  the  accession  of  the  empress  Catherine, 
she   invited   foreign   colonists   to  settle,  and 
ten  thousand  Germans,  Swiss,  t  rench,  ad 
Swedes,  were  placed  m  above  a  hundred  m1- 
loues.  ciiieny  situatc.l  between  the  Volga  an.l 
the  Don.     These  villages  appear  to  be  very 
prosperous,   and    are    rapidly    ."creasu."    in 
population;  the  births  to  the  deaths  are  tli.ee 
o  one.     There  are  besides,  elsewhere,  many 
other  colonies  of  foreigners,   particularly  ot 
Germans;   and  settlers   are  encouraged    bv 
exemption  from  taxes.     The  land  unoccup.ed 
is  still  of  immense  extent.     Captain  Jones, 
who  travelled  through  various  parts  of  the 
Russian  emoire  in  18-26,  speaks  ot  extens.ve 
districts  in  tL  neighborh.HKl  ot  Taganrog,    n  | 
the  sea  of  Azof,  possessing  an  extremely  nth  ^ 
soil,   "in  many  parts  perfect  garden  "'o«ld^^  i 
and  capable  ot  |.roduc.ng  any  or  every  thi.  g, 
but  the  population  was  scanty,  and  no    suffi- 
cient for  the  cultivation  ot  the   land.     He 
passed  over  several  tracts  of  sixty  miles  of 
desert  in  this  fine  region. 

From  the   preceding  statements  we  may 
fonn  some  idea  of  the  endless   diversity  of 
circumstances  under  which  man  exists  in  re- 
gions  so  varied   as  those  comprised   in  the 
Russian  empire.     In  one  -luarter  the  vege  a- 
tion  is  of  a'tropical  character.     A    ano  h  r 
(Nijnei  Kolimsk.  on  the  Frozen  ocean),  "the 
„habita..ts  manage,  with  great  labor  t«  feed 
a  couple  of  cows:   hay  is  brought  e.g^  y 
miles  distant  for  them."     H.irses  "ccos  o.ially 
reach  this  place,  but  they  never  spend  m.Te 
han  a  few'days  here,  during  which  they  are 
obHg^d  to  li/e  upon  the  tops  an.l  bark  ot 
bushes,  or  on  moss.     If  we  select  any  pnK^ess 
of  agriculture,  we  shall    find   a   variety  ot 
mea.t»  practised   to  attain  the  same  object, 
each  inlluenced.  in  a  great  degree   by  loea 
causes.      Take   the   emi.loyment  of  an.  nal 
?K,wer  for  instance,  and  wh.le.  south  ot    To- 
bolsk   we  find  the  sledges  drawn  by  horses, 
no  th  of  that  place  only  the  reindeer  or  dogs 
are  used.     In 'the  Crimea  the  two-humped 
'  eld  is  emnloyed.     In  the  "CghborhocM  of   | 
Taconrog.  the  plough  may  be  seen  at  work 
drawn  by  ten  oxen.^.f  the  color  and  almost 
'"the   sL   of  elephaiits      I"   other   ?-«. 
oxen  from  the  steppes  of  the  Volga,  the  Uon. 
Td  the  Caucasus!  are  used    n  t-n.^orting 
goods,  but  not  in  tilling  the  land.     Winter, 

Ihicllin  some  P^oyi"'^^^ '«  VTufe  l.u  tie' 
tivitv  ond  repose,  is  a  period  ot  life.  I  ustle, 
and  animation,  in  others.  The  wheels  are 
Sen  otr  vehicles,  and  merchandise  is  trans- 
ported with  extraordinary  ease  over  the  ro/^n 
^irface  of  the  snow.  At  thi«  reason  the  fa-^ 
by  the  diligences  are  lower  than  ot  "t''"  « 
'ruKlsof  the  year.  In  a  country  of  smaller 
exfent.  such  Liking  diversities  So  not  exist; 


41 


^- 


I 


u  ♦  t^  mvB  anv  satisfactory  account  of  all 

Sve  application  of  animal  and  mechanical 
nTwer  which  is  foun.1  in  this  country.  In 
Ey  p'ovbces  the  towns  "e  few,  and  the 

Si^e^;;trs^o/^£tirryoflS 
ffy  Sons  of  people  are  of  course  very 

^"X'  Petersburg  is  the  principal  seat  of 
fordV  commercl  as  MoscU  is  of  the  vas 
n terfal  trade  of  the  empire.  The  fojeri 
the  ereat  maritime  outlet  of  the  gnlt  ot  t-  in 
Sndfand  has  an  extensive  commumcagon 
with  the  interior  by  fivers  and    anai       O^^^ 

n  the  B.Uic.  and  i.  al»  the  k"'"'?'  f'- 
P.ter.but,  .Ithou.h  *,r.y^<::,^»'S^^^^^^^^ 

r«"v£  mile,  long  .nd  on.  b^J,  .n  J  the 
month  ot  the  h.rW, ,.  .ttongly  ""''•J,;^ 
Jtl'r.n.wfwer.n'S  J^T^Iw^^K  Se 

tSirndXe  5t... .«.»"--  SS 
nrfi  reauisite  in  fittin'^  out  a  fleet  and  Keep 
ng  Krepair  and  fit  for  service^  .nchxding 
foundries  for  cannon,  rope  walks,  &c.     Canau 
„e  constructed  which  enable  a  ship- of- the - 
\iL  t/,  take  in  her  stores  close  to  the  ware- 
housed     The  Military  canal,  capable  of  con- 
St    thirtv-five    sail-of-the-line.    besides 
TaKr  JesSsI  Has  become  so  shallow  as  to 
bTincapable  of  admitting  large  ships.     Cron- 
«ta dt  was  founded  by  Peter  the  Great.     In 
?703, "slip  from  H^and  wa«  the  first  mcr- 

chaniman  that  had  ever  aPP«"f  "  ^^^^j^^^fn 
and  the  captain  and  crew  were  t'^-J^J/^j; 

SSrani^f-^iHii^eS^^^^^^^^^^ 
fin^hundre'd  now  dear  inwar     a„nuaU^. 

contains  many  good  ^^^^^'''.'^"'fV'    ublic 
naved,  but,  with  the  exception  of  the  puniic 


mer  all  is  life  and  animation,  for  thfi  nativity 
"the  year  is  crowded  into  the  space  .,1  a  f.w 
months^but  as  the  winter  approaches,  and 
Z  last  ships  of  the  season  take  their  depart- 
ure. feJrfJof  being  locked  up  by  the  ice.  .he 
arene  changes,  and  all  becomes  dull.  1  he 
1  summer  population  of  Cr.mstadt  amoun  s  to 

1  ZutVtJ  thousand.  e-^'Tr  hi'  S'ckl 
1  sailors,  and  persons  employed  in  the  docK 

I  yards. 


YOUTH  AND  AGE. 


HUMA5  life  is  a  series  of  c'evelopments,  and 
attach  new  peri.xl,  some  r  -power  is  un- 
?M  I .  llw  Lxoerienccs  a.o  likewise  added; 
ti'lLrmeanrnotonly  are  old  prejudices 
frlrruentfy  corrected,  but  the  errors  of  our 
Ker  colluct.  exposed  condemned,  ami  pun- 

,.r  reflecnon-a  tune  howler  at  length ^r^ 

r;v:rt:'£c  n  e^tion  on  the  pU  which 
reverts  ni»  '   e,l.     How  much,  in  the 

Si"*.f  .£  tSShn.  been  „v.,l„.W  end 

P°"'VSar.s;vri"»mS:t 
?r::^roVr::i".^r,,mJe'g 

t,me  were  wi  ^  ^  ,  .j.  ^^  ^^  j^tg 

:Zt     M.  so  Semnn  commences  again  his 

%;  .ar.pr  hurrying  afresh  onward,  and  suU 

SXiS^r  ■"'"  -  "••■ """'  "•' 

'"^tllllnr'h-  S:  we  ..e  ~«.e,™e» 

!  :feisrhjre.'f4q%"" 

^'.«  not  only  aged,  but  also  good  and  vvise, 

"•>SH -ir^in^ure » ; 
i5%tsrX-"-'«  »*  hut « ?. 


1 


I 


'If 


'm 


<«kjM 


410 


YOUTH  AND  AGE. 


t*„, 


amounts  to  coercion,  even  in  the  sliKhtest  de- 
gree, it  can  not  fail  to  have  evil  conse(|Ui'rce8. 
If,  instead  of  iicrsuoding  or  guiding  the  judg- 
ment, it  should  substitute  n  control  upon  the 
volition  of  the  young,  it  will  fatally  preclude 
action,  stopjiing  it  at  its  very  source.  We 
have  not,  in  such  a  case,  combination,  but 
mere  displacement;  young  impulse  is  alto- 
gether put  aside,  and  anti(iue  prudence  takes 
exclusive  possession. 

The  caution  of  age  should  be  used  for  the 
regulation,  not  for  the  annihilation,  of  the 
impulsive  instincts  of  the  ardent  and  juve- 
nile. Another  danger,  too,  arises.  Anti(|ue 
prudence  may  be  ohsolet'.  jjrudence  ;  circum- 
stances may  so  have  changed,  as  to  make  it 
the  reverse  of  jirudence  at  all.  The  world 
of  commerce  allbrds  abundant  instances  of 
this,  particularly  in  firms  of  long  standing. 
A  young  man  of  good  abilities,  full  of  vigor, 
becomes  for  instance,  by  right  of  l))rth,  a  ju- 
nior purtnor  in  an  old  established  business, 
and  deems  his  fortune  made.  But  in  a  few 
years,  the  concern,  to  the  surprise  of  all,  sinks 
perishes, 


and  perishes.     The  surprise  is  the  greater, 
because  in  the  world's  estimation,  the  house 
was  always  considered  particularly  safe.    It 
meddled  not  with  mixlem  speculations.    It 
relied  on  an  exceedingly  old  connexion,  it  did 
no  business  that  it  was  not  sure  of — yet  it 
failed.     In  foct,  thinigh  it  risked  no  losses,  it 
achieved  no  gains  ;  and  thus  in  the  end  suf- 
fered more  than  it  would  hove  done  from  bad 
debts  or  mistaken  speculations.     Meonwhile 
let  us  imagine,  or  rather  simply  state — for  we 
record  facts— the  position  of  the  junior  in  the 
firm.     What  was  it?     Anything  more  dis- 
tressing could  scarcely  be  conceived.     From 
the  first  he  was  powerless.     He  found  an  es- 
tablished  method— a  system   of    routine  to 
which  he  was  compelled  to  adhere.     Of  an 
enlightened  understanding,  and  an  enterpri- 
sing spirit,  he  at  first  attempted  innovation, 
and  aimed  at  those  sources  of  profit  of  which 
more  youthful  firms  availed  themselves  ;  but 
was  met  so  uniformly  by  the  fixed  habits  and 
riKJted  ijrejudicesof  the  older  partners,  that 
at  length  he  sticcumbed  to  necessity,  and  fell 
himself,  for  the  sake  of  peace,  into  the  cus- 
tomary channels.     Had  he  commenced  busi- 
ness on  his  own  account — thrown  himself  en- 
tirely on  his  own  energies  and  resource.',  and 
been  at  once  inspired  by  hope  and  controlled 
by  prudence,  he  would  m  all  probability  have 
achieved  brilliant  success. 

Youth  is  proverbially  rash,  but  the  aged 
may  show  an  ecjuully  dangerous  rashness  in 
holding  doggedly  to  old  and  wornout  notions. 
Accustomed  to  venerate  what  has  existed  for 
generations  without  challenge,  the  older  class 
of  persons  are  prone  to  oppose  the  slightest 
attempt  at  modification,  and  they  suffer  ac- 


cordingly. Many  a  woming,  in  the  course  of 
events  is  received;  yet  age  is  obstinate,  and 
persists  in  the  old  course — not  because  it  is 
right,  but  because  it  is  old.  The  association 
of  ideas,  sympathy,  determination  of  charac- 
ter, a  sense  of  pnde,  while  it  recognises  the 
peril,  and  other  like  motives,  induce  age  to 
disregard  the  symptoms,  and  inspire  it  with 
courage  to  endure  martyrdom,  rather  than  in- 
cur the  shame  of  a  submission  to  change. 
Thus  the  inveterate  controversialist  will  not 
confess  a  proven  truth  though  convinced ; 
falsely  apprehending  as  a  defeat  wJ)Bt,  if  cari- 
didly  acknowledged,  would  be  really  a  tri- 
umph, he  v.'ins  a  ruinous  conquest,  and  wears 
a  counterfeit  laurel.  Can  we  take  up  a 
newspaper  without  being  made  conscious  of 
the  hideous  train  of  disasters  which  have  en- 
sued in  various  European  countries  from  a 
rash  and  unphilosophic  persistency  in  what 
ought  to  have  been  long  since  mo<lified  and 
accommodated  to  the  spirit  of  the  age?  The 
energies  of  France,  outgrowing  the  routine  of 
old  dynasties,  require  a  new  electoral  system  ; 
being  refused,  the  nation  indignantly  dissolves 
the  partnership  between  her  and  the  sover- 
eign. Such  are  the  evils  v/hich  flow  from 
the  substitution  of  the  merely  regulative  for 
the  dynamic  forces  themselves. 

The  last  illustratifm  presents  the  topic  un- 
der a  graver  aspect  than  it  was  our  intention 
to  have  considered.     Thus  drawn,  however, 
to  the  subject,  we  can  not  refrain  from  re- 
marking how  often  we  hear  that  said  with 
pride    regarding    institutions    and    systems, 
which,  rightly  regarded,  should  be  otherwise 
spoken  of^     "  Thus  long  has  stood  this  sys- 
tem without  one  iota  of  change — here,  as  we 
stood  centuries  ago,  do  we  yet  stond — what 
was  thought  and  professed  then,  is  still  thought 
and  professed.     Change  has  often  been  called 
for,  but  never  granted  ;  so  that  here,  at  least, 
we  have  one  monument  of  the  past  that  has 
never  bent  to  the  inconstont  wind  of  human 
caprice."     If  such  a  thing  really  exist  in  the 
world — which  is  gravely  to  be  doubted — as- 
suredly this  is  a  questionable  boast.     The 
minds  of  masses  of  men  being  liable  to  a  con- 
tinual, though  it  may  be  slow  and  impercep- 
tible change,  it  is  impossible  for  any  institu- 
tion to  go  on  unchangingly,  without  filling 
out  of  relation  with  the  world.    Its  vital  is 
changed  for  a  nominal  existence  ;  and  so  far 
from  deriving  strength  from  its  anti(piity,  it 
derives  weakness  and  danger.     Institutions  of 
this  kind  may  be  flattered  up  to  the  last  day 
of  their  existence,  with  the  external  homage 
which  they  have  been  accustomed  to  receive, 
and  ere  four-and-twenty  hours  pass,  they  may 
be  trompled  on  as  noxious  weeds,  or  quietly 
consigned  to  universal  forgetfulness.     Such 
catastrophes  are  clearly  traceable  to  the  error 


,  in  the  course  of 
lit  obstinnte,  and 
ot  because  it  is 
The  association 
lation  of  charnc- 
it  recognises  the 
s,  induce  age  to 
1  insiiire  it  with 
I,  ratner  than  in- 
wion  to  change, 
ersialist  will  not 
lUgh  convinced ; 
eat'wjjat,  if  can- 
be  really  a  tri- 
juest,  and  wears 
we  take  up  a 
ade  conscious  of 
\  which  have  en- 
lountries  from  a 
sistency  in  what 
ice  modified  and 
f  the  age  ?  The 
ing  the  routine  of 
electoral  system ; 
gnantly  dissolves 
f  and  the  sover- 
v/hich  flow  from 
ily  regulative  for 
es. 

nts  the  topic  un- 
vas  our  intention 
drawn,  however, 
refrain  from  re- 
ir  that  said  with 
IS    and    systems, 
)uld  be  otherwise 
s  stood  this  sys- 
nge — here,  as  we 
yet  stand — what 
len,  is  still  thought 
I  often  been  called 
hat  here,  nt  least, 
the  past  that  hns 
nt  wind  of  human 
really  exist  in  the 
I  be  doubted — as- 
jble   boast.     The 
ing  liable  to  a  con- 
^w  and  impercep- 
le  for  ony  institu- 
y,  without  falling 
'orld.    Its  vital  is 
tcnce ;  and  so  far 
in  its  anti(piity,  it 
ST.     Institutions  of 
up  to  the  last  day 
B  external  homage 
istomed  to  receive, 
ars  pass,  they  may 
I  weeds,  or  quietly 
rgetfulness.     Sncn 
iceable  to  the  error 


THE  CROTON  AaUEDUCT. 


411 


of  setting  up  persistency  as  the  law  of  the 
world,  the  real  law  being  change.  Man  con- 
tinually changes,  and  everything  that  would 
wish  to  live  with  him  must  consent  to  change 
•00 ;  everything  must  partake  of  his  eternal 
rejuveaesctnce,  or  take  the  consequences  of 
becoming  too  old.  r         .v.  . 

It  is  the  instinct  and  tendency  of  youth  to 
tran-scend  the  limits  of  its  actual  experience. 
It  presumes,  assumes,  ideali/cs,  colors  trom 
its  own  rich  heart,  the  outlines  and  forms  ot 
things,  and  nnti*ipat<;8  results  with  a  prophet- 
ic power  that  sometim-s  imluces  their  reali- 
zation, but  moie  fre.iuently  clothes  the  distant 
prosijcft  with  those  enchantments  which  hope 
pictures  as  belonging  to  the  future.     \  outh  is 
the  season  of  at-nal  castle-building— ()i  count- 
less  projects— of    boundless   aspirations— ot 
infinite  possibilities.     But  a  [)eriod  of  limita- 
tion at  length  arrives— of  aims  more  and  more 
positive,  objects  more  definite,  an  arena  more 
contraclc<i,   and   labors  more  special.      1  He 
man  has  become  the  clossman  from  home— 
the  cosmopolite,  or  the  patriot— the  general 
lover,  or  an  attached  husband  and  father— the 
acquaintance  of  all,  or  the  friend  ot  a  few— 
the  wanderer  or  the  domestic  man,  whom 
nothing  can  tempt  from  his  chimney-corner  on 
a  winter's  evening.     Much  has  been  gained, 
but  evidently  much  has  been  lost.    While  the 
diflftculty  of  blending  in  one  individuality,  the 
advantages  of  both  conditions  is  freely  ac- 
knowledged to  be  great,  we  are  far  from  h(,ld- 
ing  it  to  he  insuperable.    There  is  much  need- 
less waste  of  wealth,  much  extravagance  ot 
anticii)ation,  much  borrowing  on  the  credit  ot 
the  future,  and  much  excess  of  all  kinds  on 
which  it  would  be  well  that  vouth  should  be 
timeously  admonished.     With  all  the  regula- 
tions of  experience,  however,  it  is  of  equal 
importance,  individually,  and  for  ^o^al  well- 
being,  that  the  middle-aged  and  old  should 
cultivate  as  far  as  possible  youthful  feelings 
Let  not  "  the  glory  and  the  freshness  of  the 
dream"  of  youth  depart  with  the  dream  itselt , 
some  glimpses  of  the  vision  may  surely  sur- 
vive in  memory.      "Once  more,"  exclaims 
Bvron,   "who  would  not  be  a  boy?       io 
"carry  the  feelings  of  childhood  into  the  pow- 
ers oi"  manhood  is,"  says  Colendge,  "the 
prerogative  of  genius."    And  what  a  preroga- 
tive  it  is  1     Yet  it  is  not  one  so  e''cl"«};'^-^; 
that  all  men  may  not  share  m  it,  each  in  his 
desrree      We  would  warn,  therefore,  the  man 
of  middle  a'^e  from  becoming  the  victim  ot 
fixed  habits  and  ac<iuired  routine,  to   he  ex- 
clusion of  new  impulses,  and  the  pleasure 
that  constantly  attends  them.    Every  day  is 
a  new  dav,  every  hour  a  new  hour ;  the 
Ud  is  alLys  bLoming  new.  and  -ef-n 
is  renewed  every  moment,  so  that  nature  is 


lo    I  cue  V>  '.-'-»     •-''■"•J     

atill  in  travail  with  fresh  generations. 


ing,  if  we  rightly  consider  it,  is  really  old— 
not   even   age   itself.     To  insist  on  guiding 
ourselves  by  the  prejudices  of  yesterday,  is 
merely  to    resist  the   progress   of    growth. 
Judgment,  in  its   maturity,  has  nothing  to 
dreail  from  concession  to  increased  knowledge. 
Its  tendency  is  to  deliberate— to  move  slowly 
—to  stand  still ;  and  it  indeed  needs  the  agi- 
tation of  new  ideas,  interests,  and  ojnnions, 
to  iireserve  it  in  a  healthy  state  ot  life  and 
action.     An   old  man  of  our   aeciuoiiitance, 
who  as  solicitously  sought  the  instruction  of 
new  impressions,  as  others  ore  anxious  to  re- 
ject them,  declared  to  us  that,  as  his  under- 
standing became  more  and  more  illuminated, 
he  felt  as  if  he  was  growing  younger  every 
day  :  it  was,  moreover,  evident  to  all  that  lii8 
intellect,  owing  to  the  freedom  with  which  he 
had  permitted 'it  still  to  operate,  was  constant- 
ly to  the  last  receiving  fresh  develo)imeiit  and 
expansion.     Happy  the  man  thus  united  to 
an  aged  body,  who  yet  owns  a  young  mind  ! 
His  are  at  once  the  security  of  discretion, 
and  the  ropture  of  imagination— tins  sobered 
in  its  tone,  and  that  vivified— and  both  coex- 
isting in  beauty,  like  light  and  shade  in  the 
picture  of  a  great  master. 


THE  CROTON  AQUEDUCT,  NEWYORK. 

On  the  14th  of  October,  1842,  the  city  of 
New  York,  held  holyday— and  well  it  might; 
for  on  thot  day,  for  the  first  time  since  its 
foundation,  did  its  inhabitants  enjoy  the  bles- 
sings of  a  cheap,  copious,  and  permanent  sup- 
nlv  of  pure  water.     Hitherto,  that  essential 
requisite  to  existence  was  obtained  trom  immps 
and  drawwells ;  now,  it  flowed  through  the 
streets  in  the  form  of  a  fresh  and  sparkling 
river,  spread  out  into  extensive  lakes,  gushed 
forth  in  every  square  and  park,  and  dissemi- 
nated itself  in  living  rills  of  health  and  com- 
fort to  the  remotest  alley.     The  accomplish- 
ment  of  such  a  purpose  was,  in  truth,  a  tri- 
umph worthy  of  a  civilized  people— a  feat 
more  glorious  and  enduring  than  the  squande 
in<T  often  times  the  amount  of  capital  m  gu. 
powder  and  bayonets.     Those  who  are  ac- 
customed to  sneer  at  the  "  utihtarianism  of 
the  age,"  may  regard  the  watering  of  a  city 
as  a  mere  ordinary  incidc.it,  a  fit-en.-ugh  topic 
for  the  newspapers  and  small-talk  ot  a  weeK, 
and  nothing  more ;  but  to  the  individual  who 
can  take  an  enlarged  view  of  hunian  progres- 
sion,  and  who  knows  how  much  of  public 
health,  comfort,  and  prosperity,  depends  upon 
a  plen  iful  supply  of  pure  water,  it  will  ap- 
pear in  its  try  light  as  a  great  national 
ach  evement.    In  such  a  light  was  the  com- 


1«* 


Si*-" 


...M^f 


412 


THK  CROTON  AQUEDUCT. 


pletion  of  the  Croton  aqueduct  regarded  by  ] 
the  citizen  of  New  York ;  and,  viewing  it 
through  the  wme  medium,  we  proceed  to  lay 
before  our  readers  some  account  of  this  mag- 
nificent undertaking. 

Like  most  modem  cities  which  have  rap- 
idly increased  in  population  and  importance, 
New  York,  so  early  as  the  end  of  last  ceti- 
tury,  began  to  feel  the  necessity  of  a  plenti- 
ful supply  of  pure  and  wholesome  water.     As 
with  most  modem  improvements,  too,  depend- 
ing upon  the  consent  of  the  many,  there  was 
a  world  of  preliminary  palaver  and  delay. 
In  1774,  when  the  population  amounted  only 
to  twenty-two  thousand,  the  necessity  began 
to  be  fpit ;  in  1799,  iJ  was  the  subject  of  much 
talk,  and  even  consultctions  with  engineers ; 
and  again,  in  1822,  after  a  lapse  of  twenty 
years,  a  committee  "  sat  upon"  the  subject, 
obtained  a  survey,  drew  up  a  report,  and  had 
the  same  approved  of.     Still,  however,  noth- 
ing was  done  ;  the  inhabitants  of  New  York 
continued  to  drink  impregnated  waters  when 
they  could  obtain  them  ;  when  they  could  not 
it  is  hu.Moroiis'ly  supposed  they  betook  them- 
selves to  "  gin-sliKg."     In  1824,  the  yellow 
fever  committed  fearful  ravages;  being  all 
the  more  severe,  that  the  inhabitants  had  not 
the  indispensable  element  of  cleanliness,  to 
abate  its  effects.    This  roused  the  authorities 
to  a  keener  sense  of  the  importance  of  water ; 
hence  1825,  and  1826,  are  remarkable  for  the 
numberof  speeches,  reports,  prosjiectuses,  &c., 
which  the  water-question  gave  birth  to.    SuU 
there  was  no  actual  movement.     In  1831,  a 
new  committee    talked    of    "more  decided 
steps,"  and  besought  the  munici])al  authori- 
ties, "no  longer  to  satisfy  themselves  with 
speeches,  reports,  and  surveys,  but  actually 
to  raise  the  means  and  strike  the  spade  into 
the  ground."     These,  it  must  be  confessed, 
were  bold  words;  but  they  bronijht  no  water. 
However,  a  more  urgent  monitor  now  a|)- 
peared;  and  in  1832,  the  plague  of  the  chol- 
era ravaged  the  filthy  and  unwatered  city. 
This  so  stirred  the  inhabitants  und  authori- 
ties to  a  sense  of  their  danger,  that  the  latter 
now  set  about  in  absolute  earnest  to  remedy 
the  defect.     Surveys  an<l  reports  were  execu- 
ted anew ;  and  after  a  few  more  last  words 
and  deliberations,  the  work  was  commenced  m 
reality.    In  May,  1837,  the  spade  was  struck 
into  the  ground ;  in  July,  1842,  the  waters  of 
the  Croton  traversed  the  wiueduct,  and  in 
October  of  the  same  year,  were  distributed 
througliout  the  city  of  New  York,  whose  in- 
habitants hailed  the  event,  "  with  unrestrained 
enthusiasm  and  joy !"  ,    ,         t. 

How  this  result  was  accomplished,  at  what 
cost,  and  with  what  success,  we  shall  now 
endeavor  to  describe.  The  modes  of  supply- 
ing modern  cities  with  water,  are  either  by 


means  of  Artesian  wells,  by  pipes  which     m- 
duct  and  distribute  some  distant  spring.  ()   by 
the  engine  pump  applied  to  the  water  o/'  some 
river,  if  luckily,  such  a  source  be  available. 
The  aqueduct,  urKin  its  ancient  and  gigantic 
scale,  is  rarely  if  ever  resorteil  to,  and  here- 
in consists  the  novelty  and  interest  of   the 
mmle  adopted  by  the  city  of  New    fork. 
An  aqueduct,  in  its  primitive  sense,  means 
simply  a  watcr-leoder,  a  familiar  instance  of 
which  is  afforded  in  the  common  mill-course. 
The  water  is  diverted  from  its  nutural  chan- 
nel at  the  requisite  height,  and  then  led  along 
in  an  artificial  course  to  the  poi;it  desired. 
Now  this  artificial  channel  may  be  siinply  a 
ditch,  or  it  may  be  constructed  of  solid  ma- 
sonry ;  it  may  be  open  or  covered  ;  it  may 
wind  along  the  sides  of  hills,  so  as  to  preserve 
the  proper  level,  or  it  may  be  carried  stroight 
forward  through   hills    and    across  valleys. 
The  ancient  aqueducts  of  Rome  were  gener- 
ally constructed  uixin  the  latter  principle,  be- 
ing carried  through  heights  by  tunnels,  and 
across  valleys  and   rivers  upon  arches — the 
arched  portion  of  the  structure  originally  giv- 
ing the  name  of  a<iueduct,  just  as  the  range 
of   bridges  which  carry  a  railway  across  a 
valley  is  called  a  viaduct.     The  ancient  prin- 
ciple was  that  adoj.ted  by  New  York ;  the 
Croton  river  is  dammed  up  near  its  source, 
its  pure  and  undefiled  waters  are  conveyed  in 
a  channel  of  solid  masonry  through  hills  by 
tunnels,  and  over  rivers  and  valleys  by  arches 
or  embankments  ;  and  after  a  cou»»#)f  forty 
miles,  administers  to  the  health  and  comfort 
of   four  hundred   thousand    human  beings! 
The   reasons    for  adopting    this  species  of 
structure  are  obvious ;  an  open  caiml  would 
have  been  liable  to  receive  innumerable  im- 
purities from  the  v  ash  of  the  country ;  a  clo- 
sed one  not  only  prevents  waste  by  evapora- 
tion, and  preserves  cleanliness,  but  adds  to  the 
strength    and    durability  of    the    structure. 
The  inequalities  of  the  country  between  the 
source  of  the  Croton  and  the  city  of  New 
York,  were  such,  as  entirely  to  preclude  the 
idea  of  a  plane,  or  continuous  water-courst, 
awl  the  (piestion  to  be  decided  was — whether 
the  layine  of  pipes,  or  the  construction  of  an 
aqueduct^after  the  plan  of  the  ancients,  would 
be  more  economical,  efficient,  and  permanent] 
After  due  consideration  it  was  decided  in  fa- 
vor of  the  latter. 

Beginning  with  the  Croton  river,  its  sources 
are  principally  in  the  county  of  Putnam,  at  a 
distance  of  fifty  miles  from  New  York. 
They  are  mostly  springs,  which  in  that  ele- 
vated and  uneven  country,  have  formed  many 
ponds  and  lakes,  never  failing  in  their  supply. 
There  are  about  twenty  of  these  lakes  which 
constitute  the  sources  of  the  Croton  river,  and 
the  aggregate  of  their  surface  areas  is  about 


!ini 


THE  CnOTON  AUUEDUCT. 


413 


f  pipes  which    m- 
stant  sprinj;,  o   liy 
)  the  water  of  some 
uree  be  available, 
icient  and  f^igantic 
irtcd  to,  anil  here- 
rid  interest  of  the 
y  of   New    fork, 
itive  sense,  means 
amiliar  instance  of 
immon  mill-course, 
n  its  niuaral  chan- 
and  then  led  along 
the  point  desired. 
:1  may  be  simjjly  a 
uctod  of  solid  ma- 
r  covered  ;  it  may 
Is,  so  ns  to  |>re8erve 
'  be  carried  straight 
nd    across   volleys. 
Rome  were  gener- 
latter  princi|)le,  be- 
hts  by  tunnels,  and 
J  uiHjn  arches — the 
cture  originally  giv- 
t,  jnst  as  the  range 
a  railway  across  a 
The  ancient  prin- 
i)y  New  York  ;  the 
up  near  its  source, 
ters  are  conveyed  in 
iry  through  hills  by 
nd  valleys  by  arches 
ter  a  coui»««)f  fi>rty 
health  and  comfort 
ind    human  beings! 
ing    this   species   of 
n  open  canal  would 
ve  innumerable  im- 
f  the  country ;  a  clo- 
8  waste  by  evapora- 
lincss,  but  adds  to  the 
\f  of    the    structure, 
country  between  the 
nd  the  city  of  New 
irely  to  preclude  the 
inuous  water-courst, 
ecided  was — whether 
he  construction  of  an 
af  the  ancients,  would 
:ient,  and  permanent] 
it  was  decided  in  fa- 

•oton  river,  its  sources 
lunty  of  Putnam,  at  a 
}  from  New  York. 
58,  which  in  that  ele- 
ry,  have  formed  many 
failing  in  their  supply. 
i  of  these  lakes  which 
f  the  Croton  river,  and 
surface  areas  is  about 


three  thausand  eifiht  hun.lr.-d  acres.     From 

those  sourre.  to  the  mouth  o»  the  Cr..to..,  ut 

the  lu-ad  of  Tnp|.an  buy  in  the  Hudson,  the 

distance  is  about   twenty-hv.^   mdfs.       1  be 

country  bord.'ring  upon  the  Cmton  is  gener- 

ftllv  eli'.viit.-<l  and    uneven,   not   su^taiumg  a 

,l,.ns('   population,  and  clear.-d  sufficiently  to 

prevent  injury  to  the  water  from  d.'cay.d  ve- 

uetable  mutter.     The  river  bus  a  rapid  de- 

srciit,  and  Uows  over  u  l>ed  of   gravel  and 

masses  of  broken  nwk.     From  these  advan- 

tui'es,  there  is  good  reason  to  nuppos.',  that 

,1,7.  'vntcr  will  receive  very  litile  i.npuriry 

from  the  wash  of  th.^  country  ihrou-h  which 

it  Hows,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  tlie  sour- 

es  furnish  that  which  is  pcculmriy  ndui>ted 


% 


■'>    0 


to  all  the  purposes  of  a  large  city.  The  wa- 
ter is  of  such  uncommon  jiunty,  that  m  ear- 
lier days,  th(!  Indians  gave  0,  name  to  the  riv- 
er which  signified  "d.^ar  water." 

A"uin,  us  to  the  flow  of  water  into  tht; 
Croton,  the  capacity  of  the  fountain  reser- 
voir, the  dischurge  of  the  n<pifduct.  and  the 
snffic-ienev  of  8ui>ply,  w.-  are  presented  with 
the  following  details  :  "  The  m.-dium  (low  of 
wuter  in  the  Croton,  where  th.'  fountain  res- 
ervoir is   formed,  exceeds  lifty  ini  lions  (d 
gallons  in  twenty-four  hours  and  the  iiiiiii- 
inum  How,  after  a  loug-contiuu.  d  dnmglir.  is 
about  twenty-seven    millions   of    gallons   in 
twenty-four  hours.     The  dam  on  the  Croton 
river  is  about  thirtv-ei-ht  feet  above  the  lev- 
el which  was  the  surface  of  the  natural  (low 
of  water  at  that  jduce,  and  sets   the  water 
back  about  six  miles,  forming  the  fountain 
reservoir,  which  cover*  an  area  of  about  tour 
hundred   acres.      The   country   forming  the 
valley  of  the  river  was  such  us  to  give  bolil 
shores  to  this  reservoir  generally,  an.l  in  cases 
where  there  was  a  gentle  slope  or«  level  ot 
the  ground  near  the  surface  of  water,  exea- 
vations  were  made,  so  thnt  the  water  should 
not  be  of  less  depth  than  four  aii<l  a  hull  feet. 
The  available  capacity  <^f  this  reservoir,  down 
to  the  level  where  the  water  would  cense  to 
(low  off  in  the  aqueduct,  has  been  estimated 
ut  six  hundred  millions  of  gallons.     Could  we 
I  suppose  that  the  Croton  river  will  ever,  111 
any  season  of  drought,  fail  to  furnish  a  sup- 
nlv  greater  than  would  be  carrie.l  o  F  irom 
this  reservoir  and  the  reservoirs  at  the  city 
by  evaporation,  we  have  still  a  supjily  of  wa- 
ter which  would  be  sufficient  for  ""e  million 
of  inhabitants  during  the   space  of   thirty 
days   (estimating  the  amount  necessary   for 
each  inhabitant  to  be  twenty  gallons  for  every 
twenty-four  hours).     But  we  may  assume 
the  number  of  inhabitants  at  present  to  be 
one  third  of  a  million,  and  therefi.re  we  have 
a  sufficient  store  of  water  in  this  fountain 
reservoir  to   supply  them  for  the  space  ot 
niuety  days,  iu  the  emergency  before  suppo- 


sed.    In  addition  to  the  (piantity  in  the  foun- 
tain reservoir,  we  have  Kulliirieiit  in  the  res- 
ervoirs of  the  city  t.)  supply  one  third  of  one 
million  nt  inhubilunts  for  about  tweiity-hve 
davs,  at  the  rate  of  supply  b.dore  menti.med- 
Tims  we  find,  should  such  a  limit  as  we  have 
supposed  ever  happen  to  the  supply  from  tile 
river,  the  season  of  drought  can  not  eertuinly 
be  supiiosed   to  continue  during  the  length  ot 
time  (about  four  months)  that  would  be  re. 
(luired  for  the  present   po|)ulnti(m  ot  the  city 
to  exhaust  the  (luaulitv  in  store  when  all  the 
reservoirs  are  lull.     The  minimum  flow  of 
water  in  the  river,  where    the  dam  is  con- 
structed, has  been  state.l  to  be  twenty-seven 
millions  of  gallons  for  every  twenty-four  hours. 
This  would  be  a  suflicient  supply  for  one 
million  of  iiihabitnnts  ;   and  should  the  popu- 
lation of  the  city  increase  to  one  and  a  halt 
millions,  this  supi.ly,  together  with  the  quan- 
tity in  store,  will   probably  be  sufficient  dur- 
ing anv  s.'asim  of  drought.     There  is,  there- 
fore, no  fear  in  regord  to  the  supply  for  the 
..resent,  and  should  the  time  arrive  when  the 
citv  will  re.piire  more  than  the  present  tacil- 
ities  alVonl   during  low  stages  .)f  the  river, 
other  streams  may  be  fouiul  which  can  b-i 
turn.Ml  into  the  upper  branches  of  the  Cnitou, 
or  into  the  a.iueduct  along  its  course.     Other 
reservoirs  may  olso  be  constructed  further  up 
the    Croton,  to    draw    from    in    seasons    ot 

drought."  .     ,  ,  ,  -v,-  f 

Sucli   are   the   wonderful   copabilities    of 
what  may  be  terme,l  the  "  feeders"  of  the 
Croton  auueduct,  which  is  calculated  to  dis- 
ehur"e  no  less  than  sixty  millions  of  gallons 
in  twenty-four  hours!     S.une   idea  ot    this 
mugnificent  supply  may  be  formed  from  the 
fact,  that  the  daily  consuiniition  ot  the  pnn- 
cipal  Lon.lon  water-companies  (eight  in  num- 
ber) amounts  only  to  twenty-one  millions  of 
gallons.      Of  thJ  urchitecturul  structure  of 
the  Croton  a.pic.luct,  it  would  be  impossible 
to  convey  anv  clear  idea  without  the  aid  ot 
sections  and  diagtauis.      A  general  sketch  ot 
the  undertaking  may,  however,  be  presented. 
As  already  stated,  the  fountain  reservoir  cov- 
ers about  Your  hundred   acres,  and  is  fonned 
by  a  dam  thiitv-eight  feet  in  height,  thus 
creatine  a  source  one  hundred  and  sixty-six 
feet  higher  than  the  city  of  New  \ ork.     At 
this  dam  are  sluices  or  gates  tor  regulating 
the  discharge  of  water,  and  of  course  uniler 
the  superintendence  of  u  competent  manager. 
The  Ulterior  of  ilie  aqueduct  is,  througliour, 
of  an  arched  or  elliptical  form,  founded  uiion 
hydraulic  concrete,  built  of  squared  stones. 
In  crossing  flats  slightly  below  the  intended 
level,  it  is  raised  uiion  solid  embankments; 
in  crossing  valleys  or  rivers,  it  is  supported 
upon  arches;  and  in  passing  through  hills, 
these  are  tunnelled,  to  admit  the  mason-work 


fife 


414 


THE  CKOTON  AUUEDUCT.; 


I 


&; 


it 


in 


„(•  the  anueiluct,     Roa.ls  am]  other  tliorough- 
fart's  are  of  course  it-ft  ui:ob»tructcd  l)V  the 
erection  of  bri.Igos,  just  as  tbcy  nro  when  a 
railway  is  lai'l  'l<>wn.     A»  the  inoKtiihcence 
of  aciueUucts  depemls  upon  the  height  and 
number  of   arches  re-iuisito   to  carry  them 
across  valleys,  it  may  give  some  ideao    t  m 
un.ler  consideration,  when  it  is  stateil  that 
Harlem  river  is  crossed  by  hfteen  arches,  sev- 
en of  which  are  fifty  feet  spun,  oml  eight,  ot 
eiuhty  feet,  the  greatest  height  being  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  feet  from  the  foundation  to  the 
top  of  the  mason-work.     This,  it  is  true,  is 
the  chef-d'auvre  of  the  aiiuedu.;t,  but  there 
are  other  bridges  and   embankinents  ot    no 
ineon  mognitu.le,  the  design  ond  construction 
of  which  do  credit  to  American  engineering. 
No  essential  change  occurs  in  the  form  ot  the 
channel-way  from  the  fountain  reservcnr  on 
the  Croton,  to  the  receiving  reservoir  on  the 
island  of  New  York,  a  distance  ot  thirty- 
eight  miles,  except  in  crossing  Harlem  river 
to  reach  the  island,  and  in  jjassing  a  ileep  val- 
ley on  the  island,  where  the  iron  pipes  are 
used  instead  of  masonry,  to  provide  for  the 
pressure  conseciuent  '.Km  a  dejircssion  from 
the  regular  plane.     Thus  the  source  ot  this 
artificial  streain  may  be  sold  to  combine  two 
prinriplefr— that  of  the  ancient  a<)ueduct,  and 
a  descent  and  ascent   as  in  ordinary  pipes. 
Should  it  ever  be  resolved  on  to  remove  the 
tubes  from  these  depressions,  and  to  substitute 
arcades  to  maintain  the  regular  inclination  ot 
the  channel-way,  a  second  tier  of  arches  wil 
be  required  in  crossing  the  Harlem  nver,  and 
a  bridge  of  great  elevation  to  span  the  ravine 

of  the  island. 

Havingby  the  means  now  ('escnbcil,  reached 

the  receiving  reservoir,  at  the  rate  of  one  and 
a  half  miles  an  hour,  the  surface-level,  ot  the 
.vttter  is  still  one  hundred  and  nineteen  feet 
above  the  level  of  mean  tide.  From  this  it 
is  conducted  (a  distance  of  two  miles),  to  the 
distributing  reservoir,  where  the  surtace- 
height  falls  to  one  hundred  and  fifteen  lect, 
this  last  being  the  height  to  which  the  water 
can  be  made  availoble  in  the  city.  The  receiv- 
ing reservoir  covers  about  thirty  acres,  and 
contains  one  month's  supply!  while  the  dis- 
tributing, which  is  entirely  built  of  stone,  is 
four  hundred  and  thirty-six  feet  square,  torty- 
five  feet  deep,  and  contains  twenty  millions 
of  gallons.  This  lust  reservoir  may  be  con- 
sidered the  termiiiatioa  of  the  Croton  aque- 
duct, and  is  distant  from  the  fountain  reservoir 
forty  and  a  half  miles.  The  whole  cost  of 
the  work  wa«  about  nine  millions  ot  dol- 
lars -.  and  aldfcg  to  this  the  cost  of  pipes,  aiid 
arrangements  for  distributing  the  water  m 
the  city,  it  will  make  the  total  cost  of  supply- 
ing New  York  oity  with  water,  twelve  mill- 
ions of  dollRTB. 


Commenting  on  the  comforts  and  bleiwings 
of  this  suiiplv  of  pure  water,  Mr.  Tower  re 


marks :   "  Tne  time  is  not  far  distant,  when 
New  York  will  regard  it  as  a  trrosure  which 
was   cheaply    imrchased,    and   will    proudly 
|M»intlothe  noble  work  which  she  has  achieved 
not  only  as  an  example  of  her  munificence, 
but  us  «n  illustration  of  what  art  and  science 
can  uccoiiiplish.     With  cleanly  streets,  and 
the  juiblic  iiarks  beautified  with  the  fountains 
which  send  forth  r.H)ling  and  refreshing  va- 
iiors  uiH)n  the  air.  the  citizens  will   forget  to 
leave  the  city  iluring  the  warm  months  of 
summer ;   and   the   seosliore,  the  mountain- 
tops,  and  watering-placcH,  will   fancy  their 
beauty  has  faded,  since  they  .    fise  to  be  visit- 
ed,    hut   health   is  no  less   promoted   by  the 
internal  thun  by  thi:  external  use  of  water; 
an<l  it  is  to  be  hoped,  that  but  a  short  jieriod 
will  elapse  before  free  baths  will  be  provided 
at  the  public  expense  for  the  use  of  the  poor, 
OS  well  as  the  public  generally.     Doily  ablu- 
tion should  be  regarded  as  necessary  os  daily 
f'jod  or  sleep.     *     *     The  lime  contoine(l  in 
the  previous  well-water  rendered  it  inapplica- 
ble to  the  purjiosesof  brewino,  tanning,  wash- 
ing, bleaching,  and  many  other  processes  in 
the  arts  of  domestic  economy :  ond,  we  be- 
lieve, the  calculation  would  not  be  found  ex- 
travagant, if  we  would  say,  that  by  the  use 
of  the  Croton  water,  over  $100,000  would 
be  saved  to  the  inhabitants  of  New  Yor'.   in 
soap  and  soda,  ond  on  equal  amount  in  tea  and 
coffee.     To  this  may  be  added  the  superior 
cleanliness  of  the  streets,  the  diminution  of 
danger  from  fires,  and  the  conseouent  reduc- 
tion of  the  rates  of  insurance  ;  the  improve- 
ment of  the  public  health,  and  the  con8e(iuent 
saving  in  medicine  and  physicians' fees;  the  in- 
crease of  working  days,  ond  the  extension  of 
the  overoge  period  of*^  working  ability  among 
the  laboring  classes ;  and  lastly,  the  inorol  and 
intellectual  advancement  of  tlie  entire  popu- 
lation, attendant  upon  the   improvement  of 
their  physical  condition;  each  of  which  is 
not  an  unimportant  item  in  the  aggregate  of 
public  prosperity  and  hoppiness.     The  value, 
however,  of  an  abundant  supply  of  pure  wa- 
ter to  the  city  of  New  York  is  not  to  be  es- 
timated by  dollars  and  cents ;  if  it  were,  it 
could  be  easily  shown  that  it  has  not  been 
purchased  at  too  dear  a  rate,  even  were  the 
expenses  attending  it  increased  to  double  the 
actual  amount." 

Several  of  the  public  squares  of  New  York 
are  already  adorned  with  beautiful  fountains, 
mentioned  by  Mr.  Tower  as  among  the  bles- 
sings which  would  result  from  the  completidh 
of  this  aqueduct.  Some  of  them  throw  the 
water  a  hundred  feet  perpendicularly,  not  af- 
ter being  raised  by  machinery,  but  by  the 
force  of  the  natural  head  alone. 


nfortM  and  bleMing* 
itor,  Mr.  T(iw»  r  ri- 
it  for  (lislBnt,  whon 
OH  u  trpftHuro  which 

and  will  proudly 
irh  »he  hn«  ftchicvt-d 
iif  hrr  iniinifK'onci', 
d>at  art  and  scictici! 
cleanly  strcpfs,  and 
d  with  the  fountain* 

and  rrfreshing  va- 
izens  will   forprt  fn 
e  warm  tnontlm  of 
lorr,   the   tniiuntain- 
'»,  will   fancy  their 
icy  .    nse  to  be  visit- 
ss   [irdiriotrd   by  the 
ernal  use  of  water; 
t  but  a  flhort  pericHl 
thu  will  be  provided 
the  use  of  the  ])iior, 
iTuUy.     Daily  nblu- 
iH  necessary  as  daily 
ie  lime  contained  in 
endered  it  inapplica- 
winp,  tanning,  wash- 
t  other   processes  in 
innmy  :  and,  we  be- 
uld  not  be  found  ex- 
gay,  that  by  the  use 
ver  $100,000  would 
(Its  of  New  Yor.'.  in 
lal  amount  in  tea  and 
!  added  the  superior 
3,  the  diminution  of 
le  conseouent  reduc- 
rance ;  tne  improve- 
I,  and  the  conseciuent 
ysicians'fees;  thein- 
and  the  extension  of 
Drking  ability  among 
lastly,  the  moral  and 
t  of  tiie  entire  popu- 
the  improvement  of 
i;  each  of   which  is 
I  in  the  aggregate  of 
pinness.     The  value, 
t  supply  of  pure  wa- 
if ork  is  not  to  be  es- 
cents ;  if  it  were,  it 
that  it  has  not  been 
1  rate,  even  were  the 
creased  to  double  the 

squares  of  New  York 
h  beautiful  fountains, 
3r  as  among  the  bies- 
t  from  the  completirti 
e  of  them  throw  the 
rpendicularly,  not  af- 
ttchinery,  but  by  the 
d  alone. 


ALLSTONB  aPHOUISMS. 


41ff 


OUIl  PAUENTS. 

RKivr.cT  to  aged  pnronf«  we  conHi.l.-r  one 
nfV"Bn-ntr«t4tn's.      There  .s  no  pen,.. 
in  life,  when  .>ur  fathers  an.l  mothers  do  not 
,  claim  our  attention,  our  love,  and  <-'r  wnrm- 
'  tMt  atVection.     Vum  youth  t<.  manh.M.d.  from 
mid.lic  age  to  rip.'r  ycar«.  if  our  1. .red  pa- 
rents survive,  it  sh..ul.l  be  our  .nn.tant  study 
how  we  can  best  ,.romote  their   wellan-  an.l 
hni.pine*s,  an.l  sm.mth  th-  p.lL.w  of  th.>.r  .1.-- 
clining    years.     N..thing  b.-tter  r...;..nnnends 
an  imlivi.lual.  than  his  alt.-nti..n  fohm  par.t.ts. 
Permitting  them  t.>  nhnr.'  in  hir*  proHp.ritv 
nn.l  his  honors.  with..ut  bur.lenmg  them  with 
bin  nerplexities  nn,l  trials,  is  a  mark  ..t  true 
otliction.  an.l  will  Ih^   a  s..urcn  ..f  c,...s..lati..n 
through  life.     There  are  sn.-h  iluliful   chil- 
dren f  men  whose  highest  nmlntion  s.'.-ms  to 


..  days  have  dwin.lle.l  f..  the  shortest  span, 
think  n..  care  t.M.  great  f..r  you  t..  bestow  up- 
on  them.  ....  m..ney  f.-.li-'bly  spent  that  wUl 
i,ur.h.>H.'  fb.ir  .'..mfort,  an.l  n..  i.nie  tlm.wn 
Lay  that  H  d.-v..lrd  to  their  happiness 
Iloimr.  r.'sp.Tt.  an.l  l..ve  ihrm.  Spare  no  el- 
fort  in  th.Mr  b.dialf,  ami  d..  nothing  fbat  wi  1 
Kive  th.m  pain  <.r  gri.-ve  them  iti  the  leas  . 
I).,  thus,  an.l  y..ur  rewar.l  will  be  grrn  . 
Y..ur..wn  ..iVspnng  will  h..nof  you.  y..u  will 
|„.  reKp.ct.'.l  wherever  y<M  are  known,  and 
gain  the  approbation  of  Heaven. 


ALSTON'S  APHORISMS. 

In  presenting  an  account  of  the  late  Wa^h- 
'  .  11  .        .u_    n  .!.,.«■» II in  nlncps  bet. ire 


.IrenTinen  whose  highest  aml.it...n  s.'.-mo  .^^  •'':,;  ;;*^,^;'  Athen.eum  places  ber..re 
be  the  i.mmoti..n  ..f  the  lu.i.|.in.s9  ..t  their  ingt..n  Al  st o.n  '"r.  ^_  "  aphorisms  of  which 
fathers  all  m.ithers.     They  w-atch  over  tlu-tri  |  its  -^^^^^^  "v^XJuM  that  Mr. 

AUston  wrote  tli.'m  on  fragments  of  paper, 
which  he  stuck  up  aroun.l  his  room,  as  ai.ls 
to  reflection  before  he  began  his  day  s  work- 


intnersanu  iii.Mif  in.      ^  ..j   ■  - 
with  unwearied  care-supidy  them  with  a U 
their  wants,  an.l  by  their  att.-ntion  an.l  kin.l- 
ness,  rem<.ve  all  care  an.l  sorrow  fr..m  their 
hearts.      On  the  contrary,  there  are  others 
wh.)scem  never  to  bestow  a  th..ught  up..n 
their  parents,  an.l  to  care  but  little  whether 
thevare    comf.Ttably  situated  or  otherwise. 
Bv'lheir  cmiluct  they  increase  their  cares, 
nnbitter   their   lives,    an.l    bring    their   gray 
hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave.     Selfishness 
has  steeled  their  hearts  t..  the  whisperings  ot 
artection,  and   avarice  denies  t<.  their  parents 
those  favors  which  woul.l   materially   assist 
them  in  the  down-hill  of  life.     (Jthers  fm,  by 
a  course  of  profligacy  and  vice,  have  draiinMl 
t..the  very  dregs,  th.-ir  pan-nts  <'M' "/ *"»1'- 
piness  and  ma.lc  them  anxmus  for  d'-a  "  t.  re- 
..asethem  fr..m  their  sulVenngs.     Oh  !  how 
fearful  must  be  the  d.K.m  of  those  children 


to  reiieciii.il   iiiiwk;  in-  ■■•  »- 1    -^  r 

Copied  int..  ..ur  pages  they  may  be  of  use  in 
lowering  self-esteem  in  others  besi.le  painters. 
1.  The  painter  who  is  c.ntent  with  tne 
praise  <.f  the  world  in  respect  to  what  d.ies 
not  satisfy  himself,  is  n..t  an  arti«t,  but  an  ar- 
tisan; for  th..ugh  his  n^ward  be  only  praise, 
his  pay  is  that  of  a  mechanic  for  his  time, 

und  ii.it  for  his  art.  ,    .      .        »  „i„.„„ 

o  He  that  seeks  popularity  in  art  closes 
the  d.K.r  ..n  his  own  genius,  as  he  inust  needs 
puint  for  other  mimls  and  not  f.ir  his  own. 

3  Reinitnti..n  is  but  a  synonyme  ot  p..pn- 
larity.  .lep<n..l.'iit  ..n  sutrrage.  to  be  mcreased 
or  .ifminished  at  the  will  of  the  voters.  I  is 
the  creature,   s..  t.)  sji.-ak,   .if  its  particular 


iVarfulmust  be  the  d.K.m  ';^  ' ^-^ ^^"^  K^  o   n      -       a  p^ 

wh..  have  thus  embutered  the  lives  otl.         ««  -       "| ;;,;,.  ,^  L^„  ..^h  that  which  sus 


parents !  If  there  is  a  "  worl.l  of  wo,"  beyon.l 
the  precincts  of  the  tomb,  surely  they  con  not 
escape  its  horrors.  . 

There  can  be  no  happier  reflection  than 
that  derived  from  the  thought  of  having  con- 
tributed all  in  our  jKiwer  to  the  comfort  ami 
the   liap[.ines8  of  our  fathers  and  mothers. 


ace,  ..r  ruiin  •  <"  >■  j....  ..--■-■    -  ,  ■  i 

ami  c<.nse.pi.Mitlv,  dying  with  that  which  sus- 
taine.1  it.  Hence,  we  can  scarcely  go  over  a 
pace  ..f  history,  that  we  d.)  not.  as  in  a  church- 
yard, tread  up..n  s.ime  buried  reputatu.n. 
liut  fame  can  not  be  vt.ted  down,  having  its 
immediate  f.iun.lation  in  the  essential.  It  is 
the  eternal  shad<.wof  excellence,  from  which 


the   happiness   of  our  fathers  and   ^^''"""^-{ll'l^'""^^^^^^^^^^ 
When   called   away   from  "«^  1'^^"''%  i         •    n J^f.^t  in  the^  S 
s  H,neror  later  they^.iay  be  the  thought  w,  1  be    ;\«>^''«^^^^y'^;,\Vt,^r  that  light  which 

sweet,  that  our  ettorts  and  our  care  smoothed  with  that  ot  "^  »"'"",  ^^^  ;  ^^^„  „f  ^y,^  „„]- 
heir  decline  of  life,  so  that  they  'leparted  m  [^  f  ^^f  "iere  a  and  reverenced, 
comfort  and  peace.     If  U  were  otherwise^if  j  titude,  to  De  w.m^  „,„„„„.h^n.led.  as  to  be 


comtorr  ami  peuc»;.     n. ....■-•-  - 

we  denied  them  what  their  circumstances  and 
necessities  required— and  our  hearts  were  not 
like  the  nether  millstone,  it  must  prove  a 
thorn  in  our  flesh  to  sprinkle  our  days  with 
sorrow  ami  regret. 

Ye  wh.)  are  blest  with  parents,  now  be 
careful  of  your  treatment  to  them.  Receive 
mil.lly  thefr  reproofs,  listen  to  their  counsels, 
and  obey  them.     If  they  arc  aged,  and  their 


lliuiie,    ii>    "'^    ........ , 

even  while  so  little  comprehemled,  as  to  be 
often  confounded  with  the  substance— the 
substance  being  admitted  fronri  the  shad..w.  as 
a  matter  of  faith.  It  is  the  economy  of 
Provi.lence  t..  provide  such  lights  ;  like  nsmg 
and  setting  stars,  they  foUow  eac  i  other 
through  successive  ages;  ami  thus  the  monu- 
mental  form  of  genius  stan.ls  H.r  ever  relieved 
against  its  own  imperishable  shadow. 


II 

m0 


■f 


410 


ALLBTON  H  APHOUISMi. 


4.  All  iitcollcncB  of  every  kiml  i*  but  va- 

ri.'iy  «•(■  tnitli.  if  wu  wi»li.  thiii,  lor  h.iiic- 
thiii'a  lieyiiiiil  I'.e  triii'.  Wf  wi^li  lor  tliut  wliirh 
u  tills.-.  Atr  irtliiiK  to  tlii»  l>tt,  Imw  littli- 
tniih  Ik  tlicrn  in  nrt  !  Littli-,  imlicil.  Imt  lutw 
iihu'li  ift  ilmt  lltt.f  to  liiiii  wliii  tn'U  it !  . 

.">.  l''iiin<;  ili't'n  not  iIi'ih'ihI  oh  liif  leill  ot 
any  iniiii,  but  ri'imtntio"  iiiny  lif  Kiviii  or  ta- 
ken Bwuy.  Fiiinc  i»  tin-  f.yin|mtliy  ut  kin- 
ilrcil  inlflli'clH.  iiml  syni|iutliy  i^  imt  ii  wiib- 
y'cl  it(  wiUin/f  ;  wliili'  n|.utulinn,  Inivinn  its 
siiurce  in  the  |>o|)ulur  viiicf,  i>t  a  Kintrnce 
wliich  niiiy  III!  uttiTi'il  or  nupiiri'stiril  iit  plciis- 
Mtf.  Rrpnliition,  brin;;  iwsfiiiiiilly  ronifiii- 
|>iiri>m'ou«,  is  ulwiiys  ut  tlic  mercy  of  tin;  I'ti- 
vinuH  mill  the  ifjiioriint.  Hut  tiiini',  Willi's.' 
very  birth  in  nodtiiutiious,  iiml  which  is  only 
known  to  exist  by  the  echo  of  its  fuotsti  ps 
through  conK<'ni«r  rniiiiis,  con  be  neither  iii- 
creiiseii  niiriiitiiinisheil  liy  niiy  ileKree  of  will. 

fi.  What  li),'bt  i8  in  the  iiuturnl  worlil,  such 
i<i  fnine  in  the  intellecluiil,  both  re(|uirin;:  iin 
atinimphere  in  onler  to  become  peiceiitilile. 
Honce  the  fume  of  Michuel  Aiigelo  is,  to 
some  minils,  a  nonentity ;  even  ns  the  sun  it- 
self woulil  be  invisible  in  vacuo. 

7.  Fame  has  no  necessary  conjunction  with 
praiPK  ;  it  may  exist  without  the  breath  of  a 
word  ;  it  is  a  recognition  of  excellence  which 
must  be  felt,  but  v  jed  not  be  8|ioken.  Kveii 
the  envious  must  feel  it ;  feel  it,  and  hute  it 
in  silence. 

8.  I  can  not  believe  that  any  man  who  de- 
served fume  ever  labored  for  it — thut  is,  di- 
rectly. For,  B9  fame  is  but  the  coiitinijent 
of  excellence,  it  would  be  like  an  uttemjit  to 
project  a  shadow  before  its  substance  was  ob- 
tained. Many,  however,  have  so  fancied. 
"  I  write,  1  paint  for  fame,"  has  often  been 
repeated  ;  it  should  have  been  :  "  I  write,  1 
paint  for  reputation."  All  anxiety,  therefore, 
about  fame  should  bo  jdaced  to  the  account 
of  repututii.-x. 

9.  A  man  nmy  be  pretty  sure  that  he  has 
not  nttuiiied  excellence,  when  ii  is  not  all  in 
all  to  him.  Nay,  I  may  add,  that  if  he  looks 
beyond  it,  he  has  not  rcaclud  it.  This  is  not 
the  less  true  for  beinj  gfx'd  Irish. 

10.  An  original  miiul  is  rarely  understood 
until  it  has  been  redeeted  from  some  hall- 
diizen  congenial  with  it;  so  averse  are  men 
to  admittinu  the  true  in  an  unusual  fonn  ; 
while  any  novelty,  however  fantastic,  how;- 
ever  false,  is  greedily  swallowed.  Nor  is 
this  to  be  wondered  at;  for  all  truth  demands 
a  response,  and  few  people  cure  to  think,  yet 
they  must  have  some'thiii!,'  to  supply  the  place 
of  thoujiht.  Every  mind  would  appear  ori- 
ginal, if  every  man  had  the  power  of  project- 
int;  his  owni  into  the  minds  of  others. 

11.   All  ertbrt  atorisinality  must  end  either 
in  the  ([uaint  or  the  monstrous.     For  no  man 


knows  himself  an  an  oriRinai ;  he  eon  only 
iielieve  it  mi  the  repiirt  of  others  to  whom  he 
\i  made  known,  a>  he  is  liy  the  projecting  pow. 
er  before  npiikeii  ot. 

Iv!.  There  is  an  essential  meanness  in  the 
wish  to  Kit  the  better  of  any  one.  The  only 
coiiipetitiim  worthy  n  wise  man  is  with  him- 
self. 

1,3.  Reverence  is  an  ennobling  sentiment ; 
it  is  felt  to  be  de){radiiiK  only  by  the  vulvar 
mind,  wiiich  would  escape  the  sense  of  its 
own  littleness,  by  eleyatiiif;  itself  into  the  an- 
taj{nni-t  to  what  is  aliove  it. 

14.  He  that  has  no  pleosiirn  in  looking 
up,  is  not  fit  to  liMik  down.  Of  such  minds 
are  the  mnnnerists  in  art;  in  the  world,  ty- 
runts  of  all  sorts. 

15.  A  witch's  skitr  can  not  more  easily 
sail  in  the  teeth  <if  the  wind,  than  the  human 
eye  can  lie  against  fact ;  but  the  truth  will 
often  (juivcr  through  lips  with  a  lie  upon 
Ibem. 

It).  It  is  a  hard  matter  for  a  man  to  lie  ah 
over,  nature  having  provided  king's  eviden<e 
in  almost  every  member,  Tiie  hand  wil' 
sometimes  oct  us  a  vane  to  show  which  way 
the  wind  blows,  when  every  feotnrc!  is  set  tlie 
other  woy ;  the  knees  smite  together  and 
sound  the  alarm  of  fear  umicr  a  fierce  coun- 
tenance ;  the  legs  Hhake  with  anger  when  all 
above  is  calm. 

17.  Make  no  man  your  idol !  For  the  best 
man  must  liavc  faults,  and  his  faults  will  usu- 
ally become  yours,  in  addition  to  your  own. 
This  is  as  true  in  art  as  in  morids. 

18.  The  devil's  heartiest  laugh  is  at  a  de- 
tracting witticism.  Hence  the  phrase,  "  dev- 
ilish gixid,"  has  sometimes  a  literal  meaning. 

19.  There  is  one  thing  which  no  man,  how- 
ever generously  disposed,  can  give,  but  which 
every  one,  however  poor,  is  bound  to  pay. 
This  is  [iraise.     He  can  not  give  it,  because 
it  is  not  his  own  ;  since  what  is  dependent  for 
its  very  existence  on  j^oniething  in   another, 
can  never  become  to  him  a  possession ;  nor 
can  he  justly  withhold  it,  when  the  presence 
of    merit   claims   it   us  a   consequence.      As 
jiraise  then  can  not  be  made  a  gift,  so  neither 
when  not  his  due,  can  any  man  receive  it ; 
he  may  think  he  does,  but  he  receives  only 
words ;  for  desert  being  the  essential   condi- 
tion of  jiraise,  there  can  be  no  realii .  in  the 
one  without   the  other.     This  is  no  fanciful 
statement ;  for  though   praise  may  be  with- 
held by  the  ignorant  or  envious,  it  can  not  be 
but   that  in  the  course  of  time,  an  existing 
merit  will,  on  some  one,  proilucc  its  eBects  ; 
inasmuch  as  the  existence  of  any  caii-e  with- 
out'its  eirect  is  rei  impossibility.      A  fearful 
truth  lies  at  the  bottom  of  this,  an  irreversi- 
ble justice   for  the  weal  or  wo  of  him  who 
rfinfirnis  or  violates  it." 


» 


H    iiu  I  h  % 


iiini ;  he  nnn  only 
otlirrM  to  whom  hn 
the  |>r(ijrctill3  pow- 

inl  nirnnni'M  in  flip 
iiy  (Uii-.  TIlH  only 
u  iiiiin  in  with  hini- 

nobling  ^fintiment ; 
mly  liy  the  vulvar 
|)e  thi(  HfiiHK  of  itit 
ig  itself  into  the  an- 
it. 

ileaitiirn  in  looking 
ri.  Of  »m:h  mimts 
;  in  the  world,  ty- 

nn  not  more  easily 
mil,  tlmn  the  hiimnn 
hut  the  truth  will 
IS  with  a  lie 

for  a  innn  to  lie  all 
ilfd  king's  eviileme 
r.  The  hand  wiU 
to  show  which  way 
•rv  feature  is  set  tlif 
smite  topethef  and 
amiKr  a  tierce  coun- 
with  anger  when  all 

idol !  For  the  best 
(1  his  faults  will  usu- 
Idition  to  your  own. 
n  morals. 

est  lau<;h  is  at  a  de- 
ce  the  phrase,  "  ilev- 
es  a  litrral  moaning. 

which  no  man,  how- 
I,  can  give,  but  which 
iir,  is  hound  to  pay. 

not  give  it,  because 
ivlmt  is  dependent  for 
iiii'thing  in  another, 
m  a  possession ;  nor 
t,  when  the  presence 
a  consequence.  A« 
mile  a  j>ift,  so  neither 
any  man  receive  it ; 
but  he  receives  only 
r  the  essential  condi- 
n  he  no  realii*.  in  the 
This  is  no  fanciful 

praise  may  be  with- 
envious,  it  can  not  be 
!  of  time,  an  existing 
>,  pnxluce  its  etTects  ; 
ice  of  any  cau'f  with- 
ossihility.  A  fearful 
1  of  this,  an  irreversi- 
al  or  wo  of  him  who 


4. 


418 


CINCINNATI. 


**.., 


CINCINNATI. 

Whkn  Columbus  discovered  the  new  world 
he  was  in  search  of  a  western  route  to  Cath- 
ay, and  India,  whence  he  expected  to  bring 
back,  if  not  treasures  of  gold  and  gems,  in- 
telligence of  the  wonderful  lend  Marco  Polo 
had  described.  It  was  not  until  long  after  the 
discovery  of  the  continent  of  North  and 
South  America,  that  it  was  ascertained  that 
a  new  region,  broad  as  the  Atlantic,  lay  be- 
tween the  ocean  and  the  Indian  sea,  as  the 
Pacific  was  then  called.  So  deep-rooted  was 
this  belief  that  the  French  colonists  in  Cana- 
da, long  after  they  had  begun  to  be  formida- 
ble to  their  English  and  HoUu'.idish  neighbors, 
in  spite  of  many  disappointments,  followed 
the  tracery  of  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi  in  the 
full  confidence  that  this  mighty  current  could 
end  only  in  the  Western  sea.  They  could 
not  realize  that  nature  in  America  had  always 
acted  on  a  grander  scale  than  they  were  used 
to,  and  would  have  laughed,  if  told  that  not 
far  above  the  mouth  of  the  Ohio,  was  anoth- 
er great  artery,  which,  by  its  tributaries  wa- 
tered one  valley,  the  superiices  of  which  was 
larger  than  all  Europe. 

They,  with  their  limited  views,  were  the 
discoverers  to  Europe  of  the  Ohio,  which,  in 
the  language  of  the  tribe  that  dwelt  on  the 
bank  from  which  the  white  man  first  beheld 
it,  signified  Beautiful  Water.  This  the 
French  translated  into  their  own  language, 
and  by  the  term  of  La  Belle  river,  it  was  long 
known  in  the  histories  of  the  Jesuit  and  Fran- 
ciscan missions,  which,  until  the  land  the 
Ohio  watered,  became  the  property  of  the 
second  North  American  race,  were  its  only 
chronicles.  Not  until  a  later  day  did  it  be- 
come known  to  the  English  colonists  and  then 
80  slightly,  that  even  in  the  reign  of  Charles 
II.  authority  was  given  to  the  English  gover- 
nor of  Virgmia,  Sir  William  Berkley,  to  cre- 
ate an  hereditary  order  of  knighthood,  with 
high  privileges  and  brilliant  insignia,  eligibil- 
ity to  which  depended  on  the  aspirant  having 
crossed  the  Allegany  ridge,  and  added  some- 
thing to  the  stock  of  intelligence  of  the  region 
beyond,  the  title  to  all  of  which  had  been 
conferred  by  royal  patent  on  the  colony  at 
Jamestown. 

Possessed  of  Canada,  with  strongly-defend- 
ed positions  at  Fort  Duquesne  (Pittsburg), 
and  Fort  Chartres,  near  the  confluence  of  the 
Ohio  and  Mississippi,  with  the  even  then  im- 
portant city  of  New  Orleans,  the  wily  states- 
men of  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.,  conceived 
the  plan  of  enclosing  the  English  colonies  in 
a  network  of  fortifications,  and  ultimately  of 
controlling  the  continent.  So  cherished  was 
this  policy  that  treaties  made  in  Europe,  be- 
twpeu  the  crowns  of  France  and  England 


never  extended  their  influence  to  America, 
and  for  almost  a  century  continued  a  series 
of  contests,  during  which  Montcalm,  De  Levi, 
Wolfe,  and  Braddock,  distinguished  them- 
selves and  died.  The  result  is  well-known, 
Canada  became  English,  the  northern  jwint 
d'appui  of  the  system  was  lost,  and  the  Ohio 
was  no  longer  under  their  control.  This  pro- 
logue to  fill'  beautiful  engraving  of  Cincinnati 
is  given,  because,  though  Pittsburg  and  Lou- 
isville are  important  cities,  Cincinnati  is  the 
undoubted  queen  of  the  river. 

It  was  not,  however,  until  the  war  of  the 
Revolution,  that  serious  attention  was  gener- 
ally directed  to  the  Ohio,  for  the  brilliant  ex- 
pedition of  Clarke  against  Kaskaskia  (which 
18  almost  unknown,  though  in  difficulty  and 
daring  it  far  exceeded  Arnold's  against  Que- 
bec) was  purely  military.  Immediately  on 
the  termination  of  the  war,  emigrants  began 
to  hurry  to  the  Ohio,  and  by  one  of  the  hard- 
iest of  these,  Cincinnati  was  commenced  in 
1789.  By  the  graduol  influx  of  population 
into  the  west  Cincinnati  throve,  and  soon  be- 
came the  chief  city  of  the  region. 

For  a  long  while  Cincinnati  was  merely  the 
d6p6t  of  the  Indians  and  fur  trade,  the  most 
valuable  of  the  products  of  which  required 
to  be  transported  across  the  mountains,  and 
through  forests  to  the  seaboard.  At  that  time 
Cincinnati  presented  a  strange  appearance  ; 
the  houses  were  of  logs,  and  here  and  there, 
through  the  broad  streets  its  founders  so  jirov- 
identially  prepared,  were  seen  the  hunter,  in 
his  leathern  jerkin,  the  Indian  warrior  in  full 
paint,  and  the  husbandman  returning  home 
from  his  labors.  Almost  from  the  establish- 
ment of  the  northwest  territory,  Cincinnati 
had  been  the  home  of  the  governor;  and  it 
was  the  residence  of  St.  Clair,  long  the  only 
delegate  in  congress  of  the  whole  northwest 
— a  wilderness  then,  but  now  teeming  with 
three  millions  of  inhabitants,  and  seiuling  to 
Washington  thirty-four  rejiresentatives. 

Cincinnati  was  the  point  de  depart  of  many 
of  the  expeditions  against  the  Indians  between 
the  revolution  and  the  war  of  1812.  When 
that  war  broke  out  it  acquired  new  import- 
ance. Military  men  replaced  the  hunter  and 
the  Indian,  and  every  arrival  brought  a  rein- 
forcement of  troops.  From  it  Taylor  and 
Croghan  marched  with  Gen.  Harrison  north- 
ward, and  to  it  the  victorious  army  returned 
from  the  Thames.  When  peace  returned,  a 
new  activity  was  infused  into  Cincinnati ;  the 
vast  disbursements  made  by  the  government 
had  attracted  thither  many  adventurers.  Then 
commenced  the  era  of  bateau  navigation,  and 
the  advent  of  a  pecuhar  race  of  men,  of 
whom  now  no  trace  remains.  Rude  boats 
were  built  and  freighted  with  produce,  which 
descended  the  river  to  New  Orieans,  where 


OUR  PlLQllIM  FATHEK3. 


419 


lence  to  America, 
continued  a  series 
iontcalm,  De  Levi, 
stinguished  them- 
ult  is  well-known, 
he  northern  point 

lost,  and  the  Ohio 
■ontrol.  This  pro- 
ving of  Cincinnati 
'ittsburg  and  Lon- 

Cincinnati  is  the 
er. 

til  the  war  of  the 
tentinn  was  gcner- 
brtlie  brilliant  ex- 
Kaskaskia  (which 
n  in  difficulty  and 
old's  against  Que- 
Immediately  on 
,  emigrants  began 
y  one  of  the  hard- 
as  commenced  in 
flux  of  population 
rove,  and  soon  be- 
region. 

ati  was  merely  the 
ur  trade,  the  most 
sf  which  required 
le  mountains,  and 
ard.  At  that  time 
ange  appearance  ; 
id  here  and  there, 
s  founders  so  ])rov- 
een  the  hunter,  in 
lian  warrior  in  full 
n  returning  home 
rom  the  establish- 
rritory,  Cincinnati 

governor ;  and  it 
!lair,  long  the  only 
!  whole  northwest 
low  teeming  with 
ts,  and  seiiding  to 
iresentatives. 
de  depart  of  many 
16  Indians  between 
-  of  1812.  When 
uired  new  import- 
ced  the  hunter  and 
'al  brought  a  rein- 
)m  it  Taylor  and 
n.  Harrison  north- 
)us  army  returned 

peace  returned,  a 
ito  Cincinnati ;  the 
ly  the  government 
idventurers.  Then 
au  navigation,  and 

race  of  men,  of 
lins.  Rude  boats 
ith  produce,  which 
3W  Orleans,  where 


the  cargo  wn-i  dis^posed  of,  and  the  boat  itself 
broken  up  and  sold.    The  crew,  after  a  sea- 
son  of  dissipation,  returned  homeward   by 
land,  through  the  country  inhabited  by  the 
Choctaws,  and  Chickasaws,  and  the  yet  wild- 
er region  infested  by  thieves  and  pirates,     xt 
was  no  uncommon  thing  for  the  boatmen  nev- 
er to  return.     Exposure  to  dr.nger  made  them 
reckless ;  and  they  were  often  seen  floating 
down  the  liosom  of  the  stream,  with  the  vio- 
lin sounding  merrily,  but  with   their  nfles 
loaded,    anu   resting  against   the   gunwales, 
readv  to  bo  used  whenever  any  emergency 
arose.     All  the  west  even  now  rings  with  tra- 
ditions of  the  daring  of  this  race ;  and  the 
traveller  on  the  waters  of  the  west,  often  has 
pointed  out  to  him  the  scene  of  their  bloody 
contests  and  iiuarrels. 

The  era  of  steam  began,  and  this  state  ot 
thin-'s  passed  away.     The  mighty  discovery 
of  Fulton  created  yet  more  activity  m  the 
west ;  and  a  current  of  trade,  second  to  none 
on  the  continent,  except  perhaps,  those  ot 
New  York,  and  Philadelphia,  sprung  from  it. 
As  the  states  of  Kentucky,  and  Ohio,  began 
to  fill  up,  the  farmers  and  planters  crowded  to 
Cincinnati  with  their  produce,  and  the  f:har- 
acter  of  the  population  changed.     The  day 
of  the  voyageur  was  gone,  and  hues  of  steam- 
boi^ts  crowded  its  wharf.     The  peculiar  char- 
acter of  the  country  around  it,  teeming  with 
the  sustenance  for  animals  and  grazing,  macje 
it  the  centre  of  a  peculiar  business  which, 
unpoetical  as  it  may   seem,  doubled  every 
year,  until  in  1847,  it  amounted  to  more  than 
the  value  of  the  cotton  crop  of  the  whole  At- 
lantic frontier. 

Other  branches  of  industry  also  grew  up. 
Shipyards  lined  the  banks  of  the  nver,  and 
more  than  one  stately  vessel  has  first  floated 
on  the  bosom  of  the  Ohio,  in  front  of  Cincin- 
nati, been  freighted  at  its  wharves,  and  sailed 
thence  to  the  ocean,  never  to  return  to  the 
port  of  its  construction. 

Long  before  the  reign  of  merchant-pnnces 
began,  stately  churches,  colleges,  and  commo- 
dious d\  flings  had  arisen,  and  replaced  the 
hut  of  the  early  settlers,  so  that  Cincinnati, 
with  the  exception  of  Philadelphia,  is  become 
the  most  regular  and  beautiful  city  ot  the 
Union.  The  scene  of  the  accumulation  ot 
larce  fortunes,  cultivation  has  followed  in 
their  train,  so  that  it  is  difficult  hr  one  who 
first  visits  it  from  the  east,  to  realize  that  he 
is  seven  hundred  miles  from  the  seaboard. 

Fulton  had  by  his  discovery,  overcome  the 
difficulties  of  communication,  and  opened  a 
market  for  its  immense  products ;  but  yet  an- 
other discovery  was  to  contribute  to  its  pros- 
perity. By  means  of  the  magnetic  telegranli, 
communication  between  the  seaboard  of  the 
Atlantic  and  the  lakes,  is  more  easy  than  be- 


tween New  York  and  Brooklyn,  and  with  the 
whole  west  Cincinnati  has  acipiired  new  im- 
portance. It  can  not  but  continue  to  advance 
and  acquire  yet  more  influence  than  it  new 
has. 


OUR  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

The  settlement  of  New  England  forms  an 
epoch  in  the  history  of  colonization.     Never, 
until  that  time,  had  such  high  principles,  and 
such  noble  minds,  been  engaged  in  the  great 
work  of  extending  the  bounds  of  the  civilized 
world.     Most  of  the  founders  of  new  states 
have  been  driven  abroad  by  necessity  ;  while, 
in  others,  the  spirit  of  adventure  was  kindled, 
sometimes  by  restless  ambition  or  jiolitical 
discontent ;  sometime-  by  enlightened  views 
of  commercial  profit ;  but  oftener  by  dreams 
of  sudden  wealth.     But  in   the  iuthers  of 
New  England  we  behold  a  body  of  men  who, 
for  the  liberty  of  faith  alone,  resolutely  and 
deliberately,  exchanged  the  delights  of  home 
and  the  comforts  of  civilized  lile  for  toil  and 
danger,  for  an  ungenial  climate  and  a  rugged 
soil.     They  were  neither  desperate  adventu- 
rers nor  ignorant  fanatics;  on  the  contrary, 
there  is  every  evidence  that  they  generally 
possessed  a  mufli  higher  degree  of  mental 
cultivation  than  was  common,  at  that  period, 
among  the  English  people.     Indeed,  the  aus- 
terity of  the  moral  habits  of  their  immediate 
descendants,  and  the  remarkable  freedom  of 
their  language  from  the  provincial  dialects  of 
England,  afford  ample  evidence  of  the  gener- 
al character  of  their  ancestors.     They  were 
men 

"  who  apako  tlie  tongue 
That  Shakspere  «pako,  the  faith  and  morals  held 
That  Milton  held.'* 

Nay,  even  if,  in  the  pride  of  a  vain  philos- 
ophy, we  should  choose  to  suspect  the  praises 
of  this  portion  of  our  English  ancestry,  as 
being  but  the  delusions  of  national  vanity, 
and  to  dwell  more  upon  their  faults  and  follies 
than  on  their  virtues,  still  it  is  impossible  to 
refuse  some  share  of  ;idmiration  to  the  talents 
and  couroge  of  these  voluntary  exiles,  if  we 
regard  them  merely  as  a  bold  and  honest  pov  - 
tion  of  that  party,  in  church  and  state,  whicn. 
to  borrow  the  coarse  but  strong  language  of 
Warburton,  had  outfought  the  cavaliers,  out- 
prayed  the  puritans,  and  outwitted  the  par- 
liament.    The  period  at  which  ihey  lived,  is 
very  remarkable  for  having  been  fertile  in 
every  form  of  irregular  greatness,  and  they 
partook  largely   of   the  characto^r  of   their 
times.    In  every  great  exertion  of  genius,  m 


*:i. 


ft  ■■- 

m 


5«* 


wm^J^ 


that  ago,  whether  in  noetry,  in  clwiueiice,  m 
moral 'and  theological  speculation,  or  in  ac- 
tive lite,  there  was  on  ineongruous  and  unac- 
countable mixture  of  the  pisantic  and  child- 
ish  of  fjlorious  truth  and   miserable  l)re)u- 

dice.  Pope's  criticism  on  the  poetry  of  Mil- 
ton may  serve  for  a  universal  description  of 
the  talents  of  that  day  :— 

"  MilKmii  atronu  pinion  now  not  henvpn  cnn  bound  ; 
Now,  serpent-like,  in  puna,  he  sweeps  tht  grouud. 

To  tra(!c  the  rise  and  iirogrcss  of  commu- 
nities, to  follow  the  fortunes  and  elucidate  the 
chura(;t(;r«  of  those  who  have  loiil  broad  and 
deep  the  foundations  of  new  OAsociations,  may 
seem  perhaps  to  lielonj;  to  the  province  ol 
history,  rather  than  to  that  of  a  brief  article 
of  the  present  character.  We  will,  however, 
attempt  the  task,  and  casting  our  eyes  back 
for  two  centuries,  contemplate  the  ancestry 
from  which  we  have  sprung,  and  the  events 
and  causes  which  were  connected  with  their- 
enter|)ri8e  and  achievements. 

It  is  a  dillicult  thing  to  give  a  correct  nar- 
rative of  events  which  happened  long  ago, 
and  concerning  which  there  is  either  a  defi- 
ciency or  a  great  variety  of  contradictory  tes- 
timony. But  for  us  the  tusk  is  not  so  labori- 
ous or  uncertain  in  its  results.  The  story  of 
our  origin  as  a  people  is  not  obscure.  We 
are  not  compelled  to  trace  bock  our  race 
through  the  confusion  of  barbarism,  or  to  free 
it  from  the  obscurity  of  fabulous  narrative. 
The  institutions  of  New  England  need  no 
painful  research  or  learned  commentary;  they 
have  written  and  published  themselves  to  the 
whole  worhl,  both  by  the  lives  and  acts  of 
those  who  esial)li8heti  them  and  by  the  fruits 
which  they  have  not  ceased  to  bear  since  the 
time  of  their  formation. 

It  is  rehiteil  in  the  old  mythology  that  the 
Grecian  goddess  of  wiedom  sprung  from  the 
head  of  Jupiter  completely  armed  and  every 
way  mature.  Quite  as  complete  did  New 
England  spring  into  existence.  From  the 
first  she  was  endowed  with  all  the  attributes 
of  society,  with  free  institutions,  with  civil 
order,  with  just  regard  for  property  and  pro- 
tection for  the  rights  of  persons. 

The  day  on  which  New  England  dates 
her  origin  ought  never  to  be  forgotten  nor 
disregarded.  If  the  Fourth  of  July,  1776. 
in  the  estimation  of  the  venerated  John  Ad- 
ams, be  a  day  to  be  for  ever  commemorated 
•with  meerings  of  the  people,  with  bonfires 
and  all  the  signs  of  general  rejoicing,  so  ought 
the  22d  of  December,  1620,  to  be  held  -.r. 
perpetual  remembrance.  By  our  observance 
of  those  days,  let  us  say  to  those  who  have 
gone  before  us,  if  perchance  such  communi- 
cation can  be  held  with  the  departed,  that  we 
have  not  forgotten  their  labors,  their  suffer- 


ings, their  dangers,  or  their  sorrows.  Yes, 
their  children  are  grateful  for  the  sacrifices 
they  made,  and  the  trials  they  endured, 
proud  of  their  descent  from  such  illustrious 
progenitors,  and  jealous  of  the  goodly  inheri- 
tance they  have  received.  Let  us  keep 
alive  in  our  hearts  the  recollections  of  our 
homes,  recall  the  great  features  of  past  cen- 
turies, and  take  care  that  our  fathers'  names 
be  not  forgotten  among  us. 

The  children  of  New  England,  as  such,  do 
not  arrogate  to  themselves  any  superiority 
over  the  inhabitants  of  any  other  part  of  the 
country,  either  as  to  origin,  or  social  progress 
thus  tar  accomplished.  Conceding  to  all 
parts  of  the  Union  an  origin  as  reputable  and 
a  progress  as  honorable  as  their  own,  they 
still  may  c' 'ti  the  right,  as  an  individual 
family  of  the  great  community,  to  speak  and 
v/rite,  concerning  those  firm  and  patient  spir- 
its who  laid  the  foundations  of  law  and  omer, 
of  constitutional  freedom  and  rational  prog- 
ress, so  broad  and  so  firm  that  they  can  sus- 
tain unmoved  the  weight  of  any  superstruc- 
ture which  moy  be  elevated  upon  them. 

If  we  look  at  the  origin  and  first  settlement 
of  New  England,  ui  what  annals  do  we  find 
the  history  of  a  people  to  be  compared  to 
this  ?  Uninfluenced  by  motives  of  am"  , 
unswayed  by  love  of  conquest,  thf/  ;  - 

doned  all  the  attractions  that  home  s  lu 
ty  could  offer,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  enjoy- 
ing liberty  of  conscience,  of^  thinking  and  act- 
ing according  to  their  own  convictions,  unre- 
strained by  the    control  of   old    ecclesiasti- 
cal and  jHjlitical  insritutions.     Behold   them 
setting  forth  on  their  new  and  dangerous  en- 
terprise !     Whose  cheek  blanches,  what  eye 
grows  dim  at  the  perils  in  their  way  ?     And 
what  dire  necessity  drives  them  forth  ?    It 
is  not  like  the  poverty  which  urges  the  star- 
ving Irishman  to  quit  his  native  island  ;  not 
like  the  Pole   are  they  fugitives  from  the 
stem  requirements  of  a  military   tyranny; 
nor,  like  the  blue-eyed  German  of  our  day, 
do  they  go  to  escape  the  burdens  of  unrequi- 
ted labor ;  theirs  is  an  impulse  more  power- 
ful and  more  sacred.     It  is  the  still  small 
voice  of  conscience,  bidding  them  go  forth  in- 
to the  wilderness  to  worship  the  God  of  their 
fathers  in  freedom  and  in  peace,  according  to 
their  own  convictions,  and  in  their  own  way. 
And  who  compose  this  devoted  band  7    Are 
they  fiery  and  ignorant  fanatics,  or  educated, 
and  well-informed  men  of  large  experience, 
sagacious  and  wise  ?     The  early  settlers  of 
Plymouth  and  New  Haven,  numbered  men 
dis't  nguished  for  learning  and  personal  stand- 
ing.   We  might  illustrate  the  assertion  by 
referring    to    the   characters  of   Winthrop, 
Carver,  Bradford,  Cotton,  Brewster,  Thatch- 
er, Winslow,  Hopkins,  and  others,  whose 


ir  sorrows.  Yes, 
for  the  sacrifices 
Is  they  endured, 
tn  such  illustrious 
the  goodly  inheri- 
I,  Let  us  keep 
jcollectious  of  our 
itures  of  past  cen- 
our  fttthera'  names 

igland,  as  such,  do 
'8  any  superiority 
'  other  part  of  the 
,  or  social  progress 

Conceding  to  all 
n  as  reputable  ond 
8  their  own,  they 
,  as  an  individual 
inity,  to  speak  and 
n  and  patient  spir- 
ts of  law  and  omer, 
and  rational  prog- 
that  they  can  sus- 
of  any  superstruc- 
;d  upon  them, 
and  first  settlement 

annals  do  we  find 
to  be  compared  to 
lotives  of  am'  '  n\ 
iquest,  thf?"  -(  - 
lat  home  euu  ^  .' 
!  purpose  of  enjoy- 
of  thinking  and  act- 

I  convictions,  unre- 
of  old  ecclesiasti- 
>n8.     Behold  them 

and  dangerous  en- 
blanches,  what  eye 

II  their  way  ?     And 
es  them  forth?    It 
liich  urges  the  star- 
native  island ;  not 

fugitives  from  the 
military   tyranny ; 
Jerman  of  our  day, 
burdens  of  unrequi- 
mpulse  more  power- 
it  is  the  fitill  small 
ng  them  go  forth  in- 
ihip  the  God  of  their 
peace,  according  to 
id  in  their  own  way. 
devoted  band  ?    Are 
anatics,  or  educated, 
jf  large  experience, 
'he  early  settlers  of 
,ven,  numbered  men 
I  and  personal  stand- 
ate  the  assertion  by 
.cters  of   Winthrop, 
n,  Brewster,  Thatch- 
I,  and  others,  whose 


OUll  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 


''  Z"      U   Ind  we  cann..where  find  names  .move    the  P'^P^^^^^j^j        „^,^   institution,   lar 
t„  New  l''."!il\"^';„^^*;:,,,„,e.    steadfastness,  I  design  of  ^'^^'"'^  f "    r,    .    ,  •  .,,  „,„„„,,  ^av- 


,,  New  Hn.lan^'; -«  -  —  --^.^afastness, 

,nore   <-'"""■"'    '"^„ J,'      ?f   Lord   Chatham 

'""•rf  \'vi  he  h'aJ  never  read  of  a  body 
could  say  that  ne         ^,  assembled  at 

of  men  «"l"^""'^°,"'l^,  we  to  say  of  a  b.xly 
Philud..lpjna,^J.aoug^^^^^^ 

r^,^;;:it:;;il^?a;::eraiiawtv.r,v.^ov- 

e  n ne,'t  of  their  future  commun.ty       In  what 
1.  ..r  Uwf.irv  do  we  nnu  evj( 


moved  the  nigrims  to  leave  xi....".-  ■ 

de  iu     of  establishing   new   institutu.ns   lar 

iwav  frl  the  land  of  their  birth,.among  sav- 

1  alu  brand  on  rock-bound  and  inhospitable 

r  I J     The  relieious  motive  was  the  con- 

S  n.  onlno .hmbt-     They  left  England  ior 

his  "au.e,  but  joined  with,  that,  there  were 

other  causes  for  this  new  migration. 

F  rst!"here  was  a  feeling  of  human  misery. 
S         . „„ra  n  astrance  laml,  yearn- 


II 


till  thev  had  framca  a  gencru.  .a-  ...  ■■■~^.  pi,gt,  there  was  a  leeiiiig .«  ..-.."■■  ""^■' 

,..nt  of  their  future  community       In  what        r     ^       strangers  in  a  strange  lam  .  >  earn- 
f       hiW  d«^«  ^'"^  evidences  "U  .;;'7;^^Ynjred  associations,  and  wi.h   a  love 
StlelniS  o^purpose,  such  courage,  and    ir^  t.>r^k.ndr  ^  ^^  .^^  /fliduf  and"".:  d^l 

the  r  regard  U^  \»'«  £ /.m.I'erty  protected  of  poverty,  f  J^y/^^j'^^'iiolland  they  saw 
«,^jety  IS  ^^;^  ,/°^f  S, Lh'ed  ind  secured.  U.er  pl^<=«"fj';;"/t^ey  must  be  extinguished, 
and  the  rights  "f  "'^  *'7'^"jte'  than  they  the  that  >»  »  ^^^  y^^'J.lV^v.as  a  task-matter 
No  men  ever  underJ^Ml  J^nment.  or  more    Moreover,  as  neces^ty  was      ^^  ^^  ^^^^  ^^ 

England  ^a^  ^,?f "  J«  f  ^er  and  influence  "^'"^^/«„S'  And  last,  but  by  no  means 
enterprise.  ^ ^^J^^ Vgupremacy.  an.l  the  become  extinct.  An  ^_^' ^^  advancing  the 
had  been  «»'«»'«"  i'^f.'Ifrto  in.lependent  ac-     east,  they  W 


S^lheTa  the"e  o7;d^ancing  the 

Tiiuue,  oil"  i-  view  were  good,  their 

'^n'"'''lawfu^l  and  urg  nZ  and  that  though 
£%  ufd  Sse^thei^  lies^et  their  endeav- 
ors wouU  be  honorable.  Honorable  indeed 
ors  wouia  "  susta  ned  by  such  high 

;SX  ^ndSd  out  with  such  indomita- 


u„.a«U.r..ed  .pm.  of  Chn«»  J     „,  ,, 
•un  to  prevul.    *»",''',  '„„■;  yet  n- 

nablic  •entinu ,    ""     f8°" ,™.i,ij|,  when 
itaw  Ihw  th.  n    .  •'■'  'PPS.    When 

nZpfe.:  S  Sl^  S'S  ^3"rrSie.>,.o,  .dne«3 

,hc  p..rrlrrs:!r«;Uon  £  i 


siderations.  acts  ^^^^'^Sard  &  responsi- 
divine  and  eternal,  and  holds  itseii       i~ 

ble  only  to  its  God. .       f   ^'^^ 

Thi/  sentiment  forms  ^^/J'^^^ngiand. 
characteristic  mBtUutions  "ff;^^;^,^  enjoy 
But  it  was  not  solely  that  «ey  m.g"i^tfcal 
this  sentiment  uumolesed  by  J'^^^f  „^,h 
control,  that  the  first  settlmot  ^^^^^„, 
sought  this  side  of  the  Atlantic 

not  their  only  ^^''^^Z^^S^mtches- 
Not  long  after  the  refomajo^,  J^^^     ^ 

tablished  freedom  for  all  ™  "^ /     %,  con- 
tli,it  as  far  as  liberty  of  conscience  w 
c  ri."  they  had  no  cause..f  complam  •  Jhe 
church  of  Robinson  might  havt  remai 


.^"wUreTas  they  had  been  educated 

li^^  thev  would  be  Englishmen  still;  their 

king.  t^^X,  r; -ame-   exiles  no  more,  but 
country  st^U  the  Ba^e^  ex       ^^^^  ^^^^  ^^^ 

a  part  of  the  Bntisn  empire  fathers' 

that  waved  over  the  fields  °y''^^    i,emof 

fame  would  flo^hYv  t,^';^^?':i  the  na- 
it'i  protection.     1  hey  were  ^  jj 

not  suflei  the  ties  iub^  pntirelv  severed. 

SSSluSTherv.-''"""-'^"^'- 


f  f 


tu  ^i 


r.   .,f 


Bassspgs'eS?;'" 


422 


OUa  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 


«**•■* 


ill  a  distant  loiul,  preserving  both  their  nation- 
ality and  the  language  of  their  youth.  And 
whiel)  of  us  is  not  ready  to  thank  them  for 
this  grout  gift  of  this  noble  language,  which 
our  mothers  first  taught  us  to  speak  ?  How 
grateful  we  may  be  that  it  was  not  lost  in  the 
jargon  of  Holland  ?  Who  that  ])eruseE  this 
would  not  rather  have  first  spoken  its  accents 
than,  as  Dr.  Johnson  expresses  it,  to  have 
been  trained  to  "  babble  French"  ?  Who 
would  change  it  for  the  soft  voice  of  Italy,  or 
the  sonorous  dialect  of  Spain  ?  It  is  the  lan- 
guage of  Shakspcre  and  Milton ;  it  is  the 
language  of  the  Pilgrims  ;  and  having  sound- 
ed alarms  in  the  cause  of  freedom  through 
the  tongues  of  Burke  and  Chatham,  it  has 
come  to  discharge  the  same  office  in  the  voi- 
ces of  Clay  and  Webster.  It  is  the  language 
of  free  born  men,  destined  to  spread  out  over 
hill-top  and  valley,  nor  will  it  cease  to  vibrate 
till  liberty  shall  cease  to  have  an  abode  upon 
the  earth. 

We  might  here  disprove  the  charges  some- 
times brought  against  the  Pilgrims,  that  they 
took  land  already  partially  occupied  by  the 
Indians.  As  a  question  of  morals,  we  are 
not  altogether  clear  that  savages  have  a  right 
to  shut  out  from  culture  and  improvement,  a 
large  portion  of  territory.  The  axe  of  the 
wotxlman  rings  quite  as  jjleasantly  in  his  ears 
as  the  warwhoop  of  the  sovage.  Besides,  it 
is  well  known  and  admitted,  that  the  Pilgrims 
always  were  regardful  of  the  rights  of  the 
natives.  The  world  may  be  challenged  to 
show  one  instance  in  which  the  first  settlers 
disregarded  the  rights  of  the  Indians.  In 
their  personal  and  political  relations  they 
were  always  on  good  terms  with  them,  and  it 
was  not  till  more  than  half  a  century  after 
the  arrival  of  the  May-Flower,  thot  peace 
with  the  savages  was  disturbed. 

After  the  first  struggles  of  the  Pilgrims  for 
existence  were  over,  we  soon  view  them 
marching  forward  in  the  establishment  of  the 
new  state.  Having  the  power  of  making 
laws  they  entered  on  the  business  with  clear 
conceptions  of  what  they  had  to  perform. 
They  formed  statistics  suited  to  their  own 
conditions,  not  based  on  any  traditions.  They 
evidently  had  a  due  respect  for  the  English, 
but  yet  their  reflections  on  the  subject  were 
entirely  original.  With  bold  defiance  of  cus- 
tom they  commenced  the  course  of  legal  re- 
form from  the  first.  They  exhibited  no  blind 
disregard  of  what  was  already  in  existence, 
while  they  instituted  the  most  rigid  inquiry  as 
to  how  much  of  antiquity  was  suited  to  pres- 
ent exigencies.  They  were  the  pioneers  of 
Law  Reform,  and  in  fact  nearly  all  the  im- 
portant alterations  made  in  the  laws  of  our 
free  states  within  fifty  years,  were  directly 
borrowed  from  New  hngland,  and  especially 


from  Connecticut.  There  was  not  a  s-uggj-s- 
tion  in  the  statement  of  Lord  Urougham  of 
the  rtfonns  needed  in  the  English  law  which 
was  not  anticipated  in  the  legislation  of  the 
eastern  states.  Imprisonment  for  debt  was 
abolished  there  two  hundred  years  ago.  'J'he 
act  of  the  state  of  New  York  abolishing  im- 
prisonment for  debt  '.fas  almost  exactly  a 
transcript  of  the  law  of  1620  in  Connecticut. 
The  chief  diflerence  between  the  two  stat- 
utes was  that  this  primitive  one  was  clear 
and  explicit,  while  the  modem  was  so  confu- 
sed and  uncertain  that  totally  dillerent  con- 
structions were  put  upon  it  by  diti'erent  per- 
sons. 

If  we  contrast  the  laws  of  New  England 
with  those  of  Great  Britain,  they  will  show 
the  vast  improvements  made  by  the  Pilgrims 
in  the  registration  of  land,  the  laws  of  mar- 
riage, dower,  divorce,  inheritance,  and  in 
criminal  law.  To  the  clear  understanding 
of  civil  and  political  rights  which  prevailed 
in  New  England  from  the  beginning,  may  be 
attributed  the  ease  with  which  the  colonies 
in  that  quorter  passed  into  the  new  form  of 
government  after  the  revolution. 

False  notions  have  been  very  generally 
entertained  with  regard  to  the  early  legisla- 
tion of  the  colony  of  New  Haven.  The 
"  Blue  Laws  of  Connecticut,"  as  they  are 
called,  have  become  bywords  of  ridicule  and 
reproach ;  and  yet,  there  is  nothing  more 
solemn,  nothing  more  grave  and  dignified, 
nothing  more  imposing  to  be  found  in  the  rec- 
ords of  history,  than  the  first  acts  of  that  col- 
ony. To  the  illustration  of  this  point,  had 
we  the  recjuisite  room,  much  argument  might 
be  devoted.  That  colony  adopted  the  Old 
Testament  polity,  and  their  chief  re(]uire- 
ments  in  their  rulers  were  that  they  should 
be  men  fearing  God,  lovers  of  truth,  hating 
covetousness — and  if  we  could  have  such 
men  for  our  candidates  now,  every  good  man 
in  the  Union  would  identify  himself  with 
that  party. 

The  charge  of  religious  intolerance  is  of- 
ten made.  The  Pilgrims  did  not  come  to 
New  England  for  the  purpose  of  establishing 
universal  toleration ;  they  came  to  preserve 
their  own  faith.  And  what  if  they  were 
misguided  and  over-zealous  ?  We  are  not  to 
judge  them  by  the  light  of  this  age  and  this 
country.  Besides,  this  theory  of  unlimited 
tolerance,  which,  even  at  the  present  time, 
finds  little  favor,  except  in  this  free  and 
charitable  laml,  did  not  originate  in  minds 
filled  with  religious  ardor ;  the  most  tolerant 
man  was  not  apt  to  be  the  most  devout. 

We  condemn  their  conduct  in  the  case  of 
the  Baptists  and  the  Quakers ;  and  desire 
to  make  out  no  strong  defence  for  the 
Pilgrims,  or  to  palliate  persecution  in  any 


IS  not  a  .luppi's- 
J  BrimgLuin  of 
jlisli  law  wliich 
:gis)ati{iri  ot"  the 
t  for  debt  was 
carcajjo.  The 
:  abuh.shitiK  iin- 
Tiost  exactly  u 
in  Connecticut. 
n  the  two  stat- 
one  was  clear 
n  was  so  confu- 
y  (liilerent  con- 
y  (liilerent  per- 

'  New  England 
they  will  show 
by  the  Pilgrims 
e  laws  of  mar- 
ritance,   and  in 

understanding 
fc-hich  prevailed 
tinning,  may  be 
eh  the  colonies 
he  new  form  of 
sn. 

very  generally 
le  early  legisla- 
Haven.  The 
It,"  as  they  are 
of  ridicule  and 
1  nothing   more 

and  dignified, 
()und  in  the  rec- 
acts  of  that  col- 
this  point,  had 
irgument  might 
dented  the  Old 

chief  re(iuire- 
hat  they  should 
of  truth,  hating 
)uld  have  such 
svery  good  man 
y  himself   with 

itolerance  is  of- 
id   not  come  to 
of  establishing 
,me  to  preserve 
;  if   they  were 
We  are  not  to 
lis  age  ond  this 
iry  of  unlimited 
le  present  time,  I 
1   this  free    and   I 
ginate  in  min<l8  j 
he  most  tolerant  I 
ost  devout- 
It  in  the  case  of 
ers ;   and  desire 
lefence    for    the 
rsecution  in  any 


OUR  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 


423 


form  ;  and  while  all  intelligent  persons  admit 
that  the  glory  of  having  first  set  an  examide 
of  a  practical  and  extensive  system  of  reli- 
gions freedom,  %vos  reserved  for  the  puritans 
of  Knglnnd,  who  landed  on  these  shores; 
v.'t  the  first  legislator  who  fully  recognised 
Mie  ri<'hts  of  conscience,  was  Roger  Will- 
I  \Ms  »  a  name  less  illustrious  than  it  deserves 
tl)  l)e  ;  for,  although  his  eccentricities  of  con- 
duct 1111(1  opinion  may  sometimes  prov<)ke  a 
smile,  he  was  a  man  of  genius  and  of  virtue, 
„f  admirable  Hrmness,  courage,  and  disinter- 
est Mlncss,  and  of  unbounded  benevolence. 

The  most  that  can  be  said  in  juslihcation 
is,  that  the  Pilgrims  came  esjicciallv  to  enjoy 
their  own  opinions,  and  to  establish  a  com- 
monwealth of  their  own;  and.  therefore,  it 
was  considered  by  them  no  injustice  to  pass  i 
laws  to  l)aiiish  sctiism.     "  Besides,"  says  the 
apolocist,  "Williams'  banishment  was  ot  his 
own  seeking,  and  the  time  was  chosen  by 
himself;  and  further,  though  his  view  oi   the 
matter  of  toleration  must  now  bo  ailniitte(l  to 
be  right  in  the  abstract,  we  can  not  justly  hnU 
fault  with  the  fathers  of  New  Kngland  for 
not  adoiiting  it  then.  .    ,.  •  i     i 

"  As  to  the  Baptists,  only  one  individual 
was  punished,  and  that  one  not  for  heresy, 
but  for  being  a  scandalous  person,  much  giv- 


en to  idleness  and  lying.  The  Quakers  who 
were  punishe<l,  were  no  more  like  the  gentle 
and  orderly  Friends  of  the  present  day  than 
the  laner  are  like  the  Mormons. 

"With  regard  to  all  these  things,  we 
should  not  use  the  eyes  which  have  seen  the 
improvements  of  two  centuries,  but  judge 
from  the  sentiments  of  that  time.  It  was 
easy  to  condemn  the  laws  of  Massachusetts 
B-'ainst  witchcraft;  but  had  England  no  such 
laws?  Whv,  seventy  years  after  Bluck- 
stone  spoke  (if  witchcraft  as  a  thing  recogni- 
sed evervwhere,  both  by  history  ond  by  law, 
and  under  Sir  Matthew  Ilale,  who  lived  to 
1776,  more  persons  were  put  to  death  in  a 
single  county  of  England  than  ever  suflered 
in  all  New  England  together.  In  New  Eng- 
land there  were  no  executions  after  l(i'.)3,  but 
in  England  death  was  indicted  for  witchcraft 

1  as  late  us  1722."t  ,        , 

We  might  here  dwell  at  great  length  on 
the  freedom  of  the  New  England  fathers  from 
personal  ambition,  and  truthfully  set  forth 
their  conduct  during  the  revolutions  of  Crom- 
well and  1688.  as  well  as  the  part  they  took 
in  our  own  revolution  ;  but  the  limits  assign- 
ed to  this  article  will  not  allow  us  to  enlarge 
on  these  instructive  and  profitable  themijs. 
Their  deeds  of  patriotism  and  bravery  will 


%B 


-Hr  was  a  native  of  Wales,  «nrt  emigrate.!  to 
NewKnf,'lRnH.inlfi30.     He  was  '1'^'";,  y""".'^  ™''" 
of  a.istere  lilo  and  popular  nmm.erc,  i<ill  ol  r^adini,, 
.killed  in  controversy,  and  gifted  with  «  r"!"''.  coP>^ 
ous,  and  vehement  elo<iuenee     The  ^nors  of  those 
days  represent  him  ns  beins?  full  ol  turl.ulent  and  sm- 
RuW  opinions,  "and  the  whole  country,    sn-'h  'he 
ounint  Cotton  Mather,  "was  soon  !|H«  to  he  se   on 
L".  by  the  rapid  motion  of  a  windmill,  in  the  1  ead  o 
this  one  man.''     The  heresy,  which  ,"PP'"'f«J  "°fj 
^mevous  to  his  brethren,  was  his  zeal  for  ""'l""'  ^  ^ 
reU^^ous  liberty.    In  the  warmth  of  Ins  chanty,  he 
contended  for  "  freedom  of  conscience,  even  to  3  a- 
nUts  and  Amiinians.  with  security  of  civd  peaco  to 
I!ll."  a  lioctriLO  that  filled  the  Massachusetts  clergy 

with  horror  and  alarm.  l     i       -♦ 

With  a  spirit  of  resolute  independence,  he  depart- 
ed, no  one  knew  whither,  accompanied  by  »  f«w  ot 
his  people,  who.  to  use  their  own  languaf^e,  hod  gone 
with  their  tc'-nved  pastor,  "  to  seek  their  providen- 
res/'     After  «or.,e  wanderings,  he  pitched  his  tent 
a^  a  place,  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of  Prov'dence 
and  her^  became  the  founder  and  legislator  of  te 
colony  of  Rl.odo  Island.     There  he  continued  to  rule 
sSn.cs  as  governor,  a.id  always  as  the  guide  and 
faar.  of  the  stttlcment.  for  fortj-eight  y^ar.,  em- 
nlov  ng  himself  in  acts  of  kindness  to  his  former  rn- 
e mics  afibrding  relief  to  the  distressed,  and  oflermg 
rasWum  tothe  persecuted.     The  govenunent  of 
hi»cobnv  was  forlned  on  his  favorite  pnnc.pte,  that 
in  ma  ters  of  faith  and  worship,  every  citaen  sliould 
walk  according  to  the  light  of  his  own  conscience, 
wkhout  restraint  or  interference  from  the  civil  magic- 
rtate      During  a  visit,  which  Williams  made  to  Eng- 
k?»l,'in  lfi«,  ?or  the  purpose  of  procnnng  a  colonial 

cWter.ho  ^ublishccf  5  f°T\"H.^f"  The 'b1«7v 
tion  of  his  doctrine,  under  the  title  of  "  The  Bloooy 
TVnPt    or   ^Dialogue  between  Tnith  and  Peace, 
hi  "ws'woV written  with  his  usual  boldness  ondde- 
cisiouf  irauricipated  most  of  tho  argumonts,  which, 


rift:v  vears  after,  attracted  so  much  attention,  when 
they  were  brought  forward  by  Locke.    His  cvn  con- 
duct in  iKiwcr,  was  in  pcri-ect  accordpce  with  his 
speculative  opinions;  and  when,  m  his  old  age,  the 
order  of  his  little  community  was  disturbed  by  an  ir- 
nmtioii  of  Quaker  preachers, he  combated  tlicm  only 
in  pamphlets,  and  public  disputations,  aiid  contented 
himself  with  overwhelming  their  doctrines  with  a 
'  torrent  of  learning,  sarcasms,  syllogisms,  and  puns. 
It  should   also  be  remembered,  to  the  honor  ot 
Hoger  Williams,  that  no  one  of  the  eariv  colonists, 
withoLt  excepting  William  Penn  himself,  equalled 
him  in  justice  and  benevolence  toward  tho  Indians. 
He  labored  incessantly,  and  with  success,  to  enlipbt- 
enand  conciliate  them:  and,  by  this  means,  acquired 
a  personal  influence  among  tliem,  which  he  liad  fre- 
nuontlv  the  enviable  satisfaction  of  exerting  in  be- 
half o(  those  who  had  banished  him.     It  is  not  the 
leoflt  remarkable,  or  characteristic  incident  of  Ins  va- 
ried life,  that,  within  one  year  after  his  exile,  and 
while  he  was  yet  hot  with  controversy,  and  indiimant 
at  his  wrongs,  his  first  interi"erence  with  the  attairs 
of  his  former  colony,  was  to  protect  its  frontier  settle- 
ments from  an  Indian  massacre.     From  that  timo 
fomard,  though  he  was  never  permitted  to  retnni  to 
Massachusetts,  he  was  freqnen%  employed  by    he 
government  of  that  province,  in  newtiations  with  the 
Indians,  and  on  other  busfiess  of  the  highest  import- 
ance.    Even  Ccitt^'n  Matlier,  in  spite  cl  his  steadlast 
abhorrence  of  WiUitms'  heresy,  seems  to  bnve  been 
touched  will,  the  magnnniraity  and  kindness  of  the 
man  ;  and  after  having  Btigmatieed  hini.  as  lb"     in- 
famous Korah  of  New  England,"  he  confesses  n  little 
reluctantly,  that,  "for  tho  forty  years  alter  Ins  exile, 
he  acquitted  himself  so  lau^ly.  tfist  ni»'>.v  J"!  •" 
cions  people  judged  him  to  have  had  the  root  nftla 
matlA-  in  him.  daring  the  long  Winter  of  his  retire- 

""t  Address  of  J.  Prescott  Hall,  Esq.  1817,  to  which 
WO  are  indebted  for  the  substance  of  this  article. 


If 


ti 


if 


%n 


424 


POPULAR  TASTE. 


he  |)rc  prved  nml  transmitted  to  the  latest 
gcnrrntioiis.  The  descendants  of  the  Pil- 
fjrims  hint!  spread  themselves  over  every 
section  of  this  widespread  continent;  ihe 
prophecy  made  hy  Mr.  Webster,  in  a  speech 
dclivereil  at  Plymouth  twenty-seven  years 
u«o,  tl-.at  the  sons  of  New  Lnjstland  would 
stop  only  with  the  shores  of  the  Pacitie, 
has  already  become  a  poriioi.  of  the  history 
of  the  world. 

The  followinR  beautiful  lines,  from  the 
gifted  pen  of  Mrs.  Sioourni-.y,  may  be  so 
appropriately  intrmiuced  here,  that  we  be- 
lieve our  readers  will,  notwithstanding  the 
length  of  this  article,  be  pleased  to  see  them 
in  this  connexion  : — 

THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 
How  slow  yon  lonely  vessel  ploughs  the  main! 
Amid  the  heavy  billows  now  she  seems 
A  toiling  atom  ;  then  from  wave  to  wave 
Leaps  madly,  by  the  tempest  lashed,  or  reels 
Half   wrecked  through  gulfs  profound.  .  Moons 

wax  and  wane, 
But  still  that  patient  traveller  treads  the  deep. 

I  gee  an  icebound  coast  toward  which  she  steers 

With  such  a  tardy  movement,  that  it  seems 
Stern  Winter's  hand  hath  turned  her  keel  to  stone. 
And  scaled  his  victory  on  her  slippery  shrouds. 

Tliey  land !  they  land !  not  like  the  Genoese, 

With  glittering  sword,  and  gaudy  train,  and  eye 
Kindling  with  golden  fancies.    Forth  they  come 
From  their  long  prison,  hardy  forms  that  brave 
The  world's  unkindness,  men  of  hoary  hair, 
Maidens  of  fearless  heart,  and  matrons  grave, 
Who  hush  the  wailing  infant  with  a  glance. 
Bleak  Nature's  desolation  wraps  them  round, 
Eternal  forests,  and  unyielding  earth, 
And  savage  men,  who  through  the  thickets  peer 
With  vengeful  arrow.  What  could  luro  their  steps 
To  this  drear  desert  1     Ask  of  him  who  left 
His  father's  home  to  roam  through  Haran's  vnlds, 
Distrusting  not  the  guide  who  called  him  forth, 
Nor  doubting,  though  a  stranger,  that  his  seed 
Should  be  as  ocean's  sands.     But  yon  lone  bark 
Hath  spread  her  parting  sail ;  they  crowd  the  strand. 
Those  few,  lime  pilgrims.    Can  ye  scan  the  wo 
That  wrings  their  bosoms,  as  the  last  frail  ludi, 
Binding  to  man  and  habitable  earth, 
Is  severed  1     Cun  ye  tell  what  pangs  were  there. 
With  keen  regrets ;  what  sickness  of  the  heart. 
What  yearnings  o'er  their  forfeit  land  of  birth. 
Their  distant  dear  ones  1    Long,  with  straining  eye, 
They  watch  the  lessening  speck.  Heard  ye  no  shriek 
Of  anatuish,  when  that  bitter  loneliness 
Sank  down  into  their  bosoms  1     No  !  they  turn 
Back  to  their  dreary,  famished  huts,  and  pray  ! 
Pray,  and  the  ills  that  haunt  this  transient  life 
Fade  into  air.     Up  in  each  girded  breast 
There  sprang  a  rooted  and  mysterious  sUengtli, 
A  loftiness  to  face  a  world  in  arms. 
To  strij:  the  pomp  from  sceptres,  and  to  lay 
On  Duty's  sacred  altar  the  warm  blood 


Of  slain  affections,  should  they  rise  l«tween 
The  soul  and  Oon.     O  ye,  who  pniinlly  boiiHl, 
In  your  free  veins,  the  blood  of  sires  like  llicso, 
Look  to  their  lineaments.     Dread  lest  ye  lose 
Their  likeness  in  your  sons.  Shou'dMuminon  cling 
Too  close  around  your  lieurt,  or  wealth  lieget 
That  bloated  luxury  which  eats  the  core 
From  manly  virtue,  or  the  tempting  world 
Make  faint  the  Christian  purpose  in  your  soul. 
Turn  ye  to  Plymouth  rock,  and  where  they  knelt 
Kneel,  and  renew  the  vow  they  breathed  to  God. 


POPULAR  TASTE. 

Iti  reading  the  lives  of  eminent  literary 
men,  we  are  more  prone  to  look  at  the  influ- 
ence of  their  works  upon  the  public,  thun  at 
the  reflex  influence  of  the  public  uixin  them. 
Vast  as  is  the  influence,  for  weal  or  for  wo, 
of  the  productions  of  genius  upon  the  multi- 
tude, there  is  a  refluent  power  from  the  peo- 
ple, no  less  mighty ;  so  that  it  may  bo  said, 
every  community  has  within  its  control,  the 
character  of  its  literary  productions,  and  con- 
sc(|uently,  the  moulding  of  its  own  moral 
character. 

To  trace  the  influence  of  popular  taste  up- 
on literature,  and  to  point  out  the  true  iiolicy 
of  the  author,  who  would  write  for  immortal- 
ity, is  the  object  of  our  remarks.    The  jiub- 
lic,  however  much  disdained  and  calumniated, 
in  the  intercourse  of  authors  with  each  other, 
really  has  more  of  their  regards,  and  "  shapes 
their  ends,"  to  a  greater  extent  than  they 
might  be  willing  to  allow.     As  much  as  they 
may  affect  to  despise  it,  it  is  the  popular  taste 
that  moulds  the  character  of  their  writings- 
makes  them  favorable  to  virtue  or  vice,  ond 
elaborote  with  the  graces  of  rhetoric,  or  bar- 
ren of  the  ornaments  of  style.     We  are  far 
from  supposing  that  there  are  no  exceptions  to 
this  rule ;  on  the  contrary,  there  are  some, 
who  have  withstood  the  debasing  influence  of 
the  public,  content  with  the  neglect  of  their 
own  age,  if  they  might  live  with  posterity. 
Among  authors,  the  desire  of  fame,  or  of 
gain,  are  the  two  great  incentives  to  exertion. 
Few  are  the  men,  that  have  devoted  them- 
selves exclusively  to  literary  pursuits,  with- 
out one  or   both  of  these  objects  in  view. 
The  influence  of  their  writings  upon  the  mor- 
als of  the  communitAT,  has  too  often  been  lost 
sight  of.     Content  if  they  could  catch  the  ap- 
plause of  the  multitude,  the  moral  tendency 
of  their  works  has  been  little  regarded.     Of 
course,  whether  the  author  desired  to  hear  his 
name  on  the  lips  of  thousands,  or  to  reap  a 
large  fortune  from  his  exertions,  it  was  for  his 
interest  to  study  the  tastes  of  the  people. 


idp  In'twiTU 
pniiidly  Ixmst, 
lires  like  these, 
1  Ir.sl  y»'  li)!* 
'itMaminoiirling 
wraith  lieget 
the  core 
ing  worlJ 
!  ill  your  soul, 
iviiere  tiicy  knelt 
l)reuthe(l  to  God. 


Tiinent  literary 
ok  at  the  indu- 
public,  than  at 
blic  U|)on  them, 
weal  or  for  wo, 
U])on  the  niulti- 
ir  from  the  peo- 
it  may  l)e  saiii, 
its  control,  the 
ctions,  and  con- 
its  own  moral 

opular  taste  up- 
;  the  true  policy 
te  for  immortal- 
irks.  The  pub- 
ind  calumniated, 
ivith  each  other, 
ds,  and  "  shapes 
ttent  than  they 
ia  much  as  they 
he  popular  taste 
their  writings — 
tue  or  vice,  and 
rhetoric,  or  bar- 
».  We  are  far 
no  exceptions  to 
there  are  some, 
sing  influence  of 
neglect  of  their 

with  posterity. 
!  of  fame,  or  of 
tives  to  exertion. 
1  devoted  them- 
f  pursuits,  with- 
sbjects  in  view. 
^8  upon  the  mor- 
o  often  been  lost 
uld  catch  the  ap- 

moral  tendency 
B  regarded.  Of 
esired  to  hear  his 
ds,  or  to  reap  a 
)ns,  it  was  for  his 
f  the  people. 


ii| 


^r^SrlcLs  style,  de,.njv.y^^^^ 
u|.,m   the.  tnunners  an.Uas^te  o      h^    .  ^^^ 
-'"'•' ^^;3■littratur;'a.ror,l^,abu^^ 
V'"""-^-.,,,;  3  this  ixmition.     In  the  re.gn 
'^^'n''  n  K  i-    be  h.    hmrished  "the  witty, 
"^  ^^'7  and    n  a  «  bled  John  LilUe."  a;he 
comical,  «'''""'.,  R«<r,.ssors.     By  his  "  Ku- 
was  frme  1  by  ''^  ""    ,.      „  „„,,  ,  ,,her  works 
'•''"'■''"  r  "^'TILS  fl  wit  which  charac.r- 
!"•  r'Sr'  .r  "  ic     us  "f  that  age.     A  rnuc 
1Z(!(1  all  tlu    I'f'"' '"^      ,.      ^     m,a  was  ncces 
for  punning  uil.ctr.l  "i' '""^  ;      ,j,,      ,i„,ru,i 
sary  f.  g<.".l  ^ta.iding  at  c. mrt.      1  li'  .  ^^^ 

'^■•'^''■•'^''''';Cie"iS^vS.-ach,.:ber 
.IramatHton  ^''*- ,^^''K  '  .y' ,,.it,  „„,!  torturing 
in  hatchinjr  unnatural  ^""^jfyj^^^     ,,,.  ,U,i 

''''■''  '""^'".he'"'."!-"';  the  pLvniling 
not  escap.!  /»^%  "  "".^"^.T^.j^  from  the  ma  es- 
taste,  sinc.^  h,'  olfn  'l«»^' ."  "^        ,     „uibbling 

artihces  of  ^l^^  '""*;; ,,^,,ner<.iis  in  the  plays 
cburnctor  are  ''t'  '"";,""'  „.,,:,g  ,iiey  abound 
of  B..au.nont !'"'  ,    );    ,S;,  w   o  ^  ^'"^^ 

i„  those  i"'l''""^,7  '  "'  ;i,t  ,i,e  predominant 
..riginal.ty  at  all    -.  n.^  1^^^^^  ^    „,„, 

„,„....  During  the  f^'.^""  ,  ,  ,  ,  another 
Ui.>on,  P-;':^„;:r\,::'^mMyr^nny  was 
species  ot  uir.  ana  i"  j^eformer  age 

exercised  over  t<leas.  ^  "^^    "  ^'"\„„„g  the 

ha,l  l'7"/-7;;;;  ;^^:;  w're  «en  Jonson, 
,,„et.s  t..sterod  by  ^^^^\'.  enntemporaries, 
Dotjne,  LowU-y.  ami  ^^^^  ,  ieal  poets, 
distinguished     as    »»>«",,  ig  voice  of  the 

These  held  'll^'^,«?''y;  yl,r  ,us  of  the  civil 
mnsewns  hushed  '\^''"S;';,.„tv  years' 
wnr.  When  she  <^^."^;^f'ZT\s  tfie^ame 
.lumber,  she  was  '^ 'X' amo  Jber  ..f  the 
"t'C'VheVbttst:  however,  had  un- 
schools.      I  ne  pu""^         „nder  the  reign  ot 

dergone  a  S^^''^  .[^f  !:f:;  e.nnpara^^ 
the  Protector,  and  "  J' «' T"'„„„atural  con- 
for  Dryden  to  throw  f  ;*>f  J  "j^ce  u  new 
ceits  o/his  P^-l^-^-^^^/Jate  had  it  been  for 
Bchool  ot  poetry.  J  "  ""*^„;„„,tion  of  mor- 
English  literature,  if    ^e  co^-'M  ^^ 

al8  under  the  l^^r^"  'r  l/ovtr  the  writings  of 
ha.l  not  thrown  Its  bhght  over  the  .^  ^ 

this  illustrious  '^"th'"''  ;;  "'^,„7succes.sors. 
,x,odel  by  his  c""te.npo  a   «s  «nd  s 

But  for  this,  J;,i;[;;f;;S  ad-Ued  the  age 
ag.;. 


W  u,  Milloi.  oiul  *'■?„?«  e.necially  in  W» 


Se  wrtnss    •»•  -"t^"^^'  »'"  '^""  """' /""'^ 

frerrii:;':;;"'-""^'^- 
7'*r:.?£r";SsS*n!itnilhti^-ir 

rt. he  wi::ie 'would  have  been  one  mass 

"'ThelileSTeof  other  nations  illustrate, 
the  same  truth.     France,  distinguished  above 

S;bllU"an.  SCSs  '''A'*^-^'-  1--, 

n       il^,\  their  writings   he  fairest  images  of 

f S  i   h   hTm" St  re'volting  "b-enity  ,  atid 

bus  reare.l   a   monument  to  their  infamy, 

l^il/thev  have  immortalized  their  genius. 

7}  I      w  I>ance  •     Who  can  look  at  the  long 

^atS- o/Ty  illuBtrious  dead-thy  ,>oets 

^n  1  „hilos.M)her8-without  mourning  over  the 

rici^^   ndowments  of  intellect  F"f  tuted- 

ritrarch  or  a  Metastasio.     Germany,  the 

pcets  and  "".%'f^-  "  ,j,„  i^fty  conceptions 
T^SX  a-ui  the '  S-y  'splendors  of 
IkSc  and  SchilU..  Whut  is  true  o  m  d- 
»rn  literature  is  e<iuallv  t"ae  ot  the  <  lav 

audience,  contributed  "f  '''f '•'{yith  k  less 
and  elegance  of  /heu  J^^'     ™  ^ 
fastidious  public  for  their  juug    .      l^^^^.^^^ 

KjSctL';?  in  tftt  which  has  made 


1 


1^ 


426 


niOOKAPHY  OF  THK  HON.  R.  C.  WINTHaOP. 


their  works  the  triDilcl  of  all  succpeiling  agi's. 
Thus  literature,  ever,  to  o  certain  extent,  cim- 
fortns  til  the  popular  taste. 

This  deference  of  the  author  to  the  opinions 
of  the  public,  while  in  rare  instances  it  may 
have  its  ndvantnges,  has  generally  deprecia- 
ted both  the  intellectual  ond  moral  excellence 
of  literature.  If  we  look  into  the  private 
history  of  some  of  the  brightest  names  among 
the  British  poets,  we  shall  find  melancholy 
evidence  of  this  truth.  There  is  many  a  fear- 
ful page  in  the  record  of  their  lives,  but  none 
more  sad  than  the  struggle  between  their  true 
interest,  and  a  desire  to  gain  the  npprol)Btion 
of  the  public. 

But  this  deference  of  authors  to  the  public, 
exerted  u  bad  influence  upon  the  style  of  their 
writings.  Familiarity  with  vice  weakened 
the  powers  of  their  minds,  and  substituted  a 
sickly  elVeminacy  for  sterling  thought.  Be- 
sides, when  thev  were  no  longer  guided  by 
their  own  tastc,"^they  set  up  a  false  standard 
of  excellence,  and  "sought  not  so  much  to 
crowd  their  works  with  thought,  and  make 
them  polished  and  ornate,  as  to  make  them 
popular.  Of  course,  as  the  taste  of  the  pub- 
lic was  far  less  refined  than  their  own,  by 
seeking  only  to  eijual  so  mean  a  standard, 
their  works  went  forth  to  the  world  far  less 
perfect  than  they  otherwise  would  have  been. 
Regardless  of  the  tribunal  of  [losterity,  which 
alone  can  give  a  man  immortality,  they 
sought  thatephemerol  popularity  which  pass- 
ed away  with  their  setting  sun.  "  There  is 
nothing,"  says  Irving,  "  for  which  a  man 
pays  more  dearly,  than  for  his  popularity 
while  living."  It  was  this  inordinate  thirst 
for  immediate  renown  that  committed  the  six 
thousand  productions  of  Hans  Sachs,  and  the 
teeming  progeny  of  Lope  de  Vego,  to  an 
early  oblivion,  leaving  their  names  as  warn- 
ing beacons  to  future  authors. 

Popular  taste,   moreover,    has   generally 
guided  authors  in  the  choice  of  their  sub- 
jects.     If  works  of  imagination  be  most  ea- 
gerly sought  ofter  by  the  reading  public,  au- 
thors will  turn  their  attention  to  fiction  and 
romance.     It  is  this  that  has  fl(X)ded  modern 
literature   with    puling  sentimental    novels. 
Another  incentive  to  this  species  of  writing, 
was  the  speedy  rise  of  reputation.     The  man 
who  pondered  to  their  base  appetite,  soon 
rose  to  favor  with  the  public  ;  while  the  phi- 
losopher iind  the  historian  toiled  on,  perhaps 
unknown  while  living,  leaving  to  a  \yiser  age 
to   admire   the   monuments  of   their  labor. 
While  this  was  the  case,  few  turned  their  at- 
tention to  the  more  solid  branches  of  litera- 
ture.    Hence,  where  we  have  one  Bacon,  or 
Newton,  we  have   scores  of   Smollets  and 
Fieldings,  Congreves  and  Otways ;  and  for 
one  "  Novum  Organam,"  or  Pnncipia,"  the 


language  is  floixled  with  "  Aurelias,"  "  Pere- 
grine Pickles,"  "Old  Bachelors,"  and  "Or- 
phans." Many  of  this  class  of  authors,  once 
favorites  with  the  public,  have  passed  away, 
with  little  else  than  their  names  surviving  on 
the  page  of  history.  The  names  of  Bncon 
and  Newton,  will  ever  be  among  the  first  to 
meet  our  gaze,  as  we  enter  the  temple  of 
knowledge,  while  the  great  mass  of  poets  and 
novelists  will  only  be  found  after  long  search 
in  by-corners,  and  amid  the  dust  and  mould- 
ering ruins  of  its  voiceless  hulls.  New  aspi- 
rants for  their  fame  will  press  them  aside,  and 
occupy  their  place  in  the  public  favor;  so 
that  those  who  seek  for  the  poet's  or  novel- 
ist's fame,  need  not  wonder  if  the  jialmy  days 
of  their  reputation  pass  away  with  them  to 
the  tomb. 

If  the  view  we  have  taken  of  the  subject 
be  correct,  literature  will  not  attain  its  high- 
est excellence  until  authors  are  freed  from 
this  servility  to  the  public.  They  must  be 
so  far  independent,  as  to  make  their  own  taste 
their  guide,  and  to  regard  the  decisions  of 
postenty,  rather  than  those  of  their  own  age. 
Those  only,  who  have  shaken  from  their 
minds  the  fetters  of  this  slavery,  have  attained 
the  most  desirable  fame.  Milton  committed 
his  great  work,  the  result  of  years  of  cease- 
less toil,  to  the  world,  and  though  it  fell  si- 
lently from  the  press,  unregarded  by  that  age, 
he  had  reared  in  the  Paradise  Lost  u  fabric 
enduring  as  adamant.  The  waves  of  Time 
may  dash  around  it,  but  it  will  stand  for  ever — 
a  monument  of  the  truth,  that  he  who  writes 
for  immortality  must  free  himself  from  the 
bondage  of  Popular  Taste. 


BIOGttAPHY  OF  THE 

HON.  ROBERT  CHARLKS  WINTHROP, 

8PSAKXR  OF  THB  H0U8K  OF   RKPRJtSKNTATlVES. 

We  have  much  pleosure  in  presenting  to 
our  readers,  a  portrait  of  the  H^n.  Kohkrt 
Charles  Winthrop,  speaker  of  the  house 
of  representatives  of  the  present  (thirtieth) 
Congress  ;  ond  the  following  interesting  bio- 
graphical sketch,  condensed  princiiially  from 
an  able  article  in  the  American  Review. 

This  gentleman,  whose  preferment  to  the 
high  official  station  which  he  now  holds  is  a 
well-deserved  and  appropriate  tribute  to  his 
personal  worth  and  public  service,  has  won  a 
not  less  eminent  place  in  the  esteem  of  the 
whig  party  of  the  Union,  by  the  fidelity  with 
which  he  has  devoted  his  talents,  throughout 
an  active  political  career,  to  the  advancement 
of  the  good  of  the  country. 


^■f- 


urc'lins,"  "  Pere- 
ilors,"  mill  "  Or- 
i  of  authors,  once 
ivc  pass'Ml  away, 
imcs  surviving  on 

nnitu's  of  liiicon 
inong  the  first  to 
ir  the  temple  of 
innssof  poets  anil 

after  long  search 
(lust  ami  tnould- 
lalls.  New  nspi- 
is  tlicm  aside,  and 

pultlic  favor ;  so 
3  poet's  or  novel- 
if  the  palmy  days 
.■ay  with  them  to 

en  of  the  siihject 
ot  attain  its  high- 

9  are  freed  from 
.  They  must  be 
ke  their  own  taste 

the  decisions  of 
of  their  own  age. 
iiaken  from  their 
er\',  have  attained 
Milton  committed 
f  years  of  cease- 
though  it  fell  si- 
arded  by  that  age, 
disc  Lost  a  fabric 

10  waves  of  Time 
ill  stand  for  ever 
hot  he  who  writes 

himself  from  the 


F  THE 

KS  WINTHROP, 

KEPKKSiCNTATIVKd. 

e  in  presenting  to 
he  Hon.  Rohkrt 
ttker  of  the  house 
present  (thirtieth) 
iig  interesting  l)io- 
d  princi])ally  from 
rican  Review, 
preferment  to  the 
lie  now  holds  is  a 
riute  tribute  to  his 
service,  has  won  a 
the  esteem  of  the 
ly  the  fidelity  with 
talents,  throughout 
to  the  advancement 


J 


■li 


ihi 


428 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  HON.  E.  C  WINTHROP. 


*trk>: 


Mr  Wintliroii's  jmrticipntion  in  the  pub- 
lic  a)uns.-ls  is  uttc.M(i.Ml  l.v  u  lorlun.if  prrHtiRC 
„f,minc  on.l  Yxnvti'A".    In  but h  ..t  Uh-hc  lie 
nmv  I"-  »tt'<l  t"  l'«  i.l«'"t>t.-a  with  the  history 
„f  "that  portion  of  thr  country  v;h.ch  ho  rrp- 
rosints ;  nn.»  if  thrrc  bo  nny  truth  in  the  on- 
ci.'nt  notion  timt  m  honorable  ancestry  con- 
HtitutLH  a  pliMlifc  to  pntriotisni  nn.l  virtue,  he 
han  an  especial  reason  to  acknowledge   its 
„bli"atioiH,  r.n.1  to  fiiul  in  thr.n  an  incentive 
to  the  faithful  and  /ealous  perl  irmancc  ol 
everv  public  duty.    I  le  has  descended  throusU 
a  Km.'  line  ..f  hishly  respectable  ancestors, 
and  stlu.d.  in  the  nixth  degree  ot  lineal  do- 
Bcent  from  that  worthy  and  justly  celebrated 
chora.tur  .loiis  Wr.NTiiRop,  the  hrst  go-,  ernor 
(if  Massachusetts,  whoso  biography  wc  have 
alreail',  '...gpnted  to  our  readers. 

Robii I  C.  Winthrop  was  the  younficst  son 
of  Thomas  L.  Winthrop,  tbc  late  lieutenant- 
uovernor  of  Massachusetts  ;  and  was  born  in 
IJoston  on  the  r?th  of  May,  1809,  and  was 
educated  nt  Harvard;   whertf,  in  \82H,  he 
received  his  diploma,  and  with  it,  one  ot  the 
three  hi"hest  honors  awarded  to  his  class. 
He  studied  law  under  the  direction  of  Darnel 
Webster,  and  was  admitted  to  the  bar  of  Bos- 
ton in  1831.     He  devoted  but  little  attention 
to  the  practice  of  his  profession,  the  bent  of 
his  mind   inclining  him  much  more  to  the 
study  of  puldic  alluirs  than  to  the  labors  ot  a 
vocation  which  few  men  pursue  but  under  the 
sjiur  of  a  necessity,  which,  in  the  jiresent 
instance  did  not  exist.         _  . 

Mr.  Winthrop  entered  into  public  lire  in 
1834,  being  then  elected  to  the  legislature  of 
Massachusl'tts,  and  has  since  continued  in  the 
public  service.  He  was  the  representative 
of  Boston  in  the  state  legislature  tor  six  years, 
during  the  last  three  of  which,  he  was  the 
speaker  of  the  popular  branch  of  that  body ; 
discharging  the  arduous  duties  of  this  post 
with  an  address  and  judgment  which  elicited 
the  most  honorable  contidence  and  approba- 
tion from  the  body  over  which  he  presided. 

The  house  of  representatives  of  Massa- 
chusetts at  that  time  numbered  between  tive 
and  six  hundred  members.  We  moy  suppose 
the  duties  of  the  speaker  in  such  a  boily  to 
exact  the  highest  degree  of  iiarhamentary 
skill  anil  tact  in  their  administration.  In  this 
school  the  incumbent  found  full  ond  aderpiate 
experience;  nud  he  left  it  after  his  three 
years'  service,  with  the  reputation  of  an  ex- 
pert and  cH'ective  p'oticient  in  the  rules  of 
legislative  procecdi.igs. 

Mr.  Winthrop  first  became  favorably  known 
beyond  the  limits  of  his  own  state,  when,  in 
1837.  he  visited  the  city  of  New  York,  at 
the  head  of  the  Massachusetts  delegation, 
which  assembled  there  with  the  delegations 
from  the  Whigs  from  many  other  states,  to 


celebrate  the  great  triumiih  of  the  whigs  of 
New  York,  in  the  elections  then  recently 
held.  It  was  a  gr<'ttt  meeting  of  congratulo- 
tion,  and  intended  toeonreri  measuns  tur  ihc 
co-oneration  of  the  whig  party  in  the  presi- 
dential convass  which  was  soon  to  open.  It 
was  a  brilliant  prelude  to  the  election  ol  IH'JO, 
of  which  I  he  results  were  at  once  so  glorious 
and  so  <lisastrii«s. 

On  that  occosion,  no  one  drew  more  obser- 
vation in  the  large  crowd  tliere  assfmblid, 
than  the  subject  of  this  memoir.     His  spenh 
in  the  Mosonic  hnll,  where  the  congratula- 
tions of  the  occasions  were  proilered  and  re- 
ceived, is  still  remembered  by  those  who  w(  re 
present,  as  one  of  the  most  felicitous  am    at- 
tractive incidents  of  that  memorable  cxhil)i- 
tion.       His   vivid   ond  animated   eKxpiciice 
siimulatcd  the  already  excited  feeling  ot  the 
assembly  to  the  highest  key  of  exultation, 
and  old  and  young  left  the  scene  of  this  event 
with  common  prediction  of  future  ciiunenro 
to  the   orator,   and   more  extended   renown 
among  his  countrymen. 

His  congressional  career  began  m  1810. 
The  resignation  in  that  year,  of  the  rei.rest  il- 
lative from  Boston,  Mr.  Abbott  Lawrence, 
led  to  the  choice  of  Mr.  Winthrop,  by  a  ma- 
jority so  decisive  as  almost  to  deprive  tae 
election  of  its  title  to  be  called  a  contest.    He 
thus  took  his  seat  in  the  house  of  representa- 
tives at  the  second  session  of  the  twenty-sixth 
Congress.     He  was  a  member  also  of  the  dis- 
tinguished twenty-seventh  Congress,  where, 
among  many  worthy,  ho  maintained  a  posi- 
tion with  the  best.     A  personal  and  iinvute 
affliction  compelled  him  to  resign  his  seat  in 
the  summer  of  1842,  his  place  being  8ui)pliei] 
by  the  Hon.  Nathan  Applelon,  who  relin- 
quished it  at  the  close  of  that  session,  to  ena- 
ble his  friend  to  resume  his  former  seat  at 
the  commencement  of  the  following  winter ; 
which  the  latter  did  after  nn  election  almost 
without  opposition.     Mr.  Winthrop  has  con- 
tinued ever  since  to  represent  the  city  of  Bos- 
ton, by  a  sufl'rage  equally  honorable  to  him 
and  to  the  constituency  whose  ccnihdence  ho 
has  80  signally  won.  . 

His  seven  years'  service  in  the  national 
counsels  have  brought  him  very  prominently 
before  the  nation.  One  of  the  most  accom- 
plished debaters  in  the  house  of  representa- 
tives, he  has  participated,  to  some  extent,  in 
the  discussion  of  all  the  great  questions  which 
have  been  presented  to  that  body,  durinu  his 
connexion  with  it.  Habitually  abstoining 
from  an  obtrusive  pre  se  nation  of  his  opinions, 
he  has  never  failed  tosi.y  a  right  word  at  the 
right  season;  he  has,  therefore,  always  spo- 
ken etltictively,  and  in  such  a  manner  os  to 
win  the  esteem  and  confidence  of  the  house. 
A  steadfast  whig,  his  position  has  ever  been 


BlOOllAPllY  OK  HON.  11.  C  WINTIIllOl'. 


4t:o 


iiih  of  the  whigs  of 
tidiis  then  rrcciiily 
titiiva  of  ci>iij;riitula- 
-crt  nx'iifiirrH  fur  ihc 

party  in  tli<'  iin-si- 
QS  HOOIl  to  oiicii.      It 

the  rleiHioii  of  1840, 
re  at  once  ««  glorious 

no  drew  more  ohsi-r- 
V(l  there  asuciiililid, 
iiemoir.  His  niuiiU 
here  the  coiiRrutulu- 
ore  prDllcred  miil  re- 
ed by  those  who  were 
lost 'felicitous  nnd  nt- 
tt  memoriihle  exhilii- 
aniinatetl  iKxiuence 
ixcited  feeliii};  of  the 
8t  key  of  exultution, 
he  sceno  of  this  event 
ti  of  future  eminence 
are  extended  renown 

ireer  began  in  IHIO. 
year,  of  the  reiires(  n- 
fr.  Abbott  Lawrt  nee, 
.  Winihrop,  by  a  nio- 
dinost  to  deiirive  tiie 
;  called  a  conloNt.  He 
e  house  of  rei)rcsciita- 
ion  of  the  twenty-sixth 
member  also  of  the  dis- 
[;nth  Congress,  where, 
ho  maintained  a  posi- 
.  personal  and  iirivutc 
m  to  resign  his  scut  in 
is  place  bcin>i8U])plied 

A|)plnton,  who  relin- 
of  that  session,  to  ena- 
me  his  former  scut  at 

the  following  winter ; 
ifter  on  election  almost 
^Ir.  Winthrop  hus  con- 
[iresent  the  city  of  Bos- 
lally  honorable  to  him 
;y  whose  C(nifulence  he 

service  in  the  national 
t  him  very  prominently 
)ne  of  the  most  uccom- 
le  house  of  reprcseiita- 
iteil,  to  some  extent,  in 
le  great  questions  which 
to  that  body,  durinu  his 
Habituolly  abstaining 
seiitaticm  of  his  ojnnions, 
)  say  a  right  word  at  the 
I,  therefore,  always  spo- 
in  such  a  manner  as  to 
confidence  of  the  house. 
3  position  has  ever  been 


ron-'ervHtive.  Htn.nR  in  the  ndvorary  of  the 
nulional  instituli..n«.  eureful  to  «imrd  aiinmst 
mcrou.hu.ents  .m  the  eonstitulion.  j.alous  ol 
the  ambition  of  purlv  leaders,  and  prompt  h> 
.Irnonn.e  the   excesses  into  which   purti-jan 
zeal  has  often  threatened  to  plunge  the  policy 
1  „f  the  state.     Looking  with  an  enh.-htene. 
view  to  ih.^  cupubililies  of  the  country,  and 
■usilv  estimalii.'^   the   elements  of  national 
litrriikh  and  huppincss  .mbraeed  ^vlthln  the 
Union  as  it  is.  he  has  always  cnntributed  his 
nid  I.,  promot.'  their  d.vel.ipment  through  the 
uppropriute  action  of  the  eoiislilution,  and  by 
the  wise  policy  of  protection  and  eneouruge- 

ment.  ...  i 

In  the  attempts  of  the  administration  ami 
its  sui.porters  to  embroil  the  country  in  a  wur 
upon  the  Orefjon  question,  he  was  tlie  triend 
of  concilin-)rY  adjustment  an.l  pi'nee,  and  hail 
th.t  grutilu  a  ion  to  lind  the  labors  ol  his  eom- 
p,.,.rs  and  himself  in  that  instance  sue<-ess(ul. 
We  may  take  the  ormsion  to  observe  hero 
that,  in  the  prosecution  of  this  object,  he  was 
tbe  first  to  propose  in  Congress  a  mo<le  .)t  «et- 
tlin-  the  question,  which,  highly  equitable 
aiufhonorable  in  itself,  was  sP<uiided  by  tlie 
ap|)iobation  of  the   most  judicious  persons 
blah   at  home  and   abroad.     The  following 
resolutions,  n»oved  by  Mr.  Winthroi)  on  the 
19th  of  December,  1845,  contain  the  earliest 
su-'cestion  of  an  arbitration  by  eminent  civil- 
ians.     This  resort  xvas  afterward   iortiudly 


proposed  by  the  British  government,  and  if  t 
had  not  been  most  unwisely— we  must  think 
—refused  by  the  administration,  would  have 
established  a  happy  precedent  for  the  settle- 
ment of  int.  rnational  diirerenees,  and  have 
placed  the  p.  ace  of  the  world,  so  far  as  the 
example  of  two  of  the  most  powerful  nations 
might  tend  to  establish  it,  upon  the  lounda- 
tion  of  cahn  counsel  and  right  reason,  instead 
of  leaving  it  at  the  mercy  of  tempestuous 
passion   and    the   bitter   supremacy  ot    tno 

sword.  .      , 

The  resolutions  referred  to  are  m  these 

words  : — 

"  PeaolvcJ,  That  the  cliffercnces  between  the  Ui.i 
tcl  States  and  Great  Hrifiin,  on  tlio  subject  ot  th. 
oU'on  To  "it<.r>',ar.- still  .  lit  subject  lornoRoUnt.ou 
an  1  Wi-romise,  and  that  satisfactory  evidence  b, 
not  yet  l..H>..  nttbrded  that  .,o  compromise  wl  i<  1> 
the  United  States  oiivlit  to  accept  can  be  eHo<  ttd. 

"  i  "«;/ml,  That  it  would  bo  a  .lishm.or  to  the  ntre 
m  which  we  live.  au,l  in  the  bi.'lust  '^tf^r^'^'r^, 
itablc  to  l«)tb  the  nations  concen«Ml,  il  they  shoul.l 
sft  W  t hen  so  ves  to  he  .Ir.wn  into  a  war,  upon  a 
';i"stionof  no  immediate  or  pructicaJ  interest  to  euher 

"'  ■■J^J'salml  That  if  no  other  mode  for  tho  amicable 
ndjuMn-ent  o.  this  question  romau..,  it  is  -h.e  to  the 
prim  iplcs  of  civilization  -J'-'^  '"«"""  >",'',,,'v- 
lort  t<l  nrhitrntion  should  he  had  ;  and  »•"''"'  ^(\. 
emment  call  not  relicv.  itsclt  iron,  all  .^"l ^f'^'^J^^^ 
Nvhicb  n.av  loUoW  the  failure  to  settle  tho  contiu.c, 
ty,  while  this  resort  is  stiU  untried. 


■  Vcmhfil.  That  nrhltrnlioii  do.>«  r"<f  iii--i's«nri1.v 

involve  a  ri  r.Tciici'  n.  crowii.'d  I dm  and  llint,  il  ii 

icHlnii«v  cif  .uch  a  r.'li.n.me   is  ciitcrliiMMd  in  niiv 
Munitcr,  a  ccmnniHKioii  of  iihle  ami  iliHi.n^iiorpiitc  citi- 

/.(lis,  cllher  IVoin  ihc  two  niuntnc n.'.'r 1  cr  licm 

tint  wnrld  lit  hircc,  oir<TS  itHelf  us  i.u  oIimhus  and  iiu- 
objortionahle  ulternalivo." 

In  the  more  rerent  extrnv  sjances  "f  those 

in  power,  who  have  commitieil  the  i.i'.on  to 

nil  the  responsibilil'icM  of  the  ndioiH  M.xicnn 

war.  he  has  acted  v,  ilh  the  m'>st  eidiuhteiicd 

whigs  to  give  it  a  direction  as  tavorable  to  hu- 

maiiity  and  justice  n«  the  phreusy  of  the  iid- 

ininislrntion'will  idlow.     Utterly   opposed   to 

the  grounds  up.  ii  which  this  war  liiis  b.  on 

waged,  and  coiidciniiing  the  iisinpMiinn  ol  au- 

thi>rity,  by  which   the   piesidnit   cominenced 

it.  he  nevertheless,   did   not  sciiiple    to  vote 

with  the  great  bodynf  the  whig-  in  ronuns.!, 

the  first  supplies  (if  men  nnd  luoncy.  which 

eeemeil  to  l)e   indispensable  to  the   reiiitorce- 

mcnt  of  (Jenernl   Tavh>r  at  tlint  innincU  ot 

supposed  exigency,  of  wirudl  the  ucbiiiinstra- 

tiont(H)k  such  artful  advantage.    lie  hiis  been 

ronsistentlv,  ever  since,  an  eiirne't  advocute 

for  peoce  on  terms  compatiljlo  with  the  honor 

nnd  justice  of  a  mngnaninious  and  Christian 

The  same   moderation  of   opinion   whidi 
appears  in  this  npeeeh.  in  regard  to  the  irr'-at 
and  c'v.iting  subjects  there  relerred  to,  is  cmi- 
sistcntly  preserved  by  Mr.  Winthrop  upon 
other  t(q)ics  which  have  agitntcd  tb"  public. 
A  sincere  fr'end  of  the  constitution,  and  ear- 
nestly desirous  to  maintain  the   harmony  ■  T 
the  Union,  he  has  conscientiouslv,  we  may 
sav   refrained  from  those  ultra  vuws  on  the 
subi.  ct  of  slavery,  in  either  the  iKirth.rn  or 
southern  nsiiect  of  tll"  (piesli.-n.  which  liave 
so  unhappily  and  so  nnprofitablv  distracte, 
some  sections  of  the  cnintry.     I.ib.'rul  and 
tolerant  upon  that  subject,  he  has  tirmly  main- 
tained his  own  opinion  against  those  on  either 
side,  who  we  mav  hiqie  will  ncknowlei^'e,  in 
their  calmer  reflections,  the  wisdom  and  jus- 
tice of  his  moderation. 

The  recent  election  of  this  gentw  m      to  the 
honorable  po.st  h(!  now  fills  in  the  hous_c  ol 
representatives,  is  an  expressive  tidvcn  ot  the 
good  opinion  he  has  won  on  that  tluatie  where 
his  talents  have  been  most  profitably  exerted 
for  the  benefit  of  th.^  country,     ^o  niember 
of  that  house  might  better  deserve  this  dis- 
tinction.    His  inte-rity  as  a  man.  his  nccoiii- 
plishments  as  a  statesman,  and  hi*  hdehty  as 
a   whi.',  render  the  choice    nt  the  hou.-e  an 
honor  ti)  boti   'he  giver  and  receiver ;  while 
his    parliameiitarv   skill   in   the    appropriate 
functions  of  his  oftice  enable  him  to  repute 
the  favor  he  has  received,  by  the  usefulness 
of  his  service.  , 

The  address  he  made  to  tho  h."j--     m  the 


ti 


V4 


■m 


'ife-Mii 


rtPl' 


St 


orrn«iim  of  tiikinj);  thr  rhnir.  cxliili'it*  n  .in''t 
n|i|>r(  I'intion  "f  thf  fliiticH  rotnmittril  to  liim, 
uri<l  (ilIliriN  nn  fxninplf  of  f;rnrct'iil  (lij.'iiity(>f 
ttylo  which  iriny  hv.  coinmi'tuli"!  to  llif  iinitii- 
ti.'pii  of  hin  Huwt'<<m)rs.  It  ii  wortliy  of  hfinj; 
priworvftl,  anil  we  thcn.'fori!  huhmit  it  to  thd 
juilKincrit  of  niir  ri'udrrH: — 
•■  (liiitlcmni   nf  the   lloitic  of  Reprcttntativtt  of 

tlie  I'lii/nl  Stdlfn— 

"  I  mil  ili'i'iily  »i'iiiiililnnf  llio  liiinor  which  yon  h«ve 
coiiliTriMl  ui'Mii  mil  liy  lli'  vnto  whkli  lia»  ju«t  li.-cii 
Htiiii.imii'il,  hikI  I  |prii}  U  iivn  t<i  i'xiiri„s  niv  moiit 
Kniti'liil  mkiiii\vli'ili;niiMit«  tci  tlidmi  wfmlinvf  thouKht 
IIII1  worthy  ol  mi  dittiiiijuighuJ  n  mark  of  their  con 
tiilimri'.  ,  .      ,    .    ,       , 

"  VVhcM  I  rcmi'ijihi-r  liv  whcmi  this  chnir  hai  licni 
flHiMl  ill  (itlicr  yriirn,  iiinl,  mill  iiniri',  wheii  I  rL'llfit 


(III  111"  cimstlnitioiinl  cliiiriicliTiil  llioUidy  lirliirn  n\v, 
I  I'liii  mil  Iml  li'fl  tlmt  ymi  lii»vi!  lll^lli^■lllMi  iiic  ii  ixisi- 
tiiiii  worlliy  III  Hiiy  hiuii'i  BUil'itniii,  ami  lur  ohovo  llie 
rinhtliil  ri'i'ii  li  111  iiiy  dwii. 

"  1  ii|i|ii'iitu'h  till!  ili.tchnrgo  of  it*  ilutioi  with  a 
pnil'iMiii.l  liii|iri'«ilon  at  oiioo  of  thoir  dignity  and  of 
tht'ir  ililHi'iilty. 

"  f<i^vi}ii  yiMira  of  Burvico  iia  a  mombcr  of  this 
hrniich  ol'  ifm  Niitiiiiiiil  Lrtiiiliituro  hiivi'  miiro  limn 
■iiltlfi'd  to  li'iich  mil  tliiit  this  is  i"'  liUco  of  iiiero 
fiirmiil  r(iiniiiiMir(i'ri'iiioiii(itisri'|>(Wr  Scvcro  laliurs, 
lieriilixiiii;  ciiri'B,  trying'  ri'siiiiii»iliiliti''«.  await  any 
oni- whii  is  nilli'il  to  it,  even  iiinlcr  ''  most  auspi- 
tiims  mill  liiviirahlo  (■irciunstiiiiiis.  iw,  then,  rim 

1  liel|i  tii'inhling  lit  the  task  which  y.u  liavo  iiiipdm  ! 
on  nil',  ill  till!  uxiKtiufj  rondition  of  this  houau  and  ol 
till'  riiiiiitry  1 

"  111  H  tiiiii-  of  war,  In  a  time  of  hish  i«ilitioal  ox- 
rltvmi'iit,  in  r.  timn  of  iii(iini.'Ulous  nutioniil  controver- 
sy, I  see  bciiiro  ini'  the  reiirnsontalivcs  of  tliu  pcdplii 
aiinust  pijinilly  dividcil,  not  m«rely,  as  tho  votes  of 
this  nioriiini,'  hnvo  alrnudy  in.iifiitid,  in  their  pri'lor 
eiioo  lor  persons,  hut  in  opinion  ami  in  prineiple,  on 
many  of  the  most  important  ipiestions  on  which  they 
have  Bssenihled  to  deliherali!- 

"May  I  not  reasoimhly  elniin,  in  advanco,  fn)m 
you  all,  somrl hill!,' more  tliiiii  an  ordinary  measure 
of  forlHiiriiiiee  and  iiidult-enee,  liir  wliiitevor  of  in 
aliility  I  niiiy  nninifent,  in  nicetiiiif  the  exieeneies 
and  einlmrrHK-iiients  wliiili  1  eiiii  not  hope  to  escape  7 
And  may  I  not  reiisonalily  implore,  with  soinethinR 
more  than  eoinmon  fervemy,  upon  your  lalnirs  anil 
u|ion  my  own,  the  hlessintf  of  tlmt  Almighty  power, 
wliose recorded  nttrihulo  it  is,  that  'He  mukctli  men 
to  he  of  one  mind  in  a  house'  I 

"  Let  us  enter,  ^rentlemeii,  upon  our  work  of  Icgis- 
hition  with  a  solemn  sense  of  our  responsibility  to 
(joil  niid  Id  our  eounliy.  However  wo  may  he  di- 
vided on  (Hicstlonsof  iiiimediate  policy, wo  are  united 
hy  the  closest  tics  of  permanent  interest  and  perma- 
nent olili;.'nlioii.  Wc  are  the  representatives  of 
twenty  millions  of  people,  hound  together  hy  common 
laws  and  u  inmmon  tiherty.  A  common  flni;  floats 
daily  over  us,  on  which  there  is  not  one  of  who  would 
SCO  n  stiiin  rest,  iind  from  which  there  is  not  one  of 
us  who  would  Bi  e  a  star  struck.  And  we  have  n 
couiinon  constitution,  to  which  tlio  oaths  of  allepiance, 
which  it  will  he  my  first  duty  to  administer  to  you, 
will  he  only,  I  am  iicrsuaded,  the  formal  cxiiression 
of  those  sentiments  of  devotion  which  aro  already 
cherished  in  nil  our  hearts. 

•'  There  may  he  difl'erenceg  of  opinion  as  to  the 
powers  wh'ch  this  constitution  confers  upon  us;  hnt 
the  purposes  for  which  it  w;!-!  created  are  iriscrihcd 
upon  its  tiice  in  lanu'UHj-'o  wliicli  can  noi-  he  miscon- 
strued. It  was  ordained  and  established  '  to  form  a 
more  iierlect  union,  esl:ihli.sli  justice,  insure  domestic 
tramiuillity,  jiravide  for  the  common  defence,  promote 


thn  ffcnrrsl  wrlfarp,  and  scctire  the  bleislnm  of  lib- 
erty to  ourselvci  siid  our  ^losterity.' 

"  Union,  (iistii'e.iloinrslu'  tranijnillity,  thonimmon 
ilelriicc,  the  K'Hirid  wi'll'iiri',  and  the  »eciirity  nf 
liberty  fur  us  and  Hir  ihosn  wliiisloill  come  after  us, 
are  thus  the  Kreat  objects  (iir  which  we  are  to  exer- 
lisii  whatever  powers  have  been  intrusted  to  in. 
And  I  lia/.ard  nothinq  in  say  iiitf  that  tin  i.  have  been 
few  iieriinls  in  our  imtioiinl  history,  when  the  eyes 
of  the  whole  peoph:  have  been  turned  more  iiif-iitly 
and  more  mixiously  tiiwnril  the  rapitol,  thnii  they 
lire  at  this  moment,  to  sen  what  Is  to  be  do.'.e,  hero 
and  now,  liir  the  vindication  and  pinniotion  of  these 
lolly  ends. 

"Let  HS  resolve,  then,  that  those  eyes  shiill  at 
least  witness  on  our  part  duties  ilincjiiiru'ed  with 
ililil,'ence,  deliherationi  conducted  with  diiiiity,  ami 
rlliirts  honesllv  and  raniestly  niiidii  for  the  pu«c»>, 
prosiierlfy,  anil  honor  of  the  Hepiihlic. 

"  1  shall  esteem  it  the  lii«liest  priviliL-eof  my  imb- 
lie  life  if  I  shiill  be  p.'rmitted  to  coiilrilpiite  nnvlliiiii? 
to  these  results  hy  n  faithful  and  iiiipiirliiil  ndniiuis- 
tratiou  oi    'lo  olllce  w  hiih  1  have  now  accepted." 

Mr.  \Vinthro))'8  talents  nrc  of  tho  )ii;;lirst 
oriltir ;  w  U  ami  nhly  has  he  improved  thi;  ini- 
Iiortant  ailvantngc!*  ulliirded  him.  Modest  and 
retiriiig  in  his  habits,  kind  and  courti'ouH  in 
his  iiiunners,  easy  of  access,  stronp  nnd  endu- 
ring ill  his  friendships — n  man  jii-enliurly  aim 
able  ill  nil  the  amenities  of  private  life.  'J'o 
do  a  kindness  to  anollu'r,  without  iho  knowl- 
edge of  thf!  world,  constitutes  his  greatest 
happiness.  No  selfish  or  restrieted  |irinci]ilo 
issiitfered  to  lurk  in  his  heart.  II(!  is  a  man 
without  guilo  or  deceit,  and  a  faithful  and 
ohle  adviser.  Possessed  naturally  of  a  strong 
understanding,  ho  seldom  fails  forming  a  cor- 
rect judgment  on  every  importnnt  (|iiestioii, 
and  in  ciisca  of  difficulty  his  advice  and  opin- 
ion aro  invoiuablc,  and  to  the  benefit  of  his 
counsels  hii>  frie.iiis  aro  always  -welcumo. 
The  sijcoker  is  fony  yeors  of  age.  He  may 
be  presumed  lo  hav!  a  lengthened  career  of 
great  public  usefulness  before  him.  As  u 
general  prineiple,  it  will  always  hold  true, 
that  men  who  throw  aside  the  consideration 
of  selfish  aggrandisement,  who  put  nwny  the 


1)ut  nwny  tne 
_ ,  .^  ieir_  youth — 

who  dedicate  themselves  from  the  first  dawn 
of  manh(K)d  to  their  country,  and  the  cause 
of  political  and  religious  freedom — whose  vir- 
tues render  their  lives  one  scene  of  solicitude 
and  onxiety  for  others'  happiness,  will  sooner 
or  later  enjoy  the  confiutsnce  and  love  of  all 
whose  good  ojiinion  is  to  be  appreciated.  In- 
deed, di-sguiso  it  as  wo  may,  th(*e  can  bo  no 
real  hapjiiness  enjoyed,  or  public  usefulness 
promoted,  unless  we  adopt  and  pursue  those 
objects  calculated  to  enlarge  the  mind,  mcli- 
orote  the  disposition,  and  promote  the  best  in- 
terests of  mankind. 

We  conclude  this  brief  and  imperfect 
sketch  with  the  sincere  expression  of  the  hope, 
that  his  constituents  may  long  enjoy  his  ser- 
vices, and  open  the  way  for  him  to  yet  high- 
er distinction. 


J 


rriirc  tlin  l)lni»lliij«  (if  lib- 
infi-rity." 

•  triiiii|nillify,  tlio  rnmnioti 
iiri',  iiimI  llii'  «i'(iirily  iil" 
vsliii  nliiill  riiriii'  iil'trr  iia, 
liir  wliii'li  we  iiri'  to  cxi-r- 
vi>  lirrii  intniKlril  In  nn. 
yitiK  iliut  till  it  linvi'  \wvn 
nl  liinliiry,  wlicii  tlii'  ryrl 
)t>i'Ti  tiiriicil  iniirr  iiif'iitly 
rd  tlin  rHiiitiil,  limn  tln-y 
wliiit  in  til  In"  (joi-.f,  liirp 

II    Ullll    pllillllltioll  ul   tlll'DO 

tlint  tlidiii'  oyi'K  "'lull  nt 
iliitirK  ilini'linru'i'il  with 
uilui'tol  with  illriiily,  iiinl 
Htlv  iiiiiilii  liir  tiiu  puiii'e, 
t!  l{i'|iiililir. 

4lMiit  iiriviii'L-nofmy  [mil- 
I'll  to  ciiiilriliiitc  niivlliiiiir 
I'lil  mill  iiii|iiirtiiil  nilniiuiit- 
I  liuvii  iiiiw  m  rr|itril.'' 

iitM  nro  (if  flin  lii;;lii'»t 
OH  ho  itiiprovpil  thi!  im- 
rdcil  him.  MiMltst orul 
kind  and  court:'oun  in 
jccss,  stronf;  mid  cndii- 
-a  man  iMiculiariy  qiiu 
>«  (if  private  life.  'J'o 
«r,  \viihi)ur  tho  knnwl- 
onslitutes  hi^  grcatrst 
I  or  rcstrirtod  jirincijilo 
s  hcurl.  II(!  IS  II  innn 
•it,  and  n  faithful  and 
od  naturally  of  u  strong 
I  nil  foils  forminf!  a  cor- 
ry  important  (incsfion, 
Ity  his  advice  und  o]iin- 
\  to  tlio  benefit  of  his 
aro  olvvays  wclrmne. 
'cars  of  nge.  II'  may 
a  lengthcniMl  carter  of 
:s9  b(!for<!  him.  As  a 
will  always  huld  true, 
aside  tho  consideration 
lent,  who  put  nwny  the 
isure  in  tneir  yotith — 
Ives  from  the  first  dawn 
country,  and  the  cause 
us  freedom — whose  vir- 
I  one  scene  of  solicitude 
i'  happiness,  will  sooner 
ifitience  and  love  of  all 
to  lie  appreciated.  In- 
e  may,  tn*e  can  be  no 
d,  or  public  tisefulnesa 
idopt  and  pur-<ue  those 
enlarge  the  mind,  meli- 
and  promote  the  best  in- 

3  brief  and  imperfect 
e  expression  of  the  hope, 
may  long  enjoy  his  ser- 
k-ay  for  him  to  yet  high- 


WA8n'\aT0IT  NATIONAL  MONUMRNT. 


4.11 


WASHINGTON  NATIONAL  MONUMENT. 


Os  the  seventy-second  anniversary  of  Amer- 

iriui  indn|i€ndeiice,  the  introductory  move- 
ment was  made  in  an  ( iiterprise,  the  record 
of  which,  when  successfully  cnrric  1  throuiih 
t(j  ciiiipletiou,  will  form  a  bVight  |iage  in  the 
histi.rv  (if  our  country.  On  that  day,  asMun- 
liled  thousands  at  Washington  city,  many  of 
thcin  (icpuiali(»iis  from  distant  sections  of  the 
Union,  wilueesed  or  participated  in  the  au- 
gust aud  impressive  ceremonies  attending  the 
laving  of  the  corner-stone  of  a  national  mon- 
uiioettt  to  the  luemory  of  Geobge  Washing- 
ton and  \iis  compatriots  in  the  Revolution. 
Although  nearly  half  a  century  has  elapsed 
since  the  death  of  Washinglon,  the  enthusiosm 
with  which  this  magiiiticent  design  has  been 


entered  info.  U  proof,  if  nny  indeed  wcro 
wanting,  that  his  metrmry  is  still  green  in  the 
hiarts  (if  his  counli ymrti.  We  fervently 
hope  that  the  f»(ililr  uiidcrttikmg  wi!i  tie  Mrged 
forward,  until  the  tofimn^t  liUmn  is  ^.lae(■l| 
upon  its  <  liiud-eniiped  Miimmil,  iind  the  mon- 
ument Htands  fortli  ii  traifi'didcii'  and  endu- 
ring memorial  of  a  nali  m's  gratitude  ui  liim 
who  was  emphalically  ■  'iie  foiir.dir  of  nn 
empire,  the  marvtd  of  the  world  ;" — 

"  Who  b(ir«t  thi'  fi'ttiTu  of  the  land, 
\ii(l  biiile  lis  Id  t>o  I'rec  ; 
Who  rnlspd  iho  di«nilv  of  man, 
And  budo  a  N'lttiuii  ue," 

The  most  proniiiii'tit  and  imposing  part  of 
the  i)ropiised  iiionuuient  will  be  s,  , n  to  be  the 
obelisk  shaft,  rising  Iroin   llie  diiire  to   tin- 
height   of    fiix    liiiiid'-eil     feet,    M-venfy    feet 
gipiarc  ut   the   bas,'    n"!    forty   at   the   top. 
Around  this  sliaft,  el.  vpti  d  on  a  terrace  or 
platform,   tw<'iity  f<.  •■    i  i, '>  and  three  hun- 
dred feet  s(|uare,  is  to  be   erecled   a  vast   ro- 
tunda, supported  by  thirty  massive  columns, 
of  twelve  fe<a  diumeter.  und   forty-(i-e  feet 
high  ;  enclosing  a  gallery  tifty  feet  wide,  six- 
ty feet  high,  and  five  hundred  f  -t  in  circum- 
ference.    Aliiivc  the  colonuudc  sill  lie  an  en- 
tablature twenty  feet  high,  sunn  untid  by  a 
balustrade,  fifteen  feet  high,  niaki.ig  an  ele- 
\.ili(in  of  one  hundred  feet  fur  the  rotunda  or 
colonnaded   building.     On  thi^  too  over  the 
gnat  gallery,  and  ciichised  by  thi^  linlustrnde, 
will    be  a  grand   terrace   around    the    great 
liafl,  s<!vrii  hundred   feet  in  eircumfereiice, 
and  outside  the  bidustrude  a  walk  or  gallery, 
ix  feet  wide  and  seven  hundred  and   tifty  in 
|e  rcumfereiwe.     The  entrance  and  passage  to 
I  be  grand  terrace  will  be  by  means  of  a  rail- 
way of  easy  ascent  encircling  the  great  shalt. 
If  the  above  plan  und  dimensions  are  enriied 
out,  this  noble  structure  will  be  nearly  three 
times  us  hiidi  as  the  monument  on  Bunker's 
hill.     Within  the  rotunda  it  is  designed  to 
place  niches  for  the  reception  of  statues  of 
the  signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Independ- 

The  corner-stone,  presented  by  a  citizen 
of  Baltimore,  is  a  massive  block  of  granite, 
weighing  about  twenty-five  thousand  iiouiids. 

The  site  of  the  monument  was  granted  by 
Congress.  It  is  on  the  banks  of  the  Poto- 
mac? near  the  location  of  the  Smithsonian 
iiistiiiit-on,  west  of  the  capitol,  and  about 
midway  between  it  and  the  president's  house. 

A  committee  having  been  -ippointed  to 
make  the  necessary  arrangements,  stands 
were  built  for  ti.ose  engaged  in  the  ceremo- 
nies, and  also  for  spectators.  Trmniphal 
arches  were  erected,  on  one  of  which  \yas 
placed  a  live  eagle,  forty  years  old,  which 
had  hailed  the  advent  of  General  Lafayette 


ii 


1- 

■i  - 

T 


ti 


fK'i 


Uk. 


432 


WASIIINOTON  NATIONAL  MONUMENT. 


to  Alexnn.lriM,   n.vl   wliicli  lins  B>nce   been, 
c.  ........1  to  M.  Vattomurn.  to  he  '^'^^^ 

„K,nhi.vcl,>n.  to   Franrc.   m  the   Natioiml 

J::Sir'arwlu.^S-.lc,,d,oairana 

u^l     e  .!>  sf,  mwl  the  l$cncKceMt  Dp.ty  sco.n.. 
l::r',;Il,;L:u.,h.ionsl,  upon  the, nteresnn, 

nroco'^s  (m,  winch  was  (Iceidcilly   the   most 

,  ml      ever  witn,.sse,l  in  Washington,  was 

£:;,:»  hour  in  reuchin.  the  svte^^he^-n- 

uvncnt.  where  everylhnig  was  n  rea.lnitss  to 

hvS;   s,one,   which  f..T^^^%'^"™"r  uu'l 
;-ntofa  strneture   whu-h,  It  «  W-'- -' 
endure  till  lime  shall  he  no  more.      1  he  scene 
Resented,  after  the  j.roeessu.n  had  reach  j 
the   cround,  was   magnihcent.      It.  ^"om^ 
,;  rf  he    inest  subjects  for  the  pencl  that 
airartist  could  desire      The  wln.le  ijatn  wa 
covered  with  human  bemgs.      Ihe  yst  so 
,.  amphitheatre  of  seats  exh.bite,!  an  un- 
.roken   sheet   of  human   countenances,  ex- 
nres.ins  a  deep  interest  mthe  imposing  cere- 
no,  isf  while  over  the  whole  the  banner  rf 
the  Union,  spread  and  displayed  by  the  wil- 
•„,.  breez;  seemed  proudly  to  extend  its  or- 
ament  and  protection      Tl^ere  were  present 
dele-rations    of    the   Cherokee,    Chickasaw 
thoctaw.  Creek  and  Sawbndge  Indians  who 
brought  with  them  silver  'n^'Jal^' ~  ^" 
178t-\  representing  Wr-^hington  m  the  ac   of 
shakn-T  hands  with  the  red  man,  and  under 
who  "Administration  their  forefathers  made 
some  of  the  earliest  treaties  of  peace.     To 
h ^e  Indians  were  assigned  seats  on  the  plat- 
form near  the  orator,  to  whom  they  listened 
V   h  ^  n,found  attention,  as  did  the  immense 
assembly  he  addresse.l.     During  the  advance 
of  th"  pnicession  the  bells  (,f  the  city  contin- 
'4d  to  toll  solemnly.     The  ceremonies  oom- 
nienced  with  an  appropriate  prayer  to  the 
Throne  of  ^.race,  by  the  grand  etia,,  -n  of 
the  grand  lodge  of  Maryland   the  R^'V.  M^' 
M'.TiLro>.,  which  was  succeeded  by  a  p.ahn, 
o   I.    un^  of  "Old  Hundred,- sungby  the 
n'       ,1  le,i  multitude,  with  due  solemnity  and 
teeling.    The  Hon.  R.  CW^nturop.  orator 
of  the  day,  then  arose  and  delivered  an  ad- 
dress  w:  ich  was  received  with  universal  and 
ni  rUed  a  '.lause.     When  Mr.  W..thbop 
Z\   concluded,    Mr.  B.  B.  Frknch    .gra,j[ 
master  of  the  grand  lodge  of  the  chstn  t  of 
C.lumbia,  delivered  an  apnropnnte  a     ress 
after  which  he  descen.led  trom  the  platform 
on  which  he  h»d  stood  to  the  corner-stone 
and  preceded  to  dep.,site  the  articles  selecul 
U>  bi  placed  in  the  cavity,  and  to  perform  the 
usual  appropriate  Masonic  cremomes  ot  lay- 
h  2  it.     A  patriotic  song  was  then  sung  by 
Mr   Eddy,  and  the  benediction  pronounced  ; 
and    thus  terminated  these  interesting  and 


solemn  ceremonies.  The  |.rocess„in  now  re- 
turned to  the  Pennsylvania  ay.nne,  where 
the  military  part  of  it  was  reviewed  by  tlie 
president  oVthe  United  States,  and  afterward 

'  The  ""interest  felt  by  all  in  this^  patriotic 
undertaking  had  been  so  intense,  that  it  was 
found  difficult  to  preserve  the  marble  chips, 
taken  from  the  cavity  of  the  corner-s  one. 
Thev  were  seized  upon  with  the  utmost  ea- 
gerness, by  visiters,  and  borne  away  to  be 
ilreserved  as  mementoes  of  the  event.  1  he 
board  of  managers  ordere.l  s(iuare  pieces  of 
the  stone  to  be  wrought,  labelled,  and  pre- 
sented to  the  several  state  delegations,  to  be 
deposited  in  the  library  or  museum  of  eaih 
sta^te  and  territory.     T^ey  bore  the  follov>.ng 

inserintion:   "To  the   state   ot -•    tms 

pilceK;  comer-stone  of  the  Washington 
National  Monument,  laid   July  4,  1818,  is 
presented  by  the  Board  of  Managers. 
'    In  the  earlier  arrangements  for  the  cere- 
monies attending  the  laying  "^  '^^^'J'^''"- 
stone,  the  late  venerable  John  Qui-^cr  Ad- 
ams was  invited  to  deliver  the  address.     His 
eminent  ability,   and  intimate  acquaintance 
tvTth  our  national  history,  from  Hs  earl  e  t 
days,  and  withal  having  possessed  the  per- 
sonal friendship  of  Wash.ngton-bemg  th.    a 
connecting  link  between  the  Present  ami  the 
generations  that  have  passed  «way--  «  kred 
it  neculiarlv  appropriate  that  he  should  per- 
form that  service.    But  the  ircreasmg  phys- 
caHnfirmities  of  the  "  old  m-n  eloquen  , ' 
-and  which,  alas,  so  soon  closed  his  hing  ca 
reer  of  usefulness  on  earth-comi>elled  1  ,m 
to  decline.    The  Hon.   Robert  C.  Win- 
THROP  was  then  solicited  to  .  ischarge  that 
duty.    He  complied,  and  the  able  Tn«""."  " 
which  he  performed  the  service  speaks  h  ./hly 
for  the  iud-rment  exercised  in  his  seleci  on. 
For  purHy  oT  sentiment,  graceful  expression, 
;„d  L  anLinent  tribute  to  the  lofty  and  s  h- 
sacrificing  character  of  the  PaUr  Palrm 
we  do  not  believe  this  oration  l'»«  <=ver  been 
TurDassed.    We  present  our  readers  with  it 
enlfrein  full  confidence,  that  they  will  be 
nrSed  to  possess  this  eloquent  prm  action, 
Kerusll  n'ot  only  but  for  Foserv-ation  tds. 
among  the  choice  literary  gems  that  adorn 
Teir  libraries.     ^lay  it.  existence  be  coeval 
with  that  of  the  monum.mt,  the    "itiatoo^ 
step  in  the  erection  of  which,  called  it  tortti 
S  while  the  one,  to  the  latest  pc^  enty, 
will  speak  impressively  and  symbohcally  to 

:il  Xare  pe^itted  to  look  -l--^^-^" 
proportions,  coming  generations  to  the  ■remo 
est  bounds  of  this  widespread  U";™'  "7. 
read  in  the  other  of,  and  ^%''l'-}''\X„Zls 
late,  the  exalted  virtues  of  l"-"  ;J?  ^^^ 
"  fi^st  in  war,  first  in  peace,  and  fir.t  m  the 
hearts  of  his  countrymen.' 


ORATION  BY  HON.  E.  C.  WINTIIROP. 


433 


|)r(icr-ssion  tkiw  rr- 
lia  iivcmn',  wlirre 
s  revifwcd  by  tlu' 
ite3,  ami  nrterwaril 

11  in  this  patriotic 
liitniso,  that  it  was 

the  inarhle  chips, 

the  cDrner-stone. 
ith  the  utmost  ea- 

bornc  away  to  be 
,f  the  event.  The 
■i]  8(pmre  pieces  of 

laljelleil,  and  pre- 
e  delegations,  to  be 
or  mnseum  of  caeh 
y  bore  the  following    \ 

tate   of  -:    t^''s 

of  the  Washington 
d   July  4,  1848,  is 
if  Managers." 
ments  for  the  cerc- 
ying  of  the  corner- 
:  John  QuiJfcr  Av>- 
er  the  address.    His 
itimate  acquaintance 
ry,  from  its  earliest 
I  possessed  the  per- 
iington— being  thfis  a 
1  the  present  and  the  1 
;ssed  away— rendered 
;  that  he  should  per- 
thc  increasing  phys- 
»old  wn  eloriuent," 
ion  closed  his  long  cn- 
nrth— comi^elled  him 
.    Robert  C.  Win- 
ted  to  (fischarge  that 
nd  the  able  manner  in 
I  service  speaks  h'./hly 
ised  in  his  selecuon. 
It,  graceful  expression, 
'c  to  the  lofty  and  sclt- 
)f  the  Patn  Patriee, 
oration  has  ever  been 
•nt  our  readers  with  it 
lice,  that  they  will  be 
s  eloquent  protluctton, 
ut  for  preservation  also 
^rary  goms  that  adorn 
its  existen'.;e  be  coeval 
mument,  the  initiatory 
which,  called  it  forth— 
to  the  latest,  posterity, 
;lv  and  symbolically  to 
to  look  uixm  its  majestic 
encrations  to  the  remo- 
Yidesprend  Union,  may 
and  be  incited  to  emu- 
rtues  of  him  who  was 
1  peace,  and  first  m  the 
rmen." 


ORATION 
raoHouNciD  bt  the 

HONORABLE    ROBERT    C.    WINTHROP. 

Fk.i-low-citizens  of  thkUmted  States: 
We  are  assembled  to  take  the  hrst  step 
toward  the  fulfilment  of  a  long-deferred  on- 
gaticn.  In  this  eight-and-iortieth  year  since 
l,i"s  death,  we  have  come  together  to  lay 
,ho  corner-stone  of  a  national  monument  to 

^^Other  mi°mments  to  this  i"««tnous  person 
have  Ion-  ago  been  erected.  By  not  a  few 
of  the  great  states  of  our  Union,  by  not  a  evv 
of  the  great  cities  of  our  states  tiie  chiselled 


8  atue  or  the  lofty  column  has  been  set  up  " 
his  honor.     The  liighest  art  ot  the  old  wo  Id 
-of  France,  of  Italy,  and  o    i".f '»"i;;"«- 
cessivelv— has  been  put  in  requisition  for  the 
purm         Hoixdon  L  Virginia  Canova  for 
&  Carolina,    Sir  Francis  Chantrey  fo 
Massachusetts,  have  severally  ^g^-^l-fe;' 'X 
cenius  by  portraying  and  perpetuating   the 
KL andla'iuresof  the  Father oi  hi.  country. 
Nor  has  the  Congr,      of  the  nation  alto- 
eethcr  failed  of  its  duty  in  this  respect,     i  he 
1  SLlve  and  majestic 'figure  -hich  presides 
'  over  the  precincts  of  the  capi  ol.  and  wrhich 
seems  altogether  in  the  ants  of  challenging  a 
^'w  vowol-  allegiance  to  the  constitution  and 
the  Union  from  every  one  who  aPP™'^?^'^"^    "; 
is  a  visible  testimony-and  one  no    the  le.s 
grateful  to  an  American  eye,  "s  being  the 
masterly  production  of  a  native  artist»— that 
^go^^mment  of  the  country  has  not  been 
unmindful  of  what  it  owes  to  WAsmNOTON. 
One  tribute   to    his    memory  » .  Ift    to 
be  rendered.     One  monument  remains  to  be 
beared      A  monument  which  shal  bespeak 
he  gmtitu^le,  not  of  stotes,  or  of  cities,  or  of 
eovemments     not  of  separate  communities, 
fr  of  official  bodies,  but  of  the  people,  the 
whlpe!,ple  of  the  nation  :-a  national  mon^^^ 

ment,  erected  by  the  citizens  of  the  United 
States  of  America.  , 

Of  such  a  monument  we  have  come  to  lay 
the  corner-stone  here  and  now.  On  th  s  day, 
on  this  spot,  in  this  presence,  and  at  thi»  pre- 
c  se  e  10 oh  in  the  history  of  our  country  and 
orthe  world,  we  are  about  to  commence  this 
crownin"  work  of  commemoration. 

Tl  c  day,  the  place,  the  witnesses,  the 
perltl  in  t^;  worlds  history  and  >"  our  ovvn 
lustory-all,  all  are  most  appropriate  to  the 

"'The  day  is  appropriate.    On  this  4th  day 
•  Horatio  Qreenough. 


connexion  with  the  immortal  act  of  the  4th 
of  July,  177G.  His  signature  did  no  attest 
the  Declaration  of  Iiidui-emlence.  But  the 
sword  by  which  that  indcpundcuce  was  to  be 
achieved,  was  already  at  his  side,  and  already 
had  he  struck  the  blow  which  rendered  that 
declaration  inevitable.  .      „    ,     . 

»'  Hoslihus  primo  fu^atis,  Boslomum  re- 
cuperatum,"  is  the  inscription  on  the  mcda 
which  commemorates  Wushii.giui  s  earliest 
triumph.  And  when  the  British  lorces  were 
compelled  to  evacuate  Boston,  on  the  17th 
day  of  March,  177G,  bloodless  though  the 
victory  was,  the  cpiestion  was  irrevocably 
settled,  that  independence,  and  not  the  mere 
redress  of  grievances,  was  to  be  the  moment- 
ous stake  of  our  colonial  struggle. 

Without  the  event  ot  the  4lli  of  July,  it  is 
true.  Washington  would  have  toand  no  ade- 
quate opening  for  that  full  career  of  military 
and  civil  glory  which  has  rendered  h.m  illus- 
trious for  ever.     But  it  is  equally  true,  that, 
without  Washington,  this  day  could  never 
have  acquired  that  renown  in  the  history  ot 
human  liberty,  which  now,  above  all  other 
days,  it  enioyii.     We  may  not  say  that  the 
man  made  the  day,  or  the  day  the  man  ;  but 
we  may  say  that,  by  the  blessing  ot  God,  they 
were  made  for  each  other,  and  both  tor  the 
highest  and  most  enduring  good  of  America 
and  of  the  world.  , 

The  place  is  appropriate.     AVe  are  on  the 
banks  of  his  own  beloved  and  beautitul  Po- 
tomac.    On  one   side   of  us.  withm  a  few 
hours'   sail,  are  the   hallowed   scenes  amid 
which  War.hington  spent  all  of  his  mature 
life,  which  was  not  devoted   to  the  public 
service  of  the  country,  and  where  still  repose, 
in  their  original  resting-place,  alUhat  remain- 
ed of  him  when  life  was  over.     On  the  other 
side,  and  within  our  more  immediate  view, 
is  the  capitol  of  the  republic,  standing  on  the 
site  selected  by  himself,  and  within  whose 
walls   the  rights  which  he  vindicated,  the 
principles  v  hich  he  established,  the  institu- 
iions  w-hich  he  founded,  have  been,  and  are 
still  to  be,  maintained,  developed,  and  ad- 

The' witnesses  are  appropriate,  and  such 
as  eminently  befit  the  occasion.  _ 

The  president  of  the  United  btates  is  here  , 
and  feels,  I  am  persuaded,  that  the  othcial 
distinction  which  he  lends  to  the  «cene  has 
no  higher  personal  charm,  if  any  higher  pub- 
Tc  dfgnity.than  that  which  it  derives  frotn 
its  aslociations  with  his  earliest  and  mosil- 
ustrious  predecessor.      "I  hold   the   place 
Xch  Wa^shington  held."  must  be  a  reflection 
capable  of  sustaining  a  chief  magistrate  under 
any  and  every  weilht  of  responsibility  and 
care,  and  of  elevating  him  to  the  pursuit  of 
the  purest  and  loftiest  ends. 


'I 


« 


494 


WASHINGTON  NATIONAL  MONUMENT. 


fit'' 


Representatives  of  foreim  nations  are  here ; 
ready  to  bear  witness  to  tne  priceless  exam- 
ple which  America  has  given  to  the  world, 
in  the  character  of  him,  whose  fame  has  long 
since  ceased  to  be  the  property  of  any  coun- 
try or  of  any  age.  ,  ,.  , 
The  vice-president  and  senate ;  the  heads 
of  departments ;  the  judiciary  ;  the  authorities 
of  the  city  and  district ;  the  officers  of  the 
army,  and  navy,  and  marines,  from  many  o 
field  and  many  a  flood  of  eariicr  and  of  later 
forae ;  veterans  of-the-line  and  volunteers, 
fresh  from  the  scenes  of  trial  and  of  triumph, 
with  swords  already  wreathed  with  myrtles, 
which  every  patriot  prays  may  prove  as  un- 
fading as  the  laurels  with  which  their  brovvs 
are  bound  :  all  are  here,  eager  to  attest  their 
reverence  for  the  memory  of  one,  whom  state- 
men  and  soldiers  have  conspired  in  pronoun- 
cing to  have  been  first  alike  in  peace  and  in 
war. 

The  representatives  of  the  people  arc  here ; 
and  it  is  only  as  their  organ  that  I  have  felt 
it  incumbent  on  me,  in  the  midst  of  cares  and 
duties  which  would  have  formed  an  c.mple 
apology  for  declining  any  other  service,  to 
say  a  few  words  on  this  occasion.  Coming 
here  in  no  otRcial  capacity,  I  yet  feel  that  1 
bring  with  me  the  sanction,  not  merely  of  the 
representatives  of  the  people,  but  of  the  people 
themselves,  for  all  that  I  can  say,  and  Tor 
much  more  than  I  can  say,  in  honor  of  Wash- 
ington. 

And,   indeed,  the  people  themselves  are 
here;  in  masses  such  as  never  before  were 
seen  within  the  shadows  of  the  capitol — a 
cloud  of  witnesses— to  bring  their  own  heart- 
felt testimony  to  this  occasion.     From  all  the 
states  of  the  iJnion  ;  from  all  political  parties; 
from  all  professions  and  occupations;  men  of 
all  sorts  and  conditions,  ond  those  before  whom 
men  of  all  sorts  and  conditions  bow,  as  lending 
the  chief  ornament  and  grace  to  every  scene 
of  life;  the  people — as  individual  cinzens, 
and  in  every  variety  of  association,  military 
and  masonic,  moral,  collegiate,  and  charitable, 
Rechabites  and  Red  Men,  sons  of  temi)erance 
and  firemen,  united  brothers  and  odd-fellows 
— the  people  have  come  up  this  day  to  the 
temple-gates  of  a  common  and  glorious  re- 
public, to  fraternize  with  each  other  in  a  fresh 
act  of  homage  to  tho  memory  of  the  man,  who 
was,  and  is,  and  vill  for  ever  be,  "  first  in  the 
hearts  of  his  counuymen  !"    Welcome,  wel- 
come, Americans  all !     "  The  name  of  Amer- 
ican, which  belongs  to  you  and  your  national 
capacity,"  I  borrow  the  words  of  Washington 
himself,  "  must  always  exalt  the  just  pride  of 
patriotism  more  than  any  appellation  derived 
from  local  discriminations." 
I       Nor  can  I  feel,  fellow-citizens,  that  I  have 
'  yet  made  mention  of  all  who  are  with  us  at 


this  hour.  Which  of  us  does  not  realize 
that  unseen  witnesses  are  around  us  ?  Think 
ye,  that  the  little  band,  whose  feeble  forms 
ore  spared  to  bless  our  sight  once  more,  are 
ail  of  the  army  of  Washington,  who  are  uni- 
ting with  us  in  this  tribute  of  reverence  for  his 


memory?  Think  ye,  that  the  patriot  soldiers 
or  the  patriot  statesmen,  who  stood  around 
him  in  war  and  in  peace,  ore  altogether  ab- 
sent from  a  scene  like  this?  Adanris  and 
Jetlerson,  joint  authors  of  the  d'c-laration,  by 
whose  lives  and  deaths  this  day  has  been 
doubly  hallowed;  Hamilton  and  Madison, 
joint  framers  of  the  constitution,  present,  visi- 
bly present,  in  the  venerated  ])ersons  of  those 
nearest  and  dearest  to  them  in  life ;  Marshall, 
under  whose  auspices  the  work  before  us  was 
projected,  and  whose  classic  pen  had  already 
constructed  a  monument  to  his  illustrious  com- 
peer and  friend  more  durable  than  marble  or 
granite  ;  Knox,  Lincoln,  and  Green  ;  Frank- 
lin, Jay,  Pickering,  and  Morris;  Schuyler 
and  Putnam,  Stark  and  Prescott,  Sumter  and 
Marion,  Steuben,  Kosciusko,  and  Lafayette ; 
companions,  counsellors,  supporters,  friends, 
followers  of  Washington,  all,  all:  we  hail 
them  from  their  orbs  on  high,  and  feel  that  we 
do  them  no  wrong  in  counting  them  among 
the  gratified  witnesses  of  this  occosion ! 

But  it  is  the  precise  eiioch  ot  which  we  have 
arrived  in  the  world's  history,  ond  in  our  own 
history,  which  imparts  to  this  occasion  an  in- 
terest and  an  importance  which  can  not  easily 
be  over-estimated. 

I  can  make  but  the  merest  allusion  to  the 
mighty  movements  which  have  recently  taken 
place  on  the  conrinent  of  Eurojie — where 
events  which  would  have  given  character  to 
an  age,  have  been  crowded  within  the  changes 
of  a  moon. 

Interesting,  intensely  interesting,  as  these 
events  have  been  to  all  who  hove  witnessed 
them,  they  hove  been  tenfold  more  interesting 
to  Americans.  We  see  in  them  the  influence 
of  our  own  institutions.  We  behold  in  them 
the  results  of  our  own  example.  We  rec- 
ognise them  as  the  spontaneous  germination 
and  growth  of  seeds  which  have  been  wafted 
over  the  ocean,  for  half  a  century  past,  from 
our  own  original  liberty-tree. 

The  distinguished  writer  of  the  declaration 
which  made  this  day  memorable,  was  full  of 
apprehensions  as  to  the  influence  of  the  Old 
Worid  upon  the  New.  He  even  wished,  on 
one  occasion,  that  "  an  ocean  of  fire"  might 
roll  between  America  and  Europe,  to  cut  off 
and  consume  those  serpent  foscinations  and 
seductions  which  were  to  corrupt,  if  not  to 
strangle  outright,  our  infant  freedom  in  its 
cradle. 

Doubtless,  these  were  no  idle  fears  at  the 
time.      Doubtless,   there  are   dangers  still, 


s  does  not  realize 
round  us  ?    Think 
fhose  feeble  forms 
ght  once  more,  are 
gton,  who  ore  uni- 
if  reverence  for  his 
the  patriot  soldiers 
who  stood  around 
are  altogether  ab- 
lis?     Adams  and 
the  d"(;laration,  bj^ 
this  day  has  been 
ton  and   Madison, 
ution,  present,  visi- 
;cd  persons  of  those 
n  in  life ;  Marshall, 
work  before  us  was 
ie  pen  had  already 
his  illustrious  com- 
jblc  than  marble  or 
ind  Green ;  Frank- 
Morris  ;    Schuyler 
rescott,  Sumter  and 
ko,  and  Lafayette ; 
supporters,  friends, 
,  all,  all :   we  hail 
jh,  and  feel  that  we 
inting  them  among 
this  occasion ! 
;h  at  which  we  have 
ory,  and  in  our  own 
this  occasion  an  in- 
(vhich  can  not  easily 

erest  allusion  to  the 
have  recently  taken 
of  Eurojje — where 
s  given  character  to 
d  within  the  changes 


interesting, 


as  these 
I'ho  have  witnessed 
fold  more  interesting 
n  them  the  influence 
We  behold  in  them 
example.  We  rec- 
taneous  germination 
;h  have  been  wafted 
a  century  past,  from 
tree. 

:er  of  the  declaration 
morable,  was  full  of 
influence  of  the  Old 
He  even  wished,  on 
ocean  of  fire"  might 
d  Europe,  to  cut  off 
>ent  fascinations  and 
to  corrupt,  if  not  to 
nfont  freedom  in  its 

!  no  idle  fears  at  the 
e  are  dangers  still, 


OEATION  BY  HON.  11.  C.  WINTHEOP. 


435 


which  might  almost  seem  to  have  justified 
such  a  wisli.  But  it  is  plain  that  the  currents 
of  political  influence  thus  far  have  run  deep- 
est and  strongest  in  the  opposite  direction. 
The  inpience.  of  the  new  world  uf)on  the  old 
is  the  greiit  moral  of  the  events  of  the  day. 

Mr  iTcff.Tson's  "ocean  of  fire'"  has,  indeed, 
been  almost  realized.  A  tremendous  enginery 
hns  covend  the  sea  with  smoke  and  flame. 
The  fiery  drnaon  has  ceased  to  be  a  table. 
The  in^pir.-d  description  of  Leviathan  is  lul- 
filled  to  the  letter:  "Out  of  his  mouth  go 
burning  lamps,  and  sparks  of  fire  leap  out. 
Out  of  his  nostrils  goeth  smoke,  os  out  ot  a 
seethin  "  pot  or  caldron.  His  breath  kindleth 
coals,  and  a  flame  goeth  out  of  his  mouth. 
He  mnkcth  the  deep  to  boil  like  a  pot ;  he 
maketh  the  sea  like  a  pot  of  ointment." 

But  the  Saint  George  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion and  science,  instead  of  slaying  the  dragon, 
has  subdued  him  to  the  yoke,  and  broken  him 
in  to  the  service  of  mankind.  The  ocean  ot 
fire  has  only  facilitated  the  intercourse  wmch 
it  was  invoked  to  destroy.  And  the  result  is 
before  the  world. 

New  modes  of  communication,  regular  am 
more  rajjid  interchanges  of  information  and 
oi)iiiion,  freer  and  more  frequent  comiiarisons 
of  principli>s,  of  institutions,  and  of  conditions, 
have  at  length  brought  the  political  systems 
of  the  two  continents  into  conflict ;  and  pros- 
trate thrones  and  reeling  empires  this  day 
bear  wiluess  to  the  shock  ! 

Yes,  fellow-citizens  (if  '  be  allowed 

the  figure),  the  great  upwar  -m  downward 
trains  on  the  track  of  human  freedom  have  at 
last  come  into  collision !  It  is  too  early  as 
vet  for  any  one  to  pronounce  upon  the  precise 
consequences  of  the  encounter.  But  we  can 
see  at  a  glance  what  engines  have  been  shat- 
tered, and  what  engineers  have  been  dashed 
from  their  seats.  We  can  see,  too,  that  the 
great  American  built  locomotive  "Liberty 
still  Isolds  on  its  course,  unimpeded  and  un- 
impaired -,  gathering  strength  as  it  goes ;  de- 
veloping new  energies  to  meet  new  exigencies ; 
and  beanng  along  its  imperial  train  of  twenty 
millions  of  people  with  a  speed  which  knows 
no  parallel. 

Nor  can  we  fail  to  observe  that  men  are 
everywhere  beginning  to  examine  the  model 
of  this  miirhty  engine,  and  that  not  a  few  have 
alrea  ^ ,-  biv'^un  to  copy  its  construction  and  to 
imitate  its  machinery.  The  great  doctrines 
of  our  own  revolution,  that  "all  men  are 
created  eipial ;  that  they  are  endowed  by  their 
Creator  with  certain  inalienable  rights  ;  that 
among  these  are  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit 
of  happiness;  that  to  secure  these  rights  gov- 
ernments ore  instituted  among  men,  deriving 
their  just  powers  from  the  consent  of  the  gov- 
erned ;  that  whenever  any  form  of  government 


becomes  destructive  of  these  ends  it  is  the 
righ^  of  the  people  to  alter  to  or  abolish  it  and 
to  institute  a  new  government,  laying  its  found- 
ation on  such  i)rinciples  and  organizing  its 
iiowers  in  such  form  as  to  them  slmll  seem 
most  likely  to  effect  their  safi-ty  i\w\  happi- 
ness;" thcsefundamentalmaxiinsofth(!  rights 
of  man  are  proclaimed  as  emphatically  ',liis 
day  in  Paris,  as  they  were  eeventy-two  years 
ago  this  day  in  Philadelphia.  _ 

And  not  in  Paris  alone.  The  whole  civil- 
ized worid  resounds  with  American  oimiions 
and  American  i)rinciples.  Every  vale  is  vocal 
with  them.     Every  mountain  has  found   a 


tongue  for  them. 


-Soiiitum  toto  Germania  ccbIo 


Audiit,  et  iiisolitU  tremuerunt  motibus  Alpes. 

Everywhere  the  people  are  heard  calling 
their  rulers  to  account  and  holding  them  to  a 
just  responsibility.  Everywhere  the  cry  is 
raised  for  the  elective  franchise,  the  trial  by 
jury,  the  freedom  of  the  press,  written  con- 
stitutions, representative  systems,  republican 

forms.  ,       ,        1 

In  some  cases,  most  fortunately,  the  rulers 
themselvp<<  have  not  escaped  some  seasonable 
symptoms  of  the  pervading  fervor  for  freedom, 
and  have  nobly  anticipateil  the  demands  ot 
their  subjects.     To  the  sovereign  pontiil  of 
the  Rome  :  states  in  particular,  belongs  the 
honor  of  having  led   the  way  in  the  great 
movement  of  the  day,  and  no  American  will 
withhold  from  him  a  cordial  tribute  ot  respect 
and  admiration  for  whatever  he  hos  done  or 
designed  for  the  regeneration  of  Italy.     Glo- 
rious, indeed,  on  the  page  of  history  will  be 
the  name  of  Pius  IX.,  if  the  rise  ot  another 
Rome  shall  be  traced  to  his  wise  and  liberal 
policy.    Yet  not  less  truly  glorious,  it  his 
own  authority  should  date  its  decline  to  his 
noble  refusal  to  lend  his  apostolical  sanction 
to  a  war  of  conquest. 

For  Italy,  however,  and  for  Y  ranee,  and 
for  the  whole  European  wo.  1  alike,  a  great 
work  still  remains.  A  rational,  practical, 
enduring  liberty  can  not  be  acquired  in  o  par- 
oxysm, can  not  be  established  by  a  proelama 
tion.  It  is  not— our  own  history  proves  that 
it  is  not — 


"The 
But  the  well-ri 


hasty  product  of  the  day,  _ 
ipened  fruit  of  wise  delay." 


The  redress  of  a  few  crying  grievances,  the 
reform  of  a  few  glaring  abuses,  the  banish- 
ment of  a  minister,  the  burning  of  a  throne, 
the  overthrow  of  a  dynasty,  these  are  but 
scanty  preparations  for  the  mighty  under- 
taking upon  which  they  have  entered.  New 
systems  are  to  be  constructed  ;  new  forms  to 
be  established ;  new  governments  to  be  in- 
stituted, organized,  and  administered,  upon 
principles  which  shall  reconcile  the  seeming 


15 


M% 


436 


WASHINGTON  NATIONAL  MONUMENT. 


■  PM'W 


U>. 


condict  between  liberty  mid  law,  and  secure  I 
to  every  one  the  enjoyment  of  regulated  con- 
stitutidiinl  freedom. 

And  it  is  at  this  moment,  fidlow-citizcn'', 
when  this  vast  labor  is  about  to  be  commenced, 
whin  the  files  of  the  Old  World  are  searched 
in  vain  for  iirccedcnts,  and  the  fdc-kaders  of 
the  Old  World  are   h)oked   t(;  in  vam  for 
pioneers,  and  when  all  eyes  are  stramed  to 
find  the  men,  to  find  the  man,  who  is  sufficient 
for  these  things,  it  is  at  such  a  moment  that 
we   are    assembled  on  this  pinnacle  of  the 
American  republic— I  might  almost  sav  by 
some  divine  impulse  and  direction— to  hold  up 
afresh  to  the  admiration  and  imitation  of  man- 
kind the  character  and  example  of  George 
Washington. 
'       Let  us  contemplate  that  character  and  that 
example  for  a  moment,  and  see  whether  there 
be  iin  vfhing  in  all  the  treasures  of  our  country's 
fume,'  I  do  not  say  merely  of  equal  intrinsic 
value,  bat  of  such  eminent  adaptation  to  the 
exigencies  of  the  time  and  the  immediate  wants 
of  the  world. 

I  will  enter  into  no  details  of  his  personal 
history.     Washington's  birthday  is  a  national 
festival.    His  whole  life,  boyhood  ond  man- 
hood, has  been  leorned  by  heart  by  us  all. 
Who  knows  not  that  he  was  a  self-made 
man?     Who  knows  not  that  the  only  educa- 
tion which  he  enjoyed  was  that  of  the  common 
schools  of  Virgiiiia,  which,  at  that  day,  were 
of  the  very  commonest  sort  T     Who  remem- 
bers not  those  extraordinary  youthful  adven- 
tures, by  which  he  was  trained  up  to  the 
great  work  of  his  destiny  1     Who  remembers 
not  the  labors  and  exposures  which  he  en- 
countered as  a  land  surveyor  at  the  early  age 
of  sixteen  years?     Who  has  forgotten   the 
perils  of  his  journey  of  forty-one  days,  and 
five  hundred  and  sixty  miles,  from  Williams- 
burg to  French  creek,  when  sent,  at  the  age 
of  only  twenty-one,  as  commissioner  from 
Governor  Dinw'iddie,  to  demand  of  the  French 
forces  their  authority  for  invading  the  king's 
dominions?     Who  has  not  followed  him  a 
hundred  times,  with  breathless  anxiety,  as  he 
threads  his  way  through  that  pathless  wilder- 
ness, at  one  moment  'fired  at  by  Indians  at 
fifteen  paces,  at  the  next  wrecked  upon  a  raft 
amid  snow  and  ice,  and  subjected  throughout 
to  every  danger,  which  treacherous  elements 
oi-  still  more  treacherous  enemies  could  in- 
volve?    Who  has  forgotten  his  hardly  less 
miraculous  escajie,  a  few  years  later,  on  the 
bunks  of  the  Monongahcla,  when,  foremost  in 
that  fearful  fight,  he  was  the  only  mounted 
officer  of  the  British  troops  who  was  not  either 
killed  or  desperately  wounded  ? 

Let  me  not  speak  of  Washington  as  a 
merely  self-made  man.  There  were  influ- 
ences employed  in  moulding  and  making  him. 


far,  far  above  his  own  control.    Bereft  of  his 
father  at  the  tender  age  of  eleven  ycnrs,  he 
had  a  mother  left,  to  whom  the  world  can 
never  over-cstimtte  its  debt.     And   higher, 
holier  still,  was  the  guardianship  so  signidly 
manifested  in  more  than  one  event  of  hi^  life. 
"By  the  all-powerful  dispensations  of  Provi- 
dence,"  wrote   Washington  himself  to  his 
venerated  parent,  after  Braddock's  defeat,  "I 
have  been  protected  beyond  all  human  iirob- 
ability  or  expectation;  for  I  had  four  bullets 
through  my  coat,  and  two  horses  shot  under 
me ;  yet  I  escaped  unhurt,  although  death 
was  leveling  my  companions  on  every  side 
of  me."     Well  did  the  eloqueur  pastor  of  a 
neighboring  parish,  on  his  return,  point  out 
to  the  public  that  heroic  youth,  Colonel  Wash- 
ington, whom  (says  he)  "I  can  not  but  hope 
Providence  has  hitherto  preserved  in  so  signal 
a  manner  for  some  important  service  to  the 

country." 

And  not  less  natural  or  less  striking;  was  the 
testimoriy  of  the  Indian  chief,  who  told  Wash- 
ington, fifteen  years  afterward,  that,  "  at  the 
battle  of  the  Monongahela,  he  hod  singled  him 
out  as  a  conspicuous  object,  had  fired  his  rifle 
at  him  many  times,  and  directed  his  young 
warriors  to  do  the  same,  but  that,  to  his  utter 
astonishment,  none  of  their  balls  took  eilect; 
that  he  was  then  persuaded  that  the  yoiithful 
hero  was  under  the  special  guardianship  of 
the  Great  Spirit,  and  immediately  ceased  to 
fire  at  him ;  and  that  he  was  now  come  to 
pay  homage  to  the  man  who  was  the  particu- 
lar favorite  of  Heaven,  and  who  could  never 
die  in  battle." 

Our  revolutionary  fathers  had  many  causes 
for  adoring  the  invisible  Hand  by  which  they 
were  guided  and  guarded  in  their  great  strug- 
gle for  liberty ;  but  none,  none  stronger  than 
this  providential  preparation  and  preservation 
of  their  destined  chief.  Be  it  ours  to  prolong 
that  anthem  of  gratitude  which  may  no  more 
be  heard  from  their  mute  lips:  "The  grave 
can  not  praise  thee  ;  death  can  not  celebrate 
thee;  but  the  living,  the  living,  they  shall 
praise  thee,  as  we  do  this  day  !" 

Of  the  public  services  of  Washington  to 
our  own  country,  for  which  he  was  thus  pre- 
pared and  preserved,  it  is  enough  to  say,  that 
in  the  three  great  epochs  of  our  national  his- 
tory he  stands  forth  pre-eminent  and  peerless, 
the  master-spirit  of  the  time. 

In  the  war  of  the  revolution  we  see  mm 
the  leader  of  our  armies. 

In  the  formation  of  the  constitution,  we  see 
him  the  president  of  our  councils. 

In  the  organization  of  the  federal  govern- 
ment, we  see  him  the  chief  magistrate  of  our 
republic. 

Indeed,  from  the  memorable  day  when,  un- 
der the  unheard  but  by  no  means  inauspicious 


■  rwntrw^^iWW^f-ir?*^"^ 


ORATION  BY  HON.  R.  C.  WINTHUOP. 


)1.  Bereft  of  liia 
eleven  ycnrs,  he 
n  the  worlil  can 
n.  Anil  higher, 
mship  si>  si;;iiully 
!  event  of  lii^-  life, 
isations  of  Provi- 
1  himself  to  his 
Iiloek'sJefeat,  "I 
1  all  human  ]>r()l)- 
[  hail  four  bullets 

horses  shot  under 
t,  although  death 
ms  on  every  side 
iquenr  poster  of  a 

return,  point  out 
ith,  Colonel  Wash- 
'.  can  not  but  hope 
iservcJ  in  so  signal 
int  service  to  the 

ss  strikinp;wa3  tho 
uf,  who  told  Wash- 
ard,  that,  "  at  the 
he  had  singled  him 
;,  had  fired  his  rifle 
Jirected  his  young 
It  that,  to  his  utter 
ir  balls  look  eiloct ; 
d  that  the  youthful 
il  guardianship  of 
lediately  ceased  to 
was  now  come  to 
ho  was  the  particu- 
id  who  could  never 


'ta  had  many  causes 
[and  by  which  they 
in  their  great  strug- 

none  stronger  than 
ion  and  preservation 
ie  it  ours  to  prolong 
which  may  no  more 
1  lips:  "  The  grave 
th  can  not  celebrate 
e  living,  they  shall 
sday!" 

of  Washington  to 
ch  he  was  thus  pre- 
i  enough  to  say,  that 

of  our  national  his- 
minent  and  peerless, 
ime. 
olution  we  see  hira 

I  constitution,  we  see 
councils. 

the  federal  govem- 
lief  magistrate  of  our 

orable  day  when,  un- 
10  means  inauspicious 


i.J 


—  ,         •      r.n;,!  K„"  rei.lied   Washington,  when   asked 

.„l„te  of  both  lUilish  and  Americcm  batten.  J   ^         ;^  ^^  1  ^^^,  ^^.^^  ih„t  there  was  sorm^ung 
fu<m".diunoholydaycxcrci.conBuuk<il^^li.  J     ,,,,^,,„„,,  ^^f  ^  .vhisllu.g  bullet, 

i    ;  a.  unar,imuusly   resolved,   ^^^;^ll^'^^^_   ?^f'  "  ver  sai.l  so.  it  was  when  I  -as  y-'ung." 
Washington  having  been  el..sencjmmu^tr   I     •  ^^  ._^^^^  f^,^  «"""  ■'^''A''""!;,„S 

in-chief  of  such  forces  as  are  or  shall  be  raiseil    ii  ^^^^^^^^^^^  reputation  lu  the  cannon  s 

tW  the  nmu.tiimnce  und  preservation  of  Amer-    sou^n  ^_  ^^  ^^^.^.^  .piestioned, 

S^tlirn;i^a-^^^^  »^  .en,  did  the  ,ower  of  Wa..ng^ 

a  r«)  Providence  kept  an  even  balance  with  hom«  ^"JJ  ^.j,„  ^,,  ^^,  eatest  man  in  that 
tie  cLe,  and  while  it  took  from  "^''.^"■^^7  he  replied:  -If  you  speak  of  eloquence, 
r  n  srav^'us  a  Washington-to  the  14th  f-'X  ^^J^RuUcXe,  of  Soutfi  Carolina,  is  the  great- 
^D^ce  nber,  1790,  when  he  died,  we  shall    ^\^-  f^'/j^^'^^'^j  jf     ,u  speak  of  solid   ..iorma- 

Irch  the  annals  of  our  f.'^  J^raS      -^«^^^^^  i-^^"""''  ^f  ^-,-8^-  '« 

i„,portnnt  scene,  i.i  winch  he  was  anjtUmg         ^^^  ^^^^  ^^^^^^^^  ^^^„  ^„  ^^^^  a    , 

less  than  the  principal  figure.  ^„,,  •  „.     \vhen,  fifteen  years  earlier,  Washington, 

It  is,  however,  the  <^^'<'\^''?l?^  ^fZl     at  the  close  of  the  French  war  took  his  seat 
ton,  and  not  the  mere  par  which  he  playey  ai  .^  ^^^^  ^^^^^^  ^j  burgesses  of 

wh  eh  I  would  hold  up  this  day  to  the  ^"^^    tor  tie  ^f  ^^^^^^  .vas  presented 

as  worihv  of  endless  and  universal  commem-    ^ '[^  "'?   "^j,  ^jiitary  services  to  the  colony, 
Tratil  ^Thehighestofficialdistinctionsniay     olinnjo^^^^^^^  embarrassment  were   re- 

be  5  y«J'  ""^  '>'<=  '"'"'  "T'T  ''^v  11   1  eved  by  the  speaker,  who  said,  "  S.t  down, 

services^endered.  by  •»«"  -^^"^,^^Xrv  <^f    Mr  ™^^^  y"'^'  "^''^^  ''^"'^%Cv' 

not  eiulure  examination.    It  is  the  glory  «'    ^^  ,  i^,„,  „;'„„„,^p,  the  nower  of  any 


not  eiulure  cxammti""".     -~  -  -—  °     ■-     , 
Washington,  that  the  virtues  of  the  man  out 
shinic  even  the  brilliancy  of  his  ac  s.  and  that 
eresuls  which  he  accomplished  were  only 
lie  egitimate  exemplifications  of  the  pnnci- 
„les  w^hich  he  professed  and  cherished. 
^   In  te  whole  history  of  the  world  it  may 
be  doubted  whether  any  man  can  be  found, 
who  has  exerted  a  more  controlling  innuence 
Tver  men  and  over  events  than  George  Wash- 
inoton.     To  what  did  he  owe  that  \nHuence 
How  did  he  win,   how  did  he  wield,   that 
Sa^c  power,  that  majestic  authority,  over 
Enin'ds  and  hearts  ot  his  countrymen  and 
of  mankind]     In  what  did  the  power  of 
Washington  consist  1 


'■|i*liin"ton  consist,  i  ,        •       „. 

It  was  not  the  power  of  vast  learnmg  or 

for  extensive  reading.  „„„,.,.i:_„  „,;t  or 

It  was  not  the  power  of  sparkling  wit  or 
".         ,    .     •-    'rru.,,,^!   Inn?  associated 


Mr.  Wasmngton,  yu"'  ...^...--v   -i-      ,.•'„„., 
valor;  and  tliat  surpasses  the  power  of  any 

language  that  I  possess."  . 

,       Butltwasnot  solid  information,  or  sound 

.    iudgment,  or  ev.m  that  rare  combination  ot 
t  surging  modesty  and  valor,  great  as  these 

-  quaCes  are,  which  gave  Washington  such 
a  hold  on  the  regard,  respect,  and  confidence 
of  the  American'people.  ,  I  l>'>-^'^'-J""  '""«'" 
saving  that  it  was  the  high  moral  elemenU 
ofTiis  character  which  imparted  to  it  Us  pre- 
ponderating force.  His  incorruptible  honesty, 
Cuncomjromising  truth  his  devout  reliance 
on  God,  the  purity  of  his  fife,  the  scrupulous- 
ness of  his  cons/ience,  the  disinterestedness 
of  his  purposes,  his  humanity,  gcp«7«";y:  ?"^ 
.  __.•  i     .V„»=  «.prA  the  insredients  .which, 


ot  his  purposes,  ms  uu...-...v  -  «-:— -  -',,•. 
justice-these  were  the  ingredients  .which, 
blending  harmoniously  with  solid  mforma  ion 
and  sound  iudgment  and  a  valor  only  equalled- 
by  Wsliest'y,  made  up  a  character  to  wh^^^^^ 
t^e  world  may  be  fearlessly  challenged  for  a 


gJii^rhllS  TS/C'a^ciated   para^^^^^^^^^  ,„  ^_  ,., 

g'»^^  A..       ..  ,_  ,,,..,;„=  i,„  n.ver  made  a  set     ^^^^^^^  ,,festial  fire,  conscience,'  was 

o"e  of  rseries  of  maxims  which  Washington 
framed  or  copied  for  his  own  use  when  a  boy. 
HTrigid  adherence  to  principle,  his  stem  fas 
discharge  of  duty,  his  utter  abandonment  of 
self,  his  unreserved  devotion  to  whateve     n- 


elowng  rhetoric,  auuus.^  —e  — ,  „  „„f 
w  th  deliberative  bodies,  he  never  made  a  set 
Ipeecht  his  Ufe,  nor  ever  mingled  m  a  stormy 

■^'iTwis  not  the  powcrof  personal  fascination. 
Therrwas  little  about  him  of  that  gracious 
alfaWlitv  which  sometimes  lends  such  resist- 
SalSctUintomenofci^m..^ 


Saracrir;:,  men  of  commanding  posing 

His  auoust  presence  inspired   more  ot   awe   ler  yigiknce  with  which  I'e  ob- 

S   1  of%fl-ection,  and  his  friends,  "^'"'^V;^^   ^/^.i^that  maxim^.      He  kept   alive  r b  t 
a^d  devoted  as  they  were,  were  bound  to  him   -^  •  vea  tn  .^  ^^^.^^  ,,^^.^^      ^ 

bv  ties  rather  of  respect  than  of  love.  '  ;!''«.     r  ^^^.^j^  -aiuramea  his 

^^It  v^as  not  the  power  of  a  daring  and  des-   ^^l,  J  fj.^J/"^,.  .....asion  was  so  momentous. 

perate  spirit  of  heroic  adventure.     ''I*  I«^^^  ;'^^°Jf,cu,,,.tances  were  so  minute,  us  to  ab- 
-  By  Edward  Everett.  ' 


m 


i^rwi^  !i±  ,«iM<ni.  c-Tir^  " 


<(f1l 


438 


WASHINGTON  NATIONAL  MONUMENT. 


solvi'  liiin  frotnfollowingits  guiding  ray-  The 
inar^;iiial  uxplanation  in  his  account-ufxik,  in 
rt'garti  to  the  expenses  of  his  wife's  annual 
visit  to  the  camp  during  the  revohuionary  war, 
with  his  passing  allusion  to  the  "  self-denial" 
which  the  exigencies  of  his  country  had  cost 
hiirj,  furnishes  a  charming  illustration  of  hi  i 
holiituiil  exactness.  The  fact  that  every  tKrnel 
of  ;i>ur  which  bore  the  brand  of  "G'Virt;e 
Waiiiington,  Mount  Vernon,"  was  cxenjrued 
from  the  customary  inspection  in  the  West 
India  j)orts — that  name  being  ?  :,aarded  w^  rn 
ample  guarantee  of  the  quality  and  quantity 
of  ony  article  to  which  it  was  afTixed — sUj 
plies  a  ijot  less  strikinp  proof  that  his  exact- 
ness was  cverywherf  iin  i-rstood. 

Everyb'.iiy  saw  tii^a  Washington  sought 
nothing  ior  himself.  Everybody  knew  thot  he 
sacrificed  nothing  to  pers(ii'alor  ,'.  party  vuls. 
Hence,  the  ii'-ghty  influi'nci?,  t'le  mi.';chle.js 
awoy,  which  he  exercised  over  al?  aro.iiKl  him. 
"  He  was  the  only  man  in  the  TJuite  i  States 
who  possessed  the  conhdence  of  aii,"  said 
Thomas  JefToison,  "there  was  no  othiu- one 
who  wa-i  considered  as  anything  more  than  a 
party  leader." 

Who  ever  thinks  of  Washington  as  a  mere 
politician  ?  Who  ever  associates  l.i.a  with 
the  petty  arts  and  pitiful  intrigues  of  p-irtisan 
ollriceseekers  or  partisan  officeholders  ?  Who 
ever  pitfures  him  canvassing  for  votrs,  deal- 
ing out  proscription,  or  doling  out  patn.r-.age? 

"  No  part  of  my  duty,"  wrote  Washiiii^ton 
to  Governor  Bowdoin,  in  a  letter,  the  still  un- 
published original  of  which  is  a  precious  in- 
heritance of  my  own :  "  No  part  of  my  duty 
will  be  more  delicate,  and  in  many  instances 
more  unpleasant,  than  that  of  nommating  and 
ajipointing  persons  to  office.  It  will  undoubt- 
edly happen  that  there  will  be  several  can- 
didates for  the  same  office,  whose  pretensions, 
abilities,  and  integrity,  may  be  nearly  equal, 
ond  who  will  come  forward  so  equally  sup- 
ported in  every  respect  as  almost  to  require 
the  aid  of  supernatural  intuition  to  fix  upon 
the  right.  I  shall,  however,  in  all  events, 
have  the  satisfaction  to  reflect  that  I  entered 
upon  my  administration  unconfined  by  u  single 
engagement,  uninfluenced  by  any  ties  of  blood 
or  friendship,  and  with  the  best  intention  and 
fullest  determination  to  nominate  to  office 
those  persons  only  who,  upon  every  consid- 
eration, were  the  most  deserving,  and  who 
would  probably  execute  their  several  functions 
to  the  interest  and  credit  of  the  American 
Union ;  if  such  characters  could  be  found  by 
my  exploring  every  av.  nue  of  information 
respecting  their  merits  and  pretensioi'Si  rliat 
it  was  in  my  power  to  obtain." 

And  there  was  as  little  of  the  vuL  i.oio 
about  him,  as  there  was  of  the  mere  pi.  dcian. 
At  the  liead  of  a  victorious  ariii/,   •  wui-jh  he 


was  the  idol — an  nrmy  too  often  jjrovoksil  to 
the  very  vcrgeof  mutniy  by  the  neglect  of  an 
inefficient  government — we  find  him  the  con- 
stant counsellor  of  subordination  and  submis- 
sion to  the  civil  authority.  With  the  sword 
of  tt  c-ou(jUPror  at  his  side,  wo  find  him  the  un- 
cuasirig  ft  !i  ocatc  of  pepce.  Repeatedly  in- 
V  :»ted  wi.h  iiiorv  Ihan  a  power  of  a  Komun 
■lietutor,  r,o  see  litii  receiving  that  power 
"'ith  reluctance,  .^u  ,).'iying  it  with  the  utmost 
mix'erntio.n,  nnd  !  s;;  -riy  embracing  the  eariiest 
pj'^ortunivy  lo  rr^ :,!, n  it.  The  ofl'er of  a  crown 
could  not,  did  net,  tt  mpt  him  for  an  instant 
from  his  allegiance  to  liberty.*  lie  rejected 
it  with  indignation  and  abhorrence,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  devote  all  his  energies  nnd  all  his 
influence,  all  his  popularity  and  all  his  ability, 
to  the  estrii.il)Nhineiit  of  that  republican  sys- 
tem, of  whinls  he  was  from  first  to  Inst  the 
uncompiomit.in'^  advocate,  and  with  the  ulti- 
iniue  M.ccessof  which  he  believed  the  best 
jnteresis  of  America  and  of  the  world  were 
.  !>fparably  connected. 

it  is  thus  that,  in  contemplating  the  charac- 
ter of  Washington,  the  offices  which  he  held, 
the  acts  which  ho  performeil,  his  successes  as 
a  statesman,  ii.s  i.iumphs  as  a  soldier,  almost 
fade  from  our  sight.  It  is  not  the  Washing- 
ton of  the  Delaware,  or  the  Brandywine,  of 
Germantown,  or  of  IMonmouth ;  it  is  not 
Washington,  the  president  of  the  convention, 
or  the  president  of  the  republic,  which  we 
admire.  We  cast  our  eyes  over  his  life,  not 
to  be  dazzled  by  the  meteoric  lustre  of  partic- 
ular passages,  but  to  behold  its  whole  i)uth- 
way  radiant,  radiant  everywhere,  with  the 
true  glory  of  a  just,  conscientious,  consummate 
man !  Of  him  we  feel  it  to  be  no  exaggeration 
to  say  that 

"  All  tlie  ends  he  aimed  at 
Were  his  Coantrj''s,  bis  God's,  aiul  Trnth's." 

Of  him  we  feci  it  to  be  no  exaggeration  to  say, 
that  he  stands  upon  the  page  of  hi>itory  the 
great  modern  illustration  and  example  of  that 
exi|uisite  and  Divine  precept,  which  fell  from 
the  lips  of  the  dying  monarch  of  Israel — 

"  He  that  rulelh  over  men  must  be  just, 
ruling  in  the  fear  of  God  ;" 

"And  he  shall  be  as  the  light  of  the  morn- 
ing when  the  sun  riseth,  even  a  morning  with- 
out clouds!" 

And  now,  fellow-citizens,  it  is  this  incom- 
parable and  transcendent  character,  which 
America,  on  this  occasion,  holds  up  afresh  to 
the  admiration  of  mankind.  Believing  it  to 
be  the  only  character  which  could  have  car- 
ried us  safely  through  our  own  revolutirnary 
struggles,  we  present  it,  especially,  this  day, 
to  the  wistful  gaze  of  convulsed  and  distract- 
ed Europe.  May  we  not  hope  that  there 
may  be  kindnd  spirits  over  the  sea,  upon 
*  Sparks'  Lite  of  Washington,  pp.  354-'5. 


ftcn  provoked  to 
tlio  lu'^^lcct  of  nn 
In'l  him  tlio  con- 
tiriii  mid  suliwis- 
Witli  the  sword 
I  find  him  the  un- 
Rcjicutpdly  in- 
ver  of  u  lioiniin 
irig  that  power 
with  the  utmost 
acing  the  earliest 
3  olT'erof  a  crown 
m  for  an  instant 
.*  lie  rejected 
rrence,  and  pro- 
rgies  and  all  his 
lid  all  his  ability, 
republican  sys- 
first  to  last  the 
111  with  the  ulti- 
?licved  the  best 
the  world  were 

iting  the  cbnrac- 
i  which  he  held, 
his  successes  as 
a  soldier,  almost 
>t  the  Washing- 
Brandywine,  of 
luth ;  jl  is  not 
the  convention, 
iblic,  which  we 
iver  his  life,  not 
lustre  of  partic- 
ils  whole  ])alh- 
•hcre,  with  the 
lus,  consummate 
no  exaggeration 

ed  at 

I,  011(1  Truth's.' 

^gerationtosay, 
3  of  hi>itory  the 
example  of  that 

which  fell  from 

of  Israel — 
1  must  be  just, 

[ht  of  the  mom- 
a  morning  with- 

t  is  this  incom- 
laracter,  which 
lids  up  afresh  to 
Believing  it  to 
could  have  car- 
'ti  revolutirnary 
cinlly,  this  day, 
ed  and  distract- 
lope  that  there 
r  the  sea,  upon 

1,  pp.  354-'5l 


ORATION  BY  HON.  R.  C.  WINTHUOP. 


439 


whom  the  example  may  \m\ncs9.  itself,  till  they 
sliiiU  be  iiillnmed  with  a  noble  rage  to  follow 
it '  Sliidl  w(>  not  cnll  upon  them  to  turn  tioni 
a  vain  rrliuum  upon  their  own  idols,  and  to 
behold  bnv.  ill  th(!  mingled  moderation  and 
,.,.ur:i"e,  in  ilie  .•oiiibiued  piety  and  patnotisin, 
ill  ilie^bieiideil  virtue,  iiriiiciples,  wisdom,  val- 
or, self-d.  uiul,  and  self-devotion  ot  our  Wash- 
inston,  the  express  image  of  the  man,  the  only 
man,  for  their  occasion  ? 

"Daplini,  <l'"'l  nntiiiuos  lipiorum  snspiois  ortus, 

Keee  Diiiiuin  piocessit  Ca'Siins  aatrum  ! 
Let  us  rejoice  that  our  call  is  auticipateA 
WashiMufoii  is  no  new  name  to  Europe,     liis 
star  bus' been  seen  in  every  *ky.  fiid  wise  men 
everywiieie  liav.'  done  it  homage.     To  what 
other  meielv  human  being,  indeed,  has  such 
homage  ('vrr  lieforc  or  since  been  rendered  ? 
"  Thave  a  large  uopiaintance  among  the 
most  valimble  and  exalted  classes  of_  men," 
wrote  Erskiue  to  Washington  himself,  "but 
you  are  the  only  being  for  whom  I  ever  felt 
an  awful  M.'vcrence."  . 

>•  Illustrious  man  !"  said  Fox  of  him,  m  the 
Brit:.-.h  house  of  eominoiis  in  1704,  "deriving 
honor  less  from  the  splendor  of  his  situation 
Ihun  from  the  diunily  "»'  1"''  'n'"'l  i.  '^''"."■^ 
whom  all  borrowed  greatness  sinks  into  in- 
sigtiiticance,  and  all  the  potentates  of  Europe* 
become  little  and  contemptible." 

»'  Washiu-'ton  is  dead  !"  jiroclaimed  Napo- 
leon, on  hearing  of  the  event.  "  This  great 
man  loui;ht.  against  tvranny;  he  cstabhshed 
the  liberty  of  his  couiitrv.  His  memory  will 
be  always  dear  to  the  French  peojile,  as  it 
will  be  to  all  free  men  of  the  two  worlds." 

'•  It,  will  be  t'^e  duty  of  the  historian  and  the 
sage  in  all  ages,"  .-ays  Lord  Brougham,  "to 
let  no  occasion  (.ass  of  commemorating  tins 
illustrious  man;  and.  until  time  shall  be  no 
more,  will  a  test  of  the  progress  which  our 
race  has  made  in  wisdom  and  virtue  be  derived 
from  the  veneration  paid  to  the  immortal  name 
of  Washington." 

"One  thing  is  certain,"  says  Guizot—" one 
thing  is  certain;  that  which  Washington  did 
—the  founding  of  a  free  gov(.'rnment  by  order 
and  peace,  at  the  close  of  the  revolution- 
no  other  policy  than  his  could  have  accom- 
plished." „^      ,         .     . 
And  later,  better  still:  "EfTace  henceforth 
the  name  of  Machiavel,"   said  Lamartine, 
within  it  few  weeks  past,  in  his  reply  to  the 
Italian   association—"  etFace  henceforth  the 
name  of  Machiavel  from  your  titles  of  glory, 
and  substitute  for  it  the  name  of  Washmgton; 
that  is  the  one  which  should  now  be  proclaim- 
ed ;  that  is  the  name  of  modern  liberty.    It  is 
no  longer  the  name  of  a  politician  or  a  con- 
•  It  was  not  thnuirht  necessarj-  to  disfigure  the 
text,  by  iusertins  the  loyal  parenthesis,  "  exceptmg 
the  members  of  our  owu  royal  tamily. 


nucror  that  is  reijuirod  ;  it  is  that  of  a  man, 
the  most  disinterested,  the  most  devoted  to 
the  people.  Tiiis  is  the  man  reipiired  by 
liberty.  The  want  of  the  age  is  a  European 
Washington  !" 

And  who  shall  supyily  that  want  but  he 
who  so  vivi.lly  realizes  it  !  Enthusiastic, 
eloipieut,  admirable  Lamartine !  Though  the 
magic  wires  may  even  now  be  trembling  with 
the^tidings  o-  his  downfall,  we  will  not  yet 
quite  despair  of  hiin.  Oo  on  in  the  high 
career  to  which  you  have  been  calleil !  1<  oil 
in  it,  if  it  must  lie  so;  but  fall  not,  falter  not, 
from  it !  Imitate  the  character  you  have  so 
nobly  appreciated!  Fulfil  the  pledges  you 
have  so  gloriously  given  !  Plead  still  against 
the  banner  of  l)lood  !  Strive  still  against  the 
rei'm  of  terror!     Aim  still 


'  By  winiiiiii.;  words  to  (■(mcpicr  willinp  hearts, 
And  make  persuasion  d(j  the  work  of  lear!" 

May  a  gallant  and  generous  people   second 
you,  and  the  Power  which  jircserved  Wash- 
iiigt(m  sustain  you,  until  you  have  secured 
peace,  order,  freedom  to  your  country ! 
"  Si  qua  fata  aspera  runipas, 
Tu  Maroellus  eris.'"* 
But,  fellow-citizens,  while  we  thus  com- 
mend the  character  and  example  of  Washing- 
ton to  others,  let  us  not  forget  to  imitate  it 
ourselves.     I  have  spoken  of  the  precise  pe- 
riod which  we  have  reached  in  our  own  his- 
tory, as  well  as  in  that  of  the  world  at  large, 
as  giving  something  of  peculiar  interest  to  the 
proceedings  in  which   we   are   engaged.    I 
mav  not,    I  will  not,  disturb  the  hnnnony 
of  the  scene  before  me  by  the  slightest  allu- 
sion of  a  party  character.     The  circumstances 
of  the  occasion  forbid  it;  the  associations  of 
the  day  forbid  it ;  the  character  of  him  in 
whose  lionor  we  are  assembled,  forbids  it;  my 
own  feelings  revolt  from  it.    But  I  may  say 
I  must  say,  and  every  one  within  the  sound 
of  my  voice  will  sustain  me  in  saying,  that 
there  has  been  no  moment  since  Washington 
himself  was  among  us,  when  it  was  more  im- 
portant than  at  this  moment  that  the  two  great 
leading  principles  of  his  policy  should  be  re- 
membered and  cherished. 

Those  principles  were,  first,  the  most  com- 
plete, cordial,  and  indissoluble  union  of  the 
states ;  and,  second,  the  most  entire  separation 
and  disentanglement  of  our  own  country  from 
all  other  countries.  Perfect  union  among  our- 
selves, perfect  neutrality  toward  others,  tiP-i 
peace,  peace,  domestic  peace,  and  foreign 
peace,  as  :he  result;  this  was  the  chosen 
and  consummate  policy  of  the  Father  of  his 

country.  ,,.11... 

But  above  all,  and  before  all,  in  the  heart 

•  These  forebodings  were  but  too  soon  fulfilled. 

The  tidings  of  Lamartine's  downfall  were  received 

a  few  days  after  this  address  was  delivered. 


0 


III 

h 


m 


440 


WASHINOTON  NATIONAL  MONUMENT. 


of  W»!<hinn;ton,  was  the  union  of  tho  stotcs ; 
anil  III)  ()|)|)i)rtunity  was  ever  omittcil  by  him, 
ti)imi)r('siu|)iinhisfcllow-(.'iti7.enstlieprofoiinil 
sensis  which  ho  entertained,  of  its  vital  iin- 
jiDrtamn;  ut  once  to  their  jirosperity  and  their 
iilierty. 

In  that  incomparalde  address  in  which  he 
bade  farewell  to  his  countrymen  at  the  close 
of  his  presidential  service,  ho  touched  upon 
many  other  topics  with  the  earnestness  of  a 
sincere  conviclion.  He  called  upon  them  in 
solemn  terms,  to  "cherish  iiublic  credit;"  to 
"observe  pond  faith  and  justice  toward  all  na- 
tions," avoiding  both  "inveterate  antipatiiies, 
and  passionate  attadiments"  toward  any;  to 
mitigate  and  assuage  the  unquenchable  fire 
of  party  spiiil,  "lest,  instead  of  warming,  it 
should  consume  ;"  to  abstain  from  character- 
izing parties  by  geogiajihical  distinctions ;" 
"to  iiromoto  institutions  for  thegeniTal  ditVu- 
sion  of  knowledge;"  to  respect  and  uphold 
"religion  and  morality;  those  great  jiillars 
of  human  hnpjnness,  those  firmest  jirops  of 
the  duties  of  men  and  of  citizens." 

But  what  can  exceed,  what  can  equal,  the 
accumulated  intensity  of  thought  and  of  ex- 
pression with  which  he  calls  upon  them  to 
cling  to  the  union  of  the  states.  "  It  is  of  in- 
finite moment,"  says  he,  in  language  which 
we  ought  never  to  be  weary  of  hearing  or  of 
repeating,  "that  you  should  properly  estimate 
the  immense  value  of  your  national  union  to 
your  collective  and  individual  happiness;  that 
you  should  cherish  a  cordial,  habitual,  im- 
movable attachment  to  it;  accustoming  your- 
selves to  think  and  speak  of  it  as  of  the  palla- 
dium of  your  political  safety  and  prosperity  ; 
watching  for  its  preservation  with  jealous 
anxiety ;  discountenancing  whatever  may  sug- 
gest even  a  suspicion  that  it  can,  in  any  event, 
be  abandoned ;  and  indignantly  frowning  upon 
the  first  dawning  of  every  attempt  to  alienate 
any  portion  of  our  courtry  from  the  rest,  or 
to  enfeeble  the  sacred  ties  which  now  Irik 
together  the  various  parts." 

The  Union,  the  union  in  any  event,  was 
thus  tho  sentiment  of  Washington.  The 
Union,  the  Union  in  any  event,  let  it  be  our 
sentiment  this  day  ! 

Yes,  to-day,  fellow-citizens,  at  the  very 
moment  wheii  the  extension  of  our  boundaries 
and  the  multiplication  of  our  territories  are 
producing,  directly,  and  indirectly,  among  the 
dilTerent  members  of  our  political  system,  so 
many  marked  and  mourned  centrifugal  ten- 
dencies, let  U9  seize  this  occasion  to  renew  to 
each  other  our  vows  of  allegiance  and  devo- 
tion to  the  American  union,  and  let  us  recog- 
nise in  our  common  title  to  the  name  and  the 
fame  of  Washington,  and  in  our  common 
veneration  for  his  example  and  his  advice,  the 
all -sufficient  centripetal  power,  which  shall 


hold  the  thick  clusterins  stars  of  onr  confi-d- 
eracy  in  one  glorious  rmisti'llatinii  for  ever! 
Let  "the  coluiiin  which  wi'  are  about  to  con- 
struct, bo  at  once  a  pledge  and  an  ciiibh  m  of 
perpetual  union!  Let  the  fniinilu'ioiis  be 
laid,  let  the  superstructure  be  built  u|i  and 
cemented,  let  each  stone  be  rni--(il  and  rivi'ti'd, 
in  a  spirit  of  national  brotherliood  !  And  may 
the  earliest  ray  of  the  rising  sun — till  that 
sun  shall  set  to  rise  no  more — draw  forth  from 
it  daily,  as  from  the  fabled  statue  of  antiipiify, 
a  strain  of  national  harmony,  which  shall 
strike  a  responsive  chord  in  every  heart 
throughout  the  republic ! 

Proceed,    then,    fellow-citizens,   with   the 
work  for  which  you  have  assembled  !     Lay 
the  corner-stone  of  a  monument  which  shall 
ailei|uately  bespeak  the  gratitude  of  the  whole 
American  ])eople  to  the  illustrious  Father  of 
his  country  !     Build  it  to  the  skies;  you  can 
not  outreach  the  loftiness  of  his  principles ! 
Found  it  upon  the  massive  and  eternal  rock; 
you  can  not  make  it  more  enduring  than  his 
fame!     Construct  it  of  the  peerless  Parian 
marble;  you  can  not  make  it  purer  than  his 
life !     Exhaust  U|)on  it  the  rules  and  principles 
of  ancient  and  of  modern  art ;  you  can  not 
make  it  more  proportionate  than  his  character! 
But  let  not  your  homage  to  his  memory  end 
here.     Think  not  to  transfer  to  a  tablet  or  a 
column,  the  tribute  which  is  due  from  your- 
selves.    Just  honor  to  Washington  can  only 
be  rendered   by  observing  his  precepts  and 
imitating  his  example.     Siinilitudine  decore- 
mus.     He  has  built  his  own  monument.    We, 
and  those  who  come  after  us  in  successive 
generations,  are  its  appointed,  its  privileged 
guardians.     Tl'S  wide-spread  republic  is  the 
true  monument  to  Washington.     Maintain  its 
independence.    Upl'.old  its  constitution.    Pre- 
serve its  union.     IDefcnd  its  liberty.     Let  it 
stand   before   tho   worid   in    all   its   original 
strength  and  beauty,  securing  peace,  order, 
etjuality,  ami  freedom  to  all  within  its  bound- 
aries, and  shedding  light,  and  hope,  and  joy, 
upon  the  pathway  of  human  liberty  through- 
out the  world ;  and  Washington  needs  no  oth- 
er monument.   Other  structures  may  fitly  tes- 
tify our  veneration  for  him;  this,  this  alone,  can 
adequately  illustrate  his  services  to  mankind. 
Nor  does  he  need  even  this.     Tho  republic 
may  perish ;    the  wide  arch  of  our  ranged 
union  may  fall ;  star  by  star  its  glories  may 
expire ;  stone  after  stone  its  columns  and  its 
capitol  may  moulder  and  crumble ;  all  other 
names  which  adorn  its  annals  may  be  forgot- 
ten ;  but  as  long  as  human  hearts  shall  any- 
where pant,  or  human  tongues  shall  anywhere 
plead,  for  a  true,  rational,  constitutional  lib- 
erty, those  hearts  shall  enshrine  the  memory, 
and  those  tongues  shall  prolong  the  fame,  of 
George  Washington! 


<  (if  otir  roiiffd- 
atiim  (or  ever! 
c  (ilioiit  t')  ron- 
1  nil  I'liiUli  m  (if 
fiiundii'ioiH  lif 
IP  tiuilt  11)1  nml 
isfd  luiil  r'lM'tcil, 
1111(1!  Amlmny 
J  sun — till  ihiit 
(Irnw  forili  fmin 
fue  i)f  nnfi'piity, 
y,  which  shnll 
in    every   heart 

izens,   with  the 
spiijlilcd !     fiiiy 
lent  wiiich  shnll 
ud(M)f  tho  whnlfi 
rioiis  FnthiT  of 
skins ;  you  cnii 
his  ]irincip!es  ! 
lid  ntcrnnl  rock; 
idiirins;  tlinn  his 
peerless  Parinn 
It  purer  than  his 
les  and  |)rinci|)l(>s 
rt ;  you  can  not 
anhischarnctcr! 
)  his  memory  end 
r  to  a  tablet  or  a 
due  from  y(5ur- 
lington  can  only 
lis  precepts  and 
il'dudine  decore- 
nonument.    We, 
us  in  successive 
■d,  its  privileged 
id  repul)lic  is  the 
)n.     Maintain  its 
institution.    Pre- 
liberty.     Let  it 
all  its   original 
nj;  peace,  order, 
within  its  bound- 
d  hope,  and  joy, 
I  liberty  through- 
;ton  needs  no  oth- 
ires  may  fitly  tes- 
lis,  this  alone,  can 
vices  to  mankind. 
3.    The  republic 
;h  of  our  ranged 
r  its  glories  may 
I  columns  and  its 
•umble ;  all  other 
lis  may  be  forgot- 
hearts  shall  any- 
68  shall  anywhere 
:onstitutional  lib- 
rine  the  memory, 
ilong  the  fame,  of 


VISITATIONS  OF  PESTILENCE. 


VISITATIONS  OF  PESTILENCE. 

S.NCK  the  Christian  era  there  have  be(-u 
record.  <1  t-.veutv  extensive  European  pestilen- 
ce.   beMd.s  ofh.-rs   wh,.se   devastation  was 


Tt  wii-*  cal- 
parl  of  the 


Europe  fornearlythrecvenrs.  1 
culated  to  have  destroyed  a  third 
whole  iiopulution.  .         ,       ,  „  (•,„ 

In  thoi-  Keucral  devastation-,  T-ond-m    r  - 
ipiently  sutlered.      Hut   tho  ijlague  oi   \UU., 


II 

1^ 


^.  ■     ::id;:s  ofiiers   whose   d-astation  w^  ^^^-^^l^depe^t  impression  .m  th.^  na- 

n.„r..lo.Ml.    I»tlu-yoar2fi;5,apest.e.uxtu^^^^  I  ,j,,^,,^^^,,                    ,,,,„„„ 

„„  ,1...  Rniimn  empir.-,  then  '='''"1'     '«  ;';"J  ,ho  lirnits  of  the  capita    (then,   p-r- 

the  civili/.ed  world.  .    t  '^''"7;;',^;;    ' "^'^i'^v.  S  „(,t  a  third  of  its  present  si/e).  its  mor- 

years.  and  "raged  without  "'I'"''    ' '"  '"  ^^  fXv  was  vast  and  almost  exteriniiiat.i.g.     A 

f.rv  province,  in  every  city,  an,l  aim.  st  •■^' ^^  "^ '  ^  7„j  „f  the  population  had  lied  into  the 

f,  m  ly  of  .1.0  empir<-.     During  ^.me  time  hve  l"-^"  '»y';''     J^  '„,,  ,„„-„,„i„g  of  .lunc  to 

thousand  p,rso„s  dunl  dai  y  m  «!'">«•'       ,,^5^  ^^^.'^^  J^y,;,  year,  the  deaths  exclus,  vely  by 

^"^■J         ,'  1 »„  .»,n  ,.tJ,<.r  nrovinces,  we        A   uirf 


:s:nir::;:i;;^>  the  ..ther  province^  we 

n^    a  suspect  tiiat  war,  pestilence,  and  fatn- 
r,"::  had  cl.Msu.ned  in  afew  years,  the  moiety 
of  the  human  species." 
^I„  the  middle  of  the_8ixth  cen  "ry,  Co^^ 


A  hi  ge  portion  of  this  mortality   might 
pnMly  have  been  prevented  by  due  pre.:HU- 
on  anil   the  early ^■.nploymentome.l.ca 
science.     The  closeness  ot   the    streets    tb. 
01  me  nu.M,u.  .,,.^.;-...        .                        p.         crowding  of  the  people,  and  the  habit ua  <ii^ 
I„  the  middle  of  f^°.»'f^f/'"'"'y,:,    "."     re"ard  of  ventilation,  must  have  fostered  this 
9tan,i,i..ple,then  the  -^^'V"  lltrtom   Sm  disease.     Bt^  they  can  "ot  nee.,,.nt 
startled  by  tho  approach  of  the  plague,    r  rom                                       ilirection.  or  for  its  v  iru- 
iTe  frroi'of  tho'time,  it  is  dith..«  It  o  di^cov^      or  1     oru^n,^^  ^^^^^  i„,,ependent  ot  man 
it,  oi-i-in  :  but  it  was  supposed  .t'>  '"»^'°  "  ?f        It  has  been  remarked  as  extraordinary,  that 
from  1-  iypt.     Its  mortality  was  ""  ^"''f ';•    ..J  M^'aickw,  which  contains  so  many  reg- 
"Duri,,,  three  months,  live,  and  at  1^^-^^,^^"  Pj  2„"^";;„  \,„   preventi.m  and  treatment  of 
thousand  p..rsons  died  each  ^^y'"  J^'fj^^ft   ^S  "should  have  made  no  pr(,visHm  agim^^^ 
tiiionl''-     'Many  cities  ol  '  ''',.'^'*!\'''%'''t;!^^"    A'  nia„ue.    And  the  twofold  reason  has  been 
vac  Mt;  nud  in  the  several  ^''^^Ff^^^J'^y   J  ^5^671  that  the  ravages  of  the  disease  were 
the  harv,-t  and  the  vintage  perished  on  the    assi.ne  1  ,      _„  „„  „scless: 

^''';"Th'e  .r.^oase  pursued  a  double  path;  it 
spread  to  the  east,\.ver  Syria,  Persia,  and  the 
i  dies-  and  penetrated  to  the  east,  along  the 
clnlst  oV  Africa,  and  over  the  7tme"t  of  Eu- 
rone  "  This  pestilence  was  of  such  peculiar 
na  i'^nity  that  it  was  not  abated  bv  the  change 

of  he  season.  In  time  ■'t.va";"^^-^^^  th" 
vived  •  and  "  it  was  not  till  the  end  ot  the 
^Imlt.!  period  of  fifty-two  years  U, at  man 
kind  recovered  their  health,  or  the  air  rccov 

"^:*^;t;:;So^S^war,pestih-rice,and 
famine,  afflicted  the  subjects. of  Justinian; 
an"  hi^'  rei,gn  is  disgraced  by  a  v-blc  f>cre-^ 
of  the  human  species,  which  has  neve'^^^" 
repaired  in  some  of  the  fairest  countries  of  the 

^'tn'aher  most  "-°'«^^^ C''S'anr to 
brought  bv  the  commerce  of  the  Levant  to 
Euri,  Tn^he  middle  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 


It*' 


so  Vapkl  as  to  make  all  precaution  useless 
and  that  human  sagacity  must  be  the  bcs 
gdde  in  a  disease,  whose  c:oming  depended 
on  such  a  variety  of  circumstances. 

The  more  probable  reason  appears  to  me. 
itsbein.^  regarded  as  a  direct  weap<«iof  d.vnie 
ud-ment;  against  whose  power  the  law  of 
K  wouhf  oiler  no  -cans  of  contending 
We  observe  that  Moses  spoke  ot  it  as  t  e 
direct  equivalent  to   slaughter:    "  l-,f  *      « 
smite  us  with  pestilence  and  the  sword.      The 
rvine  dl  leasure,on  the  numbering  of  the 
neonle  by  David,  was  expressed  by  giving  him 
is  c  S  of  thr^e  punishments-seven  years' 
fam'ne  three  months'  Ilight  before  an  invader, 
orTree  daysof  pestilence.    It  conveys  an  in- 
?eni,  conception  of  the  horrors  of  pestnerice. 
that  even  the  word  of  inspiration  should  re- 
grd  Us  three  days  to  be  e,,ual  to  tuee  months 
of  slaughter  by  the  rage  ot  man,  or  e%eri  hcvcn 
yearsc^-  famine,  both  the  > -I'-.l^^^l^^f, 
mere  national  endurance.     Ihe  king  chose 
^l^stilence,  as  being  the  most  rapid  and  ex- 
elusive  action  of  the  divme  wrath. 

he  moniiii!;  even 


:ar  remain  unknow-n      »"' ''^jXnkr     f    h^nd  of  the  Lord  :"-;  ^o  th 

itv  in  Europe  was  felt  olong  the  ^XV"    ,,„tilence  upon  Israel,  from  tlu .-    -,  ,, 

*;,:s;sk".r  »j^=£f  "fe-™  hfi'i^^nt  £:ii".?^ 


m 


t#t 


Hi' 


«**•«*' 
!«i»«»' 


w- 


'^J, 


*; 


442 


THE  SMITHSONIAN  INSTITUTE—EARLY  PLEASURES. 


morul  rcfiinn.  Instead  of  the  nnturol  nwe  of 
Ilfttvcn,  it  »cenM  to  hnvo  been  signnlized  by 
llic  wildest  I'xcosH — hy  'in  fiercer  crimes  and 
imire  reckless  carousals  of  despair.  Ilebcl- 
iioii,  murder,  and  the  frantic  indulgence  of 
every  passion  and  appetite,  liu  •)  in  general 
rliaracteri/.ed  the  progress  of  the  mortality. 
i!iu.  y  I  dcs  (lutes  the  especial  pi,  Sligai ;  i,f 
Allien^  fr.iin  tho  era  of  lUi;  jilague.  "Let 
!:s  i!  !iil  drink,  for  to-niorrow  we  die" — is 
tlm  stionn  expression  used  by  Isaiah  to  re|)re- 
sent  the  last  mad  festivity  of  a  city  about  to 
bu  stormed,  and  dcspuiring  of  resistance  ;  the 
words  used  by  St.  Paul,  to  express  iho  cnn- 
dili'in  of  man  hopeless  of  immortality,  were 
evi<iently  tho  popular  impulse  to  the  iimjority 
of  instances;  p^vl-T  r  '•  ill.  The  plogue 
was  simply  ■  ..vnn.,  pui.isui.iont,  tho  scourge, 
and  not  the  teacher. 


THE  SMITHSONIAN  INSTITUTE. 

Thk  engraving  of  this  new  edifice  will  con- 
vey a  belter  idea  of  its  architecture  than  any 
de>jcription  we  can  give.  It  is  built  in 
the  style  that  jirevailed  in  southern  Europe 
during  the  twelfth  century — tho  Norman  or 
Lombard  style,  which  was  succeeded  by  th(! 
Gothic.  VV'heii  I'ompleted,  it  will  consist  of 
a  centre  which  .v  ill  be  fifty  by  two  hundred 
feet  insiiii ,  with  two  connecting  ranges  sixty 
fset  in  length  in  the  clear,  and  averagin 
forty-seven  feet  in  Itreadth.  An  east  win^ 
forty-five  by  seventy-hve  feet  in  the  clear, 
with  a  vestibule  '  porch  attached,  an^  a 
West  wing  thirty-:  .r  by  sixty-Hve  feet  in  the 
clear,  exclusive  of  the  spires  or  semi-circular 
projections. 

There  will  be  two  central  frou,  wers  on 
the  north,  >  ne  central  rear  tower  on  the  south, 
besides  a  bell  tower,  a  laige  (x:tagonal  and 
two  smaller  tow  j  at  the  ditferent  angles  of 
the  '.  uilding,  w  i  porches,  "estibules,  stair 
hal    ,  &c.  '       ' 

wing,  or  < 

b(dl-tower,  and  the  west  wing  a  campanile 
tower  and  apsis  connected  with  it.  The  cen- 
tral building  will  I'ontain  in  the  i'st  story  the 
library,  ninety  by  iifty  feet,  and  the  principal 
lecture-room,  to  hold  friai  eight  hundred  to 
one  thousand  persor  ^,  The  second  story  will 
contain  the  mus'-iun,  tv.-'  huii'lred  by  fifty 
feet.  Th  vest  wii;  will  contain  the  gallery 
ofart,8ixi  ve  f  !ong;  the  east wi-, the 
chymical  j  irt  a, forty-five  by  8e\ynty- 
fivc  feet,  I        la  >ry. 

The  exirtinc  lengi.'s  of  the  building  w  1  be 
about  four  hundred  and  fifty  feet,  wi  a 
breadth  in  the  centre  of  over  one  hundred  fed. 


The  centre  builillng  ri-m  sixty  feet,  and  with 
its  principal  tower  one  hundred  ami  llfly  feet; 
the  wings  from  thirty  to  forty  feet  hi,!;h,  and 
their  towers  of  various  heights,  from  eighty  to 
one  hundred  ft^et. 

Connected  with  the  gallery  of  art,  there 
will  be  studios,  in  wlm  Ii  young  artists  may 
cojjy  without  interruptioi  Tho  library  will 
contain,  at  least,  one  hundred  thousand  vol- 
umes, and  will  ernbrore  many  valuable  works, 
not  to  be  found  elsewhere  in  the  United  States. 
The  eostern  wing  U  first  be  finishei!  ind  put 
in  order  for  tho  oe.  upation  of  the  secii  'ary, 
and  for  thi'  immediate  ])urpo8e  of  the  board. 
Till'  institution  will  pri'imbly  be  able  to  com- 
mence operntions  some  time  next  winter,  when 
courses  of  lei'tures  will  be  delivered  by  some 
of  the  most  able  lecturers  in  the  conntry. 

The  committee  of  the  "^inithsi  nian  Insti- 
tute have  in  course  of  pri  paratiin,  as  their 
first  elaborate  production,  a  treatise  entitled, 
"Hints  on  Public  Architecture,"  to  contain 
views  of  the  jjrincipal  public  buildings  in  the 
country,  together  with  a  large  amount  of 
practical  information.  A  \iiluable  work  on 
the  "Indian  Mounds"  of  this  countrs  has  also 
been  adopted  by  tho  institute,  and  will  soon 
be  brought  out. 


att:    at ;d  to  the  ci  itre.     The  east 
vmical  lecture-room,  will  have  a 


EARLY  PIEASURES. 

"  But  why  tho  mominj;  ol  (Ins  bnny  scene. 
More  sweet  than  uU  suo<\!('liiiB  lilo  Ims  been  ' 
Fi'um  the  i:uU!  hiRueuce  ul  \\»  real  cv< 
No  fnncii"'  'iHss  its  brief  oxiKionco  dm 
Those  I  so  fertile,  wear  no  trace  u.      i  • : 

Tho  proson,  ,iloaso(l,  Iho  inom'>i    too,  wn.i  tiiir; 
dome  serret  uir  vement  clieerel        troiiblcii  lioor. 
And  lo  olier  fluiishine  loUowi.  'v  shower." 

^  VRLY  pleasures!    WI'     ^ he  very  '       Bg- 
siou  is  beautiful,    most   beautiful;  % 

with  thoughts  and  recollections  whu  , 
animated  and  delightful,  and  awakening  sptni- 
taneousl  v  a  train  of  association"",  the  most  vivid 
in  their  dmracter,  and  the  n  A.  inspirin  r  in 
the  effect  )duced.  In  uch  a  world  as  ours, 
where,  as  .  e  advance  in  life,  we  realize  so 
many  anxieties,  have  to  pass  through  somany 
changes,  and  to  encounter  so  many  storms, 
where  i  the  individual  possessed  of  any  sen- 
sibility, herishing  any  appropriate  thought 
ond  emo'  m,  who  does  "ot  recur,  with  ])ow- 
erful  ai.a  enkindling  f  'ing,  to  early  pleas- 
res?  to  it  sunny  ami  delightsome  period 
when  the  tind  was  vivacity  itself;  when  the 
spirits  wrr^  nothing  but  buoyancy ;  v  len  the 
whole  I  1 '  e  was  not  only  prepared  for  enjoy- 
ment, but  was  full  of  it.  Every  object  was 
novel  in  its  aspect ;  •  very  pf-cne  appeared  to 
be  cloth'-d  i,,  ith  radiance  an  I  beauty.     The 


--^^ 


ry  of  nrt,  thrro 
iiino!  nrlisis  niny 
Till)  lilirury  will 
'd  thotisnntl  viil- 

valuable  workH, 
le  United  .Stiites. 

tiiiished  :iMd  put 
f  the  Mecrrfary, 
)se  of  tli<'  board. 

be  able  to  cotn- 
ext  winter,  when 
livered  by  some 
the  eountry. 
iiithsr  jiian  Insti- 
Qratii  II,  as  their 
treatise  entitled, 
lire,"  to  contain 

buildings  in  the 
irge  amount  of 
duable  work  on 
oounti  y  has  alsto 
e,  and  will  soon 


nsy  scene, 
ig  lil'o  lire*  beoi"  ' 
reiil  (T 
linco  llllr 
10  trace  <. 
Mvv,  too,  was  lairf 
il  '     troubleil  hour, 
'v  gbov  <T,'' 

the  very  '  es- 
lutiful;  '!? 

tion.i  whR.  0 
awakening  spun- 
19,  the  most  vivid 
rrnst  inspiring;  in 

a  world  as  ours, 
■,  we  realize  so 
through  so  many 
!o  many  storms, 
!8sed  of  any  sen- 
ropriate  thought 
ecur,  with  pow- 
;,  to  early  pleas- 
lightsdiiie  period 

itself;  when  the 
'ancy ;  v  en  the 
epared  for  >  njoy- 
Ivery  object  was 
'cne  appeared  to 
k1  beauty.    Tbt 


i 
1 


«! 


4 


,il 


i 


•  ■  -t  a 


444 


KAllLY  rLEA8LIlK8, 


«ky  wliiili  nrchi'il  ovrr  w  was  rmt  only  fuir, 
but  witlioiir  11  (.-IduiI  ;  and  lovi-liii<'«*  <>l'  llie 
pun-t  (■rdn-  wiih  visildi;  in  every  direetiiin. 

H<iw  iiuu  ll  do  wti  Hce   i"  the  kliidiie»t  of 
Oi).l  ill  iittuiiinK  the  mind  '.  -  '  «rly  pleiiHures ; 
in  coiiimuMieuting  a  diH|i<i*iti<>n  to  reccivo  prat- 
itieatioii.  imd  griiliticatimi  nl'tlio  liii[lie.tt  kiml, 
frimi  u  tliimsuiid  sources,  which,  in  »u<    eedinj? 
life,  would,  jierlmiis,  not  nwuken  lli.;  fiiirne 
enjoyment  at  all— at  any  rule,  not  to  the  sum.)  , 
extent.     Thus  it  is  that  we  sec  llie  Koodness  i 
of(nirheavi>nly  Father— the  endearing  kmd- 
ncHS  of  that  Providevce  which  is  ev.T  ready 
to  bless  us,  and  to  render  us  truly  hujipy.  ! 
Thus  it  is  that  the  mjiRodness  of  the  road  in 
early  lif(^  )■■  dinii'iished,  or  slight!'    telt;  ond 
those  elrvotiori'*  which  we  have  li.  ascend  are 
reoched,  not  only  without  ditliculty,  but  with 
craniiona  of  pleiisiirfi. 

If  in  early  life  cveryiliing  wore  an  aspect 
of  j^looin;  if  at  that  interesting  and  imiiortant 
iiuriod  (h  pressing  ami  painful  cnuitions  were 
awakened,  and  there  was  little  or  no  capacity 
for  enjoyment,  how  ditVerenl  wouhl  be  our 
condition  in  the  initiatory  stages  of  existence  ! 
How  dull,  how  sombre,  how  clouded  every- 
thing would  appear!  As  wc  advanced  m 
years,  how  dissimilar  would  be  our  feclmgs, 
and  the  habits  of  our  ttr-.'.n<ls— in.leed,  cur  en- 
tire eharuet'ir— from  those  ser.tiinfr.ts  which 
we  have  beer,  accustomed  to  clu^rish  '  There- 
fore, let  us  expiT  .s  iiN^dy  gratitude  to  a  kind 
and  gracious  (jod,  tliut  h>;  has  rendered  us  | 
peculiarly  su  rrptibleoiearU  jileasures,  which 
arc  pure,  lieuln  tul,  and  most  beneficial,  and 
communicated  to  us  so  many,  during  the  spring 
and  the  m'l. -bloom  of  our  existence. 

Our  early   plen^^ures,  with  those  of  thou- 
sands, have  been  derived  from  rural  scenes; 
from  rural  sights  and  soimds ;  from  familiori' 
with  the  objects  of  creation  ;  from  rambles  — 
fjuiot,  long" and  habitual  rambles— -amid  the 
beauty  and  luxuriance  of  nature.     How  have 
we  traversed  the  line  meadows  of  our  lovely 
country,  cspeciall  v  during  early  spring !    How- 
have  we  admired  their  rich  venlure,  and  trod- 
den, with  cxf|uisite  and  ever-fresh  delight,  on 
their  soft  carpet,  in   "  the  leafy  month   of 
June  !"     How  have  we  plucked  "  the  meek- 
eyed  daisy,"  ond  the  golden  butter-cup,  with 
which   they  have   been  enamelled!      With 
what  eagerness  have  we  gone  out  into  the 
beautiful  lanes  and  dells  in  Ai)ril,  to  gather 
"the  pale  jmmrose,"  and  to  hunt  after  ''•" 
fragrant  violet,  and  to  bring  home,  with  ile- 
light,  a  hand  well  filled  to  adorn  our  mantle- 
piece.    In  early  May,  how  have  wo  repaired  , 
to  the  well-k  nown  place  for  cowslips,  and  what 
a  burst  of  jov  has  been  induced,  when  hundreds 
and  thousands  of  them,  fully  blown,  on  some 
extensive  field,  were  first  descried!     What 
a  treasure  was  the  first  nosegay  of  cowslips  ! 


How  have  wo  plunged  into  the  thiik  ami 
urniMiigeous  wood,  or  the  more  exti-tidrd  tor- 
cut,  fearless  of  danyer,  and  findiriy  something 
UM  we  advanced,  step  by  step,  to  awaken  our 
astmi-hnieiitand  admiration!     How  have,  we 
ranged  -.ome  beaulilully  ornaui'nted  jmik,  and 
deeply  I'elt  the  loveliness  expunding  around  ! 
Ilowhuve  we  delighteil  ourselves  in  our  own 
garden,  or  in  that  of  some  dear  friend,  and  re- 
joiced either  in  the  promise  of  rich  fruit,  or 
in  the  ripe  and   I'vuriant  clusters  whiih  we 
have  seen  on  ev.    ,  side!     How  dillicult  to 
re|)ress  our  woiultr  and  our  joy- 
How  have  we  ascended  the  lofty  hill,  and 
surveyed  the  wide  expanse  of  iiuliire,  stretch- 
ing t4)  an  almost  immeasurable  disiuni-e,  be- 
fore and  behind,  and,  indeed, all  around,  while 
beauty  and  grar.deur,  variety  and  hurmouy, 
I  have  been  delightfully  blended  !     How  have 
I  we  traced  the  meanilering  riv<  r's  course,  or 
I  walked,  half-knee  high,  in  the  shuiK)W stream; 
'  or  hunted  after  the  tiny  fish  which  were  swim- 
i  miiig  so  happily  in  the  little  pidlueid  brook, 
while  the  sunbeams  have  been   playing   eo 
brightly  on  it ! 

How  h.ve  we  gone  down  to  the  seaside, 
and  roni  ,.  d,  for  hours,  on  the  sandy  or  pebbly 
bcfich,  s( '  king  after  shells  and  curious  sea- 
weeds. Bill  wondering  at  the  breaki.'rs,  as 
thev  came  successively  dashing  to  the  shore  ! 
These,  and  a  thousand  circumstances  in  con- 
nexion with  nature,  have  riveted  our  atten- 
tion, iuspired  our  interest,  ond  enchained  our 
min(?si,  in  early  life.  These  have  been,  and 
still  continue  to  be,  some  of  our  purest,  sweet- 
est, ond  most  unsating  ])leasures,  and,  the 
best  of  all  is,  they  ore  jileasures  which  can 
always,  to  a  great  extent,  if  the  mind  bo  in  a 
projier  frame,  be  realized.  How  full  of  clo- 
(luence  ond  beauty  are  the  linos  of  our  favorite 
Beattie : — 


"  How  CRnut  tbnn  renounce  tho  bonndlesi  itore 

Of  clinrras,  wliiili  Nature  to  her  votary  yioldi — 
The  warliUnif  wiH«llnnil,  the  resounding  shore, 

The  pi  imp  (it       hts,  the  Rimiiture  of  fields. 
All  llint  the  frii     I  rny  e(  nionmig  ftildg, 

And  rU  thnt  . .  lioes  tu  the  «onK  ol'even, 
All  tlint  the  mountain's  slii'lteriii)?  Inisom  shicldl. 

And  all  the  dread  mapnificom'o  of  heaven, 
0  how  canut  thou  renounce  mid  hope  tohoforelvent" 

Our  early  pleasures,  with  those  of  multi- 
tules,  have  been  derived  from  reading — 
varied,  approiiriate,  instructive  reading.  And 
wb.at  art  is  more  valuable  to  acquire?  What 
taste  is  more  desirable  to  form  ?  What  habit 
is  more  important  to  cuUi vate  ?  What  treas- 
:  :os  does  the  perusol  of  interesting  ond  sterl- 
ing books,  attentively  and  carefully  gone 
through,  put  into  our  possession  I  What  views 
do  books  open!  What  counsels  do  thev  fur- 
nish !  What  narrations  do  they  detail !  What 
principles  do  they  inculcate  !     What  incen- 


into  tlir  tliiik  «nil 
iiiiiri'  cxlrriiliil  for- 
il  liiiiliiiu  Hdiiiitliiiii; 
Hicji,  111  iiwuki'ii  our 
ion!  How  liiivo  %v(! 
rnmii'iiti'il  piirii,  imd 
I  fX|miiilini;  nroiiml ! 
(Ufst'lvi'sin  our  own 
I  (limr  f'riciiil,  mill  ro- 
mc.  of  rifli  fViiit,  or 
clilftiTs  wliirli  we 
!     How  ililVicult  to 

iiir  joy- 

il  tli<")  lofty  hill,  oml 
seof  nuturc,  Ktrctch- 
uriiblo  ili.^iiiiii'e,  lin- 
ed, all  nrouiul,  while 
riity  mill  liiiriiiony, 


EAWLY  PLEAHI  UEd. 


It.") 


•ndt 


How  liuvu 


nj;  riv(  rN  roiirsc,  or 
nthrsliuilowntri-um; 
sh  which  were  swim- 
little  jiidlucid  lirook, 
vo  been   jilaying  so 

down  to  the  srnsido, 
n  tli'Jsniidy  or  iii-'libly 
l'Uh  and  curious  scii- 
nt  tho  hrcnlti^rs,  qs 
Jnsliiujr  to  tho  shoro  ! 
circumsionccs  in  <;on- 
.'u  rivctfMl  our  atlcn- 
st,  and  cuidminfMl  our 
!'hc80  have  bnen,  and 
!  (if  our  purest,  swcct- 
jilcasurcs,  iind,  the 
pleasures  wliirli  can 
It,  if  the  niiiid  be  in  a 
'i\.  How  full  of  do- 
le lines  of  our  favorite 


the  bonnillcsi  atore 
ro  to  her  viitury  yiolil* — 
tho  rcdomulinij  nhore, 
e  giiniituro  of  liolds, 
nioriiuig  gil'is, 
the  BonR  of  even, 
ii'lterhifT  iHisom  ihields, 
liticeneo  otheavnii, 
0  suil  hope  to  bo  forgivenT" 

,  with  those  of  multi- 
ived  from  readinp; — 
tructive  reading.  And 
iile  to  acquire?  What 
to  form?  What  haljit 
Itivntc  ?  Whot  treos- 
if  interesting  and  sterl- 
r  and  carefidly  gone 
issession !  What  views 
t  counsels  do  thev  fur- 
i  do  they  detail!  What 
ulcate!    What  incen- 


ll 


tivi  <  til  all  lint  is  mibli!  and  virtuous*,  henovo-  1 

but  ttiid  holv,  do  thev  eiiiiiiiiuiiii'iile  !     .Some  1 

,,r  ihe  purcit  and  rie'be'^t  of  our  early  plen-t-  [ 

itri'H.  with  that  i>f  iiiillioii»(anil  tin-  iiiimb.'r  is  | 

iiiereaVmn    iudetiuitelyj,    liave   lueii   gained 

fmrn  reudio'^.     The  mind  han  luiii  riveted, 

and  uU  its  bieultie.H  eiieliained.     llow  often 

ha-*  evening  after  evening  been  drli;j;hllully 

-IMMii  in  perusing  some  spirit-lixiii-;  volume, 

which  has  lueu  mw  to  the  youlhful  mind, 

and,  by  its  d.  liiieations  of  e.haruiter,  ils  nar- 

r:ui.iii  of  ineideut  and  adventur*;,  or  its  iiow- 

erfiil  appeal,    has  ))roduceil  deep  and    loiig- 

rememliered  impressions,     Ni^ver  oaii  wc  lor- 

-il  how  we /(')•««  devoured  "  llo'iiiisoi;  Crusoe," 

and  were  awe-struck  by  its  more  solemn  and 

awakening  scenes,  or  were  chi  ruled  wiih  its 

more  niiiinaled  and  joyous  nairatiims.    What 

a  world  opened  on  us  when  this  book  was 

first,  read  ! 

How  can  wo  foil  to  remember  the  eagerness 
with  which  we  perused,  (  r  \.\w.  jlrsl  time, 
the  far-famed  "Pilgrim's  Progress  !"— that 
precious  volume,  with  its  vivid  and  lite-like 
sketches,  with  its  gallery  of  moiul  tuid  re- 
ligious paintings,  the  ligiircs  almost  a(ipearing 
tirbo  moving  ond  walking  before  us— with  its 
aU'eetionati!  find  impressive  exhortations— 
with  its  original  ond  ])owerful  admonitions, 
and  all  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  wonl  ot 
(JoJ  ;  this  gem  of  books,  with  all  it  contains, 
i«  ever  present  with  us. 

John  buuyan's  "Holy  War,"  when  wajirst 
jierused  it.  awakened  the  deejiest  emotions, 
and,  to  this  hour,  its  earliest  (lerusal  is  remem- 
bered as  being  among  our  choicest  pleasures. 
Tho  "  Life  of  Hi:nry  Kirke  White"  was  a 
favorite  little  volume;  and,  after  its  lirst  read- 
in",  we  took  so  deep  an  interest  in  the  cliar- 
ac'ter,  the  struggles,  the  poetry,  and  the  letters 
of  iioor  Henry,  that  we  were  obliged  to  put 
the  touching  book  of  Southcy  under  our  jnl- 
1<AV,  and  read  it,  again  oud  again,  as  soon  as 
wo  awoke.  ^.  , 

Rowland  Hill's  "  Village  Dialogues"  con- 
stituted a  volume  to  which,  in  our  youth,  wo 
recurred  with  profound  anil  growing  interest ; 
and,  when  it  was  perused  for  the  first  time, 
how  did  we  turn  agnin  and  again  to  honest 
Thomas  Newman— to  that  beautiful  delinea- 
tion of  a  gospel  minister,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Love- 
good— I"  'he  character  and  death  of  Mr.  Mer- 
ryman— lu  honest  Farmer  Littleworth  and 
liis  son  Henry— to  Siiuirc  Worthy— to  Madum 
Toogooil  und  Mr.  Slapdash— and,  so  long  as 
we  live,  we  can  not  foriict  the  ignorance,  big- 
otry, unlovely  and  unchristian  spirit,  of  that 
mock-minister,  I'arson  Doolittle.     W.,-  never 
hink  of  Rowland  Hill,  with  all  his  eceentrici- 
ies,  and,  moreover,  with  all  the  fine  features, 
both  of  his  mind  and  character,  without  bles- 
sing his  memory  for  that  choice  volume  of 


j  aloijues  so  full  of  eharoeter,  of  patlnn.  of 
Hi-ge  ami  aeuic  remark,  lo  which  we  now  al- 
lude, and  which  we  place  alwr»  ,  eir  JIuii- 
yaii's  "  I'ilgrim." 

(lur  early  jileasiires have  be,  •  ■  ,,<  -d  trom 
iitir  liiimf,  "'hiese  enioymei.      v  ith  iniHioiis 
of  the  most  virtuous  and  estinia  ile  of  tlie  Ini- 
inaii   familv,    have   ever   been   among  their 
Ichoiecst.     None  are  fo  reliiinl,  so  pure,   so 
traiiipiilli/.inii.  so  steady  and  perinancni.    Well 
do  we  remeiiilier  thi'  comforts  nf  the  endeared 
dotrieslii!  circle— all  the  members  of  that  cir- 
cle collected— not  one   nlisent  ;    the   traiiipiil 
Hresido;  the  litile  Miuii  jiarlor,  where  wc  liuve 
ofli'n  read  and  enjoyed  our  favorite  volmiies; 
the  delichtful  eveiiiiiiis  in  initumn  ;  and.  es- 
pecially, in  winler,  wdicii,  thc^  cnrlains  being 
drawn,  the  tea  having  been  remnved,  the  tiro 
hrijjhtly  bla/.ilig,  one  would  jieruse  aloud  some 
interesting   and  captivating  book,   while   the 
other  members  of  the  faiialv  would  attentive- 
ly listen,  Hs  they  pursued  their  work,  and  the 
more  iuveiiile  ones  wmdd  be  all  inti'rest  and 
pleasure.     What  cherrful  ond  happy  even- 
ings have  bci'ii  thus  spent !     Kveninu;s  whose 
ossoeiations  will  always  remain  with  us,  and 
awaken  emotionsofpensivenetrS,  yet  of  devout 
gratitude  and  joy. 


"()ft  ill  fiiir  iipncfiil  hnnie,  thnt  sh.  Itcred  ui'st, 
Where  still  nnr  licit  iilTrftinim  luve  In  ri'«t, 
Aiiil  mciiiiirv  L-uiinh  her  Ireimarcs  In  tlio  hint, 
Ur  ilwi'lln,  Willi  jieiisive  jiiy,  mi  iilcnsiii-en  past. 
The  ciiiiHciijiis  iiiiiiil,  UKsistcil  hy  licr  power, 
Tho  trenRureil  dweets  iif  evi  ry  pussili,-  hour 
Can  liriiiu'  nv'iiin  *<>  kccoiuI  lile,  niul  view 
Their  joys  us  pleiiaiiii,'  ««  wliun  lirst  tlioy  lluw." 

Our  earlv  jileasureshave  been  derived  from 
some  inlcrhliiii;  yoiilliful  cumihinidns,  thoso 
of  kindred  tastes  and  seiitiyMeiils;  those  who 
have  thou'iht  with  us,  fVk  with  us,  sported 
with  us,  laliored  with  us.  What  etinversa- 
tions  have  we  enjoyed  with  them  !  What 
rambles  have  we  taken  with  them !  What 
extended  and  haj)[iy  walks  in  the  wide  field 
of  nature  !  As  they  grew  up,  our  attacliiuent 
to  them  increased,  and  theirs  to  us  nu:j:in.  ed. 
We  w(?re  rarely  a  day  apart.  J5ut  where 
are  they  now?  What  changes  have  been 
accomplished  !  What  severances  elli-eted  ! 
How  many  of  thein  have  de|iarted  toett  riiity. 
and  hove  been  laid  in  an  early  grave!  Shall 
wc  meet  them  in  Jiravrn  ? 

Our  early  pleasures  have  been  derived  from 
the  mindiKiry;  ves,  our  richest,  our  sweetest, 
our  highest."  We  longed  for  the  sabljath, 
when  wo  miirhl;  repair  to  tht;  sanctmiry— oli- 
serve  tho  delightful  exercises  of  tlie  simcimiry 

partake  of  the  tramiuil  and  en\ial)le  enjov- 

meiits  of  the  sanctuary.  Our  walk  to  the 
sanctuary  was  one  of  the  most  pleasing.  How 
was  that  walk  i.ntieiputed  ;  and  when,  (in  the 
sabbath   morning,  we  entered   the   building 


h 


'II 


4 


JJ 


-  j<iBWi!t(ftiiatgi!aBB)iiMWi'J^  " 


446 


THE  BURYING  BEETLE. 


where  we  were  wont  to  worship,  what  emo- 
tions, of  the  most  grateful  kind,  pervaded  our 
hearts  !  How  we  rejoiced  to  see  our  beloved 
pastor  enter  his  pulpit!  With  what  zest  we 
celebrated  the  praises  of  God  !  How  it  de- 
lighted us  to  hear  the  songs  of  Zion  sweetly 
suug !  How  it  gladdened  the  spirit  to  listen 
to  the  burst  of  praise,  after  a  glowing  and 
beautiful  sermon,  full  of  the  pure  gospel  of 
Christ !  How  we  returned  home,  longing 
for  the  sabbath  to  come  again,  and  almost 
wishing  that  every  day  could  be  transformed 
into  a  sabbath-day ! 

These  have  been  among  our  eqrly  pleas- 
ures; dear  readers,  have  they  been  among 
yours  ?  We  hope  so.  If  they  have  been,  do 
you  not  feel  how  pure  they  have  been  ;  how 
rich  they  have  been ;  how  full  of  zest  they 
have  been ;  with  what  bloom  and  beauty  they 
have  been  clothed  ;  and  what  an  impression 
they  have  produced  ? 

Early  pleasures  should  be  recurred  to. 
The  mmd  should  accustom  itself  to  dwell  on 
them.  Memory  sliould  love  to  linger  around 
them.  If  the  recollection  be  appropriately 
indulged,  lively  gratitude  will  be  awakened ; 
pleasing  and  powerful  emotions  will  be  in- 
spired. We  shall  find  present  happiness  in- 
creased, and  moiul  and  religious  influences 
augmented. 

And  let  us  not,  as  we  advance  in  life,  re- 
gret, unduly  and  unwisely  regret,  that  the 
vivacity  of  our  early  pleasures  has  passed 
away ;  but  let  us  cherish  unaffected  gratitude 
for  all  the  enjoyments,  so  rich,  so  varied,  and 
so  vivacious,  which  we  have  realized;  and 
let  us  cultivate  und  improve  the  numerous 
pleasures,  refined  and  tranquillizing  in  their 
nature,  with  which  a  kind  Providence  is  still 
favoring  us.  Like  the  bee,  let  us  extract 
honey  from  every  odorous  flower.  Let  us 
remember  that  pleasures,  of  the  richest  and 
purest  kind,  may  be  gained  from  almost  in- 
numerable sources ;  and  let  us  be  looking  for- 
ward to  the  purer,  the  higher,  the  more  ex- 
quisite, and  the  endless    ileasures  of  paradise. 

We  would  remark,  i;>  concluding  these  ob- 
servations :  parents,  be  wise,  in  relation  to 
your  offspring ;  endeavor,  in  early  life,  to  make 
your  rJtildren  happy.  See  that  they  are  sur- 
rounded by  what  is  calculated  to  render  them 
cheerful  and  animated.  Let  them  perceive 
that  you  are  solicitous  to  promote  their  enjoy- 
ment in  everything  that  is  healthful  and  pure. 
Let  not  your  children  be  made  gloomy.  Take 
every  weight  from  the  mii:d  of  a  child.  Do 
not  envelop  your  children  with  a  dark  and 
sombre  atmosphere.  Mothers  walk  out  with 
your  offspring,  and  show  the:n  what  is  beau- 
tiful and  grand  in  nature.  Let  them  see  that 
you  are  happy,  if  they  are  happy.  Fathers, 
let  your  children  accompany  you  in  your 


rambles,  and  explain  to  them  that  what  you 
see  and  admire  is  worthy  of  their  attention. 
Answer  their  intelligent  and  numerous,  though 
sometimes  most  amusing  questions.  Talk  to 
them  about  the  wonders  of  the  heavens,  the 
beauty  of  the  earth,  the  grandeur  and  extent 
of  the  ocean ;  the  wisdom,  power,  and  good- 
ness of  God  in  all.  Accustom  them  to  read 
and  think  on  these  subjects.  Cherish  early 
friendships  of  the  right  kind  ;  and,  above  all, 
let  your  children  go  with  you  to  the  house 
of  God,  that  early  habits  of  worship  may  be 
formed,  and  that,  by  the  divine  blessing,  an 
early  spirit  of  devotion  may  be  cultivated. 

Blissful,  indeed,  is  the  thought  of  a  whole 
family  meeting  in  heaven !  Husband  and 
wife,  brethren  and  sisters,  all  before  the  throne 
of  the  Redeemer  at  last !  one  by  one  parting 
in  love,  in  the  prospect  of  a  rapturous  and  un- 
broken meeting  in  paradise. 

"  Such  tender  chains  connect  the  mind  with  earUi, 
Till  mercy  kindly  terminntes  the  span 
That  bounds  the  present  littleness  of  mnn ; 
And,  like  the  gale  to  frozen  waters  given, 
Di8s<:)lves  each  link,  and  wafts  the  sool  to  heaven." 


THE  BURYING  BEETLE. 

A  FOREIGN  naturalist  gives  a  very  interest- 
ing account  of  the  industry  of  this  insect.  He 
hadoften  remarked  that  dead  moles,  when  laid 
upon  the  ground,  especially  upon  loose  earth, 
were  sure  to  disappear  in  the  course  of  two 
or  three  days — often  in  twelve  houro.  To 
ascertain  the  cause,  he  placed  a  mole  upon  one 
of  the  beds  of  his  garden.  It  had  disappeared 
on  the  third  morning;  and  on  digging  where 
it  had  been  laid,  he  found  it  buried  to  the 
depth  of  three  inches,  and  under  it  four  beetles, 
which  seemed  to  have  been  the  agents  in  this 
singular  burial.  Not  perceiving  anything 
parricular  in  the  mole,  he  buried  it  again ; 
and  on  examining  it  at  the  end  of  six  days,  he 
found  it  swarming  with  maggots,  apparently 
the  issue  of  the  beetles,  which  Mr.  Gleditsch 
now  naturally  concluded  hafi  buried  the  car- 
case for  the  food  of  their  young.  To  deter- 
mine these  points  more  clearly,  he  put  four 
of  these  insects  into  a  glass  vessel,  half  filled 
with  sarth  and  properly  secured,  and  upon 
the  surface  of  the  earth,  two  frogs.  In  less 
than  twelve  hours  one  of  the  frogs  was  buried 
by  two  of  the  beetles ;  the  other  two  ran  about 
the  whole  day,  as  if  busied  in  measuring  the 
size  of  the  remaining  frog,  which  on  the  third 
day  was  also  found  buried.  He  then  intro- 
duced a  dead  linnet.  A  pair  of  beetles  were 
soon  engaged  upon  the  bird.  They  began 
their  operations  by  pushing  out  the  eorth  from 
under  the  body,  so  a?  to  form  a  hole  for  its 


•i  i«rii.irNi''-it>WMtS»><iiii8»g-- 


m  that  what  you 
if  their  attention, 
numerous,  though 
estions.  Tulk  to 
the  heavens,  the 
indeur  and  extent 
power,  and  good- 
om  them  to  read 
I.  Cherish  early 
I ;  and,  above  all, 
you  to  the  house 
'  worship  may  be 
ivine  blessing,  an 
be  cultivated, 
ought  of  a  tchole 
!  Husband  and 
'.  before  the  throne 
ne  by  one  parting 
rapturous  and  un- 

e  mind  with  earth, 

the  span 

mesa  of  mnn ; 

atere  Riven, 

the  soul  to  heaven." 


iEETLE. 

es  a  very  interest- 
)f  this  insect.  He 
i  moles,  when  laid 
upon  loose  earth, 
:he  course  of  two 
irelve  hourc.  To 
id  a  mole  upon  one 
[t  had  disappeared 
on  digging  where 

it  buried  to  the 
ider  it  four  beetles, 

the  agents  in  this 
■ceiving   anything 

buried  it  again; 
ind  of  six  days,  he 
iggots,  apparently 
ich  Mr.  Gleditsch 
irl«  buried  the  car- 
oung.  To  deter- 
early,  he  put  four 

vessel,  half  filled 
ecured,  and  upon 
vo  frogs.  In  less 
e  frogs  was  buried 
ther  two  ran  about 
I  in  measunng  the 
vhich  on  the  third 
He  then  intro- 
»ir  of  beetles  were 
rd.  They  began 
out  the  earth  from 
irra  a  hole  for  its 


PITTSBURG. 


447 


reception ;  and  it  was  curious  to  see  the  efforts 
which  the  beetles  made,  by  dragging  at  the 
feathers  of  the  bird  from  below,  to  pull  it  into 
its  grave.  The  male  having  driven  the  female 
away,  continued  the  work  alone  for  five  hours. 
He  lifted  up  the  bird,  changed  its  place,  turn- 
ed it  and  arranged  it  in  the  grave,  and  from 
time  to  time  came  out  of  the  hole,  mountei 
upon  it,  and  trode  it  under  foot,  and  then  re- 
tired below  and  pulled  it  down.  At  length, 
apparently  wearied  with  this  uninterrupted 
labor,  it  came  forth  and  leaned  its  head  upon 
the  earth  beside  the  bird,  without  the  smallest 
motion,  as  if  to  rest  itself,  for  a  full  hour,  when 
it  again  crept  under  the  earth.  The  next  day, 
in  the  morning,  the  bin!  was  an  inch  and  a 
half  under  the  around,  and  the  trench  remain- 
ed open  the  whole  day,  the  corpse  seeming 
as  if  laid  out  upon  a  bier,  surr'^unded  with  a 
rampart  of  mould. 

In  the  evening  it  had  sunk  half  an  inch 
lower,  and  in  another  day  the  work  was  com- 
pleted, and  the  bird  covered.  M.  Gleditsch 
continued  to  add  other  small  dead  animals, 
which  were  all  sooner  or  later  buried ;  and 
the  result  of  his  experiment  was,  that  in  fifty 
days  four  beetles  had  interred,  in  the  very 
small  space  of  earth  allotted  to  them,  twelve 
carcasses  ;  viz.,  four  frogs,  three  small  birds, 
two  fishes,  one  mole,  and  two  grasshoppers, 
besides  the  entrails  of  a  fish,  and  two  morsels 
of  the  lungs  of  an  ox.  In  another  experiment, 
a  single  beetle  buried  a  mole  forty  times  its 
own  bulk  and  weight  in  two  days. 


PITTSBURG. 

Pittsburg,  the  caj>ital  of  Allegany  coun- 
ty, Pennsylvania,  distinguished  as  the  great 
manufacturing  city  of  the  west,  is  situated  on 
a  triangular  point  at  the  junction  of  the 
Allegany  and  Mowongahela,  in  latitude  north 
40  degrees,  26  minutes,  25  seconds,  and 
longitude  west  from  Greenwich  79  degrees 
59  minutes.  It  is  three  hundred  miles  west 
from  Philadelphia,  one  hundred  and  twenty 
south  of  Lake  Erie,  one  thousand  and  one 
hundred  byloiid,  and  two  tho'.'sand  and  twen- 
ty-nine by  water,  above  New  Orleans.  The 
Allegany  comes  down  with  a  strong  current 
from  the  northeast,  and  sweeping  suddenly 
round  to  the  northwest,  receives  the  more 
gentle  current  of  the  Monongahela  from  the 
south — their  combined  waters  flowing  on  to 
the  Mississippi  under  the  name  of  the  Ohio, 
or  beautiful  river.  The  aborigines  and  the 
Frencfi  considered  the  Allegany  and  Ohio  to 
be  the  same  stream,  and  the  Monongahela  to 
be  a  tributary — Allegany  being  a  word  in  the 


Delaware  language,  and  O-hee-o  in  the  Sen- 
eca, both  meoning  fair  water.  Hence  the 
French  term  Belle  Riviere,  was  only  a  trans- 
lation of  the  Indian  name. 

The  alluvial  bottom  on  which  the  city  is 
built  is  quite  limited  ;  for  immediately  lack 
of  it,  and  at  less  than  a  mile  from  the  [joint, 
rises  Grant's  hill  (on  which  the  courthouse 
stands),  with  Ayres'  hill  on  the  west,  and 
Quarry  hill  on  the  east  of  Grant's.  At  the 
foot  of  these  hills  there  extends  up  the  Alle- 
gany a  strip  of  alluvial  land  about  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  wide,  on  which  the  suburb  Bayards- 
town  is  built ;  and  on  the  Monongahela  side 
a  still  narrower  margin.  The  city  is  rapidly 
pushing  its  eastern  limits  on  to  the  sides  and 
summits  of  these  hills.  Grant's  hill  is  already 
occupied.  Opposite  to  Pittsburg,  on  a  beau- 
tiful plain  on  the  north  bank  of  the  Allegany, 
is  the  large  city  of  Allegant  ;  below  it  a 
mile  or  two  is  the  more  rural  village  of  Man- 
chester ;  while  on  the  other  side  of  Pitts- 
burg, across  the  Monongahela,  the  smoky 
street  of  Slioo,  with  its  noisy  manufactories, 
is  nestled  under  the  high  precipice  of  Coal 
hill ;  and  about  two  miles  above  Sligc,  where 
the  alluvial  bottom  spreads  out  wider,  lies  the 
large  manufacturing  town  of  Birmingham. 
All  these  villages  may  be  considered  as  be- 
longing to  and  forming  part  of  one  great  man- 
ufacisring  and  commerc  *1  city. 

A  bcsrd  of  in<|uiry  'sited  Pittsburg,  in 
184 J,  for  the  purpose  ot  selecting  a  site  for 
the  United  States  Marine  hospital.  The 
editor  of  the  Wheeling  Times,  in  speaking 
of  this  visit,  and  the  prospect  from  the  hills, 
environing  the  city,  says  : — 

"  This  board  found  Pittsburg  a  much  larger 
place  than  Wheeling ;  they  found  it  a  thriving 
place,  with  numerous  engines,  furnaces,  and 
machinery;  they  found  it  >/ith  a  rch  and 
industrious  population — a  people  that  would 
work,  and  would  therefore  prosper — at  the 
same  time  they  found  them  an  hospitable, 
gentlemanly  class  of  beings,  possessed  of  in- 
telligence and  willing  to  impart  it.  They 
doubtless  took  an  early  excursion  upon  the 
hills  that  environ  the  city.  They  looked 
down,  and  a  sea  of  smoke  lay  like  the  clouds 
upon  ChiraborRzo's  base.  No  breath  of  air 
moved  its  surface ;  but  a  sound  rose  from  its 
depths  like  the  roar  of  Niagara's  waters,  or 
the  warring  of  the  spirits  in  the  cavom  of 
storms.  They  looked  around  them,  and  saw 
no  signs  of  life  or  human  habitation.  They 
looked  above  them,  and  the  summer  sun,  like 
a  haughty  warrior,  was  driving  his  coursers 
up  the  eastern  sky.  Then  from  the  sea  of 
smoke  a  vapor  rose — another  and  another  cloud 
rode  away,  and  a  sjieck  of  silvery  sheen 
glittered  in  the  sunbeams. 

"  Again,  a  spire  came  into  view,  pointing 


« ,•. 


-II 


i*»t 


'* 


%l 


•*><»*; 


tM^ 


448 


I'lTTSBURG. 


lieavenword  its  long  slim  (inm'r;  then  a  roof 
— u  houstvto]) — a  street ;  ntul  lo !  ii  city  lay 
like  n  niiip  sjiread  out  Ijy  majic  linnil,  anil 
ten  thousand  busy  inortals  wen;  seen  in  the 
))ursuit  of  wealth,  of  fame,  of  love,  of  fiisliion. 
(hi  the  left,  a  noble  river  can)c  heaving  on- 
ward from  the  M'ildemess  of  the  north,  bear- 
ing on  its  bosom  the  treasures  of  the  forest. 
On  the  right,  an  uncssuming,  but  not  less 
us(!ful  current,  (juietly  yielded  to  the  vessel's 
prow  that  bore  from  u  more  genial  soil  the 
products  of  the  earth.  They  looked  again, 
and  extending  downward  through  fertile  and 
cultivated  vales,  checkered  witli  gently  swel- 
ling hills,  they  saw  the  giant  trunk  formed 
by  the  union  of  these  noble  branches.  Ruf- 
ilingitsmirrowed  surface,  they  saw  the  noble 
steamer  leaping  like  the  i)anting  courser, 
bearing  a  rich  burden  from  the  far  sunny 
south ;  another,  gathering  strength  and  rolling 
onward  to  commerce  its  long  journey  past 
fori'le  fields,  high  hills,  rich  and  flourishing 
cities,  and  forests  wide  and  drear,  bearing 
the  handiwork  of  her  artisans  to  Mississippi, 
Texas,  Mexico,  the  groves  of  India,  and 
the  hills  of  Pernambuco — nay,  to  every  land 
to  which  the  sun  in  its  daily  course  gives  light. 
Such  thcpr  saw  Pittsburg;  and  as  such,  as  a 
citizen  of  the  west,  we  are  proud  of  her." 

With  the  villages  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
Monongahela,  Pittsburg  is  connected  by  the 
Monongahela  bridge,  one  thousand  and  five 
hundred  feet  in  length,  having  eight  arches 
resting  on  stone  piers.  This  bridge  was 
erected  in  1818,  at  a  cost  of  $102,450.  Over 
the  Allegany  there  are  no  less  than  four  bridges 
crossing  to  the  Allegany  city,  besides  the 
splendid  aqueduct  of  the  Pennsylvania  canal. 
The  first  of  these  bridges  was  erected  in  1819 
at  the  expense  of  $95,250.  It  is  one  thou- 
sand one  hundred  and  twenW-two  feet  in 
length,  resting  on  six  piers  of*^  stone,  and  is 
elevated  thirty-eight  feet  above  low  water. 

There  are  in  Pittsburg  and  its  environs, 
within  convenient  walking  distance,  seven- 
teen presbyterian  churches,  three  Cumberland 
presbyterian,  twelve  methodist  episcopal, 
three  protestant  methodist,  four  baptist,  four 
Roman  catholic,  five  episcopal,  two  associate, 
four  associate  reformed,  two  evangelical  Lu- 
theran, two  congregational,  two  disciples' 
churches,  one  "church  of  God,"  one  unitarian, 
one  German  evangelical  protestant,  one  Ger- 
man reformed,  three  Welsh,  and  four  African 
churches  of  diflTerent  denominations. 

The  population  of  Pittsburg,  in  1786,  was 
by  estimate  about  five  hundrecl ;  in  179C,  ac- 
cording to  the  assessor's  lists,  one  thousand 
three  hundred  and  ninety-five  ;  in  1810,  about 
five  thous-nnd  ;  in  1820,  seven  thousand  two 
hundred  and  forty-eight ;  in  1830,  including 
Allegany  and  the  suburbs,  twenty-one  thou- 


sand nine  hundred  and  twelve  ;  and  in  1840, 
including  the  some,  thirty-eight  thousand, 
nine  Iiundrcd  and  thirty-one. 

Pittsburg  owes  its  j)re-eminence  to  the 
fortunate  combination  of  several  advantages. 
It  is,  with  slii;ht  exceptions,  at  the  hea(rof 
steamboat  navigation  ;  it  is  also  the  termina- 
ting point  of  the  main  line  of  internal  im- 
provements. It  is  the  mart  of  portions  of 
Virginia  and  New  York,  as  well  as  of  west- 
ern Pennsylvania ;  while  the  Ohio  Ojiens  to 
the  entcri)rise  of  its  citizens  the  whole  of  the 
Mississippi  valley.  The  exhaustless  banks 
of  coal  in  the  neighborinj»  hills,  and  the  ex- 
cellent mines  of  iron  ore  found  in  great  abun- 
dance in  the  countries  along  the  mountains  and 
on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio  below,  together  with 
the  vast  forests  of  pine  timber  on  the  head- 
waters of  the  Allegany  river,  give  to  this  city 
its  pre-erninence  over  all  others  in  the  west 
for  manufacturing  purposes. 

To  enumerate  the  various  manufacturing 
establishments  of  this  great  workshop,  does 
not  fall  within  the  scope  nf  this  article.  "The 
principal  articles  of  manufacture  are  steam- 
boats, steam-engines,  and  a  great  variety  of 
machinery,  of  both  iron  and  wood ;  bar-iron, 
nails,  ploughs,  and  agricultural  implements  ; 
glass,  cotton-cloths,  leather,  and  saddlery; 
flooring-boards ;  with  a  great  number  of  arti- 
cles of  which  the  manufacture  is  prosecuted 
on  a  smaller  scale.  The  steam  power  .xerted 
in  these  various  departments  is  immense; 
probably  greater  in  proportion  to  the  popula- 
tion, than  any  other  city  in  the  Union.  To 
strangers  the  manufactories  are  well  worth  a 
visit,  especially  those  of  glass,  noils,  bar  and 
rolled  iron. 

There  is  much  moral  power  in  this  city  ; 
many  men  of  talents  in  the  learned  professions, 
whose  light  shines  throughout  the  great  val- 
ley of  the  west;  many  benevolent  societies 
and  institutions  of  learning. 


Misfortune. — The  morning  of  life  is  the 
season  in  whi;h,  though  we  struggle  with, 
we  may  hope  to  overcome  adversity.  Despair 
seldom  visits  the  smooth  forehead,  or  sits  upon 
the  yet  unwrinkled  skin  :  but  that  misfortune 
is  chiefly,  to  be  dreaded  which,  luiking  unob- 
served in  the  flowery  paths  of  youth,  or  per- 
haps fleeing  far  from  them,  forbears  its  molice 
until  the  voice  of  spring  is  heard  no  more — 
until  the  sinewy  summer  of  life  has  passed 
away — until  pale  and  shivering  autumn  has 
come — aud  then,  when  the  bright  nrospeci 
is  already  dimmed,  and  the  best  hopes  of 
existence  destroyed,  strikes  with  a  serpent's 
fang,  and  rejoices  not  in  its  individual  strength, 
but  over  our  own  unstruggling  and  miserable 
submisjion. 


L 


elvo  ;  nnd  in  1840, 
ty-cight   tliousaiu), 

10. 

B-eminence  to  the 
everal  advni>tnges. 
ns,  at  the  head  of 
is  also  the  tcrmina- 
ne  of  internal  im- 
lart  of  portions  of 
IS  well  as  of  west- 
the  Ohio  0|7ens  to 
IS  the  whole  of  the 
exhaustless  banks 
hills,  and  the  ex- 
und  in  great  abun- 
;  the  mountains  and 
ilow,  together  with 
mber  on  the  head- 
;r,  give  to  this  city 
others  in  the  west 
i. 

3US  manufacturing 
It  workshop,  does 
'  this  article.  The 
'acture  are  steani- 
a  great  variety  of 
id  wood ;  bar-iron, 
tural  implements ; 
ir,  and  saddlery; 
lat  number  of  arti- 
itnrc  is  prosecuted 
;am  power  ■.  xerted 
ents  is  immense ; 
ion  to  the  popula- 
1  the  Union.  To 
I  are  well  worth  a 
ass,  noils,  bar  and 

wer  in  this  city  ; 
>arned  professions, 
out  the  great  val- 
nevolent  soeirties 


ning  of  life  is  the 
ve  struggle  with, 
Jversity.  Despair 
ehead,  or  sits  upon 
>ut  that  misfortune 
ieh,  luiking  unob- 

of  youth,  or  per- 
forbears  Its  malice 

heard  no  more — 
jf  life  has  passed 
ering  autumn  has 
e  bright  prospect 
he  best  hopes  of 
I  with  a  serpent's 
ndividual  strength, 
ing  and  miserable 


•8 

tn 

OD 

o 

2! 

m 

►d 

tt 
I—) 

> 

e 
in 
r" 

•t) 

n 


w 


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^»lb 


■VBeOMHOH 


450 


MERCANTILE  BIOGRAPHY. 


MERCANTILE  BIOGRAPHY. 

Irr  presenring  to  our  readers  the  present 
article,  embracing  biographical  notices  of  mer- 
chants who  have  been  eminently  distinguished 
for  the  energy  manifested  in  the  pursuit  of 
their  various  vocations— from  the  most  hum- 
ble beginnings  to  the  proudest  results  cf  hu- 
man  industry— for  their  public  and  private 
virtues,  and  the  influences  which  they  have 
exerted  on  the  domestic,  moral,  and  political, 
and  intellectual  condition  of  mankind,  we 
would  offer  a  few  prefatory  remarks. 

It  has  been  said,  and  with  truth,  that  neither 
the  past  nor  present  age  has  presented  a  single 
life  from  which,  if  a  faithful  narrative  we're 
wntten,  some  valuable  information  might  not 
be  drawn.     If  such  an  assertion  be  tenable, 
when  applied  to  the  recorded  actions  in  the 
great  mass  of  society,  charged  with  its  follies  ' 
and  crimes,  how  much  more  forcibly  must  it ' 
apply  to  the  biography,  which  selects  and 
holds  up  as  mirrors  to  the  world  those  only 
whose  wisdom  and  virtue  are  calculated  to 
make   a  lasting  and   beneficial  impression; 
which,  while  it  consecrates  the  ashes  of  the 
dead,  rescues  from  the  destructive  influence 
of  time  all  that  is  worthy  of  remembrance- 
presents  us  with  the  living  characteristics  of 
the  man  as  he  stood   before   a  scrutinizing 
earthly  tribunal— enables  us  to  follow  him 
Irom  the  dawn  of  intellect  to  the  termination 
ot  an  active,  well-spent  life— to  see  him  tri- 
umphing over  every  obstacle  which  poverty 
or   misfortune   presented  to  his   indomitable 
mental  and  jihysical  energies— and  finally,  to 
appropriate  to  ourselves  the  results  of  an  ex- 1 
perience   thus   presented.      In  reference    to  ! 
American    merchants,    these    "  biographical ' 
notices"  furnish  a  supplement  to  the  future 
history  of  our  country,  in  which  t'.iose  finer 
shades  of  character,  most  interesting  to  the 
community,  which  are  lost  in  the  wide  survey 
and  genorali/ing  spirit  of  the  historian,  are 
taithtully  anu  accurately  delineated. 

As  the  second  commercial  country  on  the 
globe--wuh  ships  navigating  every  sea  and 
bartering  with  every  nation— our  merchants 
necessanly  fill  an  important  station  in  the 
worid's  eye;  on  their  honor,  integrity,  and 
energy,  depend  our  national  character  a"^broad, 
and  our  internal  condition  at  home.  A  fertile 
and  extensive  territory  may  form  the  basis 
ot  onr  wealth ;  but  commerce  is  to  its  produc- 
tions what  machinery  is  to  the  tp  ^'  material 
—It  fashions,  shapes,  and  sends  forth. 

It  is  an  historical  fact,  that  Napoleon,  when 
his  imperial  flag  vaved  over  thirty  millions 
ot  people,  derisively  designated  England  as 
the  "  nation  of  shopkeepers."'  Time,  how- 
ever, with  its  train  of  events,  taught  him  to 
see,   in  his  sad   reverses  of  fortune,   when 


stripped  of  his  glories— exiled  to  a  solitary 
rock  in  the  Atlantic— deserted   by  his  fof- 
lower.s— 8  monument  of  fallen  grandeur  and 
ileteated    ambition— that   to   the    pecuniary 
sacrifices  and  the  devoted  patriotism  of  the 
"shopkeepers"  he  was  indebted  for  that  un- 
yielding oj)position   to  his  sway  by  which 
(jrreat  Britain  was  distinguished,  when,   by 
r.;s  celecrated  decrees  and    embargoes,   he 
had  closed  the  ports  of  Europe  against  her 
shipping ;  when  monarchs  were  his  puppets, 
thrones  his  footballs,  and  subjected  nations 
the  outposts  of  his  military  camp.     If  such 
were  the  national  conseouences  attendant  on 
the  mercantile  character  and   resources  of 
England,  what  importance  must  ultimately 
,  attach  to  them  in  a  country  like  our  own,  the 
j  shores  of  which  embrace  two  oceans— the 
commerce  of  which  already  competes  with 
Its  great  rival,  in  every  quarter  of  rhe  globe 
—whose  extensive  lakes  are  whitened  with 
the  sails  of  inland   navigation,   and   whose 
railroads  form  a  chain  of  internal  communica- 
tion which  unites  the  most  distant  sections  of 
an   active   population— levelling    mountains, 
extending  over  rivers,  and  setting  distance  and 
time  at  defiance  ? 

Taking  leave  of  the  influence  which  the 
mercantile  character  exerts  upon  our  external 
rdations,  we  will  now  briefly  advert  to  its 
efTect  on  our  physical,  moral,  and  intellectual 
conditions. 

To  our  merchants  we  are  chiefly  indebted 
for  the  temples  of  religion,  the  halls  of  be- 
nevolence, the  marts  of  commerce,  the  litera- 
ry insritutions  and  other  splendid  edifices 
which  adorn  and  distinguish  our  cities.  Amon<T 
which,  we  ini§ht  place  the  Athenmum  at 
Boston,  the  institutions  for  the  blind,  the  Uni- 
ted States'  bank  and  Girard  college  at  Phila- 
delphia, the  Exchange  at  Baltimore,  the  Astor 
house,  at  New  York ;  and  last,  though  not  least, 
the  vanous  mercantile  library  associadons,  the 
proud  boast  of  New  York  and  other  cities. 
iN  ever  have  nobler  monuments  been  erected  to 
departed  worth  than  these  <enand  twenty-thou- 
sand-volumed  associadons,  with  their  lectures 
and  other  great  moral  influences.  They  are 
honorable  to  the  memory  of  their  mercantile 
founders,  whose  names  are  engraven  in  indeli- 
ble characters  on  their  portals,  and  are  con- 
secrated in  the  intelligence,  welfare,  and 
happiness  of  the  nation. 

New  York  may  safety  challenge  the  worid 
to  produce  an  institution  of  a  similar  character, 
so  important  in  its  consequences  to  a  rising 
and  energetic  community. 

In  the  midst  of  the  fluctuations  of  com- 
merce, and  the  energies  necessarily  devoted 
to  Its  steady  advancement,  it  wili  be  seen, 
that  the  merchant  has  not  been  undistinguish- 
ed among  the  moral  and  religious  benefactors 


-exiled  to  a  solitnry 
leserted  by  his  fof- 
fallen  grandeur  and 
t  to  the  pecuniary 
ed  patriotism  of  the 
ndebted  for  that  un- 
lis  sway  by  which 
iguished,  when,  by 
and  embargoes,  he 
Europe  against  her 
8  were  his  puppets, 
d  subjected  nations 
ary  camp.  If  such 
aences  attendant  on 

■  and  resources  of 
ce  must  ultimately 
y  like  our  own,  the 
e  two  oceans — the 
ndy  competes  with 
[uarter  of  the  globe 

are  whitened  with 
gation,  and  whose 
ntemal  communica- 
t  distant  sections  of 
veiling  mountains, 
setting  distance  and 

ifluence  which  the 
;supon  our  external 
defly  advert  to  its 
•al,  and  intellectual 

re  chiefly  indebted 
1,  the  halls  of  be- 
mmerce,  the  litera- 

■  splendid  edifices 
lourcities.  Among 
the  Athenaeum  at 
the  blind,  the  Uni- 
d  college  at  Phila- 
altimore,  the  Astor 
8t,  (hough  not  least, 
ry  associations,  the 
t  and  other  cities, 
nts  been  erected  to 
n  and  twenty-thou- 
with  their  lectures 
lences.  They  are 
f  their  mercantile 
snpaven  in  indeli- 
tals,  and  are  con- 
ice,   welfare,   and 

lallenge  the  world 
1  similar  character, 
uences  to  a  rising 

itualions  of  coin- 
!C_essarily  devoted 
it  will  be  seen, 
pen  Tindistingaish- 
igior.3  benefactors    j 


MBRCANTILB  BIOOB.AFHY. 


451 


of  mankind,  nor  unmindful  of  the  injunction 
left  by  the  mild  Founder  of  Christianity  to 
his  followers — "  Go  ye  forth  into  all  nations, 
and  preach  unto  them  the  gospel  of  truth." 
We  owe  to  the  benevolence  of  our  mercantile 
comniuuity  a  great  portion  of  the  means  raised 
to  sujjport  missionaries  among  the  aborigines, 
while  some  of  its  members,  unaided,  have 
sent  forth  the  bearers  of  the  gospel  mission 
to  the  most  distant  nations  of  the  earth. 

The  mental  and  physical  endurance  which 
has  distinguished  the  mercantile  character, 
particularly  in  our  own  country,  is  not  one 
of  its  least  extraordinary  features  ;  many  of 
its  poosessors,  who  now  rest  from  their  labors, 
rose  from  extreme  obscurity — saw  their  hopes 
and  expectations  blasted  again  and  again — 
yet  rising  with  renewed  vigor  from  every 
strike  of  fortune,  eventually  succeeded  in 
acquiring  an  alHuent  independence ;  the  just 
reward  of  their  unabated  perseverance. 

In  devoting  an  article  in  the  present  work 
to  mercantile  biography,  we  are  influenced 
by  a  desire  to  exhibit  the  strong  points  of 
character  which  have  distinguished  the  pa- 
triarchs of  commerce,  as  furnishing  examples 
to  the  young  merchant  of  the  present  and 
future  tunes,  and  as  a  stimulus  to  the  attain- 
ment of  tlie  enviable  distinction  which  they 
have  acquired. 

The  sources  from  which  the  following  no- 
tices have  been  selected  are  various,  and, 
generally,  more  contracted  than  we  could  have 
desired.  The  first  name  which  ve  present 
to  our  readers,  is  that  of 

Gkorok  Cabot,  a  distinguished  merchant 
and  stateman,  born  in  Salem,  Massachusetts, 
in  1752.  He  was  educated  as  a  merchant, 
and  for  several  years  visited  foreign  countries 
as  a  factor  for  his  father,  who  was  an  enter- 
prising and  opulent  ship-owner.  He  N/as 
considered  a  young  man  of  talent,  and  soon 
after  commencing  business,  he  was  elected  a 
member  of  the  Massachusetts'  provincial 
aingress — of  which  General  Warren  was 
president.  The  good  peo])le  of  Massachusetts, 
wishing  to  alleviate  the  distresses  of  the  times, 
proci;eded  to  consider  the  propriety  of  fixing 
a  maximum  price  upon  foreign  goods.  This 
he  opposed,  with  such  strength  of  reasoning 
as  to  prevent  any  restriction  upon  commerce. 

During  the  war,  he  was  an  active  merchant 
— he,  with  his  brother,  having  at  one  period 
of  the  contest,  twenty  privateers  of  a  large 
class,  carrying  from  sixteen  to  twenty  guns 
each.  These  vessels  were  very  successful 
for  four  or  five  years ;  but  the  British,  tow- 
ard the  close  of  the  war,  having  lost  more 
that  >ae  thousand  seven  hundred  merchant- 
men, grew  wiser,  and  fitted  out  a  large  num- 
ber of  frigates  and  gua-brigs,  that  were  supe- 
rior in  force  to  most  of  our  privateers,  and  a 


great  portion  of  them  were  taken.  The 
Cabots  were  severe  sutiercrs,  losing  nearly 
all  their  armed  ships  before  the  war  closed. 

When  peace  was  restored  to  the  country, 
Mr.  Cabot  was  active  in  bringing  the  people 
to  see  the  necessity  of  forming  a  sound  and 
permanent  general  govenunent.  With  oth- 
ers, he  used  the  public  press  to  enlighten  the 
country  upon  the  great  doctrines  of  civil  and 
political  liberty. 

He  was  active  in  establishing  a  state 
constitution  for  Massachusetts,  and  afterward, 
in  1 788,  was  a  member  of  the  convention  for 
adopting  a  constitution  for  the  United  Slates. 
Soon  after  the  constitution  went  into  operation, 
he  was  chosen  by  the  legislature  of  Massa- 
chusetts as  a  senator  in  Congress.  In  1798, 
he  was  appointed,  by  John  Adams,  secretary 
of  the  navy,  but  he  declined  the  appoinimcnt ; 
yet  he  took  an  active  part  in  assisting  the 
government  to  build  and  equip  a  navy.  Lib- 
eral loans  were  subscribed  by  the  merchants 
in  every  part  of  the  country,  and  Mr.  Cabot 
was  among  the  foremost.  The  government, 
fired  at  the  insults  and  indignities  offered  our 
commerce  by  France,  were  so  active  in  build- 
ing ships-of-war,  that  a  few  months  were 
sufficient  to  take  the  timber  from  the  forests 
to  construct  a  sloop-of-war,  and  a  few  more 
days  to  get  it  ready  for  sea. 

A  respectable  force  was  soon  on  the  ocean, 
and  earned  laurels  vvherever  they  met  the 
enemy. 

During  these  dark  hour  of  our  history, 
when  Hamilton  and  Ames  were  full  of  appre- 
hension for  our  destinies,  Mr.  Cabot  wos 
laboring  with  them  in  opening  the  eyes  of  the 
people,  blinded  by  party  feuds.  It  is  said 
that  Ames,  always  flowing,  and  sometimes 
too  redundant,  consulted  Mr.  Cabot  in  regard 
to  his  publications,  and  frequently  submitted 
to  his  judgment  when  they  differed  in  opinion. 

For  many  years  of  the  latter  part  of  his 
life,  Mr.  Cabot  resided  in  Boston,  where  he 
was  held  in  the  highest  estimation.  If  there 
was  a  matter  of  mercantile  usage  to  be  settled, 
he  was  consultfcd — if  there  was  p.  misunder- 
standing between  merchants,  he  was  made 
arbitrator;  ay,  even  if  there  weie  an  affair 
of  honor  to  be  settled,  his  opinion  was  law. 
In  1815,  he  was  elected  from  Suffolk  county 
as  a  member  of  the  Kartford  convention,  and 
was  made  president  of  that  body.  Where 
he  was,  every  one  was  satisfied  that  all 
would  be  done  with  decency  and  correctness, 
in  both  manner  and  principle.  H-^  v.  as  brave, 
and  discreet  as  brave.  His  ambitious  days, 
if  evei  he  had  any,  were  over,  and  prudence 
and  judgment  were,  at  the  time  of  the  Hart- 
ford convention,  his  greoc  characteristico. 
The  person  of  Mr.  Cabot  was  of  the  finest 
cast.    He  was  tall  and  well  proportioned. 


nm 


*W1 


:j^^f 


452 


MERCANTILE  BIOGUAPHY. 


His  hood  was  a  model,  forthc  sculptor.  Tlicro 
was  a  (•liussicul  expression  of  the  countenance, 
thiU  made  hitn  the  object  of  observation  to 
every  biianser.  His  movements  were  digni- 
fied, and  liis  voice  sonorous  and  commanding. 
Ijookiijf;  at  liim,  you  would  say,  there  is  a 
Keiitlfman ;  and  no  one  would  ([uestion  the 
assertion.  He  was  as  amiable  as  excellent ; 
there  was  no  asperity  in  his  nature.  He 
took  a  broad  and  noble  view  of  every  subject, 
and  uttered  his  opinions  with  fearlessness,' 
but  with  modesty — and  his  decisions  were  as 
oracles,  Mr.  Caltot  died  in  April,  1823,  in 
the  seventy-second  year  of  his  aj^re  ;  and  en- 
joyed through  that  long  period,  all  that  philos- 
oi)hy,  ])hdiuitliroi)y,  and  religion,  could  give 
to  life.  The  civic  wreath  of  such  a  man 
should  be  green  for  ever. 

V/iLLiAM  GuAY,  one  of  the  most  success- 
ful of  American  merchants,  was  bom  in  Lynn, 
in  the  county  of  Essex,  the  commonwealth 
of   Massachusetts,  in   the   year  1751.      He 
came,  when  quite  a  boy,  to  Salem,  and  was 
nn  apprentice,  first  to  Samuel  Gardner,  Est;., 
on  active  merchant,   but  left  him  and   fin- 
ished  his  ajiprenliceship  with  Mr.  R.  1/er- 
by,  also  a  business  man  of  that  place.    Young 
Gray  was  an  enterprising  and  indefatigable 
apprentice,  and  liad  acquired  the  confidence 
of  the  princijjal  merchants  in  Salem  when  he 
commenced   business  for  himself,  which  in 
that  careful  and  indrstrious  town,  was  a  fine 
capital  to  begin  ujion.     Mr.  Gray  was  early 
prosperous  in   his   adairs,  and  in  less  than 
twenty-five  years  after  he  commenced  busi- 
ness, was  considered  and  taxed  as  the  wealthi- 
est man  in  the  jilace,  where  there  were  sev 
eral  of  the  largest  fortunes  that  could  be  found 
m  the  United  States.     He  was  all  activity, 
and  ot  times  had  more  than  sixty  sail  of  square- 
rigged  vessels.     It  was  a  fact  that  no  mod- 
erate breeze  could  blow  amiss  for  him,  for 
every  wind  of  heaven  carried  for  him  some 
vessel  to  port.     For  more  than  fifty  years 
of  his  life  he  rose  at  the  dawn  of  day,  and  was 
shaved  and  dressed  before  the  common  hour 
for  others  to  rise.     Being  dressed,  his  letters 
and  papers  were  spread  before  him,  and  every 
part  of  his  correspondence  brought  up.     He 
was,  at  the  same  moment  that  he  put  millions 
on  the  adventurous  tracks  for  gain,  with  the 
boldest  character,  careful  of  all  the  small  con- 
cerns of  expenditures.     This  he  considered 
as  belonging  to  the  duty  of  business.     He 
had  morried,  in  early  life.  Miss  Chapman,  of 
Marblohead,  the  daughter  of  a  distinguished 
lawyer.    They  had  five  sons  and  one  daughter. 
Mrs.  Gray  was  a  woman  of  great  powers  of 
mind,  well  cultivated,  and  for  many  years 
was  among  the  first  in  the  social  circle. 

During  the  embargo,  Mr.  Gray  took  side 
with  Mr.  Jeflerson,  notwithstanding  his  inter- 


est suffered  greotly.     His  ships  were  rottin-r 
at  the  wharf.     This  course  brought  ngnins't 
him  his  old  friends,  and  raised  up  a  immcrous 
host  of  new  ones.     He  now  removed  to  Bos- 
ton, and  was  elected  lieutenant-governor  of 
the  state.     He  had  several  times  been  elected 
to  the  state  senate,  but  politics  were  not  his 
stronghold,  and  he  sunk  the  great  merchanl; 
m  tlie  common-place  politi.  "an.    His  immense 
wealth  was  used  for  the  Wants  of  the  govern- 
ment, with  the  liberality  and  confidence  of 
one  who  believed  that  a  government  should 
not  be  poor  when  individuals  were  rieh.     It 
IS  doubtful  whether  any  capitalist  in  theUni- 
ted  States  did  so  much  for  the  exitrencies  of 
government  as  Mr.  Gray.     And  while  others 
^yere  speculating  on  the  depreciation  of  sccu- 
niies,  no  one  will  hesitate  to  say  that  his  ex- 
ertions were  dictated  by  the  patriotism,  with 
only   the  hopes  of  an  honest  remuneration. 
After  the  close  of  the  war,  he  launched  again 
into  commerce,  but  not  with  his  former  suc- 
cess.    Times  had  changed,  but  he  had  not 
changed  with  them  and  what  was  a  safe  cal- 
culation once,  was  not  so  now;  but  still  there 
can  be  no  doubt  but  that  he  died  a  rich  man, 
although  no  public  inventory  was  ever  taken 
ot  his  estate,  as  his  heirs  gave  bonds  to  pay 
debts  and  legacies— all  the  law  of  tliat  state 
requires.     Mrs.  Gray  died  about  two  years 
before  her  husband,  and  his  eldest  son  since 
his  death.     Mr.  Gray  was  happy  in  his  fam- 
ily, and  was  always  a  domestic  man.     He 
was  worn  out  with  the  fatigues  of  business 
at  the  age  of  seventy-four,  and  dei)arted  this 
life,  November  4,  1825. 

Philip  Livingston  descended  from  a  re- 
spectable   Scotch  family,  and  was   bom  at 
Albany,  the  1 5th  of  January,  171 G.     He  was 
educated  at  Yale  college,  and  graduated  with 
the  class  of  1737.    He  became  a  merchant  in 
JNew   York  after  leaving  his   alma-mater; 
and  as  there  were  but  few  well-educated  mer- 
chants in  Wall  street  at  that  time,  he  was 
soon  quite  at  their  head,  and  of  course  had 
offices  at  his  command.     In  1754,  he  was  an 
alderman  of  the  city  of  New  York,  and  after 
serving  m  this  capacity  for  four  yeors,  was 
sent  to  Albany,  as  a  representative  of  the 
city.     In  this  body  he  soon  became  a  leader, 
and  directed  its  attention  to  its  great  interests 
of  commerce  ;  New  York  being  then  behind 
Boston  and  Philadelphia  in  her  exports  and 
imports.     Ho  was  one  of  the  committee  of 
correspondence  with  the  agent  for  the  colony 
in  England,  the  celebrated  Edmund  Burke ; 
and   his  letters  abound  in  information  and 
aitical  remarks,      Mr.   Livingston  was  in 
Congress  m  1776,  and  affixed  bis  name  to  the 
declaration   of  independence,  for  which  he 
was  a  strenuous  advocate.     He  was  a  mem 
ber  of  the  senate  of  New  York,  on  the  adop- 


± 


lis  ships  wore  nittinfj 
lurse  broii^'ht  Of;ninst 
raised  up  a  uurnprous 
now  reniovotl  to  Bo.s- 
Buteiiant-n;ovonior  of 
ral  times  been  electeil 

politics  were  not  liis 
t  the  great  niorcliant 
itii'an.    His  immense 

Wuntsof  the  povcrn- 
ty  and  confidence  of 
»  government  should 
duals  were  ricli.  It 
capitalist  in  theUni- 
for  the  exinfencies  of 
'.  And  wiiilc  others 
depreciation  of  secu- 
te  to  say  that  his  cx- 

the  patriotism,  with 
lonest  rcrauneration. 
ir.  he  launched  again 
vith  his  former  suc- 
ked, but  he  had  not 
vhat  was  a  safe  cul- 
now;  but  still  there 

he  died  a  rich  man, 
tory  was  ever  taken 
3  gave  bonds  to  pay 
he  law  of  that  state 
d_  about  two  years 
his  eldest  son  since 
IS  happy  in  his  fam- 
lomestic  man.  He 
fatigues  of  business 
r,  and  departed  this 

jscended  from  a  re- 
,  and  was  bom  at 
iry,  171 C.  He  was 
and  graduated  with 
came  a  merchant  in 
%  his  alma-mater; 
well-educated  mer- 

that  time,  he  was 
and  of  course  had 
In  1754,  he  was  an 
ew  York,  and  after 
for  four  years,  was 
)resentative  of  the 
n  became  a  leader, 
o  its  great  interests 
:_being  then  behind 
in  her  exports  and 

the  committee  of 
gent  for  the  colony 
d  Edmund  Burke; 
t»  information  and 
Livingston  was  in 
;ed  his  name  to  the 
ice,  for  which  he 
He  was  a  mem 
^ork,  on  the  adop- 


MERCANTILE  mOGRAPHY. 


453 


tion  of  the  state  constitutions;  after  which, 
under  tlie  jjrovisioiis  of  that  constitution,  he 
was  elected  a  number  of  Congress ;  but  he 
was  not  long  ])ermilled  to  devote  himself  to 
the  service  of  his  country,  for  on  the  twelfth 
of  June,  1778,  he  died,  with  angina  pectoris, 
or  the  dropsy  of  the  chest,  often  twin-mes- 
senger ot  death.  He  was  a  warm  and  fear- 
less patriot  in  severe  times,  when  thick  clouds 
enveloped  our  polivjal  horizon. 

Francis  LeciS,  one  of  the  New  York 
delegation  in  congress  when  the  declaration 
of  independence  was  made,  was  bornin  Wales, 
in  1723.  Ho  was  partly  educated  in  Scot- 
land, and  then  sent  to  Westminster,  where 
he  became  a  good  classical  scholar.  In  Lon- 
don he  became  an  apprentice  to  a  merchant, 
with  whom  he  continued  until  he  was  of  age. 
He  then  left  England  for  America  with  hand- 
some prospects,  and  set  up  business  in  New 
York.  He  was  agent  for  the  British  colonies 
in  1756,  and  was  taken  prisoner  and  carried 
to  France,  from  which  country,  on  his  ex- 
change, he  returned  to  New  York.  He  was 
a  lover  of  liberty,  and  stood  foremost  among 
the  sons  of  freedom.  In  1775,  he  was  sent  a 
delegate  from  the  provincial  congress  of  New 
York  to  the  continental  congress,  and  was 
there  when  the  declaration  of  independence 
was  made.  He  continued  in  that  body  for 
several  years  afterward,  and  rendered  great 
service  us  a  commercial  man.  He  suHered 
much  for  his  patriotism,  the  British  having 
destroyed  his  property  on  Long  Island.  He 
had,  however,  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the 
country  prosperous,  though  he  was  not.  He 
died  on  the  thirtieth  of  December,  1813,  in 
"le  ninetieth  year  of  his  age. 

Robert  Morris  was  a  native  of  England, 
but  (Krie  to  this  cotmtry  when  (|uite  young, 
and  was  edur'Heii  in  Philadelphia.  After 
'•'lisLing  his  edacation,  he  entered  a  counting- 
hou  -e,  and  in  -»  few  years  became  conspicuous 
as  ",  t; 'trough  meichani:.  When  the  revolu- 
tior  >rt.n.e  jut,  Mr.  Morris  sided  with  the 
coli"v,t?,  on;5  was  distinguished  as  a  patriot. 
He  was  elected  a  delegate  to  the  second  con- 
tinental congress,  and  was  in  that  botly  in 
1776,  when  the  declaration  of  independence 
WW  signed.  During  the  whole  war,  he  was 
coisidered  the  ablest  financier  in  the  country, 
and  Washington  had  recourse  to  him,  when 
he  could  not  procure  anything  from  Congress. 
In  1781,  Mr.  Morris  was  appointed  superin- 
tendent of  finances,  and  was,  perhaps,  the 
only  man  in  the  country  fit  for  the  office.  He 
hiid  a  most  arduou?  task  to  perform ;  it  was 
indeed  gigantic,  for  it  involved  all  the  duties 
of  every  department  of  the  government,  so  far 
as  money  was  concerned.  Washington  had 
the  highest  confidence  in  him,  and  Franklin 
thought  him  a  most  wonderful  man.    He  sur- 


prised all  by  his  |)owfT  or  raising  money  for 
public  cxigenciiis,  wlien  our  crcilit  was  un- 
der the  worst  circumstances.  He  provided 
Washington  with  money  to  carry  on  his  s(mth- 
ern  campaign  against  Cornwullis,  the  defeat 
of  whose  army  ended  the  war.  He  died  un 
the  eighth  of  j\Iay,  1806,  in  the  seventy-third 
year  of  his  age.  It  may  be  said  of  him  that 
he  was  a  great  public  benefactor. 

Benjamin  Pickman  was  born  in  Salem  in 
1740.  Ho  was  the  son  of  a  distinguished 
merchant  in  that  tovvn,  and  was  graduated  at 
Harvard  college,  in  1759. 

He  entered  his  father's  counting-room  after 
leaving  college,  and  soon  took  a  high  stand 
in  society. 

When  the  revolutionary  war  broke  out,  he 
was  lieutenant-colonel  of  the  Salem  regiment, 
but  he  had  not  made  up  his  mind  that  the 
time  had  arrived  for  the  separation  of  the  two 
countries.    He  was  a  friend  to  his  own,  but 
could  not  come  to  the  doctrine  of  sudden  dis- 
memberment.    He  went  to  England  under  a 
furlough  from  the  legislature,  and  there  did 
much  good  in  assisting  the  unfortunate  ■who 
were  taken  priaoners  in  the  first  years  of  the 
struggle.     His  wife  and  family  remained  in 
this  country  until  the  war  closed,  and  of  course 
his  estates  were  not  confiscated.     In  1784,  he 
.-etumed  to  his  native  land,  and  was  greeted 
with  kindness  by  his  old  friends.     He  again 
commenced  business  as  a  merchant,  but  in  the 
British  spoliations  lost  no  small  part  of  his 
property.     The  treaty  made  by  Jay  returned 
him  his  property,  and  a  fair  interest  on  the 
same.     He   now  relinquished  all  business, 
took  his  money  and  invested  it  in  American 
stocks,  and  lived  on  its  income — m<<st  ample 
means  for  hib  purpose.     His    aMe  was  one 
of  the  best  in  the  countr\-.    He  was  classical, 
delicate  in  his  feelings,  'and  unshaken  in  his 
opinions,  and  every  one  was  satisfied  \v  iih  his 
hospitable  board.     His  conve  rsation  was  gen- 
erally directed  to  ancient  history,  or  to  ihm 
of  our  country.     He  was  at  home  in  iiiher, 
but  made  no  parade  of  his  learning.     He  was 
a  man  of  ordinary  talents,  and  of  more  than 
ordinary  taste  in  classical  literature.     As  an 
antiquary  he  was  second  to  none ;  he  garnered 
up  all  that  was  curious  or  strange  in  his  neigh- 
borhood, and  was  ready  to  give  it  to  the  pub- 
lic provided  his  name  could  be  kept  out  of 
sight. 

He  now  placed  the  enjoyments  cf  his  life 
in  ease,  and  never  swerved  from  his  princi- 
ples. He  was  blessed  with  an  excellent  wife 
and  1  delightful  family.  They  wore  around 
him  and  administered  to  his  comforts.  He 
had  three  sons  and  two  daughters,  and  all 
were  devoted  to  his  happiness.  He  rejoiced 
in  the  success  of  all  \\s  knew :  his  heart  was 
full  of  philanthropy. 


'rt! 


His  person  wns  noble,  his  height  over  six 
»«-«.r  1,18  countenance  was  quiet,  calm,  hut 
inanly,  nml  lianlly  bore  the  ordinary  marks 
'>i  nge.  In  the  eighty-first  of  his  age  ho  sunk 
to  sleep,  without  having  surtered  many  of 
liose  pains  and  aches  which  mortal  man  is 
liiil.le  to,  in  this  seen,  of  struggle  and  anguish. 
1  here  were  but  few  men  in  this  world  of 
so  good  a  disposition,  fewer  still  of  so  much 
intellig,.nce  and  reHnement,  and  none  of  great 
er  punty  of  character.  * 


WOMAN'S  MISSION. 

Her   mission    is    peculiar    and    sublime. 

world.  The  wildness  of  nature  is  to  be  sub- 
dued; Its  barrenness  and  deformity  are  to  be 
converted  to  fertility  and  beauty.  "^Nature  is 
to  be  brought  m„Te  fully  in  subjection  to  the 
purposes  ot  man  ;  but  this  work  rests  not  on 
woman.  There  are  new  channels  of  com- 
merce to  open,  new  lines  of  interpomraunica 
tion  to  establish,  manufactures  to  promote 
arts  to  foster,  fields  of  discovery  to  explore' 
social  systems  to  reconstruct,  and  political 
institutions  to  regenerate ;  but  the  peculiar 
mission  of  woman  is  not  here.  To  all  this 
her  work  is  what  the  soul  is  to  the  body— 
what  the  spirit  is  to  the  matter  which  it 
animates  and  informs. 

Woman  is  emphatically  and  essentiallv  an 
^^ator.  She  operates  not  on  woo<rand 
marble,  but  on  mmd.  She  takes  it  in  the 
first  dawning  of  intelligence  and  reason,  and 
imparts  its  first  knowledge  of  objects,  and  its 

imbibes  not  only  its  earliest,  but  its  most 
permanent  ideas  of  fitness  and  truth,  of  right 
and  obligation.  She  gives  charact;r  toll 
Ae  future  being  of  immortals,  by  the  coloring 
which  she  imparts  to  the  fountains  of  intel- 
ectual  and  moral  life.      She   develops  and 

hose  sensibilities  on  whic  h  all  the  after-emo- 
tions of  the  soul  depend  She  has  the  de- 
ShlCu?,^"'^  forming  of  the  individual  man. 
fehe  takes  him,  hke  the  unpolished  block,  and 
ceases  not  her  care  and  toil,  till  he  is  wrought 
7r  .["""-^u""^  ^""''''  ""'1  symmetry,  and 
fT^t^.  ^^7^  }'  '"'«  '"  '^'  fi'*"^  wear- ' 
ance  of  the  rude  shell  to  awaken  our  interest, 
or  to  attract  our  notice  ;  but  when  placed  in 

brilliant  pearl.  worM>y  to  deck  the  bosom  of 

So,  when  we  look  on  humanity  in  itsincipien- 
cy,  there  is  little  in  its  dull  exterior  to  attract 


our  attention,  or  to  give  impulse  to  onr  hone. 

and  polished  and  rxnite.l,  will  -litter  in  the 
ranks  of  intelligence,  and  reflect  its  li^ht  on 
the  perfection  and  glory  of  the  Creator.''  An-I 
this  IS  a  part  of  woman's  mission— to  tear  from 

tn'J.  l"'"  T-"""'  i?'-'"^-hich  is  hidden 
beneath  Its  rude  incrustations,  and,  workin- 

the  Ijnll  ants  which  glow  in  the  diadem  of 
Jehovah's  intellectual  glory. 

The  social  and  political  stamling  and  in- 
fluence of  mankind,  not  less  than  their  in- 
tellectual  character,  are  fixed  and  determined 
by  woman.  See  that  child.  There  is  some- 
thing more  than  a  smile  of  innocence,  and  a 
form  of  loveliness.  There  is  a  spirit  which 
will  grow  ,n  intellectual  might,  and  impress 
Its  sentiments  on  the  nation ;  a  spirit  beneath 
whose  mysterious  incantations  the  ocean  of 
feeling  may  be  lashed  to  fury;  a  spirit  by 
whose  potency  the  deep  foundations  of  thi 
social  worid  may  be  moved.     That  child  is 

the  feelings  of  humamty  to  curses,  or  call  om 
the  deep  gratitude  of  its  throbbing  heart  in 
umversul  praise.  And  who  is  to  mould,  and 
give  impulse  and  direction  to  this  tremendous 
energy  f     Woman!     This  is  her  misTion 


Woman  is  also  a  reformer.  The  influence 
of  woman  on  the  order  of  society  is  controlling. 
Ihe  influence  of  a  single  woman,  in  her  own 
immediate  circle,  is  only  an  epitomized  ex- 
pression of  the  influence  of  woman,  in  the 
aggregate,  on  the  masses  of  mankind.  She 
wields  in  society  a  moral   influence   wliich 

itself  fel  for  good  or  evil,  in  all  the  walks 
"f  social  life.  It  is  wielded,  not  on  the  battle- 
field, nor  in  the  senate  :  it  is  as  noiseless,  but 
s  il  as  pervading,  as  the  light.  It  steals  into 
all  the  ramifications  of  life,  and  occupies  all 
the  recesses  of  the  heart.  Woman  is  the 
destroyer,  or  the  conservator,  of  the  best  in- 
^rests  and  highest  happiness  of  social  man. 
One  way  or  the  other,  her  influence  must  be 
controlling. 

All  this  we  suppose  to  be  generally  and 
cleariy  admitted  truth.  And  in  this  view  how 
commanding,  how  awfully  responsible,  is  the 
position  of  woman.  Look  at  the  present 
,  aspect  of  society,  and  see  the  end  toward 
which  this  amazing  moral  power  is  to  be  ex- 
erte.1.  The  spirit  of  reform,  like  the  breath 
.>t  W()d,  13  beginning  to  move  on  the  dark  and 
sluggish  waters,  over  which  the  night  of 
ages  has  brooded.     Mind  is  awakeninl  from 

tJ  T.  •'■'  ""''  T"^"^  «^"y  "«  fo«ers. 
1  nought  18  aroused  to  a  living  and  fearful 
intensity.  Humanity  is  coming  up  from  the 
grave  in  which  despotism  and  ignorance  have 
confined  it,  tearing  ofT  its  grave-clothes,  and 


uni  iTriwiViMr-  I  rti« 


impulse!  to  our  hnpr. 
',  which,  whrn  foiirnl 
I.  will  -jlittor  in  the 
'1  roflpct  its  li-rht  on 
r)f  the  Creator.  And 
mlHsion— to  tonr  from 
?eni  which  is  hidilin 
ations,  and,  workin;,' 
encc,  to  set  it  nnion^ 
w  in  the  diadem  of 

"■y. 

;nl  stamlinn  nnd  in- 
_  less  than  their  in- 
ixed  nnrl  detennincd 
Id.  There  is  some- 
of  innocence,  and  a 
re  is  a  spirit  which 
might,  nnd  impress 
>n  ;  a  spirit  beneath 
itions  the  ocean  of 
'  fury;  a  spirit  hy 

foundations  of  the 
pel.  That  child  is 
which  may  curdle 
~>  curses,  or  call  out 
throbbing  heart  in 
do  is  to  mould,  and 

to  this  tremendous 
!  is  her  mission. 
sr-  The  influence 
'ciety  is  controlling, 
voman,  in  her  own 
an  epitomized  ex- 
of  woman,  in  the 
of  mankind.  She 
I   influence   wliich 

Her  power  makes 
,  in  all  the  walks 
[,  not  on  the  battle- 
is  as  noiseless,  but 
;ht.  It  steals  into 
,  and  occupies  all 
Woman  is  the 
ir,  of  the  best  in- 
!S3  of  social  man. 
influence  must  be 

be  generally  nnd 
i  in  this  view  how 
■esponsible,  is  the 
c  at  the  present 
the  end  toward 
)ovver  is  to  be  ex- 
it like  the  breath 
;  on  the  dark  and 
ch  the  night  of 
awakening  from 
way  its  fetters, 
ving  and  fearful 
ling  up  from  the 
d  ignorance  have 
rave-clothes,  and 


■J 


8N0W. 


455 


standing   forth   in   the   conscious  dignity  of 
liberty  and  reason. 

In  all  this,  the  work  of  woman  is  conser- 
vative. Sho  must  be  seen  and  felt  in  all 
those  movements;  not,  indeed,  in  strife  and 
dfbati',  but.  in  those  soft  and  gentle,  yet  con- 
trolling inlluciices  which  sho  imposes  on  man- 
kind. It  is  hers  to  allay  the  eirervesccncea 
of  excitement,  and  to  restrain  the  lawlessness 
of  passion  ;  to  imbue  the  movement  with  the 
mildness  of  charity,  while  she  fortifies  it  with 
the  power  of  principles. 

"  Aa  aho  Kliu>ces  aruund,  in  the  llglit  orher  imile, 
TliL!  wiir  ol'tlio  pinaiou  is  liuahed,  for  awhile, 
Anil  Discoril,  ooiitoiit  from  liis  fury  to  ocaio, 
Iluiioaua  entranced  on  tbo  bocom  of  Peace." 


SNOW: 

ITS   NATURE   AND   FORMATION. 

Whatever  is  commonly  before  our  eyes 
is  usually  regarded  by  us  with  less  attention 
than  it  deserves  to  he.  This  is  the  case  with 
snow.  We  pass  it  by  unaware  of  its  won- 
derful formbtion,  careless  of  its  very  great 
value,  and  oi.ly  awaro  that  it  is  very  white 
and  very  cold.'  Bat  an  examination  of  a  flake 
of  snow,  with  the  assistance  of  a  miscroscope, 
will  show  to  us  that  in  its  structure  there  are 
great  beauty  and  great  skill.  It  will  show  to 
us,  in  short,  that  like  all  the  other  works  of 
God,  it  is  exceec'"  %\y  wonderful. 

Where  water  is  frozen  the  product  is  'CE ; 
a  thick,  solid,  and  slim  transparent  substeuce. 
A  comparison  between  a  piece  of  ice,  how- 
ever small,  and  a  flake  of  snow,  will  speedily 
convince  the  reader  of  the  very  great  dilFer- 
ence  between  the  substances  of  which  they 
consist.  Whence  is  that  difference?  The 
grand  influence  which  forms  ice  is  the  same 
as  that  which  forms  snow.  That  influence 
is  intense  cold.  But  in  the  two  cases  the 
cold  is  exerted  upon  particles  in  a  diflerent 
state  of  cohesion.  When  aqueous  particles 
are  closely  cohered  in  the  form  of  water,  the 
influence  of  intense  cold  upon  them  produces 
a  solid  and  ponderous  body  ;  i.  e.,  ICE.  But 
when  this  description  of  particles  is  dispersed 
in  vapors  andgreatlyrarified,  they  are  changed 
by  intense  cold  into  frozen  particles  of  a  less 
dense  coherence.  The  ditference  between 
the  density  of  those  particles  which,  when 
acted  upon  by  cold  yield  ice,  and  those  which, 
exi)osed  to  the  same  influence,  yield  snow,  is 
this :  the  latter  are  just  twenty-four  times 
lighter,  bulk  for  bulk,  than  the  former.  The 
particles  are  only  exceedingly  rarified  as  to 
their  bulk ;  but  the  bulk  also  is  exceedingly 
small.    So  small  indeed  is  it,  that  one  such 


particle  would  present  but  a  very  minute  ob- 
ject even  when  viewed  with  the  powerful  aid 
of  the  microscope. 

How,  then,  the  curious  reader  will  exclaim, 
such  being  the  case,  can  the  mere  action  of 
intense  cold  present  to  our  view  largo  flukes 
of  snow?  The  process  by  which  this  is 
brought  about  is,  indeed,  exceedingly  curious; 
and,  therefore,  we  will  give  a  brief,  and,  of 
course,  a  faint,  description  of  it. 

Floating  in  the  upper  atmosphere,  let  the 
reader  imagine  that  he  can  see  millions  of 
minute  drops,  or  points  of  vapor.  Acted  uf/on 
by  intense  cold,  each  of  these  drops  or  points 
is  converted  into  a  solid  substance  as  hnc  as 
one  of  those  little  motes  which  we  con 
sometimes  see  floating  in  the  radiant  sun- 
beams. As  these  descend  lower  and  low- 
er in  the  atmosphere  they  attract  each  oth- 
er, and  each  flake  of  snow  that  we  see  glisten- 
ing in  virgin  whiteness  upon  the  ground, 
consists  of  a  multitude  of  these  minute  atoms 
of  frozen  matter,  cohering  together  with  the 
most  perfect  and  beautiful  uniformity.  Sure- 
ly, when  we  perceive  that  even  in  a  flake  of 
snow  so  much  ingenuity  and  design  are  per- 
ceivably  existent,  we  ought  to  keep  our  atten- 
tion to  surrounding  objects  perpetually  upon 
the  alert.  Everything  of  God's  creation, 
however  minute  m  itself  or  humble  in  the 
uses  to  which  it  is  destined,  is  calculated  to 
yield  ^reat  pleasure  to  the  attentive  observer. 

It  13  by  an  attentive  observation  of  the 
works  of  the  Almighty  that  we  are  the  most 
certainly  and  eirectually  led  into  a  truly  pious 
frame  of  mind.  We  can  not  pay  attention 
to  the  innumerable  wonders  of  the  natural 
world  without  finding  ourselves  more  able 
and  more  inclined,  with  every  successive 
hour,  to 

"  Look  through  nature  up  to  natnro'g  God." 

This,  indeed,  is  the  most  valuable  end  of 
all  studies.  All  the  other  uses  of  knowledge 
have  this  one  great  defect,  that  they  are  tem- 
porary. But  this  great  end  of  our  studies  is 
eternally  useful :  making  us  better  fitted  for 
the  eternal  favor  of  our  Creator. 

Even  of  merely  temporal  value,  the  pursuit 
of  natural  philosophy  is  abundantly  produc- 
tive ;  and  youth,  who  indulge  themselves  in 
it,  are  never  at  a  loss  for  the  most  refined 
amusement;  an  amusement  which  instructs 
as  well  as  delights,  and,  unlike  most  other 
amusements,  never  clogs  and  never  leaves  a 
sting  behind  it. 

or   THE   USES   OF   SNOW. 

It  is  not  merely  about  the  structure  of  the 
visible  things  around  us  that  we  are  occa- 
sionally too  incurious ;  we  are  but  too  apt  to 
neglect  to  make  inquiry  into  their  uses.   Snow 


.-ir 


'!l«! 


iJT; 


436 


SNOW. 


is  ODP  of  tho  jrnnv  thiiiij.s  <  f  usefulness  of 
whifli  men  are,  in  genirftl,  ,1,1  to  mnkii  small 
or  no  iici-ount.     Muny  of  even  those  who  do 
tnko  thf  trouble  to  n- fleet  on  its  effeet  Ufwn 
the  ffrniind,  form  a  very  incorrect  notion  of 
If.     Judijiug  from  it«  own  nature  anr!  nppcar- 
anep,  tlii.'se  persons  inft-r  that  snow      ust  "--- 
fcs'^arily  he  injurious  i..  tli<i  earth,  I  ,■  re-     n 
of  its  dampness  and  intcii-io  cold.      ,  he  v. 
reverse  of  this  is  what  actually  takes  place. 
Tho  thick  coverin)T  of  snow  which  lies  upon 
tho  pround  in  winter,  i»  so  fur  from  innkin.' 
the  earth  cold,  that  it,  in  truth,  prevm't  it 
from  heing  so.     Were  tho  dry  carl  I,  exposed 
to  the  action  of  the  hitter  and  piercini;  wind. 
of  winter,  it  would  be  utterly  denrivnl  of  that 
genial  warmth,  without  which  the  seed  8o»«  „ 
wthin  it  could  not  germinate.     It  h.  by  the 
close  ami  lluky  covering  of  the  shining  sno  -, 
that  a  remnant  of  genial  heat  is  preserved  m 
the  bosom  of  tli    earth.     In  vain  do  the  pier- 
cing winds  howl  above  ;  they  can  not  pene- 
trate that  mantle  with  which  God  has  clothed 
the  face  of  nature. 

S.irne  well-meaning,  hut  mistaken  writers 
have  essayed  to  prove,  that  snow  has  a  chym- 
ical  as  well  as  a  mechanical  etficacv.  TTiey 
have  imagined,  and  endeavored  to  p'rovc,  that 
It  not  only  preserves  to  the  earth  that  portion 
ot  warmth  which  is  absolutely  necessary  to 


the  jirocess  of  germination,  hut  also  fertilizes 
It.  As  a  covering,  protecting  the  earth  from 
the  sharp  winds,  snow  is  useful  indeed  ;  as  a 
manure,  it  is  utterly  u  ithout  virtue.  It  was 
not  intended  for  a  manure ;  and  experiment 
has  put  It  beyond  doubt  or  question,  that  of 
the  peculiar  property  which  has  been  attrib- 
uted to  it,  it  does  not  possess  one  particle 
more  than  common  rain-water. 

The  class  of  writers  to  whom  we  have  al- 
luded, have  supposed  that  snow  possesses  a 
large  proportion  of  nitrous  salts.     If  it  did 
possess  these,  it  would  undoubtedly  tend  tofer- 
nhze  the  earth  :  but  it  does  not  possess  them. 
1  he  aqueous  particles  were  supposed  to  ac- 
quire these  salts  in  the  process  of  being  frozen; 
but  elaborate  and  well-conducted  experiments 
have   shown  that  although  rain-water  and 
snow  contain  a  quantity  of  calcareous  earth, 
and  a  very  small  (juantity  of  nitrous  and  mu- 
riatic acids,  the  rain-water  has,  in  f?ct,  the 
larger  portion  of  the  two.    And  even  the  rain 
has  them  m  such  an  exceedingly  small  pro- 
portion, that  it  can  not  by  any  possibility  de- 
rive any  fertilizing  virtue  from  them. 

We  need  not  go  out  of  the  way  to  exaggerate 
the  usefulness  of  the  creations  of  God.  They 
have  m  reality  such  abundant,  and  in  most 
cases  such  palpable  usefulness,  that  to  ad- 
mire them  it  is  only  necessary  that  we  dili- 
gently and  curiously  observe  them. 

Observation  of  the  appearances  of  nature 


lend-,  us,  almost  irsensiblv,  to  moral  reflertion 
How  dreary  is  -i-o  uniformity  and  i.lenknf 
ot  the  appearance  of  nature  in  winter!  \\ 
can  not  look  abr.md  without  feeliiig  a  «en>. 
of  chilliness;  and  we  could  almost  ima'dne 
that  our  own  fireside  has  less  li,.,n  .isni.r„f 
Its  warm  and  rhfrrful  influence.  \K  ,  rep,," 
at  our  temporary  privation  ..f  the  fruits  ono 
tfie  pleasant  scenery  of  si  imer;  and  even 
exclaitri  against  the  unrr<iit,,  and  m^gd  ns- 
pect  of  the  winter.  And  yet,  were  jt^n  '  '.ir 
the  pr.5!.  'ving  power  of  that  f  u.w,  wli,,so 
u  ,,"-'  i'"'»"nnify  -Hendsus  ,  much,  we 
should  look  in  vain,  for  the  rich  fruits  and  ver- 
'I  ,1    ns  of  tlu    gay  sumiiier.     Tho  seeds 

m      the  tender  plants  wouM  In  rly  de- 

Bt roved,  and  we  should  not  only  without 
tho  beaufv  of  summer,  hnt  nlsoVitiiout  food. 
1  he  golden  harvest,  «  ,uc.i  is  so  dear  to  us, 
w  nil  not  wave  in  beautiful  luxuriance,  had 
iiwt  tile  dreary  snow  been  wrapt  as  a  mantle 
round  the  earth  during  the  chill  season  of 
winter. 

Even  so  is  it  with  our  mora!  "ifure.  Wn 
are  Plunged  into  the  midst  of  diUieiltips  ond 
dangers— we  lool  "broad,  and  all  is  dreary, 
dark,  nw\  threat-  ,..  Short-sighMd  and  of 
htilelaitl  we  .cady  upon  the  mom'  '  to 
exclaim  t  t  v  e  are  deserted  and  must 
perish,  'i  ■  flies  on,  our  prospects  liri 
and  our  ditli,  Jties  and  dangers  vaiii.-'  ru 
befoix'  v  We  look  back  with  calm  «ud  un- 
deluded  mm!  upon  the  past,  and  discover 
that  those  very  circumstances  which  most 
strongly  excited  our  distrust  and  discontent, 
were  tho  means  of  our  preservation. 

Due  reflection  in  this  way  will  never  fail 
to  afford  vs  comfort  and  fortitude  in  the  midst 
of  all  difliculties,  however  immense  and  seem- 
ingly unavoidable.     We  shall  learn  to  con- 
sider our  misfortunes  and  perplexities  as  a 
niorai  winter.      We  may  look  with   some 
onnoyance,  indeed,  upon  the  dreary  and  com- 
fortless prospect  around  us,  but  we  shall  reflect 
that  a  brighter  season  will  ere  long  shine  upon 
us.     We  shall  long,  indeed,  for  the  lovely 
spring-time,  and  the  glorious  summer;  but 
we  shall  not  the  less  feel  the  necessity  of  our 
enduring  these  wintry  rigors  so  essential  to  per- 
fecting the  works  of  those  more  genial  seasons. 
We  shall  thus,  even  in  our  sorrows  and  our 
sufTerings,  create  a  source  of  rejoicing;  pres- 
ent privations  will  give  us  hope  of  future  en- 
joyment, and  the  most  imminent  dangers  will 
seem  to  be  but  a  rugged  pathway  to  security 
and  peace.    In  a  word,  we  shall  learn  to  rely 
with  pious  constancy  upon  Him  who  can 
make  all  things  work  together  for  our  good  ; 
and  we  shall  find  both  profit  and  comfort  in 
the  habit  which  we  shall  insensibly  acquire 
of  believing  and  hoping  that 

"  Whatever  ia,  in  best." 


nJwIirnuBmiJillDiSlI 


nwuaMiMtftWiiiiin  ita 


,  foTTKinil  rrflprtion 
initv  and  Ulcnknfss 
iro  in  winter!     \\ 
"lit  f'oelinij  a  HfM'. 
iilil   almost  iinn<;ini' 

S  1(!S8  Ihad    IISIlll'    llf 

uenre.  VV'.-  r('|Mi>' 
n  "f  the  fruits  ami 
ner;  and  ''vnn 
infl  r'ln-pcl  ns- 
yt't.  wen  it  i.:  '  'or 
that  ^iiiw,  wJK.so 
'Is  118  ,  much,  wo 
rich  fruits  and  ver- 
itiiner.  The  seeds 
mill  he  M-  rlv  de- 
al only  iic  wfthout 
'  nlso  without  food. 
a  ia  so  dcnr  to  us, 
ul  luxuriaitco,  had 
wrnnt  as  a  mnntle 
je  cnill  eeasoi;  of 

loral  ''^^ure.    \^ >, 
of  diilu  iltipN  and 
ond  all  is  dreary, 
lort-sighii-il  and  of 
pon  the  momr   ■  to 
ed  and  must 
prospects  hri 
igers  vaiii.-' 
with  calm  ami  u,  - 
)a8t,  and  discover 
noes  which   most 
St  and  discontent, 
ervation. 

ly  will  never  fail 
titude  in  the  midst 
nmense  and  seem- 
laJl  learn  to  con- 
perplexities  as  a 
look  with  some 
1  dreary  ond  com- 
lut  we  shall  reflect 
re  long  shine  upon 
tl,  for  the  lovely 
us  summer;  but 
3  necessity  of  our 
50  essential  toper- 
ire  genial  seasons. 
r  sorrows  and  our 
'  rejoicing;  pres- 
opo  of  future  en- 
nent  dangers  will 
hway  to  security 
hall  leani  to  rely 
1  Him  who  can 
ler  for  our  good  ; 
it  and  comfort  in 
isensibly  acquire 


THE  WlNTHU^^r  MONUMENT. 


IIOKOR  TO  \ 


la  IS  DUE. 


ff/'^, 

admiration  1 


,RAL    articles 
iving   lately   np- 
iifuri'd  ill  our  pub- 
lic journals  on  the 
subject  of  erecting 
a  suitable  tomb  to 
the     memory    of 
John  Winthrop, 
the  first  governor 
;;^  nf  Massachusetts,  and  founder 
^"Y  '  ■'  t*ic  city  of  Boston,  we  now 
h(i   ■;  the  pleasure  of  presenting 
to      r  readers  !ia  ai)propriate 
m  '11  111  design,  conceiving 

table  mode  of  call- 
attention  more  di- 
and  edectually  to  this 
ni  praiseworthy  object, 
.niutmle  for  eminent  servi- 
*,  honor  to  pietv  nnd  virtue, 
m.m..uu.,u  .  i,)ftv  genius,  impell(  a  by  noble 
aims,  arc  among  the  best  traits  of  th(;  iiuman 
character.  As'educatioii  is  the  chief  defence 
of  wcll-govnrned  nations,  and  the  sure  though 
slow  coiTcetor  of  political  abuses  and  jiublic 
wrongs,  so  are  munifcstotions  of  general  es- 
teein^md  gratitude  for  tlu'sc  who  have  nobly 
served  their  country  or  rtice,  the  fittest  and 
truest  earthly  reward  of  their  well-doing,  and 
the  cheapest  incentive  to  lives  of  unbending 
integrity  und  enduring  patriotism.  As  it  is 
the  orditionce  of  Heaven,  that  the  virtues  of 
men  should  survive  them,  in  a  grateful  and 
purifying  influence,  so  it  is  alike  due  to  the 
memory  if  the  great  ond  good  who  are  gone, 
and  to  the  best  interests  of  those  who  come  al- 
ter them,  that  those  who  have  known  their 
worth  and  devotion  to  the  public  good  should 
embody  in  an  enduring  monument  those  rec- 
ollections, 80  that  when  the  eye  of  the  citizen 
or  traveller  beholds  it,  his  pulse  may  beat  with 
a  quicker  vibration. 

'  There  is  in  the  neighborhood  ot  Lucerne, 
in  Switzeriand,  carved  in  high  relief,  upon  the 
vertical  face  of  an  imnwnse  rock  among  the 
mountains,  a  colossal  lion,  nierced  by  a  lance, 
•  ,.1  dying  unon  a  shield.  It  was  sculptured 
liiere  in  honor  of  the  memory  cf  those  intrepid 
Swiss  who,  on  the  10th  of  August,  1792,  sealed 
with  their  lives  their  devotion  to  Ae  unfortu- 
nate king  of  France.  It  is  the  noblost  triliute 
to  the  vfrMio  of  fidelity  which  the  world  can 
show.  We  doubt  not  that  many  a  failing 
purpose  to  do  well  has  been  strengthcited, 
many  a  wavering  resolution  confirmed,  by  the 
sight  of  this  glorious  monument,  and  new  vowt. 
made  by  the  beholder  to  fulfil  with  unfaltering 
zeal  his  duties  to  his  country.    Its  eloquence 


must  be  irresistible — its  silent  liingiingo  must 
do  more  than  the  words  of  jjoet  or  orator. 

It  would  be  an  act  of  friMison  to  posterity, 
if  no  permanent  record  of  Wintmuoi'  should 
go  down  to  them.  In  this  venerated  man, 
whoso  virtues  we  wish  here  to  j)<'r|iitiiate, 
w(!  behold  no  mere  mediocrity,  eitlier  of  in- 
telligence or  virtue.  He  lived  eni|pliulieully 
for  TiiK  FUTIJRK.  It  was  his  bright  iitiibition 
to  do  good  to  others — to  advance  the  ciiuse 
of  benevolence,  of  science,  of  iiieny.  "t  reli- 
gion. Living  in  ease,  comfort,  ond  obundanoe, 
in  I  ill!  country  of  his  birth,  Mr.  Wi.nthkop 
cheerfully  renounced  all  these  at  an  Jidvimced 
period  ot  life,  and  embarked  bis  fortune  in 
the  arduoii ;  attempt  to  nettle  a  people  on  the 
distant  shores  of  a  new  world.  t)f  anient 
temperament,  with  a  well-stored  and  cultiva- 
ted mind,  and  possessing  in  no  ordinary  degree 
those  estimable  qualities  that  endear  niun  to 
his  fellow-man,  he  was  well  suited  to  conduct 
and  manage  a  rising  coiimiunity,  such  as  that 
over  whicii  he  presided,  and  to  estaldish  among 
its  nif  mijcrs  that  love  of  order  ond  deference 
to  outhority,  which  have  ever  been  the  char- 
acteristics of  the  New  Englond  states.  Ac- 
cordingly, wo  find  him  elected  to  be  the  first 
governor  of  Massachusetts;  to  which  distin- 
guished station,  with  the  intermission  of  a  few 
years,  he  was  re-elected  to  the  peril  ul  of  bis 
death,  which  occurred  in  1049.  The  influ- 
ence of  his  stern,  simple-hearted  faith,  niukes 
at  this  day  a  h-  ad,  deep  mark  on  the  charac- 
ter of  the  whole  American  people.* 

Whether  we  view  Governor  Wi.nthrop 
individually,  in  tJio  discharge  of  his  jMiblic 
duries,  in  tne  private  and  domestic  relations 
of  life,  or  in  a  more  extended  sense,  ns  con- 
nected with  a  momentou3.cpoch  in  the  history 
of  his  country,  he  is  eminently  deserving  of 
some  public  and  lasting  record  of  his  useful- 
ness and  virtue — one  befitting  the  weallli  and 
intelligenceof  the  capital  of  the  state  in  •  liirh 
his  ashes  repose,  and  expressive  of  tin  li- 
mation  in  which  his  memory  is  held  by  the 
descendants  of  those  who  lived  undur  his  equa- 
ble rule.  And  this  is  rendered  more  neces- 
sary, when  we  reflect  np<  "  the  remarkf.ble 
and  stirring  scenes  with  which  he  was  con- 

"  TiiinuTE  TO  New  ENcr.AND.— Mr.  Cnlhunn,  in 
his  letter  to  the  New  Enijlaiul  Society  conmiittee  at 
Washington,  declinin|j'  an  invitation  to  theirdiniieron 
the  22il  beccmber,  takes  occasion  to  say  :  "  By  what 
causes  has  so  inconsiilcrablo  a  begiening,  under  such 
fomiidnblc,  and  apparently  almost  insurmouiitahlodil- 
ficulties,  resulted,  in  so  brief  a  period,  in  such  mi.trhtv 
consequen(;es  ?  They  are  to  be  found  in  the  lugh 
moral  and  intellectual  qualities  of  the  pilgnms:  their 
faith,  piety,  and  confident  trust  in  a  supcnntending 
Providence  ;  their  stern  virtues  ;  their  patriotic  love 
of  libertv  and  order ;  their  devotion  to  Icarainp  ;  and 
,  their  iniii  mitable  courage  and  perseverance.  1  hese 
ore  the  causes  which  sumioiinted  overj-^obstacle,  and 
which  have  led  to  such  mighty  results." 


iii]  >  d 


t 


I 


I 


4A8 


THE  WINTHROP  MONUMENT. 


1 


nflcted,  ff.nning  n  dtriking  feature  in  Amoriran 
Iii-story— n  nort  of  stnrtinK-point,  fnmi  which 
to  ilatti  tho  ctmitnffncuinent  of  our  sul)se(|uunt 
jfreutiifs*— nn.l  whoso  rusults  continue  to  af- 
fcrt  thn  wori.l  nt  large,  hy  o|H!,iin«  up  a  wide 
fit'M  forimiustrynndpntcrpiiso.nndoirorinffan 
any  uin  to  tho  opj.rrsscd  ujul  dcNtituto  of  othor 
lands.  It  ought  never  tr)  ho  forgotten,  that 
tho  sons  of  the  piigrinfjs  were  the  founders  and 
l>illar«  of  our  re|)uldic,  nial  iWmed  tlio  first 
KHllnnt  bonil  who,  midst  tho  conflict  of  party 
fceiinir,  or  the  despondency  of  national  mis- 
fortune, staked  their  hapi)ine8»,  life,  and  hon- 
or, for  the  politiful  regeneration  and  independ- 
ent existence  of  our  country ;  and,  by  their 
united  wisdom  und  ovpcrience,  became  the 
nistriiments,  in  tho  hands  of  an 


.  ■  ■••   u...  overruling 

1  roviilence,  of  hxmg  the  destuiy  of  this  na- 
tion. Th(;ro  is  a  secret  nluustire  and  satisfac- 
tion in  tlius  tracing  the  fountain  to  its  source 
— m  recalling  to  mind  the  times  and  grmes 
when  those  plans  were  first  suggested  and 
earned  out  that  have  elevated  us  into  the 
enjoyment  of  that  freedom  whose  effects  have 
been,  and  still  continue  to  be,  a  rajiid  career 
of  greatness  and  glory,  the  increasing  admi- 
ration of  the  civilized  world.* 

•  Chriitianitv- started  tho  human  mind  on  iti  prog- 
entcarooret  in,;, ^pendent inquiry, activity,  and  proir. 
re»«.    Tonching  every  mnn  that  to  hii  o%vn  majter 
10  stnndoth  or  falloth,  imposing  on  him  a  re.ponaj- 
nuity  wrluch  otomity  aloiia  meoiurog,  luid  wrhich  he 
can  not  divide  witli  another,  it  necegiiarUy  throws 
lura  ott  from  proscription  to  think  and  act  for  liimsolf 
Weverhas  Chnstiamty  ptmctrated  a  coimtry,  nor  a 
cottage,  nor  a  ral.in.  without  awaking  the  mind  to 
earnest  tliought  and  drawing  out  its  energies  to  oar- 
nest  action.     Ihe  Protestant  Uefonnntion  is  an  m- 
stance  on  a  largo  sc,,'  .     It  was  then  that  Cliristi- 
anity  stood  over  the  grave  of  free  inquiry,  as  .lesug  at 
tne  grave  of  Lazarus,  and  cried,  "  Como  forth."  Forth 
came  Umt  spint.  and  tlio  ,  •avoclothes  of  superstition 
wore  cast  away.    She  has  gone  abroad  iw  more  to 
aie  ;  she  has  roused  men  to  action;  she  has  ripped 
up  old  PiTors ;  she  has  torn  away  abuses  ;  she  has  dug 
up  buried  truths ;  she  has  multiplied  inventions,  in- 
creased wealth,  ditfused  comforts  ;  she  has  changed 
the  face  of  tho  world.     Though  she  has  often  forgot- 
ten and  sometimes  stnbl.ed  the  benefactor  that  raised 
her  from  the  grave,  and  allying  hersrlf  with  the  sel- 
u-  ur.}-    ."'•'^■''''h,  has  committed  excesses  at 
Which  Cliristmnity  weeps,  yet  it  was  Christianity 
that  started  her  career,  and  that  ever  is  striving  to 
restrain  it,  tliat  it  may  bo  only  a  career  of  blessing. 
Jtis  a  singular  fact,  oommonted  on  by  Guizot,  that, 
at  the  verj-  time  when,  in  the  church,  the  spirit  of' 
tree  in<|uiry  was  going  forth,  in  the  state.  jKiwer  was 
rapidly  concentrating  in  the  monarch.    But  tho  free- 
dom ot  iiKiuirv  awnJiened  by  Christianity,  could  not 
long  exist  without  being  brought  to  act  on  the  state. 
And  history  shows,  m  quick  succession,  English  I'u- 
ritaiiism  the  settlement  of  New  Endand.  the  Eng- 
hsh  n-volution,  the  American  revolution-alt  results 
of  the  collision  of  mmd  freed  by  ClirUtianity.  with 
the  growing  despotism  of  the  state. 

Thus,  not  the  Puritans  olone,  to  whose  influence  in 
advancing  liberty,  oven  Hume  testifies,  but  in  all  the 
history  of  Christendom,  the  church  has  been  ahead 
of  the  state,  and  taken  the  lead  in  its  progress ;  it 
has  occasioned  the  oppo-ition  to  tyranny  which  has 


Perhaps  there  is  no  quality  of  tho  mind  so 
little  developed  among  us  as  ihut  of  vnura- 
twn.     We  nay  a  passing  tribute,  it  is  true,  to 
tho  hero  of  the  hour— we  bow  before   the 
rising  sun,  and  mingle  our  shouts  with  the 
huzzas  of  the  crowd  ;  but  there  our  homncu 
ceases— the  heart  is  not  nfFccted.     We  honor 
the  pageant  of  a  day;  biu  ourgrntiiude  wouhl 
seem  to  bo  the  (.trspnni,  ,  uthcr  of  favors  hoped 
tor.  than  of  those  received,  and  to  end  with 
the  power  to  benefit.     Wo  can  hardly  over- 
estimate tho  beneficial  influence  of  the  monu- 
MKHTAL  AHT  Upon  llio  general  character  of  a 
pcrjplo  like  ourselves.     It  would  bring  liefore 
us  in  our  daily  walks  tho  idea  of  country  in  a 
visible  shape.     It  would  impersonate  her  to 
us  as  a  kind  mother,  as  a  being  to  love  and 
honor— to  live  for.  to  die  for.     But  few  are 
tho  monuments  raised  by  public  feeling  over 
the  remains  of  public  benefactors.     Few  are 
tho  permanent  memorials  of  tlio  peoido  to 
groat  and  gtmd  men  departed.     Even  Boston 
the  model  city  of  New  England,  is  in  this 
respect  deficient.    Wo  have  no  king,  n..  court, 
no  imposing  forms  and  ceremonies  to  serve  an 
extenml  signs.     We  need  something  tan-nblo 
to  cling  to  and  rally  anmn,] —the  outward 
types  and  symbols  afforded  hy  monumental 
art.     When  these  become  scattered  through- 
out our  country,  they  will,  like  so  many  mis- 
sionaries.  preach  perpetual  sennons  of  patri- 
otism, beauty,  and  taste,  and  sow  seeds  which 
will  spnng  up  and  bear  fruit  n  hundred-fold, 
through  tho  length  and  breadth  of  the  laiul, 
1  here  are  unwrought  mines  of  wealth  in  tho 
human  soul,  and  in  none  more  richly  than  in 
the  minds  of  our  own  countrymen  :  they  lie 


■pecially  marked  the  last  two  hundred  years  •  it  has 
originated  and  in  gome  respects  to  a  .iegr.o  guided 
the  career  of  activity  to  which  wnth  such  ahnost  fear- 
lui  energy,  the  liunian  mind  is  now  roused. 

Christianity  alone  infiised  into  popular  jirogresg  the 
sublime  element  of  tho  rights  of  man-  right!  belong 
ing  to  man,  not  by  grant  of  rulers,  nor  by  accident  of 
birth,  or  wealth,  or  nature  ;  but  belonging  to  him  og 
TJ!\x  ^""^  Joimali'tj  of  the  old  world  still  deny 
that  there  are  any  such  tilings  ng  inalienable  rights  • 

rn^L  ^°''*4-l''"^r'"'7"?y  "'■'"'«•  But  these  are 
realities.  Their  foundation  and  their  only  founda- 
tion IS  the  teaching  of  tho  gospel.  Honor  alt  we,,,  tho 
grand  gospel  doctrine  of  the  brotherhood  of  maiu 
They  have  no  meaning  except  as  derived  from  the 
gospel,  which  teaches  that  we  are  nil  the  ofl'^.n'ng 
of  one  Father,  subjects  of  one  law,  fallen  nnder  one 
condemnation,  redeemed  by  tho  same  Savior,  equaUy 
bound  t.j  love  all  as  ourselves,  and  destined  alke  to 
the  same  judgment.  Our  declaration  of  indcpen^ 
dence,  so  far  as  it  teaches  the  equal  rishts  of  n4,  ig 
but  an  application  to  civil  affaira  of  that  prnrioie'  f 
universal  love  whicli  Christ  taught,  fho  ulea  in 
question  and  kindred  sentimer.^.,''■  nve  become  L 
ular  of  late.  Demagor-. .  >  an.",  ini'le!,  love  t^  '^Ir, 
on  them  The  fact  //,o»-  -...y  ;,ovcrf..i  is  tlu-  hold 
which  they  at  last  Imv.  .ained  o.  tho  hnma^  mind 
But  et  them  who  use  Mi,™  know  tbut  these  genti 


,j^?2«^  , 


lunlity  of  thn  niiml  m 

UH  ns  tliut  ()(■  roiira. 
g  trihutc,  it  is  triif.  to 
-wo  bow   Ix'foro   the 

our  shouts  with  the 
Ijut  thfTR  our  hoiiinKu 

nircctid.  Wo  honor 
'U  our  gritf it u.le  would 
iiithcrof  tuvors  lio|n-(i 
veil,  and  to  end  with 
Wo  nail  hnrdly  over- 
iHufnct;  of  th(!  Mowt7- 
!onoral  chnrnctcr  of  a 
It  would  bring  iit-fore 
n  idea  o(  countnf  in  a 
1  imjwrsoimto  her  to 

a  being  to  love  and 
lie  for.  But  few  ore 
y  jmblic  feeling  over 
nefnrtors.  Few  are 
lis  of  the  people  to 
irted.     Even  Boston, 

England,  is  in  this 
ave  no  king,  no  court, 
sremonies  to  serve  an 
d  something  tangible 
round— Me  outward 
(ted  hy  mohume.nlal 
le  scattered  through- 
II,  like  so  many  mis- 
al  sennons  of  patri- 
and  sow  seedM  which 
fruit  a  hundred-fold, 
areadth  of  the  land, 
lies  of  wealth  in  the 
more  richly  than  in 
untrymen  :  they  He 

1  hundred  yenrs :  it  hu 
eta  to  a  deh'rce  piiided 
with  «uch  almost  fear- 
now  roused, 
to  popular  jiTogresi  the 
ofmin-  HkIub  belong- 
lor»i  nor  hy  nccidont  of 
at  bolonging  to  him  at 

0  old  world  still  deny 

1  M  iiialionnble  rights  ; 
man.    But  these  are 

iiul  thfiir  only  founda- 
lel,  Ilimor  all  men,  tlio 
brotherhood  of  man. 
t  as  derived  from  the 
3  arc  all  the  otl'sprinff 
law,  fallen  under  ono 
a  same  Savior,  equally 
and  destined  alike  to 
JClnrntion  of  indepon- 
jqnnl  rifjhts  of  wmn,  is 
rs  of  that  pr.nr-iple  f 
aught.  Tho  idea  in 
i'«,  '^  nve  become  poj- 
.  inl'JuIs  love  to  harp 
r;)0'verf"iis  the  hold 
I  or  thu  hnman  mind, 
low  that  tiiese  senti- 
uity,  the  gill  of  Chris- 


""fe^AUMM 


r 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


|50     "^^       IHII^^ 

1^  IM   12.2 
I!:    I4£    112.0 


1.8 


6" 


L25  ill  1.4    III  1.6 


PhotDgraphic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBCTcR.N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


<; 


U.A 


W 


o 


6^ 


L 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


hidden.  Little,  however,  will  have  been  ac- 
complished, rill  "the  general  taste  and  skill 
ahull  have  arisen  to  that  mediocrity  which  is 
the  first  step  in  useful  progress,  and  which 
forms  a  vantaRC-ground  where  genius  may 
plume  itself  with  a  nobler  emulation,  and 
stretch  its  wings  for  the  highest  heaven  ot 
invention  of  ideal  beauty  and  imitative  per- 
fection."* . 

Ill  the  Chapel  burying-ground  in  Tremont 
street,  Boston,  in  a  single  and  humble  tomb, 
the  dust  of  the  Wi.nthrops  and  that  of  tne 
Skarses  have  long  mingled  in  obscurity.     It 
is  not  to  be  supposed  for  a  moment,  however, 
that  tho  absence  of  such  a  memento  to  de- 
parted usefulness,  as  is  here  suggested,  arises 
from  any  want  of  inclination  or  pecuniary 
ability,  on  the  part  of  the  relatives  of  this 
celebrated  man.     The  two  surviving  heads 
of  the  family— the  Hon.  Robert  C.  Win- 
TUROP  and  the  Hon.  David  Sears— we  know 
have  always  been  ready,  and  have  seriously 
thought,  of  raising  a  suitable  monument  near 
the  spot  hallowed  by  containing  all  that  is 
mortal  of  their  ancestors,  and  particularly 
over  the  remains  of  John  Winthrop,  nrst 
governor  of  Massachusetts,  and  founder  of  the 
city  of  Boston ;  but  they  have  been  withheld 
from  doing  so,  in  the  belief  that,  if  done  at  all, 
it  should  be  done  by  the  public.     They  feel 
assured  that  the  recollection  of  one  who  pos- 
sessed a  people's  love,  should  be  transmitted 
to  posterity  by  a  people's  gratitude,  and  that 
any  interference  on  their  part  might  be  deemed 
an  assumption  at  once  indelicate  and  ostenta- 
tious.    Nor  would  there  be  any  lack  of  n.eans 
on  behalf  of  the  community  ;  for  v^e  are  con- 
vinced, that  the  mere  concentration  of  the 
public  mind  on  the  proposed  object  would  not 
only  procure  a  tender  of  ample  funds ;  "but," 
to  use  the  language  of  a  late  writer  on  the 
»  Influence  of  the  Fins  Arts.— Wherever 
the  arts  are  cultivated  with  success,  they  almost  im- 
perceptibly educate  the  general  taste,  and  make  po- 
Uteness  of  mind  keep  pace  with  refinement  of  man- 
ners.    They  are  to  a  highly  commercial  and  opulent 
state  of  society,  what  chivaU-y  was  to  the  feudal  sys- 
tem ;  they  wear  down  its  asperities,  correct  the  sel- 
fislmeas  of  its  action,  enliven  the  dullness  of  its  re- 
pose, and  mitigate  the  fierceness  of  its  enjoyments. 
Where  the  arts  are  well  understood,  fashion  can  not 
be  so  monstrous  or  fantastic  as  where  they  exert  no 
salutary  dominion  over  the  fond  love  of  variety.  The 
source  of  excellence  in  art  being  a  judicious  observa- 
tion of  nature,  and  a  righi  perception  of  her  princi- 
ples of  beauty  and  svmmetiy,  a  closer  adherence  to 
nature  will  mark  the  fashi-ms  of  society  polished  bv 
their  ascendencv  than  can  distinguish  the  habits  ol 
people  without  the  sphere  of  their  influence.    Hence 
the  barbaric  nations,  where  there  is  much  wealth, 
never  expend  it  in  such  a  way  as  proves  they  htive 
any  notion  of  the  plear.urps  of  refinement.     They  en- 
deavor to  attract  admiration  through  the  vulgar  pas- 
sion of  adornment,  which  is  in  a  moment  excited,  and 
as  suddenly  expires,  mfber  than  create  a  rational  re- 
spect by  consulting  for  the  praise  of  enlightened 
opinion. 


subject,  "  to  render  the  -xprcssion  of  public 
sentiment  as  dilRise  as  is  desirable,  the  amount 
of  individual  subscription  would  require  to  ie 
restricted." 

We  are  a  young  and  rapidly-gro\ying  coun- 
try— the  world's  hope  and  expectation.  Our 
ancestors  conquered  the  hardships  of  the  wil- 
derness, and  posterity  will  demand  of  us,  their 
descendants,  to  make  it  bloom  and  blossom, 
by  introducing  into  it  the  refinements  of  social 
life,  and  the  elevated  thoughts  and  principles 
of  a  religious  and  patriotic  peojile.  For  the 
first  enough  has  been  done,  for  the  second 
much  remains  yet  to  do,  and  no  mea.sure  will 
advance  the  object  more  than  to  honor  the 

DEAD.* 


"■  "  But  I  will  say  a  word  on  the  effect  of  art  on 
national  I'eellng.     Some  one  has  said,  '  Give  me  the 
writing  of  the  songs  of  a  oountrv,  and  you  may  ma^te 
its  laws.'    1  had  almost  said,  '  Give  me  the  control  ot 
the  art  of  a  comitr>-,  and  you  may  have  the  manage- 
ment of  its  adminisVations.'  There  can  bo  no  greater 
folly  than  that  committed  by  our  statesmen,  when 
they  treat  art  and  literature  as  something  quite  asido 
from  great  national  interests.     The  tariff,  internal  im- 
provements, bonks,  political  speeches,    and  party 
measures,  are  put  paramount  to  them,  and  yet  they 
all  together  do  not  so  educate  the  soul  of  the  nation. 
They  affect  simply  its  food  and  clothing,  and  money, 
and  offices.    In  the  days  of  Italian  glory,  artists  and 
poets  were  tho  companions  of  kings,  and  kings  were 
honored  bv  the  companionship.     They  were  lostered 
not  more  trom  taste  tlian  from  self-interest.    Art  is 
too  often  looked  upon  as  an  abstract  thing,  designed 
only  for  men  of  taste  and  leisure.    The  painting  or 
statue  which  is  the  embodiment  of  the  ideal  pertect 
in  the  artist  may  be  so,  but  there  are  other  more  use- 
ful departments  of  art  not  to  be  overlooked.    Every 
great  national  painting  of  a  battle-field,  or  great  com- 
position, illustrating  some  event  in  our  histoi-y— every 
engraving,  lithograph,  and  wood-cut,  appealing  to  na- 
tional feeling  and  rousing  national  senliment— is  the 
work  of  art  ;  and  who  can  calculate  the  effect  of  all 
these  on  the  minds   of  our  youth  ?     Pictures  are 
rdore  powerful  than  speeches.     Suppose  that  every 
painting  and  engraving,  whether  rude  or  complete, 
every  monument  to  human  worth,  were  removed 
from  this  country  for  the  next  forty  years— what 
would  be  the  effect  on  the  national  taste  and  feeling  7 
And  yet  for  all  that  our  statesmen  involuntarily  do 
for  these  things,  such  a  Su-iiJ  would  take  place. 
They  show  themselves  b  it  half  acquainted  with  the 
true  resources  of  the  nation  when  they  overlook  or 
neglect  its  genius  and  refined  talent.   Patriotism,  that 
noblest  of  sentiments,  for  it  is  a  sentiment  as  well  as 
a  principle,  and  governs  more  in  that  capacity  than 
hi  tho  other,  is  kept  alive  by  art  morn  than  by  all  tho 
political  speeches  of  the  land.    1  should  like  to  see 
the  Massachusetts'  army  that  would  retreat  out  of 
the  shadow  of  Bunker  Hill  Monument  before  a  for- 
eign foe.    Were  it  necessary  in  sorao  great  crisis  of 
our  country's  fate,  to  move  an  audience  like  this  to 
some  heroic  resolution  demanding  peril,  and  perhaps 
death— if  speech  should  fail  to  do  it,  I  would  ask  only 
for  the  canvass  to  unroll  before  you,  on  which  was 
flung,  with  an  artist's  hand,  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill. 
I  wou.d  point  to  that  little  redoubt  on  the  crest  of  the 
hill,  curtained  in  with  the  smoke  of  battle—to  the 
shattered  columns  breaking  down  the  slope— to  the 
flames   of  humlnB    Chariestnwn,   shooting  toward 
heaven— without  one  word.   The  artist  should  speak, 
and  he  were  a  slave  that  conld  resist  his  appeal 
Could  a  man  be  a  coward,  fighting  in  the  8had*f  "* 


hi 


eal.    1 

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30 


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IL 


4 


ryasausasxtma 


460 


THE  WINTHIIOP  MONUMKNT. 


How  shall  wc  reward  great  public  servi- 
ces ?  Wc  iiavc  no  titles  of  iiohilily — no  le- 
I  gionsoFliDiior.  Our  pension-lists  arc  restrirt- 
ecl — our  otTiccs  must  be  filled  in  rotation  l)y 
swarms  of  greedy  [)artisans.  And  thesp  gifts, 
even  if  we  could  confer  them,  would  be  iiiad- 
ci]nate  and  unacceptable  compensations  to 
generous  minds.  No— like  the  Romans  and 
the  Greeks,  let  us  erect  monuments  and  stat- 
ues, in  marble  and  in  bronze,  to  the  memory 
of  tlios(?  whose  fatne  shall  remain  bright  and 
untarnished  to  distant  ages.  The  hope  of 
being  thus  honored  would  prove  a  fittin"  stim- 
ulus, a  sniTieient  consolation,  to  many  a  loftv 
.scnil.  Many  a  true-hearted  patriot,  whotrusfs 
the  vindication  of  his  career  to  succeeding 
nges,  anil  treads  with  unfaltering  footsteps  the 
path  of  duty,  reviled  by  his  enemies,  doubted, 
mistaken  by  his  friends,  would  die  content,  if 
h(;  should  .sec  with  prophetic  vision  the  mi^ts 
of  pnjiidiee  and  error  dispersed,  and  the  no- 
blest monument  that  art  can  dedicate  to  his 
name,  shining  in  the  serene  light  of  future 
years. 

The  fatherland  has  in  this  set  us  a  noble 
example.  There  is  not  a  county,  hardly  a 
town,  in  Old  England,  which  is  not  dignified 
by  a  column,  an  obelisk,  or  a  tablet,  in  mem- 


a  monument  to  Wnsliintfton?     What  Americnn  sol- 
dier wouM  retire  from  such  a  spot,  if  compellcil  to 
retirn  htloro  a  superior  force,  with  the  countennnce 
of  WiisliMi^toii  boiling  mournfully  down  on  him,  with- 
out Ins  howl  broiilting  within  him  ?  The  moral  power 
ot  oxaiiiplo  is  stronger  than  numbers.     Englmid  un- 
derstands how  much  national  pride  and  patriotism 
are  kept  alive  by  paintiiiers  of  her  great  events  and 
monuments  raiseil   over  he'-  dead  heroes.     I   have 
seen  the  duke  of  Wellington  spurring  his  steed  by 
his  own  colossal  statue,  melted  from' the  cannon  he 
hmiself  took  in  battle,  reared  to  him  by  a  grateful 
country  hefore  ho  died.     London  has  her  Trafalgar 
Square,  and  a  glorious  monument  to  Nelson.     Even 
Andre   has    a   monument    in    St   Paul's   cathedral. 
Whenever  an  English  patriot  falls,  Enj^land  calls  oii 
art  to  come  and  consecrate  the  spot.   So  does  Franco ; 
so  has  Italy  in  all  ages.    Kings  and  statesmen  have 
understood  how  much  national  existence  depends  on 
national  prido  and  patriotism,  and  how  much  also 
thme  depend  on  monuments  and  mementos  of  her 
great  dead.     The  palace  of  Versailles  is  filled  with 
pauitnigs  of  Bonaparte's  great  battles.     I  once  saw 
a  young  painter  in  the  kingdom  of  Sardinia  who  had 
sufle-ed  imprisonment  for  painting  one  of  the  strug- 
gles of  the  Genoese  republic  for  freedom.    All  the 
fury  and  excitement  of  a  headlong  fight  between  the 
people  and  the  ^government  were  thrown  upon  the 
canvass,  recalling  the  days  of  Spinola.     The  painting 
was  seized  and  locked  up,  and  the  young  artist  im- 
prisoned.    What  was  the  matter?     Art,  which  is 
ever  on  the  side  of  liberty,  had  come  up  with  her  s'- 
lent,  yet  strong  appeal  to  the  popular  feeling.     Every 
stroke  of  young  Isola's  brush  was  a  Imgic  note,  sum- 
moning the  spirit  of  freedom  from  its  grave,  and  call- 
ing on  it  to  rise  and  seize  its  ancient  heritage.     The 
youth  of  every  land  are  educated  more  by  art  than 
by  speeches.     Let  monuments  rise  fi'om  Concord, 
Lexington,  Bennington,  Ticonderoga,  Yorktown,  and 
Plattsburgh,  and  Chippewa,  and  Lundy's  Lane,  and 
New  Orleans,  and  as  the  rail-car  flies  over  the  eoun- 


ory  of  its  illustrious  men.  There  is  not  a 
college  or  chi.ritable  institution  which  is  not 
adorneil  with  thf'  portraits  of  its  |)iiirons.  Ven- 
eration is  the  distinctive  clinractcrislic  of  her 
people,  and  has  tended,  perhaps,  as  much  as 
any  other  (piality  to  make  them  what  they 
ore— a  wise,  a  powerful,  and  n  polisli(!il  na- 
tu)n.  Chivalric  and  noble  .i-.eniiments  are  nat- 
urally associated  wilh  permainint  mmiuments 
rai.sed  by  the  enthusiasm  and  gratitude  of  a 
community  to  the  heroism  or  philanthropy  of 
Its  (listmguished  citizens.  Old  men  feel  a 
pnde  in  narrating  the  noble  deeds  of  the  illus- 
trious deail,  and  pointing  them  out  as  exam  • 
pies  to  their  hearers.  Young  men  listen  with 
respect,  and  j)roinr.se  to  emulate  their  good- 
ness;  and  children  catch  and  adopt  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  their  fathers.  Thus 
a  public  sentiment  is  formed,  which,  while  it 
graces  and  adorns  the  individual,  gives  di"- 
nity  and  honor  to  the  nation.  The  tower- 
cupped  hills  of  England,  her  castles,  her  ca- 
thedrals, and  Westminster  abbey,  have  un- 
doubtedly had  their  influence,  and  operated 
as  powerful  agents  in  modelling  her  character 
and  stam|)ing  the  features  of  her  peojjle.  And 
be  it  remembered,  it  is  not  to  her  great  cap- 
tains and  naval  heroes  alone  that  she  raise* 

try,  let  those  records  of  our  struggles  and  our  victo- 
ries come  and  go  on  the  hasty  traveller,  and  noble 
thoughts  and  purposes  will  mingle  in  the  lica.llong 
excitement  after  gain.     Let  ths  statues  of  the  si-n- 
ers  ot  the  ileclaration  of  independence  line  Ponnsyl- 
vaiua  avenue,  and  he  who  walks  between  them'to 
the  capitol  will  he  a  better  man  and  better  patriot  7 
Let  great  paintings,  illustrating  our  chequered,  vet 
most  instructive  hi.,tory,  fill  our  public  gntleries,  and 
wiien  the  eountiy  wants  martyrs  tlu'y  will  be  rea.lv. 
Hut,  ala.s  !  I  am  speaking  o:  what  diiffht  to  be,  and 
not  ol  what  IS.     I  have  been  ;ip[,ealinff,   also,  to  the 
MlJ-inlricst(A  the  nation,  when  I  ought  to  have  been 
speaking  of  the  claims  on  a  nation's  trratitude      To 
outward  eyes  .\morica  is  the  most  ungrateful  country 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.     The  nation  has  never  vet 
reared  a  monument  to  its  father,  founder,  and  savior 
-Washington.     I  have  seen  a  chapel  reared  to 
William  'TeUon  the  spot  where  he  sent  the  arrow 
V,'™°,S,''  ,''";  t.vrant's    heart ;    and   a  monument   to 
VV  mkkelred,  who  gathered  the  spears  of  the  n„emv 
into  his  body,   to  make  an  opening  through  which 
liberty  might  strike.     The  countries  of  the'old  world 
are  covered  with  paintings  niid  monuments  to  those 
whoteU  in  a  less  worthy  cause  than  freedom.     But 
where  are  the  monuments  to  Allen,  and  Starke   and 
Putnam,  and  Warren,  and  Perry,  and  M'DonnuL'h, 
and  Uecatur.  and  .Jackson,  and  Lawrence  ?     Voung 
Hale  was  sent  as  a  spy  by  Wa.shingtoii  into  the  ene- 
my s  camp.     Being  discovered,  ho  was  liuni.'  on  a 
gaUows,  and  met  bis  fate  with  the  lofty  enthusiasm 
and  courage  of  a  Spartan  hero.    He  laid  down  his 
young  life,  without  a  murmur,  for  hig  country.     But 
who  can  tell  where  he  sleeps  ?    His  country,  in  her 
hoiirot  darkness  and  bitter  need,  asked  for  his  life, 
and  lie  gave  it  without  a  sigh  ;  and  now  that  country 
.lishonors  his  grave.     Yet  Andre  has  a  monument  in 
the  heart  of  the  British  empire!  .  .  .  Who  would 
wish  to  die  for  a  country  that  treats  its  martyrs  so  1" 
—Extract  from  a  speech  of  tlus  Jiet.  J.  T.  Headiev. 
be/ore  the  American  Art  Onion. 


f 


men.  There  is  not  a 
nstitntiod  wliirh  is  not 
its  of  its  |)!ii  rolls.  Ven- 
■p  rlinrncterislic  of  her 
I,  p'^rhaps,  as  inuch  as 
'lako  tlieiii  wiiat  they 
il,  and  a  polisJK'il  na- 
l)]i',  senfimonts  art>  nnt- 
ix.'rniaiiciir  mominicnts 
srn  and  nrratilmle  of  a 
ism  or  pliilaiitliropy  of 
"ns.  Old  men  iVJl  a 
ohle  deeds  of  the  illug- 
iR  them  out  as  exam  ■ 
Young  men  listen  with 

0  emulate  tlieir  good- 
:ntch  and  adopt  the 
f  their  fathers.  Thus 
irmed,  which,  while  it 

individual,  gives  dig- 
nution.      The  tower- 
d,  her  castles,  her  ca- 
ster abbey,   have  nn- 
fluence,  and  operated 
lodelling  her  chnracier 
es  of  her  people.    And 
not  to  her  great  cnp- 
alone  that  she  raise* 

strnfrffles  nnil  our  victo- 
insty  tnivollcr,  nnd  iiolilo 

1  mingle  in  the  licftillont; 
t  tlie  stnturs  of  the  ei^-n- 
iepeii(leiic-e  line  Pennsyl- 

wnlks  hftween  them"to 

man  luui  better  pmriot  ? 
ritini,'  our  chcr]upre(l,  yet 
our  fnihlic  {.'nllcries,  mid 
ir'yrs  thoy  will  be  rnuly. 
iC  wlmt  riuc-ht  to  be,  nnd 
m  niiiiraling-,  also,  to  tlio 
lien  I  ou^'ht  to  Imvc  been 
I  nntiiin's  gratitude.  To 
a  most  unu'rateftil  country 
'ho  nation  has  never  yet 
ther,  founilcr,  nnd  savior 
ecn  a  ehnpel  reared  to 
'here  he  sent  tlie  arrow 
t ;  and  a  monument  to 
the  spears  of  ibe  enemy 

openiiifj  through  wbirh 
ountriea  of  the  old  world 
and  monnments  to  those 
luse  than  freedom.  But 
o  Allen,  and  Starke,  and 

Perry,  and  M'Donouiih, 


and  Luwroneo  ?  Young 
Vnshington  into  the  one- 
red,  ho  was  bull!;  on  a 
ith  the  lofty  enthusiasm 
ero.  He  laid  down  bis 
ir,  for  hig  country.  But 
>s  1  His  coantry,  in  her 
need,  asked  for  his  life, 
Il ;  and  now  that  country 
ndre  has  a  monument  in 
ipire !  .  .  .  Who  would 
■  treats  its  martyrs  so  1" 
tlie  lies.  J.  T.  Headltv, 
on. 


THE  WINTHROP  MONUMENT. 


4r>i 


her  pyramids  of  honor;  but  she  delights  to 
award  tho  same  distinction  to  her  statesmen, 
her  philuntlir)pist.s,  her  literati — .showing  the 
]irogress  of  tlie  ago  in  its  estimate  of  tlie  ele- 
ments of  greatness.  Surii  mindinarks  can 
not  lie  mistaken  ;  no  eye  so  heavy  as  not  to 
see  them — no  head  so  dull  as  not  to  understand 
them — no  heart  so  cold  as  not  to  be  moved  by 
them.  They  are  the  best  history  for  the  jieo- 
|)le — written  in  the  plainest  language. 

And  wdiat  have  the  Anglo-Saxons  of  Amer- 
ica— the  proud  descendants  of  this  mighty 
people — to  show  of  such  a  history  ?  Almost 
nothing.  Bunkkr  Hill  rears  its  granite  form 
in  nearly  solitary  splendor  ;  and  here  and  there 
is  found  a  statue  of  Washinoton,  and,  per- 
haj)s,  at  remote  distances,  a  monument  or  a 
ruin  may  attest  a  victory  or  a  death — but  be- 
yond these,  the  people  have  made  no  record. 

Historians  and  chronologists  have  registered 
facts  and  dates,  but  the  sovereign  will  is  still 
silent  ())'  the  actors.  It  has  neither  conferred 
a  dignity  nor  accorded  an  evidence  of  merit. 
This  should  no  longer  be.     If  to  put  in  action 


the  incentives  to  noble  df eds,  to  mor(»l  excel- 
lence, and  to  love  of  counlry,  be  dcsiralile  or 
useful,  then  honor  .'he  dead,  lluise  monu- 
ments to  the  great  and  good,  and  show  to  the 
living  that  patriotic  deeds  never  die  in  the 
hearts  of  the  people.  And  who  more  honor- 
able to  begin  with  tlmn  the  founder  of  the 
city  of  Bostcni,  and  the  first  governor  of  .Mas- 
sachusetts ?  Or  what  name  more  distinguished 
can  Boston  boast  of,  or  one  more  worthy  of  a 
place  in  the  people's   record,   than  that  of 

Wl.NTllllOP  ? 


NoTK. — The  foUowinir  fact  has  1* 


I  Igii'nfoniiniiiHcMrocI 
to  as  by  one  of  the  family,  nnil  may  be  siilcly  rejii-d 
!  upon  :  fcolonel  Stephen  VVinthrop,  the  son  of  the  lirst 
i  governor  of  Mnssurhasotta,  was  colonel  in  the  uuards 
of  Olivrr  Cromwell.  Ho  was  niipointeil  (th(mi.'h  not 
coiTMiissioned)  as  general,  to  sui'cced  Major  (iciierid 
Harrison  ;  ajid  was  abio  a  member  of  [lailiament. 
By  hi.'i  will,  be  bequeathed  i.'100  stcrlini;,  to  the 
town  of  Boston,  in  New  Kngland,  on  oiiidition  "  that 
the  town  would  erect  a  suitable  monnnicnt  to  the 
memory  of  his  beloved  parent."  We  believe  no  ac- 
tion was  ever  taken  by  the  town  on  the  subject,  nor 
any  acknowledgment  given  of  the  receipt  of  the  be- 
quest. 


Firat  Settlement  of  Boston. 


i 


U'f. 


.Mi  I  i-Lm^-mmtfL.  tm   . /f  .  ^!i..i,  ■■  iog_ii  itwm., iTnitiimi  3 


462 


LANDING  OF  WINTHROP,  AND  SETTLEMENT  OF  BOSTON. 


LANDING  OF  WINTHROP  AT  SALEiM, 

AND  SETTLEMENT  OF  BOSTON. 

In  trnring  the  history  of  the  parly  settlers 
of  this  country,  whnt  a  source  of  pleasant  re- 
flection we  have,  in  the  fact  that  our  ances- 
tors, in  coining  here,  were  not  allured  by  the 
gojilen  (ireums  of  avarice,  or  by  the  glowing 
descriptions  of  the  luxuriance  of  the  soil, 
al)ouiidin^'  in  perpetunl  fruits  and  flowers — an 
eartlily  jiaradise,  teeming  with  all  that  could 
satisfy  the  ap[)Ptiti',  or  regale  the  senses ;  nor 
were  they,  like  some  colonists,  disgorged  from 
the  rnother-ciumtry,  to  keep  the  remaining 
I)i)pulution  sound  ond  pure — a  surplus  mass 
tliiown  oir  to  ])revent  national  apoplexy,  or 
political  spasm — such  a  population  as  some- 
times went  from  Attica  to  take  possession  of 
the  islands  in  the  numerous  seas  about  them, 
or  to  the  more  ilistant  shores  of  Africa;  nor 
were  tlioy  sent  by  the  parent-country  to  gain 
a  footing  near  or  on  the  territories  of  ijthpr 
nations.  No  !  a  loftier  sentiment,  a  'ncfnler 
s|iirit  of  enterprise,  filled  their  bosoms,  and 
induced  them  to  abandon  the  comforts,  the 
luxuries  of  civilized  life,  troverse  three  thou- 
sand miles  of  ocean,  and  plant  their  standard 
on  the  wild  shores  of  this  western  world. 
The  sober  calculations  of  forming  a  thrifty 
settlement  which  should  be  a  home  for  them- 
selves and  their  descendants,  where  they 
could  enjoy  a  perfect  freedom  in  thought  and 
speech,  and  worship  God  according  to  the  dic- 
tates of  their  own  consciences,  impelled  most 
of  the  early  emigrants  to  these  shores. 

■  Tliey  aonght  not  cold,  nor  guilty  eue, 

Upon  this  mck-lmuiid  shore — 
They  left  sucli  prizeless  toys  as  these, 

To  niiiiils  that  loved  them  more. 
They  8ou);ht  to  breathe  a  freer  air, 

To  worship  (lod  unchained, 
They  welcomed  pain  and  danger  here, 

Where  rights  like  these  were  (gained." 

They  were  fully  sensible  of  their  situation. 
They  could  not  anticipate  all  the  occurrences 
which  might  happen  in  their  destinies,  but 
they  were  determined  to  commence  upon  the 
broad  princiine,  that  knowledge  and  virtue 
are  the  iiillars  of  power  and  security  in  every 
national  code.  They  saw  physical  means 
about  them  for  an  almost  interminable  in- 
crease of  population.  The  sea  was  on  one 
side,  and  boundless  forests  on  the  other.  Nav- 
igable riviers  were  flowing  into  the  oceans. 
Nothing  but  a  thinly-scattered  race  of  rude 
men  stood  in  their  way  to  ths  founding  of  an 
empire  larger  than  the  world  had  ever  seen. 
Nature  seemed  to  have  waited  from  her  birth 
until  this  hour  for  their  coming,  to  give  them 
possession  of  her  bounties.  This  was  the 
place  for  contemplation,  and  the  place  to 
originate   a  new    course  of  thoughts   upon 


pclitical  and  civil  liberty.  There  were  in 
these  retreats  no  shouts  of  the  concpieror,  no 
moans  of  the  comjuered  ;  the  time  reseniblcil 
the  cool  of  the  evening,  and  the  place  the 
alxxle  of  innocence,  when  and  where  other 
beings  were  at  rest,  and  God  walked  with 
man  in  his  primeval  state.  Everything,  in 
America,  was  to  be  begun,  and  everything 
seemed  to  depend  upon  themselves;  with  this 
happy  ditterence,  however,  between  us  und 
those  in  paradise,  for  our  safety  and  ha])i)iness 
were  to  dcpcrKl  uptm  eating  freely  of  the  tree 
of  knowledge,  which  was  forbidden  to  him 
who  first  sprang  from  the  dust  of  the  earth. 
Here  was  ottered  the  ojjportunity  to  cultivote 
the  mind  without  the  trommels  and  fetters 
which  embarrass  and  blind  those  bom  in  aged 
and  decaying  communities.  Here  plains,  and 
vales,  and  hills,  ottered  opportunities  for  all 
the  experiments  of  agriculture.  No  agrarian 
law  was  needed  to  give  men  an  e(]uolity  ; 
there  was  one  passed  already  by  nature  with- 
out stint.  The  sites  for  cities  were  unoccu- 
pied ;  and  they  exercised  their  judgments 
upon  the  subject  of  a  proper  place  to  build 
them,  without  statutes  or  restraints.  The  po- 
litical compact  was  to  be  formed  and  altered 
as  the  covenanters  could  agree ;  for  there  was 
no  other  lawgiver  than  their  own  understand- 
ings, no  Solons  but  their  own  wisdom,  no  Ly- 
curguses  but  the  severe  discussions  of  their 
own  judgments.  There  was  no  syren  to  al- 
lure them  from  their  duties  to  the  rocks  on 
which  they  might  sleep  until  their  locks  of 
strength  were  shorn.  There  were  no  beds  of 
flowers  beneath  which  the  serpent's  flattery 
and  fLjhion  might  glide  to  wound  their  naked 
feet  with  sharp  stings.  Indolence  to  them 
would  have  been  death ;  and  labor,  that  sup- 
posed curse  on  man,  was  a  blessing.  Thus 
stripped  of  every  shackle,  they  began  their 
work  of  founding  an  empire.  By  the  lights 
emitted  from  their  minds  shall  we  trace  the 
path  they  pursued,  ind  the  deeds  they  per- 
formed. The  light  of  the  sun  passes  away 
with  the  going  down  of  the  same ;  but  the 
accumulated  light  of  successive  ages  of  intel- 
lect, like  the  precious  stones  which  adorn  the 
city  of  God,  chases  away  all  darkness,  and 
beams  in  eternal  splendor.* 

*  The  following  lines,  from  the  North  American 
Review,  are  so  truthful  aud  beautiful  a  tribute  to  the 
vinues  of  the  "  early  founders  of  the  republic,"  that 
we  can  not  resist  the  inclination  to  give  them  a  place 
in  this  connexion  : — 

"  The  Puritans— there  is  n  charm  in  that  vord 
which  will  never  be  lost  on  a  New  England  enr.  It 
is  closely  associated  with  all  that  is  great  in  New- 
England  history.  It  is  hallowed  by  a  thonsand 
memories  of  obstacles  overthrown,  of  dangers  nobly 
braved,  of  sufferings  unshrinkingly  borne,  m  the  ser- 
vice of  freedom  and  religion.  It  Itindles  at  once  the 
pride  of  ancestry,  and  inspires  the  deepest  feeHngs  of 
national  veneration.  It  points  to  examples  of  valor 
in  all  its  modes  of  mauifcstation— in  the  hall  of  de- 


)STON. 


y 


There  were  in 
the  c()ii(|Ueror,  no 

thfi  tiini'  resemblnl 
,  and  the  place  the 
:!n  onil  wliere  other 
il  Goil  walk(«l  witli 
lie.  Everything,  in 
tun,  and  everythin;; 
hcmsolves ;  with  this 
'er,  between  us  and 
safety  and  ha|)|)incs3 
ing  freely  of  the  tree 
IS  forbidden  to  him 
le  dust  of  the  earth, 
lortnnity  to  cultivate 
rainmels  and  fetters 
id  those  bom  in  aged 
38.  Here  plains,  and 
opportunities  for  all 
ilture.  No  agrarian 
3  men  an  equality  ; 
eady  by  nature  with- 
'  cities  were  unoccu- 
ied  their  judgments 
'oper  place  to  build 
r  restraints.  The  po- 

formed  and  altered 
agree;  for  there  was 
leir  own  understand- 
owji  wisdom,  no  Ly- 

discussions  of  their 
was  no  syren  to  al- 
uties  to  the  rocks  on 

until  their  locks  of 
here  were  no  beds  of 
be  serpent's  flattery 

0  wound  their  naked 
Indolence  to  them 

and  labor,  that  sup- 
is  a  blessing.  Thus 
le,  they  began  their 
pire.    By  the  lights 

1  shall  we  trace  the 
:he  deeds  they  per- 
le  sun  passes  away 
r  the  same  ;  but  the 
cessive  ages  of  intel- 
)nes  which  adorn  the 
ly  all  darkness,  and 

n  the  North  American 
leauliful  a  tribute  to  tlie 
a  of  tlio  republic,"  that 
ion  to  give  tbem  a  place 

a  charm  in  that  rord 
,  New  England  enr.  It 
I  that  is  great  in  New- 
llowed  by  a  thousand 
rown,  of  dangers  nobly 
lingl);  borne,  m  the  sor- 
It  kindles  nt  once  the 
the  deepest  feeHngs  of 
«  to  examples  of  valor 
Cion— in  the  hall  of  de- 


4()4 


I,AM)IN(i  OI-  WINTIIKOP,  AND  SKTTMCMKNT  OK  IlOr^TOV. 


Ainonjf  thp  nnmos  of  tlip  jiiotirrrs  in  tho 
si'lllrtnriit  lit'  this  \vcH,,'in  Wdilil,  |iii'-ciiiiiiriit- 
ly  stiuiiU  Mint  (pf  .]<tii.N  W'lNTiiiioi',  till'  lirsi 
Ucivcriioi-  of  till"  rolctiy  i>f  Miis-.iii  liiisiItH  Ixiv, 
ti)  tlif  ini'iiKiiy  <if  wliiisc  iiiiii>inii(liint,  wrtrili 

mill  sclf-siiciiliriii;;  Jiuri  iul  is|i)  t  lie  MdMUIIli-llt, 
till!  siilijcnt  of  tlif!  iin^viiiiis  niticlf,  is  proposed 
to  1)1'  crccU'il.     Previous  to  the  rniiijrntion  to 
AiiiiTicii  iiiidcr  (lovcriinr  Wiiitliro|i,  atlt'ni|)t8 
had   l)0('ii  made  to  setllt;   tin,-  i-ountry  aliout 
till-  Massiicliusi'tts  bny,  l)iit  which  .succntMh-d 
to  a   very   liinitcd    cxfont.     The   omigrants 
wore    coiii|)iirativ('ly   few   in   niimhors,    and 
were  inlemlod  more  for  the  advuntus;e  of  the 
fisheries  and  the  fur  trade,  than  for  the  pur- 
poses of  |ierniiiiiiMit  setlh'inent.     And  most  of 
tllem  hii(i  either  returned  to  EiiKland,  or  |ier- 
ished  throuj,'ii  tlie  hanlships  eiieountered.  or 
from  disease  ineidcnt  to  the  ch'mateof  a  wild, 
uncultivated  region ;  and  a  small  numl)er  of 
colonists  at  Salem,*  and  here  and  there  an  isola- 
ted family,  withour  any  elVeetive  organization, 
were  all  that  remained  of  thein.    But  in  lf>30, 
the  Massachusetts  Bay  Company,  under  tho 
direction  of  John   Wintlirop,  obtained  from 
Charles  I.  a  conlirmation  of  their  i)atpnt  pre- 
viously obtained  from   the   council  of  Plv- 
mouth,  grai.  -ng  them  all  the  territory  oxten'd- 
ing  in  length  from  three  miles  north  of  the 
Mejrrimac  river,  to  three  miles  south  of  Charles 
river,  and  in  breadth,  from  the  Atlantic  to  the 
Southern  ocean.     Preparations  were  imme- 
diately made  for   the  transjxirtation  to  this 
new  world,  of  a  body  of  emigrants,  whose 
numbers,  determined  character,  and  moral  and 
intellectual  worth,  should  insure  the  perma- 
bnte,  on   tho  field  of  battle,  bufore   tho  tribunal  of 
power,  nt  tlic  ranrtvr'a  stake.    It  is  n  name  wliich  will 
never  die  out  of  New  Kii^'lnnd  hearts.     Wherever 
virtue  resists  teniptntion,  wlu'revcr  men  meet  death 
for  religion's  sake,  wherever  the  fjrildcd  Imseness  of 
the  world  ctaiids  abashed  before  conseiciitious  prin- 
ciple, there  will  be  the  spirit  of  the  Puritans.    They 
have  left  deep  and  broad  marks  of  their  influence  on 
human  society.    Their  children,  in  all  times,  will  rise 
up  and  call  them  blessed.     A  thousand  witnesses  of 
their  courage,  their  industrj-,  their  sagaeitv,  their  in- 
vmoiblo  pRrsevf»i^nn*»  m  ii»*»il  'In.;*.-  their  lovo  of  free 
institutions,  their  respect  for  justice,  their  Imtriil  of 
wrong,  are  all  ni-oun<l  as,  and  bear  grateful  evidence 
daily  to  their  moinor)-.     We  ran  not  forget  them, 
even  il  we  had  sullieient  baseness  to  wish  it.   Every 
spot  ot    New  Knglnnd   earth  has   a  story  to  tell  of 
them;  everj-  cherished  hislitntinn  of  New-England 
scHMoty  bears  the  print  of  iheir  minds.  The  strongest 
element  ol  Now  ICn-Iand  character  has  been  trans- 
mitted with  their  IiIikhI.     So  intense  is  our  sense  of 
iillilmtion  with  their  nature,  that  we  speak  of  them 
universally  as  our  '  fathers'     And  though  their  fame 
everv-wbere  else  were  weighed  dll«^l  with  calumny 
ami  hatred,  though  the  principles  l!)r  which  they  con- 
tended, and  tho  noble  deeds  they  performed,  should 
hecome  the  scoft'  ot  syco|)hants  "and  0[ipr(ssors,  and 
be  bliickened  by  the  smooth  falsehoods  of  tho  selfish 
and  the  cold,  there  never  will  be  waiitinir  hearts  in 
New  England  to  kimlle  nt  their  virtues,  nor  tongues 
and  pons  to  vindicate  their  name." 
*  8alem  enntained  but  seven  houses  in  16.10. 


nent  oettletiient  of  the  cohniy.  The  success 
ot  titeir  I  llorts  was  I'liiiiiueM-iirnte  with  their 
design.  A  nobler  body  of  men  tlinii  enlisted 
in  rhis  enterprise,  under  the  lend  of  Winllimp, 
never  left  their  native  soil  to  coloni/e  a  new 
land.  Amotig  them  were  iriiiny  pr'rsons  of 
wealth  and  distinguished  re|)iitnti(m,  and  mem- 
bers of  illustrious  and  noble  families.*  Pre- 
vious to  leaving  England.  .loii.N  Wintiikoi- 
was  chosen  governor,  and  'J'homas  Dndlcv 
depiity-govfrnor.  These,  with  eii;htt;eii  as- 
sistants, ap))ointed  at  the  same  time,  ami  the 
iHidy  of  the  freemen  who  should  settle  in  the 
new  |iroviiiee,  were  to  constitute  a  legislative 
and  executive  body  in  which  all  the  rights  of 
the  colony  were  vested.  On  INJanh  ','!),  lf;.^0. 
they  sailed  from  SonthaiTjjiton,  and,  niter  a 
pleasant  voyage,  arrived  in  the  harbor  of  Sa- 
lem on  the  :i4th  of  .fane.  It  had  been  their 
design  to  make  Salem  their  principal  settle- 
ment. But  (HI  landing  there.  Governor  Win- 
tlirop and  most  of  {(is  party  were  not  pleased 
with  its  .situation;  and  after  n  brief  period  of 
rest  from  the  fatigues  of  the  voyage,  th(!v 
commenced  a  tour  of  exploration  t'hrongh  the 
country,  in  search  of  more  desirable  locations. 
The  engraving  on  the  opposite  page  illus- 
trates the  manner  of  their  travelling  through 
tho  then  pathless  wilderness. 

They  established  themselves  in  places  about 
the  bay,  as  their  inclination  or  judgment  di- 
rected them,  and  thus  laid  the  foundations  ol 
Charlestown,Watertown,  Dorchester,  Roxbu- 
ry,  and  other  towns,  now  forming  the  suburbs 
of  Boston.  Governor  Winthrop  and  a  mate- 
rial portion  of  his  company,  first  settled  at 
Charlestown,  on  the  north  side  of  Charles 
river.  Their  first  meeting  for  public  worship 
was  held  under  a  tree.  On  the  30th  of  July 
the  foundation  of  the  first  church  in  the  set- 
tlement was  laid  at  Charlestown, — and  prejia- 
rations  were  being  made  for  the  erection  of  a 
house  for  the  residence  of  the  governor.  But 
they  soon  began  to  feel  the  want  of  good  wb- 
ter,  for  as  yet  nothing  but  a  brackish  spring, 
near  tha  seashore,  hud  been  discovered'  The 
weather  had  become  oppres.sively  hot,  and 
many  were  taken  sick.  The  colonists,  as  a 
conserjuence,  were  becoming  dissatisfied  with 
the  i)]ace,  and  several  of  them  went  in  search 
of  a  better  location.  A  fine  spring  of  pure 
water  was  discovered  on  the  peninsula  on  the 
oppf>site  .side  of  the  river,  and  a  party  of  the 
•  "  What  niust  we  think,"  says  Hutchinson,  "of 
persons  ot  rank  and  good  circumstances  in  life,  bid- 
ding a  final  adieu  to  bI!  the  conveniences  and  de- 
lights ol  England,  their  native  country,  and  exposing 
themselves,  their  wives  and  children,  to  inevitabli 
hardships  and  sullering,  in  a  long  voyage  across  the 
Atlantic,  to  land  upon  a  most  inhospitable  shore,  des- 
titute of  any  kind  of  bnilding  to  secure  them  from  the 
mclemoncy  ot  the  weather,  and  deprived  of  most 
sorts  ol  ftxHl  to  which  they  had  been  always  used  at 
their  fiirmor  home  V— Chronicles  of  Massachuaelts 


'   lM)flTf>N. 


iloiiy.  The  siirccM, 
iiicii-.uriil('  witli  llicir 
'if  men  lliiin  i'nlivf|.|| 
he  Icnil  nC  Winllirup, 
lil  In  i-iilruii/.e  n  new 
ri^  irmiiy  pi-rHoriN  nf 
rcpnlnfidp,  niiil  iiiciri- 
lili'  fiirnilii-*.*  I'li- 
I.  .lc'll^(  Wi>TJiii(ip 
111  'J'lioinas  Diiilli^y 
1',  with  ci^'litff'ii  iH- 

snmc  time,  find  tlio 
1  shodld  seHle  in  the 
iistitntc  n  legifdiiiive 
liicli  all  the  rii.'liis  of 
On  Miirt-h  29,  IWO, 
mpton,  mill,  nl'fcr  a 
ill  tlin  harbor  of  S'n- 
It  lind  hrcn  their 
heir  {iriiiciiml  scttlo- 
icre,  Governor  Win- 
ty  wpro  not  jilcnsrd 
ter  n  brief  period  of 
f  the  voyoge,  they 
loration  through  the 
!  desirable  locations. 
npiJosite  page  illus- 
r  travelling  through 
ess. 

elves  in  places  about 
ion  or  judguient  di- 
J  the  foundations  ot 
Dorchester,  Roxbu- 
forming  the  suburbs 
inthrop  and  a  iniite- 
>ny,  first  settled  at 
tk  side  of  Charles 
g  for  public  worship 
)n  the  30th  of  July 
t  church  in  the  set- 
•stown, — and  prepa- 
or  the  erection  of  a 

the  governor.  But 
e  want  of  good  wa- 

a  brackish  spring, 
m  discovered.  The 
iressively  hot,  and 
The  colonists,  as  a 
ng  dissatisfied  with 
hem  Went  in  search 
tine  spring  of  pure 
be  peninsula  on  the 
and  a  party  of  the 

says  Hutdiitison,  "of 
Hmstanccg  in  lii'o,  bid. 
conveniences  nnd  de- 
cnnntry,  niiil  exposing 
cliildren,  to  inevitable 
inffvoynije  across  the 
(ihospitttble  shore,  dua- 
)  secure  them  from  the 
ind  (loprivecl  of  most 
1  been  always  used  at 
/fs  of  Massachuietts. 


n 


LANUI.NG  OV  WI.NTIUIOP,  AND  8ETTLEMKNT  OF  HOSTO^f. 


4G/; 


The  Early  Settler*  travelling  through  the  Wildemesi. 


colonists,  crossed  the  river  to  examine  it.  The 
only  European  resident  of  the  peninsula  at 
this  time,  was  William  Blackstone,  a  puritan 
clergyman,  who  lived  in  a  cottage  near  the 
western  extremity  of  the  peninsula,  since  called 
Blnckstone's  point.  They  at  once  perceived 
the  advantages  the  peninsula  offered  for  set- 
tlement, and  most  of  the  colonists  changed 
their  residence  to  that  side  of  the  river,  and 
thither,  also,  the  frame  of  the  governor's  house 
was  subsequently  brought  over  and  put  up.* 

/ 
•  Edward  Johnson,  one  of  the  laSerers,  tells  us : 
"  The  grief  of  this  people  was  farther  increased  by 
the  sore  sickness  which  befell  among  them,  so  that 
almost  in  every  fiimily  lamentation,  mourning,  and 
wo,  was  heard  ;  and  no  fresh  foo<l  to  be  had  to  cher- 
ish them.  It  would  assuredly  have  moved  the  most 
iockedup  atfoction  to  tears,  no  doubt,  had  they 
passed  from  one  hut  to  another,  and  beheld  the  pite- 
ous cnso  these  jicople  were  in.  And  that  which  ad- 
ded to  their  present  distress,  was  the  want  of  fresh 
water.  For  nltlioui,'h  the  place  did  afford  plenty, 
yet,  for  the  present,  they  could  find  but  one  spriiiar, 
and  that  not  to  be  come  at  but  when  the  tide  was 
down,  which  caused  many  to  pass  over  to  the  south 
side  of  tlie  river,  where  tliey  afterward  erected  some 
other  towns,  and  in  October  the  governor,  deputy, 
and  assistants,  held  their  second  court,  on  the  south 
side  of  the  river,  whore  they  began  to  build,  holding 
con'ospondeiicy  wl':li  Clmrlestown,  as  one  nnd  the 
iome-'—Chronick.'  of  Massarhuselts. 


The  Indian  name  of  the  place  was  Shawmut.* 
The  peninsula  jutted  boldly  out  into  the 
broad  bay  of  Massachusetts,  and  united  by  a 
narrow  neck  to  the  main  land.  It  was  six 
hundred  acres  in  extent,  sparsely  covered 
with  trees,  and  nearly  divided  by  two  creeks 
into  three  small  islands,  when  the  creeks  were 
filled  by  the  tides.  Thr  bounded  eminen- 
ces, swelling  from  the  ^..t  .'s  brink,  gave 
the  peninsula  the  name,  b^  the  colonists, 
of  Trimountain,  from  which  has  arisen  the 
modern  name  of  Tremont.  The  promontory, 
being  nearly  surrounded  by  water,  divided 
into  hills,  and  small  in  extent,  was  capable  of 
an  easy  defence  against  the  Indians.  We 
have  given,  on  the  following  page,  a  view  of 
the  peninsula  as  it  appeared  at  the  time  Win- 
throp  first  visited  it.  The  three  eminences 
have  since  been  named  Copp's,  Fort,  and 
Beacon  hills. 

The  Indians  also  had  seen  the  advantages 
of  this  peninsula,  and  there  resided  here  a 
venerable  sachem,  when  first  visited  by  the 
white  man.  The  name  of  Trimountain  was 
soon  after  changed  to  Boston,  as  a  comiiliment 
to  the  Rev.  John  Cotton,  who  emigrated  from 
Boston,  in  Lincolnshire,  England. 
•  That  is,  "  sweet  water." 


■^'/ 


■'•H 


«li 


='=»"i!»HBi 


wmmm 


4G6 


LANDING  01''  WINTHllOP,  AND  SKTTLKMITNT  OF  BOSTON. 


Trimoantain,  or  Bottoo  in  1<30. 

The  first  general  court  of  Massachusetts 
was  held  at  Boston,  November  9,  1630.  This 
court  enacted  that  the  freemen  should  in  fu- 
ture elect  represento  ives,  who  were  to  choose 
a  governor  and  depi  ty  from  their  own  num- 
ber, and  with  these,  possess  ])ower  to  make 
laws  for  the  province,  and  appoint  officers  to 
execute  them.  To  this  measure  the  f)eople 
gave  their  assent  by  a  general  vote ;  but  the 
court  rescinded  it  early  the  next  year,  and 
enacted  that  the  officers  should  be  chosen  by 
the  whole  body  of  freemen. 

_  The  colonists  began  soon  to  experience  the 
difficulties  and  hardships  which  the  settlers 
of  a  new  country  are  obliged  to  encounter. 
Their  sufferings  the  first  year  were  intense, 
and  proved  fatal  to  many  among  their  num- 
ber. They  were  undoubtedly  the  more  keenly 
felt,  from  having  been  accustomed  to  a  life  of 
ease,  surrounded  by  all  the  comforts  and  lux- 
uries of  civilized  life.  Before  December  two 
hundred  jierished.  On  the  24th  of  that  month 
the  cold  became  intense,  and  Charles  river 
was  frozen  over.  Such  a  Christmas  eve  they 
had  never  before  known.  Yet  the  inclemency 
of  the  weather  continued  to  increase.  They 
were  destitute  of  |)rovisions,  and  many  were 
obliged  to  subsist  on  clams,  mussels,  and  other 
shell-fish,  and  nuts  and  aconis  supplied  the 
place  of  bread.  "  In  these  extremities,"  says 
Cotton  Mather,  "it  was  marvellous  to  see 
how  helpful  those  good  people  were  to  one 
another,  following  the  example  of  their  most 
noble  and  liberal  governor  Wintiirop,  who 
made  an  equal  distribution  of  what  he  had  of 
his  own  stores  among  the  jioor.  taking  no 
thought  for  the  morrow  !  And  on  February 
5,  lfi31,  when  he  was  distributing  the  last 
handful  of  meal  in  the  bonel,  unto  a  poor 


man,  distressed  by  the  wolf  at  the  door,  at 
that  instant  they  spied  a  ship  arrived  at  the 
harbor's  mouth,  laden  with  provisions  for 
them  all."« 

As  soon  as  the  severity  of  the  winter  was 
sufficiently  abated  to  admit  of  assetnl)lies  be- 
ing convened,  the  court  proceeded  to  enact 
laws  for  their  internal  regulation.  In  1002, 
the  chiefs  of  several  Indian  tribes  visited 
(Toveriior  Winthrop  and  sought  his  alliance. 
They  were  hosj)itably  entertained  by  the 
governor,  and  entered  respectively  into  trea- 
ties of  amity  with  the  colony. 

Governor  Winthrop  early  inculcated  the 
principles  of  temperance,  by  both  example  and 
recommendation.  The  benefits  of  his  eflbrts 
were  evinced,  when,  in  September,  1041,  at 
a  general  training  of  twelve  hundred  men, 
not  a  single  instance  of  intoxication  or  other 
immorality  occurred. 

Including  the  people  of  Salem,  Boston  and 
vicitiity  numbered  about  two  thousand  in  1031, 
and  in  1643,  so  great  had  been  the  emigrations 
from  England  that  the  inhabitants  had  in- 
creased to  twenty-one  thousand,  and  several 
towns  were  settled  on  the  seacoast  ond  inland 
as  far  as  fifteen  miles.  The  map  on  the  fol- 
lowing page,  of  Boston  and  vicinity,  as  tlaey 
op])eared  about  this  time,  is  a  fac-si'mile  copy 
from  a  map  of  New  England,  pubhshed  in 
16G7,  and  is  believed  to  have  been  the  first 
map  ever  engraved  in  this  country. 

A  fort  was  soon  built  in  Boston,  on  the  em- 
inence facing  the  harbor,  and  it  was  from  that 

*  The  ship  Lion,  which  hod  been  despatched  by 
Governor  Wintlirop  to  England  for  food,  enterod  the 
harbor  of  Boston,  February  5,  1631,  laden  with  pro- 
visions, and  having  the  Eev.  Roger  Williams  on 
board,  a  passenger. 


OSTON. 


wolf  at  the  floor,  at 

ship  arrived  at  tho 

with   provisions  for 

y  of  the  winter  was 
nit  of  asspinljlies  l)e- 
procerded  to  oriact 
PS'ilation.  In  lf>,T>, 
iiiian  tribes  visited 
son^'ht  his  alliance, 
entertained  by  the 
8i)ectively  into  trea- 
lony. 

urly  inculcated  the 
l)y  both  example  and 
)onefits  of  his  ellorts 
September,  ICAl,  at 
■elve  hundred  men, 
ntoxication  or  other 

"  Salem,  Boston  and 
•vo  thousand  in  1(731, 
been  the  emin;ration3 
inhabitants  had  in- 
ousand,  and  several 
seacoast  and  inland 
?he  map  on  the  fol- 
ind  vicinity,  as  they 
is  a  fac-simile  copy 
gland,  published  in 
have  been  the  first 
5  country. 
Boston,  on  the  ein- 
md  it  was  from  that 

d  been  deapatolied  by 
id  for  food,  entered  tlie 
,  1631,  Inden  witli  pro- 
'.  Roger  Williamfl  on 


LANDING  OF  WINTHIIOP.  AND  8KTTLBMKNT  OF  BOSTON. 


407 


III 


Map  of  Uostnn  and 
time  called  Fort  hill.  At  an  early  day,  a  for- 
tilicatiou  was  also  made  on  an  island  three 
miles  below  the  town,  as  a  protection  ajjainst 
foreigners,  who  were  not  of  friendly  views. 
There  were  then  some  piratical  vessels  on  the 
coast,  and  the  French,  who  were  inimical  to 
the  English,  wherever  \\wy  mijiht  be,  had 
some  naval  force  in  Acadie.  now  Nova  .Scotia. 

The  place  steadily  increased,  with  few  in- 
terruptions, till  the  time  of  the  wor  of  the 
revolution,  in  1775,  and  various  branches  of 
commerce  were  pursued  with  great  profit  and 
advantage.  The  people  sullerei'  'cli  under 
the  tyrannical  rule  of  Edmur^  i  idros.  in 
lG8C-'a,*  and  British  revenue  Iuwk  operated 

*  In  the  year  liifH,  it  was  decided  in  the  liih'h  court 
of  chaiinuiN ,  tliat  Massachusetts  liad  forfeited  her 
charter,  luui  that  liencoforth  her  goverimioiit  should 
bo  plaeed  in  the  hands  of  the  kiii^'  'lids  event 
was  brou'^'ht  about  cliiefly  liy  the  instrumentality 
of  Kdmuiid  Audroe.  This  man  had  been  sent  over 
aa  a  kind  of  spy  on  the  colonies ;  he  made  it  liis 
businoBS  to  collect  charges  against  tlie  colonies,  and 
return  to  Enf,'liuid  and  excite  the  jealousy  of  the 
British  Rovemnieiit.  In  this  maimer,  the  way  was 
prepared  for  annulling  the  colonial  charters.  In  De- 
cciuher,  legfi,  Aiidros  arrived  atBoston.beingcomniis- 
iioiied  l)y  Kiii«  .Tames,  as  governor-general,  and  vice- 
admiral,  over  New  England,  New  York,  and  the 
Jerseys.  Like  all  t>rant«.  Sir  Kdniuiid  bopan  his 
adiiunistration  with  professions  of  high  regard  for  the 
public  welfiire.  In  a  few  months,  however,  tlie  pros- 
pect was  changed.  The  press  wa«  restrained,  lib- 
erty of  coiiacieuco  inlringed,  and  exorbitant  taxes 


Vicinity,  in  1C67. 

oppressively  ;  but  the  town  still  gradually 
grew  and  i)rospered.  It  sutfered  losses  in 
the  wars  with  France  in  1754,  &c.,  but  by 
enterprise,  industry,  und  a  laudable  frugality, 
it  advanced  in  wealth  and  jiopulntion.  The 
l)opulation  in  1700,  was  about  7,000  ;  in  ]7(>.'>, 
15,520  ;  anil  ut  the  breaking  out  of  the  war 
of  the  revolution,  about  16,000.  Boston  was 
the  headijuarters  of  rebellion  at  this  momen- 
tous period  in  our  country's  history.  In  her 
streets  were  made  the  lirst  fierce  and  des- 
perate struggles  for  liberty  ;  in  her  legislative 
holls,  the  first  bold  and  manly  o]iposition  to 
the  encroachments  of  the  mother-country.  It 
was  one  of  her  citizens,  John  H.vncock,  who 
were  leWed.  The  charters  being  vacated,  it  was 
pretended  all  titles  to  land  were  deotroyed  :  farmers, 
therefore,  who  had  cultivated  their  soil  for  hall'  o  cen- 
tm-y,  were  obliged  to  take  new  patents,  giving  large 
foes,  or  writs  of  intrusion  were  brouuht,  and  their 
lands  sold  to  others.  To  prevent  petitions  or  consul 
tatious,  town  meetings  were  prohibited,  excepting 
once  in  a  year  for  the  choice  of  town  offices.  Lest 
cries  oppression  should  reacli  the  throne,  he  forbinie 
any  to  leave  the  country  without  permission  from  the 
government.  .  .  , 

The  colonists  had  borne  the  imposition  of  Andms  ■ 
govemmoiit  about  three  years.  Their  patience  was 
now  exhausted.  On  the  morning  of  Ajiril  ISth,  tho 
public  fury  burst  forth  \\ke  a  volcano.  The  inhabit- 
ants of  Boston  wore  in  arms,  and  the  people  from  tho 
countrj-  poured  in  to  their  assistance.  Audros  and 
his  associates  fled  to  a  fort ;  resistance  was  in  vain, 
he  was  made  a  prisoner,  and  lont  to  England. 


«••* 


4G6 


LANDING  01    WJNTUIlOl',  ANlJ  8KTTLKMENT  Or  BOSTON. 


piiK.  (I  ihc  fn>t  »ti«rmture  to  that  miblo  char- 
I- rut  Aiiiiricun  freoilom,  tho  Dt'cluration  of 

lMili'|M'ii{li'ii(!r, 

A  vii'w  i)f  Bitstim  ill  177fi,  ii  givrn  on  th(! 
.>|i|"Kiic  imir,..  It  is  (ci|)i<Ml  IrDiii  nil  Kiiylixh 
Mi;;riiviii;r  pulilishcil  ill  tlmt  ynir,  timl  is  hr- 
liiM'il  til  !)(■  uuihciitic.  'I'iir  view  '\n  tiikcn 
I'luiii  II  |iiiint  (111  iho  rooil  li'uiling  I'roin  llox- 
Imii\  til  Uiirciicstrr. 

Ill  171)1).  s\liiii  till!  lirsi  CCII-I1W  wns  tiikcii 
iiinlir  tlir  |ircsi'iit  iiiiliiiiiiil  «iiv('iiiiiiciif,  liicn 
iirwiy  rviitlili^Iii'il,  the   |iii|>iiliitiiMi  of  Ui)>iim 
wiM  imly   IH.O.'W.     Ill   IHOO,  it  huii  risi'ii  to 
v!l..'tt7;  ill  IHli),  to  .■3,i.'J.")();  nm|  in  IH'JO.  to 
•l;i,V!)8j  >hiiwiiij,'  u  iiiic  nf  iiKTi'iisc,  in  each 
Slice.  »i>ivc  pel  iiMl.ofiilii, 111  lliirly-ihiccMiiiiloiin 
tiiinl  jiiT  ci'iit.     In  1m;!0,  ImwrviT,  tiic  innn- 
I'l'i-  liiiil  iiiUiiiicx'il  I.)  (il,.'}!)l  ;  an.!  in  1840,  to 
!i;(,;if<;),  (ihi.win;,'  a  rati'  of  inci-caw  not  far 
Irniii  fifty  per  ci'iii.  in  ,.|i<'h  of  ihi'sn  two  pe- 
rioiis.     Ill  1^1.1.-1  ihc  popiiliuioii  was  IM, ;)(;(;, 
an  iiiipctns  iiciiif,-  jjivcn  hy  ili«!  maiiv  lines  of 
luiliiiiiiis  e(ineeiiiiiili|icr  iii"j5osti,n.     The  fotnl 
populalioii  nf  Hostiin  iiiiil  its  iiiiineiliiite  vieiiii- 
ty,  IS  now  at  least  S>-)0,()l)0.     Tliis  aceejera- 
tuin  111  llie  rati.)  of  injrense,  from  about  ono 
third   to  one  iiajl",   is  somewhat   lemarkaliie, 
not  s(>  inueh.  jierhaps,  for  its  ninoiint,  as  from 
us  eoiiieiilence  w  iih  that  ciiaii;,'e  in  the  poliey 
ol  our  iiaiiunal  j,'oveiniiient.  whieii  was  aihipt- 
eil   for  the   purpose  of  introducin;;  and  pro- 
motiii!;  domestic    inanufaeturcs,  through  the 
Bseiiey  of  disorirninatiiifr  and  jirotectiiig  du- 
ties on  imports.    Up  to  tiie  period  referred  to, 
the  caintiil  and  the  enterprise  of  Boston  had 
been  fliielly  employed  in   commerce  and  it8 
dependent  occupations;  andthouirh  the  change 
in  (|uestioii  was  most  strenuously  op|)08cd  by 
the  jireat majority  of  the  commercial  classes 
ot  that  city,  yet,  when  it  was  once  adopted, 
no  community  in  the  country  embarked  in 
maniitactures   more   promptly   and  efficient- 
ly ;  and  the  result  may  bo  seen  in  the  striking 
coincidenci!  between  the  date  of  that  change 
which  enlarged  the  field  of  enterprise  for  the 
intelligence,  cnjiital,  labor,  and  skill  of  that 
cornmmiity,    and    the    commencement   of   a 
greatly-accelerated   rate    of   increase   in   its 
populiition  and  wealth. 

In  this  |:rogres3  of  population,  the  original 
limits  of  the  peninsula  have  been  found  much 
too  narrow  for  the  growing  numbers  ;  and  the 
city  now  consists  of  three  distinct  parts, 
namely.  Boston  of  the  peninsula— South  Bos- 
ton, built  along  the  westerly  base  and  slopes 
of  Dorchester  heights,  on  the  ground  formerly 
belonging  to  the  town  of  Dorchester,  but  an- 
nexed to  iieninsular  Boston  in  1804— and  East 
Boston,  built  on  an  island  in  the  harbor,  for- 
merly called  Noodle'j  island,  lying  otr  against 
the  northerly  portion  of  the  peninsula,  and  sep- 
arated from  Charlestown  and  the  mainland 


on  that  Hide,  by  the  waters  of  the  Mystic  river 
where  they  mingle  with  the  liiirllor.  It  ig 
connected  with  the  mainlnnd  at  (MielHca  by  u 
bridge  six  hundred  feet  long,  ami  with  iho 
peninsula  city  by  steam  ferrybonts,  which 
start  fiiiiii  each  side  every  live  minutes.  Kast 
Boston  has  grown  up  wholly  since  IW.'j;).  It 
is  the  sliitionof  the  Liverpool,  or  Cunard  line 
of  steam  packets,  and  tho  termination  of  the 
Lastiirn  railroad. 

The  town  was  governed  by  nine  select- 
men, chosen  iiy  the  jieople  aniiiiiilly  till  IH'J'J, 
when  it  became  an  incorporated  eiiv.  and  is 
now  governed  by  a  mayor,  ei;:ht  aldeimem 
and  forty-eight  conimon-conneilinen,  eompo- 
sing  two  li.mnis,  who  together  me  dmoniinu- 
ted  the  city  council.  'I'hey  arc  (dioscn  an- 
nually, the  mayor  and  iildirinen  from  the  jieo- 
ple at  iarge,  and  the  common-counciimen  four 
from  each  of  tlic  twidve  wards. 

The  peninsular  situation  of  Boston  Ims  pro- 
duced the  neccsMiy  of  an  uiiiisiml  iiiiiiil,(.r  of 
bridges  to  connect  the  city  with  the  surround- 
ing country.  These  are  six  in  number,  and 
(  great  h'ligth  ;  and  though  they  are  all  of 
wood,  and  without  any  pretensions  to  architec- 
tural beauty,  yet  their  great  exient,  number, 
and  position,  give  them  an  imposing  aspect, 
while  their  great  utility  and  the,  train  of  ideas 
nssoctttted  therewith,  render  them  objects  of 
lively  interest. 

The  streets  of  Boston,  especially  in  the 
older  (piarters  of  the  city,  are  rather"iriegular 
and  narrow  ;  but  no  city  in  the  Union  is  more 
substantially  built,  or  contains  a  greater  pro- 
poriion  of  spacious  and  costly  private  man- 
sions;  and  no  city  on  the  globe  can  boast  of 
08  high  a  degree  of  cleanliness.     In  this  par- 
ticular, so  important  to  the  health,  comfort, 
and  pleasantness  of  a  large  town,  the  streets, 
public  areas,  and  private  .jourts  and  yards,  of 
Boston,  are  truly  admirable,  and  a  model  for 
all  other  cities;  and  the   simple  means  by 
which  this  desirable  condition  of  things  is  se- 
cured, is  an  ordinance  which  forbids  the  in- 
c?u"°"'®  to  throw  oflal,  dirt,  fragments,  or 
filth  of  any  sort,  vegetable  or  animal,  ur)on 
the  ground  in  the  streets,  or  in  private  enclo- 
sures, but  requires  all  these  things  to  be  i)ut 
into  casks,  or  vessels  of  some  kind,  and  these 
are   regularly   removed    by   the  scavengers. 
Thus,  the  fref|uent  handling  of  this  noisome 
rubbish,  which  is  the  obvious  and  unavoida- 
ble consequence  of  permitting  them  to  be  cast 
upon  the  ground  at  all,  is  avoided,  and  the 
removal  of  them  is  rendered  complete  and 
certain.     These  simple  regulations  being  en- 
forced,  the  city  is  kept  clean,  sweet,'  and 
wholesome ;  and  that,  too,  with  far  less  ex- 
pense of  time,  labor,  and  rnnaey,  than  is  pos- 
sible in  any  other  way.     I'his  management 
I  eaves  to  Boston,  every  year,  many  thousand* 


[ 


■iWi »«imjjia«i»i 


itITOS. 

'noftlir  My«rir  river 

I   till'    liiirliiir,     It  it 

niiil  lit  (Miclnrn  liy  U 

liiiii;,  uikI   will)  "the 

I  t't'rryhonfs,  which 
■  fivfi  tniiiiitcN.  Mii^t 
iiilly  Hincc  1h;):(.  ft 
•jiodl,  or  (.'iiimnl  line 
'■  tciii.iiiaiioii  lit"  tlio 

K'll  liy  nine  Hclcct-  I 
1^  niiiiiiiilly  till  IH'jj, 
|ii)riii((i  liiv,  iiriil  is 
or,  ciijlit  alilijiiini, 
I'Diiiiiilincn,  cdiniH). 
■tjiir  lire  ilriioinina- 
llry  liic  cIkiscii  iui- 
•riiicii  ('n)rii  tin;  pro- 
iKiii-ciiunciliiicii  four 
winds. 

II  111'  HoNtiin  liHs  pro- 

1  Mllllslllll    llllIlllllT  of 

will)  liif  Miiround- 
■•*ix  in  niinilirr,  ami 
J^li  tliiy  iirt!  nil  of 
tensions  tourchitcc- 
int  rxli'iit,  niuiilinr, 
in  iiiipiisinn;  nsjit'ct, 
"1  liu!  train  of  iilcoa 
i;r  tlicm  objects  of 


,  cspfcinny  in  the 
are  ratiier  irregular 
fi  the  Union  is  more 
tains  a  Rreater  pro- 
ostly  ])rivato  man- 
i;lol)e  can  boost  of 
iness.  In  this  )iar- 
ic  health,  comfort, 
i  town,  the  streets, 
ourts  ami  yards,  of 
le,  and  a  model  for 

simple  means  by 
tion  of  things  is  se- 
ich  forbids  the  in- 
dirt,  fragments,  or 
e  or  animal,  upon 
ir  in  private  enclo- 
se things  to  be  put 
me  kind,  and  these 
Y  the  scavengers, 
ig  of  this  noisome 
ious  and  unavoida- 
ng  them  to  be  cast 
i  avoided,  and  the 
red  complete  and 
;u!ations  being  en- 
clean,  sweet,  and 

with  far  less  ex- 
n"iey,  than  is  pos- 
I'his  management 
ri  many  thousand* 


<l   ! 


fill 


i 


-4i»-r 


iac'.— 'jjcara 


lt^l->»-.^l-^l^^-^.  ^■■..-— J,J^ 


t- 


470 


LANDING  OP  WINTHROP,  AND  SETTLEMENT  OP  BOSTON. 


of  dollars  in  her  onnual  cxpenJitures;  ai.d  its 
ftiiod  sense  mid  great  economy  are  so  palpable 
us  to  make  it  really  surprising  that  it  is  not 
tlKj  settled  system  of  every  populous  town. 

Boston  harbor,  commodious,  deep,  easy  of 
uccess.  and  yet  easily  defended,  is  one  of'^the 
best  ui  the  world.  The  approach  to  the  in- 
ner iiurbor,  immediately  ir  front  of  the  city, 
IS  for  a  short  distance  and  immediately  under 
tlic  batteries  of  Fort  Independence,  bv  a  chan- 
nel so  narrow  that  two  largo  ships  could 
scarcely  jiass  abreast,  wliih-  within,  it  spreads 
into  a  noble  haven,  spacious  enough  for  five 
hundred  ships  of  any  size  to  ride  securely. 

In  commerce  and  navigation,  Boston  r'uiiks 
a.  the  second  city  in  the  Union,  standing  next 
to  New  York,  and  possessing  a  tonim-'e 
airiounting  to  nearly  or  quite  300,000  toi^s. 
,  1  he  capital  employed  in  foreiirn  trade  is  about 
Ul-i,000,000.  The  number  of  banks,  in  1847 
was  25,  with  a  capital  of  $18,000,000,  and 
-.8  I'lsurance  companies,  with  an  aggregate 
capital  of  $7,000,000.  " 

The  total  amount  of  capital  employed  in 
manufactures  is  upward  of  $4,000,000;  but 
a  tar  larger  amount  of  Boston  capital  is  in- 
vested m  cotton  and  woollen  manufactures  in 
Liowell  and  other  places. 

The^Cochituate  mjueduct,  for  the  introduc- 
tion ot  pure  and  wholesome  water  into  the 
city  has  been  recently  completed,  and  this 
important  epoch  in  the  history  of  Boston  was 
celebrated  in  the  most  brilliant  and  enthasia-?- 
tic  manner.  Its  importance  as  contributing 
to  health,  cleanliness,  purity,  and  a  thousand 
other  general  and  useful  purposes,  can  scarcely 
be  overrated.  Lake  Cochituate,  from  which 
the  water  is  brought,  lies  about  eiahteen  miles 
from  Boston,  in  the  towns  of  Natick.  Fra- 
mingham,  and  Wayland,  Middlesex  countv, 
Massachusetts.  This  lake  covers  an  area  of 
ObO  acres,  and  drains  a  surface  of  over  11  000 
acres.  Its  depth,  in  some  places  is  70  f,-et, 
and  Its  elevation  above  common  tide  at  Bos- 

Z"nnnnfJT   ■'^^''  "^''"'"^«''  "-"'^""^^  ^^ns 
3M,()00,000,  but  It  cost  over  $3,000,000 

Besides  the  aqueduct  itself,  the  great  fea- 
tures of  this  enterprise  are  the  Beacon  hill  I 
reservoir,  ,n  Boston ;  the  reservoir  on  Dor-  I 
Chester  heights.  South  Boston;  the  great  res- 
ervoir and  gate-house  in  Brookline,  from! 
which  the  water  of  the  lake  is  brought  to  th."  ' 
street  mains  and  reservoir  in  Boston,  in  two  i 
irim  pipes,  thirl,y-four  inches  in  diameter,  and  ' 

ca  able  of  dehvenng  .laily  three  millions  «f 
ff..  lions  of  water;  Mie  Charles  rivor  brid-e  at 
N.wton  Lower  falls,  which  is  builfon  Three 
arches;  the  Pipe  chamber  in  the  vicinity,  and 
the  Roa,  bridge,  which  is  built  on  a  sincle 
arch,  and  sai.l  by  all  to  be  a  most  splendid 
piece  of  masonry;  the  waste  wier,  four  miles 


beyond  the  Lower  falls,  where  the  aci-iedn.^t 
passes  over  a  considerable  stream;  and  finidl  v, 
the  Gatehouse,  a  granite  edifice  at  the  lake". 

The  reservoir  on  Beacon  hill  covers  uu 
area  of  40,000  square  feet,  and  will  bold 
3,000,000  of  gallons  of  water.  The  level  will 
be  SIX  and  o  half  feet  above  the  level  of  ili,. 
floor  of  the  statehouse.  This  reservoir,  «  l,i.h 
will  throw  ajet  of  water  to  a  great  height,  from 
most  parts  of  the  cify,  is  intended  for  a  reserve 
fountain,  in  case  of  any  accident  to  the  great 
pipc'^-  The  reservoir  on  Dorchester  heir-bts 
contains  an  orea  of  70,000  feet,  and  is  capable 
of  delivering  7,000,000  of  gallons  p,-r  duv. 
1  his  IS  also  intended  for  a  reserved  fountain, 
and  the  two  reservoirs  together  will  disneiwe 
10,000,000  of  gallons  of  water  a  da  v.  This 
quantity,  it  has  well  been  said,  wifl  sunplv 
more  than  sixteen  gallons  a  day.  for  five  daVs 

^"  m?'-'*^'??''"'  ■'^"'"nn-  nnJ  child,  in  the  eiiv.' 
1  he  full  of  the  woter  from  the  reservoir  in 
Brookline,  is  two  feet  to  the  mile,  and  the 
evel  of  the  reservoir  is  consc.niently  ei-ht 
ft-et  higher  than  that  of  the  great  reservoi^in 
lioston.  This  reservoir  covers  thirty  acres, 
and  the  water  will  be  in  some  places'twenty 
feet  deep,  and  will  average  fifteen  feet  deep, 
thereby  constituting  a  perfect  safeguard  for 
the  city,  if  any  accident  ha])pens  to  the  con- 
fliiit  above. 

Boston  has  always  been  conspicuous  for  its 
attention  and  liberality  in  supporting  public 
schools,  where  the  children  of  all  ranks  of  the 
people  are  instructed.     Even  for  those  who 
wish  to  study  Latin  and  Greek,  or  the  ni"her 
branches  of  mathematics  and  natural  philoso- 
I)hy,  as  well  as  the  English  language,  arith- 
metic, and  geograf)hy,  institutions  are   pro- 
vided ;  but  in  the  higher  seminaries  a  certain 
age  ano  progress  are  necessary  for  admission. 
Could  the  old  sachem,  the  blue  smoke  of 
whose  coi.icil-fire  was  curling  upward  to  the 
skies,  fnun  the  site  of  Boston,  when  first  vis- 
ited by  the  European,  be  permitted  a  brief 
return  to  earth,  with  what  feelings  would  he 
look  upon  the  present  splendor  of'  his  ancient 
I  domain  ?     What  would  be  his  sensations  to 
hiij  It  thronged  with  nearly  a  auarter  of  a 
million  of  human  beings— to  find  the  seat  of 
j  his  iiumble  wigwam  now  occupied  by  com- 
inio(lious   warehouses  and  stately  dwellin.'s, 
studded  at  fre(|uent  intervals  with  minarets 
and  steeples,  and  glittering  domes— to  find 
the  oroad  bay,  where  glided  his  birchen  ca- 
noe, now  ploughed  by  giant  steamships,  and 
white  with  the  sails  of  every  land,  and  its 
shores  lined  with  a  dense  forest  of  toweriiiii 
masts  ? —  " 

'•  WouM  not  hin  altered  nature 
Hejoice  witli  rnpture  liif.'h, 
At  the  changed  nnd  glorious  prospect 
Ihat  now  would  meet  his  eye  7" 


)F  BOSTON. 

s  where  the  a(|iic(Iiii-t 
lie  stream;  omi  fimillv, 
re  edifice  nt  the  Inke. 
Jcacon  Iiill  covpis  nn 
!  feet,  onil  wil!  l]ii|,| 
water.  The  level  will 
ibove  the  level  of  tin- 

This  reservoir,  Mliich 

toagreathei^'ht,  )'i(iii) 
I  intended  for  q  reserve 
'  accident  fo  the  greiit 
on  Dorchester  heiyhrs 
00  feet,  and  isciipalile 
)  of  gallons  (ler  duy. 
ir  a  reservei]  foiintniii, 
together  will  disjjense 
f  water  a  day.  This 
sen  said,  will  supply 
s  a  day,  for  fivedavs, 
ind  child,  in  the  ri'iy. 

from  the  reservoir  in 
to  the  mile,  and  the 
8  conseijuently  eii^ht 
the  great  reservoir  in 
•  covers  thirty  acres, 

some  placestwenty 
ige  fifteen  feet  deep, 
perfect  safeguard  for 

hajjpens  to  the  con- 
in  conspicuous  for  its 
in  supporting  puldic 
■en  of  all  ranks  of  the 
Even  for  those  who 
Greek,  or  the  nigher 

and  natural  philoso- 
lish  language,  arith- 
nstitutions  are  pro- 
seminaries  a  certain 
;ssary  for  admission. 
,  the  blue  smoke  of 
irling  upwp.rd  to  the 
ston,  when  first  vis- 
B  permitted  a  brief 
it  feelings  would  he 
endor  ot  his  ancient 
)e  his  sensations  to 
»rly  a  uuarter  of  m 
-to  find  the  seat  of 
i'  occupied  by  eom- 

stately  dwellings, 
vals  with  minarets 
ng  domes — to  find 
dcd  his  birchen  cii- 
mt  steamships,  and 
?very  land,  and  its 

forest  of  towering 


I  nature 
•e  liigli, 

lorious  prospect 
eet  hii  eye  7" 


GIRAIID  COLLEGE,  PHILADELPHIA. 


471 


View  of  Git->d  College,  Philadelphia. 


GIRARD  COLLEGE  FOR  ORPHANS. 

The  site  appropriated  by  Mr.  Girard,  for 
the  purposes  of  this  college  was  formerly 
known  as  Peel  Hall;  it  is  situated  on  the 
Ridge  road  about  a  mile  north  of  the  city  lim- 
its, and  occupies  a  tract  of  land  half  a  mile  in 
le.igth  by  an  eighth  of  a  mile  in  width,  sur 
rounded  by  a  spacious  street  sixty  feet  wide, 
called  College  avenue.  The  main  entrance 
is  at  the  head  of  Corinthian  avenue,  a  street 
of  eighty  feet  in  width  running  north  from 
Coates'  street  west  of  Third  street  from 
Schuylkill.  The  street  represented  on  the 
j)late  is  College  avenue,  running  westward 
from  the  Ridge  road. 

The  buildings  consist  of  the  main  college 
edifice,  which  will  be  entirely  devoted  to  edu- 
cational purposes,  and  two  spacious  out  build- 
ings on  each  side,  all  of  which  are  composed 
of  marble. 

The  main  building  is  a  composition  in  the 
Greek  Corinthian  order  of  architecture ;  it 
stands  parallel  with  the  city  streets,  immedi- 
ately in  front  of  Corinthian  avenue,  and  cov- 
ers an  area  of  one  acre  of  ground,  being  181 
feet  wide  and  U39i  feet  long.  The  body  of 
the  building,  which  's  111  feet  wide  by  169 
feet  long,  has  eight  columns  on  each  end  and 
eleven  on  each  side  (counting  the  comer  col- 
umns both  ways),  which  makes  thirly-four 
columns  in  all.  The  colonnade  stands  on  a 
marble  platform  seven  and  a  half  feet  high, 
159  feet  wide,  and  217j  feet  long,  approached 
on  all  sides  by  eleven  marble  steps. 

Each  of  the  bases  of  the  columns  measures 
nine  and  a  quarter  feet  in  diameter,  and  the 
shafts  six  feet  at  the  bottom  and  five  feet  at 


the  top ;  the  capitals  are  nine  feet  high  and 
ten  feet  wide  on  the  face  of  the  abacus  or  up- 
per member;  tlie  whole  height,  including  base, 
shaft:  and  capital,  is  fifty-five  feet.  These 
columns  are  composed  of  large  blocks  of  white 
marble,  some  of  which  weigh  fifteen  tons. 
Each  shaft  is  beautifully  wrought  into  twenty- 
four  deep  flutes,  and  the  carving  of  the  capi- 
tals is  of  the  richest  and  most  ornate  charac- 
ter. Many  suppose  that  these  capitals  were 
imported,  but  such  is  not  the  cose  ;  they  were 
all  wrought  on  the  college-grounds  out  of 
American  marble,  and  the  whole  building  is, 
in  fact,  a  specimen  of  American  skill  and 
American  materials. 

The  entablature,  or  the  entire  mass  which 
rests  on  the  columns,  is  seventeen  feet  high ; 
it  consists  of  an  enriched  cornice  projecting 
nearly  five  feet,  and  other  mouldings  finely 
proportioned  and  beautifully  wrought.  Each 
end  of  the  building  is  embellished  with  a  ped- 
iment rising  twenty  and  a  half  feet  above  the 
horizontal  cornice,  thus  making  the  entire 
elevation  of  the  apex  of  the  roof  above  the 
ground  about  one  hundred  feet. 

The  ceiling  of  the  portico  is  being  con- 
structed of  immense  cast-iron  plates,  richly 
embellished  with  panels  and  ornamented 
mouldings. 

The  roof  is  composed  of  marble,  and  is  one 
of  the  most  interesting  portions  of  the  work. 
We  shall  describe  it  in  the  words  of  the  archi- 
•■ect  to  the  building  committee,  in  his  ninth 
annual  rejwrt.  '•  It  consists  of  marble  tiles 
four  and  a  half  feet  long,yoMr  feet  wide,  and 
two  and  three  fourths  inches  thick ;  every  su- 
perior tile  overlaps  the  one  below  it,  and  the 
junction  of  every  two  adjoining  tilv«  is  cov- 


'   « 


472 


THE  W1N8L0W  HOUSE. 


ercil  with  a  strip  of  marble  four  and  a  half 
fiH't  in  length,  ten  inches  in  width,  and  six 
inclu's  in  thickness. 

"  To  su|)j)ort  these  tiles,  brick  walls  of  nine 
inches  in  thickness  are  built  three  feet  vine 
inehes  apart,  across  the  whole  surface  of  the 
ujjper  arches,  from  side  to  side  of  the  build- 
iiii; ;  the  top  of  each  wall  is  formed  with  a 
declivity  from  the  ri(]ji;e  to  the  eaves,  corre- 
sj)on(ling  with  the  pitch  of  the  jjcdiments. 

'  The  large  tiles  arc  laiii  on  these  walls, 
beginning  at  the  eaves  and  extending  to  the 
ridge,  each  su])erior  tile  overlapping  the  one 
below  it  six  inches.  The  sides  of  these  tiles 
are  elevated  an  inch  and  a  half  above  the  gen- 
eral surface  to  prevent  the  water  from  running 
into  the  joints  at  their  junction  ;  and  the  nar- 
row tiles  which  cover  these  joints  are  hol- 
lowed out  so  as  to  embrace  the  projection  of 
each  contiguous  tile. 

"All  the  joints  and  overlappings  are  so 
formed  as  to  prevent  the  admission  of  water 
eitiier  from  the  force  of  beating  rains  or  from 
capillary  attraction  ; — at  the  same  time  their 
design  is  such  as  to  admit  of  their  being  laid 
without  coming  actually  in  contact  with  each 
other,  thus  rendering  them  free  to  expand  and 
contract  with  the  various  changes  of  temper- 
ature without  producing  leaks  ;  the  whole  is, 
therefore,  rendered  water-tight  without  de- 
pending at  all  on  cement. 

"  The  ))lau  of  supporting  the  tiles  on  walls 
atlbrds  access  at  all  times  to  the  under  side  of 
every  tile ;  and  in  order  to  facilitate  their  in- 
spection, openings  are  left  in  the  walls  oppo- 
site each  skylight,  by  which  a  portion  of 
light  will  be  admitted  into  every  compart- 
ment. 

"  The  gutters  ore  formed  of  flagstone  and 
bricks  laid  in  hydraulic  cement,  and  securely 
covered  with  heavy  milled  lead.  These  gut- 
ters are  so  constructed  as  to  jjrevent  any  wa- 
ter from  running  over  the  eaves  ;  by  this  plan 
the  cornices  will  not  be  liable  to  the  mutila- 
tion and  ])remature  decay  to  which  they 
would  otherwise  have  been  subjected,  and 
which  mars  niimy  of  the  noblest  structures  of 
ancient  as  well  as  modern  times. 

"  The  conductors  for  carrying  the  water 
from  the  roof  consist  of  heavy  cast-iron  pipes 
of  ten  inches  in  diameter,  securely  put  to- 
gether and  onibediied  in  walls  of  the  iiuilding." 
The  interior  of  this  building  is  divided  into 
three  stories  of  twenty-tive  feet  in  height, 
and  each  st.iry  into  four  rooms  of  fifty  feet 
sijuarc,  with  a  vestibule  at  each  end  of  tw(!n- 
tv-six  feet  by  the  width  of  the  building.  The 
first  and  second  stories  are  vaulted  with  groin 
arches,  and  the  third  story  with  domes  suj)- 
ported  on  pendentivcs  springing  from  the  cor- 
ners of  the  rooms ;  this  story  is  lighted  by 
skylights  sixteen  feet  in  diameter. 


All  the  floors  and  stairways  are  composerl 
of  marble,  so  that  there  is  nr^  wood  employed 
in  the  construction  of  the  Iiuilding  except  for 
doors  and  windows.  The  stairways  ascend 
from  the  vestibules  in  each  of  the  four  cor- 
ners of  the  building,  and  present  an  exceed- 
ingly light  and  graceful  appearance  ;  they  are 
embellished  with  beautiful  east-iron  balus- 
trades, starting  from  polished  marble  newels. 
The  doors  of  entrance  are  on  the  north  and 
and  south  fronts  opening  into  the  vestibules; 
they  are  each  sixteen  feet  wide  by  thirty-two 
feet  high  in  the  clear  ;  the  lower  section  of 
th(?  panelling  alone  is  made  to  open.  Each 
vestibule  is  vaulted  from  an  entablature  sup- 
ported, on  eight  columns  and  eight  autre,  or 
scjuare  pillars  attached  to  the  walls,  nioking 
forty-eight  columns  and  forty-eight  antic  in 
all  the  stories ;  the  shafts  of  these  columns 
are  each  composed  of  a  single  block  of  marble. 
The  order  in  the  first  story  is  Ionic,  in  the  sec- 
ond a  modified  Corinthian,  and  in  the  third  a 
similar  order  rather  lighter  and  more  ornate. 
Each  stairway  is  crowned  with  a  richly  pan- 
elled pendentive  dome  ceiling  lighted  with  a 
skylight  of  ten  feet  in  diameter. 

The  four  out  buildings  are  each  fifty-two 
feet  wide,  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet 
long,  and  three  stories  high,  with  d  basement 
of  seven  feet  above  the  ground.  The  eastern- 
most building  is  divided  into  four  separate  i)ri- 
vate  residences  for  the  president  nnd  jirofes- 
sors,  and  the  remaining  three  are  designed  for 
the  residence  and  accommodation  of  the  pujjils 
and  their  attendants. 


THE  WINSLOW  HOUSE,  MARSHFIELD. 

This  venerable  relic  of  the  days  of  the 
Pilgrims,  is  situated  on  the  Winslow  farm, 
now  the  property,  we  believe,  of  the  Hon.  Dan- 
iel Webster,  in  Marshfield,  Massachusetts. 
It  is  in  the  southern  part  of  the  town,  on 
the  borders  of  the  ancient  town  of  Duxburv, 
and  about  ten  miles  from  the  more  ancient 
town  of  Plymouth,  where  the  Pilgrim  Fa- 
thers first  stepped  upon  the  sacred  Rock,  and 
about  thirty  miles  from  Boston.  The  house 
is  more  than  a  century  and  a  half  old,  and  is 
of  course  built  in  a  most  antique  style  of  ar- 
chitecture. It  was  formerly  the  residence  of 
Colonel  John  Winslow,  a  great-grandson  of 
Governor  Edward  Winslow,  one  of  that  no- 
ble party  who  came  over  in  the  May-Flower. 
He  died  at  Hingham,  in  April,  1774,  in  the 
seventy-second  year  of  his  age,  and  the 
Winslow  name  "has  become  extinct  in  the 
venerable  town  of  their  adoption. 


r'nys  nre  romnosod 
no  Wood  rm|iloyeiI 
iiuildinn;  except  i'or 
stairways  nscpnd 
li  of  the  four  cor- 
)rp.si.'iit  an  fxceed- 
icaranco  ;  tlicy  are 
d  cast-iron  l)nl us- 
ed marble  newels, 
•e  on  the  north  and 
ito  the  vestihules; 
.vide  by  thirty-two 
I  lower  section  of 
le  to  open.  Each 
1  entablature  sup- 
nd  eij;ht  antre,  or 
the  walls,  niaking 
irtv-eijiht  antic  in 
ot  these  columns 
le  block  of  marble. 
is  Ionic,  in  the  ser- 
and  in  the  third  a 
and  more  ornate, 
vith  a  richly  pan- 
ing  lighted  with  a 
leter. 

ire  each  fifty-two 
1  twenty-five  feet 
,  with  a  basement 
nd.  The  eastern- 
four  separate  jjii- 
lident  nnd  profcs- 
e  are  designed  for 
ation  of  the  pupils 


MARSHFIELD. 

the  days  of  the 
3  Winslow  farm, 
,oftheH()n.Dan- 
,  Massachusetts, 
of  the  town,  on 
)wn  of  Duxbury, 
he  more  ancient 
the  Pilgrim  Fa- 
sacred  Rock,  and 
ton.  The  house 
I  half  old,  and  is 
ique  style  of  ar- 
'  the  residence  of 
;reat-grandson  of 
one  of  that  no- 
:he  May-Flower, 
iril,  1774,  in  the 
s  age,  and  the 
I  extinct  in  the 
:)tion. 


w#(. 


f 


474 


ME11CHANT3'  EXCHANGE,  NEW  YORK. 


MERCHANTS'  EXCHANGE,  NEW  YORK. 


Wall  street  is  known,  the  world  over, 
ns  the  mart  of  the  money-changers  in  New 
York.  It  is,  indeed,  chiefly  filled  with  bank- 
ers and  brokers,  who  rejoice  in  fingering  bank- 
notes, half  joes,  eagles,  and  dollars,  the  former 
of  whom  are  happy  to  receive  your  money 
on  deposite  and  accommodate  you  with  a.loan 
at  a  moderate  discount,  and  the  latter  of  wliom 
are  ready  to  negotiate  a  note  for  a  reasonable 
advance,  or  to  change  uncurrent  into  current 
money  at  a  slight  charge.  But  there  are  no 
inconsiderable  numbers  of  otiier  gentry,  who 
would  be  hnjjjiy  to  acquaint  themselves  with 
your  purse,  as  assurers,  lawyers,  notaries,  spec- 
ulators, stock-jobbers,  packet-officers,  money- 
collectors,  customhouse  officers,  news-mong- 
ers, and  agents  in  any  line  whatever. 

The  whole  street  is  immeasurably  active  in 
the  general  pursuit  of  money.  The  business 
of  every  house  relates  to  money,  notes  or 
stock;  in  every  group  the  subject  of  conver- 
sation is  money,  notes,  or  stock  ;  the  life,  mo- 
tion, and  being,  of  every  man  in  "Wall  street 
is  money,  notes,  or  stock.  Everything  is  done 
by  exchange,  whether  it  be  an  exchange  of 
money,  of  notes,  of  bonds,  of  stock,  of  estates, 
of  opinions  and  information,  or  of  nods  and 
winks  significantly  appertaining  to  that  mode 
of  making  money,  called  spc  lation.  Here 
fortunes  are  won  m  an  hour,  and  here  too  they 
are  lost  as  soon.  Gold  is  here  the  beacon  of 
hope,  and  the  mainspring  of  action ;  but  also 
too  often  does  it  prove  the  i^ntis-fatuus  of 
deluded  adventurers,  and  the  siren  of  evil  and 
destruction. 

Wall  street  is  also  the  centre  of  commer- 
cial informatim  and  general  news.  Hither 
all  citizens  who  are  infected  with  the  cacoethus 
audiendi,  flock,  to  learn  how  the  world  wags, 
as  well  as  to  proclaim  such  items  of  intelli- 
gence as  may  have  reached  their  understond- 
mgs  alone.  The  merchants  particulorly  col- 
lect here  in  greot  numbers,  at  mid-day,  to 
confer  together  upon  the  objects  of  trade,  and 
to  survey  the  general  indications  of  the  com- 
mercial atmosphere.  For  the  greater  con- 
venience of  these  daily  assemblages,  which 
have  become  very  necessary  and  important, 
a  building  has  been  particularly  erected,  call- 
ed the  Merchants'  Exchange,  and  devoted  to 
that  object. 

This  edifice,  a  view  of  which  is  given  oppo- 
site, embraces  all  the  ground  between  William 
and  Wall  streets,  Exchange  place  and  Han- 
over street,  covering  the  entire  block.  It  has 
a  somewhat  confined  situation,  and  shows  to 
less  advantage  than  if  it  were  surrounded  by 
open  grounds.  It  is  of  the  Ionic  order  of  ar- 
chitecture and  is  built  in  the  most  substantia] 
form,  of  blue  Quincy  granite.     The  dimen- 


sions are  one  hundred  and  ninety-eight  feet 
on  Wall  street,  one  hundred  and  seventy-one 
on  William  street,  one  hundred  and  forty-four 
.'H  Hanover  street,  and  one  hundred  and'  ninc- 
-y-six  feet  on  Exchange  place.  It  is  sc  vent  v- 
seven  feet  high  to  the  top  of  the  coniicp,  oiid 
one  hundred  and  twenty-fiiur  fict  from  the 
foundation  wall  to  the  Kjp  of  the  dome. 

In  fnjnt,  on  Wall  street,  is  a  recessed  por- 
tico,  with   eighteen    massive    (j'reeiaii-Ioiiic 
columns,  thirty-eight  feet  high,  and  four  feet 
four  inches  in  diameter,  eRcli   formed  of   a 
solid  block  of  stone.     It  rrtiuired  the  best  np- 
plication  of  the  mechanical  powers,  aided  h\ 
horses,  to  raise  these  enormous  pillars.      The 
process  of  obtaining  such  immense  masses  from 
the  quarry  is  curious.     The  (puiny  whence 
they  were  brought  is  in  the  side  of  n  hill  ; 
the  ends  of  a  block  of  granite  are  cleared,  p 
row  of  holes  are  drilled  in  a  straight   line, 
wedges  are  inserted,  and  an  enormous  piece 
of  stone  weighing  from  three  hundred  to  four 
hundred  tons  is  thus  wedged  oil'  with  case. 
Each  of  the  columns  for  tire  portico  weighed 
about  ninety  tons  in  the  rough,  and  five  men 
with  a  simple  apparatus  drew  it  out  of  the 
quarry  in  two  or  three  days  to  the  place  where 
the  woj;kmen  stood  ready  to  hammer-dress  it. 
The  fair  market  priceof  one  of  these  columns 
is  $6,000 ;  but  the  Exchange  company  ])aid 
only  $3,000  for  them,  delivered  in  New  York. 
These  columns  with  but  one  exception  (that 
of  a  church  at  St.  Petersburgh),  ore  the  lar- 
gest in  the  world,  and  each  of  them,  inclu- 
aing  the  base,  cap,  and  shaft,  weighs  forty- 
three  tons.     The  exchange  room  or  rotunda 
is  a  most  magnificent  apartment,  in  the  centre 
of  the  building.    The   height  of  it  to  the 
spring  of  the  dome  is  fifty-one  feet,  ond  above 
this  the  dome  is  thirty  feet  high  ;  the  whole 
is  surmounted  by  a  lantern  sky-light  thirty- 
seven  feet  diameter,  and  six  feet  high.     The 
floor  is  to  be  of  fine  marble — its  diameter  is 
eighty  feet  in  the  clear,  and  one  hundred  feet 
in  the  recesses,  forming  an  area  of  seven  thou- 
sand square  feet,  which  it  is  estimated  will 
hold  three  thousand  persons.     The  (h)mo  is 
partly  supported  by  eight   polished   Italian 
marble  columns  with  Corinthian  capitals,  ex- 
ecuted in  Italy ;  these  are  forty-one  feet  in 
height,  including  the  cap  and  base,  and  four 
feet  eight  inches  in  diameter.     There  are  also 
many  rooms  for  the  accommodation  of  public 
and  private  offices.     When  it  is  recollected 
that  this  fine  building  has  been  erected  in  the 
place  of  an  elegant  exchange  building,  burnt 
in  the  great  fire  of  1833,  it  is  a  mutter  of  con- 
gratulation that  it  is  of  materials  absolutely  in- 
combustible, no  wood,  but  the  doors  and  win- 
dows, having  been  used  in  its  construction. 
The  codt  of  the  building,  including  the  ground, 
was  about  two  millions  of  dollars. 


cwr  -i!=^:^y,iiA«4»'^«J?^ga£^i.n»WjH|ii)>»MUIW 


'■  .ilHi    lip 


BTid  iiinrty-einht  fcpt 
Jrcd  niul  sevfiity-oiic 
undrc'd  nnil  fortv-fuiir 
no  hunilrcij  aiid  iiinc- 
placn.     It  issi'vpiiiv- 
p  of  thi;  rornico,  and 
y-foiir  ft'ct  iVom  the 
p  i)f  the  dome. 
et,  is  a  ric'cssed  por- 
assive   (jriH'iiiu-Icjiiio 
t  high,  ntid   four  feet 
,  encli    formed   of    a 
required  tlie  hest  np- 
L'al  powers,  aided  ljy 
rmous  pillars.      'J'he 
immense  masses  from 
['he  (piurry  wlience 
I  the  side  of  n  hill ; 
ranite  are  cleared,  p 
in  a  straight  line, 
on  enormous  piece 
hree  hundre<l  to  four 
dged  otr  with  case, 
the  portico  weighed 
I'ougn,  and  five  men 
drew  it  out  of  the 
■8  to  the  place  where 
to  hammer-dress  it. 
3ne  of  these  columns 
ange  company  ]mid 
vered  in  New  York, 
one  excejjtion  (that 
iburgh),  are  the  lar- 
ich  of^  them,  inclu- 
shaft,  weighs  forty- 
;e  room  or  rotunda 
rtment,  in  the  centre 
leight  of  It  to  the 
•one  feet,  and  above 
■t  high  ;  the  whole 
•n  sky-light  thirty- 
ix  feet  high.     The 
le — its  diameter  is 
id  one  hundred  feet 
area  of  seven  thou- 
t  is  estimated  will 
ins.     The  dome  is 
It  polished   Italian 
rithian  ca])itals,  ex- 
c  forty-one  feet  in 
und  base,  and  four 
ir.    There  are  also 
modation  of  public 
in  it  is  recollected 
been  erected  in  the 
nge  building,  burnt 
is  a  mutter  of  con- 
jrials  absolutely  in- 
the  doors  and  win- 
n  its  construction, 
eluding  the  ground, 
iollurs. 


t' 


"'    '^^ 


I 


476 


THE  HOTEL  DE  VILLE,  PARIS. 


THE  HOTEL  DE  VILLE,  PARIS. 

The  Hotel  de  Ville,  or  town-hall  of  Par- 
is, is  a  iimssivo  structure,  situated  in  the 
Place  de  (jrove;  and,  like  all  nncirnt  jjublic 
buildings,  the  stirring  events  of  j)nst  diiys  and 
years  nro  associated  with  its  history.  The 
]ilan  of  the  present  cdiliec  was  ])rescnte(l  to 
Henri  II.  by  Doininiciue  ^Joeeardo,  an  Italian 
architect,  in  1549,  but  many  alterations  and 
additions  have  since  been  madi;  to  it.  Omit- 
ting any  description  of  the  exterior  (a  fine 
view  of  which  ^s  given  in  the  engraving)  we 
proceed  to  notice  the  courts  and  saloons. 

Tiio  central  court  is  approached  from  the 
western  front  by  a  flight  of  steps,  and  is  sur- 
rounded by  an  arched  Ionic  ])ortico.  In  the 
centre  stands  the  pedestrian  statue  of  Louis 
XIV.,  representing  the  monarch  clothed  in 
Grecian  armor.  The  marble  tablets  around 
the  frieze  were  inscribed  with  the  principal 
events  of  his  life,  but  time,  assisted  by  the 
band  of  violence,  has  nearly  effaced  these. 
The  northern  and  southern  courts  are  con- 
nected with  this  by  flights  of  stairs,  and  ore 
adorned  with  Corinthian  and  composite  col- 
umns. 

The  Salle  dc  Danse  is  a  magnificent  saloon, 
in  the  Corinthian  order,  the  ceiling  being  divi- 
ded into  square  compartments. 

Below  this  is  the  Salle  de  St.  Jean,  of 
equal  splendor  with  the  former  saloon,  adorned 
with  Doric  columns  detached  ;  it  occupies  the 
whole  sj)acu  between  the  intermediate  eastern 
pavilions,  which  are  used  for  the  Octroi  Mu- 
nicipal, and  other  jjublic  offices. 

The  Grand  Salle,  or  Salle  du  Trdne,  oc- 
cu])ies  the  whole  of  the  central  portion  of  the 
building.  The  fireplaces  are  of  white  mar- 
ble, elaborately  ornamented  with  recumbent 
figures,  in  the  style  of  the  times  of  Henri  IV". 
Armorial  bearings  and  escutcheons  adorn  the 
ceiling. 

The  Salle  d'' Introduction,  containing  two 
statues  of  Henri  IV.,  and  the  Salle  de  Jen, 
come  next,  the  latter  conducting  to  the  Salle 
de  Bal,  a  grand  and  magnificent  apartment, 
as  regards  both  extent  and  height,  and  splen- 
dor of  furniture ;  devoted  to  entertainments, 
fetes,  balls,  and  banipiets.  There  is  also  a 
spacious  dining-room,  of  sufficient  capacity  to 
seat  a  thousand  guests.  Underneath  this  are 
extensive  kitchens.  There  has,  in  addition  to 
these,  lately  been  constructed  a  suite  of  apart- 
ments, worthy  the  residence  of  either  a  king 
or  a  president. 

The  Hotel  de  Ville  has  been  the  theatre 
of  action  of  the  most  thrilling  and  important 
events  in  th"  history  of  France.  In  the  early 
part  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.,  an  assem- 
bly was  here  convened,  to  deliberate  on  the 
propriety  of  inviting  the  court,  the  queen- 


mother,  and  her  eon,  to  return  to  Paris,  from 
which  they  had  fled  on  the  occasion  of  the 
Prince  de  Conde  the  leader  of  the  Fronde, 
having  assumed  a  position  hostile  to  the  Car- 
dinal Mazarin.  The  officers  an  !  soldiers  of 
the  bold  and  during  Conde,  filled  the  Place  dc 
Orove,  interndngled  with  the  people,  and 
compelling  all  pussers-by  to  wear  a  few  ])ie- 
ces  of  straw,  tiio  badge  of  partisanship.  At 
the  moment,  while  a  letter  was  being  read  to 
the  assembly  fnjin  the  king,  the  prince,  the 
due  d'Orleans,  and  their  partisans,  entered  the 
hull.  The  i)rince  returned  thanks  to  the  cit- 
izens for  opening  the  gates  of  Paris  to  his  ar- 
my. As  the  king's  letter  contained  no  prom- 
ise of  the  dismission  of  the  oflensive  minister, 
Mazarin,  an  angry  discussion  ensue<l ;  the  as- 
sembly was  broken  up ;  the  Prince  de  Coiide 
accused  the  members  of  being  partisans  of 
Mazarin,  and  declared  that  they  should  not 
depart.  A  rush  was  made  for  the  door,  but 
the  guards  had  closed  it ;  a  volley  of  musket- 
ry was  fired  upon  the  windows,  fagots  were 
placed  before  the  entrance,  and  fired  to  ])re- 
vcnt  the  escape  of  the  inmates.  The  work 
of  death  commenced,  and  many  were  slain  ; 
a  few  escaped,  among  whom  was  the  gov- 
ernor of  Paris,  disguised  as  a  priest. 

At  the  first  outbreak  of  the  revolution  of 
1798,  the  Hotel  de  Ville  was  rendered  mem- 
orable by  another  scene,  enacted  within  its 
massive  walls.  Louis  XVI.,  was  here  re- 
ceived and  welcomed  with  acclamations — 
alas  !  how  soon  to  be  changed  to  the  dismal 
notes  of  death  !  Louis,  in  return  for  the  ac- 
clamations of  the  people,  npjieared  at  the 
window,  to  express  his  sense  of  their  appro- 
bation. With  the  cap  of  liberty  on  his  head, 
and  wearing  the  national  cockade,  he  address- 
ed the  thousands  assembled  around  the  build- 
ing ;  and  was  heard  to  say,  with  visible  emo- 
tiijn,  "Mr/  people  may  always  depend  vpon 
my  regard  and  affection."  How  truly,  in- 
deed, have  the  words  of  divine  inspiration 
proved  to  be  the  only  true  guide  :  "  Place  not 
your  trust  in  princes." 

But  a  few  months  had  elapsed  after  the 
visit  of  Louis,  when  a  man  appeared  at  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  at  the  mention  of  whose 
name  humanity  shudders :  the  hero  of  the 
"  reign  of  terror,"  Robespierre,  who  was  con- 
ducted thence  to  his  execution  in  the  Place  de 
Grove. 

In  the  year  1830,  the  populace  of  Paris 
rose  en  mas»e,  to  dethrcne  Charles  X. ;  and, 
after  three  days'  struggle,  this  monarch  fled 
from  his  palace  and  his  capital.  A  provisional 
government  held  its  sittings  at  the  Hotel  de 
Ville.  Their  choice  fell  upon  Louis  Philippe, 
due  d'Orleans.  He  was  pronounced  "the 
citizen-king ;"  and  from  the  same  window  of 
the  same  room  whence  Louis  XVI.,  addressed 


rn  to  Paris,  from 
3  occasion  of  the 
•  of  tile  Fronde, 
ostilc  to  tlio  Car- 
s  and  solilicrs  of 
lied  the  Plucc  dc 
the  people,  and 
I  wear  a  few  jnn- 
irtisanslii)).  At 
I'as  being  read  to 
,  the  prince,  tlio 
sans,  entered  the 
Imnks  to  the  cit- 
F  Paris  to  his  ar- 
itained  no  prom- 
Tensive  minister, 

ensued  ;  the  as- 
Princc  iIc  Conde 
inj;  partisans  of 

they  shouhl  not 
or  the  door,  but 
■olley  of  muskct- 
)w.s,  fagots  were 
md  fired  to  jire- 
tes.  The  work 
lany  were  sluin ; 
n  was  the  gov- 
\  priest. 

le  revolution  of 
1  rendered  m<^m- 
icted  witliin  its 
[.,  was  here  re- 

acchimations — 
;d  to  the  dismal 
Jtuni  for  the  ac- 
piieared    nt   the 

of  their  appro- 
:rty  on  his  head, 
adc,  he  address- 
round  the  build- 
ith  visible  cmo- 
/«  depend  ttpon 
How  truly,  in- 
vine  inspiration 
3e :  "  Place  not 

apsed  after  the 
i])peared  at  the 
ition  of  whose 
he  hero  of  the 
!,  who  was  con- 
in  the  Place  de 

lulace  of  Paris 
larles  X. ;  antl, 
s  monarch  fled 
■  A  provisional 
t  the  Hotel  de 
LouU  Philippe, 
onounced  "  the 
ime  window  of 
CVL,  addressed 


473 


CATACOMBS  OF  PA  1113. 


I 


\ 


tlx'  ppople,  Louis  PlilH|t|i(!  nddrossoil  a  sue- 
ci'ciliii^'  f^ciuTfition  of  FiDiu'linii'ii,  iiml  told 
tlipiii,  ihut  ill  liirii  lli<>y  bclifld  ''  tlichml dfalt 
rrpuldirn  !"  And  from  tlio  |nivilioii  ot  tlio 
Villi',  was  fir.st  unfiirli'd  tliu  tri-col- 
tlie  tnuiii])h  of  the  pco- 


rrj) 

Jlol. 

orecl  Hag,  indicutlni. 


Within  the  last  yonr,  1848,  nnother  provis- 

ioiiul  jiovcniiiicMt  1ms  held  its  sittin;;*  within 
I  ho  walls  of  tliis  rcuownnd  structure  (the 
moiiiniicnt  of  the  fall  of  roynlty)  and  j)r()- 
claimcd  Franco  a  rrpuhUc.  \Ve  conclude  by 
noliciiij;  the  |)ro;j;ress  of  the  seven  dejiuties  to 
the  place  where  they  were  to  prepare  the 
foundation  of  a  new  government.  "The 
nearer,"  says  the  historian,  "  they  penetrated 
tlic  heart  of  the  city,  the  more  animated  were 
the  ajiplauses  and  synij)athie3  which  greeted 
them.  The  crowd  at  eucii  stop  became  more 
numerous,  aad  surround(;d  them  with  cries  of 
'  lice,  la  Liberie ."  What  entlu^iiasm  hoiled 
tlunr  arrival  ut  the  municqml  palace — the 
Hotel  de  Ville  !" 


CATACOMBS  OF  PARIS. 

The  origin  of  the  groat  catacombs,  or  re- 
ceptacles for  the  dead,  attached  to  the  French 
capital,  is  in  every  point  of  view  curious  and 
interesting.  Previously  to  the  latter  end  of 
last  century,  the  burial-places  of  the  city 
were  in  n  condition  at  once  disgusting  and  de- 
structive to  human  health.  One  of  the  early 
French  kings  had  bestowed  a  piece  of  the 
royal  suburban  grounds  on  the  inhabitants  as 
a  place  of  interment ;  and  this  spot,  the  site 
subsequently  of  the  church  of  the  Innocents, 
continued  for  nine  or  ten  centuries  to  serve  as 
the  sole  or  principal  receptacle  for  the  dead 
in  Paris.  Not,  only  was  this  the  case  but 
the  cemetery  was  also  ai)plied  to  its  purposes 
in  a  maimer  unusually  dangerous.  Large 
pits  were  formed,  each  about  thirty  feet  deep 
and  twenty  feet  square,  and  into  these  coffins 
were  lowered,  one  tier  above  another,  with- 
out any  intervening  earth,  until  the  f)its  were 
filled.  Each  was  then  covered  with  a  thin 
layer  of  soil.  The  common  number  of  bod- 
ies cast  into  every  excavation  amounted  to 
from  twelve  to  fifteen  hundred  ;  and,  in  the 
thirty  years  preceding  1780,  nearly  ninety 
thousand  bodies  had  been  thus  deposited  in 
the  charnel-holes  of  the  Innocents.  Once  in 
every  thirty  or  forty  years,  it  had  been  cus- 
tomary to  execute  the  frightful  task  of  open- 
iii.g  and  emptying  these  pits  ;  but,  in  the  case 
of  great  numbers  of  the  older  ones,  this  task 
had  long  ceased  to  be  fulfilled,  and  they  ac- 
cordingly    remained    unmoved,    though    so 


choked  np  with  the  matter  of  corrujition  as 
to  rise  above  the  level  of  the  adjoining  streets, 
and  seriously  to  allect  the  air  in  the  ground- 
flats  of  the  houses.  It  was  supposed  that, 
from  the  time  of  Philip  Augustus,  more  than 
1,200,000  bodies  in  all,  had  been  interred  in 
the  cemetery  of  the  Innocents ;  am!  as  the 
mouldering  bones,  even  when  the  pits  were 
el(!anod  out,  were  iiK.'rely  conveyed  to  an 
andied  gallery  surrounding  the  bunul-ground, 
it  might  be  said  that  some  portion  of  all  that 
had  ever  Iain  there  still  remained. 

When  all  men  of  science  and  sense  were 
beginning  to  recognise  the  necessity  of  reme- 
dying this  evil,  another  cause  of  jieril  and 
alarm  chanced  to  agitate  the  city  of  Paris  ; 
but,  fortunately,  the  one  was  found  capable 
of  serving  as  a  remedy  for  the  other.  Quar- 
ries of  stone  had  been  opened  in  the  immedi- 
ate vicinity  of  Paris,  at  an  early  period  of  its 
history,  and  had  been  wrought,  to  a  large  ex- 
tent in  the  course  of  successive  ages,  to  sup- 
ply materials  for  the  increasing  city.  In 
consefiucnce,  a  vague  notion  existed  among 
the  inhabitants,  that  the  city  was  considera- 
bly undermined.  Little  attention  was  paid 
to  the  matter  till  1774,  when  some  alarming 
shocks  and  falls  of  houses  aroused  the  fears 
of  the  government.  A  regular  survey  took 
l)lttce,  and  the  result  was  the  frightful  discov- 
ery, that  the  churches,  palaces,  and  almost 
all  the  southern  parts  of  the  city  of  Paris, 
rested  upon  immense  irregular  excavations, 
and  stood  the  greatest  risk  of  ere  long  sink- 
ing into  them.  A  special  commission  was 
immediately  appointed  to  take  the  proper 
steps  for  averting  such  a  catastrophe;  and 
the  iiecessity  of  such  a  commission  was  made 
strikingly  apparent  on  the  first  day  of  its  op- 
erations, by  an  accident  in  the  rue  d'Enfer. 
A  house  in  that  street  sunk  down  in  an  in- 
stant, eight-and-twenty  metres  below  the  lev- 
el of  its  courtyard. 

When  all  the  labyrinths  of  the  quarries 
were  insjiected,  and  plans  taken  of  them,  the 
alarm  of  the  Parisians  was  far  from  being 
abated.  Evety  quarrier  had  habitually  work- 
ed, it  appeared,  where  he  chose  or  where  he 
could ;  and,  in  many  cases,  excavation  was 
found  below  excavation,  the  whole  runn  ng 
to  almost  interminable  lengths,  while  the  i)il- 
lars  that  had  been  left  were  found,  in  almost 
all  cases  to  be  totally  insufficient  to  bear  per- 
manently the  enonnous  weight  above.  In 
various  instances,  the  roof  had  sunk  consid- 
erably, and  in  others,  large  masses  had  actu- 
ally fallen,  rendering  it  almost  marvellous 
that  the  city  should  not  long  before  have  be- 
come a  mass  of  ruins.  The  great  aijueduct 
of  Arcueil,  which  passed  over  this  scene  of 
hidden  peril,  had  in  reality  sullered  some 
shocks,  and  if  the  risk  had  not  been  timeous- 


r)f  corni|)tii)n  nn 
ail  joining  sirrets, 
ir  in  tilt;  prounil- 
I  su|ii)i).st,'(l  llint, 
usturt,  more  tlinn 
bei'n  intrrrt'd  in 
inn  ;  mill  as  \he 
'11  tliii  ])it3  wore 
conveyed  to  nn 
11'  Imnul-j^round, 
•iiiim  of  all  that 
lincil. 

QUI  I  sense  were 
cessity  of  rerne- 
uso  of  jicril  and 
a  city  of  Paris  ; 
3  fouml  capalilo 
le  other.  Quar- 
il  in  the  iinineili- 
Qrly  period  of  its 
lit,  to  a  liirge  ex- 
ivc  ages,  to  sup- 
.'asinfj  city.  In 
1  existed  among 
'  was  considerii- 
eiition  was  paid 
1  some  alarming 
roused  the  fears 
ilnr  snrvcy  took 
frightful  disoov- 
ices,  and  almost 
le  city  of  Paris, 
liar  excavations, 
f  ere  long  sink- 
commission  was 
akc  the  proper 
;atastrophc ;  and 
lissinn  was  made 
St  day  of  its  op- 
the  rue  d'Enfer. 
down  in  an  in- 
;3  below  the  lev- 

of  the  quarries 
ken  of  them,  the 

far  from  being 
habitually  v.-ork^ 
ose  or  where  he 
excavation  was 

whole  runn  ng 
IS,  while  the  ))il- 
Found,  ill  almost 
icnt  to  bear  per- 
ight  above.  In 
id  sunk  consid- 
lasses  had  actu- 
nost  marvellous 
before  have  be- 

great  aqueduct 
er  this  scene  of 
'  sulFercd  some 
3t  been  timeous- 


ly  (lisrnvcreil,  it  can  sran-cly  be  doul)ted  that 
trie  nltiiimfe  issue  would  have  been  tlie  eliar- 
ginn  of  the  iiuiirrict  with  water  ami  the  sup- 
jiitiL'  of  the  city.     The  cnninii-ision  bc;,'iiii  its 
work  of  cure,  nidi'd  by  a  very  large  body  of 
workmen.     (Jri'iit  piiiiis  were  tukeii  in  cutting  j 
{•alb  rie.i  from   hibyrinth  to  laliyrinth,  to  os-  I 
certiiin    the   extent   of   the,  uii<ehief,   and   in  ■ 
viiiiltlii'j;  and  iiroppinj;  everv  nart  that  seemed  ' 
to  re'iiiiri'  such  sujiport.      Ylic  extent  of  the  ' 
quarries  hnu-ever,  leiiilered  the  labor  uij,'an- 
tie.  iind,  long  ere  mutters  were  permiiniiitly 
put   in  order,  the   happy  idea   of  coMverlitig 
these  excavations  into  reeeptaebs  tor  the  ref- 
use  of  the  ehiiriii'1-hou-ii!   of  tlie   Innocents, 
had  occurred  to  M.  Lenoir,  th.e  inspector  of 
the  citj'  [lolice.     The  sujigestinn  was  made 
public,  and  approved  of  by  the  council  of 
stale,  who,  ill  1785,  decreed   the  opening  of 
the  chnrnel-pits  of  the  Irinix-ents,  and  tlie  re- 
moval of  the  Ijones  of  the  dead   to  the  iptar- 
ries.     The  tirst  step  was  to  make  an  entrance 
into  the  i|narries  liy  a  flight  of  seventy-seven 
steps,  and  to  sink  a  shaft  from  the   surface, 
down  which  the  relics  of  mortality  might  be 
thrown.     At    the   same   time,   the    workmen 
below  walini  oil'  that  jiortion  of  the  excava- 
tion designed  for  the  great  charnel-house,  and 
properly  suppnited  the  roof.       On  the  7th  of 
April,  17^^(),  all  the  pripurutioiis  boin^  eom- 
])letcil,  the  new  ciitacomlis  were  consecrated 
with  much  soleniuity,  and  on  that  same  ilay 
the  v.ork  of  reinnvnl  liegan.     IJonesand  par- 
tially-preserved Collins  were  brought  liy  iiirrht 
to  the  shaft  in  funeral  cars,  followed  liy  robed 
priests  chanting  the    service    for  the   dead. 
The  nature  of  the  task,  the  glare  of  the  tor- 
ches, and,  above  all,  the  hollow  rattling  and 
echoing    of   skeletons,    bones,    and    broken 
wooil,  in  their  fall  down  the  shaft,  sent  back, 
as  the  sounds  were,  by  the  vaults  below,  ren- 
dered the  whole  scene  peculiarly  impressive 
and  awful. 

15 lit  the  relies  of  human  beings,  in  their 
ordinary  condition,  were  not  the  most  remark- 
able })art  of  the  materials  transferred  from 
one  site  to  another  on  this  occasion.  The 
pits  of  the  Innocents  exhibiteil  immense 
marses  of  the  soft  white  substance  called  ad- 
ipncire,  into  which  the  bodies  had  been  con- 
verted, and  which  had  been  noticed  under 
similar  circum  'ances  at  former  periods.  Ad- 
ipocire  had  some  of  the  mingled  (pialities  of 
wax  and  tallow,  being  capable  of  use  in  the 
manufacture  of  candles.  Respect,  however, 
for  what  had  once  been  the  human  body,  of 
course  dictated  the  consignment  of  the  mass- 
es of  adipocire,  found  in  the  pits  of  the  Inno- 
cents, to  the  new  catacombs  under  the  plaine 
de  Mont-Rouge. 

The  catacombs  of  Paris  received  in  suc- 
cession the  contents  of  the  smaller  cemeter- 


ies of  Saint-Kustai'he  iiiid  Saint-Ktienne-des- 
(ires,  after  tlio(.e  mentioned.  There,  too,  the. 
victims  of  the  reMihition  found  a  ready  and 
roomy  abode;  and  when  the  popular  fury 
demolished  a  nuiaber  of  the  ehnrches,  ths 
bones  lodged  in  them  after  the  old  la.shion, 
were  removed  to  tlie  same  great  receptacles. 
IJetween  17'.!,!  and  leOH,  the  eatacunibs  re- 
ct.'ived  the  exhimiatjons  of  twelve  other  mi- 
nor cemeteries  in  and  around  I'ari-i.  He- 
tween  IHOS  and  IHll,  new  exiuivatinns,  miule 
in  the  eenieterv  of  the  Iinioeeiits  tiir  the  pas- 
sage of  a  caiiiil,  rendered  it  tieees^ary  to  con- 
vey a  hirge  quantity  of  additional  relies  to 
the  catacombs;  oiiil  a  fi.'W  other  churches 
mid  cemeteries  were  emptied  into  them  in 
the  coursi!  of  the  next  few  years.  Having 
thus  made  usi-  of  the  quarries,  mid  poured 
into  them  in  all  an  immense  ipiuutity  of  hu- 
man remniiiN,  the  Parisians  did  not  adopt 
(he  eataeombs,  as  perhaps  tliev  might  wisely 
have  done,  as  their  general  Iniryiiig-place. 
On  llie  eoiifrnry,  ihi'V  created  various  new 
cemeteries  aliove  ground,  though  under  com- 
paratively excellent  regu'.iitions,  as  the  fa- 
mous Pore  la  Chaise  and  jMontmartrc  sutli- 
cienlly  testilv. 

The    revolutionary   disturbances   impeded 
the    operations   still   requisite   to   render  the 
vast  ipiarries  and  catacombs  of  Paris  stable 
and  safe.     The  ordinary  vaults  became,  con- 
sequently,   full     of    cracks,    water    tiltrated 
throu;;h  the  roofs,  and  fresh  dowiifiills  seem- 
ed impending.     The   air  was  rendered  nox- 
ious  by  the  want  of  circulation.     In   1810, 
M.  dc  Thury,  the  architect,  began  to  make 
new^    repairs.       He    built    new    pillars,    and 
tunned  ehaiinels  for  removing  the  water.     Air 
was  introduced  simply  but  ellectively,  by  lu- 
ting the  upper  half  of  a  broken  bottle,  with 
the  neck    outermost,    into  the  wells   which 
supply  the   houses  above  with   water,    and 
which  had  been  made  to  descend  through  the 
(piarries  to  the  ground   below,  like  so  many 
:  round  towers.     \\\  uncorking   these  bottle- 
'  necks,  air  is  let  in  at  will.     As  regarded  the 
:  catacombs,   the   bones   lay   in    heaps   thirty 
I  yards  high  in  some  places,  and  the  workmen 
had  to  make  galleries  throuuh  them,  and  pile 
I  them  along  the  walls  in  regular  order.     Such 
:  OS  exhibited  disease  were  arranged  into  an 
ostfcoloiiical  cabinet.     In  short,  order  arid  se- 
curity were,  for  the  first  time,  truly  introdu- 
ced into  the  arrangements  of  this  subterrane- 
;  an  world. 

The  catacombs  of  Paris  remain,  irenerafly 
'  speaking,  nearly  in  the  same  condition  as  left 
I  by  M.  de  Thury,  though  various  minor  im- 
I  provements  have  been  added,  to  render  the 
I  place  more  interesting  to  visitants.  Three 
I  staircases,  of  which  the  best  known  is  that 
of  the  Buniere  d'Enfer,  ciHiduct  the  modern 


<»t 


% 

■4 


wiir^ii*ri<i-i 


«. 


4"?0 


SfKNKltY  IN  ENGLAND. 


iiiidcr  till' 
lilt-  ^^rcui, 
sujiportiiig 


\isiti'r  Into  ilic  vdiiltH.  Oil  riitcriiis,  ii  I'liu'k 
lini!  i«  tci  lit'  iMilicril  triivrrsiiii;  iIk..  cfufic  ol' 
till'  |iii>''!il:i''<,  mill  (oriiiiin  '•  cniil''  llimu'^li 
iIk  111,  wliii'li  till!  lU'Ht  i'miiiliiiri/i'd  vi-ii|.r 
(Mil  nut  Hiifi'ly  iicalrot.  On  llic  ri^'lii  iiimI 
li'Ci  III'  till'  tir.>t  sullcry,  timt  of  tlic  Rue  St. 
Juci|UCM,  HfVfiiil  iilliir>»  nil'  Men  Hlrilcliiny 
awiiy  uiiilii- the  |iliiiii  iil  .M  iii-l{iiiit;(!.  'I'lic 
^i^ilt•r  I'liii  iiiif.  iii'iictriiti'  fur,  until  lie  sees 
stiutliii;,'  murks  of  tlic  full  of  inck-*.  uiii'  bc- 

llilMs  ^tula(■|il^^^  llUlll,'ill^'  (lllWll    ill    IlllUlllllltlCT 

from  tilt!  \vulls.     Ill    the  ijullcry 
Rile    St.   Jiiniiics,    is   also  sicn 
aijuciliict  (if    ArciK'il,    with    its 
columns. 

Uy  viiriiiii.f'i isiiic-i,  the  visitrrnrrivcsat 

tlic  ;^ull("ry  of  I'ort  Alulion,  so  culltd  fniiii  a 
Miiilpturcil  view  of  tilt;  takiii!;  of  that  fort 
exc(!ntri|  liy  Dfcurc,  nii  invalid  soMiiT.  IFf 
IJcrisliml  tlii-ro  liy  u  full  of  tin;  rocks,  wliilf 
tlic  cliiscl  wna  yet  in  his  Iianil.  A  fountain 
wu'^  here  (iiscovcrcil  by  tlic  workiiicii,  and  n 
liasin  inndc  for  tlicir  use,  with  a  snmll  suli- 
terraneous  ai|UL'(Iuet.  It  whs  first  rallied  tlit- 
Well  of  Lethe,  and  was  inscribed  with  a 
couiilet  from  Virgil ;  hut  a  scriptural  (piota- 
tioii,  more  apiiroiiriate  to  the  jilact-,  now 
marks  its  silt;  :  "  Whosoever  drinkelli  of  this 
water,  shall  thirst  uyain ;  but  wdiosoever 
drinketh  of  the  water  I  sliall  f;ive  him,  shall 
never  thirst ;  but  the  water  that  I  shall  i^ive 
hiin,  shall  be  to  him  a  well  of  water  s|iring- 
inj,'  up  into  everlasting;  life,"  It  eontains  a 
few  fjoliilish,  which  seem  to  bear  that  dark 
abode  vt;ry  well,  as  we  find  them  luentionetl 
by  visiters  tif  both  1818  antl  1830.  A  few 
other  inscriptions  are  to  be  found  here,  buch 
us  DuntiJ's  famous  line  : — 

"  Leave  liopo  behind,  all  yo  who  enter  here." 

A  fire  is  also  kept  burniii!;,  in  an  antitjuely- 
shnped  vase,  to  purify  the  air  of  the  vaults. 

A  mineralogical  collection  of  some  interest 
has  been  formed  fri>m  the  various  strata  com- 
j)t)siiig  the  sides  of  the  galleries.  But  the 
most  interesting  collection  here  is  the  Muse- 
um of  the  Dead.  On  approaching  the  cata- 
comb galleries,  the  visiter  finds  the  vestibule 
to  be  in  the  form  of  an  octagon.  The  gate  is 
flanked  by  two  ])illars,  and  is  inscribed  above 
with  .some  lines  of  poetry.  The  interior  of 
the  catat:omtis  is  arranged  with  propriety  and 
tlt'corum.  The  crypts  holding  the  ilivisions 
of  piled  bones  have  each  of  "them  dilFerent 
names,  some  of  which  are  approjiriate,  oth 
ers  absurd.  There  is  the  crypt  or  niche  of 
cternitv,  for  exainidc,  that  of  Death,  and 
that  of  the  Kcsurrection,  each  marked  by 
.?orresi)oniling  inscriptions.  There  is  also  a 
niche  for  the  victims  of  the  revolution,  with 
some  Latin  lines  above,  which  may  be  rude- 
ly Englished  : — 


tier  u|)- 


"  TiiK«F,Hhrii  Hill'.'  DJucMinlliiiiluniiriKililii'tliriinp, 
rroniplrrul  c niM.n,  iinil  lii«  iiml  rl^dll  w<  ic  nMniud, 
»>  lilmxly,  riilhli'H*  men  weru  iloiio  tiiilcnlh.'' 

Amimi;  the  iiinppropriatilv-narnt  il  ervptt 
may  safely  be  rtikoind  ihosi-  to  whieh'the 
names  of  Ovid,  Aimciion,  anil  sonic  iihers, 
have  been  applied.  An  allium,  as  miyht 
have  been  aniiii|iiited.  is  nmong  the  oth 
pendiiges  of  the  ealacoiiibs. 

The  other  galleries  of  these  great  excava- 
tions need  not  be  named  or  described  in  de- 
tail. One  generiil  feature  murks  tin  in  all, 
and  it  is  worthy  of  nnntion,  as  reinindio!;  us 
most  forcibly  that  these  vaults  are  not  simple 
objetjts  of  enriosity,  or  to  be  thought  of  mero- 
ly  ns  pleasant  spectacles,  but  are  to  be  la- 
mented us  the  possible  sources  of  calamity 
and  ruin  to  the  great  city  untler  wl  ich  blind 
neglect  alloweil  them  to  be  formed,  ('on- 
stant  attentitui  to  them  is  imperatively  de- 
iiianded  to  secure  the  safety  of  the  capiiui  of 
France,  and  the  provision"  ailverled  to  con- 
sists ill  every  subterranean  str(;et  being  num- 
bered precisely  like  the  one  occupyini;  the 
ground  above.  This  is  necessary  in  tinier  to 
apply  new  supports,  on  the  slightest  indica- 
tion of  tlanger,  to  the  exact  point  where  they 
arc  retiuired. 


SCENERY  IN  ENGLAND -OXFORD. 

TiiK  Rev,  II.  W.  Bellows,  of  New  York, 
gives  the  following  graphic  sketch  of  country 
scenery  in  Old  Englantl ; — 

Wk  had  our  first  view  of  the  face  of  Eng- 
land to-day,  in  a  ride  on  the  stage-coach  from 
Warwick  "to  Oxford.  The  ilistance  is  forty- 
five  miles,  and  was  accomplisheil  in  five  hours 
and  a  half,  including  at  least  an  hour's  stop- 
page. Nothing  can  exceed  the  charm  of  a 
drive  through  this  lovely  country  in  the  spring 
time,  over  the  rtiads  as  smtioth  "as  a  floor,  be- 
hind horses  fleet  as  stags,  between  hedges 
green  as  new  grass  antl  white  with  blossoms; 
in  view  of  thatched  cottages,  ivy-clati  village 
churches,  gray  with  tnoss  and  time,  with  the 
familiar  features  of  the  Old  England  of  the 
story  books,  and  the  tlrawing-masier's  gable 
end,  tumble-tlown  wainlering  picture-houses, 
all,  "large  as  life,  ami  twice  as  natural,"  full 
before  vou  !  There  is  but  one  word  descri]!- 
tive  of  English  scenery — England  is  one  great 
garilen. — Everybtiily  says  so,  because  nobody 
can  say  anything  more  or  less.  We  found 
the  grounds  about  Eaton  hall,  concerning 
which  much  is  said,  no  finer  than  the  general 
ajipearance  of  the  country  wherever  we  went. 
It  all  looks  much  like  the  immediate  neigh- 
borhood of  Boston.     Many  slopes  of  gentle 


iilu!<iirii(Mi  llii'tlminc, 
il  rifilil  >n  ri'  Kciinit'il, 
loiiu  tiiilt'nlli.'' 

I'ly-imiiiiil  crypto 
osi-  to  wliiuh  tln' 

liud    sdtllC      illllTs, 

iilliinii,  ns  ininlit 
noiig  thuothiTup' 

csp  grt>nt  cxcavo- 
(Icsprihcil  ill  (|(.- 
tniirks  tliim  ull, 
,  ns  rt'iiiindiii!;  us 
ilts  iirf  lint  simple 
tliduijlit  iif  iticrn- 
Jiit  arf!  to  l));  la- 
iirri's  of  cnliiiiiity 
inilnr  \vl  ic'li  liiiiM 
o  forint'd.  Coii- 
iinpcrntively  df- 
of  till!  ciipiiui  of 
advrrtcil  to  ron- 
itrcct  being  miiii- 
e  orciiiiyini;  ilu' 
issnry  in  order  to 
8]i,';Iitc.«t  indica- 
point  where  they 


D.-OXFOIID. 

I,  of  New  York, 
ketch  of  country 

the  face  of  En;;- 
itnge-conch  from 
listuncc  is  forty- 
Iiedin  fiveljours 
t  an  hour's  stop- 
the  chnrtn  of  a 
itry  in  the  spring 
h  ns  a  floor,  he- 
bptween  hodf[e9 
with  hhissoms; 
ivy-clad  villace 
1  lime,  with  the 
En;[,'Iand  of  the 
;-rnuster's  gable 
j)ii;tnre-hous{'s, 
as  natural,"  fall 
e  word  descrip- 
anii  is  one  great 
because  nobody 
ss.  We  found 
all,  concerning 
han  the  general 
•rever  we  went, 
iincdiatc  noigh- 
lopes  of  gentle 


tiCENEHY  IN  ENULANU.-OXFOUD. 


481 


origin  ti>  sdiiie  tnoru  or  U-*h  ri'inutc  foumiution, 
ill  an  ancient  mnnasticr  eitaliliihiiient,  or  else 
to  tlie  piety  and  tnuuilieeijei;  of  i-onje  pupil 
of  one  or  aiiollier  of  tliese  cstaldi-liinents, 
whoHe  gratitude  ti  iiilited  him  to  found  another 
Bciu)ol  like  that  ill  wliicU  Uu  liinisclf  iiad  been 
nursed. 

It  is  necessary  to  rememher  liiat  Oxford  is 
a  city  of  thirty  thousand  iidialiitants.  ocfuipy- 
ing,  perhups,  two  miles  sipiarc,  of  wliieh,  tar 
the  largest  part,  is  taken  up  in  college  liuild- 
Wlicii  it  is  stateil  that 
lent  students  is  sixteen 
hundred,  it  will  not  excite  surprise   to  hear 


hill  sides,  or  stritehes  of  meadow,  reminded  |  prinlent  schools  or  collegfs,  each  nwinj;  it» 
us  vi\iiily  of  till' undulations  of  lloxbury  and 
IJrookliiM',  and  the  bunksof  the  Charles,  wiiieh 
is  II  very  good  sample  of  an  Knglish  river,  of 
llir-  litr'isf'sl  si/.e.  To  an  American  eye,  ae- 
cusK.meil  oidy  to  tlie  beginnings  or  j.rogress 
of  tilings,  it  IS  very  delightful  to  conu-  upon 
n  count'ry  that  Ujiiii.slied.  The  onler,  |dun, 
cultivation  of  Knglish  ground,  seems  iierfict. 
You  may  ri'le  fifty  miles  and  not  see  (uie 
neglected  plot  of  land, one  broken-down  fence, 
one  new  building,  one  make-shift  device.  Hut 
amid  all  this  perfection  of  agriculture,  all  this!  ings  anil  gr.uiiKls. 

ord.-r  and  solidity  and  tiuish  of  structure,  it  is  ^  the  number  ot  resident  students  is  sixU-cn 
painful  to  see  how  little  room  the  people  take  i  hundred,  it  will  not  excite  s 
up  how  inferior  their  accommodations  arc  ;  that  the  college  buililings  an;  immense, 
how  smiill  a  feature  the  homes  of  the  million  I  They  are  uniformly  built  round  a(iuadrangu- 
form  in  the  landscai.e.  The  <lwellings  of  ;  lar  court,  ami  very  few  o(  these  s-iuares  are 
those  who  cultivate  this  soil,  are  hardly  high- i  less  than  tw.)  hundred  feet  on  each  face, 
er  than  the  hed-cs,  and  wear  the  look  (".f  stone  ,  Some  i>f  the  colleges  contain  ns  many  as  throe 
sheds,  or  places  for  farming-tools.  Seeing  !  ipiadranglcs,  and,  bcsid.is  the  largo  courts 
the  marks  of  so  thick  a  population  in  the  ■  within,  are  surrounded  by  grounds  Irom  litty 
tilla-e,  the  trav.dler  looks  around  for  the  farm-  I  a.^res  to  two  miles  in  extent.  These  grounds, 
h(ms''es,  which,  in  Ameri.'a,  wmil.l  so  ])romi-  !  through  which  the  two  rivers  ol  Oxtord,  the 
iienlly  .Miliven  and  .listinguish  tlw  lan.lscape ;  I  CherwcU  and  the  Isis,  meander,  arc  laid  out 
but  in  Kn.'land  the  common  people  dwell  in  in  the  tiiost  tasteful  manner,  full  of  shrubs 
coin  that  liiuko  a  surprisingly  small  figure  in  ;  and  flowers,  and  carpeted  with  a  velvet  sward, 
the  i.rospcct,  and  give  the  agricultural  .lis-  ,  Trees,  of  gr.at  magnitude  an.  age  sha.le  the 
tricts  almost  the  appearan.-c  ,)f  being  uninhab-  :  c.ml  walks.  'I  li.ire  is  as  much  .lilleienco  m 
it.Ml.  We  coul.l  not  help  c.mtinually  asking  |  the  evt.-nt,  cn.l.)winents,  age,  lands,  numbers 
where  ar:;  the  people,  ami  where  do  tliey  live,  |  of  stu.l.-nts  aim.ng  these  colleg.^s,  as  if  they 
wh..  .lid  all  this  wl.rk  ?  were  in  .lill.-rent  juirts  of  the  country,  ati.1. 

Of  the  city  and  university  of  Oxford,  Mr. !  ex.-ept  for  c.rtain  purp..s,-s  they  are  as  imle- 
Bellows  says:  Either  we  have  been  very  I  pcmlent  of  each  other  as  Harvard,  Yale,  Co- 
dull  readers,  or  travellers  of  England  have  i  luinbia,  ami  Union.  C.msi.ler,  n..w,  that 
giv.'ii  a  very  lame  and  inade.iuate  account    there  are  twenty-f.)ur  of  these  c.)llege.s,  each 


giv.'ii  a  very 

of  Oxf.ir.l !  It  is  a  matter  of  very  seri.)us 
d.mbt  with  us,  whether  ll.imc  itself  will  have 
jiower  t.)  awaken  deeper  feelings  of  w.mder 
and  .lelight,  or  leave  a  nwre  vivid  an.l  pecu- 
liar impression  up.m  our  min.ls.  than  Oxford. 
We  shall  take  the  liberty  of  supposing  our 
readers  as  ignorant  as  ourselves  of  the  uni- 
versity an.l  city  of  Oxford,  and  endeavor  to 
noake  them  as  wise  as  one  very  busy  day 
there  ma.le  us. 

Oxfor.l  was,  fr.)m  very  early  times,  as  far 
back  as  the  year  750,  perhaps,  the  seat  of 
some  religious  houses,  priories,  or  m.masteries, 
under  the  catholic  order  of  things.     Here, 


having  edifices  .if  its  own,  a  hall  or  refectory, 
a  chapel,  a  library,  lecture-rooms,  ami  dormi- 
t.iries ;  an.l  that  while  st'veral  .if  them  have 
very  much  more  extensive  accommodati.)ns 
than  Harvar.l  .>r  Yale,  few  have  less,  and 
y.iu  will  form  an  idea  of  the  extent  of  the 
university  of  Oxford.  N.iw,  if  it  bo  remem- 
bered that  these  colleges  are  all  built  of  sl.me, 
an.l  usunlly  in  the  highest  style  of  architec- 
ture; that  they  f.)rm  the  m.)st  massive  jiiles 
of  buil.ling,  with  two  or  three  exceptions  in 
the  worl.l;  that  they  preserve  very  much 
the  appearance  of  the  old  monasteries  fr.)m 
which  many    of  them  sprung,  having   still 


too,  from  a  .late  ,,uite  as  remote,  were  estab- '  parts  of  the  old  buil.lings  with  the  .-ha  .el, 
lished,  under  the  patronage  of  these  estab- !  cloisters,  refect.jry,  ami  eel  s  of  the  re'igwus 
lishinents,  various  schools!  These  religious  i  orders  of  seven  hundred  ami  a  th..usand  years 
establishments  p.)ssessed  much  wealth,  in  |  ago  ;_  that  piety,  and  wealth,  and  tnsre,_ha%c 
lamls,  aii.l  privileges,  and  pi.ius  beiiuests,  and. 


as  the  cntlwlic  faith  declined,  they  were  con- 
verte.l,  both  buil.lings  and  lands,  to  the  use 
of  these  schools  of  learning,  which  thus  be- 
came endowed  with  jir.iperty  which  every 
century,  until  recently,  has  done  much  to  ap- 
preciate. Thus  the  university  of  Oxford  is 
composed  of  twenty-four  ditTerent  and  inde- 


lavished,  for  many  centuries,  their  stores  m 
a.lding  to  those  buihlings,  or  restoring  them  ; 
if  it  be  understood,  that  whatever  we  are  ac- 
customeil  to  see  in  our  own  country  in  Gothic 
architecture  most  elaborately  wrought  in  wood 
ami  plaster,  is  here  upon  a  far  more  magnifi- 
cent scale,  and  with  an  increased  richness, 
done  in  solid  stone,  both  within  and  without, 


L 


'i-" 


I 


aSMWiii^- 


I 


482 


THE  INDIAN  CHILD'S  OHAVE. 


fothat  II'  ,'  lilow*  may  not  fm  fimtid 

fW  iiimV.1     •    ,,,,       ,t  if  \,o  o|,„  t.„n*i(|frf.|  thnt 
W   H\c>-  II  «li(il(     '«y  barely  to  maI'i   ,n  ond 
^t  ,'/  thpse  (lirti>i.(M    ijtJllilraH>|lrpi,  cnch  .iim- 
"f*«iiI8  flfxl  »|ili'ii(tif|,  iKdif  cosfly  piunijjh  for  tlic 
IfMilaco  i)f  a  iiiii^hty  sovrrcign;  if  it  {■*  fiirtlicr 
rtMURml.rri'il,    tliftt    tlurf    are    t\v».nty-(iinr 
^peu,  enrh  n  inniiniHcciif   '"m|ilf,  within 
™»  univLTsii-y,  mul  lull  of  th,    mo^t  cimtly 
^jTi     *"  *'?"'"•   '"■  '"»l*   cnrviii;;,  i.r   |iiiiiitf"(l 
wwlfljlf,  '-    ^nvaluiilil"  mfrnoriiilH  of  thi'  i>QMt 
— us  inui.  ,  1.     irii's,  ti"),  ncnrcc  otic  <,('  wliii'h 
contoins  liss     hnn  thirty  fhoiisiitnl  vnIuincM, 
with  acnniiMdii  lihriiiy"  (ilif  Hdillcian)  cnn- 
tiiitiiiiijtivc  liuiiilriil  tlinusiiiul  — (iHiiiuny  Imllx 
full  of  nortniils,  liy  th,.  |)f.,t  (ritiNtcrsi,  of  tho 
most  cclf.hriii.'d  s,|io|„r«  or  htut(;Minnn(»f  Kng-  j 
luiiil  for  n  t'l'iiisand  years  jmst,  must-iitrm  of  ' 
all  thnt  isiiistriK'tivn  in  scii>neo,  nrt,  HJitir|uitv, 
ond    tlic.u;   countlessi   odifiws   of  (tubstnntiul 
stono  in  viirioiw  stnjjrs  of  prnsrrviition,  most 
of  tlum  hoary  with  aj;c,  decked  with  tnooH, 
or  with  jaf;j,'ed  outline!*  where  tho  tooth  of 
timn  hug  gnawed,  eontrnsteil  here  nnd  thprc 
with  thosi!  of  li^diter  color,  an<l  slmrjier  and 
fresher  outlines  hut  of  the  Harnc  prirnevul 
stylo,  and  all  soft  with  the  dnin|)  and  muit  of 
thn  English  atmosphere— nn<l  then  the  reader 
will  have  u  toli.rably  adequate  notion  of  tho 
outward  soeminjj  of  this  voxt,  inagnilieent, 
and  glorious  university  of  Oxford. 


I       "  A  l..«r  „pm,  hillnrk,  two  ,mnll  prnv  .t.mr.. 
Ul»n  over  tho  plnr.)  thxt  lioMi  iti  Imnen." 

The  swarthy  In.lin,,  hnx  *nt  him-elf  down 
i.,.-,.l..  a  rude  rock,  nud  leans  upon  it.  hidinii 
t;is  fu,     in  sorrow.     LonKrnv..n  hair  veiU  fie 
face  ot  ihr  young  wife,  as  she  drn,,ps  in  the 
tulncsdof  griel  iiiion  her  proieciorVs  knee.     Sa 
tho  rudeness  an>l  simplicitv  of  i,nii,re,  thev 
wcor  hut  th.-  wampum  Idunket  to  :,liield  their 
"die*,  ond  the  ornaiiiented  leatli.  rn  ninecoHin 
I'rotect  Ih.  ir  feet.     Tin-  only  giu.ianlee  of 
I  n  uvelihiMHl  for  tlu'  morrow,  th.''  Horrowinu  In- 
,  dii.n  Kraspn  in  his  risrht.  hand,  hi,  |„.w.    At  their 
:  J.ide  lies  th.,'  swathini;  l..mr,!,  that  hut  re.-ent- 
I   y   bore   the  y.mng   innoc..nt,  whose   lililess 
,  boily  th,, ..  ^re.'n  hillock"  has  too  pninuturely 
cov.Tcd.    CMose  at  hand  nits  tli.ir  (uiihful  coui- 
I  punion,  the  .log,  Mf,t  ultog.'ther  lucking  sym- 
pathy,  gu/ing  li.tles^lv  int.)  the  Ire.vs.     As  if 
j  lo  soothe  the  lon.'line«s  of  grief,  nature  has  nr- 
I  rested  her  elements,  nnd  u  "  vast  solemn"  still- 
i  ness  seems  to  reign  around.     While,  .„,  one 
!  'fule,  the  huge  trunk  of  a  niightv  ouk  as.-ends 
;  soreading  its  hrn.iches  hi^h  .nvr  th.,  sc.<ne 
I  the  as|)iring  MOj.lin«s  noon   the  other  seem 
striving  t.)  rea.di  with  tlieir  topmost  bou^-lm 


THE  INDIAN  CHILD'S  GRAVE. 

"All,  littlH  tli.)ui;lit  tlip  strimtr  nml  liriive, 
Who  iKini  their  lilulcs  chitlhiin  forth 

Or  the  piiiinir  infi,  I/tat  utvping  gave 
Hi:r  /(iHl  Imni  lo  the  eaith, 

TImt  till,  pule  race,  who  wiisto  us  now, 
Among  their  hones  shouM  piidu  tho  jilough." 

The  subject  of  our  engraving  was  furnished 
by  the  above  line,^  from  Brvant's  Poem,  on 
"An  Indian  at  th.,  Hurying-phicc  of  his  Fa- 
thers." In  order  to  appreciate  fully  the  lastin.' 
latere- 1  and  beauty  of  the  picture,  it  isneccssu^ 
rv  thfa  t '  lie  muid  should  recur  to  those  primitive 
days,  ^H,lltn,  ujion  the  very  ground  where  we 
have  built  our  homes,  the  "red  ruler  of  the 
shade" 

"  )J^""'^''  ?"■•''•  "'""'  *'■'  rfign,  to  daro 
Iho  wolf  1111(1  gnipplo  with  tho  bear." 

The  simple  Indian  is  tho  "  foresc  hero"  of 
this  wc8t.;rn  world,  and  the  white  man  has 
but  just  set  his  foot  upon  its  unsubdued  shores. 
At  the  opening  in  the  border  of  the  forest,  fJr 

- — —  they  Iniil  their  doml 

By  th9  v.      "lolemii  skirtj  of  the  old  firoves," 
an  Indian  nnc     '  <  vv.ii>7  aiid  tender  wife  ore 
observedw,   pi  „   >   .     legrfv- of  their  first- 
born that  they  L,  v> .   '•-'st  \H^i-Jial  to  the  earth. 


he  nethermost  limbs  of  that  Father  of  the 
forest.  The  olli'ctions  of  the  wile  have  in- 
tertwined themselves  with  those  .if  her  hardy 
e.)mi)anion  and  prot.'cl..r.  upon  whom  she  re- 
elines  with  confidence;  (it  .■mbl..m  of  the  teii- 
•  er  ndotlon  of  that  gentler  portion  ..f  the  In- 
•liun  pair,  a  vine  has  entwined  itself  around 
th.!  (lak,  and  ac.piiring  ussuianc,  in  the  en- 
during strength  of  its  suj.porter  has  oitended 
itselt  into  the  brunches. 

A  little  beyond  the  gr.nip,  a  ploughed  field 
extends  itselt,  wheuce  tho  white  man, 

- — ; "hewed  tho  dnrk  old  wimxIs  nwny, 

Ami  gnvo  tho  virgin  lielila  to  tlu,  day." 

Carrj-ingthu  view  still  further  in  the  distance 
and  over  vorious  cultivated  fiel.ls,  undiilatin" 
anil  studded  here  and  therewith  Huinps  ,d' 
trees,  the  eye  meets  a  beautiful  river,  which, 
after  thr.:a(ling  its  way  among  roekv  hills  ond 
beetliiigcliils,andaloiigovershttdowin.'forests 
debouches  peacefully  into  fhe  sea.  Its  ipiiet 
b.)som,  however,  beors  a  buF\  s.pinilnnol' the 
white  man's  ships,  that  have  con.  u-r  I  rden 
thc.-nselves  with  tho  riches  nf  \\\\ ,  ■  -.vas- 
ure  land.  Full  .if  new  z.  i  ,u-  ,i,,  ,nan 
has  set  his  encroaching  f.xit  upon  the  Indian's 
shore,  and  elated  with  his  glories  ami  succes- 
ses, he  has  reorcd  uj)  a  city  there,  a  monu- 
ment of  his  bold  enterprise,  and  easily  ac- 
i|uired  wealth.  The  landscape  lessens  among 
the  hills,  anil  the  .listonce  is  lost  among  the 
far-retiring  mountains  on  one  side,  and  til's 
ocean  which  confuses  its  bounds  with  the 
horizon  on  the  other. 


■  <.a»!imt.ai!i.!Jjn»i'M;)i;-'.' 


fnnll  erny  iitiin><t, 
ililf  ill  IJoiieii." 

"lit  liiiriMi-lf  iJown 
M  li|>oii  It,  liMiiin 
ivcri  liiiir  \('ili  ilc 
die  ilni(i|)'«  ill  tlir 
tr<'iiir's  Kuril.  5,1 
f  of  lilitliri',  lliry 
kft  til  sliirlil  thiMf 

•  111 111  I'll  iiKiccnNin 
'Illy  ^'uiiiiiiitii'  of 
till'  Norrowiiij.'  In- 
liislicw.  Atthi'ir 
I  tli.it  liiit  rcci'tit- 
t,  whose  lil'i'li'^g 
<  too  |iri'iimtiii<;ly 
lii'ir  (iiiilit'ul  coin. 
liiT  lliiikiii;;  Nym- 
llir  iri'i's.  As  if 
t'l,  II II til II.'  hiiH  iir- 

UHt  Hn!i|iiu"Bli||. 

Wliili',  1)11  one 
(lity  oak  OHCc'iiila 
ovrr  till)  Hi'i-riR, 
till'  other  Hi'cin 

topiiiosr    holiyhs 

It  l'"iitlier  of  the 
k;  wile  huve  iii- 
one  of  her  liiirdy 
111  whom  she  ro- 
ihli'in  of  the  teii- 
iriioii  of  tlie  In- 
I'll  itself  nioiind 
mice  in  the  eii- 
er  lia.s  wUeiuletl 

a  |il(iughe(l  field 
lite  man, 

wcHxla  nwBy, 
tliu  iluy." 


in  the  distnncc, 

Ms,  uniluliitiii;;, 
■vith  el  limps  of 
111  river,  w  jiich, 

roekv  hills  niid 
itlowitifr  forests, 

seu.  Itn  (piict 
■-i|nnili,.n()*' the 
uvni  to  I  rdon 
tliii  i  ,■  ■  ■,  as- 
I !!'  '■  uii  man 
Kill  the  Indian's 
ies  and  siirccs- 
therc,  n  monu- 
and  easily  ac- 
;  lessons  among 
lost  anionj;  the 

side,  and  tli<5 
unds  with  the 


'I** 


"SK 


INDIAN  PARENTS  AT  THEIR  CHILDREN'S  GRAVE. 


484 


INDEPENDENCE  HALL,  PHILADELPHIA. 


The  Old  Statchouse,  or  Hall  of 

INDEPENDENCE  HALL. 

The  old  statehouse,  still  standing  on  Chest- 
nut street  between  Fifth  and  Sixth  streets, 
I'liiladelphia,  is  an  object  of  veneration  to  ev- 
ery American.  Prior 'to  its  erection,  the  legis- 
lature of  Pennsvlvania,  held  their  annual  ses- 
sions in  dillerciit  private  houses.  In  the  year 
17->9,  the  IcgiCiature  resolved  to  build  a  house 
tor  tncir  particular  accommodation,  and  they 
appointed  commissioners,  who  purchased  the 
lot  Ironting  on  Chestnut  street,  between  Fifth 
and  Sixth  streets,  for  the  purpose. 

The  first  purchase  included  onlv  about  half 
the  depth  to  Walnut  street.  Fronting  on 
that  street,  were  a  number  of  small  houses, 
and  on  Sixth  street  corner  w&s  a  shed,  which 
afTorded  and  was  used  as  a  common  shelter 
for  the  parties  of  Indians,  occasionally  visit- 


Independence,  Walnut  Street  Front 

ing  the  city  on  business.  In  1760,  the  other 
half  sijuare  was  purchased,  and  the  whole 
space  mcluded  was  walled  in  with  a  hi"h 
brick  wall.  This,  in  time,  gave  place  to  the 
beautiful  iron  palisade  which  now  encloses  the 
yard. 

This  venerable  pile  is  a  place  consecrated 
by  numerous  important  occurrences  in  our 
colonial  and  revolutionary  history.  Its  con- 
templation fills  the  mind  with  many  associa- 
tions and  local  impressions — within  its  walls 
were  once  witnessed  all  the  memorable  doings 
of  our  patriotic  forefathers — above  all,  it  was 
renowned  in  1776,  as  possessing  beneath  its 
dome,  "  the  Hall  of  Independence,"  in  which 
the  representatives  of  a  nation  resolved  to  be 
fr»e  and  independent. 

The  style  and  architecture  of  the  house  and 
steeple  were  directed  by  Dr.  John  Kearsley, 


■MNn 


ess.  In  1760,  the  otlier 
rchased,  and  the  whole 
■walled  in  wiih  a  high 
1  time,  gave  pldce  to  the 
e  which  now  encloses  the 

!e  is  a  place  consecrated 
tant  occurrences  in  our 
oiinry  history.  Its 
lind  with  many  associa- 
ssions — within  its  walls 
all  the  memorable  doings 
ithers — above  all,  it  was 
possessing  beneath  its 
ndependence,"  in  which 
"  a  nation  resolved  to  be 

itecture  of  the  house  and 
by  Dr.  John  Kearsley, 


m 


vf 


if  f 


i  iM 


■186 


INDEPENDENCE  HALL,  PHILADELPHIA. 


spii.,  the  sninc  oniatrur  who  gnvn  tho  nrchi- 
tfctiirnl  charactor  lo  Christ  church.    'JMic  car- 
(.<Mitcr  ciniiloycd  was  Mr.  Edwari]  Woolcy. 
The  f'uctscdiicornint!;  its  bell  Jirst  set  tip  in  the 
steeple  (if  we  regard  its  after  history),  has 
sotnethiii;;   peculiar.     It  was  of  itself  not  a 
little  siii;Milar  that  the  boll,  when  first  set  up, 
sh(ml(J,  in  its  colonial  character,  have   been 
inscril)ed  as   its   motto,    "  Proclaim    liberty 
throushout  the  land,  and  to  all  the  people 
thereof!"     But  it  is  still  more  strange,  and 
deserves  to  l)e  often  remembered,  that" it  was 
the  first  in  Philadelphia,  and  from    he  situa- 
tion of  Congress  then  le^dslatinn;  b.neath  its 
peals,  it  was  also  the  first  in  the  United  States 
to  i)roclaim,  Ijy  ringing,  the  news  of  the  Dec- 
laration of  Independence. 
^This  bell  was  imported  from  England,  in 
17o2,  for  the  statehouse,  but  having  met  with 
some  acc'ident  in  the  trial-ringing,  after  it  was 
landed,  it  lost  its  tones  received  in  the  father- 
land, and  had  to  be  conformed  to  ours  l)v  a 
recasting.     This  was  done  under  the  direc- 
tion of  Isaac  Norris,  Esip,  the  then  speaker 
of  the  colonial  assembly,  and  to  him  we  are 
probaldy  indebted  for  the  remarkable  motto 
so  indicative  of  its  future  use. 

At  the  time  the  British  were  expected  to 
occupy  Philadeljdiia,  in  1777,  the  bell  was 
taken  from  the  city  to  preserve  it  i'wm  the 
enemy.  At  a  former  pcricxl,  say  in  1774,  the 
base  of  the  wood  work  of  the  steeple  was 
lourid  in  a  state  of  decay,  and  it  was  deemed 
advisable  to  take  it  down,  leaving  only  a  s«)all 
belfrey  to  cover  the  bell  for  the  us'e  of  the 
town-clock.  It  so  continued  until  a  few  years 
])ast,  when  pulilic  feeling  being  much  in  faver 
of  restoring  the  venerated  building  to  its  for- 
mer character,  a  new  steejde  was  "erected,  as 
much  like  the  former,  as  circumstances  would 
admit. 

Previous  to  the  visitof  General  Lafayette, 
in  lS-2'},  some  dunce  in  office,  who  had"  con- 
trol of  the  building,  by  way  of  making  the 
room  where  the  Dccluratioii  took  place  more 
worthy,  as  he  thought,  of  the  nation's  guest, 
tor  whose  use  the  councils  had   ap|)ropriated 
it,  had  all  the  antique  architectural  decora- 
tions and  furniture  of  the  room  removed,  and 
caused  it  to  be  fitted  up  in  modern  stvle,  with 
new  mahogany  furniture,  ta|)estry,  &c.     This  i 
silly  act  was  not  discovered  until  too  late,  and  ' 
it  greatly  diminished  the  |)leasing  associations  ; 
that  must  have  thronged  the  heart  of  Lafay- 
ette, as  ho  stood  once  more  in  that  sacred  hall. 
The  error  has  been  since  rejiaired,  so  far  as  it 
could  be,  by  restoring  the  hall  as  far  as  possi- 
ble to  its  ancient  appearance.     The  Declara- 
tion of  Inde|)endence  was  signed  in  the  lower 
hall,  oti  the  left  of  the  principal  entrance,  of 
the  main  building,  as  seen  in  the  view. 
The  regular  sessions  of  the  state  assembly, 


were  held  for  a  number  of  verirs  in  this  Imild- 
ing.  The  senate  oecui)ied  a  n.om  up  stairs. 
Occasionally  these  rooms  were  the  scene  of 
S[)lendid  banrpietings.  In  the  hmg  pnll.ry, 
where  Peale  afterward  lind  his  miiseiini,  the 
tables  were  sometimes  made  to  groan  with  the 
luxuries  of  good  living. 

In  17.30,  soon  after  the  edifice  was  com- 
pleted, his  honor,  William  Allen,  Esij.,  mav- 
or,  made  a  feast,  at  his  own  expense,  at  the 
sfatehouse,  which  was  pronounced  a  most 
suntptuous  and  elegant  entertainment.  In 
175(J,  (he  assembly  gave  a  great  diinier  in 
I  honor  ot  the  now  governor,  Dennv.  In  ]7')7, 
I  tlie  citv  corjmration  gave  an  enteVtninment  t/i 
Lord  Loudon,  "  eommnnder-in-eliief  of  the 
king's  troops  in  the  eo'onies."  And  in  177.1, 
when  the  first  Congress  met  in  this  city,  the 
gentlemen  of  the  city  gave  a  feast,  at  which 
upward  of  five  hundred  poisons  dined. 

For  many  years  the  public  papers  of  the 
colony,  and  afterward  of  the  citv  and  state, 
were  kept  in  the  east  and  west  wings  of  the 
statehouse,  without  any  fire-j)roof  security, 
such  as  they  now  possess.  From  iheir  mani- 
fest insecurity,  k  was  deemed  exppilient 
some  years  ago,  to  pull  down  the  former  two- 
story  wings,  and  to  supply  their  [ilaccs  by 
those  which  now  are  there.  In  pulling  down 
the  western  wing,  a  keg  of  cxeelieni  (iints  was 
discovered  at  the  depth  of  four  or  five  feet, 
the  wooil  was  utterly  decayed,  but  the  im- 
pression was  distinct  in  tho  loom  gr.jund 

Near  to  it,   Mr.  Groves,  the  master-mason, 

found  tho  entire  eipiipments  of  a  serireant a 

sword,  cartouch-box,  buckles,  ^-c.  'I'lie  work- 
men also  dug  up,  close  by  the  same,  ns  many 
as  one  dozen  bomb-shells",  filled  with  ])owdef. 
Two  of  these,  as  a  freak  of  the  mason's  lads, 
arc  now  actually  walled  into  tlie  new  cellar 
wall,  on  the  south  side.  But  for  this  explana- 
tion, a  day  may  yet  come  when  smdi  a  dis- 
covery might  give  circulation  to  another  Guy 
I  Fawkes  and  gunpowder-plot  storv. 

At  the  head  of  the  article,  on  "pa^'c  4P4,  is 
given  a  view  of  the  statehouse  fronting  on 
Walnut  street.  It  was  here  that  on  the  eighth 
of  July,  1776,  the  Declaration  of  Indejwnd- 
ence  was  first  read  by  John  Nixon,  oniid  the 
repeated  shouts  of  the  \iconh  ;  the  king's  arms 
in  the  court-room,  were  taken  down  and  burnt 
in  iniblic;  and  bonfires,  discharges  of  cannon, 
and  ringing  of  bells,  demonstrated  the  joy  of 
the  people. 

The  Declaration  of  Independence  was  re- 
ceived^bv  all  the  colonies  with  satisfaction  and 
joy.  The  following  narrative  of  its  reception 
in  Boston,  is  from  the  pen  of  a  British  otlicer 
who  was  a  prisoner  on  parole  at  the  time  the 
event  took  jjlace : — 

"  On  the  seventeen  of  July,  the  British 
oflficers  on  parole  received  each  a  card  from 


INDEPENDENCE  HALL,  PHILADELPHIA. 


487 


Tdf  yrrirs  in  tliis  liiiild- 
ipifil  II  nxmi  II])  stiiirs. 
Jiiis  were  till-  hi-nw  of 
III  tlie  l()ii<r  pnlUry, 
i  lind  lii.s  miisi  111)1,  ihe 
miide  to  gronn  wiih  the 

the  nlificp  was  com- 
inm  Allrii,  Ksk].,  mny- 
s  own  cxiiorisp,  at  tfie 
s  jironminreil  a  most 
It  ('(itrrtfiiniiipiit.  In 
nve  n  gnat  tlinnor  in 
nor,  Doniiy.  In  n;')7, 
ve  an  oritorrainmciit  to 
inndcr-in-cliicf  of  the 
onics."  Ami  in  1771, 
i  met  in  tliis  city,  the 
rave  a  feast,  at  which 
i  prisons  (lined. 

public  papers  of  the 
if  the  eity  and  state, 
nd  west  wings  of  the 
y  fire-jtroof  security, 
<s.  From  iheir  nmiii- 
is  deemed  exjiedient 
down  the  former  two- 
ipjily  their  places  liy 
ere.  In  pulling  down 
of  excellenl  Hints  was 
1  of  four  or  five  feet, 
decayed,  hut  the  ini- 
I  the,  loom  ground. — 
s,  the  mnster-mnson, 
lents  of  a  seraeant — a 
;kles,  d^-e.  The  work- 
jy  the  same,  as  many 
s,  tilled  with  ])owder. 
i  of  the  mason's  lads, 

into  tl'.e  new  cellar 

But  for  this  ex|)lnna- 
imc  when  such  a  dis- 
lation  to  another  Guy 
-plot  story. 
tide,  on  page  4P4,  is 
iitehouse  fronting  on 
ere  that  on  the  eighth 
aration  of  Independ- 
ohn  Nixon,  amid  the 
ople  ;  the  king's  arms 
aken  down  and  burnt 
lischarges  of  cannon, 
nonstrated  the  joy  of 

dependence  was  re- 
wiih  satisfuction  and 
ativeof  its  recejition 
n  of  a  British  otEcer 
irole  at  the  time  the 

)f  July,  the  British 
id  each  a  card  from 


the  governor,  reciuestiiig  the  he  .or  of  his  at- 
tendance lit  a  specified  liour  on  the  morrow  in 
the  Town  hall.  As  rumors  were  already  afloat 
touching  tiie  decided  stej)  that  had  been  token 
at  riiiliidelphia,  we  were  not  without  a  sus- 
picion as  to  the  purport  of  this  meeting,  and 
we  hesitated  for  a  wliile  as  to  the  projiricty 
of  "ivinu  the  sanction  of  our  countenance  to  a 
proceeding  which  we  could  not  but  regard 
OS  traitorous.  Curiosity,  however,  got  the 
belter  of  scruples  which,  to  say  the  truth, 
were  not  very  well  founded ;  and  it  was  re- 
solved, after  a  lirief  consultation,  that  the 
invitation  ought  to  be  accepted.  Accordingly, 
at  tlu!  hour  iippointed,  we  set  out,  arrayed  in 
the  full  dress  of  our  corps.  As  we  passed 
through  the  town,  we  found  it  thronged  in  all 
quarters  with  persons  of  every  age  and  both 
sexes.  All  werK  in  their  holyday  suits,  every 
eye  beanicd  with  delight,  and  every  tongue 
was  in  rapid  motion.  King  street,  Queen 
Ftreet,  and  the  other  streets  adjoining  the 
council  chamber,  were  lined  with  detachment^s 
from  two  battalions  of  infantry,  tolerably  well 
emiipped;  while  in  front  of  the  jail  a  brigade 
of  artillery  was  drawn  uji,  the  gunners  stand- 
ing by  their  pieces  with  lighted  matches;  nor, 
to  do  them  justice,  was  there  any  admixture 
of  insolence  in  the  joy  which  seemed  to  jier- 
vade  all  classes.  A^'hether  long  residence 
among  them,  and  the  anxiety  which  we  dis- 
played never  wantonly  to  ollend  their  preju- 
dices, had  secured  their  esteem,  or  ^vhether 
they  considered  it  beneath  the  dignity  of  a 
grave  jjeople,  standing  in  a  position  so  cril;ical. 
to  vent  their  spleen  upon  individuals  entirely 
at  their  mercy,  I  do  not  know  ;  but  the  mark- 
ed respect  with  which  we  were  treated,  both 
by  soldiers  and  civilians,  could  not  be  misun- 
derstood. The  very  crowd  opened  a  lane  for 
us  to  the  door  of  the  hall,  and  the  troops  gave 
us,  as  we  mounted  the  steps,  the  salute  due 
to  otlicers  of  our  rank. 

"On  entering  the  hall,  wcfound  it  occupied 
by  functionaries,  military,  civil,  and  ecclesias- 
tical ;  among  whom  the  same  good  humor  and 
excitement  jirevailed  as  among  the  people  out 
of  doors.  They  received  us  %vith  great  frank- 
ness and  cordiality,  and  allotted  to  us  such 
stations  as  enabled  us  to  witness  the  whole 
of  the  ceremony,  which  was  as  simple  as  the 
most  republican  taste  could  have  desired. 
Exactly  as  the  clock  struck  one,  Colotiel  Crafts, 
who  occupied  the  chair,  rose,  and,  silence  be- 
ing obtained,  read  aloud  the  declaration,  which 
amiounced  to  the  world  that  the  tie  of  alle- 
giance and  protection,  which  had  so  long  held 
Britain  and  her  North  American  colonies  to- 
gether, was  for  ever  separated.  This  being 
finished,  the  gentleman  stood  up,  and  each, 
repeating  the  words  as  ihey  were  spoken  by 
an  officer,  swore  to  uphold,  at  the  sacrifice  ot 


life,  the  rights  of  his  country.  Meanwhile, 
the  town-clerk  read  from  a  balcony  the  Declar- 
ation of  Independence  to  the  crowd  ;  at  the 
close  of  which,  a  shout  began  in  the  hall, 
passed  like  an  electric  spark  to  the  streets, 
which  rang  which  loud  hu/.zas,  the  slow  and 
meosured  boom  of  cannon,  and  the  rattle  of 
musketry.  Tiie  batteries  on  FortlliU,  Dor- 
chester !5f  eck,  the  castle,  Nantasket,  and  Long 
Island,  each  saluted  with  thirteen  guns,  the 
artillery  in  the  town  fired  thirteen  rounds,  aiul 
the  infantry,  scattered  into  thirteen  divisions, 
poared  forth  thirteen  volleys,  all  correspond- 
ing to  the  number  of  states  which  formed  the 
Union. 

"What  followed  may  be  described  in 
a  few  words.  There  was  a  bancpiet  in  the 
council  chamber,  where  the  cili/ens  apjienred 
and  ajipropriate  tcasts  were  given.  When 
night  closed  in,  the  darkness  was  cfTectually 
dispelled  by  a  general  and  what  was  termed 
then  a  splendid  illumination.  I  need  not  say 
that  we  neither  joined,  nor  were  exjiected  to 
join,  in  any  of  the  festivities.  Having  suffi- 
ciently gratified  our  curiosity,  we  returned  to 
our  lodgings,  and  jiassed  the  remainder  of  the 
evening  in  a  frame  of  mind  such  as  our  humil- 
iating and  irksome  situation  might  be  expect- 
ed to  produce." 

It  was  ascertained  by  Dr.  Mai^se,  in  a  cor- 
respondence with  Thomas  Jeflbrson,  that 
the  Declaration  of  Independence  was  writ- 
ten by  him,  at  his  private  lodgings,  in  the 
house  of  a  Mr.  Graaf,  which  was  situated  on 
the  southwest  comer  of  Market  and  Seventh 
streets,  Philadelphia. 


Memory. — The  great  point  in  cultivating 
the  memory  is  to  gain  command  of  the  atten- 
tion. A  habit  of  continued,  unrelaxing  atten- 
tion, especially  if  acqu^ed  in  early  years,  is 
the  foundation  of  a  good  memory.  A  habit 
of  attentive  thought  is  better  than  all  the  ar- 
tificial memories  ever  contrived.  To  the  for- 
mation of  such  a  habit,  sufficient  efTorts  have 
not  often  been  directed.  Therefore  it  is  that 
we  hear  many  persons  complaining  of  the 
want  of  memory.  They  can  not  remember 
the  lectures,  sermons,  and  addresses,  which 
they  hear,  nor  the  books  which  they  read. 
All  seem  to  run  through  their  minds  like  wa- 
ter through  a  sieve.  They  were  entertained, 
and  even  edified,  they  would  say,  but  ask 
them  to  state  what  it  was  that  entertained 
and  instructed  them,  they  can  not  tell.  Close 
attention,  or  rather  persevering  efFort  to  give 
close  attention,  will  help  even  such  a  memory. 
The  too  common  practice  is  to  attempt  to  hll 
the  storehouse  of  the  memory  before  a  foun- 
dation is  laid,  or  a  habit  of  attentive  thought 
is  formed. 


Mi 
1 


!i 


M 


i 

i 


The  Inwnst  tpmr*  for  Ixmnl,  in  rfmi|miiic,«,  is 
Si  a  week,  ami  thf  liijrli.-sr,  in  rninilirs,  $-2. 
Good  ijoard,  in  families,  iniiy  he  liml  t'lr  $1.50. 
A  number  of  indiircnt  stii'dents  arc;  in"  i)art 
provided  with  furniture. 

The  libraries  of  the  college  and  literary 
soeieties  eonlain  about  lo.OOO  volumes.  T!ie 
co]|e;;e  library  is  nceessible  to  all  the  students. 
The  north,  middle,  and  south  eolle^e  Ijuildinus 
nro  capacious,  convenient,  and  siinated  ma 
manner  hijihly  favorable  to  a|ipearance. 

At  the  dedication  of  the  new  cabinet  and 

observatory,  on   the   28th  of  June,   1818,  a 

.  ,    ,  '"''Sr*' ntimber  of  distinguished  men   attended, 

rndyes,  and  by  alteniutc  fields  and  forests,  j  nnd  addresses  were  made  by  the  ju-esiijent, 

vilhipies,  fanus,  and  ^'aniens.     Northward  ri-  I  Hon.  Wm.  B.  Calhoun,  Pnifessor  Sillimnn,' 

I'rofessor  Shepherd,  Wm.  C.  Re.llield,  K 
and  Dr.  Worrester. 


AMHERST  COLLEGE, 

WITH    TIIK 

NEW  CABINET  AIS'D  OBSERVATORY. 

Amherst  Coiieoe,  one  of  the  principal 
literary  institutions  in  Massachusetts,  and 
even  in  the  United  States,  occu])i(!S  a  delijiht- 
ful  and  healthful  situation,  on  the  summi't  of 
the  bold  rid;^e  of  bind  on  whicli  the  town  is 
situated  whose  name  it  bears.  The  i^round, 
risin^T  with  a  fine  swell  from  near  the  eastern 
bank  of  Connecticut  river,  allbrds  fine  views 
on  every  side,  over  a  surface  varied  by  siml 
la     ■ ' 


ses  the  long,  gentle,  and  commandiu!,'  ridge  of 
Pelham;  and  a  few  miles  south  are  the  cele- 
brated twin  peaks  of  Mount  Tom  and  Mount 
H!)lyokn.  The  surrounding  country  is  not 
less  interesting  for  its  history,  than  for  the  in- 
dustry, intelligence,  and  morality,  of  its  inhab- 
itants; and  in  all  branches  of  "improvement, 
the  colleg(!  has  exerted  a  jjowerful  influence 
far  beyond  the  limited  horizon. 

The  three  college  buildings,  one  of  which 
is  seen,  in  all  its  length,  on  the  right  side  of 
onr  jiriiit,  are  fine,  substantial  edifices.  That 
which  is  most  distinctly  visible  is  four  stories 
high,  with  a  Doric  portico  ]u-niecting  from  the 
middle,  and  a  dome  rising  from  the  centre  of 
the  roof.  Towarrl  the  left  are  the  new  build- 
inns,  lately  erected  for  the  cabinet  of  natu- 
ral history  and  the  astronomical  observatory, 
while  a  cluster  of  dwellings,  with  a  church  in 
the  midst,  and  a  number  of  scattering  houses, 
show  the  elevated  and  agreeable  situation  of 
the  southern  part  of  the  village. 

Amherst  college  was  founded  in  1821,  in- 
corjHjrated  in  1825,  by  an  act  of  incorporation 
by  the  legislature,  and  now  contains  one  hun- 
dred and  sixty-six  students.  The  Rev.  Ed- 
ward Hn-CHCOCK,  long  distinguished  as  the 
professor  of  geology,  &:c.,  was  elected  in  1843 
as  the  successor  of  the  president,  Dr.  Hu»i- 
PHRiES,  and  ably  occupies  his  station. 

There  are  professors  of  rhetoric  and  Eng- 
lish literature  ;  mathematics  and  natural  phi- 
losojihy;  chymistry  and  natural  history;  (5reek 
and  Hebrew  ;  zoology  and  astronomy  ;  intel- 
lectual and  moral  |)hilosophy  ;  and  Latin  and 
French.  There  arc  also  three  tutors,  a  pre- 
ceptor in  Gennan  and  French,  and  a  lecturer 
on  political  economy.  There  are  three  vaca- 
tions, viz.,  one  of  four  weeks,  from  the  com- 
mencement, one  of  six  weeks,  beginnina;  on 
the  Wednesday  before  the  state  thanksgiving- 
day,  and  one  of  three  weeks,  from  the  third 
Wednesday  in  April. 

The  expenses  are — for  tuition,  SlO  each 
term;  room  rent,  $2  do.;  recitation  rooms, 
Sec.,  $2  do. ;  fuel  and  lights,  from  $9  to  $11. 


rill!  pamphlet  contain- 
ing an  account  of  the  ])roc('cdinf;s,  contains 
some  interesting  facts  ond  dates  connected 
^yith  the  history  of  science  in  the  United 
States,  with  many  eidightened  sentiments, 
honorable  to  the  assembly  from  which  they 
proceeded.  Due  ocknowledgmentswerd  made 
to  the  liberal  patrons  of  the  institutions,  who 
at  ditTerent  periods  had  rendered  it  essential 
aid  from  their  estates;  and  gratifyin?  evi- 
dence was  alTorded  by  a  recajiitulation  of  con- 
tributions and  donations  received  within  a  few 
months,  that  its  character  and  usefulness  are 
more  highly  appreciated  than  ever.  The  |)resi- 
dent  ]mid  a  most  approi)riate  and  well-merited 
compliment  to  one  of  the  iirincipal  benefac- 
tors,* in  the  following  words :  "  In  the  astro- 

•  It  nppenrs  that  the  most  Ubernl  imliviiliinl  dona- 
tion diirnig  the  past  year,  to  Aniheisl  t-olli'L-e,  has 
bnen  made  by  the  Hon.  David  Skars,  conaistiiiK  of 
real  estate  in  tlic  ritj-  of  Boston,  estimated  by  Iho 
donor  to  be  of  the  vahie  of  812,01)0.  This,  with 
810,000  formerly  bestowed,  is  to  oonstitiito  the 
"Sears'  Foil ncljilinn  of  Lilciitfiii-e  and  licmfolciicf," 
wliirli,  aUhough  for  tlie  present  it  does  not  vield  a 
lnr!,'o  income,  yet  such  are  the  terms  on  v  hfnh  it  is 
bestowed,  that  it  must  ultimately  become  of  preat 
value  to  the  coUepe.  To  the  benevolence  of  the 
same  individual,  we  believe,  the  nsti-onomical  obser- 
vatory at  Cambridge  owes  its  existoiiee. 

Among  the  letters  received  at  the  dedication  of 
the  new  cabinet  and  coservatarj-  of  Amherst  collesre, 
was  an  instructive  and  interesting  one  from  Mr. 
Sears,  which  takes  a  broad  and  very  just  view  of  the 
relation  of  colleges  to  the  pnispor'ity  and  advance- 
ment of  the  community.  "  In  my  humlile  opinion," 
says  he,  "our  colleges  are  the  Croat  conservatives  of 
the  Union."  So  long  as  monev  is  freely  siient  in 
support  of  the  church,  the  school,"  the  college,  the  hos- 
pital, and  the  a.sylum,  for  memorials  of  the  departed 
g(K)d  and  great,  for  the  snstonanco  of  the  poor  and 
the  comfort  of  the  prisoner,  thiire  is  little  fear  of  its 
being  greatly  misapplied  in  luxurious  extravagance 
or  vicious  indulgences.  It  is  not  to  hoard  it  with  the 
pa-ision  of  a  miser,  hut  to  procure  to  ourselves  the 
advantages  which  can  not  bo  obtained  without  it — 
the  cultivation,  the  imjmivement  the  luxury  of  doing 
good,  which  are  the  stimulus,  the  means,  and  the  re- 
ward of  virtue.  It  is  Hoston's  groat  honor  that  among 
her  citizens  there  are  so  manv  who  understand  the 
USB  of  money.— A'c«'  York  Evangclhl,  Oct.  19. 


i»3iaa«isp®«-5BSNBaB|fflg'' 


ml,  ill  rr)iii|)iiiiic8,  is 
icsr,  in  f'miiilifs,  $2. 
my  li(!  luiil  ('(  r.Sl.50. 
tiiilcnts  aro  in  imrt 

ciollpRe  nnd   litrrnry 
.000  v(,lnni(>s.    T!ie 
lofoall  the  sUnlcum. 
nth  PollfiTc  IniildinL's 
■,  nnd  sirnnrt-d  m  a 
to  !i|i|)rnriincc. 
le  new  cnbinct  nnd 
1  of  ,hnie,   18)8,  q 
sh('<l  men   ntlcndcd, 
■■  liy  the  jircsidont, 
Pniffssor   Siiiimnn, 
.  C.  Kcdlicld,  Ksc]., 
i  jinniphlut  (■(iritiiin- 
•(>c<'C(liiigs,  roMtnins 
id   liiitcs    connccird 
ICC   in    the    United 
htenrd  sentiments, 
y  from  which  tliey 
il.Kincntswcre  made 
le  institutions,  who 
endered  it  essential 
nd  prntifyins  evi- 
cnpitulntion  of  eon- 
■eived  within  n  few 
nnd  nsefiihiess  nre 
mover.    Tliepiesi- 
:c  and  well-merited 
prineipnl  lienefac- 
Is:  "In  the  astro- 

bcrnl  iniliviclmil  dona- 
Aiiilierst  c<)llitf;i>,  lins 

Skaks,  consisting'  of 
on,  t'stimntpil  by  tlio 
81i!,000.  Tliis,  with 
3  to  constituto  ilie 
n-e  tiiiil  liomo/riicc," 
It  it  iloes  not  vield  n 
I  terms  on  \i!iinli  it  is 
ely  become  of  prcnt 

benevolence  of  the 
3  nstrononucid  obser- 
xistoiico. 

(It  tbo  rledicntion  of 
y  of  Anilierst  colleire, 
sting  one  from  Mr. 
very  just  view  of  tlie 
pority  nnd  ndvnnre- 
iny  hnnible  opinion," 
rent  conser\-ntive8  of 
y  is  freely  spent  in 
,  the  coltcfre,  the  bos- 
rials  of  the  deported 
nco  of  tlic  pfjor  nnd 
0  is  little  fear  of  its 
urious  cxtrnvnunnce 

to  hoard  it  witli  the 
lire  to  ourselves  the 
btnincd  withont  it — 
t  the  luxiiry  of  doing 
e  means,  nnd  tlio  re- 
;at  honor  that  among 
who  understand  the 
gclisl,  Oct.  19. 


490 


AMHEE8T  COLLEGE. 


nnmicnl  oliscrvatory  at  Cornbriili^n  is  a  mas- 
sive tower,  built  soliti  of  '^uiiicy  jn'miito, 
called  tJK!  '  Sears'  Tower,'  which  .sustains  one 
of  the  most  si)lcn(li(l  telescopes  in  the  world. 
Hut  in  the  ', Sears'  Foundatiun  of  Literature 
and  Benevolence'  in  Amherst  eollejie,  we  liuve 
amoreenduririgstructure:  'inonumentumaerc 
Iierennius  :'  imo  vero  etiam,  saxo  perennius.'' 
A  letter  from  Mr.  Sk.^hs,  of  Boston,  was 
read,  containing  the  following  ])aragra])hs  : — 
"  It  is  the  ))eculiar  characteristic  of  Ma.ssa- 
chuseits  to  give  encouragement  to  learning, 
and  to  cherish  her  literary  institutions.  It  is 
a  sentiment  whiclihas  grown  with  her  growth, 
and  strengtliened  with  her  strength,  and  al- 
most marks  lier  as  a  distinct  jjcojile.  From 
the  hinding  of  their  forefathers,  in  1G'20,  to  the 
present  day,  her  sons — while  did'ering  on 
other  subjects — have  thought  alike  on  this, 
and  they  have  reason  to  be  jjroud  of  the 
result. 

"  Tim  colleges  of  Massachusetts  are  aptly 
called  serjiuiuries  of  learning,  for  by  them  the 
sei'dsof  knowledge,  of  virtue,  of  morality,  and 
religion,  are  sown  broadcast  through  our  land. 
Go  where  you  will,  fr.nn  Maine  to  Mexico, 
from  Ohio  to  the  Pacific  ocean,  and  much  of 
what  you  find  omong  the  people  that  is  good 
and  honest,  intelligent  and  successful,  owes 
its  origin  to  the  loins  or  education  of  New 
England — and  ]jrinci])ally  of  Massachusetts. 
In  my  humble  opinion,  our  colleijos  arc  the 
great  conservatives  of  the  Union,  and  we  are 
deojdy  indebted  to  them  for  whatever  of  hon- 
est principle  and  integrity  of  character  exists 
among  us." 

"  Esj)ecially  permit  me  to  notice  the  ob- 
servatory, and  the  liberal  and  enlightened 
gentleman  whose  name  stands  the  first  on  the 
list  of  patrons.*  I  trust  that  the  foundation 
thus  laid  by  him  will  hereafter  sustain  the  in- 
struments of  modern  science  to  draw  from  the 
skies  a  knowledge  of  the  stars— to  demon- 
strate to  men  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  mag- 
nificence of  His  works— and  show  to  their 
wondering  minds,  that  "  the  thousand  brilliant 
worlds  which  circle  round  Him,  are  governed 
by  one  law,  and  that  in  wisdom  '  Hk  has 
made  them  all.'  " 

"  I  venture  to  conclude  my  answer  to  you, 
reverend  sir,  with  the  following  sentiment: 
Literary  talent,  and  jiecuniary  ability,  may 
their  zeal  be  ever  found  united  in  building  up 
the  halls  of  learning,  and  extending  the  altars 
of  religion." 

The  Wood's  Cahinct  is  of  brick,  of  an  oc- 
ta,gonal  form,  and  forty-five  feet  in  diameter, 
with  two  lofty  stories.  It  is  stuccoed  without 
as  well  as  within  ;  and  the  two  halls  which  it 
contains  are  ornamented  with  fresco  painting. 
Great  care  has  been  taken  to  render  this 
"  Hon.  AuuoTT  L.twnE.vcE. 


The  floors  are  fire- 
8Ui))M)rted  by  four 


building  secure  from  fire. 

I)roof,  the  upper  one   is   _,  ^ „,.   ..^    „,.., 

strong  iron  jiillars,  and  the  doors  are  of  irjn, 
weighing  nearly  half  a  ton  each. 

2/(«  Lau-renee  Observatory  is  an  octagonal 
tower,  forty-four  feet  high  and  eighteen" feet 
in  diameter.    It  is  surmounted  by  a  dome  ten 
feet  high,  which  is  so  made  as  to  be  easily 
moved  round  to  the  right  or  left,  for  the  cun- 
yenience  of  oliservers  using  the  telescojie.   As 
in  the  observatory  at  West  Point,  ice,  the 
dome  rests  upon  several  cannon-balls,  placed 
between  largo  iron  hoops,  or  circular  track- 
waj  s,  which  perform  the  part  of  wheels.   The 
telescope  is  to  be  supported  by  a  jjcdestal,  or 
column,  of   brickwork,   capjied   with   stone, 
which  rises  from  the  ground  to  the  summit  of 
the  tower,  and  an  opening  is  left  in  the  ilome 
through  which  the  telescope  may  be  pointed. 
The  institution  is  not  yet  provilled  with  this 
important  instrument;    but  it  is   hoped  the 
munificent  friends  of  science  in  the  state  will 
not  long  allow  the  observatory  to  remain  des- 
titute. 

The  Transit-Room  is  in  a  small  wooden 
building,  connected  with  the  obsiervatory,  and 
contain.s  the  fine  transit  instrument  belonging 
to  the  institution,  which  was  purchased  in 
Paris  by  Professor  Hovey,  a  long  time  since, 
together  with  the  astronomical  clock.  This 
room  has  an  opening  through  its  roof,  from 
the  north  to  the  south,  to  allow  observations 
to  be  made  on  all  jiarts  of  the  meridian. 

A  vestibule  of  two  stories  connects  the  ob- 
servatory and  the  cabinet,  and  contains  the 
staircases  leading  to  the  dillercnt  apartments  of 
both.  The  situation  of  all  may  be  clearly  un- 
derstood bv  a  glance  at  the  print.  We  now 
return  to  the  former  building,  to  speak  of  the 
valuable  collections  of  specimens  which  it 
contains,  although  their  numbers  and  the  de- 
scrii)tions  necessary  to  make  them  fully  under- 
stood by  a  common  reader,  will  prevent  us  from 
attempting  anything  more  than  a  very  geiiflral 
.sketch.  It  is,  however,  proper  to  mention 
here,  that  this  building  does  not  contain  all 
the  specimens  in  natural  history  belonging  to 
the  college.  The  zoological  cabinet  is  to  be 
seen  in  the  old  apartment;  and  there  the  vis- 
iter will  find  a  comjilete  series  of  animals,  ex- 
hibited in  cases  on  the  walls,  from  the  human 
species  down  to  the  zoophites.  The  large 
and  highly  valuable  cf)llection  of  shells  and 
iasects,  recentjy  presented  to  the  institution 
by  Professor  Chades  B.  Adams,  occupies  ta- 
bles on  the  floor  of  the  same  apartment,  and  / 
also  that  of  the  library,  of  which  we  can  I 
only  remark  here,  that  the  number  of  shells 
amounts  to  five  thousand,  and  that  of  insects 
to  several  thousands. 

To  speak  of  the  numerous  and  interesting 
I  objects  displayed  in  the  new  cabinet:  The 


0.  The  fliHiis  nre  fire- 
is  sujijMjrted  by  four 
the  doors  ore  of  iijn, 
ton  each. 

•vntory  is  an  octni,'()na] 
ligh  anil  fi;;lui;on  feet 
lountod  by  u  dome  ten 

made  as  to  be  easily 
ht  or  left,  for  the  con- 
ing the  ttdescopo.  As 
IVest  Point,  Arc,  the 
I  cannon-balls,  placed 
H)s,  or  circular  trnck- 
i  part  of  wheels.  Tlie 
rted  by  a  pedestal,  or 

capped  with  stone, 
)und  to  the  sunitiiit  of 
ng  is  left  in  the  dome 
cope  may  be  pointed, 
et  provided  with  this 
but  it  is  hoped  the 
ence  in  the  state  will 
k-atory  to  remain  des- 

I  in  a  small  wooden 
the  observatory,  and 

instrument  belonging 
h  was  purchased  in 
jy,  a  long  time  since, 
lomicol  clock.  This 
ii'ough  its  roof,  from 
o  allow  observations 
f  the  meridian, 
ries  connects  the  ob- 
et,  and  contains  the 
ifl'erent  apartments  of 

II  may  be  clearly  un- 
he  print.  We  now 
3ing,  to  speak  of  the 
specimens  which  it 
lumbers  and  the  le- 
ke  them  fully  under- 
,  will  prevent  us  from 
3  than  a  very  geireral 

proper  to  mention 
Iocs  not  contain  all 
history  belonging  to 
jical  cabinet  is  to  be 

;  and  there  the  vis- 
series  of  animals,  ex- 
ills.  from  the  human 
)phites.  The  large 
3ction  of  shells  and 
d  to  the  institution 
\dams,  occupies  ta- 
ime  apartment,  and 

of  which  we  can 
lie  ntimber  of  shells 

and  that  of  insects 

reus  and  interesting 
new  cabinet:  The 


lower  hall  is  th.'voted  to  geology,  and  contains 
11,500  specimens  of  rocks  and  minerals,  and 
fossils  associated  with  them,  arranged  in  four- 
teen distinct  collections.  The  visiter,  on  en- 
tering the  d(K)r,  finds  them  presented  in  the 
following  order,  and  so  marked  that,  with  the 
help  of  the  printed  catalogue,  he  can  easily 
understand  what  stratum  and  what  country 
each  is  intended  to  represent  or  to  illustrate. 

1.  The  Rocks  of  the  European  Continent. 
—These  are  illustrated  by  six  hundred  speci- 
mens of  rocks  and  fossils,  about  three  inches 
by  four  in  size,  whose  names  are  printed  be- 
hind them  in  English,  French,  and  German. 
This  collection,  which  was  put  up  at  the 
Heidelberg  Mineralogical  Institute,  affords 
the  best  imaginable  means  for  studying  the 
rocks  of  Europe.  It  is  remarkable  that  the 
sandstones  and  some  of  the  petrified  fishes 
which  they  contain,  almost  exactly  resemble 
specimens  from  the  Connecticut  valley. 

2.  I'he  English  Koci-s.— Among  the  six 
hundred  specimens  in  this  collection,  generally 
small,  is  a  very  instructive  series  of  the  chalks 
and  the  Weafden  group.  The  latter  is  from 
an  ancient  estuary  in  the  southeastern  part  of 
England,  where  the  iguanodon  and  other  enor- 
mous reptiles  once  lived,  as  is  proved  by 
their  bones. 

3.  The  Missionary  Collection.— These  spe- 
cimens, amounting  to  about  twelve  hundred, 
have  been  collected  and  presented  by  Ameri- 
ican  missionaries,  in  many  different  coun- 
tries and  some  of  the  most  interesting  sites 
in  the  world  chiefly  in  Asia ;  and,  although 
.•ot  generally  intended  to  illustrate  geology, 
are  often  valuable  in  that  point  of  view.  Two 
thirds  of  the  individuals  who  contributed  these 
to  the  institution  are  of  the  number  of  its 
graduates. 

Among  the  interesting  facts  proved  by  the 
specimens  in  this  collection  are  the  following : 
That  limestones  form  the  prevailing  rocks 
along  the  borders  of  the  Mediterranean ;  and 
some  of  them  are  composed  of  shells,  so  small 
as  to  be  invisible  to  the  naked  eye,  of  the 
kind  called  polythalamia ;  and  others  abound 
in  petrified  fishes,  &c. 

Most  of  the  limestones  of  the  Holy  Land 
have  been  referred  to  the  chalk  formation, 
and,  as  might  therefore  be  expected,  often 
contain  flints,  homstone,  jaspers,  and  agates. 
Of  these  there  are  sjjecimens  from  Lebanon, 
Anti-Lebanon,  Carmel,  Beyroot,  Tyre,  the 
Mount  of  Olives,  and  the  garden  of  Gethsem- 
ane.  Petrified  fishes  and  some  of  the  lower 
animals  abound  in  Mount  Lebanon ;  and  of 
these  one  hundred  and  nine  specimens  are 
to  be  seen  in  the  collection.  Professor  Fiske 
found  oysters  and  clams  on  summits  thou- 
sands of  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 
Numerous  fragments  of  ancient  Greek  and 


Roman  edifices  are  also  displayed,  from  dif- 
ferent cities  and  other  localities  in  Asia, 
Greece,  Italy,  Africa,  and  the  islands,  as  the 
Colosseum  of  Rome,  the  Acropolis  of  Athens, 
the  temple  of  Juno,  in  Samos,  of  Apollo,  in 
Cnidus,  rompeii,  Carthage,  Samaria,  Perse])- 
olis,  the  seven  churches,  &c.,  &c.  Specimens 
of  rocks  from  Mount  Olympus  are  almost 
the  only  ones  in  this  collection  corresponding 
with  those  of  New  England.  Many  volcanic 
specimens  also  are  to  be  seen,  from  Asia  Mi- 
nor, Italy,  the  Sandwich  islands,  &e.  Rock 
salt  from  the  Red  and  Dead  seas ;  bottles  of 
water  from  these  and  other  celebroted  sour- 
ces, and  other  objects  we  might  particularize. 

4.  The  West  India  Collection  conies  next 
in  order,  and  consists  chiefly  of  recent  petri- 
factions from  St.  Croix  and  Antigua,  present- 
ed by  Professor  Hovey.  Most  of  the  species 
correspond  with  living  ones.  Beautiful  spe- 
cimens of  petrified  wood  show  all  the  fibres 
and  vessels  of  the  different  kinds  of  timber, 
converted  into  stones  of  extreme  hardness. 

5.  Rocks  of  the  United  Slates.— Here  is  a 
very  instructive  series  of  fifteen  hundred  spe- 
cimens, the  first  twenty-seven  of  which  are 
the  stones  of  which  all  our  rocks  are  com- 
posed, and  therefore  called  the  Alphabet  of 
Geology.  Among  the  fossils  are  the  tooth  of 
the  ancient  large  American  horse,  found  in 
Amherst,  whose  remains  are  also  discovered 
on  the  Mississippi  and  elsewhere ;  and  teeth 
and  bones  of  mastodons  and  mammoths,  sharks 
fifty  or  one  hundred  feet  long,  &c.  About  one 
hundred  and  fifty  specimens  are  from  our  coal 
regions,  which  occupy  an  area  of  about  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  square  miles;  and  these 
present  many  interesting  impressions  and  fos- 
sils. One  part  of  this  collection  is  eminently 
of  practical  importance,  viz.,  two  hundred  and 
twenty  specimens  of  soils,  clays,  marls,  &c., 
from  different  parts  of  Massachusetts.  Among 
other  objects  is  a  piece  of  the  green  homstone 
rock  from  which  Shay's  soldiers  supplied 
their  muskets  with  flints,  in  his  rebellion. 
Another  specimen  proves  that  plants,  analo- 
gous to  some  of  those  of  the  tropical  regions, 
once  grew  in  Massachusetts.  This  is  a  large 
petrified  reed,  with  several  joints,  dug  up  at 
Seekonk. 

6.  Massachusetts  Rocks. — This  collection 
was  made  during  the  geological  survey  of  the 
state,  between  1830  and  1846;  and  embraces 
a  large  number  of  clay-stones,  the  only  con- 
siderable assemblage  of  these  curious  concre- 
tions anywhere  to  be  seen.  Serpentines,  mar- 
bles, syenites,  porphyries,  and  other  _  orna- 
mental stones  of  the  state,  are  here  exhibited, 
cut  and  polished ;  and  their  various  colors  and 
brilliant  surfaces  afford  a  surprising  variety, 
considering  the  limited  region  in  which  they 
have  been  found. 


mm 


J 


h 


7.  Rnrls  and  Minrrnh  of  Ciinnrriirii/. — 
Ei:^ht  iHiiidrcd  s|)('(Miii('tis,  iiri'scnti'il  liv  I'm- 
ffssor  Slic|ilit'nl,  much  rfscriililin;^;  those  of 
M;i>^sii('hii>i'lts. 

8.  lii>r/,-s  (tiid  Minrrnh  (if  Vrrmnnl,  Cdl- 
leclcd  liy  Professor  C.  IJ.  Ailains,  whih-  Kiir- 
V(  viii!:  thiit,  sliitc. 

!).  Fossils  of  the  Paris  Basin,  coiitaiiiin;j; 
one  hiiiiilrcd  uiid  twenty-four  species  of  or- 
ganic rciMHiiK. 

10.  MurhUs,  Alabasters,  Sj-c,  from  Rome. 
— One  liiindrod  and  seventy-two  polished 
s|M'ciincns. 

1 1 .  Organic  Remains  from,  Europe. — Five 
Vniiidrcil  »j)ccinipns — hi;j;hly  useful  to  stuilents. 

Iv.'.  luissil  Footmarks,  f^r.  —  In  this  de- 
linrrmcnl,  as  rniglit  ho  expected,  the  coIlecti<in 
is  peculiarly  rich  ;  Presiilent  Hit<rhcoek  huv- 
ini;,  wliilt!  a  jirofessor,  Krst  hroujjht  this  curi- 
ous and  important  hrnnch  of  geolojjy  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  world.  Here  we  find  two 
hundred  and  fifty  specimens  of  footmarks, 
nmnni;  which  we  can  particularize  only  a  few. 
The  largest  are  the  tracks  of  the  giant  animal 
hrontdzoum,  an  enormous  hird,  somethinj;  like, 
and  with  a  foot  three  or  four  times  lar^'er  than, 
the  ostrich.  There  were  three  tracks  of  this 
monster,  fifty-four  and  fifty-six  inches  apart. 
The  depressed  track  of  another  will  hold  more 
than  a  gallon  of  water.  The  other  foot-prints, 
indieatina;  more  than  forty  diflerent  species  of 
animals,  chiefly  birds,  we  have  not  room  to 
mention ;  but  they  are  well  worthy  of  atten- 
tive study.  Most  of  them  arc  from  the  sand- 
stone rocks  of  the  Connecticut  valley  :  but 
some  are  from  other  states  and  transatlantic 
Countries. 

The  Shepherd  Cabinet  occupies  vertical 
cases,  ranged  against  the  walls  of  the  upjjcr 
hall,  and  is  divided  into  meteoric  substances, 
mineralogy,  and  geology.  The  first  of  these 
are  numerous,  and  from  many  diflerent  parts 
of  the  world.  The  other  portions  of  this  col- 
lection are  also  well  filled,  as  might  be  ex- 
pected from  the  science  and  experience  of  t.ie 
collector. 


THE  NEW  HOUSES  OF  PARLIAMENT. 

This  long  range  of  edifices  presents  an  im- 
posing aspect  to  the  stranger,  as  he  passes  up 
the  Thames,  and  turns  his  eyes  to  the  spot 
so  long  occupied  by  the  old  parliament  houses. 
They  were  accidentnlly  destroyed  l)y  fire  on 
the  ICth  of  October.  1834.  The  present  en- 
larged edifice  so(jn  rose  from  the  rums,  and 
allijrds  much  more  ample  and  convenient  ac- 
commodations to  the  two  houses  of  parliament, 
the  library,  and  the  various  minor  purposes 
connected  with  them.     The  origin  of  the  con- 


flngrntion  is  n  mutter  of  much  nncertnintv  ; 
l)nl  it  was  supposed  to  be  nriidental.  A  largo 
ipiantilics  of  old  and  useless  papers  had  been 
l)nrnt  in  the  Kxchi'ipier,  wliicli,  it  was  sup- 
posed, might  have  been  too  liaslilv  crowded 
into  the  fireplaces,  and  over-healed  some  of 
ihe  <'iiimney-flucs.  'J'hc  mere  desfrnclion  of 
the  main  Imildiug  itself  miuht  not  have  lieen 
much  regretted,  as  ii  made  room  for  the  ])res- 
cnt  superior  structure :  t)ut  numerous  valuable 
documents  were  consumed,  and  the  ailmired 
old  painted  chamber,  the  tapestries,  fee,  in 
the  house  of  lords,  and,  nljove  all,  the  ad- 
joining ancient  chapel  of  St.  Stephen,  were 
ais4)  ruined.  This  hiNt  had  long  stood  as  the 
most  perfect  specimen  of  the  highly  ornament- 
ed (iothic  style  of  architecture  in  the  king- 
dom, and  was  respeetal)le  and  valuable  also 
from  its  historical  associations. 

Westminster  cathedral,  which  stands  in 
this  vicinity,  was  the  first  of  the  ancient  ed- 
ifices which  are  here  clustered  together.  The 
superstitions  inculcated  by  the  Romish  priest- 
hood have  always  filled  the  headsof  all  jjcople, 
foolish  enough  to  listen  to  their  fictions,  with 
iileas  of  the  su]ierior  sanctity  of  the  objects, 
buildings  and  places  which  the  i)retcnd'^'! 
miraculous  })ower  of  thi'mselves  or  others 
has  distinguished.  There,  as  in  many  other 
l)lnce8  and  countries,  conse(|uence  was  given 
to  the  place  where  the  ground  was  called 
holy,  and  a  host  of  images  were  congregated, 
and  daily  worshij)])ed.  King  Canute,  though 
a  Dane,  became  a  dupe  of  the  priesth(Kxl,  and 
in  his  later  days,  fixed  his  residence  under 
their  wing,  being  the  first  king  who  occupied 
this  site.  The  building  which  he  inhabited 
was  destroyed  by  fire  in  the  time  of  Edward 
the  Confessor,  who,  a  bigot  of  the  blindest 
kind,  built  another  palace  near  the  same  spot; 
and  his  successors  continued  to  occupy  West- 
minster palac<  until  the  reignof  Henry  VIII. 
in  1529,  when  another  fire  occurred  l)y  which 
it  was  destroyed,  and  Whitehall  became  the 
royal  residence. 

'JMie  origin  of  the  parliament  of  England 
is  lost  in  the  gloom  of  the  dark  ages.  It  is 
believed  that  the  representatives  of  the  people 
formerly  met  with  the  lords  in  the  great  na- 
tional hall  of  legislation;  and  that  the  body 
was  first  divided  in  the  year  1377.  Conflicts 
innumerable  were  waged,  from  the  earliest 
days  of  English  history,  between  the  people, 
the  nobles  and  the  monarchs,  often  influenced, 
instigated  or  directed,  more  or  less  covertly 
by  the  priesthood,  to  whose  interference  in 
public  or  ])rivate  afliiirs,  directly  or  indirect- 
ly, a  great  ])art  of  the  history  of  "England  was 
materially  afi'ected,  in  almost  all  ages,  as  ev- 
ery intelligent  reader  must  plainly  see.  The 
reformati(ai  put  an  end  to  the  old  system : 
but  some  of  its  evil  features  were  retained, 


1 

i,   ■    i 


if  tniidi  iinccrtninty  ; 
•  nrciilctitiil.  A  liiri:o 
r\vi<  |in|iiTH  liiid  lifcn 
r,  wliich,  it.  \vn»  siip- 
I  till)  liii^lily  criiwiicil 

iivcr-licnlcil  «(iine  of 
(•  mere  <lf<(nii'ii(in  of 

iiiiuht  not  liiivc  lifon 
iil(!  roiiiii  for  till'  |iip.s- 
lut  iiiimiToiis  vuliiiilild 
nril,  utui  till!  niliiiirpil 
111!  tdjicstrii's,  iVc,  in 
1,  nliovc  (ill,  ilio  oil- 
i)f  St.  Sli'plicri,  were 
Imil  Inn;;  stooil  nn  the 

the  hi/ilily  orniimcnr- 
itccture  in  tlio  kiii;;- 
ilo  nnil  valuable  alsu 
ntions. 

Ill,  wliich  stonils  in 
rst  of  the  nni-ifiit  nl- 
stercd  lojfethiT.  Thi; 
Ijy  the  Roniiish  priest- 
he  heads  of  nil  |)eoplp, 
to  their  fictions,  with 
inctity  of  the  objects, 
i'liich  the  iiri'tcndi^d 
hemselves  or  others 
ere,  Q8  in  many  other 
inseiiuence  was  given 
f!  ground  was  called 
es  were  congregated. 

King  Canute,  though 
)f  the  priesthiKxl,  and 

his  residence  under 
St  king  who  occupied 

which  he  inhabited 

the  time  of  Edward 
bigot  of  the  blindest 
enear  the  same  spot; 
ued  to  occupy  West- 
reignof  Henry  VIII. 
re  occurred  by  which 
hitehall  became  the 

rliament  of  England 
the  dark  ages.  It  is 
ntatives  of  the  peojile 
ords  in  the  great  na- 
;  and  that  the  body 
year  1377.  Conflicts 
■d,  from  the  earliest 

between  the  people, 
chs,  often  influenced, 
nore  or  less  covertly 
hose  interference  in 
,  directly  or  indirect- 
story  of  England  was 
most  all  oges,  as  ev- 
ist  plainly  see.    The 

to  the  old  system : 
itures  were  retained, 


1 


494 


TUB  BOSTON  WATEttWOUKS. 


whirh  hsvo  ovrr  since  exrrtcrl  unhappy  in- 
tluciK'i!!*  in  piirliaincnt  ami  on  the  nutiun. 
Ainoii^  tln'»u  lire  the  church  e!ttol)liNhmt'nt 
itiiil  the  civil  pdwor  i)f  ccclcniaHtics.  Under 
tht!  (lisptiiftiition!*  of  Divine  Providence  good 
uf'ccn  results  from  evil ;  uiid  the  dictatorial 
spirit  of  the  P2ngliHh  liishops,  proceeding  to 
pernccution,  soon  coininisaioncd  the  pilurimt* 
to  lay  the  foundation  of  a  new  rcpubhc  on 
Plyinouth  nick. 

Such  rellections  as  these,  and  others,  in  an 
endless  train,  nuturully  crowd  into  the  tnind 
of  an  American,  iis  lie  8tan<Is  to  contemplate 
the  site  uf  tlie  liriiisli  parliament. 


THK  BOSTON  WATERWORKS. 

This  noble  monument  of  the  liberal  enter- 
prise of  Boston  in  everything  conducive  to 
the  general  health  or  comfort  of  its  citizens, 
was  iuicfly  noticed  in  a  previous  article  on 
the  first  seltlement  of  that  city.  But  thS  pre- 
scribed limits  and  general  design  of  that  ar- 
ticle did  not  permit  that  detailed  description 
(if  this  gigantic  work  which  its  merits  would 
justify.  The  following  well-written  descrip- 
tion of  a  "  visit  to  the  waterworks,"  was 
jiublished  in  the  Boston  Daily  Advertiser,  by 
permission  of  the  gentleman  to  whom  it  was 
addressed.  It  furnishes  much  information  in 
relation  to  the  a(picduct,  porticularly  the 
more  distant  portion  of  it.  We  cheerfully 
give  it  a  place,  confident  that  its  interest  will 
amply  vindicate  its  insertion, 

BosTos,  Nov.  3,  1948. 

Dkar  Sir  :  You  ask  nie  to  give  you  some 
account  of  a  day  among  the  waters,  and  I  do 
so  with  grent  pleasure,  for  it  was  o  day  of 
deep  interest  and  perfect  satisfaction. 

You  know  that  I  was  not  originally  in  fa- 
vor of  the  project,  when  first  started,  of 
bringing  lake  or  river  by  an  artificial  channel 
into  this  city  of  springs  and  water-brooks,  be- 
cause the  necessity  for  it  was  not  obvious, 
while  the  cost  was  certain,  and  in  the  then 
condition  of  our  city,  somewhat  alarming. 
But  the  condition  of  things  greatly  changed. 
The  city  grow  more  populous,  and  pure  water 
less  abundant.  There  was  a  more  pressiiig 
want,  and  much  larger  ability  to  meet  it.  u 
was  a  gigantic  etlbrt  to  be  sure,  but  it  com- 
ported with  the  enterprise,  the  energy  and 
the  wealth  of  our  community  ;  and  I  joined 
heart  and  hand  with  the  gallant  company, 
when  in  August,  1846,  th:?  city  government 
commenced  its  first  operations  at  the  lake. 
Two  years  and  two  months  only  have  elapsed 
and  the  water  is  here.  We  have  seen  it 
throwing  ,tself  eighty  feet  in  the  air,  in  a 
form  of  inimitable  strength  and  beouty,  and 


flowing  in  a  quiet  and  regular  stream  under 
the  cave^<  <>(  one  of  our  principal  hotels,  ut 
nearly  tli  liighcst  habitobiu  residence  in  the 
citv.  ... 

It  \r>  here — in  a  time  so  surprisingly  short, 
that  they  who  were  fearful  it  would  never  be 
brought  hero  at  all,  are  comptdled  to  give  a 
new  direction  to  their  iiiiiuit.'tude.  and  to  dis- 
trust the  nermaneney  and  solidity  of  the  (;on- 
duit  by  which  it  is  conducted  to  our  dwellings. 

Let  me  assure  you  that,  so  far  as  my  hum- 
ble judgment  may  be  of  any  value,  the  work 
has  been  brought  to  its  present  successful  and 
speedy  result  by  the  exercise  and  the  develop- 
ment of  hij'h  scientific  anl  profound  artisticul 
skill,  and  I  ves  the  rapidity  of  its  progress  to 
a  combina:  :iin  of  intejlt'ctual  ond  physical 
[Kiwers,  which  will  be  us  honoriiblc  to  our 
community  as  are  the  enterprise  and  liberality 
in  which  it  was  projected. 

I  have  had  some  opportunity  of  seeing  many 
similar  operations,  but  none  with  v/uich  this 
will  not  compare  very  favorably,  wlf  ther  the 
comparison  bo  made  in  regard  to  t'lo  time, 
the  labor,  or  the  skill. 

Ill  regard  to  the  expense,  it  becon.es  one  to 
speak  vviih  less  decision  until  the  ocrounts 
are  all  iwsted — but  it  is  most  obvious  that  so 
far  as  the  works  meet  the  eye  of  an  observer 
he  will  not  fail  to  admire  the  judicious  com- 
bination of  strength  and  beauty  with  on  ele- 
gant taste  that  does  justice  to  the  laudable 
pride  of  our  people,  and  with  a  severe  and 
classic  simplicity  which  has  wasted  nothing 
in  superfluous  orn.'ijcut. 

It  was  on  one  of  the  finest  mornings  <nl  our 
Indian  summer  that  a  ride  of  an  hour  in  the 
cars  of  the  Worcester  railroad  brought  me  to 
the  margin  of  Lake  Cochituate,  and  to  an  ac- 
ijuaintancc  with  the  intelligent  superintendent 
of  the  works  there — Mr.  Sickles.  The  mar- 
gin of  this  beautiful  sheet  of  water  is  cleared 
of  its  under-brush  and  vegetable  mntter,  and 
the  bright  and  pellucid  gtream  seemed  to  in- 
dicate the  utility  for  which  it  is  destined. 
Great  labor  has  necessarily  been  bestowed 
upon  the  grounds,  so  as  to  give  a  proper  rise 
to  the  water,  which  passes  to  its  new  destina- 
tion through  receptacles  covered  by  a  stone 
gatehouse,  in  which  these  are  contained. 
jv  cofTer-dom  which  hud  been  built  at  con- 
siderable expense  for  the  purpose  of  construct- 
ing these  receptacles  was  in  process  of  being 
removed,  and  much  of  the  under-ground  con- 
struction will  be  for  ever  out  of  sight. 

I  am  not  aware  that  th-  re  is  anything  peca- 
liar  in  these  constructions  at  the  lake.  Yet 
here  as  everywhere  else  in  the  course,  science 
had  its  high  duty  both  in  giving  a  proper  di- 
rection and  descent  to  the  stream,  in  antici- 
pating and  guarding  against  accidents,  and 
preserving  the  current  in  a  cor.tinuous  flow, 


pj^lsr  utrpnm  umlir 
r  priiicipnl  liotelM,  iit 
ublii  rcftiilL'Dce  in  thu 

no  Rurpridinply  short, 
ful  it  would  never  lio 

compi.'lIiHl  to  n'lMs  a 
(luintiide.  niiil  to  ilift- 
(I  Holidity  of  thr  (;oi)- 
ctf'd  to  our  (IweHiiiKH. 
lit,  m  fnr  its  my  liiim- 
otiy  vuliic,  tliii  work 
ircsent  mn'ceKHfuI  nml 
rise  and  the  dnvflop- 
rrl  profounil  artisticiil 
lity  of  itH  proL'rens  to 
lectual  and  pliysicol 
an  honorable  to  our 
terprise  and  liberality 
.1. 

tunity  of  secinj;  many 
none  with  v'nieh  this 
vorably,  wlf  thcr  the 

regard  tu  tho  time, 

18C,  it  becon.es  one  to 
n  until  the  aernunts 

most  obvious  that  so 
le  eye  of  an  observer 
e  the  judiuiouH  com- 

beauty  with  an  ele- 
stice  to  tiie  laudable 
1  with  a  severe  and 

has  wasted  nothing 

incst  mornings  oi  our 
de  of  on  hour  in  the 
ailroad  brought  mc  to 
hituatc,  and  to  an  ac- 
llij^pnl;  superintendent 
.  Sickles.  Tho  mar- 
et  of  water  is  cleared 
vegetable  mrttter,  and 
stream  seemed  to  in- 
vhich  it  is  deitincd. 
arily  been  bestowed 
to  give  a  proper  rise 
es  to  its  new  destina- 
3  covered  by  a  stone 
these  are  contained, 
d  been  built  at  con- 
I  purpose  of  constrnct- 
is  in  process  of  being 
he  under-ground  con- 
r  out  of  sight. 
\i-  re  is  anything  pecu- 
13  at  the  lake.  Yet 
in  the  course,  science 
in  giving  a  proper  di- 
:he  stream,  in  antici- 
^ainst  accidents,  and 
in  a  coRtinuoQS  flow, 


TUB  BOSTON  WATEllWOaKS. 


40A 


H<»  ihut  when,  by  time  or  chance,  renf)vat!on 
or  rcpuir  miiy  be  rc(|uir('d,  it  may  be  rciidily 
made.  UtiNkilful  men  had  MurmiHi'd  that  even 
hen;  lliei"  whh  u  great  fault  utid  timt  the 
water  would  cither  not  How  at  all,  or  flow  too 
slowly  on  it»  w'oy.  The  first  experiment 
proved  the  eorreetnesn  of  the  judgment  of  the 
engineers,  and  demoHHtruted  ulwitliat  a  swift- 
er course  would  have  diminiHhed  tho  height 
to  which  the  water  would  rise  in  the  eity, 
IteoideN  endangering  the  safety  of  the  u(|uedu(!t. 
A  II  hfn:  is  stone  or  iron.  No  ieHS  duralilo 
in  <teriul  in  admitted,  nail  ugett  long  us  thoxe 
in  vv!::ch  this  water  hus  8lej)t  in  its  tran(|uil 
bed  muHt  again  revolve,  Iwfore,  by  the  com- 
mon occurrences  of  time,  these  works  will  bo 
subject  to  decay.  My  attention  was  drawn  to 
the  mighty  power  which  mun  must  hold  in  his 
hand  over  so  great  a  volume  of  waters  when 
he  sends  them  on  a  new  destination ;  I  was 
attracted  to  a  consideration  of  the  resistless 
force  which  even  this  quiet  lake  exercises 
over  the  tributary  stream  that  is  drawn  from 
it  during  nit  the  long  errand  on  which  it  is 
sped  ;  and  how  this  force  is  measured,  meted 
out  ond  controlled  i)y  those  contrivances  of 
human  intelligcHce  wnich  is  a  gift  to  man  from 
the  goodness  of  its  Creator,  and  I  assure  y»u 
of  the  gratification  I  felt  at  thot  vast  exercise 
of  genius  which  thus  comes  in  competition 
with  Nutuie  herself  and  makes  her  established 
laws  obedient  to  the  welfare  of  our  race. 

The  water  after  leaving  the  lake  is  carried 
in  nn  underground  aijueduct  eight  miles  to  the 
margin  of  Charles  river.  The  stupendous 
labor  of  this  grand  construction  from  the  lake 
to  the  river  is  now  in  a  great  measure  forever 
buried  up,  but  the  inequalities  of  the  natural 
surface  of  the  eorth  show  you  where  it  is  car- 
ried below  and  where,  notwithstanding  its 
regular  and  gradual  descent,  it  rises  above 
the  common  highway.  There  arc  two  re- 
markable points  of  elevation,  one  where  the 
aqueduct  is  carried  over  the  county  road  upon 
a  stone  arch  spanning  the  road  from  side  to 
side — the  other  where  it  arrives  at  the  margin 
of  Charles  river  and  is  made  to  descend  and 
rise  again  through  two  inverted  siphons,  the 
capacity  of  which  is  large  enough  for  the  re- 
quired supply  of  the  estimated  population  of 
our  city  for  twenty  years.  A  provident  fore- 
cast has  prepared  the  means  oi*  adding,  at 
comparatively  small  exnense,  one  third  more 
to  the  present  means,  whenever  it  is  reciuired. 
On  each  side  of  the  river,  where  these  siphons 
are  connected  with  tho  aqueduct,  are  gate 
houses  of  stoae,  within  which  are  such  ar- 
rangements as  enable  the  surperintendent  to 
control  the  reception  and  delivery  of  the  wa- 
ter, in  part  or  in  whole,  at  his  pleasure ;  and 
below  the  bridge  a  waste  weir  enables  him  to 
turn  its  whole  current  into  Charles  river  when- 


ever it  is  desirable  to  iiisnert  the  interior  of 
thot  dark  channel  throuyh  which  tho  lake  is 
now  inking  its  gentle  Imt  compulsive  ?ourse. 

It  was  my  object  to  examine  these  ingeni- 
ous and  ('urious  constructions,  in  which  sci- 
ence and  mind  triumph  over  inert  matter  nnd 
control  the  elements  even  in  their  rage.  Ur.- 
<ler  the  cure  and  with  the  aid  of  the  chief  en- 
gineer, Mr.  Chesbrough,  I  had  tho  most  fa- 
vorable opportunity  for  a  critical  and  etlicient 
inspection,  with  every  means  of  illustration 
necessary  for  the  purpose,  and  1  sat  down 
with  an  intention  of  giving  yi»u  tho  details  of 
contrivances  so  simple  that  they  seem  jier- 
fectly  easy,  an<l  so  etruieiit  that  they  ore 
completely  successful,  nnd  yet  withal  are  ab- 
solutely the  result  of  n  deep  knowledge  of  the 
laws  of  hydrodynamics  in  all  their  extent  and 
nKMlern  improvement ;  but  I  feel  that,  with, 
out  models  or  diagrams,  it  would  be  impossi- 
ble to  give  you  a  clear  impression  of  the  ex- 
ceeding beauty  of  the  design  or  success  of  the 
execution — and  you  must  eithor  go  yourself 
with  the  advantages  which  I  hod,  and  exam- 
ine the  construction  with  your  own  eyes,  or 
take  my  word  for  it  that  not  Boston  only  bwt 
Massachusetts  and  New  Eiiglaiid  will  i« 
proud  of  this  structure  as  one  of  the  noblest 
monuments  of  civil  architecture  existing  in 
the  country — The  resident  engineer  intrusted 
with  the  immeditito  direction  cf  this  portion 
of  the  work,  was  Mr.  M'Kean. 

In  addition  to  the  jiarts  of  the  wrirk  of 
which  I  have  already  spoken,  there  arc  sev- 
eral vvaste  weirs,  four  I  think,  with  suitoble 
neat  stone  buildings  to  protect  and  preserve 
them.  You  understand  by  a  waste  weir  a 
construction  to  let  olT,  by  a  lateral  outlet,  any 
quantity  of  water  which  rises  in  the  a(pieduct 
above  an  ascertained  level,  and  by  which  also 
the  water  may  be  lowered  beneath  the  stan- 
dard level  whenever  circumstances  may  re- 
quire. 

These  are  constructed  with  great  care  and 
skill  of  stone  and  iron  materials,  and  the  gates 
are  moved  with  surprising  ease  in  their  grooves, 
by  cranks  operated  by  hand  nt  the  surface  of 
the  ground. 

They  present  a  handsome  appearance  on 
the  road,  and  are  admirably  well  adapted  to 
their  purpose. 

Of  the  two  reservoirs  beyond  tho  limits  of 
the  city  proper,  and  the  huge  and  yet  unfin- 
ished structure  within  it,  nothing  need  be  ad- 
ded to  the  general  remarks  made  on  the  whole 
line  of  work.  They  are  built  for  posterity, 
for  ages  of  future  time,  when  the  country  and 
its  inhabitants  shall  have  changed  in  all  its 
institutions  and  character ;  and  travellers,  in 
some  far-away  centuries  yet  to  come,  will 
look  upon  these  gigantic  ruins  of  a  lost  people 
as  the  present  generation  admire  the  vast  tu- 


f 

t 


■^ 


40C 


TlIK  UOWLlNriOUKKN. 


muli  of  thn  wpittern  ntntert,  without  knowing 
liy  wliiirn  or  for  wliiit  |iiir|i(isc  llii'y  wiTo 
liKilt.  (Jovcriimiiits  irmv  !>••  ovrrtiirnc(l-j{<'ii- 
1  ruiiiPiiH  of  incn  niiiy  fin! — tliu  ruci-  niny  'l'"- 
u|i|iMir  from  its  orij;imil  pliicf  on  the  jjloho  ; 
but  liu!  tniiiuniK'nt!4  of  liuiniin  skill,  iitiil  tin- 
ii(!coiM|iliHliinrnt»  of  liiiiiiiiii  ititillii't  outlivo 
till!  rfconlsof  liistory  mill  tli<'  roviijif^of  time. 
Tin-  oiijfct  of  (ill  ttiin  liilior  niiil  <'X|if'n»«'  in 
not  til  liriiiK  intTcly  whKt,  Init  pitrf.  wntcr — 
wutrr  (it  for  tlifcoinfort,  llic  waiitK,  tliuhtolth 
unil  till'  luxury  of  llio  iiiiHsr-t — wiitor  which 
niny  bn  ilriink  wiiliout  injury,  anil  in  wliich 
int'ii,  woinon,  u:;'l  chiltlren,  may  wanh  onil  be 
clt;an- 

Such  wnsthc  water  of  this  ppnin^ula  in  tho 
tlaynof  Hliii  kHioiio,  wlien  he  livnl  in  n  solitary 
housi;  not  f^tr  from  "  Foimtain  Basin."  It  hos 
lonj;  ccnsoil  to  be  so  with  a  gu-at  part  of  the 
water  ill  daily  use.  Such  deterioration  is 
coiiiinon  in  a  crowiled  and  growing  city.  The 
new  strcHin  is  now  pure  at  its  source,  and 
may  bo  kept  »o.  Care  is  taken  to  preserve 
its  crystal  character  from  all  manner  of  stain. 
Its  sources  will  be  supplied  from  the  heovens, 
ami  it  will  (low  safely  to  ami  from  the  bosom 
of  the  lukft.  It  comes  from  a  depth  not  readi- 
ed by  superficial  impurities,  ond  is  covered  in 
its  proi;res.s  from  everythinij  that  delileth. 

Such  is  this  great  blesHiiig  for  whicli  wc 
owe  so  much  to  Heaven,  and,  by  the  blessing 
of  Heaven,  arc  much  indebted  to  man.  There 
has  been  a  great  duty  imposed  on  those  who 
have  the  oversight  of  this  immense  work.  It 
has  involved  •■  amount  of  labor  of  mind,  of 
responsibility  and  care,  beyond  the  proportion 
of  ordinary  public  service. 

In  this  country  there  was  gnnt  want  of 
practical  experience  on  such  subjects,  and  tho 
science  itself  everywhere  needed  the  sanction 
(if  success  to  contimri  its  most  plausible  theo- 
ries. Sleepless  nights  and  watchful  days 
have  been  devoted  to  its  nccimiplishmont,  and, 
thus  fur,  not  ordy  without  any  serious  mis- 
take, but  with  the  proudest  satisfaction  of 
overcoming  seen  and  unseen  diHieulties,  and 
bringi.ig  the  whole  design  to  the  happiest  re- 
sult. 

Ii  is  to  he  hoped  that  tho  future  participa- 
tion of  this  copious  stream  will  confirm  all  the 
blessings  it  is  expected  to  bring  with  it. 

Very  truly,  Yniir  Friend,  C . 

An  allusion  is  made  in  the  early  part  of  the 
tthove  letter  to  the  beautiful  fountain,  springing 
from  what  has  long  lieen  familiarly  known  as 
the  "  Frog-])onil,"  on  the  Common.  This 
fountain  is  composed  of  several  jets,  oil  of 
them  of  great  beauty,  but  the  grandest  and 
most  admired  is  a  jet  of  six  inches  in  diame- 
ter, rising  gracefully  from  the  surface  of  the 
pond,  and  throwing  a  brilliant  silver  column 
of  water  to  the  height  of  eighty  feet.     No 


nhaf^  of  polifhed  morhle  can  equal  this  eol- 
umn  in  beiiiify,  nor  the  »ofte<it  down  of  the 
most  graceful  feather  compare  in  delieiiey  to 
its  fall,  when  the  water  turns  from  lln'  siiiri- 
mit  and  descemlH  in  n  spliiidid  curve,  here 
and  there  stiikini;  the  column  in  its  descent, 
and  rebounding  from  it  in  Elitterini;  sparkles, 
as  if  it  had  struck  against  the  hardest  uruii'te. 
This  jet  is,  proliably,  the  liiryest  and  highest 
in  the  world  ;  it  cenaiiily  is  tlio  most  K|)len- 
did  in  Now  England. 


THE  BOWLING-GUKEN. 

A  RAPID  increase  of  |K)p«lation,  the  nataral 
conse(|uence  of  great  commercial  prosperity, 
has  left  but  few  green  spots  to  cheer  the  eye 
amid  this  artificial  wilderui  s*  of  bricic  nnd 
marble.  Of  these,  the  Battery,  Bowling- 
(Jreen,  and  the  Pork,  arc  nil  that  exist  in  the 
business  jiart  of  the  city.  The  peculiar  beou- 
ties  and  utlraiaions  of  tile  Battery,  heightpned 
us  they  nri:  by  local  circumstances,  are  fam- 
iliar to  all  our  citizens,  and  daily  become  a 
theme  of  euloginm  in  the  mouth  of  every 
stranger,  esitecially  of  such  as  n|iproaeli  tho 
city  by  water;  nnd  its  history  is  too  intimate- 
ly connected  with  that  of  our  revolutionary 
siruggle,  to  require  a  single  reniork.  But  the 
miKlest  Bowling-Orcen  (o  view  of  which  is 
given  on  the  opposite  pfgcji  's  involved  in 
somewhat  more  obscurity,  Trom  which  it  is 
our  present  |)nrpose  to  rescue  it;  a  task  in 
which  we  feel  the  more  interest,  as  there  is 
some  reiison  to  hope  that  it  moy  some  day  bo- 
come  the  site  of  a  magnificont  monument,  the 
ornament  and  pride  of  that  section  of  the  city. 

Historians  inform  us  that  in  the  year  H>20, 
King  James  I.  gave  the  Dutch  permission  to 
build  some  cottages  on  the  bunks  of  the  Hud- 
son, for  the  convenience  of  their  vessels  en- 
gaged in  trade  with  Brazil ;  utid  that,  under 
this  license,  they  settled  a  colony,  nnd  erected 
a  strong  fort  on  the  southwestern  point  of  the 
island  Manhattan.  Tliis  fortress  was  calleii 
Fort  Amsterdam,  which  was  indeed  the  name 
given  by  these  first  settlers  to  the  whole 
island.  But  more  than  half  «  century  after- 
ward, when  the  English  had  bv  treaty  obtniii- 
ed  permanent  j)ossession  of  the  country,  the 
name  of  the  colony  was  changed  to  New  York, 
in  honor  of  the  original  patentee,  the  duke  of 
York,  brother  to  Chories  II.  Whether  the 
fort  W..S'  -.Uered,  improved,  orentircly  rebuilt, 
by  the  English,  we  are  not  informed;  but  ear- 
ly in  the  reign  of  George  I.  wc  find  a  fortress, 
on  the  same  site,  denominated  Fort  George, 
within  the  walls  of  which  was  the  governor's 
residence,  the  secretary's  office,  and  a  house 


'=ift?USaJSsU>!.>a 


WR^- 


Ic  can  ci|iml  thi*  ml- 
•  »(irt<»t  down  lit"  llt« 
irii|inri'  in  ilcliriiry  to 
r  liirrm  frdiii  iIm-  Niun- 
»|iliiiiliil  rtirvo,  liiTr 
iiliiinn  in  hx  iWsvrut, 
in  alitf'TinL'  HpiirklfH, 

\\p,  liirf^i'st  ntiil  lii^licHt 
iy  is  tlio  iiM)!*t  Kjilcii- 


NG-GIIKEN. 

)i)pnlotic)n,  the  natnrnl 
itnmorcinl  prosixrity, 
Hijot.^  to  rhoiT  tne  eye 
(loriics'i  of  brick  niiil 
10  Bottrry,  Bowling- 
re  ii)l  thnl  exist  in  the 
.  The  pccniinr  lirnu- 
10  Battery,  hei/ihtencd 
'cumstnncen,  nre  fam- 
,  nnd  (liiily  bccoirm  a 

the  mnuih  of  every 
such  as  npproiw'h  the 
listory  is  too  intimato- 
t  of  (inr  rcvolntionary 
iigle  ri'innrh.     But  tlie 

(a  vii^w  of  which  is 
iia^e),  is  involved  in 
rity,  from  which  it  is 
>  rescHo  it ;  a  task  in 

0  interest,  as  there  is 
it  it  may  some  day  be- 
lifirunt  monument,  the 
hilt  section  of  the  city, 
that  in  the  year  KWO, 
!  Dutih  pcrniisMion  to 
the  liinikHof  the  Hnd- 
r-e  of  their  vessels  en- 
rnzil ;  and  thnt,  under 

1  n  colon V,  nnd  erected 
rhwesteru  point  of  the 
his  forrrcss  wiis  called 
li  was  iiiileeil  the  nonio 
settlers  to  the  whole 
I  liidf  rt  c(>ntury  afrcr- 
1  hud  by  treaty  obtniii- 
on  of  the  conntry,  the 
clinnged  to  New  York, 

patentee,  the  duke  of 
■les  II.  Wiielher  the 
ved,  or  entirely  rebuilt, 
not  informed ;  but  eur- 
je  I.  we  find  a  fortress, 
)minated  Fort  George, 
ieh  was  the  governor's 
^'s  uilice,  and  a  house 


ft** 


11 


498 


THE  BOWLINQ-OaEEN. 


of  worship,  called  the  King's  chapel ;  which 
buildings,  together  with  an  extensive  range 
of  barracks  and  stables  outside  the  walls,  were 
all  destroyed  by  fire  at  the  commencement 
of  the  celebrated  negro  plot,  in  the  year  1741. 

Fort  George  stood  at  the  lower  extremity 
of  Broadway,  on  a  commanding  eminence, 
which  has  since  been  levelled ;  its  former  site 
being  now  partially  occupied  by  a  row  of 
hnndsome  brick  buildings,  south  of  the  Bowl- 
ing-Green,  and  fronting  on  State  street.  The 
original  jiosition  of  the  southwest  bastion  of 
this  celebrated  citadel  was  designated,  not 
many  yeors  since,  by  a  marble  monument, 
erected  for  that  purpose,  near  the  centre  of 
the  Battery  promenade.  Why  a  landmark 
of  so  much  interest  to  the  antiijuary  and  his- 
torian has  been  since  removed  or  destroyed, 
we  are  at  present  unable  to  say  |  we  only- 
know  that  "  it  was,  and  is  not." 

In  front  of  the  fort  was  an  open  field,  where 
the  colonial  soldiers  used  to  parade,  and  which, 
from  its  proximity  to  a  market,  was  subse- 
quently denominated  "  Market  Field."  Hence 
the  derivation  of  Marketfield  street,  recently 
and  more  appropriately  changed,  by  the  cor- 
poration of  this  city,  to  that  of  Battery  place. 
This  field  was  first  enclosed  with  a  plain  pale- 
fence,  of  irregular  oblong  figure  ;  which,  ly- 
ing directly  in  front  of  the  fort,  was  anything 
but  an  ornament  to  the  eye  of  those  who  ap- 
proached the  governor's  mansion  within  the 
walls.  A  part  of  this  field  now  constitutes 
the  Bowling-Green,  which  derived  its  appel- 
lation from  having  been  appropriated,  as  a 
place  of  amusement,  to  the  game  of  "  bowls," 
more  comuionly  called  "  nine-pins.'' 

During  the  riotous  proceedings  which  took 
place  in  almost  every  part  of  the  country,  in 
opposition  to  the  celebrated  stamp-act,  this  spot 
was  selected  by  the  whigsof  New  York  for  the 
scene  of  one  of  their  patriotic  achievements. 
On  the  first  of  November,  in  the  year  1765, 
the  day  on  which  the  noxious  act  was  to  go 
into  operation,  a  great  concourse  of  people 
assembled  in  the  evening,  proceeded  to  Fort 
George,  took  out  the  governor's  carriage,  and 
after  drawing  it  through  the  principal  streets, 
marched  to  the  common  (the  present  Park) 
where  a  gallows  had  been  previously  erected, 
on  which  they  suspendeed  his  effigy,  having 
in  his  right  hand  a  stamped  bill  of  lading,  and 
in  his  left  a  figure  intended  for  the  devil. 
After  it  had  hung  for  a  considerable  time, 
they  carried  it,  together  with  the  appendages 
and  the  gallows,  in  procession,  the  carriage 
preceding,  to  the  gate  of  the  fort,  and  thence 
to  the  Bowling-Green ;  where,  under  the 
very  muzzles  of  the  guns  of  the  fort,  they 
burnt  the  whole,  amid  the  acclamations  of 
some  thousands  of  spectators.  Ten  boxes  of 
stamps,  which  arrived  afterward  were  com- 


mitted to  the  flames,  on  the  same  spot,  by  the 
indignant  populace. 

In  the  year  1771,  the  present  ellipsis  was 
laid  out,  and  enclosed  with  an  iron  railing; 
which,  on  regulating  the  streets,  after  the 
revolution,  was  elevated  with  its  stone  foun- 
dation, about  eighteen  inches.  The  railing 
is  said  to  have  cost  eight  hundred  pounds,  or 
two  thousand  dollars,  which,  in  those  days  of 
simplicity  and  economy,  wos  no  inconsiderable 
sum.  The  original  design  of  this  enclosure 
was  the  protection  of  an  equestrian  statue  of 
George  III.  made  of  bronze  and  gilt ;  which, 
four  days  after  the  Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence, was  prostrated  by  the  boisterous  patriots 
of  those  times.  The  pediment  of  Rhode 
Island  marble,  with  its  defaced  inscription, 
remained  on  the  spot  until  within  a  few  years. 

This  beautiful  area  has  recently  been  occu- 
pied by  a  Croton  fountain.  The  unsightly 
pile  of  rocks  attoched  to  it,  however,  was 
deemed  such  a  blemish  that  the  common 
council  ordered  its  removal.  Whether  it  will 
be  replaced  by  a  fountain  whose  necessary 
fixtures  may  prove  a  greater  embellishment, 
or  be  appropriated  to  some  other  purpose,  we 
know  not.  At  any  rate  it  is  highly  suscepti- 
ble of  improvement  and  embellishment,  and 
must,  sooner  or  later,  claim  the  attention  of 
our  corporation  to  that  end.  While  the  royal 
statue  occupied  its  centre,  it  was  justly  con- 
sidered a  great  ornament  to  that  part  of  the 
city.  May  we  not  hope  to  see  the  deficiency 
supplied  by  an  equestrian  statue  of  the  father 
and  savior  of  his  country. 

In  the  view  which  accompanies  this  de- 
scription, is  included  part  of  Broadway  on 
the  right,  and  the  buildings  before  alluded  to 
on  the  left.  Between  these  is  seen  a  small 
secdon  of  the  battery  and  a  bird's  eye  glimpse 
of  the  bay  in  the  distance.  We  think  it  will 
be  acknowledged  a  faithful  delineation,  and 
highly  ornamental  to  the  present  volume. 


Something  for  all. — So  various  are  the 
appetites  of  animals  that  there  is  scorcely 
any  plant  which  is  not  chosen  by  sojne  and 
left  untouched  by  others ;  and  that  which  cer- 
tain animals  grow  fat  upon  others  abhor  as 
poison.  Hence  no  plant  is  absolutely  poison- 
ous, but  only  respectively.  Thus  the  spurge, 
that  is  noxious  to  man,  is  wholesome  nourish- 
ment to  the  caterpillar.  That  animals  mny 
not  destroy  themselves  for  want  of  knowing 
this  law,  each  of  them  is  guarded  by  such  a 
delicacy  of  taste  and  smell  that  they  can  easily 
distinguish  what  is  pernicious  from  what  is 
wholesome  ;  and  when  it  happens  that  diflTer- 
ent  animals  live  on  the  same  plants,  still  one 
kind  always  leaves  something  for  the  other,  as 
their  mouths  take  different  hold — by  which 
means  there  is  sufBcient  food  for  all. 


Ml      , 

u 


e  same  spot,  by  the 


resent  ellipsis  was 
th  an  iron  railing; 
streets,  after  the 
ifith  its  stone  foun- 
ches.  The  railing 
hundred  pounds,  or 
h,  in  those  dayt,  of 
as  no  inconsiderable 
n  of  this  enclosure 
questrian  statue  of 
;e  and  gilt ;  which, 
ation  of  Independ- 
i  boisterous  patriots 
sdiment  of  Rhode 
lefaccd  inscription, 
within  a  few  years, 
recently  been  oceu- 
n.     The  unsightly 

it,  however,  was 

that  the  common 
1.  Whether  it  will 
1  whose  necessary 
ter  embellishment, 
I  other  purpose,  we 

is  highly  suscepti- 
jmbeilishment,  and 
m  the  attention  of 
!.     While  the  royal 

it  was  justly  con- 
to  that  part  of  the 
-)  see  the  deficiency 
statue  of  the  father 

lompanies  this  de- 
;  of  Broadway  on 
:s  before  alluded  to 
ese  is  seen  a  small 
I  bird's  eye  glimpse 
We  think  it  will 
ul  delineation,  and 
iresent  volume. 

■So  various  are  the 
there  is  scarcely 
bosen  by  some  and 
and  that  which  cer- 
on  others  abhor  as 
!  absolutely  poison- 
Thus  the  spurjre, 
vholesome  nourish- 
That  animals  mny 
r  want  of  knowing 
ffuarded  by  such  a 
that  they  can  easily 
Dious  from  what  is 
lappens  that  difTer- 
me  plants,  still  one 
ling  for  the  other,  as 
nt  hold — by  which 
food  for  all. 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  THE  REV.  SPKNCER  H.  CONE,  D.  D. 


409 


BIOGRAPHICAL    SKETCH    OF   THE 


UKV.  SPENCER  H.  CONE,  D.  D., 

FASTOR  OP  TUB  FIRST  BAPTIST  CHURCH,  K.  T., 
AND  FIRST  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  AMERICAN 
BIBLE    UNION. 

Spkncf.r  Houghton  Cone  was  born  in 
Princeton,  New  Jersey,  April  30,  1785.  At 
the  eariy  age  of  twelve  years  he  was  pre- 
pared for  college,  and  entered  the  freshman 
class  of  olil  Nassau,  where  for  two  years  he 
prosecuted  his  studies  with  great  success.  At 
this  period,  the  insanity  of  his  father  obliged 
him  to  leave  college,  and  assume  the  support 
of  the  family.  For  a  short  period  he  was  the 
instructor  in  Latin  in  the  Princeton  Academy, 
and  subsequently  had  charge  of  the  sch(K)l  at 
Burlington,where among  otherscholars  he  pre- 
pared for  college  George  Wood,  who  has  since 
become  celebrated  as  one  of  the  most  distin- 
guished jurists  in  America.  Mr.  Cone  passed 
from  Burlington  to  Philadelphia  upon  the  in- 
vitation of  Dr.  Abercrombie,  to  become  his 
assistant  in  the  High  School,  and  remained 
with  l.im  till  he  was  twenty-one,  pursuing  the 
study  of  law  during  the  intervals  of  his  busi- 
ness. The  youthful  days  of  Dr.  Cone  were 
entirely  free  from  all  vicious  associations  and 
doubtful  principles.  He  was  a  young  man 
of  unquestionable  standing  in  social  life,  and 
of  invariably  upright  and  regular  character 
and  habits.  When  he  determined  to  go  upon 
the  boards,  ho  had  never  spent  an  hour  in  the 
society  of  actors,  nor  was  he  at  that  time  per- 
sonally acquainted  with  a  single  individual  of 
that  profession.  The  details  we  here  present 
to  our  readers  may  be  relied  upon  for  their 
literal  accuracy. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-one,  with  a  liberal 
education,  an  unblemished  reputation,  and 
with  a  mother  and  her  family  principally  de- 
pendent on  him  for  support,  as  before  re- 
marked, it  became  necessary  for  him  to  earn 
more  than  four  or  five  hundred  dollars  per 
year.  Judge  Leib,  with  whom  he  had  stud- 
ied law  for  a  year,  urged  him  to  make  the 
law  his  profession.  Dr.  Abercrombie  pressed 
him  to  study  for  the  ministry.  But  a  present 
support  was  needed,  and  young  Cone  turned  to 
the  stage.  Dr.  Abercrombie  gave  him  a  letter 
to  Mr.  Warren,  the  manager  of  the  Philadel- 
phia theatre,  ond  afterward  attended  the  re- 
hearsal of  "  Barbarossa,"  Mr.  Cone  playing 
Achmet.  This  he  did  that  he  might  give  him 
the  opinion  of  a  friend,  as  to  the  probabilities 
of  his  success  as  an  actor,  and  because  he  was 
not  willing  that  he  should  resign  his  situation 
in  the  Philadelphia  Academy  until  a  place 
coiiniianding  a  larger  salary  shoultl  be  secured. 
Those  who  knew  Dr.  Cone  will  not  doubt 
that  he  succeeded.     His  talents  and  acquire- 


ments, his  figure  and  voice,  his  high  bearing 
and  energy,  fitted  him  admirably  for  the  vo- 
cation which  he  had  chosen,  and  Mr.  Warren 
gave  him  an  engagement  which  produced  the 
young  actor  more  than  one  thousand  dollars 
the  first  year.  From  this  time  his  compensa- 
tion was  steadily  increased.  His  lost  engage- 
ment was  at  the  rate  of  thirty  dollars  ])cr 
week,  with  two  benefits,  one  in  Philadelphia 
and  another  in  Baltimore.  He  succeeded  as 
well,  and  made  as  much  money,  as  he  antici- 
pated. He  had  never  loved  the  profession ; 
indeed,  he  had  never  in  his  life  seen  a  dozen 
plays  performed  when  he  went  upon  the 
stage.  From  the  first  it  had  been  with  him 
a  mere  business  afiiiir,  and  in  1812  he  left  it, 
to  engage  in  pursuits  more  congenial  to  his 
tastes,  and  more  in  harmony  with  the  princi- 
ples in  which  he  had  been  educated — first  in 
the  large  printing-establishment  of  the  "  Bal- 
timore American,"  and  then  as  one  of  the  pro- 
prietors of  the  "  Baltimore  Whig."  His  con- 
nexion with  these  paj)ers  continued  from  1812 
to  1814,  during  which  time  he  gave  his  tal- 
ents and  energies  to  the  then  exciting  matters 
of  |)olitics  and  war.  Here  too  he  served  as  a 
lieutenant  in  the  corps  of  sharp-shooters,  and 
then  ascaptain  of  the  Union  artillery  company. 

Early  in  1814,  it  pleased  God  "to  bring 
him  out  of  darkness  into  his  marvellous  light," 
and  on  the  fourth  day  of  February  of  that 
year  he  was  baptized  in  the  Patajjsco  l)y  Rev. 
Lewis  Richards,  and  became  a  member  of 
the  First  bapti.st  church  in  Baltimore.  He 
made  the  earliest  practicable  arrangements 
for  the  sale  of  the  whig  paper  and  printing- 
office,  and,  while  engaged  in  winding  up  the 
aHiiirs  of  the  firm  of  Cone  and  Norvell,  taught 
a  select  school  of  thirty  scholars.  Early  in 
1815,  he  received  an  appointment  in  the  treas- 
ury department  at  Washington,  and  removed 
to  that  city. 

We  now  see  Mr.  Cone  entering  the  sacred 
calling  to  which  his  life  has  from  that  time 
been  devoted.  In  1815,  he  was  ordained  to 
the  work  of  the  ministry.  A  young  man  of 
brilliant  powers,  for  many  years  conspicuous 
as  an  actor  or  an  editor,  with  the  advantages 
of  a  wide  acquaintance  and  social  connexions 
of  established  respectability,  he  attracted  im- 
mediate attention,  and  crowds  hung  upon  his 
lips.  The  memory  still  lingers  in  many  breasts, 
of  the  occasion  when  he  arose  in  Dr.  Staugh- 
ton's  pulpit,  in  Philadelphia,  in  the  midst  of 
an  immense  throng  who  had  been  called  to- 
gether by  the  announcement  of  his  presence, 
and,  as  if  conscions  of  the  motives  which  ruled 
in  their  hearts,  opened  the  service  by  reading, 
as  only  he  could  read,  the  hymn  commencing 

'"Tlie  wondering  world  Inquires  to  know. 
Why  I  should  love  my  Je«u«  so  1" 


mm 


1  i 


h 


500 


BIOGRAPHY  CF  THE  REV.  SPENCER  H.  CONE,  D.  D. 


Ill  December  of  that  year,  the  young  Chris- 
tiun  orator  was  elected  chapliiin  of  the  house 
of  rcpri'si'ntuiives,  and  served  during  the  ses- 
sion. The  ac(|iinintance  with  public  men 
■A  hich  he  formed  during  his  political  and  early 
miiii-teriiil  lift;  he  continued  to  maintain,  and, 
oiihough  he  mingled  not  at  all  in  political  af- 
i'airs.  he  maintained  till  death  the  democratic 
principles  and  sympathies  of  his  early  life. 

In  1810,  he  preuched  to  the  Alexandria 
baptist  church,  and  became  their  pastor.  Du- 
ring the  seven  years  following,  he  travelled 
and  jireached  cxtensivcdy  in  Maryland  and  Vir- 
ginia, frecpiently  visiting  Philadelphia,  New 
York,  and  other  ))luces,  and  finally  settled 
with  the  Oliver-street  church  in  this  city  in 
May,  18J3,  now  more  thanthirty  years  ago. 

On  the  1st  of  .luly,  1841,  Dr.  Cone  accoi)t- 
ed  the  unanimous  call  of  the  First  baptist 
church  in  this  city,  and  continued  as  their 
pastor  till  his  decease,  on  the  28th  of  August. 
1855.  During  his  long  ministerial  life,  he  oc- 
cupied many  of  the  most  important  oftit^es  of 
trust  ond  responsibility  connected  with  the 
baptist  denotnination.  In  their  public  bodies 
ho  was  alinost  invariably  called  upon  to  pre- 
side, and  his  (lualiricatfons  for  such  duties 
were  universally  allowed  to  be  unsurpassed, 
if  not  unequalled.  Some  of  the  offices  which 
iie  held  were  the  following:  For  nine  con- 
secutive years  he  presided  over  the  Baptist 
Triennial  Convention  ;  for  thirteen  years,  over 
the  American  and  Ft)reign  Bible  Society ; 
from  its  origin,  in  1850,  till  his  death,  over 
the  American  Bible  Union.  For  many  years 
he  was  chairman  of  the  board  of  the  Ameri- 
can Baptist  Home  Mission  Society,  and  was 
almost  invariably  chosen  moderat-r  of  the  as- 
sociation with  which  he  was  ecclesiastically 
connected.  In  these  various  capacities,  he 
was  always  noted  for  unflinching  integrity, 
impartiality,  sound,  practical  judgment,  dig- 
nity and  urbanity  of  manner,  and  a  graceful 
ease  ami  confidence  arising  from  long  famil- 
iarity with  the  forms  of  business  and  skill  in 
the  management  of  public  bodies. 

How  circumspectly  he  lived  during  his  long 
ministry  in  this  city — how  eloiiuentljr  he  pro- 
claimed the  unsearchable  richesof  divine  grace 
— how  broadly  he  made  his  influence  felt  in 
the  great  work  of  evangelizing  the  world — we 
need  not  here  record.  Nor  can  we  without 
impro|)riety  narrate  the  charity  of  his  private 
life,  or  dwell  on  what  we  know  of  the  magna- 
nimity of  his  intercourse  with  his  brethren. 

Dr.  Cone  was  eminent  in  talent ;  distin- 
guished by  office  ;  extensively  influential  from 
ability,  position,  and  the  force  of  providential 
circumstances :  but  that  which  gave  weight 
and  solidity  to  his  character,  and  was  most 
marked  in  all  his  conduct  and  conversatitm, 
was  his  invincible  intkority.     This  trait, 


fixed  and  developed  at  the  earliest  age,  and 
subsp(iuently  matured,  nnd  strengthened,  and 
beautified  by  grace,  made  him  (as  <leeliired  by 
Rev.  S.  H.  Cox,  D.  D.,  when  speaking  at  his 
funeral)  "a  pillar  or  okanitk." 

We  may  remark,  in  concluding  this  brief 
sketch,  that  Dr.  C(me  was  never  without  ,ii- 
gugements  for  one  week  from  1799,  when  he 
left  coll('a;e — engagements  which  not  only  sus- 
tained himself,  but  aided  those  who  were  de- 
pendent upon  him.  Industry,  energy  which 
never  tired,  were  always  among  his  leading 
and  characteristic  traits.  His  going  upon  the 
stage  surprised  and  grieved  all  his  friends  at 
the  time — and  he  had  many  friends,  both  in 
the  church  and  out  of  it.  His  mother  be- 
longed to  the  First:  baptist  church,  Philadel- 
phia, then  under  the  pastoral  cure  of  the  Kev. 
Dr.  Staughton.  She  was  a  lady  of  superior 
worth,  and  many  yet  alive  remctnbir  how, 
for  many  long  years,  as  regularly  us  liic  sub- 
bath  came,  she  leaned  upon  the  unn  of  her 
son,  to  wait  upon  the  ministry  of  her  eio(|uent 
and  revered  pastor.  Mr.  Cone  never  gave  or 
felt  any  reason  for  going  upon  the  boards  ex- 
cept the  necessity  of  increasing  his  income. 
We  do  not  justify  the  reason — neither  ilid  he 
— but  it  is  proper  to  state  the  fuct.  And  so 
far  from  its  being  true  that  his  conversion  was 
occasioned  by  his  escape  from  the  flatms  of 
the  Richmond  theatre,  his  first  visit  to  that 
city  was  to  fulfil  an  appointment  to  preach, 
and  the  Monumental  church  then  stood  upon 
the  site  of  the  edifice  which  had  been  the 
scene  of  that  dreadful  conflagration. 

We  close  this  occount  with  the  following 
justly-deserved  tribute  to  his  eminent  tulentu 
and  usefulness,  copied  from  one  of  our  month- 
lies of  a  date  anterior  to  his  decease  : — 

"  Dr.  Cone  is  a  great  favorite,  and  universally 
popular,  with  all  who  visit  his  church ;  and  has 
long  been  celebrated  and  favorably  known  as  one 
of  the  principal  pillars  of  his  persuasion  throu^di- 
out  the  United  States.  He  has  taken  a  great  in- 
terest in  the  cause  of  Forkion  Missions,  and  all 
the  philanthropic  and  Christian  objects  of  tJie  day, 
and  has  on  most  occasions  l>e('u  elected  moderator 
of  the  national  conventions  of  the  baptist  church. 
For  his  exertions  in  the  cnuse  of  human  ])rot;ress, 
and  for  his  endeavors  to  (dovatc  to  a  happier  state 
the  poor  and  friendless,  the  ignorant  and  unedu- 
cated, ho  has  won  'golden  opinions,'  not  only 
from  the  members  of  his  own  chureli,  but  from 
every  religious  denomination,  lie  is,  in  a  word, 
one  who  works  not  for  a  man,  but  for  all  mankind. 

"  The  style  of  Dr.  Cone  is  marked  and  strikinj;; 
— his  wonts  arc  well  chosen,  and  each  one  is 
placed  in  a  position  where  it  will  produce  tho 
most  'telling'  effect.  His  thoughts  are  alwoys 
couched  in  beautiful  language,  and  his  sermons 
replete  with  interesting  and  instructive  matter, 
In  his  manner  there  is  a  force  and  earnestness 
which  speak,  in  language  more  potent  than  words, 
the  emotions  and  feelings  of  his  soul." 


earliest  af;c,  nriil 
trenjitherii'd,  nnd 
n  (as  (It'cliired  by 
n  speaking  at  liis 

NITK." 

lading  tliis  brief 
lever  without  iii- 
n  1799,  wlicii  he 
liich  not  only  sus- 
ise  who  were  de- 
•y,  energy  whirii 
nong  his  leudiMg 
is  going  upon  tiie 
all  his  friends  nt 
y  friends,  both  in 
His  mother  be- 
hnreh,  Philiidel- 
1  cure  of  the  Rev. 
lady  of  .siipeiior 
retneriilicr  how, 
ilarly  us  tlie  sub- 
1  the  arm  of  her 
y  of  her  eloijucut 
me  never  gave  or 
)n  the  boards  ex- 
sing  his  ineoine. 
1 — neither  did  he 
he  fact.  And  so 
is  conversion  was 
im  the  flames  of 
first  visit  to  that 
tment  to  preach, 
then  stooii  upon 
L;h  had  been  the 
Lgration. 

ith  the  following 
,s  eminent  talent* 
me  of  our  month- 
decease  : — 

te,  and  universally 
chureh ;  and  has 
abl^  known  as  one 
ersuasion  througli- 
s  taken  u  great  in- 
MissioNS,  and  all 
1  objects  of  tlie  day, 
I  elected  niodcrator 
the  baptist  ehurch. 
>f  human  progress, 
e  to  a  hapi)ier  state 
norant  and  unedu- 
pinions,'  not  only 
1  clmrch,  but  from 
lie  ib,  in  a  word, 
ut  for  all  mankind. 
Lurkcd  and  striking 
,  and  caeh  one  is 
t  will  produrc  tho 
9ughts  are  always 
!,  and  his  sermons 
instructive  matter. 
CO  and  earnestness 
potent  than  words, 
is  soul." 


JOHN  IIAMPDKN. 


501 


-^V^r 'V 


"^.^'-ll^. 


Jolm  Hampden's  lloaidencc. 


JOHN  HAMPDZN. 

This  illustrious  patriot  was  born  in  Londoii, 
in  1594,  of  a  very  ancient  family.     He  mani- 
fested an  early  love  of  letters,  and  was  edti- 
cat<;d    at    Magdalen    college,    Oxford,    after 
whicdl  he  studied  law  in  the  Inner  Temple. 
Loii.lon.     In  l(il9,  at  the  age  of  twenty-Hve. 
ho  married  Elizabeth,  daughter  ot  Kdmund 
Synieon,  lord  of  the  manor  of  Pyrton.     He 
was  soon  after  ekctod  to  parliament,  nnd  in 
l(i:3G,  had  the  boMness,  ahme  and  unsu|)ported. 
to  rj.sist  the  authority  of  the  king  in  levyum 
ship-money— an  abuie  of  power  which  hud 
been  abrogated   by  Magna  Charta.     Though 
he  lo.st  his  cause,  the  spirit  and  courage  he 
manifesii-d  won  for  him  unboundeil  popularity. 
Thus  i)roclaime<l  by  the  people's  voice  n  pa- 
triot, he  was  now  regardeil  as  the  leader  of 
the  popidar  piirtv  in  the  himse  of  eommoris 
'  against  the  king."    In  1037,  we  find  him,  in 
company  with  Oliver  ('romwell,  .John  I'ytii, 
nnd  other  |)uritans,  embiirkeil  on  board  a  .ship 
111  tho  Thames,    about  to  sail  for  America; 
but  a  ])r(iclamati'in  froin  the  king  com)>elled 
them  to  abandcni  the  design  of  fleeing  from 
the  tyrannies  and  )>ersecutioii8  to  which  their 
sentiments  expooed  them. 


In  IfilO,  John  Hampden  was  formally  ac 
cused  of  high  treason  by  the  king,  together 
with  several  others  of  the  popular  leaders  : 
but   the   commons  refused  to    surrender   the 
accus(<il,  and  the  king,  apprehensive  of  dan- 
ger from  the  enrageil  multitude,  sought  sniity 
m  flight.     On  the   breaking  out  of  the  civil 
war,  the  year  following,   Hamiiden  took   np 
arms  in  defence  of  the  rights  of  the  people. 
In  the  ficlil   he  shi>wed   himself  c(nirageo\is, 
intrepid  and  active,  hut  his  career  in   '^lory 
was  soim  cut  sliort  bv  a  farnl  wound  which  he 
received  on  the    field  of  Ch»l','rove.   on  the 
morning  of  .Inne  18,  T>4.1.     He  survived  but 
a  few  days,  but  his  dying  words  were  worthy 
of  his  imre  principles  and  his  noble  life.     ••() 
Lord,"    he   murmured,  "save    my   bleeding 
country;  have  these  realms  in  thy  especial 
kee|)ing.     Confound    and    level    in    the    du.st 
those  who  would  rob  the  people  of  their  liber- 
ty and  lawful  inerogatives.     Let  the  kitig  see 
his  error,  and  turn  the  hearts  of  his  wiekeo 
counsellors  from  the  malice  and   wiikedness 
of  their  designs.      Lord  Jesus,  receive  my 

soul!"  .       .     /^      . 

The  manor-house  of  the  patriot,  in  (ireat 

Hompden  parish,  is  .still  standing,  as  i.s  shown 

in  our  engraving.     M  rs.  S.  C .  Hall,  who  late- 


rr 


III 

if 


502 


JOHN  HAMPDEN. 


Hampdcu'a  Moiiumout, 


ly  visited  it,  thus  speaks  of  its  present  ap- 
pearance :  "  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  any- 
thing more  still  than  this  hallowed  spot,  hid 
away  at  the  back  of  that  chalky  range,  the 
Chilterns,  which  bound  on  on.5  side  the 
rich  vale  of  Aylcabury.  The  flower-garden, 
through  which  we  ])a8sed,  seemed  as  if  called 
into  exi!>tence  by  the  wand  of  the  enchanter  ; 
the  lingering  roses,  the  heavy-headed  dahlias, 
the  bright-toned  autumn  flowers,  looked  so 
lonely  in  their  beauty.  We  almost  fearet!  to 
speak  in  such  deep  solitude.  A  human  foot- 
step, the  bark  of  a  dog,  the  song  of  a  bird, 
the  tinkle  of  a  sheep-bell,  would  have  been  a 
relief — until  we  had  drank  deeply  of  the  spirit 
of  the  place,  and  then,  as  thoughts  and  mem- 
ories crowded  around  us,  we  felt  the  luxuries 
of  the  solemn  quiet,  and  that  sound  here 
would  be  as  sacrilege.  Passing  a  low  sort 
of  postern  entrance,  we  walked  beneath  an 
arch,  starred  over  by  jessamine,  and  stood  in 
front  of  the  extensive  mansion,  added  to  and 
enlarged  by  various  proi)rietors,  and  at  one 
time  disj)laying  some  goodly  architecture  of 
the  age  of  Elizabeth ;  the  stucco,  as  if  ashamed 
of  its  usurpation,  beginning  to  drop  away  from 
the  red  brick  of  which  the  house  is  built. 
Save  the  '  natural  decay'  which  must  progress 
in  all  uninhabited  dwellings,  we  saw  nothing 
that  told  of  the  '  ruin'  which  comes  of  care- 
lessness or  neglect." 

Chalgrove  field,  on  which  Hampden  re- 
ceived his  death-wound,  is  about  twelve  miles 
from  Oxford.  It  is  a  large  open  plain,  inter- 
sected by  cross  roads,  as  seen  in  our  second 
engraving.  "  It  was  allotted  in  diflerent  ap- 
pointments some  time  since,"  says  Professor 
Fuirholt,  "  and  the  spot  where  the  monument 
is  erected  was  appropripted  to  Dr.  Hampden, 
now  bishop  of  Hereford,  a  descendant  of  the 
patriot.     The  monument  is  of  brick,  coated 


with  stone.  It  is  in  an  unfinished  condition 
as  far  as  the  original  design  is  concerned, 
which  was,  to  have  ornamented  this  pedestal 
with  an  obelisk  seventeen  feet  high,  omitted 
—for  want  of  funds.  As  the  pedestal  now 
stands,  it  is  about  fifteen  feet  wide  on  each 
side.  The  east  side  has  a  sculptured  medal- 
lion fijpure  of  Hampden,  with  his  motto, 
Vestigia  nulla  rctrorsum  ;  the  some  motto 
with  his  arms  on  the  west  side ;  the  south 
side  is  dev'oted  to  the  names  of  those  who 
subscribed  to  this  memarial,  and  is  dated 
'June  18,  18i3.'  The  north  side  has  a  long 
inscription,  setting  forth  that '  this  stone  was 
raised  in  reverence  to  his  memory,'  in  the 
'  two  hundredth  year'  from  the  day  on  which 
he  received  his  death-wound.  It  is  a  jioor 
and  paltry  affair ;  conferring  a  renown  by  no 
means  enviable  upon  the  wealthy  noblemen 
and  gentlemen  who  erected  a  miserable  monu- 
ment and  left  it  unfinished." 


Let  those  who  dare  stigmatize  the  most  im- 
portant of  all  pursuits,  by  insinuating  that 
there  is  no  connexion  between  the  cultivation 
of  the  earth  a:'d  that  of  the  mind,  deny,  if 
they  can,  these  truths  :  "  Matters  of  in- 
quiry on  subjects  connected  v/ith  ogricullure 
are  obsolutely  as  boundless  as  the  i)hj'sicul 
history  of  the  earth  which  we  inhabit.  Ev- 
ery year  is  making  new  discoveries  in  the 
diversities  of  soil — of  the  elements  of  which 
it  is  comjwsed — of  the  quantity  of  the  dif- 
ferent ))art8  which  enter  into  the  composition 
— of  the  growth  of  plants — of  what  tliey 
owe  to  the  air  or  to  the  elements  of  which 
it  is  formed — to  the  light  or  to  its  elements — 
to  electricity,  and  all  the  agencies  in  vegeta- 
tion by  which,  in  the  wonderful  laboratory 
of  Nature,  the  grain  produ  ,es  fruit  after  its 
kind,  and  the  small  seed  becomes  a  great  tree." 


^ 


inished  condition 
;n  is  concerned, 
ted  this  pedestal 
:et  high,  omitted 
he  pedestal  now 
eet  wide  on  each 
:ulpturcd  medal- 
with  his  motto, 
the  same  motto 

side ;  the  south 
Bs  of  those  who 
il,  and  is  dated 
1  side  has  a  long 
; '  this  stone  was 
memory,'  in  the 
he  day  on  which 
d.     It  is  a  poor 

a  renown  by  no 
ealthy  noblemen 
miserable  nionu- 


tize  the  most  im- 
insinunting  that 
n  the  cultivation 
)  mind,  deny,  if 
'  Matters  of  in- 
with  agriculture 

as  the  physical 
ve  inhabit.  Ev- 
scoveries  in  the 
sments  of  which 
titity  of  the  dif- 

the  composition 
— of  what  they 
ments  of  which 
to  its  elements — 
sncies  in  vegeta- 
erful  laboratory 
es  fruit  after  its 
nes  a  great  tree." 


APPROBATION. 


To  obtain  praise,  distinction,  or  eclat,  in 
some  of  their  many  forms,  is  unquestionably 
one  of  the  most  |)rovalt'nt  motives  of  human 
action,  although,  in  the  judgment  of  the 
moralist  a  secondary  one.  Undoubtedly, 
while  the  value  of  higher  motives  may  be 
fully  nckTiowledged,  this  one  has  not  been 
crculcl  without  a  wise  and  good  purpose. 
At  least,  we  may  see  very  clearly  that  it  dai- 
ly and  hourly  acts  beneficially,  where  appa- 
rently, no  higher  motive  would  operate  at  all. 
It  is,"  l)csides,  oik;  of  the  Strongest  of  the  so- 
cial impulses,  heljiing  to  make  men  mutually 
depeniltiit,  and  to  excite  their  aftections  to- 
ward each  other.  I  am  afraid  it  would  be 
rather  an  unamiable  world,  albeit  a  virtuous 
one,  where  no  one  courted  or  cared  for  the 
good  opinion  of  his  neighbor. 

It  is  necessary,  however,  to  discriminate, 
by  nice  and  rigid  limits,  the  legitimate  sphere 
of  praise  in  the  social  scene.     To  be  anima- 
ted in  all  doings  and  sayings,  all  outgoings  and 
incomings,  merely  by  a  calculation  of  the  ef- 
fect M  'nch  each  movement  will  have  in  secu- 
ring  "      approbation  of  mortal  men,  would 
be  deplo.   '\.      The  conduct  of  any  one  so 
animated  w.  J.d  be  utter  hollowness  and  imi- 
tation ;   and   in  the  garden  of  his  mind  the 
hardy  jilants  of  sterling  integrity  and  honor, 
to  speak  of  nothing  else,  would  find  not  one 
part'  ;lc  of  congenial  soil.      It  is  even  neces- 
sary to  be  able  to  act,  not  (mly  without  any 
view  to  the  praise  of  men,  but  with  the  de- 
liberate expectation  of  exciting  their  suspi- 
cion and  disapprobation — for  many  occasions 
arise  in  life  where  we  only  can  act  well  in- 
curring these  disadvantages.     The  difficulty 
is  to  know  when,  and  how  far,  acting  under 
the  influence  of  love  of  approbation  is  allow- 
able, and  to  distinguish  the  proper  occasions 
when  higher  principle  demands  that  that  ob- 
1  ject  be  thrown  aside.     We  often  see  individ- 
I  uals  ac»iuft  in  sach  a  way  as  to  excite  deris- 
ion and  blame,  in  matters  perfectly  indiffer- 
ent— martyring  themselves,  in  short,  for  a 
caprice  or  a  chimera.    Or  they  are  so  anx- 
ious to  avoid  the  appearance  of  caring  for 
the  good  opinion  of  their  fellow-creatures, 
that  they  habitually,  in  all  things,  important 
and  unimportant,  take  some  absurd  way  of 
their  own,  merely  because  it  is  their  own. 
These  are  follies  which  the  considerate  man 
holds  at  a  distance  from  him.    On  the  other 
hand,    those   who  act    too  exclusively   for 
praise  are  equally  liable  to  both  censure  and 
ridicule.     There  is,  in  the   first  place,  the 
fawning   and   fussy  manner,  the   too  much 
bowing,  and   sraihng,  and  wringing  of  the 
hands,  the  over-eagerness  to  give  satisfaction 
— all  conveying  the  impression  of  a  want  of 


monliness,  natural  dignity,  and  indc|)endenco. 
Then  there  is  the  utter  inability  of  such  a 
person  to  face  any  matter  of  principle  that  is 
unpopular,  or  perhaps  that  has  popular  sup- 
port only.  The  perfection  of  conduct  in 
this  respect  would  be  to  entertain  a  moderate 
wish  to  stand  well  with  the  worid,  and  to 
act  generally  with  a  regard  to  its  oTini(>n, 
particularly  m  all  minor  matters,  and  where 
no  important  principle  is  concerned  ;  but  to 
be  ready,  when  any  occasion  arose,  to  act 
independently  of  a  regard  to  the  immediate 
approbation  of  the  world. 

Some   jiersons  have,  from  nature  or  the 
conditions  in  which  they  live,  so  active  a  love 
of  approbation  that  it  may  almost  be  sold  to 
amount  to  a  tonnent.     It  will  scarcely  be  be- 
lieved,  yet  it  is  strictly  true,   that  a  man 
high  in  position  and  jmblic  respect  was  liable 
to  be  disconcerted  for  a  day,  if  by  chance 
any  stranger  whom  he  met   cast   what   he 
thought  a  discourteous  or  supercilious  look  at 
him.     This  individual  shrunk  from  society, 
for  no  other  reason  that  could  be  observed, 
thon  that  he  did  not  in  general  obtain  that 
flattering  attention  which  was  necessary  to 
put  him  at  ease  with  himself.    He  was  mis- 
taken by  half  of  his  fellow-townsmen  for  a 
proud  oiid  distant  man,  when  his  rnisfortune 
was  only  the  want  of  a  self-sustoining  pride. 
There  are  professions  peculiarly  calculated  to 
nourish  this  slavish  dependence  on  praise  and 
admiration,  particularly  those  which  may  be 
called  artistic,  as  that  of  the  painter,  the  lit- 
erary man,  and,  more  than  all,  of  the  actor. 
Love    of   approbation   is   unquestionably   a 
powerful  prompter  toward  these  professions, 
so  that  it  may  be  presumed  of  most  men  who 
adopt  them,  that  they  begin  with  a  stock  of 
the  feeling  above  the  average.      To  this  the 
actual  dependence  of  their  status  and  bread 
on  popular  applause,  and  their  constantly  act- 
ing with  a  view  to  obtain  it,  give  an  unusual 
degree  of  exercise.     It  is  thus  brought  to  be 
the  master-feeling  of  their  character.     They 
gloat  upon  laudatory  criticisms,  and  sicken  at 
a  paragraph  insinuating  the  least  censure.   A 
hiss  goes  to  the  player's  heart  like  a  death- 
blow ;  and  the  poet'o  soul,  that  fiery  particle, 
is,  strange  to  say,  "  snufTed  out  by  an  article." 
Hence  that  irritability  of  poets  which  has 
become  proverbial,  but  which  might  be  ex- 
tended to  all  kinds  of  men  who  present  fine 
intellectual  productions  to  the  public,  with  a 
view  to  obtaining  praise.      Worst  of  all,  the 
excessive  keenness  of  each  man  for  praise  to 
himself  is  very  opt  to  raise  a  jealousy  as  to 
the  praises  bestowed  on  his  brethren  in  an. 
Hence  the  dreadful  wars  which  sometimes 
take  place  among  musicians,  the  quarrels  ()f 
authors,  and  so  forth.      It  is  painful  to  think 
of  the  bad  feelings  which  have  been  called 


•-!3^^ipf'^^»mfe-*5»t  ^ 


«.. 


,'■ 


forth,  first  nnd  last,  nmnng  men  of  tlic  h\<ih- ; 
f»t     iiilillrclual     attniiitnents,    tliroujjh     tliis  ' 
cimse.     It  is  II  fau8(!  whidi  inay  bo  n'ccivcd  i 
us  soirie  n|H)l(i;ry  to  the  rest  of  mHukiiul  for 
the  horrililo  coiitoritions  of  t.'ii;  ingenious;  l)ut 
I  lie  inj^cnious  .should  also  be  aware   that  tal-  i 
eiits  may  be  exerted  for  reasons  superior  even  i 
to  a  geiicrous  love  of  praise.     Tlie  prncliee  ' 
of  I  lie  art  ilself — the  high  privilege  of  lieinij  ' 
able  to  exeogitute  fine  thought  and  beautiful  , 
forms   that   may  hup  to  live  for  ever — the 
sense  of  being  able   to  contribute   in   some 
small  degree  to  the  improvement  of  iiuinkind, 
or  to  the  alleviation  of  the   siek  and  weary 
days  which  numy  are  destined  to  endure — 
may    lie    mentioned     among    these    r(-usons. 
Akenside  has  ex|)ressed  the  love  of  the  ar- 
tist (using  this  word  in  an  extended  sense)  for 
glory,  in  two  stanzas  shot  like  bolts  straight 
from  tlie  heart,  on  hearing  a  sermon  against 
that  favorite  object  of  human  wishes  : — 

"Come,  then,  toll  me,  sngc  divine, 
Is  it  an  oliciiie  to  own 
'J'liiil  our  iVcliiigs  e'er  iutline 
Towiiiil  ininioiliil  glory's  throne  ? 
For  with  me  nor  ])()nip  nor  plciisiire, 
Bourbon's  niight,  Brag;inza  s  treasure, 
So  can  Kunty's  ilreuni  rejoice, 
'J'o  cuuciliitte  Reason's  clioice, 
As  one  approving  word  of  her  delightful  voice. 

"  If  to  spam  at  noble  praise, 
He  the  passport  to  thy  heaven. 
Follow  thou  those  gloomy  ways — 
No  sui;h  lliought  to  me  was  given  ; 
Nor,  I  trust,  sliiill  1  deplore  me, 
Faring  '.ike  my  friends  before  inc, 
Nor  u  better  place  desire 
Thau  Timoleon's  arms  require, 
Or  Tally's  curuie  choir,  or  MUlon's  golden  Ij're  !" 

Here  speaks  the  true  poet.  Such  earnest 
and  such  natural  feeling  must  everywhere 
meet  sympathy.  Yet  if  the  divine  only 
placed  this  said  love  of  the  "  approving  word" 
below  some  higher  motives,  we  can  not  but 
acknowledge,  in  sober  reason,  that  he  was 
right. 

It  is  almost  as  nice  a  matter  to  know  how, 
when,  and  in  what  measure,  to  give  praise,  as 
to  act  ujion  the  just  medium  with  respect  to 
looking  for  and  receiving  it.  Some  never 
give  any  praise  ;  that  is  unamiable.  Others 
give  a  great  deal  too  much;  that  may  be 
something  as  bad.  The  characters  of  both, 
the  party  who  is  in  the  way  of  praising,  and 
the  party  who  is  in  the  way  of  being  praised, 
call  fur  consideration  before  we  judge  of  ei- 
thei'.  The  habit  of  never  or  rarely  giving 
praise,  even  where  it  is  due  and  might  do 
good,  may  proceed  from  a  coldness  of  nature, 
and  will  then  be  justly  censurable  ;  but  it 
may  lie  only  the  result  of  reserved  and  difH- 
dent  habits,  in  which  case  it  is  to  be  excused  ; 
or  it  may  be  the  cflect  of  a  deliberate  convic- 


tion that  all  praise  does  harm,  wh.  n,  of 
(uiiirse,  we  must  set  it  down  as  an  error  of 
judgment.  The  opposite  extreme  of  too 
much  and  too  freipirnt  praise — in  short,  flat- 
tery, detested  as  the  wnnl  i.s — is  also  noi  tn 
be  nt  once  and  eoneliisively  (iiiidi'mne<l. 
When  it  arises  from  directly  interested  \  iiws, 
or  aims  only  at  jilayiiig  on  n  weak  pnint  in 
the  character  of  a  fellow-creature,  there  is 
not  a  word  to  be  said  in  arrest  of  \n  Igment ; 
but  llattcry  sometimes  ])roeeeds  t'roin  a  be- 
nevolent, although  it  may  be  'iiindicious, 
wish  to  giv(^  ]ileasure;  scjnietimes  it  is  the 
genuine  restdl  of  a  veneralive  over-estima- 
tion of  its  (object,  or  an  exaggerated  notion  of 
the  merits  to  which  it  refers.  Here  then; 
may  be  error,  liut  there  is  not  ill  intention ; 
and  flattery  given  under  such  circumstances 
is  obviously  a  very  different  thing  from  the 
flattery  which  aims  at  betraying  or  tinning 
into  ridiciil(!.  There  is  also  a  flattery  which 
persons  of  u  social  disposition,  and  who  them- 
selves love  [iraise,  give  to  others,  in  order  to 
be  on  good  terms  with  them,  and  obtain  u 
good  opinion  and  ellusion  of  friendly  senti- 
ment in  return.  Here  the  motive  is  not  so 
good,  but  still  it  is  far  short  of  the  depravity 
of  a  treacherous  and  derisive  flattery.  When 
we  are,  then,  the  objects  of  llattery,  or  wit- 
ness its  being  administered  to  others,  we 
would  reipiire  to  examine  and  consider  well 
the  character  and  circumstances  of  the  jicr- 
scn  olfering  it,  iti  order  :t;  .|U."ig6  i>  ilio  ::ct  be 
an  offence  ogainst  good  morals ;  and  if  so, 
how  far  it  is  so.  If  it  appear  to  proceed 
from  base  motives,  let  it  be  treated  with  open 
contempt ;  if  from  the  wish  for  a  return,  jiass 
it  as  a  weakness  ;  if  from  good  nature  or  ex- 
cessive veneration,  excuse  it  for  the  sake  of 
its  amiable  source. 

But  to  praise  or  not  to  praise,  when  praise 
is  deserved,  there  is  the  great  question.  It 
has  of  late  been  the  favorite  doctrine  not  to 
praise,  or  to  praise  little,  as  presuming  that 
all,  young  and  old,  should  be  left  to  the  ap- 
proving voices  of  their  own  consciences,  or 
the  reward  which  good  acts  and  performed 
duties  are  to  themselves.  Good-breeding  al- 
?o  forbids  all  approach  to  direct  compliment, 
probably  because  it  is  so  apt  to  pass  for  flat- 
tery, which  is  so  bad  a  thing.  It  is  rather 
startling  that  these  maxims  are  not  consist- 
ent with  much  of  the  |)ractice  of  the  world. 
Every  day  we  read  of  knighthoods  and  peer- 
ages given  for  good  state  service.  Success- 
ful authors  are  treated  to  sheets  of  incense  in 
the  reviesvs,  and  to  public  dinners  at  which 
praises  arc  poured  on  their  meek  heads  like 
the  oil  on  Aaron's  beard.  If  a  policemon 
show  unusual  cleverness  in  tracking  out  a 
culprit,  or  a  revenue-cutter  in  capturing  a 
smuggler,  or  a  post-captain  in  seizing  a  slaver, 


1^: 


-'■mmmmm^-^'-'^m 


liiirin,  wli' II,  III' 
vu  MS  nil  crriir  ol 

I'xticriit;  (if  tiKi 
isc — ill  sliort,  fliit- 

is — is  iiNd  niil  til 
vciy  iiiii(li'iriii('(l. 
■  iiitcrcstiil  \  iiws, 
n  wcuk  |ii'iiit  ill 
cnntiiic,  linic  i.s 
rest  (if  ju  lf;iiH'i:t ; 
icrcds  iVdin  a  Ijc- 
f  lie  iiijiiilicidus, 
iiciitnt'.s  it  is  the 
rive  (ivcr-cstimu- 
[!:g(;rati'il  nutidii  of 

I'crs.       lIlTC    lllCH! 

not  ill  ijitciitidii ; 
ich  (•ircuiiistiiiiccs 
It  thing  fioiii  t!)o 
ruying  or  lurnin;; 
)  u  fluttcry  whicli 
)ii,  and  whotlicm- 
ithers,  in  order  to 
'in,  nnd  obtiiin  a 
of  friendly  Kcnti- 
nidtive  is  not  so 
of  the  depravity 
;  (lattery.  Wlien 
f  Ihittery,  or  wit- 
(1  to  others,  we 
ind  consider  well 
inces  of  the  ]icr- 
iii^6  11  tiic  wCt  be 
lorals  ;  and  if  so, 
ipcnr  to  jiroceed 
treated  with  open 
for  a  return,  ]iass 
;ood  nature  or  ex- 
it for  the  sake  of 

aise,  when  praise 
■eat  question.  It 
te  doctrine  not  to 
s  presuming  that 
be  left  to  the  np- 
n  consciences,  or 
ts  and  performed 
3ood-breeding  al- 
ircct  compliment, 
It  to  pass  for  flat- 
ng.  It  is  rather 
I  are  not  consist- 
:ice  of  the  world, 
hthoods  and  peer- 
ervice.  Success- 
leets  of  incense  in 
dinners  at  which 
meek  heads  like 
If  a  policeman 
in  tracking  out  a 
3r  in  capturing  a 
in  seizing  a  slaver, 


APPROBATION. 


505 


the  v-itiie  of  the  case  is  not  left  to  be  Us  own 
rcwuni.  Medals,  i)ri/.cs,  and  terms  of  hon- 
or, uliimii,!  in  our  schools;  and  even  divines 
are  not  iiinviUiiii;  to  receive  a  UiV  to  certain 
inysii.;  initials  showing  degrees  ot  prdh(-ien- 
ev  ill  llK.'ir  sacred  science.  When  all  th(^se 
thiii"s   are   so  open  and   piilpalile.  wheii.in- 

d F,  it  it  so  clear  that  most  puMic  amurs  j 

are  moved  by  considerations  of  honor  to  null-  | 
vidnals,  it  seems  u  strange  thing,  little  better,  | 
I  fear,  tlimi  a  piece  of  aireetiition,  to  declare  , 
against    all    use    of    Jiraise   in     private    lite, 
'fhere  is  always  somiaiiing  calling  tor  suspi- 
cion ill  maxims  or  systems  which  altogether 
coikU'iiiii  and  put  aside  some  great  and  con- 
spicuous  feature   of    hiiiniiii   nature.       1  his 
niaxiiii  as  to  praise  bears  strong  marks  ot  be- 
ing of  that  character.      Praise  is  contessedly 
a  universal  object,  and  has  been  so  trom  the 
be-'inning  of  the  world.     Why  should  it  be- 
cdusideied  wrong  to  give  that  which  every- 
liody  is   more   or   less  onxious   to   receive  . 
I'lKM-e  miiv  be  something  in  the  mariner,  no 
doubt;  and  yi^t  wiiiit  can  be  grosser,  in  point 
of  taste,    when    it  is  seriouslv   rettected    on, 
than  to  iiring  a  man  to  a  public  dinner,  plant 
hiiri  beside  the  ehairnuin.  open  out  a  cascade 
of  ilutterv  upon  him,  und  expect  him  then  to  I 
rise  up  uiid  task  his  ingouuity  in  at  once  cx- 
plainiiii;   "wav   the    altriliutcd    merits,    and 
seeming  siillic'.iently  grat(!t'ul  for  the  compli- 
ment wliieh  has  been  (laid  to  him? 

Tlie  true  rationale  of  the  (piestion  seems  to 
be  ihis:  with  the  generality  of  natures,  a 
moderate  use  of  praise,  as  an  incentive  to  du- 
ty and  reward  for  its  performance,  appears  to 
be  ((uite  proper.     There  is  a  vast  class  of 
acts  and  duties  which,  though  good,  are  not 
to  be  acciunplished  and  attended  to  without 
laborious  exertion  and  some  small  degree  of 
self-denial.      To  sustain  and  carry  out  one's 
self  in  these  matters,  one's  own  approving 
conscience  is  all  very  well;   but  though  a 
good,  it  is  a  solitary  and  unsocial  feeling. 
Man  dearly  loves  to  tind  that  he  is  of  some 
C()nsc(iuence  to  man.      He  likes  to  take  men 
along  with  him  in  his  own  approbation.     He 
feels  in  their  praise  the  bond  of  a  common 
nature    press  delightfully  upon    his    heart. 
How,  otherwise,  should  we  see  persons  in 
indepen'ent  circumstances    "shun    delights 
and  live  laborious  days,"  only,  peihaiis,  that 
they  may  produce  some  literary  work  which 
wil'i  have  its  little  hour  of  eclat,  or  only  a 
paper  to  be  read  at  a  meeting  of  twenty  per- 
sons calling  themselves  a  philosophical  socie- 
ty ?     This  cheap  means  of  causing  peo|)le  to 
(io  what  it  is  desirable  that  they  should  do, 
surely  has  its  legitimate  place  in  the  arrange- 
ments of  human  society,  and  is  capable  of  be- 
ing used  without  necessarily  producing  harm. 
Perhaps  there  is  not  any  one  feeling  of  our 


nature  which  more  elVectually  binds  us  to- 
gether, or  figures  rudre  largcdy  in  the  lidnrly 
familiar  pleasures  of  life.     It   is   necessary, 
however,  to  study  character  very  careliiily, 
in    order  to   give    due    praise  without  (liiiiig 
harm,  and  even  to  know  how  to  use  it  for  the 
])rddiiction  of  ))ositive  good.     A   (irimd  per- 
son recpiires  iilth;  or  none  at  anv  time.      .Siif- 
tielent   for  him  is  his  own  self-satisfaetion. 
There  an;   many  whom   jiraise  would   easily 
corrupt,  and  to  whdiii  it  slniuld  thereton!    be 
sparingly  aiimitiistered,  even  wlnin   their  acts 
are    most    laudable.      Oliiers,    uj;ain,    whose 
eoiitideiice  in  themselves  is  iiitirin,  may  neeil 
tile  administration  of  an   oeeasioiial   word  (it 
approbiition  to  (Micouragi!  them  in  their  duties, 
and  even  to  maintain  the  eipialile  lidw  of  their 
s()irits.     There   is   a  class  of   such    persons, 
who  have  the  ability  and  inclination  to  (lii  all 
that  is  good,  l)Ut  are  lialde  to  become  dispirit- 
ed if  tlieydo  not  now  and  then  rec(uve  on  (-n- 
couraging  word  from  those  about  them.     For 
such  persons,  an  occasional  compliment  is  an 
aliment  as  necessary  as  daily   bread.     Tiie 
world  would  to  them  be  totally  cheerless  with- 
out it.     Here  it  would   evidently  be  as  fatal 
to  withhold   praise   oltogether,  as  in   other 
I  cases  it  would  be  to  give  it. 


England. — Our  talented  and  eloquent  Dr. 
Baird,  says  in  one  of  his  lectures  :— "  There 
is  enormous  wealth  there,  and  resources  are 
most  unlimited  for  increasing  it.  Many  sup- 
pose that  England  has  seen  her  best  days,  but 
Dr.  Baird  could  not  concur  in  this  oiiinuju. 
True,  there  is  embarrassment  and  distress 
there,  but  that  is  temporary.  The  nati(jn  will 
recover  from  it  and  still  advance. 

"  Education  in  Scotland  is  very  thorough. 
Her  school  system  has  been  about  as  long  in 
operation  as  that  of  Massachusetts,  and  is  an 
excellent  one.     There  are  one  thousand  par- 
ishes, each  of  which  has  a  good  school.     In 
Eu'dand  and  Ireland,   primary  education  is 
neidected.     There  is  no  system  of  common 
scIkxjIs,  and  the  lower  classes  are  profoundly 
ignorant.     As  regards  higher  education,  there 
are  universities  at  Oxford,  Cambridge,   and 
London,  in  England,  and  those  of  Edinburgh, 
Glasgow,  Aberdeen  and  St.  Andrews,  in  Scot- 
land."  Thfve  are  also  King's  college,  Lon- 
don; Trinity  college,  Dublin  ;  and  a  college 
at  Durham,  which  deserve  the  name  of  uni- 
versities, making  in  all  ten.     Cambridge  and 
Oxford  universities  are  the  largest,  the  tor- 
mer  having  about  1,300  and  the  latter  about 
1.700  stuiJents. 

»  London  grows  rapidly.    It  covers  ati  area 

ei"ht  miles  by  six.      The  present  population 

is'two  and  a  half  millions,  and  it  is  rapidly  in- 

I  creasing.    Edinburgh,  the  capital  of  Scotland. 

I  is  the  most  picturesciue  city  in  Great  Britain." 


11 


rsj,-.  •■■:■■■'. ^ifi,;.^.- 


KttlSHNA.-SKBTCH  OP  PEKIN. 

_k 


507 


RHISHNA. 

Our  Mi^raving  is  taken  from  r  picture 
highly  valued  by  the  Hindoos  :  it  is  grounded 
on  one  of  those  idle  stories  which  ato  ronti- 
monly  believed  concerning  Krishna.  It  is 
said  that  he  was  brought  up  by  a  herdsman, 
and  llm;  a  number  of  damsels  were  his  play- 
fellows during  iiit  infancy  ;  of  these  he  chose 
nine,  who  became  his  comiinnions;  tljese 
nine  dam-<els  would  grr>up  tlieinselves  into 
funfAstic  forms;  in  the  engraving  they  are 
seen  in  that  of  an  ele()hnnt,  on  which  the  gml 
ridiis.  This  profligate  deity  is  the  darling  god 
of  the  Hindoo  women;  the  silly  and  impure 
tales  which  are  told  and  believed  concerning 
him,  fend  greatly  to  debase  the  people.  Let 
sur-h  reprc^entalion  be  l(H)ked  on  by  Christians 
with  i)ity  for  the  folly  and  indignation  for  the 
sin  witn  which  ihey  are  connected,  and  with 
earnest  prayer  lor  the  deliverance  of  mankind 
from  the  dominion  of  vice  and  darkness. 


A  SKETCH  OF  PEKIN. 


Ok  Pekin,  the  capital  of  the  Chinese  em- 
pire, and  which,  from  the  progress  of  events, 
will  at  no  distant  day  be  an  olyect  j)f  consid- 
erable attention,  the  following  sketch  has  been 
written  by  a  late  traveller.  It  is  necessary 
to  premise,  that  the  situation  of  Pekin  is  near 
40  dcrees  north,  ami  therefore  somewhat 
cold  in  winter. 

During  the  first  few  days  of  our  residence  ,  . 

in  the  cold  dwelling-houses  of  Pekin,  we  felt    dies  of  the  court,  &c 


picture  to  yourself  a  man  plunged  at  once  in- 
to so  jwpulous  a  city,  into  the  midst  of  a 
swarm  of  people,  wnoso  manners,  customs, 
and  mo<le  of  life,  were  quite  strange,  and 
whose  language  was  utterly  incompreliensible 
to  him,  and  you  will  be  able  to  understand  my 
position.  Was  I  thus  alone,  in  the  midst  of 
this  multitude  of  jieople,  to  pass  ten  of  the 
best  years  of  my  life  f  Our  chief  drawback 
lay  in  the  excessively  difricult  Chinese  pro- 
nunciation, where  one  and  the  same  sonnd, 
however  Himple,  has  its  own  peculiar  mean- 
ing, according  as  it  is  pronounced  in  a  high 
or  low,  in  an  al)rupt  or  i)rolonge<l,  tone  of  voice. 
For  the  first  halt  year  we  scarcely  made  any 
progress  whatever ;  at  the  end  of  two  years 
only  did  we  begin  to  find  our  way  into  the  se- 
crets of  that  labyrinth  called  the  Chinese 
tongue,  and  fully  four  had  elapsed  before  we 
were  able  to  converse  freely  with  the  natives. 
As  S(H)n  as  were  clothed  in  complete  Chi- 
nese costume,  being  very  desirous  to  sec  Pe- 
kin, we  hircil  cabriolets  and  drove  through  the 
streets  of  the  capital.  First  we  drove  to  the 
imperial  palace,  where  the  emperor  passes 
the  winter  months ;  during  the  whole  of  the 
rest  of  the  year  he  resides  in  a  palace  about 
nine  miles  distant  from  the  city.  The  palace 
occupies  an  immense  space,  consisting  of  a 
multitude  of  one-story  houses  built  of  bricks, 
each  of  which  has  its  appointed  use.  The 
emperor  resides  in  one  of  them,  in  another  he 
conducts  th4B  afliiirs  of  state,  and  in  a  third  is 
the  empress.  The  others  are  appropriated 
for  his  children,  the  widowed  em[)re8s,  the  la- 
■         "    "  "         Each  division  is  sur- 


the  discomforts  of  our  European  dresses  very 
severely,  anti  made,  therefore,  all  haste  to  ex- 
change them  for  Chinese  habiliments.  The 
divisFons  and  sub-divisions  which  exist  in  a 
Chinese  wardrobe  are  innumerable.  Each 
change  of  season  brings  necessarily  along  with 
it  a  change  of  costume  ;  and  these  variations, 
fixed  by  custom,  are  as  sacredly  observed  by 
correct  Chinese,  as  the  laws  of  fashion  by 
European  ladies  and  leaders  of  Ion  ;  with  cng 
ly  this  difrere.ice,  that  here  "  the  niiKle"  htM 
no  influence,  and  the  cut  of  the  father's  and 
grandfather's  clothes  is  (piite  visible  in  those 
of  the  son  and  grandson — nay,  it  may  pass 
even  to  the  great-great-grandson.  In  the 
shape  of  caps  and  shoes  alone,  an  almost  year- 
ly change  takes  place.  Do  not,  however, 
suppose  that  it  is  any  exercise  of  choice 
whether  with  the  alteration  of  the  season  you 
may  change  your  dress  or  not — by  no  means ; 
the  appointed  time  arrives,  and  an  imperial 
edict  announces  that  on  such  a  day,  spring- 
caps  must  be  exchanged  for  summer  ones,  or 
summer  caps  for  autumn  ones.  I  therefore 
arrayed  myself  like  a  genuine  Chinaman. 
The  first  part  of  my  stay  was  very  tedious; 


83 


rounded  by  a  tolerably  high  wall,  which  none 
may  jiass  except  those  persons  belonging  to 
it.  All  these  buildings  are  again  surrounded 
with  a  general  wall,  the  threshold  of  whose 
ga'^e  may  oidy  be  passed  by  the  courtiers. 
An  enclosure  surrounds  this  outer  wall,  where 
there  are  many  private  shops,  and  where  ev- 
eryliody  is  allowed  to  walk  or  drive.  The 
palaces  themselves  we  could  not  see,  and  only 
the  yellow  roofs  of  glazed  tiles  showed  them- 
selves above  the  wall.  Neither  those  streets 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  palace,  nor  any  through- 
out the  city  of  Pekin,  are  paved. 

Without  having  in  the  least  satisfied  our 
curiosity,  we  drove  from  the  palace  through 
the  street  Sy-oi-lou,  which,  like  all  the  other 
principal  streets,  is  distinguished  for  breadth 
and  regularity.  The  middle  of  each  chief 
street  of  Pekin,  consists  of  an  embankment 
of  earth  raised  about  three  feet  above  the  rest 
of  the  street,  for  the  use  of  light  carriages 
and  foot-i)assengers.  Heavy  loads,  or  car- 
riages drawn  by  five  and  seven  mules,  must 
drive  along  the  narrow  avenues  on  each  side 
of  the  embankment,  which  is  a  gootl  width, 
and  would  be  very  convenient  for  driving  up- 


n^. 


I 

I' 


u 


Ml 


SOS 


SKETCH  OK  I'KKIN. 


on,  were  it  not  that  there  are  tents  and  booth* 
erectotl  at  cmh  niilc,  which  confine  it  bo  much 
that  two  carriage*  can  scarcely  drive  abreast. 
In  coiii«'(iucnco  of  the  exr<'s»ive  population  of 
Pfkin,  tlic  streets  arc  tilled  tbroughout  the 
whole  day  with  a  double  row  of  carriagi-g, 
slowly  progrcHsing  in  opposite  directions.  It 
is  a  terrible  annoyance  when  a  f(M)t-pu.sscnger 
happens  to  meet  a  friend  who  is  tlriving.  The 
latter,  according  to  the  strict  eticiuctte  of  Chi- 
nese jioliteness,  must  stop,  alight,  and  in  spite 
of  weather  or  dirt,  snjr,  "  How  do  you  do  7" 
and  then  invito  his  friend  to  accept  a  scat  in 
the  carriiige.  Of  course  the  pedestrian  must 
reply  to  this  civility,  and  bej;  his  ucipinint- 
anct;  to  proceed  on  bis  way.  Tin-  owner  of 
the  ciiiTin;;e  will  not,  however,  re-enter  it  un- 
til his  frienil  on  foot  shall  proceed  ;  lie  in  bis 
turn  will  wait  till  the  other  resume  his  sent. 
The  ceremony  will  often  occupy  half  nn  hour; 
and  during  the  whole  time  llio  carriages  which 
follow  must  wait,  there  being  no  possibility 
of  iiassing  the  one  stopping  up  the  way. 

The  main  streets  arc  of  a  good  width,  but 
the  side  ones  arc  so  very  narrow  that  two  car- 
riages meeting  could  not  possfbly  jiass,  so  that 
the  coachman  must  alwavs  call  out  on  enter- 
ing one  to  ascertain  whether  any  other  vehi- 
cle is  coming  in  the  opiiosite  direction.     Kv- 
ery  side-street  had  formerly  a  gate  wherever 
it  crossed  cither  ancthor  cross  or  a  main  street, 
and  many  of  them  still  remain.     These  gates 
were  formerly  closed  at  night  by  warders, 
who  lived  in  the  vicinity,  and  the  passenger 
required  a  jiarticular  permission  in  order  to 
pass  it  by  night ;  now,  however,  this  extreme 
strictness   has  ceased ;    the   warder  merely 
questions  the  nightly  passenger,  and  even  this 
occurs  rarely.     Owing  to  the  custom  of  the 
Chinese  of  surrounding  themselves  with  high 
walls,  the  streets  of  Pekin  arc  most  remark- 
ably uniform.     On  c\ctw  side  rise  high  en- 
closing walls,  built  of  half-burnt  gray  bricks; 
everywhere  peep  up  from  behind  these  walls 
pointed  sloping  loofs,  which  in  form  and  color 
arc  again  monotonous.     The  imperial  palace 
alone  is  covered  with  gla7,ed  green  tiles,  all 
the  other  dwelling-houses  with  the  half-burnt 
gray-colored  ones.      Besides  the   cmperjir's, 
there  are  not  more  than  seven  or  eight  prince- 
ly palac(;s.     All  the  rest  weary  the  gazi.'  by 
their  dust  color ;  and  the  eye  can  rest  on  noth- 
ing which  does  not  display  the  most  teilious 
uniformity,  unless  it  be  the  sho|)s,  which  gen- 
erally project  into  the  streets.     Before  the 
entrance   of  all    these    booths    hang    black 
polished  boards,  inscribed  with  thick  golden 
letters;  there  is  not,  however,  any  diHerence 
between  them,  and  only  those  where  confec- 
tions are  sold  are  distinguished  by  their  splen- 
dor.    The  whole  of  the  front  wall  of  these  is 
gilt,  even  the  roof,  and  adorned  with  dragons 


and  other  figure,!.  The  magnificence  of  these 
shops  is  the  most  clrikin!;,  as  close  besidn 
them  one  may  olten  find  a  balf-destroyrd  wall 
or  a  little  tottering  dwelling-house.  There 
arc  no  ojien  places  (ir  gnnlens  in  I'ekin  ;  and 
the  only  rtmnrkalilc  buildings  are  ilie  temples, 
which  arc  profusely  painted  with  vermilion 
color. 

It  is  a  great  mistake  to  accuse  the;  Chinese 
of  bigotry.  Thiiir  temples  are  generally  ijuito 
empty  :  here  and  there  only,  an  ollicial  who 
has  received  a  new,  and,  be  it  understood,  a 
projitabte,  a])pointinent,  considers  it  his  duty 
to  visit  all  the  temples  in  the  city.  On  such 
an  occasion  he  conducts  himsidf  as  follown: — 
On  entering,  he  takes  with  him  a  bundle  of 
cundles,  made  from  the  !iark  of  a  tree,  and  of 
perfumed  wood  ;  these  he  lights  before  tho 
linages  of  the  gods,  ))rostrniing  himself  several 
time's  to  the  ground,  during  wlii(-h  time  the 
priest  strikes  a  mi'tal  saucer  with  a  wooden 
mallet.  Such  a  [lilgrim  having  concluded  his 
prayer,  throws  down  some  money,  and  pro- 
ceeds into  the  secoixl  temple,  thence  into  the 
third,  and  so  on.  Kven  the  common  (leoplc 
go  only  ()'•  particular  occasions  to  tho  temple; 
when,  for  instance,  a  time  of  great  drought 
arrives,  troops  of  peasants  ossi^mblo  in  the 
temple,  in  order  to  pray  to  their  god  for  rain; 
and  not  only  light  candles  and  make  jirostra- 
tioiis,  but  bring  also  otlcrings  with  them,  con- 
sisting of  dilli.'rcnt  sorts  of  bread,  &c.  Of  a 
sincere  disinterested  prayer,  oHere<l  from  the 
heart  of  the  suppliant,  tno  Chinese  worship- 
per has  no  conception.  There'are,  to  be  sure, 
certain  days  every  month  when  the  temple 
is  visited  by  the  peojile,  but  then  it  is  not 
with  the  intention  of  prayer  but  of  business. 
Goods,  such  as  millinery,  for  instance,  are 
s]>rend  out  in  the  courts  of  the  tpm|)le  ;  and 
the  visiters  promenade  from  uinm  till  evening 
among  rows  of  sellers,  who  at  these  fairs  gen- 
erolly  demand  the  most  unreasonable  prices. 
For  a  nephrit,  for  instance,  a  stone  of  a  j;rii.-!'^- 
green  color,  which  is  particularly  est<'eiiieil 
by  the  Chinese,  and  which  i^Bsed  for  rings, 
I  simll-boxes,  armlets,  and  such  like,  a  sales- 
I  mm  demanded  two  hundred  and  fifty  lans, 
i  and  he  gave  it  to  me  for  twenty-six  !  (A  Ian  is 
I  about  four  florins,  or  a  dollar  and  a  half).  Jug- 
!  glers,  also,  display  their  tricks  here  ;  one  will 
i  go  on  his  hands,  another  throw  knives ;  and 
I  so  forth. 

I  Toward  evening  the  court  of  the  temple 
I  becomes  empty,  and  alt  is  again  silent  until 
I  the  following  fair,  with  the  exception  of  the 
j  priests  going  thrice  a  day  to  burn  a  small 
j  candle  before  each  of  the  great  images  of  the 
I  gods,  and  prostrating  themselveu  each  time  to 
the  earth.  When  the  priest  does  not  feel  in- 
I  clined  to  fulfil  this  heavy  duty  himself  (and 
I  he  rarely  feels  such  a  desire),  he  sends  his 


iiinj^ifici'nc'p  of  these 
ins;,  Qs  (.'IriHe  boNidn 
a  Imlf-dcHtniypd  wall 
I'lli'iK-hoMRc.  Thtjro 
rilftiH  in  I't'kin;  and 
JinSHorc  lln;  li'rn|>le», 
iiitL'd  with  vcriiiiliun 

n  accuse  the  Chiiirse 
fs  ore  gcncrnlly  <)uito 
only,  nn  nllicial  who 
I,  b(;  it  und('rNt(j;>il,  a 
connidprs  it  hiu  duty 
n  llic  city.  On  sucn 
himself  IIS  follows: — 
>'ith  hlni  n  l)undlu  of 
liurk  of  a  tree,  and  of 
ho  lifihls  hcforc  i]w 
rniinj;  liiiiiHclf  several 
riiij;  which  time  tho 
nicer  with  a  wtMiden 
having  concluded  his 
)ine  money,  nnd  yro- 
injile,  thence  into  tho 
the  common  ]><>o|)le 
-■nsions  to  tho  temple ; 
line  of  great  droiight 
lints  nsKcmtile  in  the 
to  tliiir  god  for  rain; 
es  and  make  prostra- 
ringswith  them,  con- 
of  bread,  ice.  Of  a 
lyer,  ollercd  from  the 
the  Chinese  worship- 
Thero'are,  to  be  sure, 
ith  when  the  temple 
le,  but  then  it  is  not 
rayer  but  of  business, 
iry,  for  instance,  ore 
s  of  the  temple  ;  and 
from  iKMin  till  evening 
^ho  at  these  fairs  gen- 
t  unreasonable  jirices. 
ice,  a  stone  of  a  j;r,is'^- 
particularly  csteiinnl 
lich  i*%8cd  for  rings, 
d  such  like,  a  sales- 
indred  and  fifty  lans, 
twenty-six  !  (A  Ian  is 
jllarand  a  half).  Jug- 
tricks  here ;  one  will 
3r  throw  knives;  and 

court  of  the  temple 
it  is  again  silent  until 

tho  exception  of  the 
day  to  burn  a  small 
le  great  images  of  the 
smselves  each  time  to 
priest  does  not  feel  in- 
vy  duty  himself  (and 
desire),  he  sends  his 


BKKTCIl  OK  PKKIN. 


009 


us 

li 


pupil  to  light  the  eandlet  und  iimke  (inHtra- 
tiiiiiH;    but  if  lie  dues  not  juM.  Imppeii  to  bi'  lit 
liiind,  a  <'(imiiiiiii  nervuiit  .loen  it.     As  for  liie 
rot,   till'   eiiiidles  nre   li-iiled   Ht   lli<-   proper 
times,   the   pio-irauiiiiH  iir-   niude  us  li 
possililciiiid  whii'  M'>r<!  Clin  one  n  ipiin 
the    leniples,    however,    lire    iiliiio-f    iil\Mi)s 
empty,  lh»  hoi.sis  of  public  eiilerliuiiinent,  oil 
(he  :oiitriirN,  arc  tilled  with  p'  nple  Irum  iiinrii- 
iiig  till  ingfit.      Ill  ihi:  best  inns,  nhe   puys  ii 
high  price  for  every  Iiillc;  solliut  «  lien  two 
or  lliree  of  the  licl'.  yoiiin'Ciiitiese  meet  there, 
they   I'lisily  H].eiiil   in  uii   evening  iil'ty   Inns. 
The  high  pri<  .  is  not.  however,  ii  conseipii'iice 
ofthrextreiiic  cbnniosiif  iheuriiclcs  reipiind, 
but  of  the  vanity  of  llie  coiiHunier.     In  geiii'- 
rul,  money   is    here   liylilly   regarded  ;  every 
durling  sun  of  the   lieiiveii-prolecled  city  ol 
I'l'kiii  throws  down  lii>  purse  iilnio^r  niieciuiit- 
ed.      They  eiit  all  iiiiuiiier  of  expensive  ihiligs, 
such  as  riiiislnl   ive,  for  instiiiice,  for  ii  little 
plutcof  whiidione  piiys  six  Inns;  it  is  prepur 
ed  as  follows: — The  cook  puts  a  siiiiill  liif  of 
ice  on  a  sieve  made  of  lilile  wands  or  sticks, 
into  u  riilher  liipiid  butter  of  sugar,  eugs,  und 
Kpices,  und  then  plunges  it  ijuickly  into  u  pun 
of  boiling  swine's  fat.     The  skill  of  the  cook 
is   shown  bv  his  bringing  the  dish  upon  the 
table  before' the  ice  be  melted  in  tlie  bailer. 
A  parti<'ulurly  good  morsel  can  not  be  expect- 
ed, for  w^en'put  into  the  mouth  it  liurns,  and 
when  bitt.  n  into  it  is  very  cold.     The  high 
price  of  this  dish  arises  "from  so  few  c(«iks 
bving  oble  to  make  it  exactiv  us  it  oiiglit  to 
be.     Taken  in  general,  the  Chinese  dishes  are 
very   disagreeable    to   Kuropeans;    for   thev 
prepore  everything  without  salt,  and,  in  uil- 
dition,  float  it  in  a  superfluity  of  swine  fat; 
and  few  dishes  nre  made  without  ginger  anil 
garlic.     Their  roasts  only  are  well  flavored, 
und  mightreceive  the  higbestapprobation  from 
a  European  gustronome. 

The  reason  of  there  being  such  an  extiaor- 
dinury  number  of  eating-houses  in  Pekin,  is 
the  custom  the  Chinese  have  of  entertaining 
one  another,  not  in  their  own  homes,  but  in 
these  establishments ;  relations  only  ami  the 
most  intimate  occpiainf nnces  being  CTcr  invited 
to  dinner  o'  supper  into  their  houses.  The 
youth  also  assemble  in  the  eating-houses,  und 
the  seniors  dine  there  after  the  theatre,  for 
tlie  theatre  nnd  dinner  at  a  restaurant  ure 
amusements  which  are  inseparably  coiiuecied 
with  each  other.  Theatrical  representations 
commence  at  eleven  iu  the  forenoon,  and  con- 
tinue till  six  in  the  evening.  In  the  course 
of  the  play,  beautiful  boys,  who  pluy  the 
women's  parts,  come  into  the  boxes  of  the 
rich  members  of  the  audience,  and  appoint  an 
eating-house,  where  they  jiromise  to  come 
and  sup  with  them.  During  supper,  these 
boys  choose  the  dishes,  and  usually  ask  for 


the  most  expensive,  having  previoiis'y  agreed 

with  the  muster  of  the  house   upon  u  reward 

liir  so  doing.      All   thesi    boys  ute   richly  and 

luslefiilly    dressed,    skilled    in    cunvcrsation, 

lively,  and   wilfy.      Neither  in   the  theatres, 

llie  euting-liousi'S,  nor  in  the  temple  ut  fair 

limes,  ure    women    to    be    seen,   but   on    the 

streets  one  mei  ts  with  plenty.     Women  of 

the  lower  ruiik  go  on  lool,  but   those  who  are 

lit  all  w»  II  ctl'illive  ill  cabriolets.      The  wives 

and  ilniighters  of  princes,  on  the  oilier  liuiid, 

ure  cm rii  d  in  sediins.      Muriieil  us  well  us  nii- 

miiriiiil  women  appear  in  the  street  with  nn- 

\eileil  faces,  and  simply  arranged  hull',  which 

they  adorn   with   lieuiitiliil  nrlilicial   flowers. 

Kseii  the  most  rugged,  dirty,  old  cook,  it   slie 

is  only  going  to  the  door  to  buy  n  little  garlic 

or  cabliage,  has  always  ii  (lower,  usually  red, 

stuck  among  her  gray  loi  ks.     The  dress  of 

the  hidies  is  cliiellv  distinguished   by  bright 

ciilors;  that  of  the  Mondscliiiriii  ladies  consists 

chieflv  in  a  long  upper  rolie   with   immense 

sleeves.     'IMiis  dress  ipiite  coiuvals  the  shape ; 

but  the  (.'liinese  do  not  distress  themselves  on 

account  of  this  disaih  uiitagi',  us  they  seek  for 

feminine  sl<  ndcrness  in  narrow  shoulders  and 

a    flaltened   chest,    on    which    uc'coiint    their 

women  ult  bind  u  broad  girdle  over  llie  bosom, 

which   supplies   the   place  of  the   Knropean 

corsets.    I'lie  dress  of  tin;  true  Chinese  womuii 

consists  of  red  or  green  trousers,  which  ure 

embroidered    with    iiiuny-colored    silks  —  of 

juckets,  ulso  embroidered — with  a  very  richly 

einbroidcrerl  upper  gurmeiit. 

The  (Chinese  women  are  chiefly  distinguish- 
ed from  ili(^  Mandsehurins  by  their  feet ;  these 
do  not  spoil  their  feet  by  tight  blindages,  and 
wear  slippers  like  the  men,  only  their  stock- 
ings are  made  of  guy-colored  stnU's,  with  fiHit 
soles  not  less  than  four  inches  thick.     The 
Chinese  women,  on  the  contrary,  bind  their 
fc'el  from  five  years  of  age  with  broad  buiida- 
ges,  in  such  a  way  that  four  toes  are  bent  un- 
der, and  the  great  toe  luid  over  them  ;  the 
nails  press  into  the  flesh,  causing  almost  al- 
ways wounds,  and    the  uiil'ortiiimic'  females 
suffer  during  their  whole  lives  from  tins  bar- 
barous custom.     Not  one  of  lliem  can  stand 
on  tho  whole  foot,  ami  they  all  walk  on  their 
heels,  on  which  account  their  walk  is  most 
unsightly,  and  they  totter  from  side  to  side. 
Considerable  ostentation  prevails  when  a  Chi- 
nese or  Mandschurin  ludy  goes  abroad  :  an 
out-rider  first  appears,  behiiiil  him  comes  o 
two-wheeled  carriage  druwu  by  a  mule,  the 
iiend  and  sides  of  which  nre  hung  with  green 
or  blue  cloth,  into  the  sides  of  which  ure  set 
in  pieces  of  black  velvet  und  glnss  ;  (in  the 
right  und    left  walk   two   men,   holding  the 
carriage  v.'iih  their  bonds,  in  order  to  prevent 
its  fulling  over  at  .my  of  the  iiicipiulities  of 
the  roud,  and  bcliii.d  the  carriage  comes  uu- 


k 


510 


HABITS  OF  TIIR  IlLUBJAY. 


i 


I' 

liii 


other  riilor.  As  one  must  tte\\  into  und  out 
of  tlit^  carriojic  in  front,  tho  coarhtnan  hii»  to 
uiilmrncHHliiM  inuli-  every  tiinn  ;  the  iwn  who 
wiilk  oiitsidi-  th«  cnrringc  thi-ti  turn  it  done 
up  lo  tho  Rtiiirn,  let  the  »hult«  down  on  the 
«tc|»t,  and  iiniiit'diutidy  turn  thi-ir  hnckd  to  the 
e(|ui]>ii«e,  for,  accordin;?  to  Cliincse  rtiijuette, 
tiicy  niuy  not  iooit  lluMr  mistrrss  in  tlic  fore. 
Thu  wuiiing-nmid,  who  Ki'm-riiUy  situ  in  front, 
firnt  i»f<!|w  out,  iidjUHts  II  little  liMitstixd,  and 
heljH  her  lady  to  ulij-ht.  On  dr|mrfins,  the 
eercniony  is  rc|»'iit(Ml— thiit  i**,  the  Indy  and 
her  nriid  first  resuino  their  Heuts,  then  the 
emudinmn  liarnesieH  his  mule,  and  the  rort(^f{e 
jtroeeeds  in  its  fiirincr  order.  The  men  dis- 
play iriiijiniliiiiice,  when  they  drive  nbroail, 
by 'the  nuinlxrs  of  their  followers,  who  often 
amount  to  twenty  or  more.  Hut  what  follow- 
ers! two  or  three  are  well  dressisd,  hut  the 
rest  are  raji^ed  anil  mounted  on  lame  and 
wiirn-out  mules.  Pride,  however,  never  al- 
lows a  Chii.ainnn  to  lessen  the  number  of  his 
■ittendimts,  ullhouah  the  keeping  of  these  idle 
bands  must  be  very  expensive.  The  (ilir  in 
the  streets  comnu'tues  at  break  of  day — that 
is,  in  sumirier  at  four,  and  in  winter  at  six 
o'clock.  The  men  in  oHice  first  make  their 
appearance  ^oillg  to  the  palace  with  public 
papers,  mid  then  the  small  dealers  with  eat- 
ables. The  noise  and  bustle  are  continually 
on  the  increase  ;  by  aeven  all  the  streets  arc 
crowded  with  iunumeruble  masses  of  people  ; 
and  at  nine  or  ten  at  night  they  retire  to  rest. 
At  this  hour  th.?  most  perfect  silence  reigns 
through  th(!  empty  streets,  and  here  and  there 
only  glimmers  the  dim  light  of  the  paper  lan- 
terns, which  are  fixed  on  low  pillars. 


HABITS  OF  THE  BLUE-JAY. 

This  elegant  bird  is  peculiar  in  North 
America,  ami  stays  with  us  all  winter.  He 
is  distinguished  among  the  bird  family  as  a 
sort  of  beau,  dressed  in  a  dandy  suit,  and  very 
vain  and  lonuacious  withal.  He  makes  as 
many  ridiculous  grmaces,  oivl  cuts  as  cpieer 
antics,  and  gives  iiuiiself  as  tnuny  airs,  as  his 
namesake  without  feathers.  He  is  a  great 
mimic,  and  in  the  domestic  state  can  be  taught 
to  articulate  words,  and  imitate  the  noise  of 
a  saw  and  other  soundti. 

An  individual  of  this  species  which  was 
brought  up  in  the  family  of  a  gentleman  in 
North  Carolina  had  many  of  the  tricks  of  the 
parrot.  This  jay  could  articulate  a  number 
of  words  pretty  distinctly. 

The  blue-jay  seems  to  take  great  delight  in 
imitating  the  sparrow-hawk.  This  he  does 
so  perfectly  as  to  deceive  the  most  practised 


ears.  A  number  of  jays  will  join  in  this  sport 
at  the  same  time,  but  they  freipiently  pay 
deorly  for  their  impertinence,  for  the  nawk, 
making  a  sweep,  will  |)oiince  upon  one  of  the 
foremost  of  his  tormentors,  which  at  once 
causes  the  impudent  birds  to  change  their 
notes  for  real  cries  of  alann. 

The  Idue-joy  is  himsidf  a  shcdder  of  blood 
as  well  as  the  liawk.  He  destroys  the  young 
of  other  birds  in  the  absence  of  the  old  ones, 
und  steals  the  eggs  of  his  neighbors,  professing 
all  the  timi!  great  friendship  for  all  of  them 
by  warning  them  of  the  approach  of  any  other 
thief  or  plunderer,  be  he  hawk,  fox,  or  man. 

The  jav  is  a  most  inveterate  enemy  of  the 
owl.  Whenever  he  has  discovered  the  re- 
treat of  one  of  these  wise  jdiilosophers,  as  if 
afraid  wisilom  miuht  be  infectious,  ho  sum- 
mons all  the  feathered  tribe  to  his  assistance, 
and  commen<  es  a  louil  attack  upon  the  grave 
bird.  At  first  the  ov  1  deigns  to  take  no  fur- 
ther notice  of  his  n--sailants  than  to  look  at 
them  with  a  broud  stare,  as  if  he  would  soy, 
"  yiui  are  not  even  worthy  of  contempt."  But 
the  noise  of  the  bottle  waxes  louder  and  loud- 
er, and  may  ik;  heard  at  the  distance  of  more 
than  half  a  'iiile.  The  owl  is  at  length  forced 
to  take  (lij;ht,  when  he  is  followed  by  the 
whole  train  of  his  impudent  tormentors, 
screaming  to  the  very  top  of  their  voices,  un- 
til he  is  driven  far  from  their  neighborhood. 

The  blue-jay  is  eleven  inches  in  length ; 
his  head  is  ornamented  with  a  crest  of  light 
blue  or  purjde  feathers,  which  he  can  elevate 
or  depress  at  pleasure;  the  whole  upper  parts 
are  light  blue  or  purple ;  a  collar  of  block 
passes  down  each  side  of  the  neck  and  forms 
a  crescent  on  the  upper  port  of  the  breast. 
The  under  parts  are  white.  The  tail  is  long, 
and  light  blue,  tipped  with  black. 


m 


will  join  in  thig  sport 
they  i'reiiucntly  pny 
lU'iKM',  for  the  nowk, 
iiricc  u|i(m  ono  of  tlio 
ors,  which  at  oncR 
nis  to  change  their 
nn. 

if  Q  slipdder  of  blood 
le  destroys  the  young 
(Mice  of  the  old  ones, 
iifighhors,  j)rofe.ising 
Iship  for  nil  of  them 
ipproach  of  any  other 
hawk,  fox,  or  man. 
'tcrnte  enemy  of  the 
s  discovered  the  re- 
<e  jihilosophers,  as  if 
infectious,  he  aum- 
•ibe  to  his  assistance, 
ttack  npon  the  grave 
Icigns  to  take  no  fur- 
ants  than  to  look  at 
,  as  if  he  would  say, 
ly  of  contempt."  But 
ixes  louder  and  loud- 
the  distance  of  more 
iwl  is  nt  length  forced 
I  is  followed  by  the 
npudent  tormentors, 
ip  of  their  voices,  un- 
their  neighborhood, 
en  inches  in  length ; 
with  a  crest  of  tight 
which  he  can  elevate 
he  whole  upper  parts 
B  ;  a  collar  of  black 
if  the  neck  and  forms 
r  part  of  the  breast, 
ite.  The  tail  is  long, 
ith  black. 


[ 


CHINE6K  RTHOLLINQ  DOCTOHS. 


Oil 


CHINESE  STROKING  DOCTORS. 


TiiK  comforln  onit  elegnncies  of  life  are  of 
easy  uc(!e»»  in  China,  and  «)  ure  many  of  it» 
plagues  i  among  these  latter  may  be  reckoned 
tbt!  drugs  Mild  a  U  ice  of  (|uuck  doctors,  who 
tuko  up  their  stations  in  any  convenient  spot, 
displuy  their  wares,  and  harangue  the  jiop-  ] 
uliicein   praise  of  thcin.     A  cloth  is  spread 
upon  the  ground,  and  is  strewed  with  small  | 
jars,  packets  ueutly  folded  up,  and  a  store  of  i 
pitch    plasters.     lUre     and     there    are    olso 
str<!wed,  in  due  order,  long   scrolls  of  paper 
setting  forth  the  .'xcellency  of  their  art,  ami 
the  greotness  of  their  success.     In  n  \iry  few 
instauces  a  table   is  substituted  for  the  earth, 
as  a  platform  for  exhibitiDii,  and  then  the  sel- 
ler seems  to  rise  a  step  in  medical  considera- 
tion.    The  doctor  usually  plants  himself  be- 
hind his   humble  stall;    and   if  gifiid  with 
s|)eech,  lectures  the   wondering   bystanders, 
till,  by  dint  of  argument,  and  the  witchery 
of  his  elo(|uence,  tliose  who  came  only  to  look 
anil  to  laugh,  are  possessed  with  the  most  live- 
ly faith  ami   cri'dit,  which  they   would   per- 
ciiuuce  have  ridiculed  in  mouietits  of  greater 
sobriety.     The  doctors  ure  fully  aware,  liow- 
<ver  that  novelty  is  an  iinportant  element  in 
oratorical  fascination  ;  hence  they  seldom  stay 
long  in  one  jiluce,  bnt  travel  over  many  Jirov- 
iuces  in  fetching  a  compas.s,  and   appcor  at 
the  sujiie  place  only  after  a  hmg   interval. 
One  of  these,  who  seemed  to  hove  larger  en- 
dowments of  tt  professional   kind   than  the 
average  of  his  brethren,  hud  ranged  his  va- 
ried medicaments  in  front  of  the  senate-house 
I   at  Macoo;   ond  was  engaged  in  a  surgical 
oj)eration.     A  poor  fellow,  who  linil  lost  his 
sight,  was  seated  upon  -        il  in  mi  attitude 
ot*  meekness  and  resiguuiini,  while  the  doc 
tor  was  busied  iu  t  igging  at  one  of  his  ears. 
He  had  made  an  incision  behind  the  conch, 
or  free  portion,  and  was  laboring  to  elicit  as 
much  WimmI  from  the  wound  as  friction  could 
start  froia  its  hldiug-place.     As  soon   as  he 
was  satisfied  with  the  result  of  his  operation, 
he  stood  f>ir>!  to  face  with  the   patient,  and 
asked,  with  an  air  of  impatience,  whether 
he    saw   the  light.      To   this  interrogatory 
the  l.iind  mati  replied  "  No."    On  this  the  doc- 
tor sat  down  lieside  him,  and  began  to  describe 
a  method  which  would  infallibly  have  the  .!i'- 
sired  etTect;  but  at  the  close  of  each  well- 
finished  period,  the  burden  "  no  money"  (moo 
Ueen)  fell  in  with  a  melancholy  cadence.    At 
this  juncture,  when  many  were  looking  for 
some  great  thing,  and  the  blind  man's  case 
promised  neither  honor  nor  pence,  the  quick- 
sighted  glance  of  the  doctor  lighted  upon  tin 
fan  kwei,  who  was  peeping  from  between  a 
group  of  persons   not  very  conspicuous  for 
their  outward  polish.     The  fan  kwei  wore  a 


» i.untenance  of  civility,  which  rarned  from 
the  doctor  a  bow  and  a  smile  of  reiognition. 
After  this  nerewsary  prelude,  he  rriade  a  few 
remorks  to  h;s  l.rarrrs  upon  the  peeulinrities 
of  the  fan  kwei's  face  ;  and  then,  with  a  smile 
of  great  complacency,  went  up  lo  him  and 
began  to  enter  into  the  details  of  a  phrenolo- 
gical analysis.     He  pointed  out  some  of  the 
chief  marks  of  distinction  between  a  Chinese 
and  ft  Kuropeau,  especially  the  breailth   of 
the  foreheuil,  the  height  of  the  cheek-bones, 
and  tht  form  of  the  chin.     In  a  Chinese,  the 
foreliead  is  narrow,  the  cheek-bones   broad 
iind  high,  and  the  chin  flat ;    in  a  European, 
the   foreheuil  is  broad,  the  cheek-bones  h)W, 
and  the  chin  [)r')miiient.      When  he  had  dc- 
sputched  the  head  anrl  the  face,  he  descended 
to  the  muscles,  and  firmly  grasping  the  stran- 
ger's arm,  and  then  that  of  a  native  bystand- 
er, expatiated   upon   the   dill'erence   betvyeen 
the  eInstiL-  tension  of  the  'mv,  and  the  yield- 
ing pliancy  of  the  other.    His  decision  seemed 
tolie  thot  the  Kuropean  has  tlie  advantage 
:  not  only  in  c(im|mctiiess  of  texture,  but  also 
1  in  symmetry  of  form.     In  this  he  seemed  to 
'  hav<'  the  sympathy  of  his  auditory  ;  for  what- 
ever the  Chinese  may  alVec't  to  think,  they 
often  betrnv  their  admiration  of  the  fan  kwei's 
person.     Alany  a  time  have  they  been  seen  to 
ga/.e  at  the  stranger  with  silence  ond  a  kind 
of  "  awe-struck"  wonder,   while  their  eyes 
beamed  with    on  interest  which  seemed  to 
say,  "  A  complexion  so  fair,  and  features  so 
well  proportioned,  ore  things  not  indigenous 
iu  the  mi<)dle  iiaticm."     This  quock  doctor 
had   travelled  much,  and  had  consecjuently 
learn  d   many  things  which   an  inquisitive 
mi    1  can  not  overlook  in  shift-   g  from  place 
to  place  amid  an  ever-clianging  assortiiffent  of 
cotiiponions.     He  had  a  merry  countenance, 
and  a  sparkling  eye,  which  drew  attention. 
His  elocution  was  clear,  and  his  arms  moved 
with  greot  pliancy  to  give  eirect  to  whatever 
u  uttered.     But  his   (wpulority  was  not  of 
long  continuance  ;  uiid  so,  after  a  few  days, 
he  was  oliliged  to  employ  u  young  fellow  to 
act  the   part  of  clown,  atvl  thus  assemble  a 
troop  of  gazers  by  drollery,  when  eloquence 
and  skill  had  proved  ineHectuul. 

An  American  in  China  remarks  :  "  While 
passing  through  the  Chinese  market-place  of 
Macao.  I  heunl  one  of  these  quack  rhetori- 
cians, addressing  a  circle  of  bystanders  u|H)n 
the  proj)netiesof  a  mo<le  of  treatment  he  was 
Just  going  f  >  adopt  in  the  case  of  an  old  man 
who  was  squatted  close  by  his  side.  It  ap- 
peared as  if,  a  few  seconds" before  my  arrival, 
a  bargain  had  b  en  concluded  between  them 
nearly  in  these  terms  of  reci[)rocity :— '  I 
will  imjiart  to  you,'  quoth  the  .loctor,  '  the 
I  full  benefit  of  my  jirofessional  skill,  and  you 
shall  give   me  all  the  money  you  have  got 


*r 


i1   1 

Hi' 

*^• 


r 


if 


512 


CHINESE  STHOLLING  DOCTORS. 


about  you;'  for  inirnndiatcly  iipnn  thn  dmr 
of  the  linriiiigun  ihe  old  man  jinircrdcfl,  ^yith 
cheerful  haste,  to  cmjity  his  money-hag  into 
I  he  lap  of  the  younfr  JEsculni)ius,  who,  af- 
fectinj;  to  he  disappointed,  accused  his  pa- 
tient of  concealinR  some  of  his  tseen  or  cash, 
amid  the  folds  of  his  garment ;  but  as  a  com- 
mon man  in  summer  is  very  thinly  clad,  a 
shaks  or  two  of  his  doublet  satisfied  the  look- 
ers-on that  all  the  j)crsonal  efli'cts  had  been 
fairly  delivered  uj).  The  old  man  then  re- 
tired, but  soon  after  came  back  with  a  basir 
of  water,  and  placed  it  at  the  feet  of  the  d()c- 
tor,  who  then  took  out  a  paper,  and  made  him 
swallow  a  small  quantity  of  whitish  powder, 
without  the  aid  of  honey,  treacle,  or  any  oth- 
er agreeable  menstruum.  The  eflect  of  this 
])owder  was  supposed  to  be  that  of  rendering 
the  jiatient  incapable  of  feeling  any  pain  which 
might  attend  the  operation  to  be  performed. 
He  then  drew  some  needles  from  a  paper, 
with  an  air  of  grave  preparation,  and  after 
rubbing  the  q^bresaid  powder  upon  his  own 
thigh,  stuck  one  of  the  needles  into  it  as  if 
it  had  been  a  sort  of  pinchusion.  The  next 
step  in  the  process  was  the  selection  of  a  few 
seeds  from  a  paper  parcel,  putting  them  into 
his  mouth,  and  giving  the  remnant  to  the  pa- 
tient, as  a  pledge  of  his  generosity.  While 
I  he  seeds  were  undergoing  the  process  of  mas- 
tication by  themselves,  he  took  a  pair  of 
wocxlen  cylinders,  and,  after  holding  a  lighted 
roll  of  i)aper  within  them,  clapped  them  upon 
the  breast  of  the  old  man.  After  they  had 
remained  a  few  minutes  upon  the  spot,  they 
were  removed,  and  l(?ft  behind  them  two  raised 
areola,  or  bumps,  which  the  doctor,  after  sip- 
ping a  little  water,  rubbed  with  the  seeds,  by 
this  time  well  reduced  by  maceration  and 
grinding.  He  next  pricked  the  bumps  with 
the  needle  which  had  been  all  the  while  stick- 
ing in  his  own  flesh.  Tt»  extract  the  bl()o<l. 
he  a))i)licd  his  mouth,  and  drew  with  such 
violence,  that  the  old  man  begun  to  heave  a 
sigh,  and  the  crowd  to  lespond  by  a  look  of 
anxiety.  All  the  while  he  pressed  his  hands 
upon  the  neighborhood  of  the  spot,  as  if  he 
wished  to  make  the  bloi.J  flow  in  that  direc- 
tion. After  the  ceremony  of  washing  the 
mouth,  he  a[)i)lied  a  pitch  plaster  between  the 
areola,  and  proceeded  to  treat  the  back  after 
the  same  sort  Here  was  a  sample  of  '  much 
ttdo  about  nothing ;'  when  to  have  made  one 
or  two  incisions  with  his  knife,  and  then  aj)- 
plied  one  of  these  cylinders,  or  cupjjing  ves- 
sels o\er  them,  with  a  roll  of  lighted  paper 
within  it,  would  have  caused  a  gush  of  blood, 


and  renilcred  the  poor  fellow  a  real  service." 
•'  Among  the  persons  who  figure  in  the  list 
of  itinerant  doctors,  I  may  reckon  one  who 
dealt  in  antidotes  against  the  bite  of  serpents. 
He  had  selected  a  very  ingenious  mode  of 
proving  the  eflScncy  of  the  drug,  and  which 
did  not  fail  to  carry  conviction  to  the  mind  of 
every  one  who  had  the  hapi)iness  to  view  the 
procedure.  A  large  hooded  snake,  or  cobra 
copella,  was  treated  as  a  kind  of  imj)  i>r  fa- 
miliar by  its  master,  who  held  it  in  his  hand, 
and  made  it  rear  its  neck  at  his  pleasure. 
When  he  advanced  his  hand  or  f  .ce  near  the 
venomous  creature,  it  immediately  attempted 
to  bite,  but  was  prevented  by  the  dexterity 
of  the  juggler.  When  he  had  amused  the 
crowd  with  the  spectacle  till  he  thought  he 
had  convinced  them  that  the  snake  had  the 
strongest  disposition  to  bite,  and  therefore  still 
retained  all  its  mischievous  propensities,  he 
returned  it  into  the  basket,  and  took  out  a  ball 
of  some  medicament,  and  with  great  fluency 
insisted  upon  its  excellent  use  as  an  antidote 
against  the  assault  of  all  poisonous  reptiles. 
All  that  was  necessary  for  the  person  who 
feared  such  things  was  to  carry  this  ball  in 
his  pocket.  To  demonstrate  the  truth  of  this, 
he  lifted  the  pugnacious  beast  from  its  con- 
cealment, and  held  the  ball  to  its  month,  on 
which  it  started  back  with  seeming  disgust. 
He  then  rubbed  the  ball  upon  his  forehead, 
and  presented  it  to  the  snake,  which  threw 
itself  back,  and  receded  as  far  from  him  as  its 
length  would  allow.  A  variety  of  simple  ex- 
periments were  tried,  all  of  which  went  to 
prove  that  the  creature  had  a  mortal  aversion 
to  the  ball.  AVhile  he  was  busy  in  descant- 
ing upon  its  efficacv  on  the  strength  of  such 
convincing  proofs,  t!ie  snake  took  the  opportu- 
nity of  biting  his  arm,  just  by  way  of  (|uieily 
showing  how  much  it  really  cared  for  both 
the  doctor  and  his  j)hysic.  But  liis  sleeve 
being  thick,  the  teeth  did  not  penetrate  the 
skin,  and  the  crowd  were  in  too  great  nn  ec- 
stasy to  use  their  natural  eyesight ;  so  this 
circumstance  pa.ssed  without  observation  from 
any  except  the  fan  kwei,  who,  though  greatly 
delighted  with  the  inuenuitv  of  the  IcIIdw, 
was  too  much  in  the  haliit  ot  scrntini/.inu  iho 
exhiliitions  of  China,  to  let  it  escape  his  no- 
tice. The  ball  was  priced  at  fifteen  cosh, 
that  is,  nt  about  one  cent,  to  place  it  within 
the  reach  of  every  class  of  purchasers  ;  and 
the  crowd  presso(l  around  the  seller  with  so 
much  eagerness,  that  his  stock  was  sold  ere  [ 
I  coulil  get  close  enough  to  present  my  fifteen 
cash  for  one  of  them." 


THE    ENi>. 


smr^mim 


Pellow  a  real  service." 
aIio  firjurc  in  the  list 
may  reckon  one  who 
St  the  bite  of  serpents, 
ry  ingenious  mode  of" 
■  the  drug,  and  which 
iviction  to  the  mind  of 
hapi)ines3  to  view  the 
ooded  snake,  or  cobra 
i  a  kind  of  imp  or  fa- 
bo  held  it  in  his  haniJ, 
neck  at  his  pleasure, 
hand  or  f  ice  near  the 
nmediately  attempted 
ited  by  the  dexterity 
;  he  had  amused  the 
;le  till  he  thought  he 
at  the  snake  had  the 
3ite,  and  therefore  still 
;vou3  propensities,  he 
.et,  and  took  out  a  ball 
nd  with  great  fluency 
jnt  use  as  an  antidote 
dl  poisonous  roptiles. 
r  for  the  person  who 
i  to  carry  this  bnll  in 
trate  the  truth  of  this, 
s  beast  from  its  con- 
ball  to  its  mouth,  on 
with  seeming  disgust, 
ill  upon  his  forehead, 
snake,  whicli  threw 
as  far  from  him  as  its 
.  variety  of  simple  ex- 
all  of  which  went  to 
harl  a  m<irtal  aversion 
was  busy  in  descant- 
I  the  strength  of  such 
nake  took  the  opportn- 
tust  by  way  of  (|ui(.lly 
really  cared  for  both 
^'sic.  But  his  sleeve 
lid  not  ]>enetrato  the 
ere  in  too  great  nn  er- 
ral  eyesight;  so  this 
hoiit  obsorvntion  from 
i,  who,  though  greatly 
;enuitv  of  the  fellow. 
l)it  of  scrutini/iiiu'  the 
)  lot  it  escape  his  iio- 
riced  at  fifteen  cash, 
■nt,  to  place  it  within 
iS  of  purchasers  ;  niid 
ni'l  the  seller  with  so 
lis  stock  was  sold  ere 


li  H)  present  my  fifteen 


*.> 


]fXMjB  <B>V  ir®(D<3®A,»  (SHBOiaWIUU 


\^ 


U 


^mmmmmmmmm 


■r 


TZ=Z,-\ 


AMERICAN  MISCELLANY. 


THE  FALL  OF  TOCCOA. 

[SEB  FR0RTI8FIBCE.] 

NARROW  pas- 
sage leads  from 
the  roadside  to 
the  foot  of  the 
fall.  Before  us 
appeared  the  per- 
pendicular face 
"M(^'  )'^\  o(  the  rock,  re- 
r^  sembling  a  rug- 

god  stone  wall,  and  over  it 

"  The  brook  came  babbling  down  the  mountain's 
side." 

The  stream  had  lost  much  of  its  fulness 
from  the  recent  dry  weather,  and  as  it  be- 
came lashAd  into  fury,  by  its  sudden  fall, 
it  resembled  a  silver  riband,  hung  grace- 
fully over  the  face  of  the  rock,  and  waving 
to  and  fro  with  the  bypath  of  the  wind.  It 
reminds  one  of  the  poetic  descriptions  of 
fairy-land,  where  we  might  expect  the  fays 
and  elves  to  assemble  of  a  moonlight  night 


to  ho'-'  •'  eir  festival  on  the  green  bank, 
wl  ■  '.  T  'pray,  clothed  with  all  the  va- 
ried twiors  of  the  rainbow,  formed  a  halo 
of  glory  around  their  heads.  It  is  indeed 
beautiful,  surpassingly  beautiful :  the  tall 
trees  reaching  but  half  way  up  the  moun- 
tain height,  the  silver  cascade  foaming  o'er 
the  brow  of  the  hill,  the  troubled  waves 
of  the  mimic  sea  beneath,  the  lulling  sound 
of  the  falling  water,  and  the  call  of  the 
mountain- birds  around  you — each  and  all 
come  with  a  soothing  power  upon  the 
heart,  which  makes  you  anxious  to  linger 
through  the  long  hours  of  the  summer  day. 
Tearing  ourselves  away  from  the  en- 
chantment that  held  us  below,  we  toiled 
our  way  up  to  the  top  of  the  fall,  using  a 
path  that  wouud  around  the  mountain. 
When  we  reached  the  summit  we  trusted 
ourselves  to  such  support  as  a  small  tree, 
which  overhangs  the  precipice,  could  give 
us,  and  looked  over  into  the  basin  beneath. 
Then,  growing  bolder  as  our  spirits  rose 
with  the  excitement  of  the  scene,  we  di- 
vested ourselves  of  our  boots  and  stock- 


f 


*«  . 


fii 


I 
III 


516 


UPlllOHT,  DOWNRIGHT,  AND  STIIAIGHT  FORWARD. 


in<;s,  and  waded  into  the  stream,  until  we 
aj)pioathed  within  a  few  feet  of  the  cas- 
cade. This  can  be  done  with  but  little 
d.iii^or,  as  the  brook  keeps  on  the  even 
and  NnrutHed  tenor  of  its  way,  until  just 
as  it  takes  its  lofty  plunge  into  the  abyss 
bidow. 

The  height  c-f  the  fall  is  now  one  hun- 
dred and  eight}  s,ix  feet :  formerly  it  was 
some  feet  highei ,  but  a  portion  of  the  rock 
«'!is  (Intached  some  years  ago,  by  the  at- 
trition of  the  water,  and  its  fall  has  de- 
tracted from  the  perpendicular  descent  of 
tlie  stream. 

Toccoa  forms  but  one  of  the  beautiful 
links  in  the  chain  of  mountain  scenery  in 
the  nortliwestern  part  of  Georgia.  There 
in.iy  be  beiield  the  grandeur  of  the  lofty 
\  ouali,  the  magnificence  and  terrific  splen- 
dor of  Tallulah,  the  quiet  and  romantic 
vale  of  Nacooche,  and  the  thousand  bril- 
liant landscapes  that  adorn  and  beautify 
the  face  of  Nature.  All  these  attractions 
will,  doubtless,  before  another  score  of 
years  has  passed  away,  make  Habersham 
county  and  its  environs  the  summer  retreat 
of  Georgians  from  the  low  country,  and 
help  to  unite  in  closer  bands  the  dweller 
on  the  seashore  and  the  inhabitant  of  the 
mountain. 


UPRIGHT,  DOWNRIGHT,  k  STRAIGHT- 
FORWARD. 


T  is  very  common  to  say 
of  such  a  man  that  he 
is  "upright,"  it  is  not 
less  common  to  say  of 
such  another  that  he  is 
"  downright,"  or  of  a 
third  that  he  is  "  straight- 
forward." Occasionally 
the  same  person  is  said 
to  be  both  upright  and  downright,  and  even 
straight-forward,  all  at  the  same  time  ;  and 
we  now  and  then  hear  a  man  called  up- 
right  one  day,  downright  another,  and 
straight-forward  on  the  next.  It  would 
thus  seem  that  the  words  are  to  some  ex- 
tent synonymous.  It  will  be  found,  how- 
ever,  on  examination,  that  they  have  a 


moral  meaning  as  distinct  and  definable  as 
their  more  obvious  and  physical  significa- 
tions. Popular  usage,  in  fact,  retjuircd 
three  words  to  express  three  distinct  va- 
rieties of  character,  and  adopted  those,  all 
of  good  Saxon  descent,  to  supply  the  want. 
Thus  a  downright  man,  although  ho  may 
be  an  upright  one,  is  not  necessarily  so, 
and  vice  versa ;  and  the  straight-forward 
man  may  possess  qualities  which  arc  not 
inherent  to,  and  of  necessity  existing  in, 
the  character  of  either. 

The  upright  man  acts  with  fairness  in 
all  his  dealings.  He  would  wrong  no 
man  of  a  farthing.  He  would  not  injure 
his  neighbor  by  word  or  deed.  His  fame 
is  pure  before  the  world.  His  word  was 
never  broken  ;  and  his  promise  is  as  good 
in  the  market  as  another  man's  bond.  lie 
holds  lip  his  head,  is  not  ashamed  to  look 
anybody  in  the  face,  and  walking  erect  in 
the  dignity  of  conscious  honesty,  is  called 
upright  accordingly. 

The  downright  man  may  or  may  not  ex- 
hibit the  same  moral  rectitude.     He  may 
not,  strictly  speaking,  be  an  upright  man  ; 
but  he  does  not  thereby  forfeit  his  title  to 
be  classed  among  the  downright.     The 
phrase  implies  not  so  much  a  inoral  qual- 
ity, as  a  manner  and  a  peculiarity.     The 
upright  man  may  hold  his  tongue  ;  but  the 
downright  man  will  speak  out,  loudly  and 
boldly,  without  fear  of  the  conse(iuences. 
He  always  allows  his  indignation  to  find 
vent.    He  speaks  his  mind  ;  and  if  he  com- 
bines both  uprightness  and  downrightnesf;, 
call  a  rogue  a  rogue,  and  a  lie  a  lie,  and 
cares  not  whom  he  offends  by  so  doing. 
A  great  conqueror  is,  with  him,  a  gioat 
murderer  ;  a  duellist,  an  assassin  ;  a  fraud- 
ulent bankrupt,  a  robber.     He  condemns 
in  plain  terms  what  he  does  not  approve, 
and  never  deals  in  iniiendoes,  "  or  hints 
his  doubts."     Neither  will  he  indulge  in 
courtesies  when  his  mind  is  full  of  bitter 
meanings,  and  call  him  an  "  honorable  gen- 
tleman," whom  he  imagines  to  be  the  very 
reverse  nor  designate  another  as  his  "  no- 
ble friend,"  whom  in  hia  heart  he  considers 
his  very  ignoble  enemy.     He  has  no  pa- 
tience with,  or  toleration  for,  any  kind  of 
terms  which  tend  to   gloss  over   error. 
Even  where  no  deception  is  attempted,  ho 
does  battle  on  behalf  of  plain  speaking. 
When  people  talk  of  operatives,  he  talks 


>>k|^|,i 


ID. 

ct  and  definable  as 
physical  siirnidca- 
in  fact,  rc(|iiircd 
three  distinct  va- 
I  adopted  these,  all 
to  supply  the  want. 
,  although  he  may 
lot  necessarily  so, 
e  straight-forward 
;ies  which  arc  not 
essity  existing  in, 

8  with  fairness  in 
would  wrong  no 
would  not  injure 
•  deed.  His  fame 
1.  His  word  was 
iromise  is  as  good 
r  man's  bond.  He 
t  ashamed  to  look 
1  walking  erect  in 
honesty,  is  called 

lay  or  may  not  ex- 
ctitude.  He  may 
I  an  upright  man  ; 

forfeit  his  title  to 
downright.  The 
uch  a  moral  qual- 
peculiarity.  The 
is  tongue  ;  but  the 
ik  out,  loudly  and 
be  consecjucnces. 
idignation  to  find 
d  ;  and  if  he  com- 
id  downrightness, 
d  a  lie  a  lie,  and 
nds  by  so  doing. 
I'ith  him,  a  gieat 
issassin  ;  a  fraud- 
".  He  condemns 
ioes  not  approve, 
ndoes,  "  or  hints 
ill  he  indulge  in 
J  is  full  of  bitter 

"  honorable  gen- 

les  to  be  the  very 

other  as  his  "  no- 

leart  he  considers 

He  has  no  pa- 

for,  any  kind  of 
loss  over  error, 
t  is  attempted,  ho 

plain  speaking, 
jratives,  he  talks 


UPIUOHT.  DOWNIUGHT,  AND  STKAIOHT  KOllWAKD. 


517 


of  workmen  ;  the  endearing  word  "  wife"  , 
is  not  banished  from   bis  vocabulary  lor 
that  of  "  lady  ;"  and  "  man"  is  a  word  of 
diunily  and  significance  with  him,  inslend 
orl)eirift  degraded  to  imply  something  the 
opiiosite  of  a  gentleman.     If  a  man  who 
is  not  habitually  downright  were  to  say  a 
titlie  of  the  strong  .hings  that  he  may  say 
with    impunity,   he    would    get    knocked 
down  for  his  frankness  ,  but  the  very  au- 
dacity of  the   downright   man   takes  the 
world  by  surprise,  and  forces  it  into  admi- 
ration.    It  forgives  his  insolence  for  the 
sake  of  the  courage,  and  the  harshness  for 
love  of  the  sincerity.     He,  moreover,  has 
a  clear  head  for  detecting  a  sophism,  and 
a  knack  of  getting  at  the  gist  of  a  dispute, 
though  it  may  be  swathed  about  in  redun- 
dancies and  circumlocutions.    He  clinches 
an  argument  with  homely  common  sense, 
and  drives  a  truth  into  the  mind  of  an  an- 
tagonist with  as  much  force  and  as  little 
ceremony  as  a  carpenter  drives  a  nail  into 
a  block.     He  is  a  man,  to  use  a  very  com- 
mon phrase,  who  will  "stand  no  nonsense" 
—and  would  rather  a  thousand  times  be 
thought  rude,  boorish,  and  disagreeable 
(which  he  very  generally  is),  than  call  a 
spade  other  than  a  spade,  compromise  an 
opinion,  or  abandon  a  prejudice  that  he 
had  once  defended. 

In  every  condition  of  life,  in  the  very 
extremity  of  distress  and  poverty,  a  man 
may  be  upright,  and  will  be  the  better  for 
it ;   but  to  be  downright  is  not  over  pru- 
dent in  him  who  has  his  fortune  to  make, 
or  any  worldly  advantages  '.o  expect  from 
his  fellows.     If  a  man  be  rich,  his  down- 
rightness  is  not  much  in  his  way.     It  may 
even  become  ornamental  to  him,  and  pas8 
for  caustic  wit  and  interesting  eccentrici- 
ty.   The  worst  that  will  be  said  of  him  is, 
tiiat  his  ill-nature  is  extremely  piquant  and 
original.     If  he  be  poor,  it  will  receive  no 
such  honorable  appreciation,  but  be  uni- 
versally condemned  as  unjustifiable  niis- 
aiiUiropy.     It  is  rather  a  dangerous  weap- 
on in  any  one's  hands,  but  doubly  danger- 
ous in  the  grasp  of  those  who  have  not 
high  birth  or  station,  or  the  right  of  rich 
revenues,  to  privilege  them  to  wield  it. 

The  straight-forward  man  has  the  can- 
dor of  the  downright  man  without  his  in- 
civility. He  uses  clear  and  intelligible 
lau'fuage  on  all  occasions,  but  does  not 


hold  himself  bound  to  select  the  harshest 
plirases  which  can  be  found.     Iiiteyriiy 


'also  behmgs  to  his  character  ;  but,  being 
more  conspicuously  markeil    by  straight- 
forwardness, no  one  thinks  of  sjieakiiig  of 
his  uprightness.     The  notable  points  in 
the  straight-forward  man  are  the  direct- 
ness and  openness  with  whicl)  he  acts  in 
his  intercourse  with  the  world.     He  takes 
the  broad  highway,  and  not  the  crnokcd 
path.     His   objects   may  partake  of  the 
usual  business  character  of  selfishness, 
but  he  does  not  make  them  worse  by  at- 
tempts to  disguise  them.     No:  he  says, 
"  I  am  here  a  man  of  business,  and  pur- 
sue my  interests,  leaving  others  to  do  so 
too,  as  they  have  a  right  to  do."     Thus 
everybody  knows  at  once  "  what  he  would 
be  at ;"  and  arrangements  are  made  and 
bargains  struck  with  half  the  trouble  vyhich 
they  would  cost  in  other  hands.     Some- 
times this  straight-forwardness  is  felt  as 
a  little  out  of  taste  ;  but  all  are  sensible  of 
its  being  extremely  convenient,  and  gen- 
erally acknowledge  in  the  long-run  that 
his  mode  of  doing  business  is  the  best. 
It  is  amusing  to  see  a  circumambient  man 
come  into  dealings  with  him.     He  is  apt 
to  be  confounded  by  the  very  transparency 
of  the  other's  mind.    It  puts  him  out.    He 
could  manage  admirably  with   one  who 
took  cunning  ways  too,  however  much  he 
might  be  upon  his  guard  ;  but  straight-for- 
wardness is  a  new  mode  of  fence,  and  he 
sinks  under  it.     It  is  the  same  way  with 
the  sophist  and  the  man  who  has  a  bad 
cause  to  defend  by  clever  arguments  :  the 
arrow-flight   directness   of    his    common 
sense  overthrows  him  at  the  first  encoun- 
ter. 

Straight-forwardness  is  not  always  com- 
bined with  wisdom  ;  but  when  it  is,  it  be- 
comes a  masterful  power.     Even  by  itselt 
it  can  hardly  fail  to  elevate  its  possessor 
in  the  esteem  of  mankind.     As  a  rogue  is 
defined  to  be  "  a  fool  with  a  circumbendi- 
bus," so  may  one  who  has  no  bad  designs 
and  no  circumbendibus  about  him  be  said 
to  possess  a  kind  of  wisdom.     In    '  Don 
Quixote,"  we  see  straight-forwardness  uni- 
ted with  hallucinations  ;  and  it  is  interest- 
ine  to  reflect  how  that  one  good  quality-- 
the  good  faith,  simplicity,  and  thorough 
honesty  of  the  poor  hidalgo— makes  him 
1  respectable  amid  all  his  absurdities.    Gen- 


V^' 


<* 


t'f 


!<f<^'    r»i<»'im 


'.':!»' 


t'     If 


I 


*  li 


•it*. 


518 


BENJAMIN  WEST. 


erally,  however,  the  straightforward  man 
is  no  fool,  but  one  in  whom  all  the  ele- 
ments are  well  combined,  with  a  keen  eye, 
a  ('l<;ar  head,  a  good  heart,  a  passionate 
love  of  truth,  and  an  unfaltering  determi- 
nation t(»  pursue  it. 

We  trust,  as  the  world  gets  older,  up- 
right and  straightforward  men  will  in- 
crease among  us,  and  downright  men  be- 
come more  scarce.  The  first  (jualities  are 
unquestionably  virtuous  ;  but  the  la$  is 
at  the  best  an  unpleasant  chancteristic. 
Downright  men  do  not  see  things  quito  in 
their  true  light.  They  are  oddities  in  our 
social  scene.  The  soft  words  which  they 
deprecate,  and  which  they  never  will  con- 
sent to  use,  what  are  they  but  the  result 
of  an  improved  civilization  ?  In  a  ruder 
age,  when  bad  actions  were  more  frequent 
and  of  a  grosser  nature  than  now.  it  would 
have  been  cowardice  and  baseness  in  any 
who  could  see  the  evil  to  speak  of  it  mild- 
ly. But  now,  when  a  tolerably  equal 
standard  of  good  conduct  exists  in  all 
classes  aiming  at  being  called  respecta- 
ble, and  when  a  vast  tribunal  instantly 
condemns  any  occasional  aberration,  soft- 
er terms  are  sufficient ;  and  merely  to  ex- 
press surprise  at  any  little  delinquency, 
conveys,  in  these  days,  a  severer  reproof 
than  would  have  been  borne  two  hundred 
years  ago  by  a  violent  public  declamation. 


BENJAMIN  WEST. 

HE  life  of  Benjamin 
West  —  the  distin 
guished  American 
painter  —  affords  one 
of  those  striking  il- 
lustrations of  the  tri- 
umphs of  genius  over 
the  circumstances  of 
birth,  education,  so- 
cial condition,  and  the  prejudices  of  cus- 
tom, which  are  presented  in  such  bold  re- 
lief upon  almost  every  page  of  human  his- 
tory. His  birth  was  within  the  interior 
of  our  then  new  and  sparsely-settled  coun- 
try, where  the  intercourse  between  the 
few  cities  of  the  Atlantic  coast  was  ex- 


ceedingly infrequent,  and  where   few  in- 
centives  existed,  except  the   beauties  of 
natural  scenery,  to  develop  and  foster  a 
taste  and  genius  for  the  practice  of  any  of 
the  fine  arts.     His  education  was  of  that 
practical  and  utile  kind  so  common  and  so 
commendabli-  among  the  excellent  sect  (the 
quakers)  to  "hich  his  family  belonged  ; 
and  aside    from  the  substantial  features 
which  it  impressed  upon  his  intellect,  it 
was  but  little  calculated  to  give  wings  to 
imagination,  or  encourage  its  flight  into 
the  apparently  unreal  domains  of  the  pic- 
torial art.     The  social  condition  of  h\» 
early  years  afforded  to  him  none  of  liiose 
stimuli  to  the  pursuit  in  which  he  after- 
ward became  so  pre-eminent,  which  then 
as  now  propel  (if  we  may  be  allowed  the 
expression)  the  youth  of  Europe  forward 
in  the  pathof  excellence  in  the  arts  of  de- 
sign, surrounded  as  they  then  were  and 
still  are  by  all  the  beauties  and  wonders 
of  ancient  and  modern  art.     A  few  badly- 
executed  prints,  such  as  picture-dealers 
are  wont  to  display  in  prominent  places 
because  of  their  gaudy  colors,  lo  attract 
the  vulgar  eye,  was  the  extent  to  which 
young  West  had  been  permitted  to  study 
the  fine  arts,  when  he  first  took  up  liie 
pencil  and  made  his  initial  step  toward 
the  temple  of  fame.     And  he  had  preju- 
dices also  of  the  most  formidable  kind  to 
overcome  :  at  home,  the  prejudices  of  his 
peculiar  sect  against  a  pursuit  that  seemed 
to  foster  a  vain  spirit,  and  a  love  for  orna- 
ment, and  worldly-mindedness — a  pursuit 
that  seemed  to  them  unnecessary  to  the 
welfare  of  men,  and  hence  measurably  sin- 
ful.    And  when  finally  these  home  preju- 
dices were  overcome,  and  he  was  permit- 
led  to  go  abroad,  the  prejudices  of  Euro- 
pean society  were  arrayed  against  Ameri- 
cans.    To  many,  America  was   a  terra 
incognito ;  and  a  learned  cardinal,  to  whom 
young  West  was  introduced  in  Rome,  was 
astonished  to  find  him  white,  believing  all 
Americans  were  Indians  !    And  when  his 
superior  genius  had  broken  down  these 
prejudices  in  Italy,  and  he  had  fortified 
himself  for  coming  labors  by  a  zealous 
study  of  all  that  he  saw  in  Rome,  Flor- 
ence, and  other  depositories  of  ancient  art, 
and  he  boldly  wended  his  way  to  England, 
he  was  then  obliged  to  encounter  a  preju- 
dice of  triple  force — prejudice  against  his 


il  where   few  in- 

the  beauties  of 
'lop  and  foster  a 
practice  o(  any  of 
alien  was  of  that 
3  common  and  so 
Jxcellent  sect(ihe 
"amily  belonged  ; 
hstantial  features 
1  his  intellect,  it 
to  give  wings  to 
le  its  flight  into 
Tiains  of  the  pic- 
condition  of  his 
im  none  of  those 

which  ho  after- 
nent,  which  then 
y  be  allowed  the 

Europe  forward 
in  the  arts  of  de- 
r  then  were  and 
ties  and  wonders 
t.  A  few  badly- 
s  picture-dealers 
)rominent  places 
colors,  to  attract 

extent  to  which 
!rmitted  to  study 
first  took  up  the 
lial  step  toward 
id  he  had  preju- 
irmidable  kind  to 
prejudices  of  his 
rsuitthat  seemed 
I  a  love  for  orna- 
dness — a  pursuit 
lecessary  to  the 
!  measurably  sin- 
lese  home  preju- 
l  he  was  permit- 
judices  of  Euro- 
\  against  Ameri- 
ca was  a  terra 
ardinal,  to  whom 
ed  in  Rome,  was 
ite,  believing  all 
!  And  when  his 
ken  down  these 
he  had  fortitied 
rs  by  a  zealous 

in  Rome,  Flor- 
es  of  ancient  art, 
way  to  England, 
counter  a  preju- 
idice  against  his 


M 


»3    -I     :»' 

-J. 

hi 


^  'i'ff<\ 


520 


AFFECTATION— I'OMPKII  AND  UKllCUI-ANKUM. 


I 


country,  his  aect,  and  the  peculiar  path 
wliich  lie  marked  out  lor  hinis(!ir  in  tlic 
j)ur.suit  of  his  vocation.  But  his  superior 
genius,  aided  by  indomitable  perseverance, 
soon  conc|U(!re(l  them  all,  and  won  for  him 
the  crown  of  universal  esteem.  Like  An- 
gelo,  he  was  not  content  to  follow  a  beaten 
track  in  the  mediocre  departments  of  his 
j)rofessiori,  where  doubtless  immediate  pe- 
cuniary reward  was  far  more  certain  ;  but 
he  turned  his  face  toward  the  far-off  goal 
of  supreme  excellence,  and  grappled  at 
once  and  vigorously  with  the  difliculties 
and  duties  that  beset  and  devolve  upon  the 
laborer  in  the  higher  departments  of  the 
arts.  He  turned  to  the  volume  of  Holy 
Inspiration,  and  delved  deep  into  the  mines 
of  classic  lore,  for  his  subjects  ;  and  for 
thirty  years,  under  the  fostering  encour- 
agement of  George  HI.,  he  transferred  to 
cunvass  portraitures  of  the  most  remarka- 
ble events  in  the  history  of  our  race,  with 
a  rapidity  and  beauty,  boldness  of  concep- 
tion, and  truthfulness  of  execution,  never 
before  witnessed  since  the  days  of  Buonar- 
roti. And  finally,  when  old  age  dimmed 
his  eye  and  palsied  his  hand,  and  he  qui- 
etly and  peacefully  left  his  easel  and  un- 
dressed for  the  grave,  the  tears  of  a  nation 
bespoke  its  love,  and  his  pall  was  borne 
by  nobles  and  academicians.  Such  is  the 
triumph  of  genius  over  all  that  the  world 
calls  great  and  powerful ;  and  by  its  moral 
Ibrce  the  child  of  poverty  and  even  of  so- 
cial wretchedness  is  irresistibly  borne  for- 
w  ard  to  the  high  places  of  human  grandeur. 
In  view  of  this  fact,  let  no  one  faint  by  the 
way.  Hope  on,  labor  on  ;  let  your  motto 
be,  '•  Never  give  up" — and  the  prize  will 
assuredly  be  won. 

So  well  known  are  all  the  details  of  the 
life  of  Benjamin  West,  that  we  deem  it 
unnecessary  to  repeat  them  here  ;  and  we 
have  peinied  the  foregoing  remarks  chiefly 
lor  the  puri)ose  of  introducing  a  graphic 
picture  of  the  family  of  West,  from  a  paint- 
ing by  himself. 


Affectation. — Affectation  in  any  part 
of  our  carriage,  is  lighting  up  a  candle  to 
our  defect,  and  never  fails  to  make  us  be 
taken  notice  of,  either  as  wanting  sense 
or  as  wanting  sincerity. 


POMI'KII  AND  IlERCrL.\NEi:.M. 

RAIIAVAY  tar- 
ried IIS  Ironi  Na- 
ples to  Aniiiiiici- 
ata,  a  smtiil  lovvn 
about  two  miles 
from  I'oinpcii. — 
Here  we  eiicdiin- 
tered  a  inoilcy 
throng  of  hack- 
men,  who  were  as  bland  as  zejdiyrs  tow- 
ard us,  but  would  turn  upon  each  tiilnr 
with  the  deep  hoarse  growl*  of  a  tempest, 
which  we  soon  lulled  to  repose  by  mimni- 
ing  the  coach  which  chanced  to  bo  near- 
est. The  instant  we  were  seated,  our 
char^teer  cracked  his  whip  and  wont  off 
at  full  gallop,  singing  at  the  top  of  his 
voice  one  of  the  wild,  sweet.  Anacreontic 
airs  of  his  country,  with  a  spontaneity  of 
soul  which  assured  us  that  the  man  had 
never  known  an  anxious  hour  or  a  trou- 
bled thought.!  We  approached  the  disin- 
terred city  through  an  avenue  of  tombs 
rising  above  the  road  on  either  side.  On 
approaching  the  gate,  the  first  object  to  be 
noticed  is  an  inn,  such  as  country  people 
still,  in  all  the  world,  know  well  how  to 
use,  in  order  to  lessen  the  expense  of  a 
visit  to  the  city.  At  each  side  of  the  gate 
are  sentry-boxes.  Passing  within,  we 
found  ourselves  in  one  of  the  principal 
streets  of  the  city.  The  houses  are  g(!n- 
erally  but  one  story  high  ;  the  roofs  have 
quite  disappeared,  crushed  beneath  the 
weight  of  the  volcanic  ashes  ;  but  the 
walls  stand  perfectly  firm.  The  streets 
are  very  narrow,  and  the  pavement,  com- 
posed of  pieces  of  lava,  is  deeply  indented 
by  the  wheels  of  Pompeian  carriujjcs. 
Many  of  the  houses  are  built  of  lava,  the 
fiery  stream  of  some  ancient  eruption,  long 
before  the  brief  records  of  man  began  to 
note  the  awful  voice  and  action  of  Vesu- 
vius !  Pompeii  was  destroyed,  not  by  la- 
va, but  by  ashes — which  accounts  for  the 
admirable  preservation  of  the  objects  found 

*  Enquisitely  soft  and  tcndor  nn  in  the  Italian  lar- 
guago,  itt  Jc(;()  guttural  8(;::!:(;.'i  are  adapted  to  tho 
most  Ibrncious  uivectivu ;  and  it  is  said  to  abound  more 
than  any  utiicr  language  in  dispaniging  upitlitts.  I 
nover  liuvc  heard  such  scolding  in  iiny  other  language. 

t  This  follow  may  be  taken  as  a  typo  of  the  people 
of  this  country,  who  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  present 
boar  regard  neither  the  past  nor  the  future. 


1 


ICULANEL'M. 

RAHAVAYtJir- 

ried  iis  (ntin  Nu- 
j)l«'s  to  Aiimiiici- 
ata.  it  Htiiull  Idwn 
ahoiit  two  miles 
from  I'ompcii. — 
Mere  wv  rncoim- 
lertid  a  moth'V 
tliroiijT  of  liiick- 
as  Zephyrs  low- 
upon  fucli  (iilii  r 
iwl*  of  al(!iii[)('.st, 
repose  by  moimi- 
nced  to  be  iiear- 
vere  seated,  oiir 
hip  and  wtMit  oil' 
t  the  top  of  his 
.feet,  Anacreontic 
a  spontaneity  of 
lat  tho  man  liad 
i  hour  or  a  irou- 
oached  the  disin- 
ivenue  of  tombs 
either  side.  On 
first  object  to  be 
s  country  people 
low  well  how  to 
he  expense  of  a 
h  side  of  the  gate 
ling  within,  we 
of  the  principal 
houses  arc  geri- 
;  the  roofs  have 
led  benciilh  the 
ashes  ;  but  the 
m.  The  streets 
pavement,  com- 
i  deeply  indented 
peian  carriajies. 
built  of  lava,  the 
mt  eruption,  long 
jf  man  began  to 
action  of  V'esu- 
royed.not  by  la- 
accounts  for  the 
the  objects  found 

ha  h  the  Itnlinn  lar- 
i  are  adapted  to  tlio 
i  naid  lo  abound  more 
larugiug  cpitlitts.  I 
I  unj'  other  lauyuago. 
1  a  typo  of  tho  people 
^ment  of  the  present 
the  future. 


POMPEII  AND  HERCULANEUM. 


0-21 


there.     Tho  calamity  was  not  so  sudden, 
but  tha.  most  of  tho  inhabitants  were  able 
to  save  themselves  by  flight :  henco  very 
few  himian   skeletons   have  been   found. 
From  tho  absence  in  many  of  the  houses 
of  things  which  must  have  been  in  them 
at  the  moment  of  the  disaster,  it  is  sup- 
posed that  the  people  seized  on  what  was 
most  precious  and  carried  it  with  them  ; 
or  perhaps  returned  after  the  work  of  ruin 
was  done  and  recovered  what  they  could 
by  excavation.     The  ashy  tempest  which 
buried  this  fair  city  raged  for  more  than  a 
^veek — swept  quite  across  the  Mediterra- 
nean, and  left  traces  of  itself  on  the  dis- 
tant shores  of  Egypt.     Naples  is  just  tho 
same  distance  from  the  volcanic  crater  as 
Pompeii,  and  by  a  slight  variation  of  cir- 
cumstances might  have  been  the  buried 
city.     Pompeii  was  once — perhaps  at  tlie 
time  of  the  fatal  eruption — on  the  sea,  and 
its  wharves  were  laved  by  the  river  Sar- 
nus.     'J'he  sea  has  long  since  retired  to 
tho  distance  of  three  fourths  of  a  mile,  and 
the  river  has  shrunk  to  a  mere  rivulet. 
After  lying  beneath  ashes  and  cinders  for 
sixteen  hundred  and  seventy-six  years,  in- 
dications of  ils  site  were  accidentally  dis- 
covered.    The  excavations  were  begun  in 
1755.     As  yet,  but  one  third  of  the  city 
has  been  disinterred  ;  but  this  has  reveal- 
ed to  us  objects  of  the  deepest  interest — 
including  eighty  houses,  an  immense  num- 
ber of  small  shops,  the  public  baths,  two 
theatres,  two  halls  of  justice  called  basili- 
cas, eight  temples,  the  prison,  the  amphi- 
theatre, and  other  public  edifices,  besides 
a  great  number  of  fountains  and  tombs. 

As  you  pass  these  silent  and  desolate 
streets,  you  are  curious  to  learn  all  that  is 
known  of  each  house.  You  have  your 
book  and  your  map  in  your  hand,  and 
your  guide  at  your  side  prepared  to  sup- 
ply every  deficiency  by  a  ready  memory, 
or  by  a  readier  invention.  We  are  now 
in  the  street  which  leads  from  the  gate, 
at  which  we  entered,  to  the  forum.  On 
our  left  is  a  shop  where  drinks  were  sold  ; 
it  has  a  marble  counter,  from  which  the 
passers-by  could  take  their  refreshment 
without  going  within.  I  fear  they  were 
in  the  habit  of  drinking  hot  punch  in  those 
days ;  for  the  circular  prints  of  the  hot 
glasses  or  other  vessels  are  still  distinctly 
visible  on  the  smooth  marble.     On  the 


right  stands  tho  house  of  a  musician — on 
tho  left,  again,  a  house  which  belonged  to 
tho  vestals.     Then    comes   the    custom- 
house, the  houio  of  a  surgeon,  in  whit-h 
were  found   tho  instruments  already  de- 
scribed.    In  what  I  might  call   grocers' 
shops,  the  large  earthern  jars  which  con- 
tained wine,  oil,  and  other  articles,  are 
still  arranged  around  tho  wall.    They  were 
not  moveable,  their  contents  being  dipped 
up  by  ladles  of  which  the  museum  at  Na- 
plos  contains  a  great  many  specimens.     A 
baker's  shop  arrested  my  attention.     The 
front  portion  upon  the  street  contained  the 
articles  made  ready  for  use.     Hehind  this 
was  the  mill  for  grinding  the  grain,  in  the 
form  of  a  coffee-mill — consisting  of  a  solid 
cone  of  very  hard  lava,  fitted  to  a  hollow 
cone  of  the  same  material  ;  slill  further  in 
the  rear  are  the  ovens  :  so  that  i!»e  whole 
establishment  is  quite  comprehensive. 

The  general  plan  of  tho  houses  is  that 
of  a  quadrangle,  built  round  an  open  court. 
Nearly  all  the  rooms  open  into  this  court, 
at  the  centre  of  which  is  a  marble  fount- 
ain or  cistern  of  water,  and  their  only  light 
is  derived  from  the  doors.  From  the  small 
size  of  the  apartments,  it  is  supposed  that 
hospitality  could  not  have  been  one  of  tho 
virtues  of  the  Pompeians.  They  probably, 
as  the  inhabitants  of  those  countries  still 
do  to  a  great  extent,  spent  much  of  their 
time  in  the  forum,  in  the  public  baths,  at 
the  theatres,  or  at  the  amphitheatre  :  here 
thoy  saw  everybody,  conversed  with  ev- 
erybody, and  had  therefore  little  motive 
for  social  entertainments  at  their  own 
houses. 

The  baths  of  Pompeii  are  both  spacious 
and  splendid.    They  are  divided  into  three 
separate  apartments  .%the  first  for  servants 
and  for  fires,  the  second  for  '.he  use  of  the 
women,  and  the  third  for  the  men.     All 
these  apartments  are  beautifully  adorned 
with  frescoes,  and  with  figures  wrought  in 
stucco,  both  on  the  ceilings  and  on  tho 
walls.     Tho  basin  for  cold  water  is  twelve 
feet  and  ten  inches  in  diameter,  and  is 
lined  throughout  with  white  marble.     A 
bronze  window-frame  was  found  in  one 
of  these  baths,  containing  four  beauiil'ul 
panes  of  glass,  which  prove  that  this  ele- 
gant comfort  was  not  unknown  to  the  Pom- 
peians.    Nor  is  this  the  only  evidence  of 
their  skill  in  this  kind  of  manufacture  :  for 


4 


I 


/ 


\ 


1  ^ 


III 


^\4 


i  ■•' 


522 


THE  BUBROVVINGOWL  AND  PaXIHIEDOa. 


■I.*. 


a  largfi  number  of  vases,  boUlos,  and  glas- 
ses of  very  elegant  patioriis  and  beautiful 
material,  have  been  brought  to  light. 
Some  ideauf  the  extent  and  magnificence 
of  these  baths  may  be  formed  from  the 
fact  that  one  thousand  lamps  were  found 
here.  Imagine  these  magnificent  apart- 
ments with  their  bronzes,  their  marble 
statues,  their  reliovoes,  all  radiant  with 
the  light  of  a  thousand  lamps,  and  throng- 
ed with  a  gay  and  graceful  people,  in  easy 
llowing  costume,  brisulhing  the  balmiest 
air  that  was  over  breathed  without  the 
gates  of  paradise — and  you  have  a  picture 
of  one  scene  in  Pompeian  life. 

The  fact  that  most  of  the  inhabitants  of 
this  unfortunate  city  were  allowed  to 
make  tlieir  escape  from  impending  ruin, 
induces  us  to  sympathize  all  the  more  ten- 
derly with  those  ill-fated  victims  who  per- 
ished. I  have  elsewhere  alluded  to  the 
skeleton  of  Diomede,  found  in  his  splendid 
villa  without  the  gate  ;  a  still  more  touch- 
ing memorial  found  in  the  same  villa,  is 
believed  to  bo  the  remains  of  the  mistress 
of  the  house  and  her  infant  child.  The 
wet  ashes  had  enveloped  the  mother  with 
tile  child  locked  in  her  arms.  There  was 
found  every  feature  and  limb  of  both,  ex- 
quisitely rounded.  Even  the  linen  which 
had  enveloped  her  young  and  beautiful 
form  was  found  adhering  to  the  mould, 
liut  nothing  of  that  fair  form  remained  ex- 
cept the  skeleton  mother  clasping  her 
skeleton  child — a  gold  chain  about  her 
neck,  and  gold  rings  on  her  bony  fingers  ! 
In  the  prison  were  found  two  skeletons 
with  their  bones  still  held  by  the  shackles 
either  of  justice  or  tyranny  !  In  a  niche 
nearer  the  forum  were  found  the  remains 
of  a  soldier,  his  skeleton  hand  still  grasp- 
ing a  lance ! 

I  could  not  content  myself  with  a  single 
visit,  but  returned  to  spend  a  second  day 
among  these  unique  and  deeply  interesting 
ruins  The  excavations  were  then  going 
forward,  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
the  walls  of  a  house  laid  bare,  which  had 
been  hid  from  the  light  of  day  for  eighteen 
hundred  yeais.  The  frescoes  on  these 
walls  were  as  bright  as  if  the  pencil  had 
traced  them' but  yesterday  !  The  excava- 
tions are  oqndticted  .by  the  government, 
and  the  premises^  ft'e  guarded  night  and 
day  against   depredations.     Visiters  are 


always  attended  by  guides  authorized  by 
the  government. 

To  explore  Kerculaneum*  is  a  more 
difllcult  enterprise.  It  was  buried  beneath 
solid  lava,  or  if  beneath  loose  ashes  and 
mud,  these  materials  have  consolidated 
into  a  gray  rock,  which  makes  excavation 
a  slow  and  costly  work.  Neverlheii  ss,  a 
magnificent  theatre,  two  temples,  a  porti- 
co, and  several  private  houses,  were  ex- 
cavated, hut  all  except  the  theatre  have 
been  filled  up,  and  the  work  is  not  now  in 
progress.  We  descended  into  the  theatre, 
and  wandorod  through  its  d  itk  spacious 
caverns — formed  by  excavaion,  for  it  was 
as  completely  filled  with  so  id  rock  as  a 
lould  with  molten  lead.  Many  interest- 
ing and  boauliful  works  of  art  were  found 
here.  The  depth  of  our  descent  was  be- 
tween seventy  and  eighty  feet  below  the 
surface  of  the  rock.  The  modern  town 
of  I'ortici  is  built  over  the  buried  city  ; 
and  while  exploring  the  theatre,  we  could 
hear  carriages  rumbling  along  tho  street 
over  our  heads. 


THE  BUMOWING-OWLAND  PRAIRIE- 
DOG. 

^ENERABLE  ruins  — 
^  crumbling  under  the  in- 
fluence of  time  and  vi- 
cissitudes of  season  — 
are  habitually  associated 
with  our  recollections  of 
the  owl ;  or  ho  is  con- 
sidered as  th»  tenant  of 
sombre  forests,  whose 
nocturnal  gloom  is  rendered  deeper  and 
more  awful  by  the  harsh  dissonance  of  Lis 
voice.  In  poetry  he  has  long  been  re- 
garded as  the  appropriate  concomitant  o/ 
darkness  and  horror.  But  we  are  now  to 
make  the  reader  acquainted  with  an  owl 
to  which  none  of  these  associations  can 
belong  ;  a  bird  that,  so  far  from  seeking 
refugt  in  th'-  ruined  habitations  of  man, 
fixes  its  residence  within  the  earth  ;  and 
instead  of  concealing  itself  in  solitary  re- 
cesses of  the  forest,  delights  to  dwell  on 

*  Accidentally  discovered  in  1726,  in  digging  a 
well. 


•^■m^ 


^.'^tv-jimvifvfssx.jffia^^fsss^jiiifr^vm'^f^^ 


m 


open  plaint,  in  company  with  animaU  in- 
markable  for  ih^tr  social  dispotition,  neat- 
neiR,  and  order.  1  nstcad  of  aailing  hiiavi- 
ly  forth  in  the  obacurily  o(  the  evening  or 
morning  twilight,  and  then  retreating  to 
mope  away  the  intervening  hours,  our  owl 
enjoys  the  broadest  glare  of  the  noontide 
sun,  and  flying  rapidly  along,  searches  for 
food  or  pltjaiture  during  the  cheerful  light 
of  day. 

Tlio  burrowing-owl  resi  U'n  exclusively 
.4  the  villages  of  the  marmui  or  prairie- 
dog,  \\  nose  excavations  are  so  commodi- 
ous au  to  render  it  unnecessary  that  our 
I  ird  should  dig  for  himself,  aM  no  is  said 
tu  do  in  other  parts  of  the  world,  where  no 
burrowing  animals  exist.  These  villages 
are  very  numerous,  and  variable  in  their 
extent,  sometimes  covering  only  a  few 
acres,  and  at  others  spreading  over  the  sur- 
face of  the  country  for  miles  together. 
They  are  composed  of  slightly-elevated 
mound'd,  having  the  form  of  a  truncated 
cone,  about  two  feet  in  width  at  base,  and 
seldom  rising  as  high  as  eighteen  inches 
above  the  surface  of  the  soil.  The  en- 
trance is  placed  either  at  the  top  or  on  the 
side,  and  the  whole  mound  is  beaten  down 
externally,  especially  at  the  summit,  re- 
sembling a  much-used  footpath. 

From  the  entrance  the  passage  into  the 
mound  descends  vertically  for  one  or  two 
feet,  and  is  thence  continued  obliquely 
downward,  until  it  terminates  in  an  apart- 
ment, within  which  the  industrious  marmot 
constructs,  on  the  approach  of  the  cold 
season,  the  comfortable  cell  for  his  win- 
ter's sleep.  This  cell,  which  is  composed 
of  fine  dry  grass,  is  globular  in  form,  with 
an  opening  at  top  capable  of  admitting  the 
finger  ;  and  the  whole  is  so  firmly  com- 
pacted, that  it  might,  without  injury,  be 
rolled  over  the  floor. 

It  is  delightful,  during  fine  weather,  to 
see  these  lively  little  creatures  sporting 
about  the  entrance  of  their  burrows,  which 
are  always  kept  in  the  neatest  repair,  and 
are  often  inhabited  by  several  individuals. 
When  alarmed,  they  immediately  take  ref- 
uge in  their  subterranean  chambers  ;  or,  if 
the  dreaded  danger  be  not  immediately 
impending,  they  stand  near  the  brink  of 
the  entrance,  bravely  barking  and  flourish- 
ing their  tails,  or  else  sit  erect  to  recon- 
noitre the  movements  of  the  enemy. 


In  all  the  prairie-dog  villages  the  bur- 
rowing-owl  is  seen  moving  briskly  about, 
or  else  in  small  flocks  scattered  among 
the  mounds,  and  at  a  distance  it  may  be 
mistaken  fur  the  marmot  itself  when  sit- 
ting erect.  They  manifest  but  little  timidi- 
ty, and  allow  themselves  to  be  approached 
auflicicntly  close  for  shooting  ; — but  if 
alarmed,  tiome  or  all  of  them  soar  away 
and  settle  down  again  at  a  short  distance  ; 
if  further  disturbed,  their  flight  is  contin- 
ued until  they  are  no  longer  in  view,  or 
they  descend  into  their  dwellings,  whence 
they  are  diflicult  to  dislodge. 

The  burruws  into  which  those  owl^ 
have  been  seen  to  descend,  on  the  plains 
of  the  river  Platte,  where  they  are  most 
numerous,  were  evidently  excavated  by 
the  marmot,  whence  it  has  been  inferred 
that  they  were  eilh>u  common,  though  un- 
friendly residents  of  the  same  habitation, 
or  that  our  owl  wat  he  sole  occupant  of 
a  burrow  acquired  ay  the  ri^ht  of  con- 
quest. 

The  evidence  of  this  was  clearly  present- 
ed by  the  ruinous  condition  of  the  burruws 
tenanted  by  the  owl,  which  were  frequent- 
ly caved  in,  and  their  sides  channelled  by 
the  rains,  while  the  neat  and  well-preserv- 
ed mansion  of  the  marmot  showed  the  ac- 
tive care  of  a  skilful  and  industrious  own- 
er. We  have  no  evidence  that  the  owl 
and  marmot  habitually  resort  to  ono  bur- 
row ;  yet  we  are  assured  that  a  common 
danger  often  drives  them  into  the  same  ex- 
cavation, where  lizards  and  rattlesnakes 
also  enter  for  concealment  and  uafety. 
The  owl  digs  itself  a  burrow  two  ieet  in 
depth,  at  the  bottom  of  which  its  eggs  are 
deposited  on  a  bed  of  moss,  herb-stalks, 
and  dried  roots. 

The  note  of  our  bird  is  strikingly  simi- 
lar to  the  cry  of  the  marmot,  which  Hounds 
like  cheh,  cheh,  pronounced  several  times 
in  rapid  succession ;  and  were  it  not  that 
the  burrowirig-owls  of  the  West  Indies — 
where  no  marmots  exist — utter  the  same 
sound,  it  might  be  inferred  that  the  mar- 
mot was  the  unintentional  tutor  to  the 
young  owl :  this  cry  is  only  uttered  as  the 
bird  begins  its  flight.  The  food  of  the 
bird  we  are  describing  appears  to  consist 
entirely  of  insects,  as,  on  examination  of 
its  stomach,  nothing  but  parts  of  their  hard 
wing-cases  were  found. 


1.1 


ng  villages  tli«  bur- 
Dving  brinkly  iibout, 
(s  ncattnrod  among 
(lisiance  it  may  bo 
fiiot  itsuir  whon  ait- 
ifest  but  litilo  timidi- 
fls  to  be  approached 

shooting  ; — but  if 
of  them  soar  away 
at  a  short  distance  ; 
leir  flight  is  coiitin- 

longer  in  view,  or 
r  dwoliings,  whunce 
■lodge. 

which  these  owl" 
cend,  on  tlie  plains 
here  they  are  nioit 
9ntiy  excavated  by 
t  has  been  inferred 
common,  though  un- 
the  same  habitation, 
he  sole  occupant  of 
r  the  ri>;ht  of  con- 
was  clearly  present- 
lition  of  the  burrows 
rhich  wore  frequent- 
sides  channtiUed  by 
at  and  well-prcserv- 
mut  showed  the  ac- 
nd  industrious  own- 
idence  that  the  owl 
r  resort  to  on««  bur- 
ired  that  a  common 
III  into  the  suiuu  ex- 
ia  and  rattleiiuakcs 
ilment  and  safety, 
burrow  two  feet  in 
'  which  its  eggs  are 
r  moss,  herb-stalks, 

1  is  strikingly  simi- 
irmot,  which  rounds 
need  several  times 
ind  were  it  not  that 
the  West  Indies — 
at — utter  the  same 
erred  that  the  mar- 
itional  tutor  to  the 
I  only  uttered  as  the 
The  food  of  the 
y  appears  to  consist 
,  on  examination  of 
It  parts  of  their  hard 
1. 


uurteli  " 
she  thin  ; 

.iji  alto- 


"CROSS  FOLKS." 

T  is  not  an  uncommon 
thing  to   have  it  whis- 
pered  through    thi<t    or 
that  neighborhood,  that 
•uch  a  man  is  "  cross  in 
his  family."      No   one 
knows  just  how  it  is  ex- 
actly.    Gentlemanly  in 
hit  address,  polished  in 
manners,  constitutionally  full  of  good  feel- 
ings, and  from  principle  benevolent,  yet  he 
cross."     Some  of  his  friends  say  he 
is,  his  servants  will  swear  to  it,  some- 
thing of  an  irritable  temperament  shows 
itself  now  and  then  elsewhere,  and  the 
man  is  set  down  "  cross."    We  ha"e  some- 
times, in  moments  when  we  ':  ni  iu>  '.;ing 
else  to  do,  speculated  a  lit  h  V{mn  i-.  is 
matter ;   and   we   have   as:  ed 
whether  it  were  not  possibl  -.  it 
were  looked  to,  to  show  how  .' 
that  the  poor  man  is  suffering, 
gctlier  unjustly,  yet  where  ihere  are  very 
great  palliatives  for  his  conduct.    We  have 
said  to  ourselves,  "  What  if  it  should  ap- 
pear, on  examination,  that  the  man  is  nat- 
urally one  of  the  kindest  and  most  gener- 
ous men  in  the  world  ;  that  he  bore  this 
character  in  boyhood,  through  youth,  and 
in  incipient  manhood  ;   that  he  had  the 
quickest  sensibility,  a  mind  ever  open  to 
see  beauty  everywhere  about  him,  and  a 
heart  to  feel  it — and  he  walks  amid  the 
beautiful  things  of  the  earth  ono  of  those 
who  find  even  amid  inanimate  creation  ob- 
jects of  truth  and  wonder,  and  hear  les- 
sons of  purity  and  peace  ;  but  for  the  last 
few  years  of  his  life,  subtle  disease  has 
been  preying  upon  and  undermining  a  nat- 
urally sturdy  constitution,  "  playing  the 
deuce"  with  that  moat  complicated  of  all 
things,  the  nervous  system,  and  through 
that  nervous  system  thus  preying  upon  that 
naturally  most  delicate  mind  and  heart, pre- 
paring him  exactly  to  feel  most,  and  in  a 
painful  way,  all  the  li'  le  annoyances  of 
daily  life.     And  now  ^^uppose  in  addition 
to  all  this,  he  is  one  still  confined  to  busi- 
ness ;  and  to  make  the  case  stil!  more  stri- 
king, suppose  his  occupation  a  daily  tax 
on  the  brain,  either  in  a  profession,  or, 
what  is  perhaps  worse,  in  the  uncomfort- 


able elevation  of  a  daily  caterer  for  other 
men's  nmidlen,  in  the  shape  of  author  or 
editor,  and  where,  if  the  thing  exists  any- 
where, ho  must  not  he  distiirhod  by  thoH'n 
thousand  nettles  that  an  all-wise  i'rovi- 
dence  h  is  scattered  along  the  little  by- 
paths of  private  life  ;  and  for  whom  things 
must  be  arranged  at  home,  if  ihoy  must  for 
any  ono,  in  such  a  way  as  that  the  mind 
shall  he  kopt  equable  and  the  heart  undis- 
turbed. 

Uvit  now  let  us  suppose  that  from  some 
cause  or  other— we  will  not  say  what — 
there  is  that  in  his  family  exactly  calru- 
lated  to  nettle  and  disturb  this  same  nerv- 
ous  and    diseased    mind.     Suppose   him 
ptxirj  and  yet  his  expense  is  large  ;  inde- 
pendent in  fooling,  but  dependent  by  no 
cessity;   fond  of  order  in  the  household, 
but  yet  has  a  sick  companion  ;  perfect  in 
heart  and  spirit,  but  yet  physically  inca- 
pable of  securing  this;  overwhelmed  with 
visiters,  whose  tastes  and  habits  are  no 
more  like  his  than  chalk  to  Dutch  cheese, 
or  visited  by  poor  relations,  who,  true  to 
the  natiire  of  the  case,  must  have  all  no- 
tice, and  thank  you  for  nothing :  now  sup- 
pose all  this,  or  forty  other  tilings  we  might 
easily  sum  up  if  we  had  time,  were  by 
some  combination  to  meet  in  the  circum- 
stances ot  this  same  individual — the  very 
things  to  make  him  cross — and  where  is 
the  man,  woman,  or  child,  who  would  not 
look  with  a  little  more  compassion  on  this 
"cross  man  in  his  family,"  or  perhaps 
judge  with  a  little  softer  judgment  on  his 
weakness  and  deficiencies  ?     Now  let  it 
not  be  supposed  we  apologize  for  sin  in 
any  shape,  or  for  any  of  the  little  deformi- 
ties of  social  life.    All  wrong  is  blameable. 
Yet  is  there  not  that,  often  out  of  tlie  way 
of  the  world's  eyes,  in  the  conditions  of 
men,  which  brings  down  our  harsh  judg- 
ments on  them  like  thunderbolts,  when 
they  ought  rather  to  full  in  the  shape  of 
the  dews    of  heavenly  forgiveness— and 
which  would,  if  we  look  for  it,  rather  in- 
spire with  feelings   of  benevolence,  yes, 
even  love,  where  possibly  wo  have  only 
indulged  in  those  of  distrust  and  resent- 
ment 1     It  will  not  hurt  us,  just  to  think 
of  this  :   and  as  we  are  among  those  who 
are  trying  to  think  for  the  good  as  well  as 
amusement  of  our  readers,  we  have  picked 
these  few  truths   passing  along  this 


i 


k 
i 


■a. 


up 


M  ,.  , 


w 


■t- 


m 


52b 


THE  PORPOISE. 


morning  to  our  office,  and  we  scratch  them 
down  "  for  the  benefit  of  all  those  whom 
it  may  concern." 


THE  PORPOISE. 


HE  cetacea  (an  order 
of  mammalia  compri- 
sing the  whale,  the 
grampus,     the     por- 
poise, &c.)  were  for- 
merly   classed    with 
fishes,  and  in  comnion 
language    still    bear 
that  ill-applied  title. 
Hence  we  read  of  the  "  whale-fishery"  and 
of  the  number  of  ''fish"  taken  upon  any 
occasion.     The  cetacea  are  not  "fish"  in 
any  sense  of  the  word.     They  breathe  the 
atmospheric  air  by  means  of  lungs  ;  their 
heart  consists  of  two  auricles  and  two  ven- 
tricles ;  their  blood  is  warm  ;  they  bring 
forth  living  young,  and  manifest  toward 
them  great  attachment,  nursing  and  pro- 
tecting them  with  remarkable  assiduity. 
As  it  respects  the  general  form  of  their 
body  and  the  construction  of  their  limbs, 
the  cetacea  differ  considerably  from  all  ter- 
restrial mammalia  ;  and  the  reason  is  evi- 
dent— their  exclusive  destination  to  aquat- 
ic habits.     Terrestrial  mammalia  are  cov- 
ered with  hair,  wool,  spines,  scales,  or 
plates  of  mail :  in  the  cetacea,  we  find  the 
skin  naked  and  smooth — a  circumstance 
in  strict  harmony  with  their  structure  and 
habits.     In  its  general  outli.ie,  the  body 
has  considerable  resemblance  to  that  of  a 
fish,  being  of  an  oblong  form,  and  termi- 
nating in  a  thick,  muscular  tail,  furnished 
Et  the  extremity  with  a  horizontal  cartila- 
ginous paddle.     There  are  no  posterior 
limbs,  and  the  anterior  are  modified  into 
the  form  of  short  broad  oars,  which  they 
resemble  also  in  their  use.     But  the  great 
muscular  force  iesides  in  the  tail ;  its  ac- 
tion is  not,  however,  from  side  to  side,  as 
we  see  in  the  fish,  but  up  and  down,  and 
the  reason  of  ^'us  arrangement  is  very  evi- 
dent :   the  cetacea  breathe  air,  and  ere 
obliged  to  inspire  evfry  few  minutes — 
hence,  plunging  as   litey  do   into  great 


depths,  they  are  enabled  to  raise  them- 
selves by  a  succession  of  vigorous  strokes 
with  great  rapidity  to  the  surface.     What 
is  termed  "  blowing"  by  the  whale-fishers 
is  nothing  more  than  the  forcible  expira- 
tion of  the  breath  before  the  animal  has 
reached  the  surface.     Having  retained  his 
breath  as  long  as  possible,  as  he  ascends 
ho  begins  to  force  out,  through  his  nos- 
trils, the  pent-up  air,  which  throws  aloft 
the  water  in  a  jet  or  column.     The  jwsi- 
tion  of  the  nostrils  in  the  cetacea  is  well 
worthy  of  consideration.     Of  little  use  as 
olfactory  organs,  they  are  the  exclusive 
apertures  through  which  the   process  of 
breathing  takes  place.     In  other  mamma- 
lia, the  nostrils  are  placed  at  the  extremi- 
ty of  the  muzzle,  but  in  the  cetacea  the 
muzzle  or  snout  is  always  immersed  be- 
neath the  surface,  and  can  not  well  be  ele- 
vated.    Where,  then,  can  these  organs  be 
conveniently  situated?  On  that  part  which, 
as  the  animal  floats,  rises  naturally  above 
the  surface.     They  open  on  the  top  of  the 
head,  and  lead,  in  the  whales,  into  a  large 
sack,  where  the  air,  before  being  expired, 
is  pent  up,  and  whence  it  is  violently  ex- 
pelled by  the   compression  of  powerful 
muscles.     'I'he  larynx  or  windpipe  is  pro- 
longed into  the  posterior  nares,  or  back  of 
the  nostrils,  in  the  form  of  a  cone,  so  that 
the  air  is  immediately  conducted  to  the 
lungs  through  an  uninterrupted  channel. 
As  it  regards  the  organs  of  sight  and  hear- 
ing, we  may  observe  that,  as  in  fish,  the 
eye  is  adapted  to  the  density  of  the  sur- 
rounding medium,  the  cornea  being  flat, 
and  the  crystalline  lens  globular.     The 
external  aperture  of  the  ear  is  very  small, 
and  capable  of  being  closed. 

There  are  two  other  points,  of  especial 
interest,  which  we  can  not  pass  over,  gen- 
eral as  we  intend  our  remarks  to  be  :  we 
allude  to  the  deposition  of  a  layer  of  oil  or 
blubber  between  the  skin  and  muscles,  and 
to  the  construction  of  the  vertebrae  of  the 
neck.  There  are  several  uses  connected 
with  the  mode  of  life  of  the  cetacea  which 
the  layer  of  blubber  oetween  the  skin  and 
muscles  appears  to  serve.  In  the  first 
place,  it  tends  to  render  their  specific  grav- 
ity lighter,  a  circumstance  of  some  impor- 
tance when  we  consider  the  immense  mass 
of  muscle  and  bone  of  which  these  ani- 
mals are  compacted.    It  is,  however,  in  the 


J  ^  M.  ■ 


tabled  to  raise  them- 
on  of  vigorous  strokes 

0  the  surface.  What 
"  by  the  whale-fishers 
n  the  forcible  expira- 
3efore  the  animal  has 

Having  retained  his 
>3sible,  as  he  ascends 
out,  through  his  nos- 
r,  which  throws  aloft 
r  column.  The  posi- 
in  the  cetacea  is  well 
tion.  Of  little  use  as 
ley  are  the  exclusive 
which  the  process  of 
;e.  In  other  mamma- 
placed  at  the  extremi- 
ut  in  the  cetacea  the 
always  immersed  be- 
nd can  not  well  be  ele- 
™,  can  these  organs  be 
d?  On  that  part  which, 
,  rises  naturally  above 
open  on  the  top  of  the 
le  whales,  into  a  large 
,  before  being  expired, 
mce  it  is  violently  ex- 
ipression  of  powerful 
rnx  or  windpipe  is  pro- 
erior  nares,  or  back  of 
form  of  a  cone,  so  that 
tely  conducted  to  the 
ininterruptcd  channel, 
gans  of  sight  and  hear- 
ve  that,  aa  in  fish,  the 
;he  density  of  the  sur- 
the  cornea  being  flat, 

1  lens  globular.  The 
f  the  ear  is  very  small, 
ig  closed. 

ther  points,  of  especial 
can  not  pass  over,  gen- 
lur  remarks  to  be  :  we 
ition  of  a  layer  of  oil  or 
3  skin  and  muscles,  and 
of  the  vertebra!  of  the 
several  uses  connected 
"e  of  the  cetacea.  which 
:  oetween  the  skin  and 
o  serve.  In  the  first 
ider  their  specific  grav- 
nstance  of  some  impor- 
lider  the  immense  mass 
ne  of  which  these  ani- 
1.    It  is,  however,  in  the 


I  t 


f 


1^1 


-  !"< 


1  » 

III 


Is 


1  "!,'!*'!•' 


:v.i.,, 


true  whales  that  we  find  the  layer  of  blub- 
ber the  thickest.  These  »re  animals  ex- 
posed to  the  rigors  of  the  polar  circle,  and 
it  would  appear  to  be  a  means  of  preserv- 
ing the  vital  hent  of  the  body,  which  might 
perhaps  be  otherwise  unable  to  withstand 
the  intensity  of  the  cold.  This  coating  is 
as  bad  a  conductor  of  calori :;  as  the  fur  of 
the  white  be?r.  But  the  blubber  has  most 
probably  another  use  also.  It  is  well 
known  that  the  whale  plunges  to  an  ama- 
zing depth,  where  it  has  to  sustain  an  ex- 
traordinary pressure.  Now,  to  prevent 
this  pressure  from  paralyzing  ihe  muscles 
and  disturbing  the  functions  of  the  internal 
organs,  must  be  one  of  the  ends  to  be  kept 
in  view  in  the  economy  of  this  gigantic 
animal.  Such  a  purpose  the  thick  lay- 
er of  blubber  will  well  subserve,  and 
such  is,  no  doubt,  one  of  its  appointed 
uses. 

The  cetacea  appear  to  have  no  neck. 
They  have  no  distinct  interval  of  separa- 
tion between  the  head  and  the  trunk,  yet, 
if  we  examine  their  skeleton,  we^shall  find 
that  they  possess  the  number  of  cervical 
vertebrae  common  to  all  mammalia,  name- 
ly, seven.  The  neck  of  the  giraffe  also 
consists  of  seven  vertebrae.  But,  in  the 
one  case,  we  find  the  vertebrae  elongated 
to  the  utmost ;  in  the  other  case  the  whole 
seven  are  compacted  closely  together,  and 
so  compressed  as  to  lose  the  usual  appear- 
ance of  such  bones ;  they  scarcely  occupy 
the  space,  in  length,  of  a  single  vertebra 
of  the  giraffe.  Hence  the  neck  of  the 
cetaca  is  immoveable  and  solid. 

The  cetacea  are  divided  into  several 
groups.  Some  pre  herbivorous,  as  the  du- 
gong,  feeding  on  the  submarine  vegetables 
which  grow  in  shallows  or  near  shore ; 
most,  however,  are  carnivorous,  preying 
on  the  fish  and  other  tenants  of  the 
ocean.  To  this  latter  family  must  be  re- 
ferred the  porpoise  {Phocana  communis, 
Cuvikr). 

The  porpoise  is  the  smallest  of  the  ceta- 
cea, seldom  exceeding  five  feet  in  length. 
It  frequents,  in  troops,  the  bays  and  inlets 
of  our  coast,  and  especially  the  mouths  of 
rivers,  not  unfrequently  advancing  to  a  con- 
siderable distance  up  their  stream.  In 
such  places  it  is  often  taken  in  nets  by  the 
fishermen,  becoming  entrapped  while  ea- 
gerly pursuing  its  prey.    When  the  shoals 


of  herring  and  other  fish  which  periodi- 
cally visit  our  coast  make  their  appear- 
ance, they  are  harassed,  among  other  ene- 
mies, by  this  active  and  voracious  animal, 
which  revels  in  the  luxury  of  a  perpetual 
feast ;  and,  aa  its  appetite  is  enormous  and 
its  digestion  rapid,  the  slaughter  in  which 
it  appears  incessantly  occupied  must  be 
very  great.  The  peculiarity  of  their  mo- 
tion results  from  the  horizontal  position  of 
the  tail  paddle, and  the  up-and-down  stroke 
which  it  gives  ;  and  their  momentary  ap- 
pearance is  for  the  purpose  of  breathing, 
which  accomplished,  they  plunge  down  in 
search  of  their  food.  In  former  days,  the 
flesh  of  the  porpoise  was  highly  esteemed 
as  a  delicacy  for  the  table,  and  was  served 
at  public  feasts ;  indeed,  it  is  but  lately 
that  it  has  fallen  into  disrepute  :  the  turtle 
usurps  its  place.  Our  forefathers  must 
have  had  a  different  notion  about  table  del- 
icacies from  ourselves ;  for  few,  we  be- 
lieve, would  now  relish  the  rank,  oily, 
fishy  flesh  of  this  animal. 


THE  BOTTLE  TIT  AND  NEST. 

OW  delightful  it 
is,  on  a  fine  sum- 
mer's day,  when 
Nature,  clad  in 
her  gayest  robes, 
inspires  us  with 
a  joyous  and  hap- 
py feeling,  the  re- 
flex of  the  smile 
which  beams  over  her  own  face,  to  watch 
her  manifold  operations,  and  remark  the 
beauty  and  discrimination  of  her  proceed- 
ings !  Whatever  may  be  the  object  to  be 
attained,  how  simply,  but  how  eflectually, 
does  she  proceed  to  its  accomplishment ! 
Behold  the  delicate  downy  appendage  to 
the  seed  of  the  dandelion  (Leonlodon  Ta- 
raxacum) !  What  a  beautiful  contrivance 
for  their  transportation,  and  how  effectu- 
ally it  provides  for  the  object  in  view,  the 
propagation  of  the  species  in  a  distinct 
locality  !  Trace  the  operations  of  the  in- 
sects buzzing  and  humming  around  you, 
and  you  will  find  in  each  something  of 


fish  which  period)- 
nalie  tlu'ir  appear- 
1,  among  other  eiie- 
1  voracious  anima!, 
Kury  of  a  perpetual 
ite  is  enormous  and 
slaughter  in  which 
occupied  must  he 
iliarity  of  their  mo- 
trizontal  position  of 
up-and-down  stroke 
leir  momentary  ap- 
rpose  of  breathing, 
ley  plunge  down  in 
In  former  days,  the 
as  highly  esteemed 
ble,and  was  served 
ed,  it  is  but  lately 
isrepute  :  the  turtle 
r  forefathers  must 
lion  about  table  del- 
I ;  for  few,  we  be- 
sh  the   rank,  oily, 

Ml. 


T  AND  NEST. 


'  OW  delightful  it 
'  is,  on  a  fine  suin- 
,  Bier's  day,  when 
"^Nature,  clad  in 
^  her  gayest  robes, 
^  inspires  us  with 
^^  a joyous  and hap- 
'^  pyfeoling.the  re- 
flex of  the  smile 
own  face,  to  watch 
18,  and  remark  the 
ion  of  her  proceed- 
be  the  object  to  be 
)ut  bow  efleclually, 
Is  accomplishment ! 
owny  appendage  to 
ion  (Leontodon  Ta- 
eautiful  contrivance 
1,  and  how  eflfoctu- 
object  in  view,  the 
tecies  in  a  distinct 
>perations  of  the  in- 
inming  around  you, 
each  something  of 


Il 


1=  -i 


530 


THK  BOTTLE  TIT  AND  NEST. 


interest,  something  to  be  admired.  Wheth- 
er we  regard  the  means  by  which  they  ob- 
tain their  food,  the  structure  of  their  habi- 
tations, the  peculiar  formations  of  the  dif- 
ferent species,  their  habits,  or  their  pow- 
ers, we  shall  find  in  each  that  perfect 
adaptation  of  means  to  an  end  with  which 
all  the  operations  of  nature  are  carried 
on. 

But  if  we  find  ourselves  so  much  in- 
terested in  our  researches  into  the  struc- 
ture of  plants,  and  the  proceedings  of  the 
inferior  animals,  how  much  more  are  our 
feelings  excited  when  we  see  the  feathered 
inhabitants  of  the  air  sporting  in  the  beams 
of  the  summer  sun,  their  plumage  spark- 
ling, and  the  whole  atmosphere  filled  with 
their  song !  We  have  no  reason  to  doubt 
that  all  animals  are  formed  for  enjoyment 
and  are  happy  in  their  relative  situations, 
but  none  appear  to  us  so  truly  joyous,  so 
overflowing  wi<h  happiness,  as  the  aerial 
songsters  who  enliven  our  country  walks 
and  rural  villages  from  morn  until  night. 
How  gayly  does  the  swallow  glide  over 
the  waters  '■^  the  river — now  glancing 
against  the  rippling  stream,  and  then  darl- 
ing off  on  a  different  tack  so  swiftly  as  to 
serve  the  poet  with  one  of  his  most  ap- 
proved similes  of  velocity.  From  the  first 
dawning  of  the  day,  when  the  lark  rises 
into  the  firmament,  and  strains  his  throat 
with  his  clear  song,  which  we  hear  even 
when  the  eye  can  no  longer  disce^-n  the 
songster,  to  the  close  of  evening,  we  con- 
tinually hear  some  one  or  other  of  the 
sweet-voiced  warblers  ;  and  even  at  night 
the  poet's  own  bird,  the  nightingale,  con- 
tinually cheers  the  gloom.  Indeed,  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  air,  full  of  birds,  has  in- 
spired many  a  poet  with  some  beautiful 
allusion  to  their  habits  and  pursuits  ;  and 
our  country  walks  have  ever  appeared  to 
us  to  afibrd  their  chief  pleasure  from  the 
universal  gayety  which  the  songs  of  birds 
from  all  sides  appear  to  confer  on  every- 
thing around.  And  we  have  derived  no 
little  amusement  and  instruction  from  our 
researches  into  the  habits  and  proceed- 
ings of  the  feathered  creation.  No  part 
of  the  economy  of  nature  is  so  full  of  the 
curious  results  of  instinct,almost  approach- 
ing to  reason,  which  is  exhibited  in  the 
structure  of  the  habitation  provided  by 
birds  for  their  sheher  and  the  preservation 


of  their  young.  We  have  been  particular- 
ly pleased  with  the  delicate  structure  and 
peculiar  form  of  the  nest  of  that  pretty  lit- 
tle bird  the  "  Bottle  Tit,"  or  "  Long-tailed 
Titmouse"  [Parus  caudalus) ;  and  as  we 
have  an  opportunity  of  presenting  to  our 
readers  an  accurate  drawing,  from  a  speci- 
men, of  the  nest  of  this  bird,  we  shall  pro- 
ceed to  a  description  of  it.  It  is  known 
by  other  local  names,  as  "  Jack-in-a-bot- 
tle,"  "  Bottle  Tom,"  <tc. 

This  elegant  little  animal  is  about  five 
inches  and  a  half  in  length.  The  bill  is 
very  short,  the  head  round,  and  covered 
with  rough  erect  feathers  ;  it  has  a  very 
long  tail,  whence  its  specific  name.  It  is 
of  a  brownish  color,  with  black  feathers 
in  the  tail  edged  with  whitq^  It  is  most 
commonly  found  in  low  moist  situations 
that  are  covered  with  underwood  and  in- 
terspersed with  lofty  oaks  or  elms.  Its 
nest  ia  generally  placed  in  the  forked 
branch  of  a  large  tree  overhanging  the 
water,  and  it  lays  from  twelve  to  eighteen 
white  eggs,  spotted  with  rust  color  at  the 
larger  end,  which  are  smaller  than  those 
of  any  other  British  bird,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  golden-crested  wren. 

This  bird  is  almost  incessantly  in  mo- 
tion, running  up  and  down  the  branches 
of  trees  in  search  of  food,  which  consists 
of  the  smaller  species  of  insects,  also  the 
larvae  and  eggs  of  those  that  deposite  them 
in  the  crevices  of  the  bark.  In  the  win- 
ter they  associate  in  small  flocks  of  from 
eight  to  twelve,  and  sometimes  more,  and 
are  kept  together  by  their  continual  chirp- 
ing. 

Like  the  nest,  their  colors  assimilate 
so  nearly  with  the  while  moss,  abundant 
on  irees  at  that  season  of  the  year,  that, 
were  it  not  for  their  note,  it  would  be  dif- 
ficult to  find  them.  Owing  to  the  length 
of  tail,  its  flight  is  undulating  and  irregu- 
lar, but  most  usually  very  quick,  seeming 
to  pass  through  the  air  like  an  arrow. 
Jesse  remarks  that  the  bill  becomes  hard- 
er in  the  winter  than  in  the  summer,  as  it 
is  then  more  worn  in  the  act  of  obtaining 
food  from  the  frozen  ground  and  hard  wood. 
The  sight  of  this  bird  is  remarkably  acute. 
It  flits  with  the  greatest  quickness  among 
the  branches  of  trees,  and  its  food  consists 
in  a  great  measure  of  small  insects  only 
to  be  discerned  with  a  microscope. 


ive  been  particular- 
icate  structure  und 
St  of  that  pretty  lit- 
t,"  or  "  Long-tailed 
lalus) ;  and  as  we 
presenting  to  our 
wing,  from  a  speci- 
bird,  we  shall  pro- 
>f  it.  It  )6  known 
as  "  Jack-in-a-bot- 
c. 

inimal  is  about  five 
ngth.  The  bill  is 
ound,  and  covered 
ers  ;  it  has  a  very 
>ecific  name.  It  is 
nth  black  feathers 
whit^  It  is  most 
w  moist  situations 
iinderwood  and  in- 
)aks  or  elms.  Its 
;ed  in  the  forked 
3  overhanging  the 
twelve  to  eighteen 
th  rust  color  at  the 
smaller  than  those 
rd,  with  the  excep- 
ted wren, 
incessantly  in  mo- 
iown  the  branches 
od,  which  consists 
of  insects,  also  tiie 
I  that  deposite  them 
bark.  In  the  win- 
inall  flocks  of  from 
metimes  more,  and 
eir  continual  chirn- 

r  colors  assimilate 
ite  moss,  abundant 
of  the  year,  that, 
)te,  it  would  be  dif- 
wing  to  the  length 
ulating  and  irregu- 
ery  quick,  seeming 
air  like  an  arrow, 
bill  becomes  hard- 
1  the  summer,  as  it 
he  act  of  obtaining 
und  and  hard  wood. 
i  remarkably  acute, 
it  quickness  among 
ind  its  food  consists 
small  insects  only 
microscope. 


ADVANTAGE  OF  A  BOOK— 0BERHA8LI. 


531 


AMANTAGE  OF  A  BOOK. 


F  i»ll  the  amuse- 
ments which   can 
possibly  be  imag- 
ined  lor   a  hard- 
working  man,  af- 
ter his   daily  toil, 
or  in  its  intervals, 
there    is    nothing 
like  reading  an  en- 
tertaining book — supposing  him  to  have  a 
book  10  read.     It  calls  for  no  bodily  ex- 
ertion, of  which  he  has  had  enough,  or  too 
much.     It  relieves  his  home  of  its  dulness 
and  sameness,  which,  in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten,  is  what  drives  him  out  to  the  ale- 
house, to  his  own  ruin  and  to  his  family's. 
It  transports  him  into  a  livelier  and  gayer 
and  more  diversified  and  interesting  scene, 
and  while  he  enjoys  himself  there  he  may 
forget  the  ovils  of  the  present  moment  ful- 
ly as  much  as  if  he  were  ever  so  drunk, 
with  the  great  advantage  of  finding  him- 
self the  next  day  with  the  money  in  his 
pocket,  or  at  least  laid  out  in  real  neces- 
saries and  comforts  for  himself  and  his 
family,  and  without  a  headache.     Nay,  it 
accompanies  him  to  his  next  day's  work, 
and  if  the  book  he  has  been  reading  be 
anything  above  the  very  idlest  and  light- 
est, gives  him  something  to  think  of  be- 
sides the  mere  mechanical  drudgery  of 
his  every-day  occupation — something  that 
he  can  enjoy  while  absent,  and  look  for- 
ward with  pleasure  to  return  to.     But  sup- 
posing him  to  have  been  fortunate  in  the 
choice  of  his  book,  and  to  have  alighted 
upon  one  really  good  and  of  a  good  class, 
what  a  source  of  domestic  enjoyment  is 
laid  open  !  what  a  bond  of  family  union ! 
He  may  read  it  aloud,  or  make  his  wife 
read  it,  or  his  eldest  boy  or  girl,  or  pass  it 
round  from  hand  to  hand.     All  have  the 
benefit  of  it ;  all  contribute  to  the  gratifi- 
cation of  the  rest,  and  a  feeling  of  comnion 
interest  and  pleasure  is  excited.    Nothing 
unites  people  like  companionship  in  intel- 
lectual enjoyment.     It  furnishes  to  each 
the  master-key  by  which  he   may  avail 
himself  of  his  privilege  as  an  intellectual 
being,  to — 
"  Enter  the  sacred  temple  of  hii  breast, 
And  gaze  and  wander  there  a  raviiihed  grieit — 
Wander  tliruugb  all  the  gloriei  of  the  mind, 
Qaze  upon  all  the  treaiare  he  shall  find." 


And  while  thus  leading  him  to  look  with- 
in his  own  bosom  for  the  ultimate  sources 
of  his  happiness,  warns  him  at  the  same 
time  to  be  cautious  how  he  defiles  and 
desecrates  that  inward  and  most  glorious 
of  temples. 


OBERHASLI. 

HE  valley  of  Ober- 
hasli  is  nearly  in  the 
centre  of  Switzerland 
— in   the   canton   of 
Berne,  and  adjoining 
the  cantons  of  Unter- 
walden  and  Uri ;  from 
its  eastern  extremity 
to  the  lake  of  Brientz 
it  is  about  thirty  miles  in  length,  bounded 
on  each  side  by  lofty  mountains.     The 
valley  terminates  in  a  plain  of  some  ex- 
tent, at  the  end  where  the  lake  is  situated. 
The  Jungfrau,  the  Aarhorn,  and  Mount  St. 
Gothard,  are  not  many  miles  distant.    The 
valley  is  watered  by  the  Aar,  which  is 
formed   by  two  streams  that  have  their 
source  not  more    than  a  mile   from  the 
sources  of  the  Rhone.    The  Aar  traverses 
a  great  part  of  Switzerland,  passing  through 
the  valley  of  Oberhasli,  into  the  lakes  of 
Brientz  and  Thun,  where  it  becomes  nav- 
igable.    Numerous  cataracts  pour  down 
the  sides  of  the  valley  and  swell  the  vol- 
ume of  the  Aar.     One  of  them,  formed  by 
the  Reichenbach,  a  considerable  stream, 
falls  down  steep  declivities  in  which  it  has 
perforated  singular  channels  for  its  course. 
A  black  sediment  is  deposited  by  some  of 
these  mountain-torrents,  which  is  used  as 
manure.    The  natural  beauties  of  this  por- 
tion of  Switzerland  attract  many  visiters, 
whose  disbursemenU  form  a  source  of  con- 
siderable advantage  to  the  inhabitants.    M. 
Simond  speaks  with  great  admiration  of 
the  rich  and  smiling  landscapes  to  be  met 
with  in  the  vale  of  Hasli.     He  adds  that 
it  is  highly  cultivated,  full  of  village-  and 
scattered  dwellings  half  hid  in  trees.     It 
is  sheltered  from  the  north  windt>  ,  and 
several  descriptions  of  shrubs  and  fruit- 
trees,  which  do  not  grow  in  some  other 
parts  of  Switzerland,  are  here  flourishing 


m 


MM 


n  , 


I'I't 


^:^:-:l  ■» 


(iREHHASLI. 


533 


O 


and  productive.  About  fourieeii  thousund 
head  of  cattle  are  supported  in  the  mead- 
ows and  Alpine  pastures.  'I'he  exports 
consist  of  cattle,  cheese,  and  skins  of  the 
chamois  and  other  animals,  which  are  ex- 
changed for  corn,  wine,  salt,  manufactund 
goods,  and  colonial  produce. 

Oberhasli  forms  a  bailliage.  under  the  ju- 
risdiction of  an  officer  chosen  from  amoHg 
the  inhabitants  and  appointed  by  the  au- 
thorities of  Berne  ;  the  population  amounts 
to  about  six  thousand,  and  the  valley  is 
subdivided  into  three  parishes.  The  chief 
town  of  the  valley  is  Meyringen,  which 
contains  six  hundred  inhabitants. 

The  inhtvbitants  of  Oberhasli  are  con- 
sidered to  be  good  specimens  of  a  fine 
peasantry.     They  are  remarkable  for  their 
superior  language  and  manners,  their  open 
countenances,  their  strength,  activity,  f.nd 
manly  proportions,  which  are  calculated 
to  impress  travellers  in  their  favor,  though 
it  may  be  observed  that  in  these  respects 
they  have  been  made  the  subject  of  some- 
what exaggerated  statements.     The  per- 
sonal appearance  of  the  women  is  good, 
and  their  natural  attractions  are  increased 
by  a  simple   and  elegant  costume.     In- 
stances of  great  longevity  are  frequent,  and 
may  be  attributed  to  the  sobriety  of  habits 
generally  prevalent,  as  well  as  to  the  pu- 
rity of  the  air.     Gymnastic  exercises  take 
place  twice  in  the  summer,  to  which  those 
who  reside  in  the  neighbormg  valleys  are 
invited.    According  to  an  old  tradition,  the 
inhabitants  are  the  descendants  of  a  colo- 
ny of  Swedes,  who  established  themselves 
in  the  valley  about  the  fifth  century.    The 
probability  of  this  fact  is  strongly  corrobo- 
rated by  the  familiar  use  of  several  terms 
evidently  of  Swedish  origin.     The  castle 
of  Hasli,  which  stands  on  an  eminence 
near  Meyringen,  is  said  to  have  formerly 
been  the  residence  of  one  of  the  first  Swe- 
dish inhabitants      Before  the  French  rev- 
olution, many  privileges  were  enjoyed  by 
the  popnlation,  for  which  they  were  in- 
debted to  their  voluntary  union  with  the 
Bernese,  in  1334. 

The  eastern  extremity  of  the  valley  is 
divided  in  two,  and  in  each  branch  there 
is  a  stream,  which  flows  into  the  Aar. 
One  of  these  subdivisions  of  the  larger 
valley  aflbrds  the  only  practicable  route 
from  the  Oberland  to  Italy  by  the  Griinsel. 


This  is  the  pass  of  Oberhasli  represented 
in  the  cut.  M.  Simond  mentions  a  curi- 
ous fact  connected  with  the  Grimsei,  in 
one  of  the  caverns  of  which  a  proiligious 
quantity  of  the  largest  cry.slal»  ever  known 
was  discovered  in  IT'ZO.  He  slates  that 
some  of  these  crystals  weighed  from  four 
hundred  pounds  to  eight  hundred  pounds. 
The  value  of  the  whole  was  estimated  at 
thirty  thousand  florins  (about  twelve  lliou- 
sand  dollars).  The  large.st  of  these  crys- 
tals, measuring  three  and  a  half  feet  by  two 
and  a  quarter  feet,  is  in  the  Cabinet  of 
Natural  History  in  the  Garden  of  Plants 
at  Paris. 

One  account  of  the  valley  of  Oberhasli, 
which  we  have  consulted,  states  tliat  the 
population  has  doubled  in  the  last  hundred 
years,  but  this  increase  does  not  appear  to 
have  been  attended  with  any  change  in  the 
modes  of  existence,  or  extension  of  previ- 
ous resources  ;  and  the  consequence  has 
been,  that  a  portion  of  the  population  has 
been  driven  elsewhere  to  seek  a  livelihood, 
and  the  armies  and  workshops  of  Europe 
have  thus  been  recruited.     The  cause  of 
the  constant  emigration  from  Switzerland 
may  be  explained  in  the  following  man- 
ner :    It  is  the  nature  of  pasturage  to  pro- 
duce food  for  a  much  greater  number  of 
people  than  it  can  employ.     In  countries 
strictly  pastoral,  therefore,  many  persons 
,vill  be  idle,  or  at  most  be  very  inadequate- 
ly occupied.     When  a  father  has  more 
than  one  son,  those  who  are  not  wanted 
on  the  farm  are  powerfully  tempted  to  en- 
roll themselves  as  soldiers,  or  to  emigrate 
in  some  other  way,  as  the  only  chance  of 
enabling  them  to  marry.     The  following 
additional  remarks  serve  still  further  to 
elucidate  the  social  condition  of  the  popu- 
lation in  those  parts  of  Switzerland  which 
are  exclusively  pastoral  or  agricultural  : 
There  are  no  grounds  less  susceptible  of 
improvement  than  mountainous  pastures. 
They  must  necessarily  be  left  chiefly  to 
nature  ;  and  when  they  have  been  ade- 
quately stocked  with  cattle,  little  more  can 
be  done.     The  great  difiicuhy  in  Switzer- 
land, as  in  Norway,  is  to  procure  a  suffi- 
cient quantity  of  fodder  for  the  winter  sup- 
port of  the  cattle  which  have  been  fed  on 
the  mountains  in  the  summer.     For  this 
purpose  grass  is  collected  with  the  great- 
est care.     In  places  inaccessible  to  cattle, 


H^ 


■ii 


~l 


684 


8TAIUWOR8HIP. 


the  peasant  sometimes  makes  hay  with 
crampons  on  his  feet ;  in  some  places  grass 
not  three  inches  high  is  cut  three  times  a 
year  ;  and  in  the  valleys  the  fields  are  seen 
shaven  as  close  as  a  bowling-green,  and 
all  the  inequalities  are  clipped  as  with  a 
pair  of  scissors.  In  Switzerland  the  art 
of  mowing  seems  to  be  carried  to  its  high* 
est  pitch  of  perfection.  As,  howe\M)r,  the 
improvement  of  the  lands  in  the  valleys 
must  depend  principally  upon  the  manure 
arising  from  the  .stock,  it  is  evident  that 
the  quantity  of  hay,  and  the  number  of  cat- 
tie  will  be  mutually  limited  by  each  other  ; 
and  as  the  population  will  of  course  be 
limited  by  the  produce  of  the  stock,  it 
jhoes  not  seem  possible  to  increase  it  be- 
pyond  a  certain  point,  and  that  at  no  great 
distance. 

The  extension  of  manufactures  in  Swit- 
zerland during  the  war  encouraged  an  in- 
crease of  the  population,  and  manufactured 
goods  being  exchanged  for  corn,  the  ara- 
ble lands  were,  to  a  great  extent,  laid  down 
in  grass.  On  the  return  of  peace,  each 
country  endeavored,  by  prohibitions,  to 
sustain  the  prosperity  of  its  own  manufac- 
tures. The  result,  though  unfavorable  to 
all,  has  not  been  so  to  each  in  an  equal 
degree.  The  landlords,  no  longer  having 
so  free  a  market  for  their  produce,  have 
suffered  in  some  cases  ;  in  others,  manu- 
facturers have  been  confined  to  the  home- 
market,  and  the  means  of  employment  be- 
ing diminished,  the  land  has  been  burdened 
with  the  support  of  a  part  of  the  manufac- 
turing population.  This  state  of  things  has 
been  severely  felt  in  Switzerland,  which 
stands  in  need  of  importations  of  corn, 
while  the  prohibitory  system  restrains  the 
exportation  of  manufactures  in  exchange, 
and  thus  injures  both  the  agricultural  and 
manufacturing  interests.  Many  of  the 
Swiss  peasantry  have  emigrated  with  their 
families  to  the  United  States.  They  usu- 
ally embark  at  Havre ;  but  if  they  proceed- 
ed down  the  Rhine  to  Rotterdam  by  the 
steamboats,  the  expense  and  fatigue  of  so 
long  an  inland  journey  would  be  much  di- 
minished, though,  at  the  same  time,  the 
chance  of  obtaining  an  early  passage 
across  the  Atlantic  would  not  be  so  great 
as  at  Havre. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  mountainous  re- 
gions, in  every  part  of  Europe,  are  neces- 


sarily frequently  impelled  to  emigrato,  if 
not  to  other  countries,  at  least  to  other  dis- 
tricts, and  if  not  to  settle  there,  at  least  to 
seek  ibr  employment  at  particular  seasons. 
In  the  north  of  Derbyshire,  England,  fur 
instance,  where  the  crops  are  late  in  ripen- 
ing, great  numbers  participate  in  the  laliors 
of  the  harvest  in  the  adjoining  counties, 
where  it  takes  place  earlier  ;  and  by  this 
means  they  are  enabled  to  avoid  that  ine- 
quality of  condition  to  which  the  nature  of 
the  soil  at  home  would  condemn  them  if 
dependent  upon  it  alone. 


STAR-WORSHIP. 

E  do  not  at  all  won- 
der at  the  idoltitry  of 
the  ancient  heathen. 
The  rude  and  simple 
people,  whose  dwel- 
lings were  nightly 
reared  upon  the  bree- 
zy hillside,  the  dewy 
plain,  or  in  the  se- 
questered shade  of  some  palmy  vale,  with 
minds  untaught, and  ignorantof  that  knowl- 
edge which  was  ushered  in  with  the  soft 
swelling  anthems  of  seraphic  harmony — 
is  it  a  wonder  that  they  burned  incense 
unto  the  queen  of  heaven,  and  worshipped 
the  shining  hosts  that  nightly  gemmed  the 
mysterious  and  everlasting  blue  ? 

Who  that  has  gazed  in  the  still  hour  of 
midnight  upon  the  burnisherlt  scenery  of 
the  mighty  concave  above  ^j,  and  thrilled 
with  the  glorious  influences  of  the  hour, 
can  wonder  at  the  reverent  devotion  of 
those  who  were  unable  to  look  beyond  the 
bright  page  of  creation,  to  the  great  Ar- 
chitect who  veils  his  glory  with  such  tran- 
scendent splendors  ? 

From  childhood  our  spirit  leaped  up- 
ward as  if  it  would  sunder  its  prison-bars, 
whenever  we  gazed  on  the  magnificent 
banners  that  float  with  all  their  gorgeous 
blazonry  over  the  dim  and  shrouded  earth. 
When  the  sunset  faded  from  the  sky,  and 
the  last  mellow  tints  were  merged  in  the 
gathering  darkness,  with  what  ecstasy 
have  we  watched  for  the  angel  sentinels 
to  come  forth  from  their  mystic  hidmg- 


•■  v-!.wi?=i'''*s-^J^-^';K#3*: 


^ 


ed  to  cmigratp,  if 
'.  least  to  other  dia- 
B  there,  at  least  to 
}articular  seHsons. 
hire,  Knginnd,  fur 
s  are  late  in  ripcn- 
iipate  in  the  l.-khors 
Jjoining  counties, 
rlier  ;  and  by  this 

to  avoid  that  ine- 
hich  the  nature  of 

condemn  them  if 


SHIP. 

do  not  at  all  won- 
ir  at  the  idolatry  of 
e  ancient  heathen, 
he  rude  and  simple 
iople,  whose  dwel- 
igs  were  niphtly 
ared  upon  the  bree- 
'hillside,  the  dewy 
ain,  or  in  the  se- 
3  palmy  vale,  with 
rantofthatknowl- 
d  in  with  the  soft 
aphic  harmony — 
y  burned  incense 
[),and  worshipped 
ightly  gemmed  the 
ing  blue  ? 
n  the  still  hour  of 
lishpdl  scenery  of 
re  uj,  and  thrilled 
noes  of  the  hour, 
erent  devotion  of 

0  look  beyond  the 
,  to  the  great  Ar- 
ry  with  such  tran- 

spirit  leaped  up- 
er  its  prison-bars, 

1  the  magnificent 
ill  their  gorgeous 
id  shrouded  earth, 
from  the  sky,  and 
ire  merged  in  the 
ith  what  ecstasy 
le  angel  sentinels 
ir  mystic  hidmg- 


8TARWOH8HIP. 


635 


places,  and  fill  their  diamond  lamps  with 
splendors  that  night  had  no  power  to 
shade  !  If  the  soul  were  joyous  in  the 
glad  sunlight,  and  sent  forth  its  answering 
song  to  the  hymns  that  made  vocal  each 
shadowy  dell  and  echoing  thicket— how 
it  soared  on  the  solemn  wing  of  silent 
thought  up  to  the  temple  of  the  Eternal 
Presence,  when  night  spread  out  her  star- 
ry banners,  on  whose  magnificent  folds 
gleamed  the  insignia  of  Omnipotence  ! 

Last  night  the  illness  of  a  child  called 
us  from  sleep,  and  as  we  gazed  for  a  mo- 
meat  upon  the  starlit  heavens,  it  seemed 
as  if  a  glimpse  of  the  almost-forgotten  glo- 
ry that  used  to  entrance  our  young  spirit, 
ere  it  had  wrestled  with  the  dark  phan- 
toms of  care  and  sorrow,  had  returned  to 
woo  us  again  to  the  adoration  of  bygone 
days.     Waking  from  the  oblivious  dews 
of  slumber,  and  gazing  alone  upon  the  glo- 
rious heraldry  of  Omnific  power  and  wis- 
dom, it  seemed  as  if  new  mysteries  and 
glories  hud  dawned  at  once  upon  our  spell- 
bound vision.     All   was  still  and  quiet, 
brooded  by  the  solemn  wing  of  midnight ; 
not  a  breeze  stirred  the  sleeping  foliage  ; 
the  very  brooks  murmured  softly  on  their 
way,  as  if  soothed  by  the  mystic  influen- 
ces of  the  hour  :  yet  our  soul  leaped  up- 
ward on  the  strong  pinion  of  adoration,  as 
if  it  had  suddenly  entered  the  vestibule  of 
everlasting  glory.     There  were  the  glori- 
ous and  far-off  stars— the  same,  that,  like 
the  bright  eyes  of  seraphim,  smiled  on  the 
young  spirit's  dawning  horizon,  still  shi- 
ning on,  in  their  radiant  and  undimnned 
beauty,  and  to  our  enraptured  ear  weaving 
the  voiceless   harmonies   of  the  eternal 


years. 

Far  along  the  northern  sky  an  undefined 
yet  perceptible  radiance  told  that  the  mer- 
ry dancers  had  illumined  their  festal  halls  ; 
and  the  soft  shimmering  light,  that  con- 
trasted so  faintly  with  the  starlit  blue  of 
the  southern  hemisphere,  might  well  be 
emitted  from  the  transparent  brilliancy  of 
their  spirit-robes.   For  where  is  the  strong 
philosophy  that  shall  tell  us  the  Indian's 
theory  is  not  correct,  and  that  the  souls  of 
the  departed  do  not  hover  over  the  lovad 
place  of  their  abode,  or  spread  their  happy 
pinions  along  the  star-paved  galaxy  1 ,  What 
are  the  mysterious  influences  that  thrill  our 
spirits  in  the  dim  night-hour,  when  fancy 


spreads  before  us  the  shadowy  panorama 
of  the  past  ?  Do  we  not  hear  soft  voices 
that  were  silent  long  ago,  swelling  on  the 
murmuring  gale,  that  whispers  so  sweetly 
along  the  waving  thicket,  or  blends  its  mu- 
sic with  the  chiming  waves,  where  the 
starbeams  sleep  so  gloriously  on  its  silver 
mirror  ? 

The  day  is  glorious  :  the  hills,  forests, 
and  plains— the  towering  mountains  that 
arrest  the  thunder-storm  in  its  course,  and 
the  deep  rolling  ocean  that  lifts  itself  in 
boisterous  mirth  when  the  hurricane  walks 
in  fury  over  its  seething  billows — all  these 
proclaim  the  greatness  and  majesty  of  Him 
who  sits  upon  the  circle  of  eternity  :  yet 
awe  is  mingled  with  reverence,  while  the 
soul  acknowledges  the  great  I  AM.     But 
when  night  unfurls  her  solemn  banner  over 
the  earth's  careworn  millions,  and  the  stars 
come   forth  with  their  shining  cressets, 
filled  with  splendor  from  the  eternal  fount, 
the  spirit  mounts  on  triumphant  wing  to 
the  high  and  holy  realms  of  thought.    Who 
shall  tell  us  those  beaming  orl)s,  whose 
smiling  rays  traverse  the  unknown  fields 
of  space,  are  not  the  glorious  abode  of  de- 
parted spirits — the  resting-place  of  weary 
ones,  that  panted  on  life's  arid  desert  ? — 
And  as  the  eye  traverses  from  one  to  an- 
other along  the  arching  sky,  what  yearn- 
ings stir  the  spirit  to  rise  and  trace  the 
wisdom  and  glory  of  the  Creator,  in  scan- 
ning the  glittering  cohorts  that  move  obe- 
dient to  his  will  through  the  boundless 
fields  of  ether !     And  if  the  earthly  vision 
were  unveiled,  might  we  not  see  the  spirit- 
messengers  winging  their  shining  ways 
from  orb  to  orb  through  the  azure  plains  ? 
Well  may  we  muse   beneath  the  starry 
concave,  and  breathe  our  orisons  to  Him 
who  hath  fixed  the  spheres  in  their  orbits, 
and  traced  with  wisdom's  unerring  finger 
the  pathway  of  worlds  unnumbered. 

The  garish  day  may  claim  the  soul's 
best  energies,  and  toil  and  anxiety  weigh 
down  the  spirit,  but  when  night  reveals 
the  glories  of  the  vast  expanse  above  us, 
the  soul  will  struggle  to  rise  from  the  toils 
of  earth,  and  contemplate  the  illimitable 
majesty  of  Him  who  called  the  mighty  con- 
course of  worlds  from  the  caverns  of  dark- 
ness, and  sent  them  forth  on  their  shining, 
linked  in  their  mystic  circles,  whose  gola- 
en  rings  are  fastened  to  the  eternal  throne ! 


0 


I 


irr 


mn 


lfi|i 


i 


f  V 


886 


CARNIVAL  AT    lOMB. 


CARNIVAL  AT  ROME. 


HE  Kgyptian  obelisk 
that  ri!>'  H  liriily  in  the 
backgi  jundofthe  pic- 
ture, and  't!  o  i<^  fjus- 
tere     u    n.'iuy    <,     - 

tr-'S".?  j)<i(  tii'.-'i>     VUh 

the  I'.viii^  buatiti,  up- 
roar, and  enjoyment 
of  the  principal  sent.,  shows  that  it  is  a 
Roman  carnival  that  the  artist  represents. 
With  the  exception  if  the  obelisk,  howev- 
er, and  some  'lifierence  in  the  architecture 
of  the  houses,  the  engraving  equally  illus- 
trates the  carnival  of  Naples,  or  Milan,  or 
Venice,  or  any  other  of  the  large  Italian 
cities.  The  <;rowd  and  confusion,  the  mas- 
querade jhuracters,  their  action  and  group- 
ing, are  '.trnmon  to  all  Italian  carnivals 
on  their  good  days ;  and  as  these  saturna- 
lia are  limited,  at  Rome,  to  eight  da}s, 
every  '  amival-day  there  ipay  be  consid- 
ered a  good  one.  In  the  rest  of  Italy, 
where  carnival  continues  from  the  feast  of 
the  Epiphany  to  the  beginning  of  Lent, 
lasting  five  or  six  weeks,  only  the  Thurn- 
days  and  Sundays  are  observed  for  out-of- 
door  displays  ;  and  these  days  are  eilh'*r 
not  well  observed  at  the  beginning,  or  be- 
come languid  at  the  close.  Within  doors, 
indeed,  particularly  at  Naples  a  few  years 
ago,  carnival  used  to  he  kept  up  with  spirit 
during  all  its  long  legitimate  period  :  there 
being,  every  night,  private  masquerades, 
or  masquerades  at  the  opera-house,  balls 
and  suppt  rs,  and  all  ivinds  of  feastings  an'l 
mummeries  in  uninterrupted  succession — 
and  very  hard  work  it  was  to  go  through 
them  all ! 

As  soon  as  this  riot  of  pi  .1  ure  was  over, 
the  doctors,  with  their  gold-headed  cane: 
were  seen  more  constantly  abroad,  and 
walking  much  faster  than  vf>i:.;.     They 
had  always  plenty  of  work  on  their  hands, 
being  as  busy  after  it  as  milliners  and  tai- 
lors, cooks  and  confectioners,  tiddlers,  and 
dancing-masters,  had  been  during  carni- 
val.    Even  in  a  physical  sense,  the  u' 
stinence  and  quiet  of  Lent  were  indispci 
sable  :  and  during  that  sober  season,  wh< 
there  were  no  feasting  and  dancing,  anu 
the  opera,  on  the  nighu  in  which  it  was 
allowed  to  open,  closed  at  the  sober  hour 
of  eleven,  without  any  ballet,  people  had 


time  Ui  recover  thomselvos,  although  there 
annualiv  occurred  a  few  unlucky  castas 
where  the  long  revelling  had  sown  the 
sef  <1«  of  consumption  or  some  other  incu- 
rable disease,  iiut  this  was  carnival  in- 
doors. Let  us  ret(  ^n  to  our  engraving  and 
the  streets  <if  Rome. 

In  the  altcriioon,  fibout  three  o'clock,  the 
Corso  begins  gradually  to  fill  with  people 
— some  masked,  and  some  in  their  usual 
holyday-dresses — some  on  f<»ot  and  some 
in  hired  carriages.  About  an  hour  later, 
the  equipages  of  the  nobility  and  gentry 
swell  the  crowd  ;  and  the  open  balconies 
.inj  tfujt')*. .H  of  every  house  in  that  long 
street  are  crammed  lull  of  company,  who, 
for  the  most  part,  are  not  mere  spectators, 
but  actors  in  the  ever-varying  farce.  The 
carriages  and  the  horses  are,  for  the  most 
part,  decked  out  in  a  very  fine  or  a  very 
capricious  manner ;  and  the  anomalies  rep- 
resented in  the  print,  where  ;  coachman, 
dressed  as  a  Spanish  cavalier  of  the  olden 
times,  is  driving  an  old  Tabellone  or  no- 
tary, with  a  huge  wine-flask  (extended 
toward  a  punch  on  stilts),  and  a  Human 
doctor,  with  "  spectacles  on  nose,"  while 
a  small-grown  punch  climbs  up  the  side 
steps,  and  a  full-grown  punchin<^Iii),  with 
a  squeaking  trumpet  to  hi  . 'i.v,  and  a 
sturdy,  turbaned  Moor,  with  a  banner  in 
his  hand,  act  as  footmen — are  such  amu- 
sing tntrasts  as  continu  ily  occur,  ar 
givb  .ue  best  parts  of  he  drolk-ry  to  the 
scene.  As  these  carri;  g^es  pass  through 
the  crowd,  at  a  '"  stately  pa<  1,  those 
within  them  address  or  gesticulate  ic  their 
friends  at  tho  balconies  of  the  houses — or 
in  ihcr  carriages — or  in  the  street  on  foot 
~  nd  generally  pelt  them  ivith  sugar- 
jnums.  This  -ire  is  returned  by  the  iiio'-'' 
stationary  actors :  and,  if  you  look  to  tl 
left  of  the  picture,  you  will  see  a  gentle- 
man and  a  'ady  vith  uplifted  hands,  full 
of  oU(;ar-plum8,  inKing  aim ;  and  in  an  nh- 
ur  balcony,  to  the  right,  two  gentle  1  n 
peltinc  *ith  mucli  vigor.  The  grea*  t 
par.  '■  the  Tun,  ifter  the  hoi'^e-podg<  >( 
cost'  ,  lies  in  this  sugar-plui.  warfar*-  , 
or  tt  with  the  nois  if  French  born  i 
ant  iims,  cow- horns  nd  guitars,  fi^ 
Males,  tambourines,  a'  nenny  itiimpeis, 
and  the  din  of  thousano  f  voices — the 
masked  all  squeaking  in  a  (:'>nventional 
carnival  falsetto,  and  the  unma^^ked  roar- 


'OH,  although  there 
iw  unlucky  ctiaos 
n^  had  anwn  the 
r  Dome  other  incu- 
I  was  carnival  in- 
cur engraving  and 

t  three  o'clock,  the 
to  fill  with  people 
>me  in  their  usual 
on  foot  and  some 
out  an  hour  later, 
nbility  and  gentry 
he  open  balconies 
house  in  that  long 
of  company,  who, 
t  mere  spectators, 
Tying  farce.  The 
i  are,  for  the  most 
ery  fine  or  a  very 
the  anomalies  rep- 
here  .  coachman, 
falier  of  tie  olden 
Tabellone  or  no- 
e-flask  (extended 
Is),  and  a  Roman 
i  on  nose,"  while 
limbs  up  the  side 
punchin»>ll(),  with 
)  hi  ..]!.',  and  a 
with  a  banner  in 
1 — are  such  amu- 
lu  Jly  occur,  n 
he  drolU  ry  to  tiie 
a;e8  pass  throu  ,'h 
tately  pa  ->,  those 
[esticulattj  ic  their 
of  the  houses — or 
I  the  street  on  foot 
hem  with  sugar- 
irned  by  the  nio'^'' 
if  you  look  to  tL 
will  see  a  gentle  - 
plifted  hands,  full 
im ;  and  in  anoth- 
t,  two  gentleii  n 
T.  The  grea'  t 
e  hoJ^e-podgt:  (I 
ar-plui.    warfare 

if  French  hon  i 
ind  guitars,  ( 

penny  trumpets, 
if  >f  voices — the 
a  a  ctnventional 
i  unmarked  roar- 


w 


m 


J  ■    r  I. 


^^i^ 


%<t 


538 


TENACITY  TO  LIFK. 


ing  Bt  the  top  of  their  lungs — no  delicate 
passages  of  wit  can  be  well  heard.  It  is 
a  fuiiit  of  gallantry,  when  ladies  are  fired 
at,  to  mix  choice  bon-bons  and  sweet- 
moats,  wrapped  up  in  pretty  bits  of  paper, 
with  nice  poesies  between,  about  "  core" 
and  "  amore  ;"  and  when  people  do  not 
mind  the  expense,  they  make  use  only  of 
good  eatable  sugar-plums  with  the  kernels 
of  sweet  almonds  and  caraway-seeds  in- 
side. Wherever  these  ar'  nost  scattered 
there  do  the  little  boyf)  ud  ragamuffins 
most  abound  ;  for  the  Italians  generally 
have  a  very  sweet  tooth,  and  these  pooi; 
fellows  will  run  the  most  imminent  risk  to 
fill  their  stomachs  and  pockets  with  con- 
fetti  da  signore*  In  the  course  of  their 
carnival  0|  rations  a  broken  head  or  rib, 
a  crushed  hand  or  foot,  sometimes  occur ; 
but,  from  their  wonderful  dexterity,  casu- 
alties are  not  numerous.  The  worst  of 
this  sugar-plum  fight  (and  a  pretty  general 
evil  it  is)  is,  that  the  poorer  or  mure  par- 
simonious of  the  revellers,  instead  of  using 
good  plums  that  cost  money,  employ  vil- 
lainous hard  make-believes,  c  inposed  of 
flour  and  plaster-of-Paris,  which  hurt, 
where  they  hit,  almost  .ike  stones.  Tlw 
warfare  at  Rome,  however,  was  spiritless, 
compared  with  the  carnival  campaigns  at 
Naples  in  our  time.  The  Neapolitans  are 
a  magnanimous  people  in  regard  to  sugar- 
plums ;  and  then  the  population  is  triple 
that  of  Rome,  with  gentry  of  wealth  and 
substance.  There  seems  to  be,  however, 
a  gradual  decline  in  the  spirit  of  carnivals, 
which  will  probably  go  out  altogether,  and 
be  forgotten  of  men. 


TENACITY  TO  LIFE. 

EN  cling  to  life 
with     an     un- 
yielding grasp ; 
—  and     many, 
whose  greatest 
ar.noyar.ce      is 
.the  thought  that 
it  will  one  day 
escape      them, 
are  yet  constantly  inveighing  against  it  as 
a  thing  almost  intolerable.     They  com- 
*  Oentlemanly  sagar-plami. 


plain  of  the  path  as  thorny,  rugg'nl,  and 
wearisome,  but  are  ever  tormented  with 
the  fear  that  they  shall  too  soon  conie  to 
ita  termination.  It  is  a  sweet  curse,  ixith 
too  long  and  too  short.  The  days  the 
months,  and  the  year",  ihey  charge  >=  tli 
tardiness,  and  wish  them  ended — lax  jfi- 
vontion  to  the  utmost  to  manufacture  wingi 
for  the  lingi-niig  moments^ — and  when  tliey 
have  fled,  ngret  that  they  made  such  speed, 
and  wish  them  back.  The  momenta,  wIkmi 
passing,  move  too  slowly  :  when  passed, 
they  have  gone  too  soon.  Such  is  incon- 
sistent man.  He  impatiently  wishes  tn- 
dny  would  give  place  for  to-inutrow,  and 
y«:l  every  Huccessivo  morrow  advances 
him  a  step  tir>vard  the  dreaded  termination, 
anxious  to  try  every  untried  day  except 
the  last,  impatient  to  make  an  acquaint- 
ance with  every  portion  of  life  except  its 
close,  in  hope  to  find  each  successive  day 
more  propitious  than  the  past.  IIu  i|uar- 
rels  with  life  because  it  does  not  bl(>,3 
him,  loves  it  because  it  has  a  blessing  Ibr 
him,  and  clings  to  it  in  hope  to  evoke  that 
blessing,  but  seeks  it  neither  with  tlie 
"  ..spirit  nor  with  the  understanding."  Wo 
must  uiide.. stand  what  life  is,  and  what  it 
proposes  to  do  for  us,  in  order  to  make 
till  most  of  it.  They  who  cheriwh  il  for 
its  own  sake,  as  an  end  and  nut  as  a  meaii.s 
— do  not  understand  its  nature  and  design. 
it  can  not  satisfy  the  vast  desires  of  tlie 
immortal  mind.  They  call  for  more  tlian 
would  ten  thousand  times  ex!  .mst  its  re- 
sources. Men  trifle  with  life  by  trying  to 
elicit  from  it  donations  of  enjoyment  wliich 
it  can  not  give,  because  it  has  not  the 
means  ;  they  quarrel  with  it  for  being  so 
destitute  of  benevolence  as  nut  to  give 
them  what  it  does  not  possesH,  and  can 
not  command.  This  is  like  complaining 
of  a  drop  of  water,  because  it  is  not  the 
ocean  ;  or  censuring  a  molehill,  because 
it  is  not  the  universe.  The  ma  who 
should  mistake  the  portico  for  the  parlor, 
and  then  curse  it  because  it  i^  neither  spa- 
cious enough  nor  warm  enough  to  satisfy 
his  expectations,  would  justly  inrtir  ridi- 
cule. Life  is  but  the  portico  of  our  exist- 
ence, and  he  who  mistakes  it  for  the  whole 
edifice  deserves  not  to  be  ridiculed,  but 
to  be  regarded  with  some  graver  emo- 
tion, for  indeed  he  has  made  a  disastrous 
mistake.     He  will  find  it  too  narrow  to 


nts — and  wliori  the 
oyinadn  8UcIih|)< 


thorny,  niggsJ,  and 
ver  tormented  with 
I  too  soon  (oniu  to 
a  «we«^t  curse,  liruli 
trt.  Tho  days  tho 
•H,  they  chiirgt!  "'  lit 
lern  ended — l:i.\  ji- 
)  inanufacturo  win)(« 
'hfn  tlicy 

cll  H|)l)()li, 

The  niumuntd,  whiui 
wly  :  when  passed, 
n\.  Such  is  iiicun- 
patiently  wisheM  to- 

for  to-HKifrow,  and 
I  morruw  advances 
[Ireaded  termination, 
untried  day  except 

make  an  acquaint- 
9n  of  life  except  its 
jach  successive  day 
;he  past.  Ho  quar- 
e  it  does  nut  IjIcms 
it  has  a  blessing  lor 
1  hope  to  evoke  that 
it  neither  with  the 
iiJerstanding."  We 
t  life  is,  and  »  hiit  it 
9,  in  order  to  make 
f  who  cherish  it  lor 
d  and  not  as  a  nieiins 
8  nature  and  desi^ni. 
vast  desires  of  the 
y  call  for  nioro  than 
imes  exK.iiist  its  re- 
vith  life  by  trying  to 
of  enjoyment  which 
luse  it  has  not  the 
with  it  for  being  so 
ince  as  nut  to  give 
ot  possess,  and  can 
is  like  complaining 
ecauso  it  is  not  the 
a  molehill,  I)ecause 
le.  The  ma  who 
mico  for  the  parlor, 
use  it  i"'  uoitlurspa- 
rm  enough  to  satisfy 
Id  justly  incur  ridi- 

portico  of  uurexisl- 
takes  it  for  the  whole 
to  be  ridiculed,  but 

some  graver  emo- 
s  made  a  disastrous 
nd  it  too  narrow  to 


THR  PALISADBI. 


681 


■ati«fy  tho  infinitcly-cxpnnding  dcsirea  of 
the  soul,  and  cold  enough  to  freexe  up  it» 

•rdor. 

cnuldhood  looks  forward  with  anxious 
expectation  to  youth;  yc,  ith,  dissatisfied, 
pants  for  manhood  ,  disappointed  manhood 
speeds  on  to  olil  age  for  the  prize,  and  de- 
spairing iige  looks  back  censoriously  upon 
the  whole  course  of  life,  and  is  vexed  that 
its  "  wood,  hay,  and  stubble,"  were   not 
"  n.'old,  silver,  and  precious  stones."     And 
yet  mun  i«  unwilling  to  part  with  life,  be- 
cause  he  Iijih  made  it  his  treasure,  and  has 
no  treasure  beyond.     Hut  to  him  who  re- 
gards life  as  merely  the  infancy  of  his  ex- 
istence, and  uses  it  well,  its  best  quality 
is,  tliat  it  has  a  terminutinn,  for  that  termi- 
nation is  his   introduction  to  a  priceless 
treasure,  which  he  has  spent  his  life  in 
accumulating.     The  man  who  has  acted 
well  his  part,  can  hail  with  tho  liveliest 
emotions  of  joy  his  exit,  which  leads  him 
out  of  a  field  of  labor  and  care  into  a  bound- 
less field  of  unsullied  enjoyment.     It  l)e- 
comes  mortal  man,  then,  to  be  wise,  to 
take  life  for  what  it  is,  to  remember  that  it 
has  an  end,  and  compel  every  period  of  it 
to  make  a  donation  of  happiness  to  tho  last 
hour,  to  seize  upon  every  day  as  it  passes, 
and  say  to  it  as  did  the  patriarch  to  the 
wrestling  angel,  "  1  will  not  let  thee  go 
except  thou  bless  me." 


THE  PALISADES. 


I 


HERE    is   probably 
no  river  in  the  world 
whose  vicinage,  with- 
in the   same   extent, 
presents  such  a  com- 
bination of  beauty  and 
grandeur   of    natural 
scenery,  enriched    jv 
historical  associations 
of  the  greatest  moment,  as  the  Hudson. 
From  Manhattan  island  to  its  junction  with 
the  Mohawk,  lofty  mountuins,  gently  un- 
dulating hills,  cultivated  fields,  and  beau- 
tiful villages  and  hamlets,  alter;  itely  meet 
the  eye  as  we  speed  along  i»    waters  in 
the  swift  steamer,  all  bursting  in  succes- 
sion upon  the  sight  like  the  startling  scenes 


of  a  moving  panorama.  And  to  .o  Amer- 
ican— to  the  happy  recipient  ol  the  lioon 
of  liberty — a  boon  fought  for  and  won  by 
his  fathers,  nml  Icqiieathed  to  him  as  a 
birthright — almost  (tvery  spot  in  hallowed 
by  tho  associations  connected  with  the  his- 
tory of  the  War  of  Inilopf  ndencc.  Many 
a  mountain-suininit  has  been  tho  pyre  on 
which  beacon -fires  were  lighted  liy  the 
hand  of  disinterested  patriotism  ;  many  a 
plain  that  meets  our  view  is  the  place 
where  men,  strong  in  body  and  stronger 
in  principle,  bivouacked  at  night,  and  mar- 
shalled in  battle  arrf.y  at  day,  ready  to 
strike  lioldly  fur  their  country  and  their 
firesides. 

The  first  objects  of  historical  interest  to 
be  seen  after  leaving  New  Yotk,  are  the 
ruins  of  Foris  Leo  and  Washington  :  the 
former  is  situated  just  at  tiie  commence- 
ment of  the   I'alisades,  about   ton   miles 
above  tho  city  ;  and  tho  latter  nearly  op- 
posite, upon  tho  eastern  bank  of  tho  river. 
On  entering  the  Tappaan  Zee,  now  Tap- 
pan  Bay,  you  see  upon  tho  oaitthe  village 
of  Tarrytown,  and  on  the  west  that  of  Tap- 
pan  :  one  memorable  as  the  place  where 
the  unfortunate  Andre  was  arrested,  and 
the  other  as  the  spot  where  ho  was  exe- 
cuted.    We  next  pass   Stony  Point,  the 
scene  of  one  of  the  bravo  expluits  of  Gen- 
eral   Wayne ;    and   reaching    Caldwell's 
Landing,  opposite  Peekskill,  romantic  sce- 
nery, seldom  surpassed,  is  developed.    Ev- 
ery spot  on  shore  is  consecrated  ground — 
consecrated  by  the  congregation  there  of 
several  of  the  master-spirits  of  the  War  of 
Independence.     There  at  one  time  Wash- 
ington, Putnam,  Kosciusko,  Arnold,  and 
other  officers,  met  and  celebrated  the  birth- 
day of  tho  dauphin  of  France,  the  unfortu- 
nate Louis  who  lost  his  crown  and  his  life 
during  the  revolution  of  '94. 

In  this  neighborhood  are  the  ruins  of 
Forts  Montgomery  and  Clinton  ;  and  soon 
after  passing  the  lofty  promontory  on  the 
eastern  shore  of  the  river,  wo  may  see  in 
the  distance  toward  the  northwest,  on  the 
summit  of  Mount  Independence,  the  gray 
walls  of  Fort  Putnam,  about  four  hundred 
feet  above  the  plain  >n\  which  stands  the 
military  academy  of  West  Point,  and  about 
three  quarters  of  a  mile  distant.  The  plat- 
eau of  West  Point  and  its  whole  neighbor- 
hood is  classic  ground.     Here,  too,  were 


^5 


njiiiiri  til  -  II 


M  ., 


kJk-' 


ON  LONHKVITY. 


541   I 


o 

I 


r/' 


congregated  the  worthies  of  the  revolution  ; 
and  at  this  "  key  to  the  northern  country" 
Kosciusko  for  some  time  made  his  resi- 
dence. Hero  Arnold  formed  his  plans  of 
treason,  and  hence  despatched  Andre  on 
his  fatal  journey.  H'^re  amid  the  mounds 
which  mark  the  redoubts  of  Fort  Clinton, 
arises  a  monument  sacred  to  the  memory 
of  the  brave  Polish  officer ;  and  not  far 
distant  is  another,  erected  by  General 
Brown  in  honor  of  Colonel  Eleazar  D. 
Wood,  who  fell  at  the  sortie  of  Fort  Erie 
in  1814.  We  might  multiply  our  records 
of  the  past  deeds  of  bravery  and  patriotism 
which  this  classic  spot  brings  to  recollec- 
tion, and  point  to  the  headquarters  of  Wash- 
ington at  Newburgh  ;  to  the  crest  of  Bea- 
con Hill,  whereon  fires  were  lighted  du- 
ring the  stormy  period  of  our  war  for  lib- 
erty ;  but  in  so  doing  we  should  digress 
too  far  from  the  object  of  this  article — a 
brief  notice  of  the  Palisades,  a  portion  of 
which  is  represented  in  our  engraving. 

The  Palisades  are  so  named  from  their 
perpendicular  position,  and  resemblance  to 
columns  forming  an  enclosure.  They  ex- 
tend from  a  point  a  little  north  of  Hoboken, 
New  Jersey,  on  the  western  side  of  the 
river,  to  near  Slole  creek,  a  distance  of 
over  twenty  miles  ;  and  present  a  wall  va- 
rying in  perpendicular  height  from  two 
hundred  to  six  hundred  feet.  They  form 
a  part  of  a  basaltic  ridge  which  rises  at 
Bergen  Point  in  New  Jersey,  and  gradu- 
ally increase  in  height  till  some  of  its  sum- 
mits reach  an  elevaticii  of  more  than  a 
thousand  feet  above  tide-water.  This  ridge 
curves  round  Tappan  Bay,  leaving  on  the 
margin  of  the  cove  a  limited  but  pleasant 
champagne  country,  which  is  in  a  high 
state  of  cultivation.  The  ridge  varies  in 
width  from  an  eighth  of  a  mile  to  three 
miles,  forming  a  handsome  region  of  ara- 
ble table  land. 

The  Palisades  are  divided  into  numer- 
ous vertical  fissures,  which  give  them  the 
appearance  of  detached  columns.  In  these 
fissures  are  frequently  found  alluvial  de- 
posites,  from  which  vegetation  shoots  forth, 
the  only  relief  to  their  bare  and  mason- 
work  appearance.  These  basalt  rocks 
comprehend  almost  every  variety  of  form- 
ation :  the  amygdaloid,  containing  cellules, 
sometimes  empty,  and  sometimes  filled, 
and  often  presenting  the  warty  appearance 


of  slag  :  the  basaltic  brescia  or  traptiiff, 
consisting  of  pebbles  and  angular  grains 
cemented  ;  and  the  columnar  hasitlt  in  pris- 
mat'c  polygons,  sometimes  articulated,  con- 
sisting of  hornblend,  feldspar,  and  epidole, 
with  which  compact  and  radiated  prehnito 
is  sometimes  blended. 

This  wall  of  "  eternal  masonry"  is  be.iu- 
tifuUy  contrasted  by  the  fii»ely-cultivat(.'d 
country  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  river, 
which  rises  in  a  gentle  slope  from  the  wa- 
ter's edge,  and  presents  at  a  glance  a  rich 
agricultural  region,  adorned  with  tasteful 
mansions.  Although  here  the  superior 
grandeur  of  the  Highlands  is  wanting,  yet 
the  pleasing  combination  of  the  majestic 
and  beautiful  renders  this  portion  of  the 
scenery  of  the  Hudson  river  inferior  to  iio 
other. 


ON  LONGEVITY. 


that 
been 


T    is   remarkable 
amid  all  that  has 
said  and  written  on  the 
subject  of  living  a  long 
lime,  and  the  rules  laid 
down  to  attain  it,  we  arc 
as  yet  far  from  making 
the  slightest  approaches 
toward  a  rationale  of  the 
real  causes  which  are  productive  in  this 
matter.    Nostrums  have  been  sold  without 
number  ;  and  books  have  been  written,  en- 
titled "  Art  of  prolonging  Life,"  jfec,  which 
would  seem  to  indicate,  at  first  sight,  that 
great  discoveries  had  been  made  on  the 
subject,  and  the  whole  at  length  reduced 
to  rule  ;  but  all  vanishes  and  disappears 
when  we  come  to  consider  the  true  import 
of  the  expression.     It  does  not  mean  the 
art  of  prolonging  the  patient's  life,  but  the 
doctor's — not  lb;'.t  of  the  reader,  but  that  of 
the  author.    The  wondrous  regimen  is  laid 
down,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  inquirer,  but 
for  the  sake  of  himself,  who,  feeling  his 
life  in  dange.-of  being  shortened,  from  de- 
ficient culinary  resources,  hit  upon  this 
book  as  a  means  of  prolonging  it,  and  which 
he  therefore  very  properly  calls  "  Art  of 
prolonging  Life,"  &c. 

But  although  we  are  ignorant  of  the  ra- 


ie?i^i^il«i^f-;^-='S*^^5^^fi*sbf*^*'^«««^''-^"  '^' 


H  .(,  ■*, 


>*flM.  • 


542 


ON  LONGEVITY. 


ft     =:*i. 


tinnale  in  this  case,  as  we  are  of  all  the 
great  processes  of  nature,  we  know  there 
are  some  things  that  must  exert  a  power- 
ful influence  upon  it — such  as  temperance, 
a  pure  air,  regular  exercise,  an  easy  mind, 
to  which  we  may  add  the  influence  of  re- 
I  ligion,  and  attention  to  whatever  has  to  do 
with  the  inner  chymistries  of  nature,  and 
the  laws  of  organized  bodies.  Self-denial 
and  virtue  are  better  than  all  medicines. 

And  yet  we  are  met  at  every  step  with 
things  that  puzzle  and  perplex  us.    Do  we 
speak  of  temperance  ?     We  are  reminded 
of  Parr,  who  is  described  as  anything  but 
a  temperate  man,  and  yet  lived  above  a 
century  and  a  half;  and  of  Louis  Cornaro, 
who  lived  a  hundred  years,  although  for 
half  that  time  he  had  been  habitually  guil- 
ty of  such  irregular  excesses,  that  his  phy- 
sicians thought  it  impossible  he  should 
live  any  longer.     Do  we  speak  of  comfort 
and  regular  living  ?     Parr,  as  mentioned 
above,  and  Jenkyns,  who  lived  a  hundred 
and  seventy  years  save  one,  depended  up- 
on charity,  which  they  had  to  encounter 
all  weathers  in  soliciting,  and  which  of- 
ten turned  out  to  be  so  precarious,  that 
they  were  not  able  to  obtain  it ;  though  this 
perhaps  would  fall  in  with  the  ideas  of 
some  French  physicians,  who  recommend 
one  starvation  day  in  every  week,  to  emp- 
ty those  hollow  tubes,  and  give  new  im- 
pulses to  those  strings  and  strainers  which 
Addison  so  beautifully  takes  notice  of.  We 
are  not  told  whether  the  old  gentlemen 
leaped  or  not ;  but  if  they  had  to  beg  all 
they  lived  on,  and  to  fetch  it  in  person,  it 
might  be  a  substitute,  and  thus  they  would 
fall  in  with  the  notions  of  other  French- 
men, who  recommend  leaping  and  active 
exercise  before  leaving  a  room,  and  thus 
cut  short  in  their  beginnings  all  such  like 
distempers  as  they  supposed  to  arise  from 
sediment.     Do  we  mention  climate  as  a 
means  of  longevity  1     It  is  allowed  that 
some  climates  are  distinguished  for  an  in- 
salubrity that  shortens  human  life,  while 
other  climates  have  a  tendency  to  promote 
it :  as  while  there  are  no  nonagenarians  to 
speak  of  on  the  coast  of  Sierra  Leone,  the 
inward  parts  of  Norway  are  said  to  be  so 
pure,  that  the  inhabitants  live  till  they  are 
tired  even  of  Ufe.     The  coast  of  Devon- 
shire, and  the  sweet  vales  of  Montpclier, 
are  far  more  congenial  to  the  human  frame 


than  the  marshes  of  Missolonghi,  or  the  si- 
moom, poison-swept  deserts  of  the  East. 
Climate,  however,  except  in  extreme  and 
peculiar  cases,  has  much  less  specific  in- 
fluence than  we  are  aware.  If  any  one 
thinks  that  in  this  or  that  particular  plaoe 
man  must  necessarily  inhale  the  principle 
of  long  life,  let  him  cast  his  eye  over  the 
following  table,  and  note  the  variety  of  cli- 
mate in  which  the  several  individuals  ex- 
isted, and  he  will  see  hov;  things  stand  in 
the  Old  V'orld  ;  and  by  turning  to  this  con- 
tinent statistics,  he  will  see  how  they  stand 
in  the  New  : — 

KAMB.  AOl.  TLACH. 

Albuiim  Marc \5Q Ktliiopia. 

Titus  Fullonins I.IO Benoiiia. 

Abraham  Paibn 142 South  Carolina. 

Dumiiur  Haduly 140 Transylvania. 

Countens  Desmond 1 40 Ireland. 

James  Sand 140 Staffordshire. 

Wife  of  ditto 120 ditto. 

Henry  Jenkyns 169 Yorkshire. 

Thomas  Pnrr I'ii Shropshire. 

Francis  Bons 121 Franco. 

A.  Goldsmith 142 ditto. 

Marf,'aret  Patten KiS Scotland. 

William  Ellis 1.10 Liverpool. 

Christian  Di-akenberg..l4G Norway. 

Richard  Lloyd 133 Wales. 

James  Hayley 112 Cheshire. 

John  Wilson 116 Suffolk. 

Louis  Cornaro 100..- Venice. 

Jane  Reeve 103 Essex. 

Marqaisol  Winchester.106 Hampshire 

Agnes  Milburne 116 London. 

In  this  table,  which  might  have  been 
greatly  extended,  are  included  places  of 
almost  every  variety  of  soil  and  climate. 
Venice,  built  literally  in  water  ;  France, 
with  its  mild  and  genial  warmth  ;  the  fierce 
and  biting  winds  of  Norway  ;  and  even  the 
West  Indies, proverbial  for  heats  and  moist- 
ure, being  almost  specific,  as  is  thought, 
in  cutting  down  the  human  stamina — have 
alike  permitted  longevity.  Jane  Reeve 
lived  to  a  hundred  and  three,  in  the  marshy 
county  of  Essex.  Hippocrates  lived  to  a 
hundred  and  four,  in  the  delicious  island 
of  Cos.  Albuma  Marc  reached  a  hundred 
and  fifty,  in  the  sultry  interior  of  Ethiopia  ; 
and  Drakenberg  reached  to  within  four 
years  of  that  time,  on  the  steril  mountains 
of  Norway.  Such  contrasts  seem  to  indi- 
cate that  climate,  except  in  extreme  cases, 
and  where  the  air  is  poisoned  by  the  de- 
cay of  organic  matter,  or  such  like  causes, 
has  little  or  no  specific  influence  on  lon- 
gevity, and  bid  defiance  to  all  eflbrts  at 
philosophizing  on  the  subject. 


Jj 


W      '  -liN  .> 


issolonghi,  or  the  si- 
eserts  of  the  East, 
ept  in  extreme  and 
ich  less  specific  in- 
Avare.  II'  any  one 
hat  particular  place 
inhale  the  principh) 
ist  his  eye  over  the 
ite  the  variety  of  cli- 
eral  individuals  ex- 
hov/  things  stand  in 
r  turning  to  this  con- 
l  see  how  they  stand 


Ethiopia. 

Beiioiiia. 

Soutli  Carolina. 

Transylvania. 

Ireland. 

Staffhrdnhire. 

ditto. 

Yorksliire. 

, Shropshire. 

Franve. 

ditto. 

Scotland. 

Liverpool. 

Norway. 

Wales. 

Cheshire. 

Suffolli. 

„ Venice. 

Essex. 

Hampsfair& 

London. 

h  might  have  been 

included  places  of 
)f  soil  and  climate. 

in  water ;  France, 
il  warmth  ;  the  fierce 
jrway  ;  and  even  the 
.1  for  heats  and  moist- 
cific,  as  is  thought, 
iman  stamina — have 
ivity.     Jane   Reeve 

three,  in  the  marshy 
ippocrates  lived  to  a 
the  delicious  island 
c  reached  a  hundred 
interior  of  Ethiopia ; 
;hed  to  within  four 
the  steril  mountains 
intrasts  seem  to  indi- 
;pt  in  extreme  cases, 
poisoned  by  the  dc- 
,  or  such  like  causes, 
ic  influence  on  lon- 
nce  to  all  efforts  at 

subject. 


ON  LONGEVITY. 


543 


If  we  ask  old  men  the  means  by  which 
they  came  to  live  so  long,  they  give  us 
such  different  directions  in  different  cases, 
it  is  evident  they  know  nothing  at  all  about 
the  matter.  Some  attribute  it  to  their  be- 
ing much  in  the  open  air  ;  some  to  an  ex- 
treme regularity  in  diet  and  regimen ; 
some  to  moderate  but  regular  proportions 
of  wine  ;  some  advise  scarcely  to  drink  at 
all,  not  even  of  that  great  distillery  which 
God  built  originally  for  Adam,  the  produce 
of  which  he  might  possess  without  danger, 
and  sip  without  sorrow  :  but  all  an)ounts 
to  nothing.  Some,  as  Cornaro,  advise  us 
to  weigh  our  food,  than  which  nothing  can 
be  more  absurd  ;  for  if  this  were  desirable, 
surely  the  Almighty  would  have  blessed 
us  with  a  pair  of  scales,  or  some  kind  of 
feeling  within  that  we  might  know  when 
we  had  swallowed  four  ounces — instead 
of  which  he  has  given  us  a  feeling  that 
we  might  know  when  we  had  swallowed 
enough :  and  this  is  the  true  time  to  leave 
off.   ^  J 

This,  however,  is  certain,  that  ev#y 
temporary  shock  which  health  receives, 
does  something  to  impair  the  durability  of 
the  numan  frame  ;  and  if  so,  every  act  of 
intemperance,  though  men  feel  it  not  at 
present,  will  be  found  to  shorten  the  dura- 
tion of  the  body.  And  though  we  may  be 
told  of  Parr  and  others,  who,  though  often 
intemperate,  lived  to  a  great  age,  yet  who 
can  say  how  long  they  might  have  lived, 
if  they  had  conducted  themselves  on  a  dif- 
ferent plan  ?  There  can  be  no  oueslion 
thattheiroccasional  excesses  injured  them, 
and  that  materially  ;  and  Parr,  it  is  well 
known,  was  cut  off  at  last  by  intemper- 
ance :  for  being  sent  for  to  the  k'ng,  who 
wished  to  see  such  a  monument  of  antiqui- 
ty, he  indulged  in  the  bounties  of  a  palace, 
andtheti  went  home  and  died.  These  men 
lived  a  long  while,  not  in  consequence  of 
their  intemperance,  but  in  spite  of  it,  and 
would  have  lived  much  longer  but  on  that 
account. 

The  means  known,  so  far,  of  promoting 
longevity,  have  been  usually  concentrated 
in  short,  pitiiy  sayings — as,  "  Keep  your 
head  cool,  and  your  feet  warm" — "  work 
much,  and  eat  little,"  &c. :  just  as  it  the 
whole  science  of  human  life  could  Be 
summed  up  and  brought  out  in  a  few 
words,  while   its  great  principles   were  i 


kept  out  of  sight.  One  of  the  best  of 
these  suyiiigs  is  the  one  given  by  an  Ilal 
ian  in  his  hundred  and  sixteenth  year,  who 
being  asked  the  means  of  his  living  so 
long,  replied  with  that  improvisation  for 
which  his  country  is  remarkable  : — 

"  Con  mangiar  hrocoli, 
I'urtar  a  i  pcdi  zucculi, 
In  tetto  capailo, 
Pochi  pen.tieri  in  cervello." 

"  When  hungry,  of  the  bpst  I  eat, 
And  dry  and  wnr.n  I  keep  my  feet; 
I  Hereon  my  head  from  hiiq  and  rain. 
And  lot  few  cares  periilex  my  brain." 

The  following  is  about  the  best  theory 
of  the  matter  :  Every  man  is  born  with  a 
certain  stock  of  vitality,  which  can  not  be 
increased,  but  may  be  husbanded.  With 
tliis  siock  he  may  live  fast  or  slow — may 
live  extensively  or  intensively — may  draw 
his  little  amount  of  life  over  a  large  space, 
or  narrow  it  into  a  contracted  one  ;  but 
when  this  stock  is  exhausted,  he  has  no 
more.  He  who  lives  extensively,  drinks 
pure  water,  avoids  all  inilammatory  dis- 
eases, exercises  sutficiently  but  not  too 
laboriously,  indulges  no  exhausting  pas- 
sions, feeds  on  no  exciting  material,  pur- 
sues no  debilitating  pleasures,  avoids  all 
laborious  and  protracted  study,  preserves 
an  easy  mind,  atid  thus  husbands  his  quan- 
tum of  vitality — will  live  considerably 
longer  than  he  otherwise  -ould  do,  be- 
cause he  lives  slow  ;  while  he,  on  the  oth- 
er hand,  who  lives  intensively — who  bev- 
erages on  li  juors  and  wines,  exposes  him- 
self to  inflammatory  diseases  or  the  cause.s 
that  produce  them,  labors  beyond  his 
strength,  visits  exciting  scenes  and  indul- 
ges exhausting  passions,  lives  on  stimu- 
lati  !g  and  highly-seasoned  food,  is  always 
debilitated  by  his  pleasures,  devotes  him- 
self to  severe  and  long-continued  study,  is 
fretfully  and  peevishly  anxious — is  a  very 
poor  candidate  for  a  long  life,  because  he 
lives  fast :  as  too  intense  a  flame  consumes 
rapidly  the  oil  that  supported  it ;  and  a  fire 
contitmally  blown  is  exiiausted  and  goes 
out.  In  the  midst  of  his  days,  he  is  sur- 
prised to  find  the  living  piinciple  is  ex- 
pended ;  and  a  disease,  manageable  enough 
in  any  other  case,  in  his  case  is  unman- 
ageable. He  has  been  drawing  so  fre- 
quently, and  such  large  sums,  from  the 
bank  of  nature,  he  haj  drawn  out  his 
whole  stock,  and  closed  his  account. 


i 


I 


h-^S!9m 


mmS^^t9m¥tmf~- 


.^■^m 


«  i. 


iiilt 


■■-"i 


1^  ..r^^ 


514 


BLACK  AND  GRAY  SaUIRRELS. 


Rrader  !  it  is  by  keeping  these  princi- 
plKS  in  view,  and  not  by  any  little  sayings 
and  recipes  for  long  life,  that  yon  learn 
the  great  art,  if  it  is  an  art,  of  long'.'vity. 
It  is  not  by  "  keeping  your  head  cool  and 
your  feet  warm'" — nor  by  "  working  much 
and  eating  little"— nor  by  "  keeping  the 
moutli  shut  and  the  eyes  open" — nor  by 
measuring  your  drink,  weighing  your  food, 
adjusting  yoi.r  exercise,  as  for  a  race- 
horse, thai  you  are  to  live  a  long  life.  It 
is  by  keeping  these  principles  in  view — 
husbanding  your  little  stock  of  vitality, 
avoiding  what  excites  and  exhausts,  not 
going  too  often  to  the  bank,  living  little  in 
much  instead  of  much  in  little,  living  ex- 
tensively, not  intensively,  not  living  fast, 
but  living  slow  ;  and  that  by  submitting  to 
the  principles  of  the  gospel.'you  will  best 
accomplish  all  these  objects,  and  learn, 
moreover,  the  art  of  living  for  ever. 


BLACK  AND  GRAY  SQUIRRELS. 

QUIRRELS,  as  might 
naturally  be  supposed, 
are  exceedingly  numer- 
ous in  many  of  the  for- 
ests of  North  America, 
so  that  squirrel-hunting 
is  one  of  the  favorite 
and  more  refined  spe- 
cies of  sporting  among 
such  as  devote  a  day 
or  two  to  "hunting-frolics"  on  particular 
occasions  ;  not  solely  for  ^e  sordid  pur- 
poses of  gain,  but  partly  as  a  recreation 
from  other  and  very  different  employments. 
Black  and  gray  squirrels  are  the  most  com- 
monly sought  after ;  for,  in  addition  to 
the  fact  of  their  beingf  .  e  most  abund- 
ant, they  are  greatly  •  :  .-emed  as  an  arti- 
cle of  food,  and  their  skins  are  of  more 
value  than  those  of  any  of  the  other  sorts. 
A  party  of  five  or  six  sportsmen  will  often 
kill  two  thousand  or  three  thousand  squir- 
rels of  various  sorts  in  a  two  or  three  days' 
excursion  ;  but  your  regular  backwoods 
bear  and  wolf  hunter  rarely  condescends 
to  make  war  upon  this  species  of  small 
game.  B'ick  squirrels  are  far  more 
abundant  than  gray  ones,  but  why  this  id 


the  case  we  have  never  been  able  to  ar- 
rive at  any  satisfactory  conclusion  ;  for  in 
their  general  habits,  and  their  partialities 
for  those  sections  of  the  country  that  pro- 
duce some  peculiar  and  favorite  food,  there 
appears  not  the  slightest  difference  ;  and 
since  their  size  and  strength  are  nearly 
equal,  we  can  see  no  good  reason  for  the 
great  disparity  in  point  of  numbers.  Both 
the  black  and  gray  squirrels  are  migratory 
and  erratic  in  their  habits  ;  for  at  particu- 
lar seasons  of  the  year  some  sections  of 
tlie  forests  will  literally  swarm  with  them, 
while  at  other  times  in  the  same  situations 
but  a  few  solitary  stragglers  may  be  seen, 
leaping  from  branch  to  branch  in  the  tops 
of  the  tall  forest-trees. 

The  foresight  (or  by  whatever  name  that 
instinctive  peculiarity  common  to  a  large 
portion  of  the  brute  creation  may  be  des- 
ignated) of  the  gray  squirrel  is  very  re- 
markable ;  for  although  it  is  more  shy  and 
timid  than  either  the  black  or  red  ones 
wkjch  frequent  the   same  localities,  yet 
WKn  a  season  of  absolute  famine  has  been 
apraoaching,  it  will  run  greater  risks  in 
committing  little  depredations  upon  the 
granary  or  corn-crib  than  would  either  of 
the  other  species.     In  two  or  three  sea- 
sons, when  theie  was  an  entire  failure  of 
beechnuts,  chestnuts,  and  the  other  sorts 
of  food  that  these  provident  inhabitants  of 
the  wilderness  chiefly  subsist  upon  during 
the  long  winters,  we  had  opportunities  ol 
becoming  convinc-d  of  the  fact  as  before 
stated.     "Until  the  autumn  was  advan- 
cing," says  a  writer,  "  I  had  scarcely  seen 
a  gwy  squirrel  in  the  neighboring  woods, 
but  in  the  month  of  October  I  observed  a 
few  of  them  paying  occasional  visits  to 
my  barn  and  granary ;   and,  not  wishing 
my  grain  to  be  stolen  or  destroyed  with 
impunity,  I  shot  two  qr  three  of  tlie  earli- 
est intruders.     On  those  occasions  I  invu- 
riably  found  them  carrying  off  fifteen  or 
twenty  grains  of  Indian  corn  witnin  the 
cavities  of  their  cheeks  ;  and  being  pro- 
vided  with    comparatively  small  chesk- 
pouches  wherein  to  stow  away  the  pil- 
fe  ed  property,  it  showed  to  what  incon- 
venience they  would  subject  themselves 
in  order  to  procure  a  little  siock  as  the 
means  of  sustaining  life  through  a  long 
and  rigorous  winter.     WhctV.r  or  not  the 
few  that  had  first  visited  my  rfomi»ea  had 


cer  been  able  to  ar- 
y  conclusion  ;  for  in 
ind  their  partialities 
he  country  that  pro- 
(1  favorite  food,  there 
est  diflerence  ;  and 
strength  are  nearly 
good  reason  for  the 
t  of  numbers.  Both 
lirrels  are  migratory 
ibits  ;  for  at  particu- 
sar  some  sections  of 
ly  swarm  with  them, 
n  the  same  situations 
gglers  may  be  seen, 

0  branch  in  the  tops 
I. 

T  whatever  name  that 

common  to  a  large 
reation  may  be  des- 

squirrel  is  very  re- 
h  it  is  more  shy  and 
black  or  red  ones 
same  localities,  yet 
ilute  famine  has  been 
run  greater  risks  in 
(redations  upon  the 
han  would  either  of 
n  two  or  three  sea- 
»  an  entire  failure  of 

and  the  other  sorts 
vident  inhabitants  of 
'  subsist  upon  during 

had  opportunities  ol 
of  the  fact  as  before 
autumn  was  advan- 
'  I  had  scarcely  seen 

neighboring  woods, 
October  1  observed  a 

occasional  visita  to 
)' ;  and,  not  wishing 
n  or  destroyed  with 
qr  three  of  tlie  earli- 
ose  occasions  I  iavu- 
irryiiig  off"  fifteen  or 
lian  corn  witnin  the 
eks  ;  and  bemg  pro- 
iiively  small  cheak- 

stow  away  the  pil- 
jwed  to  what  incon- 

1  subject  themselves 
a  little  stock  as  the 

life  through  a  long 

Whc»h',r  or  not  the 

ited  mvrfemisea  had 


m 


k-!3 


I 
I 


I 


communicated  the  intelligence  to  their 
tribe  that  my  barn  was  stored  with  such 
food  as  they  might  subsist  upon  during  the 
approaching  famine,  of  course  I  have  no 
means  of  knowing  ;  however,  by  the  early 
part  of  November  there  were  several  scores 
of  them  paying  thoir  daily  respects  to  my 
corn-crib  and  wheat-bin.  A  few  red  ones, 
and  occasionally  a  black  one  or  two,  would 
renort  to  the  same  scene  of  plunder ;  but  I 
ff^und  that  they  were  more  intent  upon  ma- 
king a  meal  on  the  spot,  than  upon  carry- 
ing away  a  necessary  supply  for  the  ap- 
proaching winter.  At  this  time  the  gray 
ones  were  so  numerous,  and  audacious, 
too,  that  when  I  was  not  at  leisure,  or  felt 
no  inclination  to  make  war  upon  them 
with  my  gun,  I  had  to  place  a  boy  as  a 
sentinel  to  scare  them  back  into  the  woods, 
which  he  sometimes  found  great  difficulty 
in  effecting.  In  the  springs  succeeding 
those  seasons  of  famine,  I  found  hardly 
any  red  or  black  squirrels  in  the  adjoin- 
ing woods — they  had  evidently  peri.shed 
through  absolute  want ;  while  a  number  of 
the  gray  ones  vvhich  had  been  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  escape  my  gun,  and  that  had 
succeeded  in  laying  in  a  winter's  supply 
at  my  expensf>,  night  be  seen  springing 
from  branch  to  branch,  as  agile  and  shy 
as  they  had  been  before  the  approach  of 
winter  ;  and  could  not  help  blaming  my- 
self for  havii  g  denied  a  small  and  tempo- 
rary pittance  to  so  many  of  my  graceful, 
sagacious,  and  provident  neighbors. 

"  Although  apparently  not  well  adapted 
for  swimming,  yet  both  gray  and  black 
squirrels,  in  theii  migratory  excursions, 
will  venture  across  lakes  that  are  one  or 
two  miles  ■  -de,  ao  well  as  the  largest  of 
the  Amcric  rivers.  In  these  adventur- 
ous exploits  they  generally  take  advantage 
of  a  favorable  breeze,  in  which  case  the 
wind  acts  upon  their  elevated  tails,  there- 
by rendering  the  excursion  both  quicker 
and  less  laborious.  In  the  latter  part  of 
the  summer  I  have  frequently  witnessed 
black  squirrels  crossing  the  Niagara  river 
in  considerable  numbers  ;  and  I  always 
remarked  that  they  swam  across  when 
the  morning  first  began  to  dawn.  On 
leaching  the  opposite  shore  they  would 
appear  greatly  fatigued,  and  if  unmolested 
would  take  a  long  rest  preparatory  to  their 
setting  off  for  the  neighboring  woods." 


INTERESTING  FACTS  IN  EVAPORA- 
TION. 

HE  recipiocal  pro- 
cesses of  evaporation 
and  condensation  are 
the  means  whereby 
the  whole  surface  of 
that  part  of  the  globe 
which  constitutes  land 
is  supplied  with  the 
fresh  moisture  and  water  necessary  to  sus- 
tain the  organization  and  to  maintain  the 
functions  of  the  animal  and  vegetable 
world.  Thence  sap  and  juice  are  sup- 
plied to  vegetables,  and  fluids  to  animals  ; 
rivers  and  lakes  are  fed,  and  carry  back 
to  the  ocean  their  waters,  after  supplying 
the  uses  of  the  living  world. 

The  extensive  surface  of  the  ocean  un- 
dergoes a  never-ceasing  process  of  evap- 
oration, and  dismisses  into  the  atmosphere 
a  quantity  of  pure  water  proportionate  to 
its  extent  of  surface  and  te.iiperature  of 
the  air  above  it,  and  to  the  state  of  that  air 
with  respect  to  saturation.  This  vapor  is 
carried  with  currents  of  air  through  every 
part  of  the  atmosphere  which  surrounds 
the  globe. 

When  by  various  meteorological  causes 
the  temperature  of  the  air  is  reduced,  it 
will  frequently  happen  that  '  will  come 
below  that  limit  at  which  the  suspended 
vapor  is  in  a  state  of  saturation.  A  depo- 
sition or  condensation  will  therefore  take 
place,  and  rain  or  aqueous  clouds  will  be 
formed.  If  the  condensed  vapor  collect  in 
spherical  drops,  it  will  be  precipitated,  and 
fall  on  the  surface  of  the  earth  in  the  form 
of  rain  ;  but,  from  some  unknown  cause 
it  frequently  happens  that,  instead  of  col- 
lecting in  drops,  the  condensed  vapor  is 
formed  into  hollow  bubbles,  enclosing 
within  them  a  fluid  lighter,  bulk  for  bulk, 
than  the  atmosphere.  These  bubbles  are 
also  found  to  have  a  repulsive  influence  on 
each  other,  like  that  of  bodies  similarly 
electrified.  They  float,  therefore,  in  the 
atmosphere,  their  mutual  repulsion  pre- 
venting them  coalescing  so  as  to  form 
drops.  In  this  state,  having  by  the  iaws 
of  optics  a  certain  degree  of  opacity,  they 
become  distinctly  visible  and  form  clouds. 
The  vapor  suspended  in  the  air  during 
a  hot  summer's  day  is  so  elevated  in  its 


GTS  IN  EVAPORA- 

ON. 

HE  recipiocal  pro- 
cesses of  evaporation 
and  condensation  are 
the  means  whereby 
the  whole  surface  of 
that  part  of  the  globe 
which  constitutes  land 
is  supplied  with  the 
ater  necessary  to  siis- 
I  and  to  maintain  the 
iiimal  and  vegetable 
)  and  juice  are  sup- 
md  fluids  to  animals  ; 
I  fed,  and  carry  back 
aters,  after  supplying 
g  world. 

face  of  the  ocean  un- 
iing  process  of  evap- 
is  into  'he  atmosphere 
valer  proportionate  to 
;  and  temperature  of 
to  the  state  of  that  air 
ation.     This  vapor  is 

I  of  air  thro\)gh  every 
lere  which  surrounds 

neteorological  causes 
he  air  is  reduced,  it 
en  that  '  will  come 
vhich  the  suspended 
saturaticMi.  A  depo- 
)n  will  therefore  take 
ueous  clouds  will  be 
ensfcd  vapor  collect  in 

II  be  precipitated,  and 
the  earth  in  the  form 

lomo  unknown  cause 
I  that,  instead  of  col- 
I  condensed  vapor  is 
bubbles,  enclosing 
ighter,  bulk  for  bulk. 
These  bubbles  are 
repulsive  influence  on 
of  bodies  similarly 
jat,  therefore,  in  the 
lUtual  repulsion  pre- 
cing  so  as  to  form 
!,  having  by  the  laws 
(gree  of  opacity,  they 
ible  and  form  clouds, 
led  in  the  air  during 
is  so  elevated  in  its 


temperature  as  to  be  below  the  point  of 
saturation,  and  therefore,  though  the  ac- 
tual quantity  suspended  be  very  consider- 
able, yet,  while  the  air  is  capable  of  sus- 
taining more,  no  condensation  can  take 
place  ;  but  in  the  evening,  after  the  sun 
has  departed,  the  source  of  heat  being 
withdrawn,  the  temperature  of  the  air  un- 
dergoes a  great  depression,  and  the  quan- 
tity of  vapor  suspended  in  the  atmosphere, 
now  at  a  low  temperature,  first  attains  and 
subsequently  passes  the  point  of  saturation. 
A  deposition  ofmoisture  then  takes  place 
by  the  condensation  of  the  redundant  va- 
por of  the  atmosphere,  and  the  small  par- 
ticles of  moisture  which  fall  on  the  sur- 
face, coalescing  by  their  natural  cohesion, 
form  clear,  pellucid  drops  on  the  surface 
of  the  ground,  and  are  known  by  the  name 
of  dfiw. 

The  clouds  in  which  the  condensed  ves- 
icles of  vapor  are  collected,  are  affected 
by  an  attraction  which  draws  them  toward 
the  mountains  and  highest  points  of  the 
surface  of  the  earth.  Collected  there,  they 
undergo  a  change,  by  which  they  form  in- 
to drops,  and  are  deposited  in  the  form  of 
rain ;  and  hence,  by  their  natural  gravita- 
tion, they  find  their  way  through  the  pores 
and  interstices  of  the  earth,  and  in  chan- 
nels along  its  s  irnce,  forming,  in  the  one 
case,  wells  and  sp.  ih^^,  -  in  various  parts  of 
the  earth,  where  the;-  .ind  a  natural  exit, 
or  where  an  artificial  exit  is  given  to  .em, 
and,  in  the  other  case,  obeying  the  form 
of  the  surface  of  the  country  through  which  i 
they  are  carried,  they  wind  in  nri^ow 
channels, first  deepening  and  wider  ng  ,.«? 
they  proceed,  and  are  fed  by  tribu'.R  ' 
streams  until  they  form  into  great  rive  s. 
or  spread  into  lakes,  and  at  length-  dis- 
charge their  waters  into  the  sea. 

The  process  of  evaporation  is  not  con- 
fined to  the  sea,  but  takes  place  from  ll\e 
surface  of  the  soil,  and  from  all  vegetable 
and  animal  productions.  The  showers 
which  fall  in  summer,  first  scattered  in  a 
thin  sheet  of  moisture  over  the  surface  of 
the  country,  speedily  return  to  the  form  of 
vapor,  and  carry  with  them,  in  the  lF>ent 
form,  a  quantity  of  heat,  which  they  take 
from  every  objoct  in  contact  with  them — 
thus  moderating  the  temperature  of  the 
earth,  and  i^jfreshing  the  animal  and  vege- 
table creation. 


A  remarkable  example  of  evaporation  on 
a  large  scale  is  supplied  by  that  greut  in- 
land sea,  the  Mediterranean.  That  natu- 
ral reservoir  of  water  receives  an  extraor- 
dinary number  of  large  rivers,  among  which 
may  be  mentioned  the  Nile,  the  Danube, 
the  Dnieper,  the  Rhone,  the  Ebro,  the  Don, 
and  many  others.  It  has  no  communica- 
tion with  the  ocean,  except  by  the  straits 
of  Gibraltar,  and  there,  instead  of  an  out- 
ward current,  there  is  a  rapid  and  never- 
ceasing  inward  flow  of  water.  We  are, 
therefore,  compelled  to  conclude  that  the 
evaporation  from  the  surface  of  this  sea 
carries  off  the  enormous  quantity  of  water 
constantly  supplied  ftrom  these  sources. 
This  may,  in  a  degree,  be  accounted  for 
by  the  fact  that  the  Mediterranean  is  sur- 
rounded by  vast  tracts  of  land  on  every 
side  except  the  west.  The  wind,  wheth- 
er it  blow  from  the  south,  the  north,  or 
from  the  east,  has  passed  over  a  consider- 
able extent  of  land,  and  is  generally  in  a 
state,  v.'ith  respect  to  vapor,  considerably 
below  saturation.  These  dry  currents  of 
wind,  coming  in  contact  with  the  surface 
of  the  Mediterranean,  draw  off  water  with 
avidity,  and  passing  off,  are  succeeded  by 
fresh  portions  of  air,  which  repeat  the 
same  process. 


CATHEDRAL  OF  FLORENCE. 

N  extent  and  magnifi- 
cence the  Duomo  or  ca- 
thedral of  Florence  is 
among  the  first  ecclesi- 
astical edifices  of  Eu- 
rope. It  also  derives  a 
great  interest  from  its 
venerable  antiquity,  and 
from  its  being  generally 
considered  as  the  beginning  of  a  new  era 
in  the  history  of  architecture.  Tuscan 
writers,  who  have  been  rather  too  lavish 
of  their  praise,  have  said  a  great  deal  about 
the  bold  abandonment  of  the  Gothic  style, 
and  the  happy  adaptation  of  the  ancient 
Roman  style  of  architecture  in  this  build- 
ing, which  shows  an  admixture  of  several 
styles,  though  it  certainly  has  more  of  the 
ancient  Roman  than  any  work  that  prece- 


# 


mmm 


«.,.,< 


I 


4 


t 


(led  it  in  the  middle  a^es.  Its  fine  double 
cupola  was  the  first  raised  in  Europe,  and 
in  other  respects  the  Duomo  of  Florence 
served  aa  a  model  to  succeeding  archi- 
tecture. This  cathedral  was  begun  in 
1296.  The  first  architect  employed  upon 
it  was  Arnolfo  di  Lapo,  a  scholar  of  Cim- 
abue  the  old  painter.  In  one  hundred  and 
fifty-four  years,  and  under  successive  art- 
ists, it  was  nearly  finished.  "  But,"  says 
an  old  Florentine  author,  "  the  grand  cu- 
pola was  the  parturition  of  the  marvellous 
genius  of  Ser  Filippo  Brunellesco,  an  ar- 
chitect who  in  his  days  had  no  equal." 
Ii  is  related  of  Michael  Angelo  Buonarot- 
ti,  that  he  used  to  gaze  at  this  proud  dome 
with  rapture,  and  say  it  never  could  be 
surpassed  by  mortal  man.  He  afterward 
surpassed  it  himself  in  his  dome  of  St. 
Peter's,  at  Rome  ;  but  spite  of  his  magnifi- 
cent boast,  the  cupola  of  Florence  was  a 
prototype,  and  had  more  to  do  with  St. 
Peter's  than  the  dome  of  the  Pantheon, 
which  Buonarotti  said  he  would  suspend 
in  the  air.  Brunellesco,  the  author  of  the 
cupola,  gave  the  finishing  hand  to  the  ca- 
thedral. In  size,  materials,  and  boldness 
of  conception,  it  is  only  inferior  among 
Italian  churches  to  St.  Peter's.  The  walls 
are  cased  with  black  and  white  marble, 
and  both  without  and  within  they  are 
adorned  with  numerous  statues,  many  of 
which  are  beautiful  as  works  of  art,  or  in- 
teresting as  early  specimens  of  Italian 
sculpture.  As  in  the  cathedral  of  Milan, 
where  there  is  a  complete  army  of  statues, 
too  many  of  them  are  placed  in  positions 
where  they  can  scarcely  be  seen. 

Like  other  old  buildings,  the  cathedral 
of  Florence  has  been  subjected  to  the  ca- 
prices of  power  and  the  bad  taste  of  des- 
potism. The  facade  was  almost  half  in- 
crusted  with  beautiful  marble,  and  addi- 
tionally adorned  with  many  statues  and 
bassi-reliovi,  executed  from  designs  by  the 
venerable  Giotto,  one  of  the  fathers  of 
painting — one  of  the  immortal  Italians  who 
dug  up  the  fine  arts  from  the  grave  ir 
which  they  had  been  buried  for  centuries. 
In  1586,  without  any  visible  motive,  a 
grand-duke  of  the  house  of  Medici  demol- 
ished this  antique  front,  and  began  anoth- 
er on  a  totally  diflierent  design.  This  new 
fa9ade  was  very  slowly  executed,  and  nev- 
er finished  i  and  in  1688  another  grand- 


duke,  whose  taste  it  did  not  please,  knock- 
ed it  all  down,  just  as  his  predecessor  had 
demolished  the  venerable  works  of  Giotto. 
For  several  years  the  front  of  tlie  church 
presented  nothing  but  bare  unsightly  walls  ; 
and  then,  on  the  occasion  of  some  ducal 
marriage,  the  reigning  Medici  had  it  shab- 
bily painted  in  fresco,  and  in  that  condi- 
tion it  remained  for  upward  of  a  century. 
The  spirited  republicans,  the  merchants 
and  manufacturers  of  old  Florence,  with 
whose  money  the  vast  cathedral  was  ori- 
ginally built,  could  afford  to  lavish  costly 
statues  and  the  most  precious  marbles  ;  but 
the  population,  enterprise,  aiid  wealth  of 
the  country  had  suftered  a  sad  blight  un- 
der the  despotic  government  which  suc- 
ceeded the  commonwealth,  and  the  grand- 
dukes  could  only  provide  a  little  plaster 
and  paint  for  a  building  which  was  the 
boast  of  the  city,  as  it  was  the  glory  of  the 
old  republicans.  The  Medici — that  fami- 
ly of  merchant-princes  whose  virtues  and 
abilities  went  out  like  lamps  lacking  oil, 
almost  immediately  alter  their  assumption 
of  absolute  power — kept  their  marbles, 
their  "  porphyry,  jasper,  agate,  and  all 
hues"  to  heap  upon  their  own  inglorious 
tomb,  in  the  church  of  San  Lorenzo  ;  and 
even  that  monument  of  their  vanity  and 
tawdry  taste  they  never  finished. 

Seven  great  doors,  three  in  front  and 
two  on  either  side,  give  admittance  to  the 
interior  of  the  Florence  cathedral.  These 
doors  are  richly  ornamented.  Giovanni 
di  Pisa  and  Ghirlandaio  both  employed 
their  genius  upon  them.  The  floor  of  the 
church  is  paved  with  rich  variegated  mar- 
bles, disposed  in  a  beautiful  manner.  Ital- 
ian writers,  who  deserve  our  love  by  the 
fond,  minute  attention  they  have  paid  to 
such  matters,  record  that  the  pavement  of 
the  grea.  central  aisle  was  laid  down  by 
Francesco  di  San  Gallo  ;  that  round  the 
choir  by  the  versatile  and  great  Michael 
Angelo ;  and  the  rest  by  Giuliano  di  Bac- 
cio  d'Agnolo.  The  windows  are  smaller 
and  fewer  than  usual,  and  the  glass  being 
painted  with  the  deep  rich  tints  common 
in  ancient  glass-staining,  admits  but  a  sub- 
dued light.  As  Forsyth  observes,  "  Here 
is  just  that  *  dim  religious  light'  which 
pleases  poetical  and  devout  minds."  This 
light  almost  becomes  "  a  darkness  visible" 
in  the  choir,  for  the  cupola  or  dome  under 


il 


~l 


lid  not  please,  knock- 
8  Ilia  predecessor  had 
rablo  works  of  Giotto, 
e  front  of  the  church 
t  bare  unsightly  walls  ; 
casion  of  some  ducal 
ig  Medici  had  it  shab- 
o,  and  in  that  condi- 
upward  of  a  century, 
icana,  the  merchants 
if  old  Florence,  with 
.St  cathedral  was  ori- 
ifford  to  lavish  costly 
precious  marbles  ;  but 
rprise,  aiid  wealth  of 
ered  a  sad  blight  un- 
vernment  which  suc- 
veallh,  and  the  grand- 
ovide  a  little  plaster 
ilding  which  was  the 
It  was  the  glory  of  the 
de  Medici — that  fami- 
63  whose  virtues  and 
ie  lamps  lacking  oil, 
iHer  their  assumption 
-kept  their  marbles, 
isper,  agate,  and  all 
their  own  inglorious 
of  San  Lorenzo  ;  and 
t  of  their  vanity  and 
ver  finished. 
8,  three  in  front  and 
ive  admittance  to  the 
ce  cathedral.  These 
lamented.  Giovanni 
idaio  both  employed 
m.  The  floor  of  the 
I  rich  variegated  mar- 
autiful  manner.  Ital- 
erve  our  love  by  the 
in  they  have  paid  to 
that  the  pavement  of 
Ie  was  laid  down  by 
alio  ;  that  round  the 
e  and  great  Michael 
t  by  Giuliano  di  Bac- 
windows  are  smaller 
,  and  the  glass  being 
;p  rich  tints  common 
Ing,  admits  but  a  sub< 
lyth  observes,  "  Here 
sligious  light'  which 
levout  minds."  This 
"  a  darkness  visible" 
:upola  or  dome  under 


'J 


lilWHiHWIIflttl' 


mammtim 


J 


IMH 


«'• 


n 


660 


CATHEDRAL  OF  FLOHKNC  i 


whicl;  it  stanils  is  clos,  il  at  top,  and  arlmits 
no  fliMjd  of  hunshine  like  the  dome  of  St. 
Peer's  The  choir  is  in  itself  a  blemish. 
It  IS  of  an  octaijon.il  f,irm,  to  correspond 
with  the  shape  of  the  cupola,  which  is  not 
circular,  but  octagonal,  or  eight-sided.  It 
is  enclosed  by  a  colonnndn  which  is  fine, 
considered  apart  and  by  itself,  but  its 
Ionic  elevation  is  at  variance,  and  jars 
with  the  rest  of  the  building.  Some  cu- 
rious bassi  reliovi  enrich  the  choir,  and 
high  overhead  the  interior  of  the  cupola  is 
covered  with  fresco  paintings — the  work  of 
Federico  Zuccheri  and  Giorgio  Vasari. 

The  solemn  old  church  is  rich  in  asso- 
ciations and  historical  recollections.  Here 
are  the  tombs  of  Giotto  ifie  painter,  Bru- 
nellesco  the  architect,  and  Marsilius  Fici- 
nus,  the  reviverofthe  Platonic  philosophy, 
and  the  friend  and  instructor  of  Lorenzo 
the  Magnificent.     Here,  on  the  26th  day 
of  April,  1478,  when  high  mass  was  per- 
forming, and  just  as  the  priest  held  up  the 
host,  the  blood  of  Giuliano  de  Medici  was 
shed  by  the  Pazzi ;  and  his  brother  Lo- 
renzo, clinging  to  the  horns  of  the  altar, 
and  afterward  flying  into  the  sacristy,  es- 
caped with   difficulty  from  those  deter- 
mined conspirators,  who  would  have  re- 
stored liberty  to  their  country,  but  who  set 
about  it  in  a  w   ■  a  way,  and  mostly  from 
violent  and  M.vxidii}  motives,  and  who, 
moreover,   l-.'.n,cil   -.hemseWes   with  the 
king  of  Napln.-*,  rbe  jjrealesv  tyrant  in  Italy, 
and  with  otior  «;••  pots  who  hated  liberty 
even  more  thau  i/iey  hated  the  Medici. 
Here,  some  years  before,  when  Constan- 
tinople was  trembling  at  the  approach  of 
the  Turks,  the  Greek  emperor,  half  a  fu- 
gitive, and  wholly  a  mean  supplicant  and 
beggar,  sat  side  by  side  with  the  pope, 
consenting  to  renounce  the  schisms  and 
heresies  of  the  Greek  church  ;  and  enga- 
ging (without  consulting  them)  to  bring  all 
his  people  into  the  bosom  of  the  church 
of  Rome,  on  conditions  agreed  upon,  that 
the  pope  should  procure  him  arms,  treas- 
ures, and  the  assistance  of  the  catholic 
princes  of  Europe.    Hero  the  German  em- 
peror, Frederick  III.,  forgetting  that  the 
holy  spirit  of  the  place  was  one  of  pefice 
and  good-will  to  ail  men,  knighted  some 
scores  of  the  bravest  or  fiercest  of  his  cut- 
throat  soldiery.     A  portrait   recalls   the 
memory  of  the  greatest  of  all  Florentines, 


and  shows  ilic  tardy  repentance  of  his  nn- 
gratefnl  countrymen.  "  .\n  ancient  pic- 
ture  by  Orcagna,  in  whi^h  is  paint«'d  ilie 
divine  poet  Dante,  is  placed  hero  in  con- 
sequence of  an  I  pre«  ■  decree  of  the 
Floreniinc  republic  ;  ai ,  '>ms  is  the  only 
public  memorial  wo  poss.  of  that  great 
master  of  Tuscan  poetry."  Such  are  the 
melancholy  words  of  an  old  Florentine 
writer,  who,  like  all  hi^  countrymc  i,  de- 
plored that  the  bii.  should  have  died  in 
poverty  and  exile,  and  have  ioA  his  >,trict- 
ly-gijarded  ashes  in  a  foreign  s  tie.  Next 
to  this  picture  of  Dante  '■■»  the  portrait  of 
an  English  soldier  of  iWrtuno— the  re- 
nowned and  infamous  coi,  ntiero  Sir  John 
Hawkwood,  who  betrayed  rj  ,1  sold  llu; 
Pisans,  in  whose  service  lie  was,  to  their 
bitter  enenucs  the  Florentines. 

In  another  pan  of  the  church  there  is  a 
curious  old  portrait  of  Gioo.  I!  nellesco 
has  the  honor  of  a  bust,  as  well  us  ih;.t  of 
a  Latin  epitaph,  on  his  tomb,     'i'liis  ■  pi- 


faph,  which  was  written  by  Carlo  A  ^r- 
zuppini  of  Arezzo,  "  poet  and  secretary  o*^ 
the  republic,"  is  remarkable,  as  it  inclu'iii 
the  original  idea  of  the  inscription  '•<  S> 
Paul's  to  the  memory  of  Sir  Chribi.»pli. 
Wren.     The  Florentine  inscription  tells 
the  reader  to  look  at  the  cupola  to  form  a 
notion  of  Brunellesco's  excellence  in  ar- 
chitecture.    The    inscription    to    Wren, 
which  is  better  turned,  says,  "  Reader  !  if 
you   would   behold  his   monument,  look 
around  you." 

In  various  parts  of  the  cathedral,  there 
are  statues  by  Baccio  Bandanelli,  Savino 
Rovezzano,  and  other  early  artists.  The 
chapels  which  shoot  off  from  the  side 
aisles  are  rich  in  pictures,  sculpture,  and 
relics.  The  campanile  or  belfry,  which 
is  the  square  tower  that  the  reader  will 
see  in  our  engraving,  surmounted  with  a 
flag,  is  close  to,  but  wholly  detached  from, 
the  body  of  the  cathedral.  This  was  a 
common  method  in  old  Italian  churches, 
where  the  bells  were  hung,  not  in  the 
temple,  but  in  a  separate  tower  near  to  it. 
Instances  of  this  occur  at  the  celebrated 
cathedral  of  Pisa,  at  the  church  of  Santa 
Chiara  in  Naples,  and  in  many  other 
places.  The  campanile  of  Florence  is 
light  and  airy.  It  is  coated  on  the  out- 
side with  variegated  marble,  and  studded 
h';re  and  there  with  statues.     Giotto  the 

'I 


^IkA 


JANUAUV. 


551 


Y  repentance  of  his  nn- 
J.     "  An    ancient  pic- 

whivh  is  paint»>(l  ilui 
SI  placed  hero  iii  con- 

prof"  decree  of  the 
;  ai      'his  is  the  only 

po8H>  of  thrit  grt'iu 
uetry."  Siiih  .r-'  the 
of  an  old  Flore i  tine 
I  hk  countrym<    ,  de- 

shouhl  have  died  in 
nd  have  ieA  'lis  hiricf  ■ 
n  foreign  stste.  Next 
mte  !i  the  portrait  of 

of  'ortuiiu — the  re- 
8  coil  iltiero  Sir  John 
strayed  ?i:,,l  sold  the 
rvicc  li.:  was,  to  tht  ,r 
lorentines. 

the  ( hurch  there  is  a 
f  Gi(  '<•>.   II     nellesco 
ust,  as  well  as  ih!>t  of 
his  tomb.     This  'pi- 
rilien  by  Carlo  '     ' 
poet  and  secret:i 
irkable,  as  it  inciiui, 
the  inscription  ■  •  S; 
y  of  Sir  Chrisi.ijih. 
lino  inscription  tells 
iho  cupola  to  form  a 
I'a  excellence  in  ar- 
iscription    to    Wren, 
d.says,  "  Reader  !  if 
liis   monument,  look 

■  the  cathedral,  there 
3  Bandanelli,  Savino 
r  early  artists.  The 
t  off  from  the  side 
tures,  sculpture,  and 
lile  or  belfry,  which 
that  the  reader  will 
,  surmounted  with  a 
'holly  detached  from, 
edral.  This  was  a 
•Id  Italian  churches, 
e  hung,  not  in  the 
ate  tower  near  to  it. 
;ur  at  the  celebrated 
the  church  of  Santa 
ind  in  many  other 
[lile  of  Florence  is 
coated  on  the  out- 
marble,  and  studded 
statues.     Giotto  the 

,.       'I 


painter  drew  the  designs  on  which  it  was 
erected.  And  licre  it  is  worthy  of  remark 
that  nearly  ev.  .ne  of  i;  -se  early  artists 
wa«  not  a  mere  linter,  (n  uljitor,  or  ar- 
chiuct,  but  uniti  d  in  hini.si  the  knowl- 
edge and  prac '  r  of  all  the  iiiree  arts,  be- 
Hides  being  skiiled  in  civil  engineering, 
^nd,  in  most  cases,  a  poet,  or  an  accum- 
IilisJK  I  iii'isician,  to  boot.  They  were  a 
wonderful  ofnn  wlii<  suddenly  sprung 
u|i  md  flourished,  md  filled  their  native 
cities  with  beauty,  in  the  midst  of  a  most 
lurlnilent  liberty,  when  wars  and  factions 
nIk.  k  ''le  peninsula  from  one  end  to  the 
other,  and  every  citizen  or  burgess  of  the 
free  states  of  Tuscany  and  Loinbardy  was 
of  necessity  a  soldier.  The  impulse  they 
gave  lasted  some  years  after  the  decline 
of  freedom  ;  bii'  Italy  never  saw  such  men 
in  the  tranqiiilluy  that  arose  out  of  con- 
(irned  despotism. 

Oj  H)siio  to  the  principal  entrance  of 
the  cathedral  there  stands  another  de- 
tacl.  l  building,  which  the  reader  wiJl  see 
in  our  vi  This  is  the  baptistery,  which 

it  was  lual  not  to  include  in  the 

church  Lit  to  erect  apart.  At  Pisa,  as 
here,  and  if  many  other  places,  the  bap- 
tistery is  a  separate  edifice,  rising  near  the 
cathedral.  This  baptistery  was  not  con- 
fined to  one  parish  :  all  the  children  born 
in  the  city  and  suburbs  used  to  be  christ- 
ened in  it ;  and  as  the  population  in  the 
thirteenth,  fourteenth,  and  fifteenth  centu- 
ries, was  immense,  the  baptismal  fonts 
must  have  presented  very  busy  Gcenes.  A 
notion  may  be  formed  of  the  extent  of  the 
population  from  a  fact  mentioned  by  Ma- 
chiavelli.  He  says  that  the  bells  of  the 
campanile  sounding  the  tocsin  would,  in 
a  few  hours,  bring  together  one  hundred 
and  thirty-five  thousand  well-armed  men, 
and  all  these  from  Florence  alone  with  the 
adjoining  valley  of  the  Arno. 

The  baptistery  is  an  octagonal  biii'  'mg 
with  a  low  dome  supported  by  mai^  ^(an- 
ite  columns.  Its  interior  walls  are  lined 
and  the  pavement  is  inlaid  with  marble. 
The  concave  of  the  dome  is  covered  with 
mosaic,  the  work  of  Andrea  TSfi,  one  of 
Cimabue's  pupils.  But  the  glory  and  mar- 
vel of  the  baptistery  lie  in  its  three  great 
bronze  portals,  which  are  wrought  into 
bassi-relievi  of  exquisite  beauty.  The 
most  ancient  of  the  three  was  by  Andrea 


Pisano,  and  I  irs  the  date  of  1330.  The 
other  two,  w  re  still  more  excellent 

in  style,  a    i  autiful,  that  Michael 

Angelo  wan  .iicd  to  say  they  were 

worthy  of  b(  :  gates  of  paradise,  were 

the  work  of  uy>  (Jhiberti.     The  fig- 

ures and  groups  ol  the  rclievi  refer  to 
events  in  the  life  of  St.  John  the  Baptist. 
By  the  sides  of  the  principal  entrance 
there  are  two  porphyry  columns,  given  to 
the  repiiblii  by  the  Pisans  in  1117,  iii 
gratitude  for  important  services  rendered 
\'V  the  iben  friendly  Florentines,  who  had 
i.  j)t  wat  h  and  ward  in  Pisa  while  its 
warlike  ■  "Mis  wont  to  the  conquest  of 
Majo    ri  '     irca.     Close  at  ham!,  as 

siho  r  parts  of  the  city,  are 

soil  luiit  memorials.    They  are 

link  -ssy  iron  chain,  with  which, 

wh>  .re,  the  Pisans  used  to  shut  up 

ami  idtheir  celebrated  port.     In  130'J 

the  iitines  took  the  Porto  Pisano,  car- 

ried away  the  chain,  and  hung  up  frag- 
ments of  it  in  their  own  city  as  trophies 
of  victory. 

The  column  surmounted  by  a  cross 
which  stands  in  front  of  the  baptistery  is 
said  to  have  been  erected  as  early  as  the 
year  408,  in  commemoration  of  a  miracle 
performed  on  the  spot  by  St.  Zenobi,  at 
that  time  bishop  of  Florence. 

The  procession  seen  crossing  the  piazza 
or  square  of  the  cathedral  in  our  view  is 
one  that  annually  takes  place  on  the  day 
of  Corpus  Domini — the  Fete  Dieu  of  the 
French. 


JANUARY. 

IVILIZED  nations  in 
general  now. agree  to  be- 
gin reckoning  the  new 
year  from  the  first  of  Jan- 
uary. Yet  it  may  seem 
strange  to  call  that  a  new 
season  when  everything 
is  most  inactive  and  life- 
less— when  animals  are 
benumbed  by  the  cold,  and  vegetables  arc 
all  dead  or  withered.  For  this  reason, 
some  have  thought  it  best  to  begin  the 
year  in  spring,  when  the  face  of  nature  is 


l^|gB}Ki-':£^^9d£Sn'^t£S£aatfim!S££l!:«^^ffiKff^  - ' 


J 


.    ;'/  ^ 


im 


^ 


552 


THE  LIFE  BOAT. 


rrnlly  renewed.  Dut  as  this  happens  at 
ilirturent  times  in  diflerent  years  and  cli- 
mutes,  it  has  at  length  beer:  determined  to 
date  the  commenc'inent  of  the  year,  as  at 
present,  within  a  few  days  afker  the  win- 
ter  solstice,  or  shortest  day.  This  always 
titkes  place  on  the  21st  of  December ;  and 
from  that  time  the  days  are  gradually 
lengthened  till  the  middle  of  '■ummor  :  so 
that  the  year  may  properly  be  said  to  be 
now  turned. 

January,  which  now  stands  the  first  in 
the  calendar,  was  so  placed  by  Numa  Pom- 
pilius,  when  he  added  it,  together  with 
February  to  Komulus's  year ;  its  name  is 
supposed  to  be  derived  from  the  Latin 
word_;'ffni.a,  a  gate  ;  and  us  Janus  was  con- 
sidered by  the  Romans  to  preside  over  the 
gates  of  heaven,  the  name  of  the  month  is 
supposed  to  have  reference  to  the  opening 
of  a  new  era,  or  renewal  of  time.  The 
Saxons  denominated  this  month  "  IVolf- 
monat ;  because  people  were  always,  in 
that  «ionth,  more  in  danger  of  being  de- 
voured by  wolves  than  in  any  season  else 
of  the  year  ;  for  that,  through  the  extremi- 
ty of  cold  and  snow,  those  ravenous  crea- 
tures could  not  find  other  beasts  sufficient 
to  feed  upon." 

Nothing  can  be  more  wonderful  than 
the  effects  of  frost.  To  see  the  running 
stream  stopped  in  its  course — the  lake, 
that  was  curled  by  every  breeze,  convert- 
ed into  a  firm  plain — the  moist  ground 
dried  up,  and  made  as*  hard  as  rock ;  and 
all  this  done  by  an  invisible  power,  in  the 
space  of  a  single  night,  would  be  infinite- 
ly surprising  to  one  unaccustomed  to  the 
sight. 

Water,  when  frozen,  is  expanded :  that 
is,  takes  up  more  room  than  before  :  hence, 
ice  is  lighter  than  water,  and  swims  upon 
it.  From  this  cause,  if  a  bottle  full  of  wa- 
ter hard-corked,  bo  set  to  freeze,  the  bottle 
will  be  broken,  for  want  of  room  for  the 
expansion  of  the  water.  Water-pipes  of- 
ten burst  from  the  same  cause,  and  hoops 
fly  off  from  barrels  ;  nay,  even  a  gun-bar- 
rel or  a  cannon,  filled  with  water,  and 
screwed  up  at  the  muzzle,  has  been  burst 
in  an  intense  frost. 

The  same  property  produces  a  very 
beneficial  effect  to  the  husbandman  ;  for 
the  hard  clods  of  the  ploughed  fields  are 
loosened  and    broken  to   pieces    by  the 


"Welling  of  the  water  within  them  when 
frozen.  Hence  the  earth  is  crumbled,  ami 
prepared  for  receiving  the  seed  in  spring. 
Snow  is  the  water  of  clouds,  frozen  :  on 
a  close  examination,  it  is  found  to  be  all 
composed  of  icy  darts,  or  stars.  Its  white- 
ness  is  owing  to  thn  small  particles  into 
which  it  wiis  divided.  Ice,  when  pound- 
ed, becomes  equally  white.  .Smtw  is  very 
useful,  by  covering  the  plants,  and  jiro- 
tectingthem  from  the  severity  of  the  fro^t  • 
for,  at  a  certain  depth  under  the  snow,  the 
etld  always  continues  the  same. 


THE  LIFE-ROAT. 


^  HE  heavy  seas  which 
J*^  break  upon  the  rugged 
coasts  of  Norihumb(^r- 
land  and  Durham  ren- 
der  that  part  of  Ijrit- 
ain  the  frequent  scene 
of  the  most  disastrous 
shipwrecks.     In  the 
year  1789,  the  ship  Adventure,  of  New- 
castle, was  stranded,  on  the  south  side  of 
Tynemouth  Haven,  in  the  midst  of  tremen- 
dous breakers.     The  crew  climbed  up  in- 
to the   shrouds  for  safety,  whence   they 
dropped  into  the  sea  in  the  presence  ol 
thousands  of  spectators,  not  one  of  whom 
dared  to  venture  out  to  their  assistance  in 
the  common  description  of  boats,  although 
stimulated  by  the  prospect  of  a  high  re- 
ward.    The  inhabitants  of  South  Shields 
were  so  strongly  affected  by  this  melan- 
choly occurrence  that  a  public   meeting 
was  called,  at  which  a  committee   was 
formed,  and  empowered  to  offer  premiums 
for  plans  of  a  boat  on  a  principle  which 
should  render  it  impossible  to  sink  in  the 
heaviest  sea.     Among  many  which  were 
laid  before  the  committee,  that  of  Mr.  Hen- 
ry Greaibrcd  obtained  the  most  general 
approbation  ;   and,  in  pursuance  of  their 
orders,  the  first  life-boat  was  constructed 
by  him,  and  launched  on  the  30th  of  Jan- 
uary, 1790.     The  value  of  this  invention 
was  soon  fully  proved,  and  its  importance 
to  the  mercantile  navy  acknowledged.  Mr. 
Greatheed  had  made  his  models  public, 
and   therefore  did    not  himself   receive 


lu 


-• 


.J.^^C< 


^.  ■     .A^S:--'^. 


\ltr  within  t]iom  wlit>n 
Boarlli  is  criiMibled,  and 
inX  tim  set'd  in  spring, 
ar  of  cliiiidn,  fntzon  :  vn 
ri,  it  is  found  to  lin  all 
irts,  ur  stars.  Its  white- 
1(1  small  partichis  into 
ed.  Ice,  when  ponnd- 
y  white.  SriDW  is  very 
<  tlio  plants,  and  pro- 
lie  seventy  of  the  frovi  • 
ith  under  tiip  snow,  tiic 
lies  the  saiiiu. 


IFE-ROAT. 

^  HE  heavy  seas  which 
S  break  upon  the  rujfged 
'  coasts  of  Northntnbnr- 
land  and  Durham  ren- 
der that  part  of  Urii- 
ain  the  frequent  scene 
of  the  most  disastrous 
shipwrecks.     In  the 
J  Adventure,  of  New- 
J,  on  the  south  side  of 
in  the  midst  of  tremen- 
le  crew  climbed  up  in- 
safety,  whence  they 
la  in  the  presence  of 
tors,  not  one  of  whom 
.  to  their  assistanco  in 
tion  of  boats,  although 
rospect  of  a  high  re- 
ants  of  South  Shields 
Fectod  by  this  melan- 
!iat  a  public   meeting 
ch  a  committee   was 
3red  to  offer  premiums 
on  a  principle  which 
lossible  to  sink  in  the 
ng  many  which  were 
ittee,  that  of  Mr.  Hen- 
led  the   most  general 
n  pursuance  of  their 
boat  was  constructed 
d  on  the  30th  of  Jan- 
alue  of  this  invention 
3d,  and  its  importance 
y  acknowledged.  Mr. 
e  his  models  public, 
not  himself   receive 


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those  advantages  which,  in  justice,   he 
ought  to  have  derived  from  his  ingenuity. 
In    1802   he    accordingly  petitioned   the 
house  of  commons,  for  the  purpose  of  ob- 
taining from  the  nation  such  reward  as,  in 
consideration  of  these  circumstances,  he 
might  be  thought  to  deserve.     The  peti- 
tion was  referred  to  a  committee,  which 
particularly  directed  its  inquiries  as  to  the 
utility  of  the  life-boat,  and  the  originality 
of  the  invention  claimed  by  Mr.  Great- 
heed.     On  the  first  point,  several  old  sea- 
men and  persons  employed  in  shipping 
were  examined.    One  of  the  former  stated 
that  he  had  himself  been  in  the  life-boat, 
and  had  seen  her  go  off  scores  of  times, 
and  never  saw  her  fail  in  bringing  away 
the  crew  from  wrecks  or  vessels  in  dis- 
tress.    No  other   boat  could  have  gone 
from  the  shore  at  the  time  the  life-boat 
went.     He  also  stated  that,  in  the  event 
of  the   life-boat   filling  with  water,  she 
would  still  continue  upright,  and  not  foun- 
der, as  boats  of  the  common  construction 
did.     Ho  had  seen  her  como  ashore  so  full 
of  water  that  it  ran  over  each  side.     An- 
other individual  had  been  witness  to  the 
wreck  of  several  ships  at  the  same  time. 
Out  of  one  vessel  the  life-boat  took  fifteen 
men,  who  would  otherwise  inevitably  have 
perished,  as  the  ship  went  to  pieces  im- 
mediately after,  and  the  wreck  came  on 
shore  almost  as  soon  as  the  boat.     The 
crew  of  one  of  these  vessels  took  to  their 
own  boat,  which  sunk,  and  all  but  two 
were  lost.     It  was  stated  that,  on  one  oc- 
casion, when  the  boat  was  full  of  water, 
the  crew  all  went  to  one  side,  in  order  to 
try  the  possibility  of  upsetting  her,  which 
they  were  unable  to  accomplish.     At  the 
time  when  this  committee  was  appointed, 
twelve  years  had  elapsed  since  Mr.  Great- 
heed's  invention,  during  which  period  at 
least   three   hundred  persons   had   been 
brought  on  shore  from  wrecks  and  ships 
in  distress  off  Shields  alone.     It  was  fully 
established  that  no  sea,  however  high, 
could  upset  or  sink  the  life-boat.     The 
originulity  of  the   invention   being   also 
clearly  due  to  Mr.  Greatheed,  parliament 
voted  him  the  sum  of  twelve    hundred 
pounds  sterling,  "  as  a  reward  for  his  in- 
vention of  the  life-boat,  whereby  many 
lives  have  already  been  saved,  and  great 
security  is  afforded  to  seamen  and  proper- 


ty in  cases  of  shipwreck."  The  subscri- 
bers to  Lloyd's  presented  Mr.  Greatlieed 
with  one  hundred  guineas,  and  voted  two 
thousand  pounds  for  the  purpose  of  en- 
couraging the  building  of  life-boatt,  in  dif- 
ferent ports  of  the  kingdom.  Two  years 
afterward,  the  emperor  Alexander  present- 
ed Mr.  Greatheed  with  a  valuable  diamond 
ring. 

Owing  to  the  dangerous  character  of 
the  Durham  and  Northumberland  coast, 
and  the  quantity  of  shipping  belonging  to 
the  northeastern  ports,  tho  life-boat  is  of- 
tener  launched  here  than  from  any  other 
part  of  Great  Britain  ;  and,  under  the  gui- 
dance of  its  crew,  more  frequently  snatch- 
es the  mariner  from  destruction. 

The  great  characteristic  of  the  life-boat 
is  its  buoyancy,     ^i  possesses  this  recjui- 
site  quality  in  consequence  of  the  bottom 
being  hollow  and  perfectly  air-tight ;  and 
the  sides  are  also  surrounded  by  several 
boxes,  rr  ron^partments,  which  are  also 
air-tight.     We  believe  that  boats  are  com- 
ing into  use  provided  with  a  set  of  coppii- 
tubes.     One  upon  this  plan  has  lately  been 
constructed  at  Sunderland.     The  division 
of  the  sides  into  several  parts  prevents  the 
boat  being  endangered  incase  of  its  hex  g 
struck  by  a  cross  wave.     This,  however, 
can  seldom  occur,  because,  both  ends  be- 
ing formed  alike,  the  direction  of  the  boat 
can  be  changed  without  exposing  it  to  the 
rude  shocka  to  which  it  would  be  subject- 
ed by  turning  from  one  point  to  another  in 
a  tempestuous  sea.     It  is  also  contrived 
that  when  the  boat  ascends  the  waves, 
any  water  which  it  may  have  shipped  pas- 
ses out  at  the  lower  end  ;  and  there  are 
also  holes  at  the  bottom,  through  which 
whatever   remains   is    immediately   dis- 
charged.    The  Sunderland  boat  was  built 
in  the  year  1800,   ten  years   after  Mr. 
Greatheed's  invention  had  become  known. 
It  is  twenty-six  feet  in  length,  and  the 
width  is  nine  and  a  half  feet.     This  boat, 
on  one  occasion,  would  have  been  knock- 
ed to  pieces  by  a  cross  sea  but  for  the  di- 
vision of  the  sides  into  various  pans.     In 
the  bottom  are  six  air-holes,  which  are  so 
proportioned  to  the  size  and  gravity  of  the 
vessel  that,  when  full  of  water,  it  is  dis- 
charged in  forty  seconds.     She  is  man- 
aged by  six  or  ten  men,  as  the  urgency  of 
the  case  may  require,  two  of  whom  steer 


■MP 


eck."  The  subscri- 
siited  Mr.  Greailiecd 
iiieas,  and  votud  two 
the  purpose  of  eii- 
g  of  life-boala  in  dif- 
ngdotn.  Two  years 
ir  Alexander  present- 
h  a  valuable  diamond 

geious   character  of 
irthumbcrland  coast, 
flipping  beh)nging  to 
s,  thu  lifo-boat  is  of- 
than  from  any  other 
;  and,  under  the  gui- 
re  frequently  snatch- 
estriiction. 
ristic  of  the  life-boat 
)ossesses  this  reijui- 
uence  of  the  bottom 
fectly  air-tight ;  and 
rrounded  by  several 
nts,  which  are  also 
!  that  boats  are  com- 
with  a  set  of  copper 
plan  has  lately  been 
and.     The  division 
al  parts  prevents  the 
1  incase  of  its  bei  j 
6.     This,  however, 
laiise,  both  ends  be- 
lirection  of  the  boat 
ut  exposing  it  to  the 
it  would  be  subject- 
!  point  to  another  in 
[t  is  also  contrived 
iscends  the  waves, 
y  have  shipped  pas- 
md ;  and  there  are 
om,  through  which 

immediately  dis- 
rland  boat  was  built 
n  years  after  Mr. 
had  become  known, 
in  length,  and  the 
If  feet.  This  boat, 
I  have  been  knock- 
s  sea  but  for  thedi- 

various  pans.  In 
lioles,  which  are  so 
3  and  gravity  of  the 
jf  water,  it  is  dis- 
ids.  She  is  man- 
,  as  the  urgency  of 
two  of  whom  steer 


^m 


.  ill 


556 


AUTOGRAPHY. 


with  sevonteen-feet  oars.  The  ours  are 
secured  in  their  places  by  a  coiled  rope. 
Tlio  boiit  iy  preserved  in  repair,  and  its 
crew  paid,  by  a  small  iinpost  on  ships  en- 
tcriiiff  the  harbor.  When  out  of  service, 
it  is  kept  under  a  substantial  shed  near  the 
beach,  mounted  upon  a  four-wheeled  car- 
riage. As  soon  as  tho  thrilling  cry  "  A 
wreck !"  is  heard,  tho  lieutenant  of  the 
boat  assembles  his  men  ;  and,  after  a  sur- 
vey of  the  ill-fated  ship,  each  proceeds  to 
his  place  in  the  boat.  When  all  their  ar- 
rangements arc  completed,  two  or  more 
horses  are  harnessed  to  the  carriage,  and 
the  boat  is  drawn  to  the  water's  edge.  By 
a  mechanical  contrivance,  the  frame  of  tho 
carriage  is  then  brought  into  a  sloping  po- 
sition, and  the  boat  is  launched  amid  the 
breakers,  to  pursue  its  benevolent  enter- 
prise. 

The  men  who  compose  the  crew  of  a 
life-boat  often  acquire  a  sort  of  moral  dig- 
nity, occasioned  by  the  exercise  of  the 
manly  virtues  which  a  faithful  discharge 
of  their  duties  demands,  and  the  sympa- 
thetic feelings  to  which  they  are  habitua- 
ted by  the  nature  of  their  vocation.  A  fine 
fellow  at  Tynemouth  said  to  the  artist  who 
made  the  sketches  which  accompany  this 
description,  patting  the  sides  of  his  boat 
as  if  it  were  a  favorite  animal,  "  Have  you 
made  a  picture  of  my  boat,  sir  ? — She's  a 
good  one,  and  has  been  with  me  at  the 
saving  of  twenty-seven  lives  in  one  morn- 
ing." 

The  boats,  in  general,  of  this  descrip- 
tion, are  painted  white  on  the  outside,  this 
color  more  immediately  engaging  the  eye 
of  the  spectator  when  rising  from  the  hol- 
low of  the  sea.  The  person  who  steers 
her  should  be  well  acquainted  with  the 
course  of  the  tides,  in  order  to  take  every 
possible  advantage  :  the  best  method,  if 
the  direction  will  admit  of  it,  is  to  head 
the  sea.  The  steersman  should  keep  his 
eye  fixed  upon  the  wave,  or  breaker,  and 
encourage  the  rowers  to  giv  way  as  the 
boat  rises  to  it ;  being  then  aided  by  the 
force  of  the  oars,  she  launches  over  it  with 
vast  rapidity,  without  shipping  any  water. 
It  is  necessary  to  observe  that  there  is  of- 
ten a  strong  reflux  of  the  sea  occasioned 
by  the  stranded  wrecks,  which  requires 
both  despatch  and  care  in  the  people  em- 
ployed,  that  the    boat   be  not  damaged. 


When  the  wreck  is  reached,  if  tho  wind 
blows  to  the  land,  the  boat  will  como  in- 
shore without  any  other  eflbrt  than  steer- 
ing. 

In  case  of  a  ship  being  stranded  on  a 
part  of  the  coast  where  the  services  of  the 
life-boat  are  inaccessible,  it  has  been  rec- 
ommended to  fasten  a  boom  to  the  boat's 
bow,  by  which  means  tho  violence  of  the 
waves  are  broken.  In  a  treatise  oi\  "  Prac- 
tical Seamanship,"  by  Mr.  Hutchinson,  an 
instance  is  mentioned  of  the  preservation 
of  ten  men  in  a  small  boat  only  twelve 
feet  long,  by  means  of  a  log  of  wood  tied 
to  the  boat's  bow,  which  kept  her  eiul  on 
to  the  waves,  and  preserved  her  fr./m  fill- 
ing with  water. 

Life-boats  of  somewhat  similar  construc- 
tion are  found  in  most  harbors  of  our  own 
seaboard,  and  attached  to  most  of  our  lar- 
ger vessels  and  packet-ships. 


AUTOGRAPHY. 


HE  first  thing  one 
docs  on  receiving  a 
letter,  is  to  look  whe- 
ther we  recognise  the 
writing  as  that  of  a 
hand  familiar  to  us. 
"Oh,  this  is  from  A," 
or  "  This  is  from  B," 
is  a  familiar  exclama- 
tion. At  one  glance  we  recognise  A  or  B, 
as  distinctly  as  if  either  stood  before  us 
face  to  face,  though  both  perhaps  may  be 
thousands  of  miles  off.  Then,  again,  we 
collect  the  various  signatures  of  our  friends, 
or  of  celebrated  persons  whom  we  may 
never  have  seen,  or  known  only  by  their 
works  or  fame,  and  paste  them  into  our 
albums,  and  take  a  delight  in  looking  on 
them,  and  comparing  their  resemblances 
or  differences  ;  in  short,  every  observation 
of  the  kind  leads  us  to  the  conclusion  that 
almost  every  person's  handwriting  differs 
from  another,  and  that  there  is  almost  as 
complete  an  individuality  in  their  mode 
of  writing  as  in  their  countenances,  iheii 
gait  and  gestures,  or  as  in  their  minds. 

There  is  scarcely  a  collector  of  such 
signatures  who  is  not  also  a  diviner  of  the 


reached,  if  tlio  winJ 
le  boat  will  come  in- 
thor  eflbrt  than  stuer- 

l)ping  stranded  on  a 
!rc  the  services  of  the 
sibie,  it  has  l)een  rec- 

a  boom  to  the  boat's 
19  the  violence  of  the 
n  a  treatise  on  "  Prac- 
ly  Mr.  Hutchinson,  an 
id  of  the  preservation 
nail  boat  only  twehc 
of  a  log  of  wood  tied 
hich  kept  her  end  on 
reserved  her  from  fill- 

whatsimilarconstruc- 
st  harbors  of  our  own 
ed  to  most  of  our  lar- 
tet-ships. 


IRAPHY. 

HE  first  thing  one 
does  on  receiving  a 
letter,  is  to  look  whe- 
ther wc  recognise  the 
writing  as  that  of  a 
hand  familiar  to  us. 
"Oh,  this  is  from  A," 
or  "  This  is  from  13," 
is  a  familiar  exclania- 
1  we  recognise  A  or  B, 
ither  stood  before  us 
both  perhaps  may  be 
)flr.  Then,  again,  we 
;natures  of  our  friends, 
sons  whom  we  may 
known  only  by  their 
paste  them  into  our 
delight  in  looking  on 
g  their  resemblances 
lort,  every  observation 
to  the  conclusion  that 
's  handwriting  differs 
at  there  is  almost  as 
uality  in  their  mode 
r  countenances,  theii 
as  in  their  minds, 
f  a  collector  of  such 
it  also  a  diviner  of  the 


AUTOGllAPHY. 


00( 


character  of  the  person  as  deduced  from 
his  handwriting.  How  often  do  we  hear 
it  ob.servud,  "  This  is  the  writing  of  a  prim, 
nietliodical,  cold,  reserved  mortal ;" — or, 
"  That  is  the  signature  of  a  gay,  volatile, 
and  careless  being."  How  unecjuivocally 
can  we  mark  out  the  writing  of  a  lady  from 
that  of  a  gentleman.  How  readily  that  of 
a  lawyer  or  merchant  from  that  of  a  fash- 
ionable idler,  or  a  "  man  of  wit  or  pleasure 
about  town."  To  many,  it  might  appear 
a  very  absurd  thing  to  say  that  there  ex- 
ists an  intimate  relation  between  the  color 
of  a  man's  hair  and  his  handwriting,  and 
yet  it  is  well  known  that  the  initialed  in 
this  matter  pretend  infallibly  to  distinguish 
the  writing  of  a  fair-haired  person  from 
that  of  a  dark. 

A  very  ingenious  writer  has  afforded  a 
physiological  reason  for  the  diversities  of 
handwriting.     This  diversity  he  attributes 
to  temperament ;  that  is,  a  certain  condi- 
tion of  the  physical  and  mental  constitu- 
tion of  the  individual  which  constitutes  his 
peculiar   character.     Of  these    tempera- 
ments there  are  atlea.st  half  a  dozen  kinds, 
pretty  distinct  and  well  marked,  and  per- 
haps half  a  dozen  more  of  blended  or  mixed 
tenipcramenls,  where  the  shades  are  less 
distinguishable.    The  two  extremes  of  nat- 
ural temperament  or  complexion  ave  well 
known  to  every  one.     We  shall  take,  for 
instance,  a  man  with  light  auburn  hair, 
blue  sparkling  eyes,  a  ruddy  complexion, 
ample  chest,  and  muscular,  well-rounded, 
and  agile  frame.     Such  a  man  will  rarely 
fail  to  have  a  smile  on  his  countenance,  or 
a  cheerful,  perhaps  witty  saying  on  his 
lips.     You  will  never  find  him  moping  in 
a  solitary  corner,  biU  flitting  about  in  the 
sunshine  and  bustie  of  society,  joining  in 
everyihing,  and  dwelling  on  nothing  long. 
Wlicn  such  a  man  sits  down  to  write,  he 
makes  short  work  of  it :  he  snatches  the 
first  pen  that  comes  in  the  way — never 
looks  how  it  is  pointed — dabs  it  into  the 
ink,  and  then  dashes  on  from  side  to  side 
of  the  paper  in  a  full,  free,  and  slip-slop 
style,  his  ideas — or  at  all  events  his  words 
— flowing  faster  than  his  agile  fingers  and 
leaping  muscles  can  give  them  a  form. 
Such  a  one's  handwriting  can  never  be 
mistaken  ;  it  is  like  his  own  motions,  hop- 
step-and-jump.     But,  on  the  contrary,  se- 
lect a  man  with  deep  black  ha:r,  black 


eyes,  brown  or  sallow  complexion,  and 
thin  spare  form,  you  will  generally  tind 
him  alone,  and  silently  mudilaiing,  or  sit- 
ting solitary  amid  crowds — of  few  words, 
of  slow  and  deliberate  action.  Von  need 
scarcely  be  told  how  such  a  man  sets 
about  writing.  After  weighing  well  his 
subject  in  his  mind,  he  sits  down  deliber- 
ately, selects  and  mends  his  pen,  adjusts 
his  paper,  and  in  close,  still",  and  up'iigh. 
characters  traces  with  a  snail's  pace  his 
well-weighed  and  sententious  composition. 
There  can  bo  no  mistake  in  tracing  the 
two  handwritings  which  we  have  just  do- 
scribed  ;  and  an  ad^pt  in  the  science  can 
not  fail  in  astonishing  his  audience  with  a 
sketch  of  the  leading  peculiarities  ol  the 
mind  and  maimers  of  each.  W:.  there 
are  many  intermediate  shades  of  temj)era- 
ment,  and  many  circumstances  whieii  go 
to  modify  the  natural  teiuhincies  of  the 
mode  of  writing,  which  fall  to  bo  consid- 
ered. We  shall,  in  the  first  place,  give 
the  following  classified  table  of  tempera- 
ments : — 

1.  Vigorous, light-haired,  excitable  tem- 
perament, what  is  commonly  called  the 
sanguine.  The  handwriting  large,  llow- 
ing,  open,  and  irregular. 

2.  Dark-haired,  excitable  tem])erament, 
with  brown  florid  complexion.  The  wri- 
ting small,  equal,  and  rather  free  and  easy, 
with  a  firm  and  full  stroke. 

3.  Light-haired,  little  excitable  tempera- 
ment ;  the  complexion  brown  or  sallow  ; 
the  form  spare.  The  writing  less  free  and 
more  methodical  than  No.  1,  but  less  vig- 
orous and  less  decided  than  No.  2. 

4.  Dark-haired,  slowly  excitable  tem- 
perament ;  dark  complexion,  spare  form, 
and  melancholic  habit.  Small,  cramp,  up- 
right writing,  without  ease  or  freedom — 
evidently  slowly  penned. 

5.  Feeble,  light-haired,  little  excitJjle 
temperament;  chaiacter  timid  and  nerv- 
ous. The  writing  small,  unequal,  and  fee- 
bly traced,  or  not  written  with  decision. 

6.  Mixed  temperament,  combining  two 
or  more  of  the  above. 

There  are  various  combination:*fif  these, 
which  it  would  be  unnecessary  to  partic- 
ularize. Education  and  particular  train- 
ing of  course  make  great  changes  on  the 
natural  tendency  of  the  handwriting  :  thus 
a:sn  of  business  ac^juire  aineclianical  siyle 


U! 


! 


;*»" 


558 


THE  ORANGE-TREE. 


of  writing,  which  obliterates  all  natural 
cliaractcristics,  unless  in  instances  where 
the  character  is  so  strongly  individual  as 
not  to  be  modified  into  the  general  mass. 
The  female  liand  is  also  peculiar.  Gen- 
orriily  it  is  more  feeble  and  less  individual 
tlmn  that,  of  the  male.  In  the  present  day, 
all  females  seem  to  be  taugiit  after  one 
model.  In  a  great  proportion,  the  hand- 
writing is  moulded  on  tliis  particular  mod- 
el :  those  only  who  have  strong  and  deci- 
ded character  retain  a  decided  handwri- 
ting. We  often  find  that  the  style  of  hand- 
writing is  hereditary  :  sons  frequently 
write  very  like  their  fathers  ;  and  this  they 
do  independent  of  all  studied  imitation,  be- 
cause the  temperament  happens  to  be  he- 
reditary also.  A  delicate  state  of  health, 
especially  if  it  has  occurred  in  boyhood, 
has  a  considerable  eireet  in  modifying  the 
natural  form  of  the  handwriting ;  thus  some- 
times connecting  the  free  and  flowing  hand 
of  the  sanguine  temperament  into  a  more 
staid  and  methodical  one. 

A  deficiency  of  early  culture  must  also 
have  a  considerable  inilucnce  on  the  form 
of  writing.  The  forms,  too,  have  varied 
in  diireriuit  historical  eras.  Before  the  in- 
troduction of  printing,  more  pains  seem  to 
have  been  bestowed  on  penmanship.  An- 
cient manuscripts  are  often  found  written 
in  a  beautiful,  upright,  and  well-formed 
character,  more  in  the  style  of  print  than 
the  modern  careless  and  (lowing  lines. 
This  is  easily  to  be  accounted  for :  almost 
all  that  is  worth  preser-ing  is  now  commit- 
ted to  that  mighty  engine  of  intelligence, 
both  to  present  and  future  ages,  the  press, 
and  therefore  less  care  is  bestowed  on  the 
original  manuscript.  The  compositor  and 
the  pressman  have  now  taken  the  place  of 
the  ancient  scribe  and  copyist. 

But  even  the  individual  handwriting  va- 
ries from  its  character  at  various  periods 
of  life.  In  youth  it  is  raw  and  unformed  ; 
in  manhood  it  assumes  its  full  character ; 
and  in  old  age  it  suflers  somewhat  of  de- 
cay. Circumstances  also  affect  its  form 
not  inconsiderably.  No  man  is  likely  to 
dash  off"  a  note  on  his  marriage-day  in  the 
same  style  that  he  would  set  about  wri- 
ting out  his  last  will  and  testament  Our 
moments  of  joy  are  impressed  upon  the 
symbolical  representations  of  them,  just  as 
are  our  hours  of  biaerest  sorrow.    We  of- 


ten approach  our  familiars  in  a  scrawl,  ns 
if  imprinted  by  birds'-daws  instead  of  quill 
feathers,  and  which  wo  would  nf)t  de  li!)- 
orately  despatch  to  those  that  we  are  ac- 
customed to  look  up  to  with  respect  or 
awe. 

Ease  and  freedom,  ind  an  indiflVronci^ 
to  jilease,  are  the  prerogatives  of  rank  and 
fashion  ;  and  hence  it  is  prob;d)Ie  that  tlio 
most  wretched  scrawls  have  betujuie  fash- 
ionable among  those  who  ever  strive  to 
ape  the  manners  of  tlie  great.  There  are 
also,  no  doubt,  national  peculiarities  m 
handwritiug  as  well  as  individual.  The 
Frenchman  will  show  a  volatility  and  spir- 
it in  his  writing  very  different  from  the 
sedate  and  thoughtful  German.  The  nor- 
thern Knss  or  the  Calmuk  Tartar  must 
have  a  different  fist  altogether  from  tn;il 
of  the  soft  and  voluptuous  native  of  Ilm- 
dostan. 

We  throw  out  these  few  hints  to  collec- 
tors of  autographs.  Let  them  arrange  and 
classify  their  specimens,  and  form  ot  tiiem 
a  catalogue  raisonnec.  Thus,  in  the  end, 
may  some  philosopher  among  their  num- 
ber elevate  the  pursuit  into  a  science,  at 
least  not  inferior  to  the  ancient  ones  of 
palmistry,  astrology,  and  divination,  or  to 
the  modern  ones  of  mesmerism, hypnotism, 
homoeopathy,  or  hydropathy. 


THE  ORANGE-TREE. 

HE  citron  family  of 
^ijJ  plants  comprehends 
\  four  distinct  species 
— the  citron,  tlie  lem- 
on, the  orange,  and 
the  shaddock ;  and 
the  orange  and  lem- 
on have  many  varie- 
ties. Even  in  the 
East,  where  they  are  native,  they  arc  not 
a  little  capricious  in  their  growth,  the  fruit 
and  even  the  leaves  frequently  altering,  so 
that  it  is  not  easy  to  say  which  is  a  dis- 
tinct species  and  which  a  variety.  They 
continue  flowering  during  nearly  all  the 
summer,  and  the  fruit  takes  two  years  to 
come  to  maturity  ;  so  that  for  a  considera- 
ble period  of  each  year,  a  healthy  tree  ex- 


w 


liars  in  a  scrawl,  as 
■lawM  instead  of(]iiill 
.•0  would  lint  d(lib- 
loso  that  we  are  ac- 
to  with  respect  or 

and  an  indifTtTc^nrn 
Di^ativcs  of  rani;  and 

is  probable  that  tho 
s  have  iieconie  fanh- 
wlio  ever  strive  to 
lo  great.  There  are 
nal  peculiarities  in 
18  indi\idiiul.     'I'lio 

a  volatility  and  sjiir- 
'  difTcreiit  from  the 
German.  'Die  nor- 
)alniuk  Tartar  must 
lUogether  from  tiiat 
uous  native  of  Ilm- 

3  few  hints  to  collec- 
jct  them  arrange  and 
fis,  and  form  oi  them 
Thus,  in  the  end, 
!r  among  their  nuin- 
it  into  a  science,  at 
the  ancient  ones  of 
md  divination,  or  to 
smerism, hypnotism, 
jpathy. 


GE-TREE. 

IE  citron  family  of 
lauts  comprehends 
jur  distinct  species 
-the  citron,  the  lem- 
n,  the  oranj^e,  and 
le  shaddock ;  and 
:ie  orange  and  lem- 
n  have  many  varie- 
les.  Even  in  the 
native,  they  arc  not 
leir  growth,  the  fruit 
equently  altering,  so 
say  which  is  a  dis- 
:h  a  variety.  They 
King  nearly  all  the 
takes  two  years  to 
that  for  a  considera- 
ir,  a  healthy  tree  ex- 


THE  ORANOKTUEE. 


559 


hiliits  every  stage  of  tho  production,  from 
the  flowiT-butl  to  the  ripe  fruit,  in  perfec- 
tion at  the  same  time.  They  are  all  either 
small  trees  or  shrubs,  with  brown  stems, 
green  twigs  and  leaves,  bearing  some  re- 
semblance to  those  of  the  laurel.  We  can 
not,  however,  judge  of  the  size  of  tho  or- 
ange-tree from  the  specimens  ordinarily 
seen  in  England  and  other  northern  coun- 
tries. In  parts  of  Spain  there  are  some 
old  orange-trees  forming  large  timber ;  in 
the  convent  of  St.  Sabina,  at  Rome,  there 
is  an  orange-tree  thirty-one  feet  high, 
which  is  said  to  be  six  hundred  years  old  ; 
and  at  Nice,  in  1781),  there  was  an  orange- 
tree  which  generally  bore  five  thousand  or 
six  thousand  oranges,  and  was  fifty  feet 
high,  with  a  trunk  requiring  two  men  to 
embrace  it.  The  size  depends  much  upon 
the  age  of  the  plant. 

All  the  citron  family  are  natives  of  the 
warmer  parts  of  Asia,  though  they  have 
been  long  introduced  into  the  West  Indies, 
the  tropical  parts  of  America,  the  Atlantic 
isles,  the  warmer  countries  of  Europe,  and 
even  Britain.  The  orange  is  a  taller  and 
more  beautiful  tree  than  either  the  citron 
or  the  lemon  ;  but,  like  them,  has  prickly 
branches  in  its  native  country.  It  was 
originally  brought  from  India.  Whether 
it  was  originally  a  Chinese  fruit  seems 
doubtful,  as  it  is  not  mentioned  by  Marco 
Polo,  who  is  so  circumstantial  in  descri- 
bing all  the  productions  of  that  empire. 
Vet  the  Portuguese  found  it  there,  and 
one  of  the  missi  tries  relates  that  the 
tree  was  still  sta..  1  .g  at  Canton,  from 
which  the  deed  was  1  iken  by  the  mission- 
aries and  seat  to  Portugal.  The  first  dis- 
tinct mention  of  the  orange  is  by  the 
Arabs.  It  is  noticed  by  Avicenna  ;  and 
Galessio  (in  whose  "  Traite  du  Citrus," 
published  at  Paris  in  ISII,  the  history  of 
lids  fruit  w^as  first  carefully  traced)  slates 
that,  when  the  Arabs  peuolrated  to  India, 
they  found  tho  orange  tribe  there  further 
in  the  interior  than  Alexander  had  ad- 
vanced. They  brought  them  thence  by 
two  routes  :  the  sweet  ones,  now  called 
China  oranges,  through  Persia  to  Syria, 
and  I'atHce  to  the  shores  of  Italy  and  the 
soi-ili  of  France  ;  and  the  bitter  oranges, 
commonly  called  Seville  oranges,  by  Ara- 
bia, Egypt,  and  the  north  of  Africa,  to 
Spain.     At  the  time  that  the  people  of 


Europe  first  visited  tho  Levant  in  great 
numbers — that  is,  during  the  crusades  for 
the  delivery  of  Syria  from  the  douiinio'i 
of  the  Saracens — oranges  were  found  to 
bo  ainindant  in  that  country.  Though 
they  were  in  reality  cultivated  trees,  their 
number,  and  tho  beauty  and  excellenco  of 
their  fruit,  naturally  caused  the  adventur- 
ers (who  were  not  very  conversant  with 
natural  history,  and  not  a  little  prone  to 
romance  and  credulity)  to  believe  and  state 
that  these  were  indigenous  to  the  country, 
and  formed  a  portion  of  the  glories  of  the 
"  Holy  Land,"  The  faliles  of  tiie  profane 
writers,  and  the  ambiguity  of  the  descrip- 
tion of  vegetables  in  holy  writ,  helped  fur- 
ther to  confirm  this  opinion.  As  tho  or- 
anges were  of  the  form  of  apples,  and  the 
color  of  gold,  it  did  not  reijuirc  much 
stretch  of  the  imagination  to  make  them 
the  golden  apples  of  the  garden  of  the 
Hesperides. 

There  is  certainly  no  evidence  to  show 
that  the  orange  was  known  lo  the  ancients 
either  in  Europe  or  Syria  ;  but  there  is 
much  to  demonstrate  that  we  are  indebted 
for  the  first  knowledge  of  it  to  the  Arabs, 
who,  with  their  zeal  to  propagate  the  ve- 
ligion  of  the  Koran,  were  also  anxious  to 
exttnd  the  advantages  of  agriculture  and 
medicine.  The  sweet  orange  which  they 
introduced  was  not,  strictly  speaking,  that 
which  has  since  been  called  the  China 
orange,  and  which  under  that  name  has 
been  introduced  info  Spain  and  Porlugal, 
as  well  as  St.  Michael's,  and  oil,,  r  Allan- 
tic  isles,  and  the  West  Indies  ;  but  rather 
ihe  orange  which  was  known  in  Italy  be- 
fore Vasco  de  Gama  doubled  the  cape  of 
Good  Mope :  when  the  Portuguese  raached 
India,  they  found  the  orange  there,  and 
also  in  China,  which  v/as  visited  for  the 
first  time  by  sea  in  the  early  part  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  Although  the  oranges 
of  St.  Michael's  in  the  Azcr(!S  are  now 
the  best  that  are  to  met  with  in  the  Euro- 
pean market,  they  are  not  indigenous  pro- 
ductions of  that  island ;  but  wore  sent 
there  by  the  Portuguese,  as  tiie  same  fruit 
was  originally  seat  to  the  American  con- 
tinent by  the  Spaniards.  In  the  middle 
of  a  forest,  on  the  banks  of  tho  llio  Cede- 
no,  Humboldt  found  wild  orange-trees  la- 
Jden  with  large  and  sweti  fruit.  They 
I  were  probr.idy  the  remains  of  some  old 


4^ 


.^B^ 


^?= 


rm 


THR  OIIANOB  THEE. 


IndiHii  pl.mliitions  :  for  lli(!ornngo  can  not 
In-  ri'ckonci!  iminni;  tlic  spoDiaiifous  pro- 
(liK  tions  of  tliH  New  Worlil. 

Miiiiy  variciic'i  of  tht;  (irain,'c  fiiiiiily  jiro 
now  ciillivntcd  in  f»orlui;nl.  S|)aiii,  Franco, 
Italy,  and  Greece.     In  tlie  (Irst  two  coun- 
tries thry  6sp(!cially  almiind — in  Alijarve, 
and  in  tlie  fine  plains  of  Andalusia,  on  the 
baidin  of  tlio  fiuadaliiuiver.     The  latter  is 
tlm  place  from  which  the  hitler  or  .Seville 
oranjrex  are  chiefly  obtained.     In  Algarvo 
and  Andalusia  tlie  orantje-trces  are  of  great 
size.     Extensive  orchards  of  them  have 
formed  the  principal  revenue  of  the  monks 
for  s(!veral  centuries  ;    and  in  the  latter 
province,  the  craggy  mountains  of  which 
are  covered  with  gardens,  and  vineyards, 
and  forests  abounding  in  fruit,  the  flowers 
of  the  orange  fill  the  air  with  their  per- 
fume, and  lead  'he  imagination  hack  to 
those  days  which  the  Moorish  historians 
and  poets  delight  in  describing,  when  the 
land  which  they  conquered  was  adorned 
with  all  the  refinements  of  their  taste  and 
intelligence,  and  the  luxuries  of  the  East 
were  naturalized  in  the  most  delicious  re- 
gions of  the  West.     In  Cordova,  the  seat 
of  Moorish  grandeur  and  luxury,  there  are 
orange-trees    still   remaining,  which    are 
considered  to  be  six  hundred  or  seven  hun- 
dred years  old  ;  the  trunks  of  these  old 
trees  have  begun  to  decay,  and  when  they 
are  diseased  they  are  covered  with  a  kind 
of  lichen  which  is  supposed  to  be  pecu- 
liar to  the  orange. 

The  precise  time  at  which  the  orange 
was  introduced  into  England  is  not  known 
with  certainty,  but  probably  it  may  have 
taken  place  not  long  after  its  introduction 
into  Portugal,  which  was  in  the  early  part 
of  llie  sixteentli  century.  The  first  or- 
anges, it  has  been  stated,  were  imported 
into  England  by  Sir  Walter  Raleigh ;  and 
it  is  said  that  Sir  Francis  Carew,  who 
married  the  niece  of  Sir  Walter,  planted 
their  seeds,  and  they  produced  the  orange- 
trees  at  Beddinglon,  in  Surrey,  of  which 
Bishop  Gibson,  in  his  additions  to  Cam- 
den's "  Britannia,"  speaks  of  as  having 
been  there  a  hundred  years  previous  to 
1G95.  As  these  trees  always  produced 
fruit,  they  could  not  have  been  raised  from 
seeds  ;  but  they  may  have  been  brought 
from  Portugal,  or  from  Italy,  as  early  as 
the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century.     The 


trees  nt  B.'ddiiigton  were  planted  in  the 
"p<-n  ground,  with  a   iiic.vca!)|e  cover  to 
screen  them  from  the  iiielemeiu-y  of  the 
winter-months.     In  the  begiiming  of  the 
eighleeiith  century  they  hud  attained    the 
height  of  eighteen  feet,  and  tlie  stems  w.'ic 
about  nine  inches  in  diameter  ;   while  the 
spread  ()f  the  largest  of  the  nunil)er  was 
twelve  feet  one  way  and  nine  the  other. 
There  had  always  been  a  wall  on  the  north 
side  of  thorn,  to  screen  them  from  the  cold 
in  that  quarter;  but  they  were  at  such  a 
distance  fron',  the  wall  as  to  have  room  to 
spread,  with  plenty  of  air  and  li^ht.     In 
1738  they  were  surrounded  iiv  a  perma- 
nent enclosure,  like  a  greenhouse.     They 
were  all  destroyed  by  the  great  frost  o"f 
the  following  winter ;  but  wh(;thcr  this  was 
wholly  owing  to  the  frost,  or  partly  to  the 
confinement  and  dump  of  the  jM^rmanent 
enclosure,  can  not  now  be  ascertained.    At 
Hampton  Court  there  are  many  orange- 
trees,  .some  of  which  are  said  to  bo  three 
hundred  years  old.     They  are  generally 
moved  into  the  open  air  about  the  middle 
of  June,  when  the  perfume  of  their  blos- 
soms is  most  delicious.     Orange  and  lem- 
on trees  have  been  cultivated  in  the  open 
air  in  England.     For  a  hundred  years,  in 
a  few  gardens  of  the  south  of  Devonshire, 
they  have  been  trained  as  peach-trees  are 
against  walls,   and    sheltered    only   with 
mats  of  straw  during  the  winter. 

The  orange,  naturally  produced  in  wann- 
er climates  than  our  own,  has  been  ren- 
dered our  property  by  commerce  in  a  v(!ry 
remarkable  degree.  It  is  common  in 
Florida  and  other  parts  of  the  south,  and 
may  bo  procured  at  little  more  cost  than 
the  commonest  of  our  domestic  fruits  in 
the  more  northern  states ;  while  it  is  per- 
haps the  most  refreshing  and  healthy  of 
all  the  fruits  of  warm  countries.  It  has 
thus  become  a  peculiar  blessing  to  us  ;  for 
while  it  oirers  a  gratification  witliin  the 
reach  of  the  poorest,  it  is  so  superior  to 
other  fruits,  that  it  can  not  be  despised  for 
its  cheapness,  eveti  by  the  richest.  The 
duty  upon  oranges  imported  into  Great 
Britain  in  the  year  1834  amounted  to  six- 
ty-eight thousand  pounds  sterling,  at  the 
rate  of  two  shillings  sixpence  for  a  pack- 
age not  exceeding  five  thousand  cubic 
inches.  Assuming  the  cubical  contents 
of  an  orange  as  ten  inches,  there  were  five 


were  plnntntl  in  the 

I  in<ivcii!)l(<  cover  to 
I'  inclcmciu-y  of  llio 
lllf!   Ilojiiimimr  of   tile 

hey  hud  iittaineij  tlio 
t,  ;iii(|  iFk!  sforns  wcro 
iliariiitcr  ;  wliile  tho 
t  of  th(!  iiumtjor  wns 
and  nine  the  (ithor. 
"11  a  wall  oil  the  norlh 

II  ihvin  from  the  cold 
thoy  wcro  at  such  a 
II  as  to  liave  room  to 
f  air  ami  light.  In 
ouiid»!d  I)y  a  pcniia- 

(^reeiihouso.     They 
<y  the  {Treat  frost  of 
but  whether  this  was 
rost,  or  partly  to  tlio 
p  of  tho  iwrmanont 
V  he  ascertained.    At 
3  are  many  orange- 
are  said  to  he  three 
They  are  generally 
air  ahoiit  the  middle 
rfunic  of  their  hios- 
s.     Orange  and  htin- 
JJtivated  in  the  open 
a  hundred  years,  in 
south  of  Devonshire, 
il  as  peach-trees  are 
heltercd    oidy   with 
tho  winter, 
y  produced  in  wann- 
own,  has  been  ren- 
connnerce  in  a  very 
It    is   common    in 
ts  of  the  south,  and 
itile  more  cost  than 
r  domestic  fruits  in 
es;  while  it  is  pei- 
ling  and  healthy  of 
I  countries.     It  has 
r  blessing  tons  ;  for 
ilication  witliin  the 
it  is  so  superior  to 
not  be  despised  for 
r  the  richest.     The 
nported   into  Great 
It  amounted  to  six- 
iids  sterling,  at  the 
ixpence  for  a  pack- 
ve  thousand   cubic 
e  cubical   contents 
lies,  there  were  live 


562 


HISTORY. 


hiindrcil  in  rnrh  p;u;kii{c  ;  nnd  thus  wo 
ncT  ilint  two  liuiiilrod  and  Mcvrnty-two  mil- 
lions of  lliii  fruit  wore  annimlly  imported, 
nllo'vin;}  (ihoiit  n  dozim  oranmis  n  year  to 
ovory  mJividuul  of  tho  population. 


HISTORY. 

T  may  be  asked  how 
arc  we  to  judge  of  llm 
geiiernl  coiiHfciuences  of 
priiicii)|<'.i  unlimited  in 
their  operation  ?  Tho 
l)rii  f  spun  of  human  ox- 
istfiico  will  permit  us 
to  make  hut  few,  very 
few,  ohservntions  upon 
tho  course  of  human  nfTairs,  ere  the  cur- 
tain falls,  and  tho  scene  of  l;""'  'i^  ended. 

But  are  we  then  left  like  the  benighted, 
tempest-tost  mariner,  with  tho  deep,  im- 
fathomahle  gulf  of  oblivion  behind,  and  the 
dark,  portentous  clouds  of  doubt  and  im- 
certainty  brooding  over  tho  future  ?  with- 
out chart  to  designate  our  relative  situa- 
tion with  respect  to  those  nations  which 
in  times  gone  by  have  risen,  flourished, 
and  fallen — to  point  to  the  rocky  shoals 
upon  which  so  many  noble  sliips  of  state 
have  been  wrecked  ? — nor  to  tho  awful 
whirlpool  of  luxury  and  ellVminacy,  of 
mental,  moral,  and  physical  degeneracy 
and  degradation  within  whose  chaotic  vor- 
tex nation  after  nation  has  been  engulfed 
and  sunk  to  rise  no  moio  ?  Have  we  nei- 
ther compass  nor  pole-star,  by  wiiich  our 
course  may  be  directed  to  tho  fair  haven 
of  peace  and  pronperity  ?  Yes,  thank 
Heaven !  we  are  presented  witii  the  most 
inestimable  treasury  of  human  experience  ; 
the  storehouse  of  wisdom  is  at  hand,  and 
he  who  will  may  open  the  golden  portals, 
enter  tho  sanctuary  of  knowledge,  and  be- 
come tho  recipient  of  those  joys  insepara- 
ble from  the  benign  influence  of  that  men- 
tal illumination  which  shall  insure  moral 
rectitude.  Upon  the  historic  page,  with 
a  retrospective  glance,  we  may  behold 
generation  following  generation  in  rapid 
succession  upon  the  theatre  of  life.  Here, 
to  the  philosophic  mind  which  reasons  of 
causes  from  their  consequences,  is  pre- 


I  sented  a  truth  of  mighty  import  :  which  \n, 
that  to  a  want  of  rr-seurch  and  investiga- 
tion is  to  bo  attributed  ihc  degeneracy  of 
those  holy  impulses  of  reverence  and  ado- 
ration  toward  the  sovereign  Arbiter  of  the 
universe,   which   constitute  the    basis    of 
nre.ient  felicity  and  of  liture  hope.     Thus 
have  designing  hypocrites,  in  the  cupidity 
of  their  hearts,  been   enabled  to  shackle 
tho  unsuspicious,  unrelh-ciing  mind,  and 
rear  upon  the  dark   foundations  of  igno- 
ranco  the  deformed  superstructure  of  cred- 
idous  superstition,  nnd  instiiute  those  rites 
the  observance  of  which  woidd  better  com- 
port with  the  ferocious  disposition  of  the 
tiger,  that,  delighting  in  blood,  bathes  liis 
fangs  in  tho  gore  of  defenceless  flocks  and 
herds,  than  that  love  of  benevolence  and 
mercy  which    shoidd    characterize    man. 
Who  can   without  emotion   reflect   upon 
the  horrid  scene  of  thousands  and  tens  of 
thousands   sacrificing   themselves   before 
tho  car  of  Juggernaut  ?— multitudes  per- 
ishing in  the  waves  of  the  Ganges  ?— the 
Indian  widow  writhing  in  the  agonies  of 
death,  upon  tho  flaming  fagots  of  her  hus- 
band's funeral-pile  ?-or  the  hosts  of  beau- 
teous  youth,   who,    like   summer   flowers 
withered   and   laid   low   by  the  blasts   of 
livid  lightning,  have  been  oflered  as  vic- 
tims upon  Moloch's  blood-stained  altars  ? 
Yet  these  are  to  be  imputed  to  the  blind 
submission  of  men  to  the  dictation  of  lead- 
ers, whose  declarations,  however  devoid 
of  reason,  are  adopted  as  oracular  truths, 
to  question  which  is  little  less  than  here- 
sy, and  in  support  of  which  are  enlisted 
all  those  inveterate  prejudices  and  every 
impulse  of  bigotry  of  which  the  uninstruct- 
ed  mind  is  susceptible. 

To  tho  same  cause  are  also  to  bo  re- 
ferred the  fanatical  proceeilings  of  the  fol- 
lowers of  the  hermit  Peter,  who,  in  their 
crusades,  not  only  spread  dismay  and  death 
through  the  land  of  Palestine,  but  literally 
whitened  the  country  over  which  they 
passed  in  their  way  thither  with  the  bleach- 
ing bones  of  tho  wretched  votaries  of  that 
wild  delusion. 

Though  the  increased  knowledge  of 
later  days  has  tended  to  destroy  the  pow- 
er of  fanaticism  over  the  minds  of  men 
where  intelligence  abounds,  still  tho  same 
elements  are  at  work  wherever  ignorance 
is  found. 


lity  import  :  which  in, 
K^urch  uiiil  irivt'Mtif,'ti- 
I'll  tlio  ilr>,'i'iuTacy  of 
;)l'  rovfrt'iico  innl  nilo- 
>'eniij,'n  ArbitiT  o(  the 
ii^tituto  thn  liaNJiH  of 
f  liituro  hopo.  'I'lnis 
iriicM,  in  tlio  rupidiiy 
I  (MKildcd  to  Nliiirklf) 
irctlnciiiiy  rninil,  niid 
fouridiiiions  of  iyno- 
iiptTstriictiiroof  cred- 
d  iiHtiiiiH-  tlio.sc  rilrs 
ii-li  would  iji'ltcrcfun- 
iH  dispositioti  of  the 

ill  blood,  l)<itlii>8  }iis 
I'lViirtdt'ss  (loi'ks  iiiid 

of  bormvolciieo  and 
1  cliaractt'ri/.t;  man. 
motion  rellcct  upon 
fiousands  and  tons  of 
f  tlieniNolvcs  before 
lit  ? — multitudes  per- 
>f  the  Cianyet)  ? — the 
ig  in  tlio  ai,'oiiio.s  of 
iig  fa^ot.s  of  iicr  hus- 
■or  the  ho^tsof  beau- 
ko  summer  tlowers 
)w  by  the  blasts  of 
been  on"<!rod  as  vic- 
'looil-stiiiiu'd  altars  ? 
imputed  to  ilie  blind 
tlio  dictation  of  lead- 
iis,  however  devoid 
1  as  oracular  truths, 
itllo  less  tliiin  licrc- 

which  are  enlisted 
rejudires  and  every 
vhichtlie  uninstruct- 

)  are  also  to  bo  re- 
oceedings  of  the  Ad- 
Peter,  who,  in  tlicir 
ad  dismay  and  death 
ilestine,  but  literally 
Y  over  which  iliey 
iherwith  the  bleach- 
:hed  votaries  of  that 

ised  knowledge  of 
to  destroy  the  pow- 
the  minds  of  men 
lunds,  still  the  same 
wherever  ignorance 


niAKACTER  OF  FHANKLIN. 


r*(;3 


Portrait  of  Hunjuuilii  Fmuliliii. 


CHARACTER  OF  FRANKLIN. 


E\V  men  over  pos- 
sessed such  opportu- 
nities or  talents  for 
contributing  to  the 
welfare  of  mankind  ; 
fi  wer  still  have  used 
them  to  better  pur- 
pose :  and  it  is  pleas- 
ant to  know,  on  his 
own  autliority,  that  such  extensive  ser- 
vici!9  were  riMidered  without  any  sacrifice 
of  his  happiness.  In  his  later  correspond- 
ence he  freipiently  alludes  with  compla 
cenry  to  a  favorite  sentiment  which  he  has 
also  introiliicnd  into  his  "Memoirs" — that 
"he  would  willingly  live  over  again  the 
same  course  of  life,  even  though  not  al- 
lowed the  privilege  of  an  author,  to  cor- 
rect in  a  second  edition  the  faults  of  the 
first." 

Ilis  remarkable  success  in  life  and  in 
the  discharge  of  his  public  functions  is  not 
to  be  ascribed  to  genius,  unless  the  term 


be  extended  to  that  perfection  of  common 
sense  and  intimate  knowledge  of  mankind 
which  almost  entitled  his  sagacity  to  the 
name  of  prescience,  and  made  "  Franklin's 
forebodings"  proverbially  ominous  among 
those  who  know  him.  His  pre-emiiunce 
appears  to  have  resulted  from  the  hal)itual 
cultivation  of  a  mind  originally  shrewd  and 
observant,  and  gil'ted  with  singular  powers 
of  energy  and  self-control.  There  was  a 
business-like  alacrity  about  him,  with  a 
discretion  and  integrity  which  conciliated 
the  respect  even  of  his  warmest  political 
foes  ;  a  manly  straight-forwardness  before 
which  no  pretension  could  stand  uiire- 
Suked  ;  and  a  cool  tenacity  of  temper  and 
,  urpose  which  never  forsook  him  under 
the  most  discouraging  circumstances,  and 
was  no  doubt  exceedingly  provoking  to  his 
opponents.  Indeed,  his  sturdiness,  how- 
ever useful  to  his  country  in  time  of  need, 
was  perhaps  carried  rather  to  excess  ;  his 
enemies  called  it  obstinacy,  and  accused 
him  of  being  morose  and  sullen.  No  bet- 
ter refutation  of  such  a  charge  can  be 
wished  for  than  the  testimony  borne  to  "'lis 


Itfe 


564 


PEIDE— OFFENSIVE  AKD  DEFENSIVE. 


disposition  by  Priestley,  a  rnan  whom 
Franklin  was  justly  proud  to  call  his 
friend.  In  private  life  ho  was  most  esti- 
mable ;  two  of  his  most  favorite  maxims 
were,  never  to  exalt  himself  by  lowering 
others,  and  in  society  to  enjoy  and  con- 
tribute to  all  innocent  amusements  without 
reserve  :  his  friendships  were  consequent- 
ly lasting,  and  chosen  at  will  from  among 
the  most  amiable  as  well  as  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  both  sexes,  wherever  his 
residence  happened  to  be  fixed. 

His  chief  claims  to  philosophical  dis- 
tinction are  his  experiments  and  discover- 
ies in  electricity ;  but  he  has  left  essays 
upon  various  other  matters  of  interest  and 
practical  utility — an  end  of  which  he  nev- 
er lost  sight.  Among  these  are  remarks 
on  ship-building  and  lighthouses  ;  on  the 
temperature  of  the  sea  at  different  latitudes 
and  depths,  and  the  phenomena  of  whi't  is 
called  the  Gulf-stream  of  the  Atlantic;  on 
the  effect  of  oil  poured  upon  rough  water, 
and  other  subjects  connected  with  practi- 
cal navigation  ;  and  on  the  proper  con- 
struction of  lamps,  chimneys,  and  stoves. 
His  suggestions  on  these  subjects  are  very 
valuable.  His  other  writings  are  numer- 
ous :  they  relate  chiefly  to  politics,  or  the 
inculcation  of  the  rules  of  prudence  and 
morality.  Many  of  them  are  light  and 
even  playful  ;  they  are  all  instructive,  and 
written  in  an  excellent  and  simple  style  ; 
but  thr^  are  not  entirely  free  from  the  im- 
putation of  trifling  upon  serious  subjects. 
The  most  valuable  of  them  is  probably  his 
autobiography,  which  is  unfortunately  but 
a  fragment. 

As  a  speaker,  he  was  neither  copious 
nor  eloquent ;  there  was  even  a  degree  of 
hesitation  and  embarrassment  in  his  deliv- 
ery. Yet,  as  he  seldom  rose  without  hav- 
ing somotliing  important  to  say,  and  al- 
ways spoke  to  the  purpose,  he  commanded 
the  attention  of  his  hearers,  and  generally 
succeeded  in  his  object. 

His  religious  principles,  when  disen- 
gaged from  the  skepticism  of  his  youth, 
aj)i)car  to  have  been  sincere,  and  unusu- 
ally free  from  sectarian  animosity. 

Ujion  the  whole,  his  long  and  useful 
life  forms  an  instructive  example  of  the 
force  which  arises  from  the  harmonious 
combination  of  strong  faculties  and  feel- 
ings when  so  controlled  by  sense  and  prin- 


ciple that  no  one  is  suffered  to  predomi- 
nate to  the  disparagement  of  the  rest. 


PRIDE,  OFFENSIVE  AND  DEFENSIVE. 


HE  French  Imve  two 
words  to  express  pride 
—  la  fierte,  and  Por- 
gucil.     A  lady  being 
fskedtodefine  the  dif- 
ference, replied  very 
promptly  and  happily 
that  the  first  was  "de- 
fensive" and  the  second  "  offensive  pride." 
The  distinction  is  important.     Of  the  first, 
it  is  impossible  to  have  too  much  ;  of  the 
second,  it  is  equally  impossible  to  have 
too  little.     Defensive  pride  is  that  proper 
self-respect  which  will  not  allow  its  pos- 
sessor to  commit  an  unworthy,  a  base,  or 
a  mean  action.     It  is  that  which  urges  us 
to  distinguish  ourselves  above  the  crowd 
of  the  i(Jle,  the  ignorant,  the  dilatory,  and 
the    variable,  by  our  industry,  our  wis- 
dom, ourpersevorance,  and  our'constancy ; 
and  which  prompts  us  to  win  the  applause 
of  our  fellows  by  our  goodness,  and  con- 
sequent greatness.    Defensive  pride  is  the 
shield  with  which  we  keep  off  the  assaults 
of  those  who,  openly  or  insidiously,  would 
brinw  us  down  to  a  lower  morallevel  than 
our  judgment  and  our  conscience  inform 
us  we  ought  to  hold  :  it  is  the  amulet  with 
which  we  preserve   ourselves  from  the 
machinations  of  evil,  and  the  perfume  by 
aid  of  which  we  may  wa4k  amid  the  haunts 
of  vice  without  contamination.     Without 
a  due  proportion  of  pride  like  this,  in  some 
one  of  its  various  developments,  no  man 
yet  has  ever  arrived  at  distinction,  or  left 
behind  him  a  name  which  the  world  holds 
in  honor.     It  is  the  nurse  of  emu':  ».ion  and 
ambition,  and  becomes,  when  properly  or 
opportunely  excited,  the  spur  to  urge  the 
timid  or  the  sluggish  to  do  the  good  which 
another  has  left  undone — the  steel  upon 
some  flinty  nature,  eliciting  heat  and  light 
which  might  otherwise  have  remained  la- 
tent for  ever.     Pride  of  this  kind  sits  as 
well  upon  the  humblest  as  upon  the  lofti- 
est.    It  is  the  pride  of  a  man  independent 
of  his  rank,  his  wealth,  or  his  station  ;  the 


•  eufTert'd  to  preilomi- 
Joienl  of  tho  rest. 


E  AND  DEFENSIVE. 

IIE  French  Imve  two 
words  to  express  pride 
—  la  ficr/e,  and  Por- 
gucil.     A  lady  being 
f  «!;ed  to  define  the  dif- 
ference, replied  very 
promptly  and  happily 
tliattlie  first  was  "de- 
nd  "  ofTensive  pride." 
portant.     Of  the  first, 
ive  too  much  ;  of  the 
r  impossit)lo  to  have 
)  pride  is  that  proper 
ill  not  allow  its  pos- 
unworthy,  a  base,  or 
i  that  wliich  urges  us 
ves  above  the  crowd 
ant,  the  dilatory,  and 
I   industry,  our  wis- 
B,  and  our  constancy  ; 
i  to  win  the  applause 
r  goodness,  and  con- 
)efensive  pride  is  the 
keep  off  the  assaults 
or  insidiously,  would 
wer  moral  level  than 
ir  conscience  inform 
it  is  the  amulet  with 
ourselves   from  the 
and  the  perfume  by 
ivirik  amid  the  haunts 
miination.     Without 
ide  like  this,  in  some 
velopments,  no  man 
It  distinction,  or  left 
liich  the  world  holds 
irse  of  einul:  'ion  and 
s,  when  properly  or 
he  spur  to  urge  the 
;o  do  the  good  which 
me — the  steel  upon 
'iting  heat  and  light 
e  have  remained  la- 
of  this  kind  sits  as 
st  as  upon  the  lofti- 
f  a  man  independent 
I,  or  his  station ;  the 


PRIDE-OFFENSIVE  AND  DEFENSIVE. 


5r.5 


pride  of  the  gold,  and  not  of  the  stamp 
upon  it.  I'ride  of  this  kind  has  found  its 
most  poetical  and  at  the  same  time  its  best 
and  truest  utterance  in  the  song  of  Robert 
Bunrj,  "  A  man's  a  man  for  a' that."  Ev- 
ciy  one  wno  feels  his  heart  glow  at  the 
sentiments  expressed  in  that  glorious  lyric, 
feels  defensive  pride  ;  and  if  he  continues 
to  feel  it,  and  makes  it  the  guide  of  his 
life,  he  becomes — though  he  toil  all  day, 
and  far  into  the  night,  for  hard  and  scanty 
bread  ;  though  he  "  wear  hodden  gray," 
and  dwell  in  a  hut  scarcely  sheltered  from 
ihe  winds  and  rains  of  heaven — an  orna- 
ment to  his  kind,  and  a  blessing  to  him- 
self. 

Ofi'cnsive  pride,  on  the  other  hand,  shows 

the  little  mind,  as  defensive  pride  exhibits 
the  great  one.     It  is  the  pride  of  externals, 
as  defensive  pride  is  that  of  internals  ;  the 
pride  of  the  adventitious  circumstances  in 
which  a  man  is  placed,  and  not  of  the  qual- 
ities of  the  man  himself.     Oifensive  pride 
assumes  various  forms,  and  is  in  all  of 
them  etiually  a  proof  of  ignorance,  pre- 
suuiption,  andheartlessness.     To  the  man 
of  sense,  it  is  always  ridi-iulous;  and  wher- 
ever it  does  not  excite  the  anger,  it  is  .  ire 
to  excite  the  contempt  of  the  well-minded. 
When  we  see  a  man  proud  of  his  high 
lineage,  and  expecting  that  we  shall  do 
homage  to  him  for  the  virtues  of  his  an- 
cesters,  although  he  have  none  of  his  own, 
we  despise  him  all  the  more  for  the  high- 
ness of  his  name  ;  his  pride  and  his  lordly 
airs  gall  us,  if  we  are  of  stern  nature  ;  and 
provoke  us  to  laughter,  if  we  are  of  the 
nuuiber  of  those  who  can  find  amusement 
iu  the  contemplation  of  human  folly:  proud 
men  of  this  class  have  been  happily  com- 
pared to  turnips  and  potatoes — all  the  best 
part  of  them  is  under  ground. 

Eciually,  if  not  more  offensive,  is  the 
pride  of  wealth.  This  pride  is  the  parent 
of  every  meanness.  We  may  be  quite 
sure,  when  we  see  a  man  proud  of  his 
money,  that  he  has  gained  it  in  a  dirty 
manner,  and  that  he  makes  really,  though 
not  perhaps  visibly  to  all  men's  eyes,  a 
dirty  use  of  it.  If'he  have  a  large  house, 
it  is  not  for  use,  but  for  ostentation.  If  he 
have  fiue  carriages,  valuable  horses,  and 
footmen  in  gay  liveries,  it  is  that  he  may 
excite  more  attention  from  the  frivolous 
and  unthinking,  than  some  one  else  who 


has   hitherto   rivalled  him.     If  he   give 
splendid  entertainments,  it  is  that  he  may 
make  the  earls  or  the  barons  who  conde- 
scend, or  the  poor  dependents  who  fawn 
and  cringe,  to  appear  at  them,  envious  of 
the  wealth  which  their  own  can  never 
equal.     If  he  give  charity,  it  rs  that  it  may 
be  blazoned  abroad  ;  for  he  will  refuse  a 
dollar  to  a  deserving  object  if  the  dona- 
tion is  to  remain  secret,  when  he  would 
give  a  hundred  to  a  less  deserving  one  if 
the  fact  could  be  trumpeted  in  the  news- 
papers.    Such  a  man  pays  for  the  publi- 
cation of  his  charitable  deeds  ;   and  not 
only  does  not  hide  from  his  left  hand  svluit 
his  right  hand  does,  but  fees  the  connnon 
ciier  of  the  streets  to  promulgate  it  with 
embellishments.    Such  a  man  is  not  proud 
of  being  charitable,  but  of  being  t'>ouglit 
so — not  thankful  for   wealth,  because  it 
enables  him  to  do  good,  but  proud  of  it 
because  it  gives  him  the  means  of  attract- 
ing more   worldly  attention    than    better 
men,  and  enables  him  to  ride  and  drink 
wine  when  superior  merit  walks  and  can 
only  afford  small  beer. 

There  is  also  a  "-ride  of  beauty,  a  pride 
of  strength,  a  pride  of  skill,  and  a  pride  of 
talent,  which  all  become  offensive  if  they 
are  loudly  expressed,  and  are  unsupported 
by  other  qualities  which  it  is  the  province 
of  a  defensive  pride  to  foster  in  the  mind. 
When  a  woman  is  proud  of  her  beauty, 
and  has  neither  wit,  nor  sense,  nor  good 
nature,  nor  any  charm  of  mind  that  will 
endure  when  beauty  fades,  her  pride  is 
offensive.     When  a  man  vaunts  his  skill 
in  any  particular  pursuit  —a  skill  which 
may  be  undoubted — and  thrusts  it  inoppor- 
tunely and  pertinaciouslyforward,his  pride 
is  offensive :  and  when  a  man  who  has 
gained  some    credit  for  talent  is  always 
fearful  that  he  will  lose  it,  imless  he  daily 
and  hourly  impresses  the  recollection  of  it 
upon  those  with  whom  he  may  be  brought 
in  contact,  his  pride  is  offensive,  and  is 
that  of  a  little  talent  only,  and  imt  of  a 
great  one.     Combined,    on  the  contrary, 
with  defensive,    and  not    with   offensive 
pride,  beatify,  strength,  skill,  and  talent, 
become  enhanced  in  our  eyes.     Beauty 
then  knows  and  acts  upon  the  knowledge 
that   goodness    will   lend    her    additional 
charms  ;  physical  strength  learns  not  to 
be  proud  merely  of  that  which  it  has  in 


J**;*' 


jgaH 


y  4 


/ 


■wtvt»*»»fejh  n 


I 

I 


566 


THE  WILD  TURKEY. 


common  with  the  brutes,  but  to  be  strong 
in  ftiind  ;  and  skill  and  talent,  conscious 
that  self-praise  is  no  recommendation  to 
the  world,  resolve  to  win  the  world's  ap- 
plause by  future  good  deeds,  and  not  by 
boasting  vaingloriously  of  the  deeds  that 
are  past. 

There  is  another  great  difference  be- 
tween defensive  and  offensive  pride — 
which  is,  that  while  the  one  invariably 
keeps  its  thoughts  to  itself,  the  other  as 
invarial)ly  shouts  them  into  all  men's  ears. 
Defensive  pride  never  makes  a  boast ;  but 
offensive  pride  is  never  easy  but  when 
the  boast  is  on  its  tongue.  The  one  is  si- 
lent, the  other  is  loquacious.  Defensive 
l)ride  is  retiring ;  offensive  pride  is  for- 
ward ;  and  the  one  lives  upon  the  rewards 
of  conscience,  while  the  other  only  exists 
upon  the  babble  of  the  crowd. 

There  are  other  kinds  of  pride  which 
are  as  offensive  as  those  already  men- 
tioned.    We  would  cite,  especially,  "  sen- 
sitive pride,"  and  the  "  pride  that  apes  hu- 
mility."    Sensitive  prido  is  founded,  not 
upon  a  proper  self-respect,  but  upon  inor- 
dinate vanity,  linked  with  some  degree  of 
cowardice.     If  it  has  taken  root  in  the 
breast  of  a  poor  man,  or  one  of  inferior 
station  in  society,  it  leads  him  to  imagine 
insults  from  the  rich  and  the  lofty  which 
are  not  intended,  and  to  suppose  that  all 
the  world  are  thinking  how  they  can  show 
hitn  disrespect,  when,  in  fact,  the  world 
IS  not  giving  itself  the  slightest  concern 
about  him.     But  this  truth  never  enters 
into  his  mind  ;  for  if  it  did,  he  would  be 
still  more  miserable.     His  consolation  is, 
that  the  world  hates  him,  and  tries  to  tram- 
ple him  down,  and  he  flies  to  that  rather 
than  to  the  thought— annihilating  to  his 
vanity  and   self-conceit— that   the  world 
most  hkely  does  not  even  know  of  his  ex- 
istence.    In  a  rich  or  powerful  man,  this 
pride  generally  springs  from  some  defect, 
physical  or  moral,  but  most  often  from  the 
former,  as  in  the  case  of  Lord  Byron  and 
his  lameness.     Upon  this  point  his  prido 
was  ridiculously  sensitive  and  offensive, 
and  laid  bare  the  weaknesses  of  his  men- 
tal constitution— a  vanity  pained  to  be  con- 
scwus  of  a  physical  deformity,  which  ren- 
dered him  less  perfect  than  the  most  per- 
fect of  his  fellow-creatures,  and  a  coward- 
ice that  prevented  him  from  rising  superior 


to  the  possible  sneers  of  the  thoughtless  or 
unfeeling. 

Of  the  "  pride  that  apes  humility,"  il 
may  be  truly  said  that  it  is,  of  all  kinds  of 
pride,  the  most  offensive.     In  addition  to 
the  bad  qualities  inherent  in  a  false  and 
unfounded  estimate  of  self,  it  possesses 
that  of  hypocrisy,  and  no  junction  can  be 
more  odious  than  that  of  hypocrisy  and 
pride.  Foolish  pride  may  offend,  but  hypo- 
critical pride  offends  and  disgusts  us.    The 
pride  of  wealth,  of  rank,  of  power,  of  beau- 
^Y'  °\  of  talent,  though  they  may  be  unjus- 
tifiable, at  least  lean  upon  something  that 
exists  or  is  supposed  to  exist ;  but  the 
pride  that  apes  humility  loans  upon  a  lie, 
which  n  knows  to  be  a  lie.     It  unites  the 
bad  qualities  of  every  other  kind  of  pride, 
and  is,  in  a  manner,  the  concentrated  es- 
sence of  offensiveness. 


THE  WILD  TURKEY. 


HE  native  country  of 
the  wild  turkey  ex- 
tends from  the  north- 
western   territory   of 
the  United  Stales  to 
the  isthmus  of  Pana- 
ma; south  of  which  it 
is  not  to  be  found.    In 
Canada,  and  the  now 
densely-peopled  parts  of  the  United  States, 
this  bird  was  formerly  very  abundant ;  but 
the  progress  and  aggressions  of  man  have 
compelled  them  to  seek  refuge  in  the  re- 
mote interior.     It  is  not  probable  that  the 
range  of  the  wild  turkey  extends  to  or  be- 
yond the  Rocky  mountains.    The  Mandan 
Indians,  who  a  few  years  ago  visited  the 
city  of  Washington,  considered  it  one  of 
the  greatest  curiosities  they  had  seen,  and 
prepared  a  skin  of  one  to  carry  home  for 
exhibition. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  be  particular  in 
describing  the  appearance  of  a  bird  so  well 
known  in  its  tame  state.  The  difference 
consists  chiefly  in  the  superior  size  and 
beauty  of  plumage  in  the  wild  turkey;  for, 
under  the  care  of  man,  this  bird  has  great- 
ly  degenerated,  not  only  in  Europe  and 
Asia,  but  in  its  native  country.    When  full 


!lii|,imiJHI>'iJ|i,i,ia|)illlli|i«  ■MIMH.I m>l.|l|l||IH]  .1    HJUMUJiHillM 


!rs  of  the  thoiiglitlcss  or 

hat  apes  humility."  it 
bat  it  is,  of  all  kinds  of 
3nsive.  In  addition  to 
nherent  in  a  false  and 
I  of  self,  it  possesses 
md  no  junction  can  be 
that  of  hypocrisy  and 
3  may  ofTend,  but  hypo- 
I  and  disgusts  us.  The 
ank,  of  power,  of  beau- 
gh  they  may  be  unjus- 
i  upon  something  that 
led  to  exist ;  but  the 
lility  loans  upon  a  lie, 
e  a  lie.  It  unites  the 
y  other  kind  of  pride, 
',  the  concentrated  es- 
)ss. 


D  TURKEY. 

HE  native  country  of 
the  wild  turkey  ex- 
tends from  the  north- 
western   territory   of 
the  United  States  to 
the  isthmus  of  Pana- 
ma; south  of  which  it 
is  not  to  be  found.    In 
Canada,  and  the  now 
J  of  the  United  States, 
y  very  abundant ;  but 
ressions  of  man  have 
iek  refuge  in  tho  re- 
not  probable  that  the 
iey  extends  to  or  bo- 
itains.    The  Mandan 
'ears  ago  visited  the 
considered  it  one  of 
>s  they  had  seen,  and 
le  to  carry  home  for 

r  to  be  particular  in 
inceof  a  bird  so  well 
ite.  The  difference 
e  superior  size  and 
the  wild  turkey;  for, 
,  this  bird  has  great- 
'uly  in  Europe  and 
country.     When  full 


^ 


^  Hf 


^1 


5C3 


THE  WILD  TURKEY. 


grown,  the  male  wild  turkey  is  nearly  four 
I'eet  in  length,  and  nearly  five  in  extent 
(from  wing  to  wing),  and  presents  in  its 
plumage  a  rich  assortment  of  colors,  brown 
predominating,  which  might  be  vainly 
sought  in  the  domesticated  bird.  Alto- 
gether his  appearance  is  such  as,  with 
other  considerations,  disposed  Dr.  Frank- 
lin to  regret  that  he,  rather  than  the  bald 
oagle,  had  not  been  selected  as  the  na- 
tional emblem  of  the  United  States. 

The  wild  turkeys  do  not  confine  them- 
selves to  any  particular  food  :  they  eat 
maize,  all  sorts  of  berries,  fruits,  grasses, 
beetles  ;  and  even  tadpoles,  young  frogs, 
and  lizards,  are  occasionally  found  in  their 
crops  ;  but  where  the  pecun-nut  is  plenty, 
they  prefer  that  fruit  to  any  other  nourish- 
ment. Their  more  general  predilection, 
however,  ia  for  the  acorn,  on  which  they 
rapidly  fatten.  When  an  unusually  pro- 
fuse crop  of  acorns  is  produced  in  a  par- 
ticular section  of  country,  great  numbers 
of  turkeys  are  enticed  from  their  ordinary 
haunts  in  the  surrounding  districts.  About 
the  beginning  of  October,  while  the  mast 
still  remains  on  the  trees,  they  assemble 
in  flocks  and  direct,  their  course  to  the  rich 
bottom  lands.  At  this  season  they  are  ob- 
served in  great  numbers  on  the  Ohio  and 
Mississippi. 

The  males,  usually  termed  gobblers,  as- 
sociate in  parties  numbering  from  ten  to 
one  hundred,  and  seek  their  food  apart 
from  the  females  ;  while  the  latter  either 
move  about  singly  with  their  young,  then 
nearly  half  grown,  or — in  company  with 
other  females  and  their  families — form 
troops,  sometimes  consisting  of  seventy  or 
eighty.  They  are  all  intent  on  avoiding 
the  old  males,  who,  whenever  opportunity 
olTers,  attack  and  destroy  the  young  by  re- 
peated blows  on  the  scull.  All  parties, 
however,  travel  in  the  same  direction,  and 
on  foot,  unless  they  are  compelled  to  seek 
their  individual  safety  by  flying  from  the 
dog  of  the  hunter,  or  their  progress  is  im- 
peded by  a  large  river.  When  about  to 
cross  a  river,  they  select  the  highest  emi- 
nences, that  their  flight  may  be  the  more 
certain  ;  and  here  they  sometimes  remain 
ibr  a  day  or  more,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of 
consultation,  or  to  be  duly  prepared  for  so 
hazardous  a  voyage.  During  this  time 
the  males  gobble  obstreperously,  and  etrul 


with  extraordinary  importanre,  as  if  thev 
would  animate  their  companions  and  in- 
spire them  with  hrirdihood.  The  females 
and  young  also  assume  much  of  tiio  pomp- 
ous air  of  the  males,  the  former  spremliii!^ 
their  tails  and  moving  silently  nround.  M 
length  the  assembled  nmltitude  mount  to 
the  tops  of  the  highest  trees,  whence,  at  a 
signal-note  from  a  leader,  the  whole  to- 
gether wing  their  way  toward  the  oppo- 
site shore.  Immediately  after  these  birds 
have  succeeded  in  crossing  a  river,  they 
for  some  time  ramble  about  without  any 
apparent  unanimity  of  purpose,  and  a  great 
many  are  destroyed  by  tiie  hunters,  though 
they  are  then  least  valuable. 

When  the  turkeys  have  arrived  in  their 
land  of  abundance,  they  disperse  in  small 
flocks,  composed  of  individuals  of  all  ages 
and  sexes  intermingled,  who  devour  all  the 
mast  as  they  advance  :  this  occurs  about 
the  middle  of  November.  It  has  been  ob- 
served that,  after  these  long  journeys,  the 
turkeys  become  so  familiar  as  to  venture 
on  the  plantations,  and  even  approach  so 
near  the  farmhouses  as  to  enter  the  sta- 
bles and  corn-cribs  in  search  of  food.  In 
this  way  they  pass  the  autumn  and  part 
of  the  winter.  During  this  season  groat 
numbers  are  killed  by  the  inhabitants,  who 
preserve  them  in  a  frozen  state,  in  order 
to  transport  them  to  a  distant  market. 

Early  in  March  they  begin  to  pair.  The 
sexes  roost  apart,  but  at  no  great  distance, 
so  that  when  the  female  utters  a  call,  ev- 
ery male  within  hearing  responds,  rolling 
note  for  note,  in  the  most  rapid  succes- 
sion ;  not  as  when  spreading  the  tail  and 
strutlii.  near  the  heti,  but  in  a  voice  re- 
sembling that  of  the  tame  turkey  when  he 
hears  any  unusual  or  frequently-repeated 
noise.  Where  the  turkeys  are  numerous, 
the  woods — from  one  end  to  the  other, 
sometimes  for  hundreds  of  miles — resound 
with  this  remarkable  noise,  uttered  re- 
sponsively  from  their  roosting-places  :  this 
is  continued  for  about  an  hour ;  and,  on 
the  rising  of  the  sun,  they  silently  de-scend 
from  their  perches,  and  the  males  begin  to 
strut,  as  if  to  win  the  admiration  of  their 
mates.  Their  process  of  approach  to  the 
females  is  remarkably  pompous  and  cere- 
monious ;  and,  in  its  course,  the  males  of- 
ten encounter  one  another,  and  desperate 
bailies  ensue,  when  the  conflict  is  only 


I 


THE  WILD  TURKEY. 


5C0 


nportiiiipo,  as  if  thny 

companions  and  in- 
iliootl.  'I'lic  fonialps 
e  inufh  of  the  ponip- 
tliP  fornior  sproiulinEf 
,'silontlynrounii.  At 
I  innltitiidc  mount  to 
it  trees,  wlience,  at  a 
eader,  the  wiiolo  fo- 
ay  toward  the  oppo- 
tciy  after  these  birds 
rossinijf  a  river,  tlioy 
B  about  without  any 
'purpose,  and  a  great 
y  llie  liunlers,  though 
ihial)le. 

have  arrived  in  their 
ey  disperse  in  small 
idividuals  of  all  a<ros 
d,  who  devour  all  the 

:  tiiis  occurs  about 
)er.  It  has  been  ob- 
e  long  journeys,  the 
miliar  as  to  venture 
d  even  approach  so 
as  to  enter  the  sta- 

search  of  food.  In 
le  autumn  and  part 
ig  this  season  ;.;reat 
the  inhabitants,  who 
ozen  state,  in  order 

distant  market. 
y  begin  to  pair.  The 
It  no  great  distance, 
lie  utters  a  call,  ev- 
iig  responds,  rolling 
most  rapid  succes- 
reading  the  tail  and 
,  but  in  a  voice  re- 
me  turkey  when  he 
frequently-repeated 
•keys  are  numerous, 

end  to  the  other, 
s  of  miles — resound 

noise,  uttered  re- 
josting-places :  this 

an  hour ;  and,  on 
ey  silently  descend 
I  the  males  begin  to 
admiration  of  their 
i  of  approach  to  the 
pompous  and  cere- 
aurse,  the  males  of- 
■her,  and  desperate 
xe  conflict  is  only 


terminated  by  the  flight  or  death  of  the 
vamiuislu'd.  With  the  hen  whose  favor 
is  thu.s  ()!)inincd  the  male  is  mated  for  the 
season,  iliough  he  docs  not  hesitate  to  be- 
stow his  aitcnlions  on  several  females 
whenever  an  opportunity  oflers.  One  or 
more  females,  thus  associated,  follow  their 
(avorito  and  rest  in  his  immediate  neigh- 
borhood, if  not  on  the  same  tree,  until  they 
begin  to  lay,  when  they  shun  their  mates, 
in-order  to  save  their  eggs,  which  the 
male  uniformly  breaks  if  in  his  power.  At 
this  perit)d  the  sexes  separate,  and  the 
males,  being  much  emaciated,  retire  and 
conceal  themselves  by  prostrate  trees,  in 
secluded  parts  of  a  forest,  or  in  the  almost 
impenetral)le  privacy  of  a  canebrake.  By 
thus  retiring,  using  very  little  exercise,  and 
feeding  on  peculiar  grasses,  they  recover 
their  flesh  and  strength,  and  when  this  ob- 
ject is  attained  again  congregate  and  re- 
commence their  rambles. 

About  the  middle  of  April,  when  the 
weather  is  dry,  the  female  selects  a  prop- 
er place  in  which  to  dcposito  her  eggs, 
secured  from  the  encroachment  of  water, 
and  as  far  :is  possible  concealed  from  the 
watchful  eye  of  the  crow.  The  nest  is 
jilaced  oji  the  ground,  either  on  a  dry 
ridge,  in  the  fallen  top  of  a  dead  leafy  tree, 
uniler  a  thicket  of  sumach  and  briers,  or 
by  the  side  of  a  log  :  it  is  of  a  very  simple 
structure,  'being  composed  of  a  few  dry 


leaves.  In  this  receptacle  the  eggs  are 
deposited,  sometimes  to  the  number  of 
twenty,  but  more  usually  from  nine  to  fif- 
teen ;  they  are  like  those  of  the  domestic 
bird. 

The  female  uses  great  caution  in  the 
concealment  of  her  nest :  she  seldom  ap- 
proaches it  twice  by  the  same  route  ;  and 
on  leaving  her  charge,  she  is  very  careful 
to  cover  the  whole  with  dried  leaves  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  make  it  very  difficult 
even  for  one  wl.o  has  watched  her  motions 
to  indicate  the  exact  spot.  Nor  is  she 
easily  driven  from  her  post  by  the  ap- 
proach of  apparent  danger  ;  but  if  an  ene- 
my appears,  she  crouches  as  low  as  pos- 
sible, and  sufl"ers  it  to  pass.  They  seldom 
abandon  their  nests  on  account  of  being 
discovered  by  man  ;  but  should  a  snake  or 
other  animal  suck  one  of  the  eggs,  the  pa- 
rent leaves  ihcm  altogether.  If  the  eggs 
be  removed,  ?>ho  aj?aiu  seeks  the  male  and 


recommences  laying,  though  otherwise  she 
lays  but  one  set  of  eggs  during  the  season.  | 
Several  turkey-hens  sometimes  associate, 
perhaps  for  mutual  safety,  deposite  their 
eggs  in  the  same  nest,  and  rear  their  broods 
together.  Mr.  Audidjon  once  found  three 
females  sitting  on  forty-two  eggs.  In  such 
cases  the  nest  is  commonly  guarded  by 
one  of  the  parties,  so  that  no  crow,  raven, 
or  even  polecat  dares  approach  it.  The 
mother  will  not  forsake  her  eggs,  when 
near  hatching,  while  life  remains  :  she 
will  sufl'er  an  enclosure  to  be  made  around 
and  imprison  her  rather  than  abandon  her 
charge. 

As  the  hatching  generally  occurs  in  the 
afternoon  and   proceeds  but  slowly,  the 
first  night  is  commonly  spent  in  the  nest ; 
but  afterward  the  mother  leads  them  to 
elevated  dry  places,  as  if  aware  that  hu- 
midity, during  the  first  few  days  of  their 
life,  would  be   dangerous   to  them,  they 
having  then  no  other  protection  than  a 
delicate,  soft,  hairy  down.     In  rainy  sea- 
sons  wild  turkeys    are    scarce,  because 
when  completely  wetted  the  young  rarely 
survive.     At  the  expiration  of  about  two 
weeks  the  young  follow  their  mother  to 
some  low,  large  branch  of  a  tree,  where 
they  nestle  under  herbroadly-curved  wings. 
The  time  then  approaches  when  they  seek 
the  open  ground  or  prairie  land  during  the 
day  in  search  of  berries  and  grasshoppers, 
thus  securing  a  plentiful  supply  of  food, 
and  enjoying  the  genial  influence  of  the 
sun.     The  young  turkeys  now  grow  rap- 
idly, and  in  the  month  of  August,  when 
several  broods  flock  together  and  are  led 
by  their  mothers  into  the  forest,  they  are 
stout,  and  able  to  secure  themselves  from 
the  unexpected  attacks  of  their  enemies, 
by  rising  quickly  from   the   ground  and 
reaching  with  ease  the  upper  limbs  of  the 
tallest  tree. 

It  is  rather  surprising  that,  though  the 
introduction  of  this  bird  into  Europe  is 
comparatively  modern,  its  origin  has  been 
so  much  lost  sight  of,  that  eminent  natural- 
ists of  the  last  century  expressed  them- 
selves with  great  uncertainty  concerning 
its  native  country.  Thus  Belon,  Aldro- 
vand,  Gessner,  Ray,  and  others,  thought 
that  it  came  originally  from  Africa  and  the 
East  Indies,  and  end'cavered  to  recognise 
11  in  sonvs  of  the  domey.fic  birds  of  the  an- 


I 


T- 


I 


i 

I 


5(0 


THE  GRANDEUR  OF  GOD. 


cients  But  its  American  oriijin  is  now 
clearly  ascertaineu.  This  bird  was  sent 
from  Mexico  to  Spain  early  in  the  six- 
teenth  century  ;  and  from  Spain  it  was  in- 
troduced into  England  in  1524.  Since 
that  period  they  have  been  bred  with  so 
much  care,  that  in  England,  as  we  read  in 
ancient  chronicles,  their  rapid  increase 
rendered  them  attainable  at  country  feasts, 
where  thoy  were  a  much-esteemed  dish, 
so  early  as  1585. 


THE  GRANDEUR  OF  GOD. 

'  At  His  cnmmand  tl\e  lurid  litrhtning  flips, 
bhiiliuji  tiiu  (inn  globe,  and  tires  tlio  vaulted  skies." 

OT  one  of  the  four 
■^elements  so  magnifi- 
1^  cently  displays   the 
►^Z  grandeur  of  God  as 
fp|that  of  fire.      Well 
^^^  might    the    ancients 
'^  suppose  it  to  consti- 
tute the  human  soul, 
for  they  are  similar 
in  their  operations.     The  soid  pervades 
every  part  of  the  body,  and  fire  exists  in 
every  particle  of  nature.     Like  the  soul, 
we  observe  it  quiescent  in  one  body  and 
in  another  we  see  it  in  all  its  terrific  sub- 
limity.    Like  the  soul,  we  see  it  in  one 
instance  a  slave,  and  in  another  the  mas- 
ter of  the  world.     As  the  soul  is  the  cen- 
tre of  motion  to  the  human  body,  so  is  the 
burning  sun  to  the  solar  system.     When 
the  soul  ceases  to  move  the  body,  every 
linil)  i.s  motionless  ;  and  when  Joshua  com- 
manded the  sun  to  stand  still  on  Gibeon, 
the  earth  and  moon  were  still,  for  they  re- 
ceive their  motion  from  his  diurnal  revolu- 
tion.    The  language  of  Scripture  is  cor- 
rect, for  though  the  sun  is  fixed  in  his  or- 
bit, he  has  diurnal  f.iotiou,  and  when  that 
ceases,  his  attendant  planets  must  cease. 
This  has  iieen  an  eye-sore  to  many  deists. 
Let  them  i  effect  that  when  the  large  wheel 
of  a  mill  is  at  rest,  the  whole  of  the  ma- 
chinery is  at  rest  also.     We  see  the  op- 
erations of  the  soul,  but  not  its  essence  • 
and  we  see  the  effects  of  fire,  but  not  its 
substance. 

Fire  is  the  mighty  autocrat  of  the  uni- 


verse-its throne  is  the  footstool  of  God 
—and  its  empire  is  the  grand  alembic  of 
nature.     Like  the  Olympian  Jove  when 
he  arose  and  rocked  the  skies  with  his 
wrath,  it  sends   forth  its  herald  into  the 
stormy  clouds,  and  shakes  tlie  pillars  of 
the  universe  with   its    tremendous    roar. 
When  the  spirit  of  the  storm  is  roused,  it 
goes  forth  to  battle— it  awakens  the  deep 
thunders  of  the  artillery  of  lieavcn— and 
sets  the  skies  on  fire.     The  clash  of  re- 
sounding strife  rings  in  our  ears.     The 
mighty  master  comes  forth  from  the  dark 
dungeon  in   which  he   was  chained,  ho 
rides  round  the  ethereal  dome  in  liis  rapid 
car  wheeled  by  the  whirlwinds,  and  the 
halls  of  heaven  echo  with  the   crash  of 
clouds.      The    mighty  monarchs    of  the 
earth  tremble  when  the  dreadful  autocrat 
levels  his  artillery  at  the  globe.     It.  was 
the  same  autocrat  with  whom  the  immor- 
tal Franklin  made  a  league,  and  entered 
into  amicable  negotiations.     lie  sent  forth 
his  ambassador  to  the  gloomy  palace  of 
the  autocrat,  who  was  conducted  to  his 
presence  in  a  chariot  of  glass.    Peace  was 
settled  between  them— the  dark  siorm  of 
elemental  war  rolled  away— and  the  uni- 
versal rainbow  banner  was  hung  out  in 
the  east.     But  the  autocrat  escaped  from 
the  dungeon  of  the  philosopher ;  he  was 
seen  again  in  battle  with  the  spirits  of  the 
storm  :   and  Franklin  raised  his  bayonets 
against  him  from  every  steeple.     lie  was 
again  seen  enveloped   in  his  grand  and 
brilhant  fireworks   in   the    heavens,  and 
scattering  his  thunderbolts  in  every  direc- 
tion.    Such  is  electricity  ! 

We  dwell  peaceably  on  the  surface  of 
the  earth,  while  oceans  of  fire  roll  beneath 
our  feet.  In  the  great  womb  of  the  globe 
the  everlasting  forge  is  at  work.  How 
dreadful  must  an  earthquake  be,  when  we 
^are  told  by  Pliny  that  twelve  cities  in  Asia 
Minor  were  swallowed  up  in  one  right  I 
Not  a  vestige  remained  :  they  were  lost  in  < 
the  tremendous  maw  for  ever !  Millions  I 
of  human  beings  have  been  swallowed  up  i 
while  flying  for  safety.  In  the  bowels  of 
the  earth  the  great  Jehovah  performs  his 
wonders,  at  the  same  moment  that  he  is 
firing  the  heavens  with  his  lightnings. 
His  thunders  roll  above  our  heads  and  be- 
neath our  feet,  where  .he  eye  of  mortal 
man  never  ptnetrated.     In  the  vast  vor 


J 


is  tho  footstool  of  God 
s  tlie  grand  alembic  of 

Olympian  Jove  when 
led  the  skies  witii  his 
rth  its  henild  into  tho 

shakes  the  pillars  of 

its  'troincndous    roar. 

the  storm  is  roused,  it 
— it  awakens  the  deep 
tillery  of  heaven— and 
re.  The  clash  of  re- 
gs  in  our  ears.  The 
es  forth  from  the  dark 

he  was  chained,  ho 
oreal  dome  in  his  r.ipid 
i  whirlwinds,  and  tho 
dio  with  the  crash  of 
hly  monarchs   of  the 

the  dreadful  autocrat 
at  the  globe.     It  was 
villi  whom  the  immor- 
a  league,  and  entered 
ations.     lie  sent  forth 
the  gloomy  palace  of 
ivas  conducted  to  his 
t  of  glass.    Peace  was 
m— the  dark  siorm  of 
d  away — and  the  uni- 
ner  was  hung  out  in 
autocrat  escaj)ed  from 
philosopher ;  lie  was 
with  tlie  spirits  of  the  I 
in  raised  his  buyimets 
3ry  steeple.     I!e  was  I 
sd  in  his   grand  and  | 
n   the    heavens,   and  : 
irbohs  in  every  direc-  ' 
ricity !  j 

ibly  on  the  surface  of 
ms  of  fire  roll  beneath 
iat  womb  of  the  globe 
0  is  at  work.  How 
diipiake  be,  when  we 
t  twelve  cities  in  Asia 
'ed  up  in  one  right ! 
ed ;  they  were  lost  in 
'  for  ever  !  Millions 
e  been  swallowed  tip 
y.  In  the  bowels  of 
Fehovah  perforins  his 
3  moment  that  he  is 
with  his  lightnings, 
ive  our  heads  and  be- 
e  ihe  eye  of  mortal 
d.     In  the  va&t  vor- 


J 


THE  ISLAND  OF  CAPRI. 


5T1 


tcx  of  the  volcano  the  universal  forge  emp- 
ties its  melted  metals.     Tho  roar  of  Etna 
has  been  the  knell  of  thousands,  when  it 
poured  forth  its  cataract  of  fire  over  one 
of  the  fairest  portions  of  the  earth,  and 
swept  into  ruins  ages  of  industry.     In  the 
reign  of  Titus  Vespasian,  A.  D   79,  the 
volcano  of  Vesuvius  dashed  its  fiery  bil- 
lows to  the  clouds,  and  buried  in  the  burn- 
ing lava  the  cities  of  Horculaneum,  Sta- 
bice,  and  Pompeii,  which  then  flourished 
near  Naples.   The  streets  of  Pompeii  were 
paved  with  lava,  and  it  has  been  discovered 
that  its  fdundaiion  is  composed  of  the  same 
—proving  that  the  spot  had  been  deluged 
previous  to  the  birth  of  Christ.     In  the 
streets  once  busy  wiih  the  hum  of  indus- 
try, and  where  the  celebrated  ancient  walk- 
ed, liie  modern  philosopher  now  stands  and 
ruminates  upon  fallen    grandeur.     While 
the  inhabitants  were  unmindful  of  the  dan- 
ger which  awaited  iliem — while  they  were 
busied  with  schemes  of  wealth  and  great- 
ness—the  irresistible  flood  of  fire  came 
roaring  from  the  mountain,  and  shrouded 
them  in  the  eternal  night.    Seventeen  hun- 
dred years  have   rolled  over  them,  and 
their  lonely  habitations  and  works  remain 
as  their   monuments.     They   are    swept 
away  in  the  torrent  of  time ;  the  waves  of 
ages  have  settled  over  them  ;  and  art  alone 
has  preserved  their  memory.    Great  God, 
how  sublime  are  thy  works !    How  grand 
are  thy  operations  !  How  awful  thy  wrath  ! 
Natioiis   can  not    stand   against  thee— a 
world  is  but  an  atom  in  thy  sight ! 


THE  ISLAND  OF  CAPRI. 


jK  HIS  most  picturesque 
l^^^of  islands  is  sitULiied 
under  the  same  me- 
ridian as  the  city  of 
Naples,  which  it  im- 
mediately faces,  and 
from  almost  all  parts 
of  which  it  is  visible. 
It  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  finest  and  most 
striking  features  of  the  rich  and  varied 
scenery  which  surrounds  that  capital.  It 
stands  at  the  entrance  of  the  Neapolitan 
gulf,  almost  on  the  line  of  the  horizon  ;  it 


37 


is  distant  about  two  and  a  half  miles  from 
Cape  CampanoUa,  which  terminates  tho 
bold  promontory  wher^  Sorrento,  Amalfi, 
and  other  towns  of  old  fame,  are  situated  ; 
it  is  about  twelve  miles  from  Capo  Miseno 
on  tho  other  side  of  tho  bay,  and  rather 
more  than  twenty  from  the  city  of  Naples 
at  the  end  of  the  bay.     It  is  composed  of 
hard,  calcareous   rocks,   which  are  dis- 
posed in  two  picturesque  masses  with  a 
considerable    break   or   hollow    between 
them.     The  highest  of  these  two  masses, 
which  is  to  the  west,  and  is  called  Ana- 
capri,  rises  between  sixteen  and  seventeen 
hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 
The  whole  of  the  island,  when  seen  at  a 
little  distance,  looks  so  precipitous  and  in- 
accessible, that  the  stranger  is  disposed  to 
wonder  how  the  little  towns  and  white 
villatTes  he  sees  on  the  face  of  its  clilfs 
ever  got  there.     The  color  of  the  masses 
of  roc'k,  when  not  aft'ected  by  the  glow  of 
sunset,  is  a  pale,  sober  gray.     Tracing  all 
tho  indents  and  sinuosities  of  the  rocks, 
the  circumference  of  the  island  does  not 
exceed  nine  miles  ;  yet  within  this  narrow 
space  is  crowded  an  astonishing  variety  of 
scenic  beauties,  remains  of  antiquity,  and 
historical  recollections.     The  entire  sur- 
face of  Capri  is  wild,  broken,  and  pictu- 
resque.    The  ancient  name  of  the  island 
was  Caprea;,  and  it  is  said  it  was  so  called 
from  being  inhabited  by  wild  goats.     Ac- 
cording to  antiquaries,  its  first  human  in- 
habitants were  a  colony  of  Greeks  from 
Epirus,  who,  after  many  ages,  were  dis  • 
possessed  by  the  citizens  of  Neapolis  (Na- 
ples), which  then  formed  part  of  Magna 
Gra>cia,  and  which,  like  all  the  places  of 
note  in  that  portion  of  Italy,  owed  its  ori- 
gin to  the  Greeks.     The  Roman  emperor 
Augustus  seems  to  have  taken  entire  pos- 
session of  the  island  for  himself,  and  to 
have  given  the  Neapolitan  citizens  lands 
in  the  neighboring  island  of  Ischia  as  an 
equivalent.     Suetonius,  the  historian,  has 
recorded  a  visit  to  Capri  made  by  Augus- 
tus at  the  close  of  his  life.     With  a  shat- 
tered constitution  and  broken  spirits,  the 
world's  master  left  Rome  to  find  a  place 
of  quiet  rest.     Having  recruited  his  spir- 
its a  little  at  Astura,  on  the  shores  of  the 
Tyrrhenian  sea,  and  near  the  mouth  of 
the  Tiber,  he  coasted   Campania  Felix, 
and,  with  a  few  chosen  friends,  arrived  at 


J/£;^*iCifi.^ai>.s 


Wm 

..mi 


mm 


THK  ISLAND  Ol''  CAl'UI. 


57;j 


Hiiia;.  lien?  lin  took  shippinj,'  for  CupreiB. 
As  his  f;,illt'y  shot  iicross  iho  I'utcohiii  l)iiy, 
ii  was  iiH'i  l>y  !i  trailinu-vt'Msi'l  Irom  A\vx- 
iiiiilria  in  HKypl.  tli«  cew  of  whidi,  aware 
of  ihi'  moinircli's  iipproacli,  hail  (Irt'ssi-d 
ihciiist  Ivi's  ill  white,  ami  irowiii'd  their 
hiaiis  witli  I'hapiets  ;  and,  wlien  lio  was 
slill  nearer  to  tiiein,  they  liurned  ineeiisi; 
helore  liiiii,  swearinu  to  live  (or  him,  and 
tor  liiin  H)  iiavijiaic  tiuj  seas.  These  tes- 
tlMioiiials  of  a'l'cciion — or  tliis  aclulaiir)n — 
I'lieiri'd  lor  a  moment  the  (lyin;,'  (^npcror. 
Hedistril'Uted  money  among  his  l'olU)\vers, 
debirin;^  tliem  to  spend  it  in  purehasinj,' 
th(!  Ahxandrian  merchandise.  At  Capri, 
Anj^UMius,  (hiermininiL;  to  fori;et  the  cares 
of  f;ov(;rniin'nt,  ;,'ave  np  his  wlioU;  sonl  lo 
ease  and  allalile  intercourse  ;  Iml  this  se- 
cession from  toil,  and  the  enjoyment  of 
till)  tratiipiillity  and  the  balmy  atmosphere 
of  the  place,  and  the  magical  scenery 
uroimd  liim,  could  not  restore  tiie  old  and 
wornout  man,  who  died  shortly  alter  at  the 
town  of  Nola  in  Campania,  and  almost 
within  sight  of  the  island. 

Capri  is,  however,  much  more  momo- 
rahle  as  heing  the  constant  retreat  for  sev- 
eral years  of  Augustus's  successor,  the 
e.xecrahle  Tiberius.  For  the  honor  of  hu- 
man nature,  it  is  to  bo  hoped  that  those 
who  have  described  the  life  and  impurities 
of  iliis  systematic  tyrant  and  debauchee, 
have  in  some  instances  sacrificed  truth  to 
eloquence  and  effect :  but  still  enough  will 
remain  to  excite  our  abhorrence,  and  our 
re'jret  that  his  name  should  be  associated 
Willi  so  beautiful  a  spot  of  earth.  Shut  up 
with  the  infamous  ministers  of  his  tyranny 
aii'l  lust  in  this  rocky,  inaccessible  island, 
Tiberius  ruled  the  vast  Roman  empire.  It 
was  here  he  committed  or  ordered  some 
of  the  most  atrocious  of  his  cruelties  ;  it 
was  here  he  wrote  the  "  verbose  and  grand 
epistle"  to  the  senate  at  Home,  immortal- 
ized in  its  infamy  by  Juvenal ;  it  was  here 
the  arbiter  of  the  fate  of  millions  trembled 
in  his  old  age  at  what  might  be  his  own 
destiny,  and  sat  on  "  the  august  rock  of 
Capreie  with  a  Chaldean  band" — a  band 
1  of  astrologers  and  impostors — to  consult 
■  the  stars.  He  here  built  twelve  palaces 
'  or  villas,  which  were  all  strongly  fortilied, 
I  and  erected  many  other  works,  the  ruins 
of  which  still  bear  his  name.  The  poor 
islanders  of  the  present  day,  indeed,  at- 


tribute every  ancient  building  or  fragment 
found  on  the  island  to  "  Tiberio  Cesare," 
whoni  they  amusingly  call  "emperor  of 
Capri,  and  king  of  Rome."  It  is  also  very 
amusing  to  hear  how  they  talk  tradition> 
ally  of  the  tyrant,  and  of  the  deeds  and 
vi'.!'.;'j  recorded  l.'y  Tacitus,  Suetonius,  and 
.luvenal. 

The  sail  from  Naples  lo  Capri  on  a 
fine  summer  evening,  when  favored  by  the 
reiilo  (Ii  term,  or  land  liriieze  iVoiii  the 
main,  is  one  oi'  the  most  delijihifid  that  can 
be  imauiniid.  The  only  aecessilili^  point 
ii  the  island  is  called  the  Sliarco  di  < '  ipri, 
or  the  landing-|)lace.  This  is  below  the 
town  of  Cajiri,  lo  which  there  is  an  ascent 
by  means  ot  a  rude  Cyclopism  lli'^ht  of 
steps,  steep  and  ruggi!iJ  in  the  extreine, 
;V  lew  lortilications  might  render  the  isl- 
and altogether  inaccessible  to  an  enemy, 
and  entitle  Capri  lo  tiii!  name  that  was 
commonly  givi'ii  to  it  during  the  last  war 
of  \ai>oleon,  vi/..,  the  Lutle  Cihraliar. 
During  acc^riain  part  of  that  long  siruggie, 
when  the  French  arms  had  driven  the 
king  of  the  Two  Sicilies  from  Naples  to 
Sicily,  the  English  held  the  island  for  that 
sovereign.  They  kept  possession  of  it 
during  the  whole  of  the  short  reign  at,  Na- 
ples of  .loseph  Bonaparte  ;  but  when  he 
went  to  Spam,  ami  Murat  replaced  him  in 
Italy,  it  was  attacked  with  an  imiiosing 
force,  and,  being  most  absurdly  dtlended, 
it  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  French. 

The  principal  town,  or,  as  it  is  pomp- 
ously called,  the  "  meti()])olis  of  Capri," 
stands  on  a  shelving  rock  toward  the  e^  st 
of  the  island.  It  consists  of  a  group  of 
some  two  or  three  hnndred  sm.ill  but  tol- 
erably neat  houses,  live  or  six  churches 
and  chapels,  with  a  confined  piazza,  or 
sipiare,  in  the  midst.  It  is  surrounded  by 
vineyards  and  orchards,  and  some  small 
olive-groves  stand  on  ledges  of  the  cl ill's 
above  it.  There  is  only  one  more  town 
in  the  island.  This  is  called  Anacapri, 
and  is  situated  high  up,  on  a  narrow  ledge 
of  the  western  mass  of  rock  that  goes  by 
the  same  name.  The  fishermen,  sailors, 
and  traders,  live  in  the  chief  town,  and  the 
lower  parts  of  the  island  and  Anacapri  are 
almost  solely  inhabited  by  frugal,  indus- 
trious peasants.  It  is  one  of  the  cleanest 
places  that  eye  can  behold.  Its  inhabit- 
ants communicate  with  the  other  town  and 


«? 


r 

I 


574 


THE  ISLAND  OJ*  CAPRI. 


nil  ilio  cast  of  tlio  island  by  nn'fins  of  a 
fliKlii  of  five  hunilrcd  and  tliirly-ci>{lit  steps, 
which  zigzags  in  a  curious  manner  down 
the  fact)  of  a  precipice.  On  a  still  loftier 
precipice,  in  the  rear  of  the  town  of  Ana- 
capri,  are  the  pictures(iiie  ruins  of  a  castlo 
of  the  middle  ages. 

The  villages — if  groups  of  three  or  four 
vine-dressers'  houses  may  bo  so  railed — 
are  nestled  here  and  there  in  little  hol- 
lows, or  are  perched  on  steps  in  the  clilTs, 
chiefly  on  the  eastern  half  of  the  island. 
Wherever  it  has  been  possible  to  make 
them  grow,  thoy  are  surrounded  by  trees 
and  vineyards.  The  persevering  industry 
of  the  islanders  is  very  admirable.  By 
hewing  out  rocks  here—  !.y  piling  them  up 
to  form  terraces  and  retain  the  scanty  soil 
there — by  removing  the  earth  from  places 
where  it  was  exposed  to  bo  washed  away, 
and  depositing  it  in  well-defended,  secure 
places — they  have  covered  considerable 
patches  of  liio  northern  front  of  Capri  with 
beauty  and  fertility.  The  back  of  the  isl- 
and is  so  precipitous,  that  it  is  altogether 
impracticable.  The  cultivable  parts  pro- 
duce most  kinds  of  vegetables  and  fruits, 
a  small  quantity  of  excellent  oil,  and  wine 
in  abundance.  The  wine,  which  is  well 
known  to  all  who  have  resided  at  Naples, 
is  of  two  sorts — Capri  russo  and  Capri  bi- 
anco— or  red  and  white  Capri.  The  qual- 
ity of  both  is  very  good,  being  devoid  of 
that  volcanic,  sulphurous  flavor  common 
to  most  of  the  wines  produced  near  Na- 
ples. 

Quails  form  another  important  article  of 
export.  These  birds  of  passage,  which 
come  in  countless  flights  from  the  coast  of 
Africa  in  spring,  and  return  thitherward 
in  autumn,  are  caught  on  the  island  in 
large  nets  spread  out  in  hollows  on  the 
tops  of  the  rocks,  through  which,  season 
after  season,  the  quails  are  sure  to  pass. 
In  some  years,  as  many  as  one  hundred 
thousand  of  these  delicate  birds,  without 
counting  those  consumed  at  home,  have 
been  sent  to  the  Neapolitan  market  Cap- 
ri, which  is  now  united  to  the  see  of  Sor- 
rento, once  had  a  bishop  of  its  own  ;  and, 
in  former  days,  that  dignitary's  revenue 
was  derived  almost  entirely  from  the  trade 
in  quails. 

in  182G,  the  whole  population  of  the 
island  amounted   to  about  four  thousand 


Hotils.  There  wen^  two  or  three  schiioU 
established  by  government.  The  people 
seemed  very  healthy, contenteil,  and  cheer- 
ful— free  and  eijual  in  their  intercourse 
with  one  another — and,  like  most  island- 
ers, much  attached  to  the  place  of  ilieir 
birth.  None  of  them  could  i)e  called  ricii, 
even  according  to  the  low  scale  of  that 
part  of  the  world,  but  then  very  few  were 
abjectly  poor.  Like  the  inhabitants  of  the 
contiguous  penir.sula,  the  Sorrentini,  the 
AmallitJini,  &.c.,  the  people  of  Ca|)ri  inva- 
riably leave  nn  agreeable  recollection  in 
the  mind  of  the  traveller. 

The  bold,  perpendicular  clifl"  at  the  east- 
ern extremity  of  the  island,  which  is  cor- 
rectly represented  in  our  engraving,  is  the 
the  too-celebrated  Saltus  Ca[)roarum,  over 
which,  if  history  speaks  truly,  Tiberius 
was  accustomed  to  have  his  tortured  vic- 
tims driven.  The  clilT  still  retains  its 
name,  Italianized,  the  islanders  always 
calling  it  "  II  Salto,"  or  the  leap.  It  rises 
seven  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
sea.  Not  far  from  the  brow  of  this  clifT 
are  very  considerable  remains  of  the  Villa 
Jovis,  oneof  the  tyrant's  twelve  mansions, 
which  all  stood  on  this  half  of  the  island. 
The  guides  assure  the  stranger  that  some 
arched  subterranean  chambers,  communi- 
cating with  one  another,  that  are  found 
here,  were  the  torturing  clunueons  of  Ti- 
berius. A  fine  mosaic  pavement,  some 
columns  o(  giallo  antico,a,  Greek  statue  of 
a  nymph,  with  many  cameos  and  intaglios, 
were  found  at  the  Villa  .Fovis  many  years 
since.  Indeed,  this  small  island  and  these 
Tiberian  villas,  of  which  we  need  not  give 
a  minute  description,  as  little  remains  of 
them  but  sub-structures  and  dismal  cells, 
have  contributed  largely  to  modern  muse- 
ums, churches,  and  palaces.  The  four 
magnificent  columns  of  giallo  antico — and 
all  of  one  piece — that  now  decorate  the 
chapel  of  the  king  of  Naples  in  the  palace 
of  Caserta  were  dug  up  in  one  of  the  vil- 
las A  splendid  mosaic,  which  Murat's 
wife,  Caroline  Bonaparte,  caused  to  be  re- 
moved and  laid  down  as  a  flooring  to  her 
own  boudoir  in  the  palace  at  Portici,  was 
found  in  another  ;  and  each  of  the  villas, 
from  amid  their  crumbling  ruins,  have  fur- 
nished rosso,  giallo,  and  verdo  antico,  la- 
pis lazuli,  other  beautiful  stones,  and  a 
peculiar  sort  of  marble  called  Tiberian,  in 


re  two  or  tlirco  schools 
vorniin'iit.  Tlio  |)iM)[)|t> 
ly.coiilcnted,  anil  c-Ikm.t- 
lul  in  tlioir  intercourse 
-unil,  liku  rnuHt  ishiinl- 
d  to  llio  place  of  llit'ir 
oin  could  be  callt;d  rirli, 
I  tlio  low  scale  of  lliiit 
l)iil  then  very  few  were 
kc  the  inliubitantH  of  the 
lula,  tlio  Sorrontini,  tlic 
le  people  of  Capri  inva- 
^retiuble  recollection  in 
aveller. 

ndicular  clilT  at  the  east- 
lie  island,  which  is*  cor- 
in  our  enj^'ravinjr,  is  the 
Sallus  Caproaruni,  over 
speaka  truly,  Tiberius 
a  have  his  tortured  vic- 

0  cliflT  still  retains  its 
,  tlio  islanders  always 
o,"  or  the  leap.  It  risits 
!l  above  the  level  of  the 
n  tlie  brow  of  this  clill' 
ible  remains  of  the  Villa 
^'rant's  twelve  mansions, 

1  this  half  of  the  island. 
3  the  stranger  that  some 
an  chambers,  communi- 
anolher,  that  are  found 
rturiiijr  dunueons  of  Ti- 
nosaic  pavement,  some 
antico,&  Greek  statue  of 
ny  cameos  and  intaglios. 

Villa  Jovis  many  years 
lis  small  island  and  these 

which  we  need  not  give 
ion,  as  little  remains  of 
:tures  and  dismal  cells, 
largely  to  modern  muse- 
md  palaces.  The  four 
ms  of  giallo  anlico — and 
—that  now  decorate  the 
;  of  Naples  in  the  palace 
lug  up  in  one  of  the  vil- 

mosaic,  which  Mural's 
naparte,  caused  to  be  re- 
jwn  as  a  flooring  to  her 
lC  palace  at  Portici,  was 

and  each  of  the  villas, 
rumbling  ruins,  have  fur- 
lo,  and  verde  anlico,  la- 
beautiful  stones,  and  a 
arble  called  Tiberian,  in 


ffl' 


1^ 


.'m4 


616 


DrSCIPLINB  or  THK  EYES. 


%. 


wotMlrrful  |iri>riiHi(>ii.  Siihucn  nml  bimt^ 
ill  iiiitrl'lo  itiiil  liroir/.)*,  iiml  of  oxipii'iiio 
vvitrkm:iiitlii|i,  iiicdiU  iiihI  Imssi-rMlirvi, 
nml  other  uliircts  of  art,  li.ivc  iiUo  ln-cii 
toiiml  iinil  carritjil  iiway  in  uriMt(|tiantiti('H 
iliiriiiK  till)  coursn  of  ci'iiturii"*.  'I'Iid  iiik- 
M:iic<i  ami  rorintliiiiii  ('n|iit:i ii  of  tlii>  'I'i- 
licrian  villas  aro  fsperially  coiiMiilereil  as 
modfld  of  ])('rfi'(tii)ri  of  thrir  kiml.  All 
lliisn  twi'lvo  niamiilicciii  villas  wore  in- 
cliiilfd  in  a  npnce,  the  circumfercnco  of 
whirli  does  not  rxcfi-d  four  niilos.  Tlio 
wfalih  of  iho  emperor  was  omployod  for 
years  iii  nrcctini;  and  adorninir  tln'in. 

'I'lio  very  curious  cavern  rfprusi'iiied  in 
the  fngraving  was  roceiiily  and  accident- 
ally diicovored.  The  water  in  tlio  cavern 
ami  the  stalactites  on  its  roof  are  vepre- 
Hfiiii'd  as  boinj;  tinged  with  the  most  i-x- 
ipii'site  bliin.  Hence  its  Italian  nanio  of 
'•("avorna.or  Grotla  Azurra,"or  "  Caverna 
lila"— the  HIno  Cavern. 

A  low-pitched  and  narrow  aperture  in 
the  rocks  west  of  the  usual  landing-place 
at  (Japri,  and  ahuut  one  and  a  half  miles 
(iisiant  froiii  it,  leads  into  an  immense  cir- 
cular cavern,  recently  discovered — well 
worth  notice,  and  distinguished  by  the 
name  of  "  La  (Jrotta  Azurra."  Persons 
who  visit  this  sapphire  cell  are  obliged  to 
place  themselves  horizontally  in  the  little 
imrk  destined  to  convey  tliem  through  the 
above  low  and  narrow  aperture,  which  is 
so  small  as  to  excite  an  alarm  of  finding 
darkness  within  ;  but,  on  the  centrary,  if 
the  day  be  cloudless,  all  is  light — light 
that  would  dazzle,  were  it  not  blue.  The 
color  of  the  water  which  fills  the  cavern 
precisely  resembles  that  of  the  largo  bot- 
tles of  vitriol,  with  lamps  behind  them, 
seen  at  chymists'  windows  ;  and  this  wa- 
ter appears  to  act  like  the  lens  of  a  tele- 
scope, by  conducting  tlie  rays  of  the  sun 
and  the  retleclion  of  the  brilliant  skies  of 
Magna  Cira-iia  into  the  cavern.  After  the 
eye  has  been  for  a  fvw  nuiments  locus- 
tomod  to  a  Iinhf  1,0  iiiM^ical,  thi;  aiupen- 
dous  taulto  Ji  ...4  gig.witic  bath  are  dis- 
cerniijle,  richly  studded  with  stalactites, 
and  assuming,  in  consequence  of  a  strong 
reflection,  from  the  transparent  blue  water, 
exactly  the  same  lint.  The  cavern  con- 
tains broken  steps  leading  to  a  subterra- 
nean passage,  the  length  of  which  is  un- 
known, it  being  impossil)ie  to  reach  the 


end,  ow'u\g  to  an  impediment  foriinil  hv 
earth  and  .sioneH,  .Masonry  seemt  to  have 
been  iMn|)loyi'd  in  the  iMiisiriiitioii  of  tiiii 
steps  ami  piHsaye,  which  proliildv  roni- 
iimnicateil  either  with  one  of  'I'lberiii't's 
villas  or  that  of  Julia,  the  niece  of  .Vugiis- 
tus  ;  but  the  cavern,  although  it  may  have 
been  used  us  a  bathing-place,  is  evidently 
the  work  of  nature. 


DLSCIPMN'E  OF  THE  EYES. 

»» ISION  isoneoftliemosl 
important  ami  the  most 
r*  coriiprehensivo  of  the 
senses,  yet  it  is  one  that 
can  not  bo  exercised  in 
its  full  erticieruy  with- 
out considerable  practice 
and  self-tniiion.  'i'liis 
fact,  well  known  in  theory,  was  first  <hici- 
dated  by  experiment  in  tlie  case  of  the 
boy  who  was  cured  of  blindness  at  the  a!,'e 
of  fourteen.  A  case  of  equal  interest  oc- 
curred lately  in  Loudon,  a  report  of  which 
by  Dr.  Franz  is  given  in  the  Phihisophit  al 
Transactions.  The  leading  results  in  both 
cases  exactly  coincide. 

If  a  person  totally  blind  from  birth  were, 
at  a  mature  age,  a;id  in  possession  of  all 
his  other  faculties,  at  once  to  obtain  the 
full  use  of  his  eyes,  one  would  be  apt  to 
imagine  that  he  would  perceive  objects 
around  him  just  as  other  grown-up  per- 
sons usually  do.  This,  however,  is  by  no 
means  the  case.  There  is  none  of  the 
senses  so  deceptive,  taken  by  itself,  as  tliat 
of  vision.  No  just  idea  can  be  rorined  of 
any  obJ(!ct  by  the  eye  alone  ;  and  it  is  only 
j  by  the  aid  and  experuiice  of  ibe  other 
:  senses,  as  well  as  by  repeated  practice  in 
I  vision,  that  an  accurate  notion  of  oven  the 
!  simfilest  object  can  be  ol)taiiied.  To  tlie 
inexperienced  eye  all  objects  are  flat,  or 
seem  only  as  surfaces.  All  objects,  loo, 
however  near  or  distant,  appear  as  if  in 
one  plane  ;  so  that  form,  size,  distance, 
are  all  indistinguishable.  Ev  n  color  de- 
pends upon  proximity  to  the  »'ye,  for  the 
brightest  objects  at  a  reinotii  distance  ap- 
jiear  dim  and  almost  colorless. 


iii|i)'(liiiitMit  rorini'i)  liv 
Mii*i>rirv  Ni'ciMJi  li>  Inn  c 
iIm*  iMiistriii'tiiii)  of  iliH 
,  wliK'li  proliiililv  rotn- 
villi  oiiK  ol'  'I'llicrm-i'-* 
ill,  ilu'  iiipcfi  (if  Auyiis 
I,  altli<>ui{li  it  iiiiiy  li:ivi' 
ling-pluco,  iii  cviiloiiily 


OF  THE  EYES. 

^lON  is  ono  of  tliomosl 
nportiiiit  and  iho  most 
Diiiprolu'itsiv*)  of  the 
iMisi's,  y(>t  it  is  Olid  lh;it 
u)  not  ho  oxorcistMl  in 
s  full  efricicncy  witli- 
ut  coiisiiltTiiliIe  |)riiitic(' 
[)(l    seif-tiiitioii.       Tlii?* 

llii'ory,  wjis  (irxt  cliici- 
lit  in  llio  cu»o  of  tlio 
of  bliiuiiios^  at  llio  ii!i[(' 
10  of  tMjuiil  iiitrro»ti  o{!. 
idoii,  a  report  of  wliJcli 
on  in  tlu)  IMiiio.so|)liii':il 
)  leading  results  in  bulli 
•ide. 

y  blind  from  birti»  were, 
id  in  posMOSsiun  of  all 
at  oiico  to  ohtain  llie 
a,  one  would  !><;  apt  to 
fould  perceive  objects 
i  other  grown-up  |)it- 
riiis,  however,  is  by  no 
'J'here  is  none  ol'  the 
<,  taken  by  itself,  as  iliut 

idea  citn  be  liuiiied  of 
•e  alono  ;  and  it  is  only 
pericnce  of  ilie  other 
by  repeated  practice  in 
rale  niitioii  of  ovt-n  the 

he.  obtained.  'J'o  the 
all  objects  are  flat,  or 
ces.  All  objects,  too, 
istant,  appear  as  if  in 
t  form,  size,  distance, 
lable.  E\^n  color  dc- 
lity  to  the  eye,  for  the 

a  remote  distance  ap- 
it  colorless. 


DIlCiPLINB  or  THK  RYRS. 


bit 


l| 


•rii«  cimo  opernted  upon  by  iJt.  Franx 
was  that  of  a  young  gentlemen  of  »e' .  n- 
li-eii  years  of  a({e,  the  son  of  a  phVMtian. 
Ho  bad  bweii  blind  from  birth.  Min  riubi 
eye  w  i-  quite  insensible  lo  li  ;lit.  and  in 
ll'int  St  ite  called  (imdiimtte.  Hi*  left  eye 
r.iiitiiiii  !  anopuquclen.'),orcntar:ii  I  :  with 
it  he  eould  dl'itiMUui'di  a  strong  li^'tit,  ami 
even  vivid  eoh)rs,  bul  be  had  no  idt  lof  the 
forms  ol  objects.  It  W.1S  Oil  this  left  eye 
tliiit  tin  operiilion  was  performed,  and  for- 
tiiiiiiicl)  It  pi -veil  successful.  As  th« 
voiiiig  iiiaii  possessed  an  intelligent  mind, 
and  had  been  carefully  educated  as  far  ii  , 
hi^  coiidiiion  would  allow,  the  oppirtunily 
was  a  fivoraiih)  one  to  lost  the  accuracy 
of  former  cxperiinents. 

"  On  opining  the  eye,"  says  Dr.  Frnnz, 
"  for  the  I'nst  time  on  the  third  day  after 
the  operation,  I  asked  tiie  patient  what  ho 
could  sre.     He  answered  that  ho  saw  an 
cxiiiisive  field  of  I  i^hl,  in  which  overy- 
lliiiiy  appeared  dull,  lonfused,  and  in  mo- 
tion,     lie   could  no     ilistingiiish  objects, 
and  the  pain  proiliici  1  by  tho  light  forced 
linn  to  close  tho  eye  i,  amediately."     Two 
diivs  afterward  the  eye  'vas  again  exposed. 
"  lie   now   described    A'hat  he  saw   as  a 
iiuiiiber  of  op.'iquo  wai>    v  spheres,  which 
uuived  with  the  moveiii'iits  of  the  eye  ; 
but  when  tho  eye  was    it  rest,  remained 
stationary,  and  then  parii  lly  covered  each 
oilier.     Two  days  after  this  the  cyo  was 
af,'iiiii  opened  :  the  same  |iSenomeiia  were 
again  observed,  but  the  s|i  leros  were  less 
opacpie,  and  somewhat  tra   sparent — their 
iniivemeiits  more  steady,  an  1  they  appeared 
to  eovi:r  each  other  more  tli  in  before.     He 
was  now  for  the  lirst  time     apable,  as  ho 
said,  to  look  llirough  tho  s   !ieres,  and  to 
perceive  a  diirerence,  but  m  rely  a  difl'er- 
ence.  in  the  surrouniling  obj -cts.     When 
he  directed  his  eye  steadily  t  >ward  an  ob- 
ject, tlie  visual  impression  w.  ^  painful  and 
iin|)erfect,   and    the    iiitolerai    o    of   light 
obli>;ed  him  to  desist.     Tin     ippearance 
of  spheres  diminished  daily  ;     :ey  became 
smaller,  clearer,  and   more  pellucid,  and 
after  two  weeks  disappeared.    Dark  brown 
spots  {miiscce  vulUantcs)  floatcu  before  tho 
eye  every  time  it  was  opened  ;  and  when 
shut,  especially  toward  evening,  dark  blue, 
violet,  and  red  colors,  appearei    in  an  up- 
ward and  outward  direction." 

As  scon  as  the  stale  of  the  p;   lent  per- 


mitted, the  following  oxperimenu  on  hit 
sv  nse  of  vision  were  iii«ititiiied.  'i'hey 
were  performed  in  succession,  ;uid  on  dif- 
fereiil  days,  so  as  not  to  laiiniif  tin-  eye 
too  much.  In  the  first  expi  rimiiit,  silk 
ribands  of  diiroront  colors,  fastened  «»n  a 
black  (ground,  were  employi'd  to  show, 
tirst  the  primitive,  and  linn  ilie  emnple- 
nieiitary  colors  'I'lie  palii-nt  r'-connised 
the  dilfereiit  colors,  with  the  exciplion  of 
yellow  I! ml  green,  which  he  In  ipienlly 
ronfounded.  but  could  distinguish  when 
both  wen  xhihit.  d  at  the  ^  ime  time. 
(Jray  pleasei.'  him  best,  becaiur  iliis  i  dor, 
he  said,  prodi  ed  an  ai>reealile  ai<  1  urato- 
ful  seri^alion.  ''ho  effect  of  red.  orange, 
and  ye  "w,  wa  painful,  but  ii"'  disngroo* 
able  ;  tl  if  viokt  and  brown  ,.it  painful, 
but  very  sagreerible  ;  tho  hi  n-r  he  called 
ijly.  rt  k  proiiiieod  sii'ijectioned  col- 
ors, and  w  111  OCT  sioned  tlie  nicnrrence 
of  mHsrai  vui'lunten  i  u  vehement  degree. 
In  the  sece  1(1  experiment,  tho  patient 
■  '    '  '.  to  tho  light,  and  kept 

A    sheet    of  paper,   on 
;   111  ick  lines  hiid   been 
,iori/ontal,  the  other  vcr- 
•d  before  him  at  the  dis- 
hreo  feet.      He  was  now 
■  e  eye,  and,  after  atten- 
lie  called  the  lines  by 
lalions.      When  he  was 
villi  his  linger  the  hori- 
1     fc!  his  hand  slowly,  as 
it  leeling,  and  pointed  to  tho  vertical  line  : 
but  after  a  short      le,  observiri>r  liis  error, 
ho  corrected  him>i  li     the  outline  in  black, 
of  a  square  six  inchi     in  diameter,  within 
which  a  circle  had  be      drawn,  and  within 
the  latter  a  triangle,  \v^s,  after  careful  ex- 
amination, recognised   and   correctly  de- 
scribed by  him.     When  ho  was  asked  lo 
point  out  either  of  the   figures,  he   never 
moved    his  hand  directly  and  decidedly, 
but  always  as  if  feeling,  and   with  the 
greatest  caution  :    he  pointed  them   out, 
however,  correctly.     A  line  consisting  of 
angles,  or  a  zigzag  and  a  spiral  line,  both 
drawn  on  a  sheet  of  paper,  he  observed  to 
be  different,  but  could  not  describe  them 
otherwise  than  by  imitating  their  forms 
with  his   finger  in  the  air.     He  said  he 
had  no  idea  of  these  figures. 

In  a  third  experiment,  light  being  ad- 
mitted into  the  room  at  one  window  only, 


sat  with  hi 
his    eye    d 
which  two 
drawn — ih 
lical — was  pl.i 
taiice  of  abotii 
allowed  to  opi' 
tive  examinai. 
tlnir  right deii. 
asio'd  to  point 
Xdiiial  line,  he  i 


1ft 


m 


i 


678 


DISCIPLINE  OF  THE  EYES. 


to  wliich  the  patient's  back  was  turned,  a 
solid  cube  and  a  sphere,  eacli  four  inches 
in  diameter,  were  placed  before  and  on  a 
level  with  the  eye  at  the  distance  of  three 
feet.  Allowing  him  to  move  the  head  in 
a  lateral  direction  no  more  than  v/as  ne- 
cessary to  compensate  the  point  of  view 
of  the  right  eye,  which  was  visionlcss,  he 
was  now  desired  to  open  his  eye,  and  say 
what  the  objects  were.  After  attentively 
examining  llieni,  he  said  he  saw  a  quad- 
rangular and  a  circular  figure,  and  after 
some  consideration  he  pronounced  the 
one  a  square  and  the  other  a  disk.  His 
eye  being  again  closed,  the  cube  was  ta- 
ken away,  and  a  flat  disk  of  equal  size 
placed  next  to  the  sphere.  On  opening 
his  eye,  he  observed  no  diflerenco  in  these 
objects,  but  regarded  them  both  as  disks. 
The  solid  cube  was  now  placed  in  a  some- 
what obii([uu  position  before  his  eye,  and 
close  beside  it  a  figure  cut  out  of  paste- 
board, representing  a  plain  outline  pros- 
pect of  the  cube  when  in  this  position  : 
both  oi)jects  he  took  to  be  something  like 
flat  quadrates.  A  pyramid  placed  before 
him  with  one  of  its  sides  toward  his  eye, 
he  saw  as  a  plain  triangle.  This  object 
was  now  turned  a  little,  so  as  to  present 
two  of  its  sides  to  view,  but  rather  more 
of  one  side  than  of  another.  After  con- 
sidering it  for  a  long  time,  he  said  that 
this  was  a  very  extraordinary  figure  :  it 
was  neither  a  triangle,  nor  a  quadrangle, 
nor  a  circle.  He  had  no  idea  of  it,  and 
could  not  describe  it.  When  subsequent- 
ly the  three  solid  bodies,  the  sphere,  the 
cube,  and  the  triangle,  were  placed  in  his 
hands,  he  was  much  surprised  that  he  had 
not  recognised  them  as  sucli  by  sight,  as 
he  was  well  acquainted  with  these  solid 
mathematical  figures  by  touch. 

There  was  another  peculiarity  in  his 
impressions  :  when  he  first  began  to  look 
at  objects,  they  all  appeared  to  him  so  near, 
that  he  was  sometimes  afraid  of  coming  in 
contact  with  them,  though  many  were  in 
reality  at  a  great  distance.  He  saw  ev- 
erything much  larger  than  he  had  sup- 
posed, from  the  idea  obtained  by  his  sense 
of  touch.  All  moving,  and  especially  liv- 
ing objects,  such  as  men  and  horses,  ap- 
peared to  him  very  large.  If  he  wished 
to  form  an  estimate  of  the  distance  of  ob- 
jects from  his  own  person,  or  of  two  ob- 


jects from  each  other,  without  moving  from 
his  place,  he  examined  the  objects  from 
different  points  of  view,  by  turning  his 
head  to  the  right  and  to  tlie  left.  Of  per- 
spective in  pictures,  he  had,  of  course,  no 
idea.  He  could  distinguish  the  individu- 
al objects  in  a  painting,  but  could  not  un- 
derstand the  meaning  of  the  whole  picture. 
It  appeared  to  him  unnafural,  for  instance, 
that  the  figure  of  a  man  represented  in  the 
front  of  the  picture  should  be  larger  than 
a  house  or  a  mountain  in  the  back;|round. 
Every  surface  appeared  to  him  perfectly 
flat.  Thus,  though  he  knew  very  well  by 
his  touch  that  the  nose  was  prominent, 
and  the  eyes  sunk  deeper  in  the  head,  he 
saw  the  human  face  only  as  a  plane. 
Though  he  possessed  an  excellent  memo- 
ry, this  faculty  was  at  first  quite  deficient 
as  regarded  vision  :  he  was  not  able,  for 
example,  to  recognise  visiters  unless  he 
heard  them  speak,  till  he  had  seen  them 
very  frequently.  Even  when  he  had  seen 
an  object  repeatedly,  he  could  form  no 
idea  of  its  visible  qualities  in  his  in)agina- 
tion,  without  having  the  real  objec's  before 
him.  Formerly,  wlien  he  had  dreamt  of 
persons — of  his  pnrcnts,  for  instance — he 
felt  them,  and  heard  their  voices,  but  nev- 
er saw  them  ;  but  now,  after  having  seen 
tham  frequently,  he  saw  them  also  in  his 
dreams. 

The  human  face  pleased  him  more  than 
any  other  object  presented  to  his  view. 
The  eyes  he  thought  most  beautiful,  espe- 
cially when  in  motion  ;  the  nose  disagree- 
able, on  account  of  its  form  and  great 
prominence  ;  the  movement  of  the  lower 
jaw  in  eating  he  considered  very  ugly. 
Although  the  newly-acquired  sense  aflbrd- 
ed  him  many  pleasures,  the  great  number 
of  strange  and  extraordinary  sights  was 
often  disagreeable  and  wearisome  to  him. 
He  said  that  he  saw  too  much  novelty, 
which  he  could  not  comprehend  ;  and  oven 
though  he  could  see  botli  near  and  remote 
objects  very  well,  he  would  nevertheless 
continually  have  recourse  to  the  use  of 
the  sense  of  touch. 

Such  are  the  nature  of  our  impressions 
in  early  infancy,  before  vision  becomes 
to  us  a  true  exposition  of  the  forms  and 
relative  positions  of  objects.  And  such 
is  the  effect  of  habit  and  association,  that 
the  actual  deceptions  which  the  sense  of 


ler,  without  moving  from 
mined  tho  objects  from 
f  view,  by  turnin<j  his 
md  to  tlie  left.  Of  per- 
is, he  had,  of  course,  no 
listinguish  the  individu- 
nting,  but  could  n»t  un- 
iigof  the  whole  picture. 
1  unnatural,  for  instance, 
.  nuin  represented  in  the 
•e  should  be  larger  than 
itain  in  the  background, 
leared  to  him  perfectly 
li  he  knew  very  well  by 
)  nose  was  prominent, 
deeper  in  the  head,  he 
face  only  as  a  piano, 
sed  an  excellent  memo- 
s  at  first  quite  deficient 
I :  he  was  not  able,  for 
nise  visiters  unless  he 
,  till  he  had  seen  them 
FaVCu  when  he  had  seen 
lly,  he  could  form  no 
ualities  in  his  imagina- 
g  the  real  objec's  before 
vhen  ho  had  dreamt  of 
rents,  for  instance — ho 
rd  their  voices,  but  nev- 
now,  after  having  seen 
e  saw  them  also  in  his 

pleased  him  more  than 
iresented  to  his  view, 
lit  most  beautiful,  espe- 
ion  ;  tho  nose  disagree- 
of  its  form  and  great 
uovement  of  the  lower 
considered  very  ugly, 
.^-acquired  sense  aflbrd- 
ures,  the  great  number 
traordiriary  siglits  was 
and  wearisome  to  him, 
saw  too  much  novelty, 
comprehend  ;  and  even 
e  both  near  and  remote 
lie  would  nevertheless 
e  course  to  the  use  of 

:ure  of  our  impressions 
lefore  vision  becomes 
ition  of  the  forms  and 
of  objects.  And  such 
lit  and  association,  that 
ns  which  the  sense  of 


now  TO  GET  HICH.-IN8ANITV. 


579 


sight,  when  taken  alone,  is  continually 
presenting  to  us,  can  only  be  appreciated 
or  detected  by  the  philosophic  inquirer. 


HOW  TO  GET  RICH. 


LMOST  every 
merchant  has  at 
some  point  of  his 
life  been  rich,  or 
at  least  prosper- 
ous ;  and  if  he  is 
poor  now,  he  can 
see  very  well  how 
he  might  almost 
certainly  have  avoided  the  disasters  which 
overthrew  his  hopes.  He  will  probably 
see  that  his  misfortunes  arose  from  neg- 
lecting some  of  the  following  rules  : — 

Be  industrious.  Everybody  knows  that 
industry  is  a  fundamental  virtue  in  the 
man  of  business.  But  it  is  not  every  sort 
of  industry  which  fends  to  wealth.  Many 
men  work  hard  to  do  a  great  deal  of  busi- 
ness, and  after  all  make  less  money  than 
they  would  if  they  did  less.  Industry 
should  be  expended  in  seeing  to  all  the 
details  of  business  :  in  carefully  finishing 
up  each  separate  undertaking,  and  in  the 
inaintenaiK-e  of  such  a  system  as  will  keep 
everything  under  control. 

Be  economical.  This  rule  also  is  fa- 
miliar to  every  one.  Economy  is  a  virtue 
lo  ne  practised  every  hour  in  a  great  city. 
It  is  to  be  i)ractised  in  pence  as  much  as 
in  dollars.  A  shilling  a  day  saved,  amounts 
to  ai»  estate  in  tiie  course  of  a  life.  Econ- 
omy is  especially  important  in  the  outset 
of  lifi',  until  the  foundations  of  an  estate 
are  laid.  Many  men  are  poor  all  their 
days,  because  wlien  their  necessary  ex- 
penses were  light,  they  did  not  seize  the 
opportunity  to  save  a  small  capital,  which 
would  have  changed  their  fortunes  for  the 
whole  of  their  lives. 

Stick  to  your  own  business.  Let  spec- 
ulators make  their  thousands  in  a  year  or 
a  day — mind  your  own  regular  trade,  nev- 
er turning  from  it  to  the  right  hand  or  to 
the  left.  If  you  are  a  merchant,  a  profes- 
sional man,  or  a  mechanic,  never  buy  lots 


or  stocks  unless  you  have  surplus  money 
which  you  wish  to  invest.  Your  own 
business  you  understand  as  well  as  other 
men  ;  but  other  people's  business  you  do 
not  understand.  Let  your  business  be 
some  one  which  is  useful  to  the  commu- 
nity. All  such  occupations  possess  the 
elements  of  profit  in  themselves,  while 
mere  speculation  has  no  such  element. 

Never  take  great  hazards.  Such  haz- 
ards are  seldom  well  balanced  by  the  pros- 
pects of  profit ;  and  if  they  were,  the  habit 
of  mind  which  is  induced  is  imfavorable, 
and  generally  the  result  is  bad.  To  keep 
what  you  have,  should  be  the  first  rule ; 
to  get  what  you  can  fairly,  the  second. 

Don't  be  in  a  hurry  to  get  rich.  Grad- 
ual gains  are  the  only  natural  gains,  and 
they  who  are  in  haste  to  be  rich,  break 
over  sc<:;id  rules,  fall  into  temptation  and 
dislreP;-  'H  various  sorts,  and  generally 
fail  oi'  th(".(  objects.  There  is  no  use  in 
getting  rich  suddenly.  The  man  who 
keeps  his  business  under  control,  and 
saves  something  from  year  to  year,  is  al- 
ways rich.  At  any  rate,  he  possesses  the 
highest  enjoyment  which  riches  are  able 
to  afford. 

Never  do  business  for  the  sake  of  doing 
it  and  being  accounted  a  great  mercliant. 
There  is  often  more  money  to  be  made  by 
a  small  business  than  a  large  one  ;  and 
that  business  will  in  the  end  be  most  re- 
spectable which  is  most  successful.  Do 
not  get  deeply  in  debt ;  but  so  manage  as 
always,  if  possible,  to  have  your  financial 
position  easy, so  that  you  can  turn  any  way 
you  please. 

Do  not  love  money  extravagantly.  We 
speak  here  merely  with  reference  to  being 
rich.  In  morals,  the  inurdinate  love  of 
money  is  one  of  the  most  degrading  vices. 
But  the  extravagant  desire  of  accumula- 
tion induces  an  eagerness,  many  times, 
which  is  imprudent,  and  so  misses  its  ob- 
ject from  too  much  haste  to  grasp  'it. 


Insanity. — In  Italy  there  is  one  insane 
man  to  4,879  ;  in  France,  one  to  1,000  ; 
Wales,  one  to  800  ;  England,  one  to  862  ; 
Scotland,  one  to  574  ;  Russia,  one  to  666  ; 
United  States,  one  to  500.  Among  the 
Chinese,  insanity  is  almost  unknown. 


i 


;i, 


11 


it' « 


THK  SHAni)0(:KTllEi:.-l'lI()SPn()llLS. 


5  SI 


THE  SHADDllClv-TilKK. 


11 F,  sliiiddocli  (C(/rM.? 
KileciimiiiKi)   is  OIK!  of 
(he    four   tlisiinct   or 
leading    specit.'S   into 
which'   till)     oninge- 
tril)e  of  pifidisis  divi- 
ded.    Tho  shaddock 
is  larger  thi;ii  the  or- 
ange, l)oth  in  ihe  tree 
The   tree  has  spreading, 
prickly  brunches :    the    leaves   are    egg- 
sliiipeil  and  rather  acute,  and  the  leaf-stalks 
are  furnished  with  remarkably  large  heart- 
slia|)ed  wings  :  the  flowers  are  white,  with 
rellexed  petals,  and  very  sweet-scented. 
The  fruit,  which  is  from  two  and  a  half  to 
eight  inches  in  diameter,  is  spheroidal,  of 
a  greenish  yellow  color,  and  has  twelve 
or  more  cells,  containing,  according  to  the 
variety,  either  a  red  or  whi'e  pulp.     The 
juice  is  sweet  in  some  varieties,  and  acid 
in  others  ;  it  is  rather  insipid,  but  is  ex- 
cellent for  quenching  thirst.     The  rind, 
which  is  of  a  disagreeable  bitter  flavor,  is 
very  thick,  in  consequence  of  which  the 
fruit  can  be  much  longer  preserved  during 
sea-voyages  than  that  of  any  other  species 
of  citrus. 

The  shaddock  is  a  native  of  China  and 
the  neighboring  countries,  where  the  name 
of "  sweet-ball"  is  given  to  it.    Its  common 
name  is  derived  from  Captain  Shaddock, 
who  brought  it  from  China  to  the  West 
Indi'js.     It  has,  however,  been  neglected 
there,  and  is  now  but  seldom  entitled  to  its 
oriental  name  of  sweet-ball.     Instead  of 
propagating  the  shaddock  by  budding,  as 
is  done  in  China,  and  which  is  the  only 
way  it  can  be  improved,  or  even  kept  from 
degenerating,  they  have  reared  it  from 
seed,  and  have  in  consequence  only  ob- 
tained a  harsh  and  sour  sort  of  little  value. 
Tlie  shaddock  came  to  England  from  the 
West  Indies,  and  was  cultivated  by  Miller 
in  1739.     In  the  West  it  is  certainly  the 
least  valuable  of  the  genus  to  which  it  be- 
longs ;  and  for  the  attention  which  it  has 
received  it  is  chiefly  indebted  to  the  show- 
iness  both  of  the  tree  and  the  fruit.     In  Us 
native  country  the  fruit  attains  a  much 
greater  size  than  in  the  West.     Thunberg 
says  that  it  is  commonly  of  the  size  of  a 
child's  head  in  Japan  ;  Dr.  Sickler  de- 


scribes  it  as  weiuhing  fourieen  pounds, 
and  as  having  a  diumeicr  of  riiim  seven  to 
eight  inches.  Their  acecuiils  are  con- 
firmed by  Uishop  Ileber,  who  thus  de- 
scribes the  shaddock  of  India:  "The 
shaddock  resembles  a  melon  externally, 
but  it  is  in  fact  a  vast  orauye,  with  a  rind 
of  two  inches  tliick,  the  pulp  much  less 
juicy  than  a  common  oraiigi;,  and  with 
rather  a  bitter  flavor— certainly  a  fruit 
which  would  be  little  valued  in  England, 
but  which  in  this  burning  weather  I  thought 
rather  pleasant  and  refreshing."  The  shad- 
dock is.  sometimes  sold  under  the  name  of 
"  forbidden  fruit." 


PHOSPHORUS. 

HOSPIIORUS,  an  el- 
ementary  non-metallic 
substance,  was  acci- 
dentally discovered  by 
Brandt,  an  alchymist 
of  Hamburgh,  while  he 
was  attempting  to  dis- 
cover, in  human  urine, 
a  substance  capable  of 
converting  silver  into  gold  ;  it  was  alter- 
vard  discovered  by  Kimkel,  who  knew 
that  Brandt  had  prepared  it  from  urine, 
but  he  knew  not  Brandt's  method  of  prep- 
aration ;  afterward  it  was  discovered  by 
Boyle,  an  English  chymist. 

Under  the  name  of  English  phosphorus, 
it  was,  for  some  years,  supplied  to  all  Eu- 
rope, by  Godfrey  Hawkitz,  the  assistant 

of  Boyle. 

Phosphorus  was  prepared  from  urine, 
by  the  action  of  acetate  or  nitrate  of  lead, 
which  is  decomposed,  and  a  phosphate  of 
lead  precipitated  :  this  being  well  washed, 
dried,  and  distilled  in  a  stone-ware  retort, 
yields  phosphorus.  In  the  year  1796, 
Gahn  discovered  that  it  was  contained  in 
bones,  in  union  with  lime  ;  Scheele  soon 
after  contrived  the  following  process  by 
which  it  is  now  obtained  from  this  source. 

The  bones  are  calcined  (to  destroy  the 
animal  matter)  till  they  become  white,  in 
which  state  they  contain  phosphate  of 
lime,  with  a  little  carbonate  of  lime  ;  this 
substance  is  then  decomposed  by  about 


0' 


582 


PHOSPHORUS. 


two  thirds  of  its  weight  of  sulphuric  acid  ; 
to  this  is  addeJ  water,  and  the  insoluble 
8ulj)hate  of  lime  precipitates,  and  is  sepa- 
rated by  filtration  from  the  superphosphate 
of  lime  in  solution :  this  liquid  is  then 
evaporated  to  the  consistency  of  sirup, 
when  it  is  intimately  mixed  with  powdered 
charcoal,  to  form  a  thick  paste  ;  it  is  then 
well  rubbed  in  a  mortar,  and  having  been 
dried  in  an  iron  vessel,  it  is  introduced  into 
an  earthenware  retort,  the  beak  of  which 
is  immersed  in  water ;  the  heat  is  gradu- 
ally raised  till  the  retort  be  heated  to  white- 
ness. During  this  process,  gaseous  bub- 
bles issue  from  the  beak  of  the  retort,  some 
of  which  rise  to  the  surface  of  the  water 
and  take  fire  ;  at  last  a  substance,  having 
till!  appearance  of  melted  wax,  drops  from 
the  beak  of  the  retort,  and  conpeah  i.n  the 
water  :  this  is  phosphorus,  the  formation  of 
whicii  depends  on  the  union  of  carbon 
with  oxygen  at  a  high  temperature  ;  these 
two  gases  unite,  and  form  carbonic  oxyde, 
consequently  the  phosphorus  is  all  along 
accompanied  with  that  gas. 

Wiihler  has  recommended  the  use  of 
ivory  black,  which  is  a  mixture  of  phos- 
phate of  lime  and  charcoal  (carbon).  His 
method  was  to  calcine  the  ivory  black  with 
fine  quartzy  sand  and  a  little  ordinary  char- 
coal, at  a  high  temperature  ;  to  the  cylin- 
der containing  the  materials,  a  bent  tube 
of  copper  was  fixed,  one  end  of  which  de- 
scended into  a  vessel  of  water. 

At  the  ordinary  temperature,  phospho- 
rus is  a  soft  substance,  of  a  light  amber 
color,  and  perhaps  white,  if  absolutely 
pure  ;  when  cut  with  a  knife,  it  appears 
like  wax  :  by  the  action  of  light  it  assumos 
a  red  tint.  It  undergoes  oxydation  in  the 
open  air,  and  white  vapors  of  an  unpleas- 
ant and  suffocating  odor  arise  from  it.  In 
the  dark,  they  are  luminous,  and  attended 
with  a  sensible  degree  of  heat ;  during 
their  exhalation,  the  phosphorus  is  cov- 
ered with  small  drops  of  phosphorous  acid, 
produced  by  attracting  oxygen  from  the  at- 
mosphere ;  it  may,  in  consequence  of  its 
low  degree  of  combustion,  undergo  spon- 
taneous fusion  ;  it  is  necessary  to  be  cau- 
tious in  handling  phosphorus,  as  a  burn 
from  it  is  exceedingly  severe.  Although 
phosphorus  is  sO  readily  oxydised  in  the 
atmosphere,  it  may  be  kept  from  combus- 
tion even  at  a  temperature  of  200°  (Gra- 


ham), by  the  presence  of  certain  gases, 
such  as  defiant  gas,  vapors  of  naphtha,  oi 
sulphuric  ether,  and  oil  of  turpentine.  In 
pure  oxygen  gas  it  may  be  kept  without 
undergoing  oxydation. 

Phosphorus  alTords  some  of  the  most 
brilliant  experiments  : — 

Experiment  1.  Rub  together  in  a  mor- 
tar ten  grains  of  chlorate  of  potash,  auii 
one  grain  of  phosphorus  :  violent  delona 
tions  will  result. 

2.  Put  together,  in  a  glass,  a  little  rhio 
rate  of  potash  and  phosphorus  ;  pour  gen 
tly  on  them,  so  as  not  to  displace  the  ma 
terials,  a  little  water  ;  and,  by  means  of  a 
drop-tube,  let  fall  immediately  on  them  > 
little  strong  sulphuric  acid  :  combustioi 
under  water  will  result. 

3.  To  the  ingredients  of  the  last  experi 
ment  add  a  small  piece  of  zink,  then  jioui 
on  the  sulphuric  acid. 

4.  To  the  same  materials  add  a  smah 
piece  of  phosphoret  of  lime  :  and  combi- 
nation, both  on  the  surface  and  in  the  wa- 
ter, will  result. 

5.  Take  the  quantity  of  chlorate  of  pot- 
ash and  phosphorus  named  in  experiment 
1  ;  mix  them  intimately  and  carefully  to- 
gether on  a  piece  of  paper  by  means  of  a 
knife  ;  throw  the  mixture  into  a  little  strong 
sulphuric  acid  :  the  contact  of  these  cold 
substances  will  produce  detonation  and 
fiame. 

6.  Into  a  retort  put  a  little  water  and 
potash  ;  boil  the  mixture,  and  drop  in  a 
piece  of  phosphorus  ;  plunge  the  mouth  of 
the  retort  under  water  :  phosjJioirticd  hy- 
drogen gas  will  rise  to  the  surface  of  tlie 
water,  and  immediately  take  fire. 

Phosphorus  is  soluble  in  oil  and  ether  ; 
the  solution  in  oil  may  with  impunity  be 
rubbed  on  any  part  of  the  body.  II'  the 
solution  in  ether,  in  small  portions,  be 
poured  on  hot  water,  a  beautiful  ligiu  will 
result.  This  experiment  should  be  per- 
formed in  a  dark  room. 

Phosphorus  unites  with  the  alkalies  and 
earths  ;  perhaps  it  is  most  readily  united 
with  lime. 

In  a  glass  tube,  sealed  at  one  end,  put 
some  pieces  of  phosphorus,  and  over  these 
some  recently-made  quicklime  in  small 
pieces ;  put  a  piece  of  paper  loosely  into 
the  mouth  of  the  tube  ;  put  a  coating  of 
clay  over  that  part  of  the  tube  which  con- 


ICO  of  certain  gases, 
vapors  of  naphtha,  ol' 
oil  of  turpentino.  In 
may  be  kept  without 
n. 

Is  some  of  the  mosi 
I : — 

lib  tofrether  in  a  mor- 
lorato  of  potash,  and 
orus  :  violent  dutona 

I  a  glass,  a  little  chio 
lospiiurus  ;  pour  gen 
)t  to  displace  the  ina 
;  and,  by  means  of  ^ 
imediately  on  them  > 
ic  acid  :  conibustioi 
ult. 

nits  of  the  last  experi 
;ce  of  zink,  then  jioui 

laterials  add  a  smab 
of  lime  :  and  combi- 
Lirface  and  in  the  wa- 

ity  of  chlorate  of  pot- 
named  in  experiment 
tely  and  carefully  to- 
paper  by  means  of  a 
ture  into  a  little  strong 
contact  of  these  cold 
duce  detonation  and 

ut  a  little  water  and 
ixture,  and  drop  in  a 
;  plunge  the  mouth  of 
sr  :  phos/:horrlfi'(l  hy- 
to  the  surface  of  the 
ely  take  fire, 
ible  in  oil  and  ether  ; 
lay  with  impunity  be 
jf  the  body.  If  the 
1    small   portions,  be 

a  beautiful  light  will 
ment  should  be  per- 
m. 

with  the  alkalies  and 
I  most  readily  united 

ialed  at  one  end,  put 
ihorus,  and  over  these 
quicklime  in  small 
of  paper  loosely  into 
)e ;  put  a  coating  of 
f  the  tube  which  con- 


I 


QIBIIALTAR. 


583 


tains  the  lime,  and  expose  it  to  heat  in  a 
cliafllng-dishof  charcoal ;  then  apply  heat 
to  the  phosphorus,  and  the  vapors  will 
unite  with  the  heated  lime,  and  form  phos- 
plioret  of  lime.  If  carbonate  of  lime  be 
used  instead  of  quicklime,  the  carbonic 
acid  will  be  decomposed  by  the  phospho- 
rus, which  will  unite  with  the  oxygen  and 
form  pliosphoric  acid  ,  this  unites  with  the 
lime,  and  forms  phosphate  of  lime.  The 
carbon  is  deposited  as  charcoal. 
Th(!  following  brilliant  experiment  is  by 

Davy  : — 

liito  an  ale-glass  put  one  part  of  phos- 
nhoret  of  lime,  in  pieces  about  the  size  of 
a  pea  (not  in  powder),  and  add  to  it  a  half 
part  of  hvpcr-oxvgenized  (from  vncf,,  over) 
muriate  of  potash.  Fill  the  glass  with 
water,  and  put  into  it  a  funnel,  with  a  long 
pipe,  or  narrow  glass  tube,  reaching  the 
bottom.  Through  this  pour  three  or  four 
parts  of  strong  sulphuric  acid,  which  will 
decompose  the  hyper-oxygenized  salt,  and 
the  phosphoret  also  decomposing  the  wa- 
ter at  the  same  time,  flashes  of  fire  dart 
from  the  surface  of  the  fluid,  and  the  bot- 
tom of  the  vessel  is  illuminated  by  a  beau- 
tiful green  light. 

Phosphorus  unites  with  oxygen  m  four 
proportions  :  namely,  oxide  of  phosphorus 
(2  P  +  O),  two  equivalents  of  phosphorus 
and  one  of  oxygen  ;  hypophosphorous  acid 
not  insoluble  (P  -f  0),  one  equivalent  ol 
phosphorus  and  one  of  oxygen  ;  phospho- 
rous acid  (P  +  30),one  equivalent  of  phos- 
phorus and  three  of  oxygen  ;  and  phospho- 
ric acid  (P  +  50),  one  equivalent  of  phos- 
phorus and  five  of  oxygen.  The  last  is  a 
I  powerful  acid.  . 

The  oxide  of  phosphorus  is  obtained 
by  burnin>;  phosphorus  in  the  air  or  in 
oxygen  gas  (when  it  aflbrds  a  brilliant 
light).  . 

It  is  a  yellow  powder,  not  soluble  in 

water  or  alcohol. 

Phosphorous  acid  may  be  obtained  by 
exposing  to  the  atmosphere  a  stick  of  phos- 
phorus in  a  bent  tube,  one  end  of  which 
terminates  in  an  empty  glass  bottle  ;  after 
a  time,  the  phosphorus  will  have  disap- 
peared, and  a  liquid  will  be  found  in  the 
bottle  :  this  is  phosphorous  acid.  If  sev- 
eral  sticks  of  phosphorus  be  exposed  to 
the  atmosphere  at  the  same  time,  they 
must  be  kept  separate  by  putting  each  into 


a  small  glass  tube,  rather  larger  than  the 
stick  of  phosphorus. 

Pure  phosphoric  acid  may  be  obtained 
by  adding  gradually  to  nitric  acid  heated 
on  a  matrass,  a  few  pieces  of  phosphorus  ; 
the  nitric  acid  is  decomposed,  and  the 
phosphorus  unites  with  it  and  forms  plws- 
phone  acid. 

If  any  nitric  acid  remain  undccomposed, 
it  maybe  separated  by  distillation  in  a  re- 
tort, when  a  dry  mass  of  phosphoric  acid 
will  remain  ;  if  pure,  it  will  readily  dis- 
solve in  water. 

Phosphorous  acid  unites  with  the  alka- 
lies and  earths,  and  forms  the  class  called 
phosphites. 

Phosphoric  acid  unites  with  the  alkalies 
and  earths,  and  forms  the  class  called  plio.^- 
phates.  The  most  important,  and  the  only 
one  used  in  medicine,  is  phosphate  of  soda. 
Phosphorus  is  exceedingly  poisonous, 
even  when  taken  in  small  quantities,  as  in 
the  stomach  it  undergoes  combustion.  In 
the  treatment  of  a  case,  the  stomach  is  usu- 
ally filled  with  liquid,  having  magnesia  in 
solution,  which  neutralizes  the  phosphoric 
acid  formed,  and  vomiting  results. 


GIBRALTAH. 

ESIDES  its  admirti 
ble  advantages  as  a 
place  of  strength,  this 
promontory  may  be 
said, owing  to  the  nar- 
rowness of  the  strait 
uponwhichitjtitsout, 
to  command,  not  only 
the  corner  of  Andalu- 
sia immediately  under  it,  but  the  whole  of 
the  western  coast  of  Spain,  comprising 
nearly  two  thirds  of  the  whole  maritime 
circumference  of  that  country.  It  eflcctu- 
ally  cuts  off  all  communication  by  sea  be- 
tween that  part  of  Spain  which  is  bound- 
ed by  the  Mediterranean  and  those  parts 
which  are  bounded  by  the  Atlantic. 

It  appears,  however,  to  have  been  late 
before  the  importance  of  this  rock  was  dis- 
covered.    The  ancients  had  a  fable  that 
I  Europe  and  Africa  were  originally  joined 


•»* 


m 


HWBiWii 


II 

l1 


II 


!'  n. 


EM- 
mm 


m 


^'^JtSS^iSSSBhaigfT-i^fe^^-, 


'U      Mr, 


III 
"llil 


ii 
liNllllllililll 

,  ,, IIMMi. 


if 


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mi 


'         I        P     'III     I 


!  |i' 


'■I 

I  l!HH''i!'i' 


lllllillllllllil!''!! 
ii 


A 


GIBRALTAR. 


585 


iit  this  point,  nntl  that  the  two  continents 
wort!  rivon  asunder  by  Hercules,  and  a 
[)iis-;ai,'e  ihcrehy  opened  between  the  At- 
l;inti<-  and  the  Mt-diterranean.  Gibraltar, 
under  tlie  name  of  Calpe,  and  Mount  Al)y- 
iii  opposite  10  it  on  the  African  coast,  were 
called  ilio  Pillars  of  Hercules,  and  appear 
to  havi!  hecn  in  very  early  ages  regarded 
bv  llie  jjeopie  dwelling  to  the  east  of  them, 
inchidiii!,'  liie  Carthaginians,  the  Greeks, 
and  till'  Uonians,  as  the  western  boundary 
of  the  world.  It  was  probably  long  before 
na'\ig;iiioti  penetrated  beyond  this  limit. 
Even  in  after-times,  however,  when  Spain 
became  well  known  to  the  Romans  and  a 
province  of  their  empire,  wo  do  not  read 
of  any  fori  being  erected  on  the  rock  of 
Calpe.  It  is  doubtful  if  it  was  even  the 
site  of  a  town.  No  Koman  antiquities 
have  ever  been  found  on  the  spot  or  in  the 
neighborhood. 

The  place  appears  to  have  been  fust 
seized  upon  and  converted  into  a  military 
station  by  the  Moors  when  they  invaded 
Spain  in  the  beginning  of  the  eighth  cen- 
tury.    From  their  leader,  Tarif,  it  was  in 
consequence    called   Gibel-Tarif,  or    the 
Mountain  of  Tarif,  of  which  Arabic  name 
Gibraltar  is  a  corruption.     Soon  after  es- 
tablisiiing   tlieinselves   here,    the    Moors 
erected  a  lofiy  and  extensive  castle   on 
the  northwest  side  of  the  mountain,  the 
ruins  of  which  still  remain.      Gibraltar 
continued  in  the  possession  of  the  Moors 
for  between  seven  and   eight  centuries, 
with  the  exception  of  about  thirty  years, 
during  which  it  was  held  by  the  Christians, 
having  been  taken  soon   after  the  com- 
mencement of  the  fourteenth  century  by 
Ferdinand,  king  of  Castile.     It  was  re- 
covered, however,  in  1333,  by  Abomelek, 
the  son  of  the  emperor  of  Fez,  and  the 
Moors  were  not  finally  dispossessed  of  it 
till  the  middle  of  the  following  century. 
After  that  it  remained  a  part  of  the  king- 
dom of  Spain  down  nearly  to  our  own 
times. 

The  j.romontory  of  Gibraltar  forms  the 
southwestern  extremity  of  the  province  of 
Andidusia,  running  out  into  the  sea  in 
jieariy  a  due  south  direction  for  about 
three  miles.  The  greater  part  ol  this 
tongue  consists  of  a  very  lofty  rock.  It 
rises  abruptly  Irotn  the  land  to  the  height 
of  fully  thirteen  hundred  feet,  presenting 


a  face  almost  perfectly  perpemlicular,  and 
being  consequently  from  that,  its  northiTii 
extremity,  completely  inacccssiblt!.     The 
west  side,  however,  and  the  southern  ex- 
tremity, consist  each  of  a  series  of  pnui- 
pices  or  declivities  which  admit  of  being 
ascended      The  town,  now  conliiiniii<,'  a 
population  of  above   seventeen   thous;ni(l 
persons,  is  built  on  the  west  side.    Along 
the  summit  of  the  mountain,  from  norili  to 
south,  runs  a  bristling  ridge  of  nicks,  fonn- 
ina;  a  ragTed  and  undulating  line  a^ainsi 
the   sky  when  viewed   from  the  east   or 
west.     The  whole  of  the  western  breast 
of  the  promontory  is  nearly  covered  witli 
fortifications.     Anciently,  it  is  s:iid,  it  used 
to  be  well  wooded  in  many  places  ;    hut 
there  are  now  very  few  trees  to  he  s(hmi, 
although  a  good  many  gardens  are  scat- 
tered up  and  down  both  in  the  town  and 
among  the  fortifications.     A  great  i)art  of 
the    rock    is   hollowed   out  into    caverns, 
some  of  which  are  of  magnificent  dimen- 
sions, especially  one  called  St.  George's 
Cave,  at  the    southern  point,  which,   al 


though  having  only  an  o|)ening  of  live  leet. 
expands  into  an  apartment  of  two  hundred 
feet  in  length  by  ninety  in  breadth,  from 
the  lofty  roof  of  which  descend  numerous 
stalactical  pillars,  giving  it  the  appearance 
of  a  Gothic  cathedral.     These  caves  seem 
to  have  been  the  chief  thing  for  whicii 
Gibraltar  was  remarkable  among  the  an- 
cients.    They  are  mentioned  by  the  Ro- 
man geographer,  Pomponius  Mela,  who 
wrote  about  the  middle  of  the  first  centurj' 
of  our  era.     The  southern  termination  of 
the    rock  of   Gibraltar  is  called  Europa 
Point,  and  has  been  sometimes  spoken  of 
as  the  termination  in  that  direction  of  the 
European  continent ;  but  Tarifa  Point,  to 
the  west  of  Gibraltar,  is  fully  five  miles  far- 
ther south. 

It  is  impossible  for  us  here  to  attempt 
any  description  of  the  fortifications  wliich 
now  cover  so  great  a  part  of  this  celebra- 
ted promontory.  Gibraltar  was  first  forti- 
fied in  the  modern  style  by  the  German 
engineer,  Daniel  Speckel,  at  the  command 
of  the  emperor  Charles  V.,  toward  the  close 
of  the  sixteenth  century.  But  little  of  what 
was  then  erected  probably  now  remains. 
Since  the  place  fell  into  the  possession  of 
the  English,  no  expense  has  been  spared 
to  turn  its  natural  advantages  to  the  best 


ii 


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HHrai 

THE  FALLACY  OP  PROVKEBS. 


587 


account,  and  aJJitions  have  r»'pcatoilly 
been  niailc  lo  tho  old  Ibriifications  on  the 
most  extensivo  scale.  It  is  now,  without 
doubt,  tlie  most  coinpleto  fortress  in  tho 

worlil. 

More  than  half  a  century  ago  Gibraltar 
was  accounted  by  military  men  almost  im- 
pregnable.    "  No  power  whatever,"  says 
Colonel  James  in  his  "  History  of  the  llcr- 
culanean  Straits,"  published  in  1771,  "  can 
lake  that  place,  unless  a  plague,  pestilonco, 
or  fiiniine,  or  the  want  of  ordnance,  mus- 
ketry, and  ammunition,  or  some  unfore- 
seen stroke  of  Providence,  should  hap- 
pen."    It  is  certainly  now  much  stronger 
than  it  was  then.    One  improvement  which 
has  especially  added  to  its  security  is  tho 
formation  of  numerous  covered  galleries 
excavated  in  the  roi  k,  with  embrasures 
for  firing  down  upon  both  the  isthmus  and 
the  bay.     The  interior   of  part  of  these 
works  is  represeiUed  in  the  engraving. 

Gibraltar  was  taken  by  an  English  fleet, 
under  the  command  of  Sir  George  Rooke 
and  the  prince  of  Hesse  Darmstadt,  in 
.July,  1704.     The  project  of  the  attack  was 
very' suddenly  formed  at  a  council-of-war 
held  on  board  the  admiral's  ship,  while  the 
lleet  was  cruising  in  the  Mediterranean, 
and  it  was  apprehended  that  it  would  be 
obliged  to  return  to  England  without  hav- 
ing performed  any  exploit  commensurate 
to  the  expectations  with  which  it  had  been 
fitted  out.     The  affair  proved  a  very  easy 
one  :  tho  garrison,  which  consisted  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  men,  having  surrendered 
after  a  bombardment  of  only  a  few  hours. 
Tho  assailants  lost  only  sixty  lives,  the 
greater  part  by  a  mine  which  was  sprung 
after  they  had  effected  a  landing.     In  the 
latter  part  of  the  same  year  a  most  reso- 
lute effort  was  made  to  recover  tho  place 
by  the  combined   forces  of  France  and 
Spain,  which  failed  after  it  had  been  per- 
severed in  for  several  months,  and  had 
cost  the  besiegers  not  less  than  ten  thou- 
sand men.     The  loss  of  the  garrison    "3 
about  four  hunJrod. 

At  the  peace  of  Utrecht,  in  1713,  the 
possession  of  Gibraltar  was  confirmed  to 
England.  In  1727,  however,  another  at- 
tempt, on  a  formidable  scale,  was  made  by 
Spain  to  dislodge  the  foreigners.  An  ar- 
my of  twenty  thousand  men  having  en- 
camped in  tho  neighborhood,  tho  attack 


was  commenced  in  February  and  contin- 
ued till  the  12lh  of  May,  when  it  was  put 
an  end  to  by  the  general  peace.  In  this 
siege  the  garrison  lost  three  Imndrcd  in 
killed  and  wounded  ;  but  the  loss  of  the 
besiegers  was  not  less  than  three  thou- 
sand. Tho  guns  in  tho  fortifications,  it 
is  worthy  of  remark,  proved  so  bud,  that 
seventy  cannons  and  thirty  mortars  burst 
iu  tho  course  of  the  firing. 


THE  FALLACY  OF  PROVKliBS. 

Thst  "  Beggars  muit  not  be  choo»Br»." 

NE  may  as  well 
try  to  change  the 
motion  of  the  tides 
as  to  correct  a  sen- 
timent which  has 
passed  into  tho  fa- 
miliarity of  a  prov- 
erb. But  is  there 
not  an  error  in  the 
one  we  have  set  at  the  head  of  this  para- 
graph ? 

To  say  that  a  beggar  shall  'Ot  be  the 
chooser,  is  the  same  as  to  say  hat  a  man 
shall  not  ask  for  what  he  wants.  It  is  de- 
nying to  tho  beggar  the  first  prr.  iplc.thc 
rudiment,  the  alphabet,  of  our  nne  of 
human  equality.  That  a  beggar  shall  not 
choose  ?  Who  shall,  then  ?  Who  knows 
what  the  beggar  wants  T  Who  can  step 
into  his  shoes  ?  Or  who  would  wish  to, 
if  he  could  1 

Indeed,  it  is  putting  a  man  on  a  pretty 
small  allowance,  to  say  that  he  may  beg, 
but  shall  not  beg  for  the   supply  of  his 
wants.     Every   man  who   begs    is    pre- 
sumed to  be  a  juil- ()  of  his  own  feelings  ; 
and  if  ho  asks    he  benevolent  man  for 
somewhat  to  appease  his  hunger,  it  is  but 
insulting  his  calamity  to  offer  him  a  draught 
to  quench  his  thirst.     And  then,  bo  it  re- 
membered, the  beggar  has  feelings  as  well 
as  the  man  who  fares  sumptuously  every 
day— feelings,  too,  whijli  are  as  sacred  ; 
and  it  is  a  poor  compliment  mhis  discern- 
ment to  tell  him  that  he  does  not  know 
whether  he  is  hungry  or  thirsty. 

We  need  no  revelation  to  assure  us  that 
when  a  man  asks  for  bre..  1,  it  is  not  suffi- 


38 


1" 


►*• 


■•'■tf 


rr 


v., 


588 


FEBRUARY. 


<-.k 


••*,. 


>»««tii'i 


cient  to  give  him  a  ntono  ;  and  it  \a  any- 
thing but  humanity  to  ofTor  him  a  serpent, 
when  he  asks  for  a  fiHti.  If  wo  give  a 
man  something  different  from  what  ho 
asks  for,  wo  do  not  give  it  to  him  as  a  beg- 
gar, but  because  wo,  by  a  very  strange 
presumption,  claim  to  know  liis  wants  bet- 
ter than  himself.  Wo  err  in  this  thing. 
The  begf,'ar  is  and  must  l)e  the  chooser. 
Ho  knows  his  wants,  and  we  know  our 
means  of  giving.  Wo  arc  both  the  high 
contracting  parties  :  and  if  in  the  negotia- 
tion we  do  not  like  his  terms,  we  can  tell 
him,  in  so  many  words,  'hat  we  do  not  en- 
trrtain  his  proposition  with  favor.  But  we 
have  no  right  to  go  a  step  further. 

Salesmen  sometimes  tell  their  custom- 
ers, "  We  know  exactly  what  you  want, 
and  we  have  somethi  '^-  which  will  suit." 
Gentlemen,  you  kno'v  no  such  thing ;  and 
you  insult  your  cus'omei,  when  you  show 
him  anything  diireront  from  what  he  r.sks 
for.  But  the  beggar  is  on  diflerent  ground 
from  either  of  us.  Ho  tells  his  story.  His 
wants  are  many  ;  and  they  are  chiselled 
into  his  face  like  the  lines  and  fissures  of 
age  upon  granite.  If  we  have  wherewith 
to  relieve  him,  let  us  do  it.  If  we  have 
not,  ;  a  c!3  "  say  so,  and  say  no  more." 

St.  V  .'ter,  we  know,  had  not  "  silver  and 
gold  ;'  but  he  gave  the  beggar  what  was 
better.  When  we  do  as  Peter  did,  then 
may  wo  answer  as  Peter  did. 

If  we  can  restore  an  eye  to  the  blind,  or 
an  arm  to  the  maimed,  then  we  may  refuse 
to  the  beggar  a  cup  of  water  or  a  loaf  of 
bread.  But  until  we  have  the  gift  of  heal- 
ing, we  do  our  duty  by  giving  the  beggar 
wliat  he  ivants,  or  giving  him  nothing. 
And  wo  do  him  wrong — we  reduce  him 
even  below  the  humility  incident  to  his 
condition,  when  we  turn  aside  from  his 
entreaties,  by  hinting  to  him  that  icy 
proverb — that  "  beggars  should  not  be 
choosers." 

That  "  a  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss." 
To  be  sure  it  doesn't,  and  very  glad  we  are 
that  it  is  so.  Moss  is  a  production  of  idle- 
ness. Macninery  that  is  used  gathers  no 
rust.  Ba'js,  whose  treasures  are  often 
counted,  take  no  moth.  If  moss  be  a  de- 
sirable commodity,  this  proverb  is  of  value 
to  the  world.  Let  the  wheels  of  the  uni- 
verse cease  their  motion,  and  the  Babel- 
builders  go  to  their  rest,  and  future  gener- 


ations will  have  a  harvest.     Th<!  old  gray 
pyramids  must  have  a  stock  on  hand  by 
this  time.     For  paihenng  moss,  those  gi- 
ganiic  pillars  are  t.iccelleiit.     But  for  ev- 
ery other  purpose,  the  rolling  stono  is  just 
the  thing.     And  how  easy  it  is  to  over- 
throw the  pretensions  of  this  old  saw,  by 
a  thousand  otht  rs  of  a  contrary  import ! 
"  The  still  bee  gathers  no  honey." — "  The 
still  fliut  .'trikes  out  no  spark." — "  The  still 
water  is  not  pure."     These  are  clinchers  : 
there  is  no  ;  reaping  from  them  ;   and  if 
they  do  not  put  to  (light  the  old  heresy 
about  "  rolling  stones,"  we   are  no  judge. 
It  is  all  fallacy.     It  is  foolishness,  and  a 
lie.     The  Yankee  contradicts  the  spirit  of 
it  in  every  lino  of  his  history,     lie  is  a 
living,  constant  proof  of  its  folly.     He  be- 
gins "down  East,"  and  rolls  along  till  he 
reaches  the  base  of  the  Rocky  mountains. 
And  nobody  questions  his  shrewdness  :  ho 
understands  himself  and  his  fellows.     If 
he  can  sell  his  wares,  if  his  notion.^  take 
with  the  people,  he  will  stay  where  ho  is, 
and  lay  his  bones  with  his  fathers'.     If 
not,  his  stakes  are  up  at  once,  and  to-mor- 
row morning  he  is  ready  to  start  for  Afri- 
ca, to  civilize  the  Mendians.     In  all  this 
ho  works  his  card  well,  and  "  gathers  no 
moss."     He  is  your  true  "  rolling  stone." 
Moths  eat  not  in  his  purse,  for  he  keeps 
the  silver  rolling.     Why  should  a  man  set- 
tle himself  down  upon  the  soil,  as  if  he 
grew  from  the  earth  ?     Why  be  fastened 
on  it,  like  barnacles  to  the  keel  of  a  ves- 
sel ?     He  is  not  a  part  of  the  soil ;  and, 
while  living,  was  not  intended  to  be  a  fix- 
ture to  it.     The  old  proverb  is  bad  in  prin- 
ciple, and  should    never  be  suH'ered    to 
creep  into  a  man's  political  economy.   The 
true  poHcy  on  the  subject  is  this  :  if  you 
want  the  snow-ball  to  grow  larger,  roll  it 
over. 


FEBRUARY. 


So  named  from  Februa,  Fr.bruaca,  or 
Februalis,  names  of  Juno.  Our  Saxon 
ancestors  named  it  Sprout-kile  :  moaning, 
by  kele,  the  kele-wurt,  called  by  us  cole- 
wurt,  an  herb  in  great  use  among  our  fore- 
fathers. 


_^.^jMMaa 


amm 


L  harvest.  TIki  old  jjray 
ivf  a  stock  on  hiiiid  by 
fathering;  moss,  tlio»e  gi- 
I  (;xcellt!iit.  Dill  lor  ev- 
!,  tlio  rolliiijjstono  is  just 

liow  niisy  it  is  to  (rvf-r- 
iioiis  of  this  old  saw,  by 
rs  of  a  coiitniry  import ! 
tliurs  no  honey." — "  'I'ho 
nt  no  spiirk."—"  The  still 
"  These  are  clinchtrH  : 
[)inK  from  thoin  ;  imd  if 
to  lli>,'ht  tho  old  heresy 
ones,"  wo  are  no  juds^o. 
It  is  foolishness,  and  a 
10  contradicls  the  spirit  of 
if  his  history.  Jle  is  a 
iroof  of  its  lolly.  lie  be- 
t,"  and  rolls  along  till  ho 

of  the  Rocky  mountains, 
tions  his  shrewdness  :  he 
self  and  his  fellows.  If 
wares,  if  his  notions  take 
ho  will  slay  where  ho  is, 
es  with  his  fathers'.  If 
■e  up  at  once,  and  to-mor- 

is  ready  to  start  for  Al'ri- 
B  Mendians.  In  all  this 
rd  well,  and  "  yathers  no 
i^our  true  "  rolling  stone." 
I  his  purse,  for  he  keeps 
.  Why  should  a  man  set- 
1  upon  the  soil,  as  if  he 
arth  ?  Why  be  fastened 
des  to  the  keel  of  a  ves- 
;  a  part  of  tho  soil  ;  and, 
i  not  intended  to  be  a  fix- 
old  proverb  is  bail  in  prin- 
Id  never  be  snllered  to 
s  political  economy.  Tho 
ho  subject  is  this  :  if  you 
)all  to  grow  larger,  roll  it 


EBRUARY. 


om  Februa,  Februacn,  or 
13  of  Juno.  Our  Saxon 
I  it  Sprotit-kik  :  meaning, 
e-wurt,  called  by  us  cole- 
1  great  use  among  our  fore- 


THB  1(\Y  TiiEi 


589 


11 


The  days  are  now  sensibly  lengthened  ; 
ihe  cold  uenerally  Uegiiis  to  abate,  and  the 
sun  has  oceasioiially  pow<'r  e*loilgh  grad- 
uallv  10  melt  away  the  snow  and  ice. 
StniK'times  a  sudden  thaw  comes  on  with 
a  houih  wind  and  rain,  which  all  at  once 
dis.Milvcs  the  snow.  Torrents  of  water 
tiien  descend  from  tli((  hills  ;  every  little 
brook  ami  nil  is  swelled  to  a  large  stream  ; 
and  the  ice  is  swept  away  with  great  vio- 
lence from  the  rivers. 


Tilt:  r.AY-TRKK. 


3^  IlK  bay-tree  [T.anrus 
^nohilts),   or,    as    the 
French  call  it,  .Apol- 
lo's laurel,  which  our 
engraving  rej)resents 
amid  the  ruins  of  that 
country  with  the  an- 
citMit  literature  and  fa- 
illes of  which  it  is  so  closely  connected, 
is  a  species  of  the  rather  extensive  tribe 
of  plants  which  botanists  distinguish  by 
the  name  of   Laurus  (the    ancient    Latin 
name  of  the  bay-tree),  and  which,  besides 
the  present,  includes  several   interesting 
species,  such  as  tho  cinnamon,  camphor, 
benzoin,  «Ste.,  which  wo  arc  not  at  pres- 
ent required  to  notice  particularly.     The 
geography  of  tho  laurel  tribe  is  thus  given 
by  Or.  Lindley  :  "  These  trees  inhabit  tho 
tropics  of  either  hemisphere  ;  in  a  very 
few  instances  only  straggling  to  the  north- 
ward in  North  America  and  Europe.  *  No 
genus  is  known  to  exist  in  any  part  of  tho 
continent  of  Africa,  except  the  paradoxical 
Cassyiha.     This  is  the  more  remarkable, 
as  several  species  of  Laurus  huve  been 
fnund  both  in  Teneriffe  and  Madeira,  and 
soine  other  genera  exist  in  Madagascar 
and  in  the  isles  of  France  and  Ijourbon." 
Of  all  the  species,  the  English  bay-tree 
seems  tho  best  qualified  to  struggle  with 
a  colder  climate  than  the  tribe  can  in  gen- 
eral bear,  and  is,  in  fact,  the  only  one  that 
is  indigenous  in  Europe,     his  very  com- 
mon in  the  East,  in  the  isles  of  Greece, 
and  upon  the  coast  of  Barbary.     Entire 
forests  of  bay-trees  exist  in  the  Canaries. 
It  has  been  perfectly  naturalized  in  Italy 


nnd  in  the  south  <ii  France  ;  and  it  even 
bears  the  British  climate  very  well,  form- 
ing one  ni  the  n  isi  desirable  evergreens 
of  that  country,  although  its  growth  is 
■low. 

In  its  southern  habitat  the  height  of  the 
bay-tree  sometimes  exc<'ed8  thirty  feet. 
The  leaves  are  of  a  rich  deep  green,  lii^h- 
ly  and  pleasantly  aromatic  ;  the  llowers 
are  of  a  pahf-yellow  color,  and  are  all'mil- 
ed  by  old  trees  only  ;  the  fruit  is  of  a  mar- 
ly  lilack-red  cohir,  and  abmil  the  size  of  a 
small  cherry — never,  we  believe,  perfect- 
ed  in  liritain,  but  plentiliil  iii  Itdy.  Tiiis 
is  one  of  the  trees  which  have  been  most 
celebrated  i)y  the  ancient  poets.  Ovid  re- 
lates, with  great  beauty,  tlie  f..ble  of  the 
change  of  Dapbiio  into  a  laurel  by  Jupiter, 
to  save  her  from  the  imrsuit  of  .\pollo, 
who  thenceforth  adopted  tiiu  tree  as  his 
own  :  — 

"  liL'cMiti*'  tliDU  I'finHt  not  Ho 

My  iiTinlii'SH.  I  (■H|i(iii.^i'  tiii!o  fcir  my  trpo. 
1  iIh-  \<rW. 


Wr  tliiMi  IIh-  |irwf  nf  Ikpiidi-  ami  rciiinviu 
Till'  tlialiilcwH  piiet  uikI  tin'  ikmmii  cniwii. 
Tliciii  shall  till'  lliiiiiiiii  lo-livulH  uiliini. 
Anil,  hIUt  |MirlH,  lio  liy  victors  worn." 

In  consequence  of  this  dedication  to  the 
god  of  poetry  and  music,  the  leaves  of  the 
plant  were  consich-red  a  suit.ible  crown  lor 
the  heads  of  poets,  and  came  also  to  l)e 
bestowed  on  triumphant  warriors,  and  on 
tho  victors  in  the  Olympic  games.  Poets, 
warriors,  and  kings,  continue  still  to  re- 
ceive the  laurel  crown  in  poetry,  on  siat- 
u?s,  and  on  coins  ;  and  tho  court-jioet  still 
retains  tho  title  of  laureate  as  a  memento 
of  tho  laurel  crown  he  formerly  wore.  In 
the  middle  ages,  it  was  customary  to  place 
on  the  heads  of  young  doctors  a  crown  of 
laurel ;  such  persons,  as  well  as  the  poets 
who  were  sometimes  solemnly  crowned, 
as  in  the  case  of  Petrarch  at  Uome  in  1  li  1 1, 
seem  to  have  been  called  haccnhnini,  from 
which  word  some  etymologists  derive  the 
word  "  bachelor,"  when  used  as  a  literary 
title  of  honor. 

The  bay-tree  is  useful  in  medicine  ;  the 
leaves  whcp  bruised  between  the  fingers 
exhale  a  pleasant  odor,  and  alibrd  when 
burnt  a  grateful  incenie.  This  aromatic 
property  occasions  the  employment  ot  the 
leaves  for  culinary  purposes,  and  hence 
they  are  an  article  of  export  from  the  coun- 
tries which  rirord  the  tree,  being  a  branch 
of  commerce  even  between  Great  Britain 


H- 


.*f 


•%^ 


Li.. 


-■'?7!UT»WW«5»*M!E!Wn'?'W^«»W'«''iP«*^ 


CHINA  AND  THE  CHINE8B. 


r.oi 


nnd  the  riiiltd  Slntcs.  The  liusks  of  llm 
lierrifH  comiiin  n  gri'iit  (|Uiiiitity  of  vdhililu 
oil,  which  in  vt-ry  aroinaiic  ;  anil  the  kcr- 
iicls  iilso  furnish  l)y  fxprosmiDU  n  fut  oil, 
whii'li  is  niurh  cniiihtyed  for  umhrociitimia. 
1 1  is  jjri'fMiish  in  colui,  and  llio  tnni'll  \h  a 
faint  exhibjiioa  of  ibul  of  bay-lcavos. 


CHINA  AND  THE  CIIINKSE. 

VKRYTIIINGrfk- 
ting  to  a  nation  which 
has  books  writl(!n  iin 
ag(!  hcforo  tho  hirlh 
of  Christ  must,  of  ne- 
cessity, be  inter«!»t- 
ing.  It  lias  been  the 
/jT'^  gericral  ojiiniun  that 


iho  Chinese  are  illil 
rrato.nnd  more  like  animals  than  humans 
This  ojiinion  no  doubl  had  its  origin  in  cs 
liniates  made  of  the  charrieterof  the  "  out 
sillers,"  a  race  only  half  Chinese,  being  a 
mongrel  of  the   former  and   the  Tartar. 
They  subsist  partly  upon  what  they  steal 
friiin  sailors,  and  partly  upon  rats,  mice, 
iJDgs,  and  rice.  Their  habitations  arc  iloat- 
iny  junks,  out  of  which  they  seldom  go,  as 
tliev  can  not  land  upon  the  coast  or  enter 
any  of  the  cities  without  paying  a  sort  of 
entrance-fee  or  toll.    They  are  f-'Hixt  leger- 
deiuainists,  and  their  keen  kno'vlcuge,  as 
well  as  tho  constant  practice  ol  the  mys- 
teries of  slcight-of-hand,  enables  them  to  ] 
swindle  unwary  "  barbarians"  with  perfect 
impunity.     They  arc  very  e.vpert  counter- 
feiters, and  deal  largely  in  spurious  silver 
coin.     Until  within  a  few  months  no  oth- 
er class  of  the  people  of  China  have  been 
viisible  to  foreign  eyes  :  hence,  as  we  sup- 
pose, the  unfavorable  opinion  which  pre- 
vails with  regard  to  the  intellectual   ca- 
pacities of  the  Celestials.     Tho  Chinese 
arc,  as  a  nation,  highly  educated— versed 
in  the  arts,  and,  so  far  as  literature  goes, 
exceedingly  well  advanced  in  mental  cul- 
ture.   In  mechanical  ingenuity  they  <!xcel 
all  others.     For  industry  they  are  uiipar- 
alleled,  for  the  whole  empire  is  like  a  bee- 
hive. 

Cheap  literature  flourishes  apace  among 
this  strange  people.     Books  are  numerous 


and  constantly  piihlished,  ns  in  Europe. 

'  The  greater  a  celestial'M  learning, the  hiuh- 
'cr  his  rank  in  the  esteem  of  his  fellows. 
In  politics  the  ("liinese  are  as  wideawake 
as  we  arc.  The  people  have  as  much  to 
say  with  regard  to  public  men  and  meas- 
ures  as  the  most  democratic  conclave  of 
Americans,  and  the  government  is  obliged, 
in  all  instances,  to  succumb  to  the  popu- 
lar will.  One  fault  has  relardi^l  tlie  desi- 
rable progress  of  tho  Chinese,  and  that  is 
epicurean  indolence.  Everything  in  the 
way  of  social  intcrcourso  is  managed  on  a 
drcan'y  system  of  ease.  In  their  episto- 
lalory  conversation,  the  written  salutation 
invariably  is,  "  I  wish  you  tranquillity  and 
promotion."  How  p.  people  who  eat  soups 
with  chopsticks,  can  bo  tranquilly  dispos- 
ed, is  a  mystery. 

The  Chinese  assert  that  their  popnl.a- 
lion  is  equal  to  threo  hundred  and   fifty 
millions.     This  will  not  seem  at  all  un- 
worthy of  credence,  when  we  reflect  that 
China  is  as  largo  as  Europe,  and  that  the 
water  is  inhaliited  (by  means  of  the  afonj- 
suid  juidis)  as  densely  as  tho  laml  :  there 
are  thousands  of  the  Chinese  who  are  born, 
live,  and  die,  on  tho  water,  and  are  ipiito 
worthy  of  the  title  of  amphibii.     A  nation 
numbering  so  many  souls  (H(;;/i<  to  be  pow- 
erful, but  is  not,  simply  because  martial 
skill  is  not  considered  a  necessary  nation- 
al accomplishment.     If   they  were  good 
warriors,  they  might  not  only  defy  the  ag- 
gressimis  of  foreign  powers,  but  overrun 
and  subdue  the  lands  bordering  on  their 
own.     Thus  we  see  that  the  '•  Peace  So- 
ciety" would,  if  ibey  could  gain  us  over 
to  the  support  of  their  doctrines,  enervate 
us  as   a  nation,  and   present  us   an   easy 
prey  to  the  ambitious  designs  of  antago- 
nistic governments. 

The  Chinese  are  brave  ;  no  men  die 
more  fearlessly  on  the  field  of  battle  :  they 
are  as  impetuous  as  tigers,  and  as  devoid 
of  coolness  and  precision  as  a  community 
of  enraged  cats.  They  are  great  newspa- 
per readers,  and  newspapers  circulate  as 
freely  in  the  princijial  cities  as  they  do  in 
Gotham.  The  "  I'ekin  Gazet*  '  is  the 
principal  newspaper,  and  penenates  to 
every  part  of  the  empire. 

The  names  and  emoluments  of  public 
officers  are  annually  given  in  tho  "  Red 
Book,"  a  publication   somewhat   similar 


Hi 


^|i 


59a 


THE  MANI8. 


mt 


to  our  "  Blue  Book,"  only  ten  times  as  | 
Iiiriie. 

China,  too,  is  a  country  which  is  abun- 
dant in  its  resources.  She  needs  no  for- 
eign trade — her  own  territory  produces  ev- 
erything that  is  requisite  for  their  support. 
Tliey  trade  with  forcitsners  entirely  afjuinst 
their  wishes,  and  would  avoid  everything 
in  the  way  of  connnerce  with  other  na- 
tions if  they  could. 

Another  very  remarkable  fact  connected 
with  the  customs  of  this  curious  nation  is, 
that  they  have  no  beasts  of  burden  The 
country  is  so  densely  crowded,  that  they 
could  not  find  pasturage.  Besides,  tene- 
ments are  too  numerous  to  admit  of  car- 
riage-ways in  the  streets  of  cities.  The 
streets  are  only  narrow  footpaths,  scarcely 
adequate  to  the  purposes  of  pedestrianism. 

A  great  cause  for  Chinese  congratula- 
ting Chinese  is  the  fact  that  all  the  im- 
provements in  the  arts  upon  which  Europe- 
ans pride  themselves,  were  known  among 
tiie  cultivators  of  "  mild  oolong"  years  be- 
fore any  other  people  had  an  inkling  of 
them.  Look  at  the  sagacity  of  these  peo- 
ple !  They  are  ingenious  to  a  fault :  yet 
machinery,  the  use  of  which  would  throw 
thousands  of  that  dense  population  out  of 
employment,  has  never  been  put  in  opera- 
.  tion.  The  government  asserts  that  the 
adoption  of  the  use  of  labor-saving  ma» 
chinery  would  create  a  revolution  in  the 
empire  and  overturn  it.  It  is  thought  that 
the  introduction  of  English  and  American 
manufactures  will,  at  some  future  day,  pro- 
duce the  same  disastrous  results. 

It  is  somewhat  singular  that  the  Chinese 
are  miserable  musicians.  Their  instru- 
mental music  is  a  wretched  noise  made  by 
the  baniboo  and  a  diminutive  drum,  and 
their  vocal  accomplishment  consists  of  the 
emission  of  a  few  guttural  whines,  and  a 
series  of  harsh  cries,  resembling,  in  some 
degree,  the  music  of  the  North  American 
Indians. 


The  annual  loss  to  Great  Britain  by 
shipwreck  is  610  ships,  15,000  lives — 
2,000,000/.  sterling ! 

Gas  (the  German  of  "  ghost")  was  first 
used  for  giving  light  in  1805,  in  Manches- 
ter, England,  for  lighting  cotton-mills. 


THE  MANIS. 


UITE  extraordina- 
ry is  the  appearance 
presented  by  the  aii- 
vimals  of  this  genus 
^(Maiiis);  as  remark- 
able, in  fact,  as  that 
of  the  arniadilli)  (ril)e 
— being  covered  on 
_  every  part,  with  the 

exception  of  the  belly,  with  exceedingly 
strong,  large,  and  horny  scales.  Thi;sc, 
when  the  animals  roll  themselves  up,  fur- 
nish a  siiit  of  armor  by  which  they  are  de- 
fended much  more  clfectually  than  even 
the  armadillo  is  against  the  assaults  of 
their  enemies.  This  armor  is  a  compen- 
sating circumstance  in  their  structure,  giv- 
ing them  the  security  which,  from  thinr 
want  of  teeth,  their  inability  to  grasp  with 
their  feet,  and  their  perfectly  harmless  na- 
ture, they  would  otherwise  want.  Tlie 
external  covering,  together  with  the  unu- 
sual length  of  the  body  and  tail,  gives  to 
these  creatures  an  appearance  so  u)uch  re- 
sembling that  of  the  lizard,  that  they  have 
been  called  "  scaly  lizards."  These  ani- 
mals have,  however,  no  proper  alliance 
with  the  lizard  tribe  ;  yet,  on  a  general 
view  of  the  animal  kingdom,  they  may  be 
admitted  to  be  a  link  in  the  chain  of  be- 
ings, which  connects  the  proper  quadru- 
peds with  the  reptile  class. 

With  the  exception  of  their  scaly  cov- 
ering, the  animals  of  this  genus  have 
much  resemblance  to  the  ant-eaters  in 
their  structure  and  general  habits.  Like 
them,  they  live  by  thrusting  their  long 
tongue  into  the  nests  of  ants  and  other  in- 
sects, and  then  suddenly  retracting  it  into 
their  mouths  and  swallowing  their  prey. 
They  are  natives  of  India  and  the  Indian 
isles.  Our  engraving  represents  the  two 
species  of  the  genus  which  are  distin- 
guished as  long-tailed  and  short-tailed. 

The  long-tailed  or  four-toed  manis  {>na- 
nis  tetradaclyla)  is  known  in  India  by  the 
name  of  the  phatagen.  It  is  of  a  very  long 
and  slender  form.  The  head  is  small  ana 
the  snout  narrow.  The  whole  body,  ex- 
cept beneath,  is  covered  with  broad  but 
sharp-pointed  scales,  which  are  striated, 
or  divided  by  small  channels  like  those 


UI T E  extraordina- 
ry is  the  appearance 
presented  by  the  an- 
simals  of  tliis  pemis 
^(Maiiis) ;  as  rcriiark- 
able,  in  fact,  as  that 
of  the  armadillo  irihe 
— being  covered  on 
every  part,  with  the 
lly,  with  exceedingly 
)rny  scales.  These, 
11  themselves  up,  fur- 
by  which  they  are  de- 
edectiially  than  even 
ainst  the  assaults  of 
3  armor  is  a  coinpen- 
in  their  structure,  giv- 
ty  which,  from  their 
liability  to  grasp  with 
lerfcctly  harmless  na- 
herwiso  want.  'J'he 
igether  with  the  unu- 
ody  and  tail,  gives  to 
ipearance  so  much  re- 
lizard,  that  they  have 
lizards."  These  ani- 
r,  no  proper  alliance 
3  ;  yet,  on  a  general 
;ingdom,  they  may  be 
k  in  the  chain  of  be- 
s  the  proper  quadru- 
}  class. 

m  of  their  scaly  cov- 
of  this  genus  have 
to  the  ant-eaters  in 
jeneral  habits.  Like 
thrusting  their  long 
i  of  ants  and  other  in- 
lenly  retracting  it  into 
allowing  their  prey. 
India  and  the  Indian 
ng  represents  the  two 
us  which  are  distin- 
id  and  short-tailed, 
r  four-toed  manis  (ma- 
Lnown  in  India  by  the 
II.  It  is  of  a  very  long 
The  head  is  small  and 
The  ivhole  body,  ex- 
vered  with  broad  but 
3,  which  are  striated, 
1  channels  like  those 


fir 
1 


594 


THE  LAST  LOOK. 


of  cockle-shells,  throughout  their  whole 
length.  The  throat  and  belly  are  covered 
with  hair.  The  tail  is  more  than  twice 
the  length  of  the  body,  an'l  tapers  gradu- 
ally to  the  tip.  The  legs  are  very  short : 
each  foot  is  furnished  with  four  claws,  of 
which  those  of  the  fore-feet  are  stronger 
than  those  of  the  hind.  B«th  the  tail  and 
the  legs  are  scaled  in  the  same  manner  as 
the  body.  The  color  of  this  animal  is  of 
a  uniform  deep  brown,  with  a  cast  of  yel- 
lowish, and  with  a  glossy  polished  surface. 
It  grows  to  the  average  length  of  five  feet, 
from  the  tip  of  the  nose  to  the  extremity 
of  the  tail. 

The  short-tailed  or  five-toed  manis  {ma- 
nis  pcntadactyla)  is  generally  called  in  In- 
dia the  pangolin  ;  but  in  Bengal  it  is  called, 
in  the  Sanscrit  language,  vajracite,  or  the 
thunderbolt-reptile,  on  account  of  the  ex- 
cessive hardness  of  its  scales,  which  are 
said  to  be  capable  of  even  striking  fire  like 
a  flint.  This  species  differs  from  the  for- 
mer in  being  of  a  much  thicker  and  short- 
er form.  The  tail  in  particular  is  very 
difl''erently  proportioned,  not  being  so  long 
as  the  body :  it  is  very  thick  at  the  base, 
and  tlicp.ce  tapering  gradually,  but  termi- 
nating very  obtusely.  It  has  also  five  in- 
stead of  four  claws  to  each  foot :  of  '-hich 
those  on  the  fore-feet  are  of  great  strength, 
excepting  the  exterior  one,  which  is  much 
smaller  than  the  rest.  This  species  is 
scaled  in  the  same  manner  as  the  prece- 
ding, but  the  scales  differ  in  shape,  and 
are  much  larger  and  wider  in  proportion 
to  the  body  and  tail.  In  the  larger  speci- 
mens of  this  species  of  pangolin  the  scales 
are  smooth  ;  but  in  those  that  are  smaller 
they  are  slightly  striated  about  half  way 
from  the  base.  In  some  specimens  a  few 
bristles  are  found  between  th3  scales,  but 
in  others  this  is  not  observed.  The  parts 
without  scales  are  covered  with  hair.  The 
animal  is  of  a  very  pale  yellow-brown  col- 
or, with  a  surface  as  glossy  as  in  the  pre- 
ceding species. 

It  walks  very  slowly  with  its  claws  bent 
under  its  feet,  and  would  be  the  prey  of 
every  ravenous  beast,  had  it  not  the  pow- 
er ol  rolling  itself  up,  and  opposing  to  its 
adversary  a  formidable  dd'erice  of  erected 
scales.  The  natives  despatch  the  animal 
with  blows  of  a  stick,  sell  tho  skin  to  Eu- 
ropeans, and  eat  the  flesh. 


THE  LAST  LOOK. 


HERE  are  few  in 
'ij^this  world  who  have 
\  not  lost  some  near  and 


dear  friend,  linked  to 
them  either  by  the 
ties  of  blood,  or  by  a 
pleasant  companion- 
ship enshrined  in  their 
hearts,  and  hallowed 
and  held  sacred  by  a  true  and  disinterested 
affection.  The  insatient  tomb  has  robbed 
almost  every  one  whom  it  has  spared,  of 
some  being  on  whom  his  eye  rested  with 
pleasure,  who  softened  for  him  the  asperi- 
ties of  life's  rough  pathway,  and  into  whose 
bosom  he  poured  his  own  heart's  rich 
treasures — feelings,  confidence,  and  love. 
They  have  seen  them  droop  and  die  grad- 
ually, perhaps.  They  have  seen  the  rose 
fade,  tho  flesh  waste,  the  muscles  relax, 
and  the  eye  grow  lustreless,  or  beam  with 
that  unnatural  light  which  is  sometimes 
born  of  disease,  and  only  tells  of  its  prog- 
ress. They  have  watched  in  gnvi  and 
tears  the  shiftings  of  fever — the  slow  sink- 
ing away  of  life,  the  hours  of  agony,  the 
days  of  quiet  and  apparent  convalesce'ice, 
the  hopeless  relapse,  and  the  final  iriii:n])h 
of  death.  They  have  paced  the  room 
where  the  poor  body  lay  shrouded  for  the 
grave,  and  where  Death  almost  seemed 
visibly  present,  casting  a  shadow  upon  ev- 
ery wall  and  object,  and  gazed  on  the  rigid 
form,  the  marble  aspect,  the  soulless,  un- 
speaking  features.  They  have  felt,  too, 
that  deep  oppression  and  heart-sickness 
which  comes  over  every  one  upon  such 
an  occasion,  where  the  grim  tyrant  seems 
to  be  watching  and  gloating  over  his  vic- 
tim, and  the  riot  of  decay  is  already  be- 
ginning to  be  seen.  All  this  has  lacera- 
ted and  crushed  their  hearts  ;  but  pcirhaps 
the  bitterest  pang  of  all  came  with  the  last 
look  into  the  giave,  when  the  coffin  had 
been  lowered,  the  loved  object  consigned 
to  its  long,  dreamless  rest,  and  the  busy 
spade  of  the  sexton  was  throwing  back  the 
senseless  earth  upon  it,  and  hiding  it  for 
ever. 

During  sickness  we  have  ilic  object  be- 
fore us,  wasted  and  sadly  cLAuijfd  it  may 
be,  but  still  capable  of  co.ninunuig  with 
us,  of  appreciating  our  kindness,  of  return- 


1ST  LOOK. 

HERE  are  few  in 
^this  world  who  have 
not  lost  some  near  and 
dear  friend,  linked  to 
them    either    by  the 
ties  of  blood,  or  by  a 
pleasant   companion- 
ship enshrined  in  their 
hearts,  and  hallowed 
I  true  and  disinterested 
utient  tomb  lias  robbed 
horn  it  has  spared,  of 
m  his  eye  rested  with 
led  for  him  the  asperi- 
ilhway,  and  into  whose 
his  own  heart's   rich 
confidence,  and  love. 
!m  droop  and  die  grad- 
ley  have  seen  the  rose 
te,  the  muscles  relax, 
istreless,  or  beam  with 
;  which  is  sometimes 
only  tells  of  its  prog- 
watched  in  grief  and 
■  fever — the  slow  sink- 
e  hours  of  agony,  the 
iparent  convaiesce nee, 
;,  and  the  final  iriu:n])h 
lave  paced  the    room 
y  lay  shrouded  for  the 
Death   almost  seemed 
ing  a  shadow  upon  ev- 
and  gazed  on  the  rigid 
pect,  the  soulless,  uii- 
They  have  felt,  too, 
in  and  heart-sickness 
every  one  upon  such 
the  grim  tyrant  seems 
gloating  over  his  vic- 
decay  is  already  be- 
AU  this  has  lacera- 
ir  hearts  ;  but  perhaps 
"  all  came  with  the  last 
when  the  colhn  had 
ived  object  consigned 
ss  rest,  and  the  busy 
was  throwing  back  the 
1  it,  and  hiding  it  for 

ive  have  tlie  object  be- 
sadly  cLAugt'd  it  may 
)  of  coininumng  with 
ur  kindness,  of  return- 


THE  CERE0PSI8  OP  NEW  HOLLAND. 


595 


ing  our  love,  and  of  throwing  a  few  rays 
of  sunliglit  over  the  cloud  of  our  sorrow— - 
faint,  indeed,  yet  still  enough  to  gild  its 
gathering  gloom.  There  is  still  the  old 
smile  running  now  and  then  over  the  fea- 
tures, and  lighting  them  up  with  some- 
thing of  their  former  expression.  The 
voice,  too,  though  it  is  not  what  it  once 
was,  falls  upon  our  ears,  and  we  follow 
our  friend  with  a  sort  of  lingering  hope, 
convinced  of  his  doom,  yet  half  looking  for 
deliverance,  down  to  the  very  banks  of 
death's  river.  And  even  when  that  voice 
IS  hushed,  and  the  last  smile  h?.2  'aded, 
when  the  bolt  of  doom  has  been  launched, 
and  the  wreck  of  mortality  lies  before  us, 
we  somehow  take  a  melancholy  pleasure 
in  gazing  at  the  expressionless  features, 
and  linger  in  blind  devotion  at  the  shrine, 
though  the  deity  which  hallowed  it  has 
departed ! 

But  when  we  gaze  into  the  closing 
grave,  we  feel  that  our  friend  has  indeed 
gone  and  hidden  from  us  for  ever.  He  has 
made  his  final  exit  from  the  stage  of  life, 
the  curtain  has  fallen,  and  we  shall  see 
him  no  more,  till  we  ourselves  pass  be- 
hind the  scenes. 

We  know  that  we  can  listen  to  his  voice 
no  more  breathing  eloquence  in  public,  or 
cheerfulness  in  the  daily  intercourse  of 
life.  We  can  never  gaze  into  his  eyes 
again.  Hashing  with  genius,  beaming  with 
kindness,  or  shedding  tears  for  human  suf- 
fering. We  shall  meet  him  no  more  in 
the  busy  crowd,  or  at  the  quiet  fireside. 
The  grave  has  received  him  to  its  re- 
morseless embrace,  and  his  sensible  pres- 
ence is  lost  to  us  for  ever. 

All  these  thoughts  rush  upon  the  mind 
at  that  moment  and  sweep  over  the  heart 
in  a  tempest  of  wild  and  bitter  agony. 
The  brightness  of  the  past  but  renders  the 
present  more  dark,  the  future  more  gloomy. 
The  pinions  of  hope,  though  unbroken, 
are  wet  and  heavy  with  tears,  and  scarce- 
ly bear  the  heart  above  the  grave  into  which 
it  looks,  and  where  its  idol  lies.     Oh! 
the  last  look  into  the  graves  of  kindred,  on 
the  cherished  companions  of  life,  would 
indeed  scarcely  be  endurable,  did  not  rev- 
elation assure  us  of  a  resurrection,  and 
whisper  to  our  hearts  the  sweet  promise 
of  immortality.     God  help  the  man  who, 
at  such  aQ  hour,  has  no  faith  in  that  prom- 

,1 . - 


ise,  and  believes  all  which  was  his  f  .end 
is  thenceforth  nothing  but  dust !  Iiifulelity 
shrinks  away  from  the  grave,  offering  no 
consolation  to  the  belie  .ers  of  her  barren 
creed,  and  nothing  but  Christianity  can 
throw  any  light  upon  the  butial-hour,  and 
the  resting-place  of  the  dead. 


THE  CEllEOPSIS  OF  NEW  HOLLAND. 

EW  HOLLAND  is 
the  native  country  of 
the  cereopsis  ;  —  and 
although  most  voya- 
gers who  have  visit- 
ed the  distant  shores 
on  which  it  abounds 
have  alluded  to  it  as 
a  species  of  swan  or 
goose,  it  is  only  within  the  last  few  years 
that  naturalists  have  gained  an  accurate 
knowledge  of  its  true  character  and  its 
natural  affinities.     The  first  introduction 
of  the  cereopsis  into  the  records  of  science 
was  by  the  venerable  ornithologist  Ur.  La- 
tham, in  the  year  1802.     He  published  at 
that  time  a  figure  and  description  of  the 
bird  in  question  in  the  second  supplement 
to  his  "  General  Synopsis,"  regarding  it 
as  the  type  of  a  new  genus   among  the 
waders,  and  to  this  genus  he  gave  the  title 
of  ccmopsis — the  specific  designation  ol 
I  the  bird,  of  which  indeed  he  had  seen  on- 
ly one   example,  being   Cvrmpsis  Nuv(P. 
Hullandice.     The  term  coreopsis  contains 
aa  allusion  to  the  large  cere  covering  the 
base  of  the  bill,  but  which  Dr.  Latham, 
misled  by  an  apparently  imperfect  speci- 
men, supposed  to  be  extended  on  the  fore- 
head and  face  :  as  it  is,  however,  the  cere 
is  so  extensive  as  to  justify  the  title. 

The  habits  of  the  cereopsis,  in  a  state 
of  nature,  have  been  succinctly  detailed 
by  various  voyagers.  Most  probably  it  is 
migratory,  at  least  to  a  certain  extent ;  for 
Captain  Flinders  found  it  more  abundant 
on  Goose  island  in  some  seasons  than  in 
others.  It  frequents  grassy  districts  and 
the  shore,  but  rarely  takes  to  the  water,  its 
food  being  exclusively  grass.  Both  at 
Lucky  bay  and  Goose  island  these  birds 
were  very  abundant,  and  so  tame  that  the 


4i 

m 


■•nMM 


II     1    »;  < 

in 


U=; 


^tt'--„ir3'a^'?Vif:v,-Tef*i^PK«H:&-i*".^ 


n 


AUSCULTATION. 


591 


cn-w  of  Captain  Flinders  hiul  no  diiriculty 
i„  knocking  them  down  with  sticks,  or 
even  in  tiikinj;  ihem  alive.  M.  BaiHy  re- 
ports  to  the  same  elTect  rospectin<;  those 
s,.,.n  by  him  at  Preservation  i.>sland  ;  and 
Liil.illanliijre  says  that  at  first  i\wy  were 
so  iilth!  ;ilann<!d  by  the  presence  of  man, 
„s  to  sulVer  themselves  to  be  taken  by  the 
iiaiul ;  but  in  a  short  time  they  became 
uware  of  their  danger,  and  took  to  flight 
o„  the  approach  of  any  one.  All  agree 
iis  to  the  delicacy  of  its  llesh.  l  rom  the 
ease  with  which  the  cprrnpsis  becomes 
domesticated,  we  are  not  without  hope  ot 
seein'T  tliis  bird  added  to  the  list  of  those 
which  enliven  our  farmyards,  and  contrib- 
ute to  the  luxuries  of  our  table. 

Thou.rh  rightly  separated  as  a  distinct 
gonus  from  that  of  the  common  goose,  the 
crrenpsts  belongs   to   the    great  family  of 
AnatuliE,  or  swimming  birds  :  in  the  com- 
oiirative  length,  however,  of  the   legs  — 
which  are  naked  for  a  short  space  above 
the  knee,  and  in  the  imperfection  of  the 
webs  between  the  toes— it  departs  in  some 
de-rrce  from  the  more  typical  of  the  hmuly. 
It  exhibits,  in  fact,  the  characters  that  are 
peculiar  to  the  goose,  and  which  separate 
them  from  the  duck,  carried  out  to  a  still 
further  extent.     The  goose  is  organized 
less  expressly  for  water  than  the  duck,  or 
some  others  of  the  Anatidm,  and  the  -^ere- 
opsis  still  less  ;  consequently  the  beak  is 
,  shorter,  the  legs  longer,  and  the  feet  less 
I  webbed.     Its  food  is  entirely  vegetable  : 


same  color  extends  from  the  base  of  the 
bill  over  the  clieeks,  encircles  the  eye,  and 
nearly  joins  the  stripe  down  tlie  neck— 
which,  having  attained  to  the  back,  spreads 
and  divides  into  three  broad  riliands,  one 
of  which  passes  down  the  centre  of  the 
back,  while  one  passes  along  eacli  side, 
and  occupies  the  undevelopt^d  wiiius  ;  tlie 
chest  and  under  surface  are  clouded  wuh 
brown.  When  in  charge  of  their  young 
the  adults  are  very  pugnacious,  driving 
other  birds  to  a  distance  with  great  spirit. 


AUSCULTATION.' 

ROM  the  earliest  pe- 
riod, physicians  have 
known  that  disease  in 
thecavily  of  the  chest 
might  occasionally  be 
detected  by  the  ear ; 
but  it  was  not  until 
about    seventy  years 
ago  that  any  express 
rules  were  laid  down  upon  this  subject 
!  The  me.it  of  being  the  first  methodical 
auscultator  is  duo  to  Dr.  AvENnauooKK, 
a  physician  of  Vienna,  who  publisluul  a 
short  treatise  on  this  subject  in  the  year 
It  is  written  in  Latin,  anu  is  enii- 


1761.     X.  •=  - .     -     .        ,.  ,, 

wohluMl      Its  looa  IS  enure. y  vcgu.u„..  .    tied  "  A  New  Discovery  of  the  Art  ot  ue- 
rKstoitWlUs  requisite  L  plucking    tecting  Diseases  in  the^"-;- J'  ^^^^^ 
if  nt,  from  the  eround.     In  size  this  beau-    Chest  by  Percussion. '     When  the  cnesi 
"S^:;::^^  the  con^mon  f-^U  the  patient  rs  strj^kj^  the  htig^^ 
but  its  bill,  as  we  have   said,  is  shorter,    the  physician,  if  it  »^,  Jf^;^?', '' ^^^^^^^^ 
bein.  very  thick  at  the  base,  and  some-    sound,  says  Dr.  AvenbruSge     hkc^  tha^o 
w Im  arched  above.     The  top  of  the  head  '.  a  drum  covered  with  cloth  ;  whereas,  it    t 
IS  pale  o  ay  :   the  rest  of  the  plumage  i,  ,  is  diseased  the  sound  produced  is  as  if 
.hi,  Trrav  each  feather  on  the  back  and  !  solid  flesh  had  been  struck, 
hould       'being  mg"^     with   a   paler  j      In   performing   this    -f-^--^^^^ 
imwh  le    he  .reater  coverts  and  the  sec-    chest  of  the  patient  must  be  covered  wh 
d^rv  mil  fea  hers  have  a  round  dusky !  his  shirt,  or  else  the  fingers  of  the  phys  - 
i  ne^  the  eS^^^^       the  qmlls  and    cian  with  a  glove,  which  must  not  be  made 
SfLtherl  dusky  blacV;  tip  o'f  the  bill ;  of  gh.sy  leather ;  for  if  t  e  bare  chest^s 
Mack  ;  cere  yellow  .  tarsi  orange-yellow  ;    --^^^ -h  the  b^^^^ 

^"  TCtl:S;:^^;^the  young,  while  y.|  Sll   —  J^H  ^J^Xl^VS 
covered  with  down,  are  very  singular :  the    nal   one.      1  he  toUowing   ei„o     g 
ground  color  is  white,  but  a  stripe  of  gray- 1     ^  ^^.^  ^^^^  ^^^^^^^^  listening;  but,  in  mediciae, 
ish-brown  passes  along  the  top  ot  the  head    ^^^^^  „,g  ^,^  of  disiinguishinij  diseases  by  ii.e  Bcuse 
atid  back  of  the  neck ;  and  a  dash  of  the   of  hearing 


^♦1 


m 


^*^, 


598 


AUSCULTATION. 


nilps   are   clear,   correct,   and   well   ex- 
pressed : — 

1 .  The  didler  the  sound  is  over  the 
chest,  and  the  nearer  it  approaches  the 
sound  of  solid  flesh,  the  greater  is  the 
disease. 

2.  The  larger  the  space  over  which 
this  duines8  extends,  the  greater  is  the 
disease. 

3.  It  is  worse  for  the  left  side  to  be  af- 
fected than  the  right. 

4.  It  is  less  dangerous  that  the  front 
and  upper  part  o.'  the  chest  (viz.,  from  the 
collar-bone  to  the  fourth  rib)  should  be 
destitute  of  sound  than  the  lower  part. 

5.  It  is  more  dangerous  that  the  sound 
be  absent  in  the  posterior  part  of  the  tho- 
rax than  in  the  front  and  upper  part. 

[This  rule  is  evidently  the  same  as  the 
last,  in  different  words.] 

6.  If  one  side  of  the  chest  is  entirely 
destitute  of  sound,  it  is  a  fatal  sign. 

7.  If  the  sternum  (viz.,  the  front  and 
central  part  of  the  chest)  is  without  sound, 
it  is  a  fatal  sign. 

8.  If  the  place  which  the  heart  occu- 
pies gives  the  sound  of  solid  flesh  over  a 
grp.it  space,  it  is  a  fatal  sign. 

The  reason  of  the  last  rule  is  this  :  the 
heart  from  its  solidity,  produces  a  loss  of 
resonance  over  the  space  which  it  occu- 
pies ;  and,  therefore,  a  great  extension  of 
this  dulness  shows  a  great  enlargement  of 
the  heart — an  incurable  disease. 

When  there  is  a  fluid  in  the  chest  there 
will  be  a  loss  of  resonance  :  just  as  there 
is  when  the  lungs,  having  lost  their  natu- 
ral sponf^y  texture,  have  become  solid — a 
disease  which  Avenbrugger  calls  schirr:>s 
of  the  lungs  ;  but  which  is  now  termed 
fippatization,  from  hrpar,  the  Greek  word 
for  livor.  Percussion,  however,  will  al- 
most always  succeed  in  determining  whe- 
ther the  loss  of  sound  is  produced  by  the 
presence  of  a  fluid  or  by  hepatization  ;  for, 
in  the  former  case,  the  patient,  by  altering 
his  attitude,  will  change  the  position  of 
the  fluid,  and  thus  transfer  the  dulness  of 
sound  from  one  spot  to  another  ;  but  thi-j 
ingenious  method  of  disciiininating  the 
nature  of  the  disease  will,  of  course,  fail 
in  those  rare  cases  in  which  one  side  of 
the  chest  is  entirely  filled  with  fluid. 

But  little  advance  seems  to  have  been 
made  from  Avenbrugger  io  Laennec,  the 


distinguished  inventor  of  the  stethoscope. 
This  is  a  tube,  usually  made  of  wood,  one 
end  of  which  is  applied  to  the  chest  of 
the  patient,  and  the  other  to  the  ear  of  the 
physician.  By  this  contrivance,  the  sound 
of  the  patient's  respiration,  as  well  as 
voice,  is  transmitted  in  the  most  distinct 
manner,  and  the  minutest  variations  from 
the  healthy  standard  can  be  distinguished 
by  a  practised  ear.  In  children,  for  in- 
stance, the  sound  produced  by  respiration 
is  louder  and  more  acute  than  in  adults  ; 
but  this  acute  breathing  often  occurs  in 
grown-up  persons,  when,  one  lung  being 
diseased,  the  other  is  forced  to  work  for 
both.  It  is  known  among  stethoscopists 
by  the  name  oi puerile  respiration.  Or,  let 
us  suppose  a  patient  in  an  advanced  stage 
of  consumption,  in  whose  lungs  cavities 
have  been  formed  by  the  sui)puration  of 
tubercles  ;  if  the  stethoscope  be  applied  to 
the  chest  of  such  a  patient  when  he  is 
speaking,  his  voice  will  be  heard  echoing 
from  the  cavities  in  his  lungs  ;  this  mor- 
bid resonance  is  called  pectoriloquy.  Such 
are  a  few  of  the  more  interesting  points 
depending  on  auscultation,  a  subject  on 
which  large  volumes  not  only  might  be, 
but  have  been,  written.  In  comparing  the 
methods  of  Avenbrugger  and  Laennec,  we 
must  acknowledge  that,  if  percu.ssion  is 
more  simple,  the  stethoscope  aflords  more 
information  ;  but  then  this  advantage  is 
perhaps  counterbalanced  by  the  extreme 
difficulty  of  its  application — a  difliculty  so 
great  as  not  always  to  be  surmounted  by 
years  of  study.  It  is  for  this  cause  that 
we  h;ive  touched  but  slightly  on  the  use 
of  the  stethoscope,  or  chest-viewer,  as  we 
thought  it  needless  to  perplex  general  read- 
ers with  refined  distinctions  which  harass 
the  scientific,  and  even  left  Laennec  him- 
self .sometimes  at  fault. 

We  touch  upon  subjects  of  this  nature 
principally  to  show  by  what  slow  steps 
the  knowledge  of  diseases  has  advanced, 
— what  slight  symptoms  indicate  healthy 
or  deranged  functions — how  delicate  are 
the  tests  which  they  present,  even  to  the 
most  practised  physician — and  how  con- 
temptible, therefore,  are  those  pretensions 
which  would  make  the  medical  science 
consist  in  a  few  empirical  rules,  applied 
with  little  observation  and  less  philoso- 
phy. 


or  of  the  stethoscopo. 
Ily  made  of  wood,  oiip 
plied  to  the  chest  of 
Dther  to  the  ear  of  tlic 
contrivance,  tlio  sound 
spiration,  as  well  as 
in  the  most  distinri 
nutest  variations  from 
can  be  distinguislied 
In  children,  for  in- 
oduced  by  respiration 
iciite  than  in  adults  ; 
hing  often  occurs  in 
^hen,  one  lung  being 
is  forced  to  work  for 
among  stethoscopists 
/fl  respiration.  Or,  let 
in  an  advanced  stage 
whose  lungs  cavities 
)y  the  suppuration  of 
hoscope  be  applied  to 
I  patient  when  he  is 
>vill  be  heard  echoing 
his  lungs  ;  this  mor- 
id  pectoriloquy.  Such 
ire  interesting  points 
Itation,  a  subject  on 
s  not  only  might  be, 
n.  In  comparing  the 
fger  and  Laennec,  we 
hat,  if  percu.ssion  is 
hoscope  affords  more 
3n  this  advantage  is 
iced  by  the  extreme 
:ation — a  difficulty  so 
to  be  surmounted  by 
is  for  this  cause  that 
t  slightly  on  the  use 
•  chest-viewer,  as  we 
perplex  general  read- 
nctions  which  harass 
an  left  Laennec  him- 
ilt. 

ibjects  of  this  nature 
by  what  slow  steps 
leases  has  advanced, 
>ms  indicate  healthy 
IS — how  delicate  are 
present,  even  to  the 
cian — and  how  cori- 
ire  those  pretensions 
the  medical  science 
pirical  rules,  applied 
>n  and  less  philjsu- 


TIIK  U8K9  OF  THINGS.— HUMANITY 


59'J 


THE  USES  OF  THINGS. 


UCII  error  and 
misunderstand- 
ing of  things  has 
Nf    'VIVX   M>'    uffipx    been    produced 
v\h^    v*>.tf  '  lifflK^   '"  '''■'*  world  of 
ours,   from   the 
extremely   lim- 
ited and  imper- 
fect   sense    in 
which  the  word  u$e  has  come  to  be  em- 
ployed.    It   is  a  common  error  to  apply 
iliis  expression  to  those  things  only  which 
arc  of  manifest  and  immediate  advantage 
—to  those  whose  effects  upon  us  are  vis- 
ible and  material,  and  can  be  estimated  in 
tiie  scale  of  mercenary  gain.      Hence  iitil- 
iiy  h:is  come  to  be  associated  with  the  idea 
oiiiarrownL'ss  and  illiborality.     The  man 
who  meets  every  object,  custom, and  ainen- 
itv  of  life,  with  the  ever-recurring  question, 
"What  is  the  use?"  and  accepts  or  con- 
demns it  according  as  he  is  able  to  give 
:in  answer,  is  regarded,  and  justly,  of  an 
illiberal  and  contracted  mind.    Such  a  iran 
i.s  perpetually  on  the  rack  to  discover  what 
is   bcycnd  his  power  to  discern ;  he  is 
haunted   by  a  phantom   which    for  ever 
eludes  his  pursuit.     He  is  unable  to  sur- 
render himself  to  an  object  or  enjoyment, 
.simply  for  its  own  sake,  and  thus  mars  his 
own  happiness,  by  a  constant  and  ever- 
resiless  anxiety. 
I      All  this  arises,  as  we  have  said,  from  a 
'■  misapprehension  of  wherein  utility  con- 
i  sists.     It  is  from  making  money,  which  is 
!  the  universal  standard  of  all  value  with 
j  mankind,  the  standard  of  utility.     So  that 
'  nothing  is  deemed  useful,  but  what  either 
'  directly  brings  or  may  become  the  pander 
of  this  all-potent  requisite.     Now  a  great 
'  part,  and  by  far  the  greatest  part  of  the 
i  blessings  of  life,  do  not  admit  of  this  esti- 
''  mate  ;  Uiey  are  ioo  fine  and  inestimable 
■  to  bo  weighed  in  the  gross  scale  of  dollars 
'"■  and  cents.     Such  are  poetry,  music,  the 
pleasures  of  taste,  and  the   principle   of 
beauty  in  general.     We  have  known  per- 
sons who  could  not  discover  the  use  of  a 
rose,  or  a  beautiful  landscape,  or  the  gor- 
geouslv-woveu  hues  of  sunset.     To  such  I 
person's  they  are  tridy  without  any  use.  j 
They  lack  the  sense  to  discern  and  ap- 
preciate it.     But  is  any  one  of  all  the  lav- , 


ish  gifts  and  creations  of  nature  entirely 
without  use  ?  Alas  !  no.  Nothing  which 
comes  from  her  lii)eral  hand  is  crealeil  in 
vain.  The  humblest  flower  that  blends  its 
fragrance  with  the  breath  of  nu)rning,  as 
well  as  the  sun-braidei  rainbow  that  con- 
nects earth  with  heaven,  has  a  tise  and 
most  emphatic  meaning  to  him  who  opens 
his  heart  to  receive  it.  How  ought  tUe 
exuberance,  the  unstinted  liberality,  the 
varied  and  surpassing  beauty  of  nature,  to 
correct  the  narrow  and  self-formed  views 
which  some  men  entertain  of  utility  ! — 
These  are  useful  in  a  higher  and  finer 
sense  than  is  theirs  to  comprehend  :  noth- 
ing, it  may  be  affirmed,  is  altogevher  use- 
less, which  tends  to  retine  and  liberalize 
the  human  mind— to  make  men  wiser,  bet- 
ter, less  selfish  in  their  ends,  and  more  in 
sympathy  with  others. 

There  are  some  things  of  which  it  is 
improper,  and  a  perversion  of  nature,  to 
affirm  that  thiy  have  any  use  :  which  ex- 
isls  in,  and  for  themselves,  and  are  to  be 
pursued  for  their  own  sake.     It  would  be 
a  strange  misapplication  of  Kuiguage  to  in- 
quire what  is  the  use  of  truth,  or  virtue, 
or,  as  we  conceive,  of  beauty.     That  is  a 
poor  and  false  philosophy  which  attempts 
to  found  all  beauty  on  the  basis  of  utility. 
It  degrades  this  divine  and  exalted  prin- 
ciple from  its  true  sphere,  where  God  has 
placed  it,  to  the  low  level  of  adventitious 
circumstance.     It  is  perverting  that  which 
claims  only  love  and  admiration,  to  bo  the 
ignoble   pander  of  profit  and  advaiitige. 
That  is  the  highest  perfection  where  beau- 
ty and  utility  are  found  united,  but  the  one 
is  no  more  dependent  on  the  other  than 
the  principles  of  geometry  are  dependent 
on  artificial  lines  and  angles.     The  one 
is  the  highborn  and  eternal  child  of  rea- 
son, the  other  the  base  offspring  of  want 
and  necessity. 


Humanity.— True  humanity  consists 
not  in  a  squeamish  ear ;  it  consists  not  m 
starting  or  shrinking  at  tales  ot  misery, 
but  in  a  disposition  of  heart  to  relieve  it. 
True  humanity  appertains  rtther  to  the 
mind  than  to  the  nerves,  and  prompts  men 
to  use  real  and  active  measures  to  execute 
the  actions  which  it  suggests. 


jik 


f  l, 


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to 

a 
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a 


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IM 


THE  DllOrriNO.VVELL  AT  KNAUKSBOROTTOn.-MOTIVKS. 


GOl 


THE  DUOl'PINO-WKll  AT  KNARES- 
lUIROUOH. 

NAKESBOROUGIl, 
an  ancient  town  in 
Yorkshire,  Enuliuul, 
tliou^li  not  of  lar<;o 
extent,  is  sitiialeil  in 


U"*'  ^^^\      an  inlcrestinj,' p.-irtol 

-^T^-Z^nTT'^    some  interestiMixliis- 
'    ^  ■  ■'     torical  anil  tradition- 
al  assoeintions  conneif.l  will.  it.     'Hie 
town  iisMf  is  not  p.riieuluriy  r.-miukiibl..  ; 
it  is  a  piirliamrntary  borousli, --'"'l 'I'-'nan- 

,„■„,,„,.  of  linen  is  cnrrie.l  on  m  it  to  m 
eon^i.i.M■;ll,le  extent.  Tl.e  Nidd  runs  close 
,KiM  it  -  :i  Ntreuin  of  minor  importance  ^en- 
Irailv,  l.nt  whiel.,  in  its  sl.ori  course  Iroin 
ih.'  r.ioli  moorlinds  till  it  joins  the  Ouse. 
,!.,ws^hron«h  soM.e  .leliKhtful  scenery 
0„un.■^:ie  of  the  river  (tin;  side  on  which 

,h,.  lowi.    lies)  ar.'   the    inins  of   Kn^res- 

l.oro.ioh  ea>tle.      Opposite   is   the  lann.us 

Uroppmu-Well,  and  in  the  cliifs,  or  steep 

'  iMok',  are  caves  or  excavations  made  m 

!  aM.irntMMd  modern  liines,hut  alike  in  the 

\  euvuM.stanee  ..f  havin-  been   h.rmed  by 

pcrsrvenou  hut  misMpphed  induslrv.     One 

1  Lcavation  hears  the  nam,-  of  St.  Robert  s 
i  Cave  (St.  Kol)ert  was  a  famous  ascetic  o 
':  il.c  ihtile.-nlli  century,  whoso  chapel  and 
:    her.uii:i-e  are  also  shown  here),  but  which 
'  is   r.nd.-fed   more  remarkable   as   having 
l„.n>  the  scene  of  tin-  murder  committed 
l,v  the  sdioolmaster  Eufreue  Aram,  whose 
\.  .ncMu.HV  has  been  end.almed  in  a  novel. 
'    Oihei' excavations  were  formed  by  an  m- 
'    dusirious   weaver  and  his  s.m,  who  also 
cut  the  cliir  into  terraces,  rising  one  above  , 
anolUer,  and  planted  them  with  llowenn-  ■ 
shrulis  and  everfrreens. 

The  walk  along  the  river  to  the  Urop- 
pino-Well  is  delighttul.  The  spring  rises 
al  the  foot  of  a  limestone  rock,  at  some 
little  distance  from  the  rock,  where  it 
spreads  an<l  trickles  over,  iallii.g  in  a 
nuuilu-r  of  liule  streams,  with  a  kind  ol 
tinkling  sound.  Dr.  Short's  description 
of  the  well,  wiiuen  in  1731,  seems  to  be 
the  progenitor  of  suhseiiuent  accounts. 
He  says  :  "  The  most  noted  of  the  petrily- 
iu"  waters  in  Yorkshire  is  the  Dropping-  ^ 
W'ell  at  Knaresborough,  which  rises  up  ^ 
about  fou:teen  yards  below  the  top  ol  a  j 


small  mountain  of  niarlestono  (properly  a 
limestone  of  a  very  coarse  grain),  on  the 
west  side  of  the  town  and  riv.^r,  and  about 
twenty-six  yards  from  the  bank  of  the  'Mnhl;  \ 
llicn  it  falls  down  in  the  same  contiacteil 
rapid  stream  about  a  yard,  and  at  a  second 
fall  at  two  yards'  distance   it  conn-s  two 
feel  lower,  then  three  or  four,  and  so  falls 
upon  an  easy  ascent,  divides  and  sjireads 
its(df  upon  the  top  of  an  isthmus  of  a  pet- 
rilied  rock  generatc-il  out  of  the  water,  and 
tln-re  falls  down   round   it  :   about  four  or 
five  yards  from  the   river,  the  top  of  this 
isthmus  or  rock  hangs  over  its  bottom  four 

yards."  ^  ,  , 

'    The  petrifying  property  of  the  water  ol 
the   Dropi)ing-Well  is  owing  to  a  gritty 
or  simrry  matter,  which  eIlcrll^ts  the  ob- 
jects it  is  deposited  on.      Mr    Dela  Heche 
says  :  "  Springs  are  s(dilom  or  ever  <piite 
pure,  owing  to  the  solvent  property  of  wa- 
ter, wliich,  percolating  through  thi'  earth, 
always  becomes  more  or  h'ss  chiir-iMl  with 
foreign  matter Dr.  WM-.ter  de- 
scribes the  hot  springs  of  Furnas  (m  the 
volcanic  district  of  St.  Michael,  Azores) 
as    respectively    varying   in    temp<-r.ture 
from  733  to  207^  Tahrenheit,  an.l  depos- 
iting large  ciuantities  of  clay  and  siliccms 
matter,  which    envelop  tlie    grass    leaves 
and   other  vegetable  substances  that  lall 
within  their  reach.     These   they   render 
more  or  less  fossil.     Tl.e  vegetables  may 
be  observed  in  all  stages  of  petri  action. 


MOTIVES. 

^  HE  knowledge  that 
'J^we  are  rational  be- 
ings, and  that  as  such 
we  should  ever  well 
consider  ere  we  de- 
termine to  act,  seems 
to  have  induced  the 
(^  \  ueiieral  bidief  that  ac- 

tion, or  the  omitting  h.  act,  is  always  pre- 
c'ded  by  some  immediate  impelh.ig  mo- 
tive. Accordingly,  the  i.np.uing  ol  mo- 
tives is  one  of  the  most  common  occur- 
r..nces  in  life.  No  matter  what  the  nature 
of  the  subject-be  it  great  or  sm  .11,  im- 
portant or  non-important-slraiglnway  is 


1 


^ 


i1 


•y*, 


*•*•, 


'■•«>i 


C02 


MOTIVES. 


it  believed  to  have  had  its  origin  in  8om«i 
rnotivo.  If  a  party  give  the  right  instead 
of  tho  left  side  of  the  wr-y,  ho  is  supposed 
to  1)0  actuated  by  some  prcconsideration  ; 
if  ho  address  you  as  "  Dear  sir,"  instead 
of  "  ^Ty  dear  sir,"  there  is  no  doubt  about 
it ;  if  he  subscribe  himself  "  Yours  obedi- 
ently," instead  of  "  Yours  faithfully,"  it  is 
e(|u;illy  certain ;  if  ho  omit  to  take  wine 
with  you,  tho  whole  afluir  is  as  clear  as 
tho  light  of  day.  Now,  nothing  can  be 
more  incorrect  than  tliis  view — nothing 
more  true  than  that  on  ordinary  occasions 
wo  all  act  indopendenlly  of  any  motive 
whatever.  In  going  home  from  the  city, 
for  (!.\amplo,  wo  perhaps  invariably  walk 
on  one  side  of  the  way,  although  we  may 
have  no  motive  for  doing  so — not  even 
that  of  convenience.  Perhaps  we  are  oc- 
casionally taciturn,  and  not  disposed  at  all 
times  to  be  conversible  ;  and  yet  it  may  be 
that  for  such  silence  we  have  not  a  single 
discoverable  motive.  Every  or  any  thing 
else  but  motive  may  have  an  influonco  in 
producing  tho  particular  state  or  occur- 
rence complained  of  or  remarked  on.  Hab- 
it, peculiar  temperament,  accident,  thought- 
lessness, unavoidable  circumstances,  may 
each  occasion  its  portion  of  the  results  usu- 
ally attributed  to  this  otherwise  certainly 
important  cause  of  men's  actions  ;  but  they 
are  all  overlooked  in  an  account  of  the  mat- 
ter. One  party  will  become  exceedingly 
suspicious  at  the  non-answering  of  a  let- 
ter, another  very  angry  at  the  omission  to 
acknowledge  a  bow  or  other  compliment. 
The  correspondent  in  the  one  case  had 
simply  forgotten  tho  letter  of  his  friend — 
a  great  oHenco  no  doubt,  but  still  not  so 
important  as  that  imputed— and  the  ofTond- 
ing  party  in  the  other  had  omitted  to  re- 
turn the  bow  or  other  compliment  from 
mere  inadvertence.  Now,  had  anything 
but  a  motive  been  thought  of,  or  rather  had 
no  motive  been  assigned,  all  would  have 
been  right.  But  no  :  wo  are,  as  we  have 
observed,  reasonable  beings,  and  therefore 
must  be  supposed  to  act  at  all  limes  with 
a  view  to  results  and  consequences. 

Motives  iirc  of  course  divisible  into  good 
and  evil ;  and  a  good  motive,  if  imputed, 
can  not  well  be  productive  of  unpleasant- 
ness. The  misjbrtune,  however,  is,  that 
we  are  more  prone  to  attribute  the  evil 
than  tho  good.     This  unfortunate  propen- 


sity is  occasionally  productive  of  serious 
consequences.  O.i  tho  occasion  of  the 
non-answering  of  .1  letter  rcquirin;;  an  an- 
swer, as  on  that  of  tho  non-return  of  a  com- 
pliment,  if  a  motive  bo  imputed  at  all,  it 
can  not  bo  a  favorable  one  ;  hence  cool- 
ness, severance  of  friendship,  quarrels.  In 
that  of  simple  taciturnity,  wo  have  all  the 
evils  resulting  from  a  false  couvicti(»n  of 
pride,  ill-feeling,  desire  of  concealing  some 
important  circumstance,  as  influencing  tho 
party  uisposed  to  hold  his  peace.  How 
much  1  lore  good  feeling  would  there  be 
in  the  world,  and  how  much  more  friendly 
communion  among  those  inhabiting  it. 
were  it  but  possible  to  eradicate  this  erro- 
neous practice  I 

Ono  great  reason  why  it  should  be  erad- 
icated is,  that  tho  evil  or  injustice  remains 
not  against  the  parly  improperly  suspected, 
but  reflects  in  an  equal  degree  upon  our- 
selves. It  is  a  veritable  principle  in  mor- 
al as  in  physical  science  that  like  begets 
like.  Let  as  attribute  improper  motives 
and  wo  shall  find  that  tho  same  will  be 
attributed  to  us  ;  nay,  wo  shall  perhaps 
also  discover  that  hero  was  good  reason 
for  that  which  possibly  arose  from  acci- 
dent or  inadvertence.  On  the  oilar  hand, 
let  us  impute  those  which  are  good  ;  and 
if  there  be  one  single  spark  of  feeling  or 
principle  in  tho  composition  of  the  parly 
to  whom  wo  attribute  them,  we  shall  find 
that  he  will  reciprocate  :  and  whether  ho 
have  good  feeling  or  not,  that  he  will  give 
us  credit  for  having  deserved  a  good  o])in- 
ion,  or  at  any  rate  will  not  conclude  that 
wo  merited  the  neglect  which  had  been 
exhibited  toward  us.  These  principles 
are  in  daily  operation.  Apart  from  the 
subject  of  motive,  which  perhaps  implies 
some  circumstance  with  which  wo  are  in- 
dividually connecteo,  lut  us  unjustly  ac- 
cuse an  individual  of  a  desire  to  act  un- 
fairly, and  wo  shall  discover  that  he  repels 
tho  charge  with  indignation.  Lotus  give 
him  credit,  equally  unjustly,  for  a  desire 
to  do  that  which  is  honorable,  and  we  per- 
ceive that  he  endeavors  to  deserve  it :  our 
feeling  and  passions  seem  so  consitituted, 
as  reciprocally  to  act  on  their  like  when 
excited.  Thus  benevolence  acts  on  be- 
nevolence, anger  on  anger,  pride  on  pride, 
and  self-esteem  on  self-esteem.  Every 
one   knows   how   the  principle  operates 


BHAKINQ  HANDS. 


6U3 


•  productivo  of  serious 
1  tho  occasion  of  the 
letter  reqiiirimj  iiii  an- 
ho  non-return  oraeoni- 
n  bo  iniputuil  at  all,  it 
ilile  one  ;  henno  corjl- 
rionilsiliip, (]ii,-irreU.  In 
iirnity,  wo  liuvo  all  the 
1  a  falso  conviction  of 
siro  of  conecalinjj  some 
mce,  08  influencinj,'  tho 
lold  Ilia  |)eu(;e.  How 
Deling  would  there  ho 
ow  much  more  friendly 
[  those  inhul)ititi}r  it, 
)  to  eradicate  this  erro- 

why  it  should  ho  erad- 
.il  or  injustice  remains 
'  improj)frly  suspected, 
jual  degree  upon  our- 
tablu  principle  in  n)or- 
;icnce  that  like  hegets 
into  improper  motives 
that  tho  same  will  bo 
lay,  we  shall  perhaps 
here  was  good  reasou 
iibly  arose  from  acci- 
I.  On  tho  other  hand, 
which  are  good  ;  and 
^'lo  spark  of  feeling  or 
nposition  of  the  party 
te  them,  we  shall  find 
L-ate  :  and  whelher  he 
r  not,  that  he  will  give 
deserved  a  good  oj)in- 
vill  not  conclude  that 
gleet  which  had  been 
IS.  These  principles 
ion.  Apart  from  the 
vhich  perhaps  implies 
with  which  we  are  in- 
su,  lot  us  unjustly  ac- 
jf  a  desire  to  act  un- 
liscover  that  he  repels 
iguation.  Let  us  give 
unjustly,  for  a  desire 
honorable,  and  we  per- 
vors  to  deserve  it :  our 
s  seem  so  constituted, 
ct  on  their  like  when 
levolenee  acts  on  be- 
angcr,  pride  on  pride, 
1  self-esteem.  Every 
he  principle  operates 


with  resppct  to  tho  education  of  children  ; 
and  it  is  only  to  be  regretted  that  it  ii  not 
more  generally  regarded  in  riper  life. 

It  may  be  true  that  to  impute  good  mo- 
tives   at  all  times  would   be  ridiculous. 
There   are   cartnin    circumstances   under 
which  they  can  not  be  presumed  to  exist, 
and  which  of  course  are  not  inr'.uded  in 
iheso  remarks.     It  may  be  also  true  that 
in  imputing  ihom,  we  sometimes  throw 
oiir  own  conduct  open  to  misconstruction. 
This  can  only  be,  however,  when  we  act 
without  due  regard  to  a   principle,  and 
when  we  impute  good  motives  at  one  pe- 
riod and  bad  at  another,  just  according  as 
our  whim  and  caprice  dictate.     It  can  not 
happen  where  we  make  it  .he  rule  always 
to  adopt  the  former  iiourse,  until  we  are 
certain  that  we  are  wrong  in  doing  so.    In 
imputing  a  good  motive,  we  may  occasion- 
ally  find  that  we  have  been   mistaken: 
but  the  mistake  will  be  on  the  better  side  ; 
and  it  will  never  occur  that  we  have  com- 
mitted an  injustice,  or  that  we  have  un- 
necessarily or  foolishly  lost  a  friend. 


SHAKING  HANDS. 


MONO  the  first 
things  which  we 
remember  taking 
notice  of  in  the 
manners  of    the 
people,  were  two 
errors  in  the  cus- 
tom of    shaking 
hands :  some  we 
observed  grasped  everybody's  hand  alike 
— with  an  equal  fervor  of  grip  ;  you  would 
have  thought  Jenkins  was  tho  best  friend 
they  had  in  the  world  ;  but  on  succeeding 
to  the  squeeze,  though  a  slight  acquaint- 
ance, you  found  it  equally  flattering  to 
yourself ;  and  on  the  appearance  of  some- 
body else  (whose  name,  it  turned  out,  the' 
operator  had  forgotten),  the  crush  was  no 
less  complimentary  :  the  face  was  as  ear- 
nest, and  beaming  the  "  glad  to  see  you" 
aa  syllablical  and  sincere,  and  the  shake 
as  elose,  as  long,  and  as  rejoicing,  as  if 
tho   semi-unknown   was   a   friend   come 
home  from  the  deserts. 


39 


On  tho  other  hand,  there  would  b«  a 
gentleman,  now  and  then,  as   coy  of  his 
hand  as  if  he  were  a  prude,  or  had  a  whit- 
low.    It  was  in  vain  that  your  pretensions 
did  not  go  beyond  tho  "  civil  salute"  of  the 
ordinary  shaiie,  or  that  being  introduced 
to  him  in  u  friendly  manner,  and  expected 
to  shake  hands  with  tho  rest  of  the  com- 
pany, you  could  not  in  decency  omit  his. 
His  fingers  half  coming  out  and  half  re- 
treating, seemed  to  think  you  were  doing 
them  a  mischief,  a'ld  when  you  got  hold 
of  them,  the  whole  of  the  shako  was  on 
your  side  ;  the  other  hand  did  but  jiroudly 
or    pensively    acquiesce — there    was    no 
knowing  which  ;  you  had  to  sustain  it  as 
you  might  a  lady's,  in  handing  her  to  a 
seat,  and  it  was  an   equal  perplexity  to 
shake  it  or  let  it  go.     The  one  seemed  a 
violence  done  to  the  patient,  the  other  an 
awkward  responsibility  brought  upon  your- 
self.    You  did  not  know,  all  the  evening, 
whether  you  were  an  object  of  dislike  to 
the  person— till  on   the  party's  breaking 
up,  you  saw  him  behave  like  an  equally 
ill-used  gentleman  to  all  who  practised  the 
same  unthinking  civility. 

Both  of  these  errors,  we  think,  might 
as  well  be  avoided ;  but  of  the  two,  we 
must  say  we  prefer  the  former.  If  it  does 
not  look  so  much  like  particular  sincerity, 
it  looks  more  like  general  kindness  ;  and 
if  these  two  virtues  are  to  bo  separated 
(which  they  assuredly  need  not  be,  if  con- 
sidered without  spleen),  the  world  can  bet- 
ter afford  to  dispense  with  an  unpleasant 
truth  than  a  gratuitous  humanity.  Be- 
sides, it  is  more  difficult  to  make  sure  of 
the  one  than  to  practise  the  other,  and 
kindness  itself  is  the  best  of  all  truths. 
As  long  as  we  are  sure  of  that,  we  are 
sure  of  something,  and  of  something  pleas- 
ant. It  is  always  the  best  end,  if  not  in 
every  instance  the  most  logical  means. 

This  manual  shyness  is  sometimes  at- 
tributed to  modesty,  but  never,  we  sus- 
pect, with  justice,  unless  it  be  that  sort  of 
modesty  whoso  fear  of  committing  itself 
is  grounded  in  pride.  Want  of  address  is 
a  better  reason,  but  this  particular  instance 
of  it  would  be  grounded  in  the  same  feel- 
ing. It  always  implies  a  habit  of  either 
pride  or  mistrust.  We  have  met  with 
two  really  kind  men  who  evinced  this 
soreness  of  hand.     Neither  of  them,  per- 


I 


904 


UABSACaS  07  THE  MAMELUKES  BY  MUHaMMKU  ALL 


i-lft 


''^€. 


■  Ik: 


haps,  thought  himself  inferior  to  anybmly 
about  him,  and  both  had  good  reason  to 
think  highly  of  themselves,  but  both  had 
been  sanguine  men,  contradicted  in  their 
early  hopes.  There  was  a  plot  to  meet 
the  hand  of  one  of  thetn  with  a  fish-slice, 
in  order  to  show  him  the  disadvantage  to 
which  ho  had  put  his  friends  by  that  flat 
salutation  ;  but  the  conspirator  had  not  the 
courage  to  do  it.  Whether  he  heard  of 
the  intention  we  know  not,  but  shortly  af- 
terward he  took  very  kindly  to  a  shake. 
The  other  was  the  only  man  of  a  warm 
set  of  politicians,  who  remained  true  to 
his  first  hopes  of  mankind.  lie  was  im- 
patient at  the  change  in  his  companion, 
and  at  the  folly  and  inattention  of  the  rest ; 
but  though  his  manner  became  cold,  his 
constancy  became  warm,  and  this  gave  him 
a  right  to  be  as  strange  as  he  pleased. 


MASSACRE  OF  THE  MAMELUKES  BY 
MOHAMMED  ALL 


HE  Mamelukes  pre- 
sented, formerly,  one 
of  the  greatest  obsta- 
cles to  the  consolida- 
tion of  Mohammed 
Ali's  rule  in  Egypt : 
he  therefore  resolved 
on  a  scheme  for  their 


destruction,  which,  al 
though  ^ucce8sfuI,  was  at  once  treachor- 1  noble  horses  ; 


Shah,  had  made  Egypt  to  I'eel  their  pow- 
or,  were  nearly  deitlroyed  by  M«)hamme(l 
Ali.  They  had  received  orders  to  hold 
themselves  in  readiness  to  take  part  in  a 
grand  ceremony,  which  was  to  precede 
the  departure  of  his  son  for  Mecca.  '  That 
day,'  said  an  iohabitant  of  Cairo  to  me, 
'  the  sun  rose  the  color  of  blood  !'  The 
pacha  looked  dark  and  melancholy :  but 
recollecting  that  he  was  to  preside  at  one 
of  the  most  brilliant  (dies  of  the  mussul- 
mans,  he  assumed  a  smile  which  contrast- 
ed remarkably  with  his  general  appear- 
ance. He  had  addressed  the  Mamelukes 
as  the  '  Elder  Sons  of  the  Prophet ;'  and 
called  upon  them,  by  the  peace  which 
subsisted  between  them,  to  celebrate  with 
him  the  departure  of  his  son  for  the  Holy 
Tomb. 

"  In  the  meantime  a  number  of  faithful 
Albanians  were  concealed  upon  the  ram- 
parts, the  towers,  and  behind  the  walls  of 
the  citadel.  The  Mamelukes  arrived  with 
the  utmost  confidence,  and  the  gates  were 
closed  upon  them.  The  pacha  had  placed 
himself  on  the  summit  of  a  terrace,  seated 
on  a  carpet,  smoking  a  magnificent  nar- 
guile  (Persian  pipe),  whence  he  could  see 
every  motion  without  being  seen  ;  behind 
him  were  three  of  his  confidential  oilicers. 
He  regarded  the  scene  below  v/iih  a  fixed 
and  terrible  look,  without  speaking  a  word. 
The  order  was  given  to  '  Fire  !'  aiul  ilm 
massacre  of  the  Mamelukes  menced. 
They  were  adorned,  or  rather  encumbered, 
with  their  finest  arms,  aud  mounted  on 
but  th(nr  numbers,  their 


ous  and  ferocious.  He  invited  those  of 
the  body  who  were  living  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Cairo  to  be  present  at  a  grand 
festival  to  be  given  on  the  Ist  of  March, 
1811,  in  honor  of  his  son's  being  invested 
with  the  command  of  an  expedition  against 
Mecca.  To  this  ceremony  all  the  Mame- 
lukes repaired  ;  and  when  they  were  with- 
in the  gates  of  the  pacha's  castle,  which 
were  closed  on  them,  a  shower  of  mus- 
ketry was  poured  down  upon  them,  from 
which  they  had  no  means  of  escaping. 
The  engraving  representing  this  scene  is 
taken  from  Count  Forbin's  "  Voyage  dans 
de  Levant."  The  following  is  the  count's 
description  of  the  scene  : — 

"  That  audacious  militia,  the    Mame- 
lukes, which,  since  the  time  of  Maiek 


courage,  all  were  useless — they  were  de- 
stroyed !" 

Such  of  the  Mam  lakes  as  escaped  the 
indiscriminate  massacre  within  the  walls 
of  the  castle  were  seized,  carried  out,  and 
beheaded  ;  and  numbers  in  the  towns  and 
villages,  on  the  calamity  which  had  be- 
fallen their  brethren  being  made  known, 
shared  a  like  fate.  The  remnant  retired 
to  Dongola  in  Nubia  ;  but  they  were  scat- 
tered by  Ibrahim  Pacha  :  and  from  that 
period  the  total  destruction,  or  at  least  the 
complete  subjugation  of  the  once  proud 
Mamelukes,  may  be  dated. 

Mohammed  Ali  is  a  remarkable  man. 
He  came  into  Egypt  about  the  year  1800, 
a  mere  soldier  of  fortune,  and  gradually 
raised  himself  until  he  was  made  pacha. 


MKD  ALL 


^,jypt  to  lad  thuir  pow. 
miroyed  by  M<>hHiiim«(l 
■eceivod  ordorw  to  hold 
liiieMH  to  tnko  part  in  n 
which  was  to  precede 
if)  son  for  Mecca.  '  That 
d)itant  of  Cairo  to  mo, 
!  color  of  blood  !'  The 
k  and  nitdancholy :  but 
le  was  to  presido  at  one 
imt  ffiies  of  the  miMsid- 
i  a  smile  which  contrast- 
ith  his  general  nppear- 
Idressod  the  Mamelukes 
18  of  the  Prophet ;'  and 
i\,  by  the  peace  which 
I  them,  to  celebrate  with 
I  of  his  son  for  the  Holy 

ime  a  number  of  faithful 
oncealed  upon  the  ram- 

and  behind  the  walls  of 
Mamelukes  arrived  with 
ence,  and  the  gates  were 
The  pacha  had  placed 
mmit  of  a  terrace,  seated 
king  a  magnificent  nar- 
)e),  whence  he  could  see 
hout  being  seen  ;  behind 
'  his  confidential  oiHcers. 
scene  below  with  a  fixed 
without  speaking  a  word. 
;iven  to  '  Fire  !'  hihI  i!i«> 
Mamelukes  nienceJ. 

ed,  or  rather  encumbered, 

arms,  and  mounted  on 
lut  their  numbers,  their 
)  useless — they  were  de- 

ami'Kikes  as  escaped  the 
la^sacre  within  the  walls 
e  seized,  carried  out,  and 
umbers  in  the  towns  and 
calamity  which  had  be- 
iren  being  made  known, 
B.  The  remnant  retired 
ubia  ;  but  they  were  scat- 
a  Pacha  :  and  from  that 
lestruction.or  at  least  the 
ation  of  the  once  proud 
r  be  dated. 

ill  is  a  remarkable  man. 
gypt  about  the  year  1800, 
of  fortune,  and  gradually 
iitil  he  was  made  pacha. 


'■V.t,j 


!•• 


i 


1^4 


JUGGLERS  OF  INDIA. 

UGGLERS  came  for- 
ward on  one  occasion 
to  perform  publicly  in 
the  yard  of  the  bar- 
racks of  Madras :  ma- 
ny hundreds  of  peo- 
ple, of  all  kinds,  ages, 
And  denominations,  in- 
cluding the  soldiery  of 
the  establishment,  assembled  to  witness 
the  exhibition,  and  some  little  temporary 
arrangements  were  made  that  all  might 
hear  conveniently.  The  leader  of  the 
jugalers  (who  were  all,  of  course,  natives 
of  Hindostan)  requested  the  commanding 
officer  to  place  a  guard  of  men  around  the 
scene  of  display — a  precaution  which  was 
adopted,  and  proved  a  very  wise  one. 
The  flooi  of  the  court,  be  it  observed,  was 
composed  of  sand,  firm  and  well-trodden. 
On  this  ground,  then,  after  some  prelimi- 
nary tricks  of  an  inferior  kind,  one  man 
was  left  alone  with  a  little  girl,  the  latter 
seeming  about  eight  or  nine  years  old. 
Beside  them  stood  a  tall  narrow  basket, 
perhaps  three  or  four  feet  high,  by  little 
more  than  a  foot  in  width,  and  open  at  the 
top.  No  other  object,  living  or  inanimate, 
appeared  upon  the  ground.  After  a  short 
period  spent  by  the  man  in  conversing 
with  the  girl,  he  seemed  to  get  angry,  and 
began  to  rail  loudly  at  her  neglect  of  some 
wish  of  his ;  the  child  attempted  to  soothe 
him,  but  he  continued  to  show  an  increased 
degree  of  irritation  as  he  went  on.  By 
degrees  he  lashed  himself  into  such  ap- 
parent fury,  that  the  foam  actually  stood 
upon  his  lips  ;  and  being  naturally  of  an 
unprepossessing  countenance,  he  looked 
to  the  white  spectators  at  least  as  like  an 
enraged  demon  as  might  be.  Finally  his 
wrath  at  the  girl  rose  seemingly  to  an  un- 
controllable height,  and  he  seized  her  and 
put  hgr  beneath  the  basket ;  or  rather, 
turned  the  open  mouth  of  the  basket  over 
her  person.  She  was  thus  shut  entirely 
up — the  turned  bottom  of  the  basket  clo- 
sing her  in  above.  Having  thus  disposed 
of  the  child,  in  spite  of  lier  screams  and 
entreaties,  the  man  drew  his  sword,  which 
was  as  bright  as  the  surface  of  a  mirror, 
and  he  appeared  as  if  about  to  wreak  some 
further  evil  on  the  object  of  his  ire.     Af- 


ter some  moments,  during  which  he  talked 
to  himself  and  to  the  enclosed  girl,  as  if 
justifying  his  anger,  he  did  actually  at 
length  plunge  the  sword  down  into  the  bas- 
ket, and  drew  it  out  dripping  with  blood, 
or  at  least  blood-red  drops !  The  child 
screamed  piteously  from  her  prison,  but  in 
vain  ;  for  the  man  plunged  the  weapon 
again  and  again  into  the  scene  of  her  con- 
finement. As  he  did  so,  the  cries  of  the 
girl  became  faint  by  degrees,  and  in  the 
end  died  away  altogether.  The  deed  of 
death  was  consummated. 

So,  at  least,  thought  most  of  the  horror- 
struck  persons  who  witnessed  this  action. 
And  well  it  was  for  the  chief  performer  in 
it  that  he  requested  a  guard  to  be  placed  ; 
for  it  required  all  the  exertions  of  this 
guard  to  prevent  the  aroused  soldiery,  who 
believed  this  to  be  no  trick,  but  a  diaboli- 
cal butchery,  from  leaping  into  the  arena 
and  tearing  the  man  to  pieces.  The  ex- 
citable Irishmen  among  the  number,  in  par- 
ticular, ground  their  teeth  against  one  an- 
other, and  uttered  language  not  very  com- 
plimentary to  the  juggler.  Even  the  offi- 
cers, whose  better  education  and  experi- 
ence made  them  less  open  to  such  feelings, 
grew  pale  with  uneasiness.  But  observe 
the  issue  of  all  this 

When  the  man  seemed  to  have  carried 
his  rage  to  the  last  extremity,  warned  per- 
haps by  the  looks  of  the  soldiers  that  it 
would  be  as  well  to  close  the  exhibition 
without  delay,  he  raif rd  his  bloody  sword 
for  a  moment  before  the  eyes  of  the  assem- 
blage, and  then  struck  the  basket  smartly 
with  it.  The  basket  tumbled  over  on  a 
side  ;  and  on  the  spot  which  it  had  cov- 
ered, in  place  of  the  expected  corpse  of 
the  girl  whose  last  groans  had  just  been 
heard,  there  was  seen — nothing  !  No 
vestige  of  dress,  or  any  other  thing  to  in- 
dicate that  the  girl  had  ever  been  there  ! 
The  amazement  of  the  spectators  was  un- 
bounded ;  and  it  was  if  possible  rendered 
more  intense,  when,  after  the  lapse  of  a 
few  seconds,  the  identical  little  girl  came 
bounding  from  the  side  of  the  courtyard — 
from  among  the  spectators'  feet,  it  seemed 
— and  clasped  the  juggler  around  the  knees 
with  every  sign  of  affection,  and  without 
the  slightest  marks  of  having  undergone 
any  injury.  We  have  said  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  assembly  was  immeasurable  ; 


Is,  (luring  which  he  tallted 
3  the  enclosed  girl,  as  if 
iger,  he  did  actually  at 
I  sword  down  into  the  has- 
out  dripping  with  blood, 
1-red  drops  !  The  child 
\\y  from  her  prison,  but  in 
lan  plunged  the  weapon 
into  the  scene  of  her  con- 
e  did  so,  the  cries  of  the 
t  by  degrees,  and  in  the 
dtogether.  The  deed  of 
mmated. 

ought  most  of  the  horror- 
'ho  witnessed  this  action, 
for  the  chief  performer  in 
ted  a  guard  to  be  placed  ; 
all  the  exertions  of  this 
the  aroused  soldiery,  who 
)e  no  trick,  but  a  diaboli- 
m  leaping  into  the  arena 
man  to  pieces.  The  ex- 
among  the  number,  in  par- 
leir  teeth  against  one  an- 
d  language  not  very  com- 
;  juggler.  Even  the  offi- 
ter  education  and  experi- 
less  open  to  such  feelings, 
jneasiuess.  But  observe 
his 

n  seemed  to  have  carried 
ist  extremity,  warned  per- 
ks of  the  soldiers  that  it 
1  to  close  the  exhibition 
3  raif rd  his  bloody  sword 
ore  the  eyes  of  the  assem- 
struck  the  basket  smartly 
asket  tumbled  over  on  a 
e  spot  which  it  had  cov- 
r  the  expected  corpse  of 
ist  groans  had  just  been 
as  seen — nothing  !  No 
,  or  any  other  thing  to  in- 
[irl  had  ever  been  there  ! 
of  the  spectators  was  un- 

was  if  possible  rendered 
hen,  after  the  lapse  of  a 
s  identical  little  girl  came 
le  side  of  the  courtyard — 
spectators'  feet,  it  seemed 
e  juggler  around  the  knees 

of  affection,  and  without 
rks  of  having  undergone 
3  have  said  the  astonish- 
mbly  was  immeasurable ; 


JUGGLERS  OF  INDIA. 


607 


and  it  might  really  well  be  so,  seeing  that 
the  feat  was  performed  in  the  centre  of  a 
court,  every  point  of  the  circumference  of 
which  was  crowded  with  spectators,  whose 
eyes  were  never  off  the  performers  for  one 
instant.     As  to  the  notion  of  a  subterra- 
nean passage,  the  nature  of  the  ground 
put  that  out  of  the  question  ;  and,  besides, 
that  nothing  of  that  kind  existed,  was  made 
plain  to  all  who  chose  to  satisfy  themselves 
on  the  subject,  by  looking  at  the  scene  of 
performances  when  they  had  closed.    Ev- 
ery one  was  sure  that  the  girl  had  been 
put  below  the  basket,  and  that  she  did  not 
get  out  of  it  in  the  natural  way.     But  she 
did  get  out— and  how  ?     It  is  impossible 
to  say,  though  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
it  was  accomplished  by  some  skilful  ma- 
noeuvre. 

A  somewhat  similar  feat  is  sometimes 
;  performed  with  animals.     A  juggler  -.vill 
I  place  a  lean  dog  below  one  of  the  baskets, 
I  and— presto,  pass  ! — when  he  lifts  it  up, 
you  will  behold  a  litter  of  as  fine  pups  as 
ever  whipper-in  could  desire.     But  most 
people  will  probably  think  the  tree-trick 
11  more  wonderful  one  than  any  of  these. 
A  juggler,  in  performing  this,  chooses  ei- 
ther a°small  spot  of  earth,  of  the  extent  of 
two  or  three  feet  square,  and  in  the  open 
air,  or  he  takes  a  large  flower-pot  and  fills 
it  with  mould  for  his  purpose.     Either  of 
the  ways  will  do.     Having  this  small  plat 
of  earth  before  him,  and  his  spectators 
ranged  around  at  a  distance  of  two  or 
three  feet,  the  juggler  shows  to  the  com- 
pany a  mango-stone,  or  the  stone  found  in 
the  centre  of  the  eastern  fruit  known  by 
iliat  name,  which  varies  in  size  from  that 
of  an  apple  upward.     This  stone  the  jug- 
gler then  plants  in  the  earth,  at  the  depth 
of  several  inches,  and  covers  it  up.     Not 
many  minutes  elapse  until  the  spectators 
behold  a  small  green  shoot  arise  from  the 
spot.     It  increases  visibly  in  height  and 
size  every  moment,  until  it  attains  the  al- 
titude of  a  foot  or  so.     It  then  begins  to 
send  off  branches  from  the  main  stem  ;  on 
the  branches  leaves  begin  to  appear,  bear- 
ing the  natural  hue  of  vegetation.     Buds 
next  present  themselves  ;  the  whole  affair, 
meanwhile,  assuming  the  regular  aspect, 
in  every  particular,  of  a  miniature  tree 
some  four  feet  high.     The  buds  are  fol- 
lowed by  blossoms,  and  finally  the  green 


fruit  of  the  mango  meets  the  astonished 
eyes  of  all  the  spectators.     "  Look,  but 
touch  not,"  is  all  this  time  the  juggler's 
word  ;  and  he  himself  also  preserves  the 
character  of  a  looker-on.     When  the  fruit 
has  arrived  at  something  like  a  fair  growth 
for  such  a  tree,  the  originator  of  this  ex- 
traordinary vegetation  plucks  it  and  hands 
it  to  the  spectators.     This  is  the  winding 
up  of  the  charm.     The  assembled  persons 
handle  the  fruit,  and  see  nothing  in  it  the 
slightest  degree  different  from  the  ordina- 
ry produce  of  the  mango,  elaborated  by 
the  slow  vegetation  of  months.     Our  in- 
formant on  these  points  ate  a  portion  of 
the    iuit  brought  forth  by  this  jugglery, 
and  found  it  to  taste  exactly  ilke  the  raw 
mango.     The  whole  process  now  detailed 
usually  occupies    about  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  from  the  ))lanting  of  the  stone  to  the 
production  of  the  fruit.     Though  he  gives 
away  the  fruit,  the  performer  does  not  part 
with  the  tree.     This  feat,  which  is  per- 
fectly familiar  to  all  who  have   been   in 
India,  is  certainly  an  extraordinary  one, 
and  affords  the  most  effectual  evidence  of 
the  power  of  deception  to  which  the  race 
of  jugglers  has  attained. 

The  feat  of  sitting,  without  seeming  sup- 
port, in  the  air,  is  one  of  the  few  first-rate 
Indian  tricks  which  have  been  performed 
in  Europe  ;  but  even  this  is  now  held 
somewhat  cheap,  the  mode  of  performing 
it  being  pretty  clearly  understood.  The 
feat  is  performed  in  this  way  :  In  the  cen- 
tre of  a  ring  of  spectators,  stands  the  jug- 
gler with  an  assistant.  When  all  is  ready 
for  the  performance,  the  assistant  holds  an 
ample  cloak  or  awning  over  the  juggler, 
which  covers  him  completely  for  the  time. 
In  a  few  minutes  this  covering  is  remov- 
ed, -ind  the  juggler  is  discovered  seated 
cross-legged  in  the  air— unsubstantial  air 

at  the  height  of  a  for  t  or  so  from  the 

ground.  He  is  in  the  thin  dress  of  his 
country,  and  on  one  of  his  arms,  which  is 
extended  horizontally,  in  a  bent  form,  and 
which,  as  well  as  the  other,  has  a  wide 
sleeve  upon  it,  a  fold  of  a  cloak  was  neg- 
ligently thrown;  the  remainder  of  the 
cloak  hanging  down  to,  and  resting  on, 
the  ground.  This  slight  contact  of  the 
elbow  with  the  cloak  is  all  that  connects 
the  man  with  terrestrial  things.  Other- 
wise, he  is  totally  left  in  air ;  and  'lOw  he 


fell' 


f- 


m 


maintains  himself  there  is  inexplicable  to 
appearance.      But  the  cloak  alluded   to 
seems  to  be  in  careless  contact  with  an- 
other cloak  or  portion  of  attire  that  rests 
on  the  ground  further  off.     Now,  it  is  to 
be  believed  that,  at  the  point  where  the 
cloak  touch 38  the  elbow,  a  spring  of  a 
powerful  kind  passes  up  the  sleeve  to  the 
arm,  and  bends  down  under  bis  body,  pla- 
cing him  probably  upon  a  hoop.    The  oth- 
er end  of  the  spring  passes  off,  and  finds 
its  support  under  the  second  or  further-off 
cloak.     The  spring,  in  all  likelihood,  can 
be  folded  up  into  divisions,  so  as  •    be  ea- 
sily concealed  while  the  awning  is  thrown 
over  the  juggler  at  the  close  of  the  per- 
formance, and  before  he  gives  liberty  to 
the  spectators  to  examine  the  spot,  which 
he  usually  does.     This  is  the  received  ex- 
planation of  the  feat,  but  there  is  some  dif- 
ficulty still  in  understanding  the  nature  of 
the  weight  or  support  which  is  placed  be- 
neath the  cloak.     This  must  evidently  be 
of  considerable  power  to  sustain  his  frame ; 
and  how  he  gets  it  out  of  the  way,  is  not 
easily  seen.     The  feats  are  the  result  of 
surprising  art,  address,  or  contrivance— 
and  for  such  the  natives  of  India  certainly 
far  excel  the  whole  world. 


THE  WALRUS. 


HE  walrus,  or  morse, 
|Vin  the  general  shape 
of  the  body  and  posi- 
tion and  structure  of 
the  limbs,  closely  re- 
sembles the  seal,  be- 
tween which  group  of 
animals  and  the  Herb- 
ivorous Cetacea,  namely,  the  manatee,  du- 
gong,  &c.,  it  seems  to  constitute  an  inter- 
vening form.  Like  the  seal,  the  walrus 
is  clothed  with  short  stiff  hair,  and  its 
body,  of  great  cirr»mference  round  the 
chest,  gradually  diminish 38  to  the  hinder 
paddles ;  its  proportions,  however,  are 
more  thick  and  clumsy.  In  size  this  ani- 
mal equals  the  largest  of  the  seal-tribe, 
often  attaining  to  the  length  of  twenty 
feet,  and  being  ordinarily  from  twelve  to 
sixteen,  with  a  body  superior  to  that  of 


the  largest  ox.  But  besides  its  huge  bulk, 
the  walrus  is  very  remarkable  for  the  con- 
struction of  the  scull,  and  ''.e  character  of 
its  dentition — points  in  which  it  differs 
from  any  of  the  larger  seals,  animals 
which,  in  other  respects,  it  nearly  resem- 
bles. 

The  head  of  the  living  walrus  is  round, 
and,  instead  of  terminating  in  a  snout,  pre- 
sents two  swollen  protuberances,  forming 
a  sort  of  tumid  muzzle,  divided  by  a  longi- 
tudinal furrow,  above  which  the  nostrils 
open,  as  it  were,  midway  between  the  lips 
and  eyes.   From  these  protuberances,  cov- 
ered with  thick  wiry  bristles,  depend  two 
enormous   tusks,  which,   in   conjunction 
with  the  bright  and  sparkling  eyes  of  the 
animal,  give  to  the  physiognomy  an  ex- 
pression of  ferocity  which  its  disposition 
does  not  warrant.     The  round  form  of  the 
head  is  not  relieved  by  external  ears  ;  a 
small  valvular  orifice,  aa  in  most  of  the 
seals,  being  all  that  outwardly  denotes  the 
situation  of  th    *  "njans.     It  is  on  the  pe- 
culiarities c'  cull  that  the  swollen 
appearance  »jf  ;uo  muzzle  and  the  situa- 
tion of  the  nostrils  depend.      The    two 
tusks,  which  in  situation  and  character  are 
analogous  to  those  of  the  elephant,  are  im- 
bedded  in   enormous   alveoli,  occupying 
each  side  of  the  muzzle  anteriorly,  and 
rising  above  the  level  of  the  scull ;  so  that 
the  scull  appears  as  if  concealed  behind 
two  large  mounds  of  bone,  between  which, 
and  at  some  distance  above  the  mouth, 
opens  the  nasal  orifice.     The  tusks  have 
open  roots,  as  have  those  of  the  elephant ; 
they  are  directed  downward,  curve  gently 
back,  and  are  compressed  at  the  sides. 
They  vary  in  length  from  eighteen  inches 
to  two  feet,  and  are  of  a   proportionate 
stoutness.     The  lower  jaw,  which  is  des- 
litute  both  of  incisor  and  canine  teeth,  is 
prolonged  and  compressed  at  its  anterior 
angle  in  order  to  allow  this  part  to  pass 
betM  een  the  huge  tusks,  and  advance  to 
the  anterior  margin  of  the  upper  ju^y,  in 
which  (between  the  tusks)  are  two  inci- 
sors, resembling  the  molars  in  form,  and 
which,  though  implanted  in  the  intermax- 
illary bone,  have  by  many  been  regarded 
as  molars.     In  young  individuals  there  are 
also  between  these  molar  like  incisors  two 
small  and  pointed  teeth,  which,  however, 
are  soon  lost ;  and  indeed  so  are  the  other 


besides  its  huge  bulk, 
(markable  for  the  coii- 
I,  and  '^.e  character  of 
s  in  which  it  differs 
larger  seals,  animals 
)ect8,  it  nearly  resem- 

living  walrus  is  round, 
nating  in  a  snout,  pre- 
irotuberances,  forming 
tie,  divided  by  a  longi- 
ve  which  the  nostrils 
Jway  between  the  lips 
!se  protuberances,  cov- 
y  bristles,  depend  two 
ifhich,   in   conjunction 

sparkling  eyes  of  the 
I  physiognomy  an  ex- 
yr  which  its  disposition 

The  round  form  of  the 
id  by  external  ears  ;  a 
ice,  as  in  most  of  the 

outwardly  denotes  the 
■•ijans.     It  is  on  the  pe- 

ouU  that  the  swollen 
muzzle  and  the  situa- 
s  depend.      The    two 
lation  and  character  are 
of  the  elephant,  are  im- 
0U3   alveoli,  occupying 
muzzle  anteriorly,  and 
vel  of  the  scull ;  so  that 
8  if  concealed  behind 
if  bone,  between  which, 
ince  above  the  mouth, 
ifice.     The  tusks  have 
!  those  of  the  elephant ; 
iownward,  cuive  gently 
inpressed  at  the  sides, 
ih  from  eighteen  inches 
are  of  a   proportionate 
3wer  jaw,  which  is  des- 
ior  and  canine  teeth,  is 
npressed  at  its  anterior 
allow  this  part  to  pass 
!  tusks,  and  advance  to 
in  of  the  upper  jaw,  in 
he  tusks)  are  two  inci- 
he  molars  in  form,  and 
planted  in  the  intermax- 
by  many  been  regarded 
ing  individuals  there  are 
i  molar  like  incisors  two 

teeth,  which,  however, 
I  indeed  so  are  the  other 


% 


!llji 


610 


ORIGIN  OF  THE  ABOEIQINES  OF  AMERICA. 


incisors,  for  in  aged  sculls  they  are  sel- 
dom or  never  to  be  found.  The  molars, 
four  on  each  side  above  and  below,  are 
short  and  obliquely  truncate  cylinders. 
The  tumid  appearance  of  the  muzzle,  so 
remarkable  in  the  living  walrus,  depends 
then,  as  is  easily  seen,  upon  the  enormous 
development  of  the  alveoli,  for  the  recep- 
tioii  of  the  roots  of  the  tusks  In  propor- 
tion to  the  size  of  the  scull,  these  alveoli 
are  larger  than  those  of  the  elephant,  and 
far  more  prominent ;  and  the  scull,  instead 
of  rising  above  them,  falls  back  and  sinks 
behind  them. 

The  walrus  is  a  native  of  the  polar  re- 
gions, and  in  many  of  its  habits  resembles 
the  seals.  It  lives  in  troops,  which  visit 
the  shore,  or  extensive  fields  of  ice,  as  a 
sort  of  home,  where  they  rest  and  where 
the  females  produce  their  young.  In  as- 
cending steep  icebergs,  or  the  precipitous 
borders  of  an  ice-bound  sea,  the  walrus 
uses  ks  tusks  with  great  advantage,  and 
secures  itself  from  slipping  by  striking 
their  points  into  the  glassy  surface,  or  by 
lodging  them  amid  the  irregularities,  and 
in  the  fissures  or  pits  of  the  craggy  mass 
on  which  it  takes  its  repose.  They  are 
also  instruments  by  which  the  animal  tears 
up  the  submarine  vegetables  on  which  it 
in  a  great  measure  subsists.  Its  favorite 
food  is  said  to  be  the  fucus  digitatus,  a 
coarse  kind  of  sea-weed  growing  in  great 
abundance  in  the  latitudes  which  the  ani- 
mal freiiuents.  To  this,  fish  and  other 
matters  of  a  similar  kind  are  most  proba- 
bly added.  As  weapons  of  defence,  the 
tusks  of  the  walrus  are  very  elfective  ;  and 
it  is  said  to  use  them  to  great  advantage 
in  defending  itself  from  the  attacks  of  the 
polar  bear,  next  to  man,  its  most  formida- 
ble enemy.  It  would  appear,  indeed,  that 
man  has  either  thinned  the  numbers  of  the 
walrus,  or  driven  the  herds  to  localities 
seldom  visited. 

Formerly,  the  walruses  used  to  assem- 
ble in  almost  incredible  multitudes  in  the 
gulf  of  St.  Lawrence,  at  the  setting  in  of 
the  spring,  and  take  possession  of  the 
Magdalene  islands,  which  they  still  visit, 
but  in  very  inconsiderable  numbers.  As 
the  shores  of  these  islands  have  a  gentle 
trtope,  with  but  few  precipitous  rocks,  they 
are  very  accessible  ;  and  here  the  animals 
are  said  to  remain  for  many  days  without 


food,  as  long  as  the  weather  is  fine,  but  to 
hasten  to  sea  on  the  slightest  appearance 
of  rain.  The  traffic  in  the  oil  and  skin  of 
the  walrus  have  both  tended  to  thin  their 
numbers,  and  to  drive  the  remnant  to  oth- 
er places  of  refuge.  Tho  fishermen  are 
accustomed  to  kill  them,  during  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night,  by  torchlight,  by  the 
glare  of  which  the  creatures  are  bewil- 
dered, and  fall  an  easy  prey. 


ORIGIN  OF  AMERICAN  ABORIGINES. 

HATEVERpartof 
the  world  America 
may  have  been  peo- 
pled from,  the  first 
and  most  important 
question  is  that  of 
the  TIME  at  which 
that  event  musi  have 
occurred.  We  find 
in  America  more  than  one  hundred  lan- 
guages, which,  however  similar  in  struc- 
ture, differ  entirely  in  their  vocabulary  or 
words.  This  difference  must  have  origi- 
nated either  before  or  after  America  was 
inhabited.  The  first  supposition  implies 
that  of  America  having  been  settled,  not  by 
a  few  distinct  nations,  which  is  very  possi- 
b  «,  but  by  more  than  one  hundred  distinct 
tribes,  of  different  origin,  and  speaking  en- 
tirely different  languages.  This  supposi- 
*ion  is  inconsistent  with  tho  great  similari- 
ty, in  their  physical  type  and  the  structure 
of  their  languages,  between  almost  all  the 
tribes  which  inhabited  America  when  dis- 
covered by  the  Europeans.  If  the  prodi- 
gious subdivision  of  languages  took  place 
in  America,  for  producing  such  radical  di- 
versity we  want  the  longest  time  that  we 
are  permitted  to  assume.  We  can  not  see 
any  reason  that  should  have  prevented 
those  who,  after  the  dispersion  of  mankind, 
moved  toward  tho  east  and  northeast,  from 
having  reached  the  extremities  of  Asia  and 
passed  over  to  America  within  five  hun- 
dred years  after  the  flood.  However  small 
may  have  been  the  number  of  those  first 
emigrants,  an  equal  number  of  years  would 
have  been  more  than  suflicient  to  occupy 
in  their  own  way  every  part  of  America. 


'--J" 


,  if 


eather  is  fino,  but  to 
slightest  appearance 
in  the  oil  and  skin  of 

tcuded  to  thin  their 
I  the  remnant  lo  oth- 

Tho  fishermen  are 
em,  during  the  dark- 
y  torchlight,  by  the 
creatures  are  bewil- 
y  prey. 


CAN  ABORIGINES. 

jHATEVERpartof 
the  world  America 
may  have  been  peo- 
pled from,  the  first 
and  most  important 
question  is  that  of 
the  TIME  at  which 
that  event  musi  have 
occurred.  We  find 
n  one  hundred  lan- 
i^er  similar  in  siruc- 

their  vocabulary  or 
ice  must  have  origi- 
r  after  America  was 

supposition  implies 
g  been  settled,  not  by 
which  is  very  possi- 
one  hundred  distinct 
;in,  and  speaking  en- 
ges.  This  supposi- 
th  the  great  similari- 
pe  and  the  structure 
tween  almost  all  the 
1  America  when  dis- 
leans.  If  the  prodi- 
anguages  took  place 
cing  such  radical  di- 
ongest  timo  that  we 
ne.  We  can  not  see 
uld  have  prevented 
spersion  of  mankind, 
t  and  northeast,  from 
tremities  of  Asia  and 
ica  within  five  hun- 
>od.  However  small 
lumber  of  those  first 
imber  of  years  would 
sufficient  to  occupy 
ry  part  of  America. 


s 


■it 


.  .eTM-Sai-.I.'P-.iJ"?..")- 


THE  OLD  BILLOP  H0U8K. 


613 


THE  OLD  BILLOP  HOUSE, 

4T  BENTLEY,  8TATEN  ISLAND,  NEW  YORK. 

BT  o.  r.  DiaoswAT. 

N  approachiriK  New 
York  from  Philadelphia 
by  the  Amboy  route,  few 
objects  are  more  stri- 
king to  tlie  traveller's 
eye,  than  a  high,  an- 
cient-looking stone  edi- 
fice, situated  near  the 
water,  on  the  extreme 
west  end  of  Staten  Is- 
lanJ.     This  is  the  "  Old  Billop  House" 


church  steeple  of  that  town.  As  soon  as 
they  saw  him  enter  his  abode,  they  ran  to 
their  boats,  rapidly  crossed  the  river,  and 
he  was  soon  their  captive. 

The  British  now  in  possession  of  New 
1  York,  had  confined  in  irons  several  Amer- 
icans who  had  been  made  prisoners  ;  und 
to  retaliate  for  this  measure,  Col.  Billop 
was  taken  to  Burlington  jai  We  have 
copied  the  mittimus,  as  a  matter  of  curi- 
osity, and  the  method  of  doing  such  thinc;s 
at  that  eventful  period.  Elisha  Boudinot 
was  then  commissary  of  prisoners  lor 
New  Jersey. 

"  To  the  keeper  of  the  common  jail 
for  the  county  of  Burlington,  greeting  :— 
•'You  are  hereby  commanded  to  re- 
ceive into  your  custody,  the  body  of  Col. 
Christopher  Billop,  prisoner-of-war,  here- 
with delivered  to  you,  and  having  put  irons  I 
„„  %,;=  v.o,wla  uni\  feet,  vou  are  to  chain 


at  Bentley,  of  which  we  present  a  very 
correct  sketch  in  our  present  iiumber. 
Amid  the  general  search  for  new  designs, 
is  it  not  strange  that  this  beautiful  spot 

has  escaped  the  notice  of  the  artist  and    wiuiueu»ci<=u.w  ;«„, „.  . 

histo^an  until  now  ?     The  place  too  has    on  his  hands  and  feet,  you  are  to  chain 
some  interesting  associations  worthy  of  a  |  him  down  to  the  floor  in  a  close  room,  in 


record.  „., 

More  than  a  century  ago,  a  Capt.  bil- 
lop of  the  British  Navy,  took  out  a  patent 
for  the  land,  embracing  921  acres,  which 
was  increased  by  a  second  to  1600.  At 
the  period  of  the  American  revolution, 
Bentley  was  owned  by  Christopher  Bil- 
lon, a  gentleman  of  property,  and  a  mem- 
ber of  the  house  of  assembly,  who  had 
always  opposed  the  measures  which  led 


always  opposea  ine  lueauuico  «...^..  — 
to  a  rupture  with  Great  Britain.     As  soon 
as  the  war  broke  out,  he  became  a  parti- 
san leader,  and  accepted  the  commission 
of  colonel  of  the  Staten  Island    militia. 
Lord  Howe,  with  a  large  force,  took  pos- 
session of  Staten  Island  on  the  4ih  of  Ju- 
ly, 1776,  and  it  was  held  by  the  British 
during  the  whole  war ;  and  hence  it  be- 
came the  theatre  of  frequent  predatory  in- 
cursions  from   the   Americans,  many  ol 
whom  had  taken  up  their  abode  on  the  op- 
po^ate  shores  of  New  Jersey.     By  most 
of  these  parlies  violence  was  committed, 
and  in  some  instances   blood  was  shed, 
and  lives  were  lost.     Col.  Billop.  at  'he 
time  a  warm  party  man  and  military  lead- 
er, was  closely  watched,  and  it  is  said 
was  twice  taken  from  his  own  house,  by 
armed  bands  from  "  the  Jerseys,"  and  thus 
made  a  pri.ioner.     Ambo^y  is  in  sight,  and 
upon  one  of  these  occasions,  he  was  ob- 
served by  some  Americans,  who  had  sta- 
tioned themselves  with  a  spy-glass  m  the 


the  said  jail,  and  there  to  retair  urn,  giv 
ing  him  bread  and  water  only  for  his  lood, 
until  you  receive  further  orders  from  ine, 
or  the  commissary  of  prisoners  for  iIk 
state  of  New  Jersey,  for  the  time  being. 
Given  under  my  hand,  at  Elizabethlown, 
this  6th  day  of  Nov.,  1779. 

"  Elisha  Joudinot, 

»  Com.  Pris.,  New  Jersey." 
The  commissary  at  the  same  time  re- 


gretted to  Billop  that  necessity  made  such 
treatment  necessary,  "  but  retaliation  is  di- 
rected, and  it  will  I  most  sincerely  hope, 
be  in  your  power  to  relieve  yoursell  Irom 
the  situation,  by  writing  to  New  York  to  , 
procure  the  relaxation  of  the  suflerings  ol  ] 
John  Leshier,  and  Capt.  Nathaniel  Ran- 

dal."«  c    X     c 

At  this  period.  Col.  Simcoe  of  the  la- 
mous  "queen's  rangers,"  had  command 
of  a  oost  in  Richmond,  whence  he  made 
a  sL'.^den  and  rapid  incursion  into  New 
Jersey  wis'  his  dragoons,  and  during 
the  fight,  his  horse  was  killed,  and  he 
himself  stunned  by  the  fall  was  captured 
by  the  American  militia. 

He  also  was  taken  to  Burlington,  and 
unexpectedly  became  the  ftl'ow-pnsoner 
of  Col.  Billop.  Simcoe  severely  com- 
plained to  Governor  Livingston  of  New 

•  Fitz  Randolph  was  the  correct  name.  Ho  was  a 
bold  soldier,  a  celebrated  patriot,  and  gallantly  tell,  in 
one  of  the  New  Jersey  batUes. 


I 
I 


4 


■i. 


%i 


ik 


Itlfcll,,,, 


I,    ,. 


614 


THE  OLD  BILLOP  HOUSE 


Jersey,  of  their  treatment,  and  adtlrefised 
General  Washington,  urging  his  and  Bil- 
lop's  exchange,  which  was  soon  after- 
ward effected.  Several  plans  had  been 
laid  for  the  liberation  of  Simcoe  ;  and  the 
day  before  his  exchange,  forty  friends  of 
the  British  cause  had  reached  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Burlington  with  horses  to  res- 
cue him. 

At  the  close  of  the  war,  Col.  Billop 
with  a  number  of  British  subjects,  loft  the 
island  for  St.  John,  New  Brunswick ; 
and  thus  his  estate  at  Bentley  became 
confiscated.  The  old  mansion  is  built  of 
stone,  its  walls  thrc  feet  thick,  and  bears 
the  marks  of  former  affluence  and  ele- 
gance. Like  most  buildings  of  the  "old- 
en lime,"  it  has  its  ghost  and  other  roman- 
tic stories.  "  There,"  said  the  person  who 
now  occupies  the  house,  as  wo  entered 
one  of  the  upper  story  front  rooms,  "  that 
spot  on  the  floor,  we  have  never  been  able 
to  wash  out.  It  is  supposed  to  be  blood, 
and  a  murder  is  said  to  have  been  perpe- 
trated here.  This  too  is  the  ghost  room, 
but  I  have  never  been  disturbed  by  such 
visiters,  and  believe  neither  of  these  sto- 
ries." 

A  person  had  visited  an  adjoining  apart- 
ment last  winter,  searching  for  hidden 
treasure.  He  had  been  told  by  some  mes- 
merist or  fortune-teller  of  New  York,  that 
money  was  to  be  found  concealed  in  one 
of  the  walls  of  this  room,  and  absolutely 
picked  with  hammer  and  chisel  a  large 
opening,  but  finally  gave  over  the  search 
as  hopeless.  This  strange  credulity  was 
here  exhibited  in  the  winter  of  1844  ! 

In  the  cellar  of  the  building,  there  is  a 
brick  vault,  30  feet  long,  and  about  13 
wide,  finely  arched,  and  may  have  been 
used  as  a  place  of  retreat,  or  the  recepta- 
cle for  valuable  articles  in  cases  of  emer- 
gency. 

As  Billop  was  a  well-known  '  tory," 
and  a  military  character  also,  his  house 
must  have  witnessed  many  an  interview 
of  such  men  as  Lord  Howe,  General 
Kniphausen,  Col.  Simcoe,  and  other  of- 
ficers of  rank  in  the  British  service,  who 
had  command  at  various  period  on  the  is- 
land. Immediately  after  the  severe  bat- 
tle on  Long  Island,  Lord  Howe  sent  a 
communication  to  Congress  then  assem- 
bled in  Philadelphia,  soliciting  that  a  com- 


mittee from  that  body  might  meet  him,  to 
confer  on  the  difilcultie^i  between  the  two 
nations.  For  this  purpose,  Ik-iijamiti 
Franklin,  John  Adams,  and  Edward  Rut- 
K'dge,  were  appointed.  Th<5  interview 
took  place  in  this  house,  and  these  noble, 
patriotic,  American  spirits,  declined  every 
proposition  for  peace,  that  would  not  ac- 
knowledge the  independence  of  their  be- 
loved country !  Lord  Howe  expressed 
his  distress,  that  he  would  be  obliged  to 
take  suoh  severe  measures  against  the 
Americans,  whom  he  so  much  regarded. 
Dr.  Franklin  in  replying,  assured  him  tliat 
the  Americans  would  endeavor  to  lessen 
as  much  as  possible,  the  pain  he  might 
feel  on  their  account,  by  taking  the  ut- 
most care  of  themselves. 

When  the  committee  took  leave  of  Lord 
Howe,  he  had  them  conveyed  to  Amboy 
in  his  own  barge,  and  as  they  approached 
the  wharf,  Dr.  Franklin  began  to  jingle 
some  gold  and  silver  in  his  pockets.  Up- 
on their  arrival,  he  oflcred  a  handful  of 
the  money  to  the  sailors,  but  the  com 
manding  officer,  not  permitting  them  to  re- 
ceive it,  he  replaced  it  in  his  pocket.  Af- 
terward he  explained  his  conduct  to  his 
associates,  by  observing,  "  As  these  peo- 
ple are  under  the  impression  that  we  have 
not  a  fartlfing  of  hard  money  in  the  coun- 
try, I  thought  I  would  convince  them  of 
their  mistake.  I  knew  at  the  same  time 
that  I  risked  nothing  by  an  offer,  which 
their  regulations  and  discipline  would  not 
permit  them  to  accept." 

There  is  a  beautiful  lawn  before  the 
house,  extending  quite  down  to  the  wa- 
ter's edge.  The  views  from  the  mansion 
are  extensive,  and  rich  in  natural  beauties. 
Directly  in  front  the  eye  rests  on  Amboy 
bay,  the  town  itself  beyond,  and  the  Rar- 
itan  river,  which  here  expanding  into  the 
general  body  of  waters,  the  whole  soon 
Hows  onward  to  the  mighty  Atlantic. 

Toward  the  south,  at  a  more  remote 
distance,  are  seen  the  mountains  of  Mon- 
mouth, and  the  most  striking  of  all,  the 
bold  summits  of  Neversink,  upon  whose 
lofty  highlands,  the  beacon-fires  of  1776 
blazed,  to  alarm  the  country  upon  the  ex- 
pected approach  of  the  enemy. 

What  a  blessing  is  Pkace  '  How 
changed  the  scene !  Upon  these  rery 
heights  now  glister  nightly  the  cheering 


might  meet  liiin,  tu 
e.i  between  the  two 
purpoHc,  UeiiJHiiiiri 
I,  1111(1  Edward  lUit- 
J.  The  iiilorviow 
ie,  and  these  noble, 
irits,  declined  every 
that  woidd  not  ac- 
ndcnco  of  their  be- 
1  Howe  expressed 
'ouM  be  oblif^ed  to 
lasures  against  the 
80  much  regarded. 
ig,  assured  him  that 
endeavor  to  lesseti 
the  pain  he  migiit 
,  by  taking  the  ul- 
es. 

)  took  leave  of  Lord 
onveyed  to  Amboy 
as  they  approached 
lin  began  to  jingle 
n  his  pockets.  Uj)- 
ffered  a  handful  of 
ilors,  but  the  com 
irniitting  them  to  re- 
in his  pocket.  Af- 
his  conduct  to  his 
ig,  "  As  these  peo- 
'ession  that  we  have 
money  in  the  coun- 
l  convince  them  of 
w  at  the  same  time 
by  an  oHer,  which 
lisciplino  would  not 

il  lawn  before  the 
3  down  to  the  wa- 
s  from  the  mansion 

in  natural  beauties. 
ye  rests  on  Amboy 
syond,  and  the  Rar- 

expanding  into  the 
rs,  the  whole  soon 
ighty  Atlantic. 

at  a  more  remote 
mountains  of  Mon- 
striking  of  all,  the 
srsink,  upon  whose 
aeon-fires  of  1776 
Buntry  upon  the  ex- 
3  enemy, 
is    Pkace  '     How 

Upon  these  very 
ightly  the  cheering 


TRUTH— THE  AYE  AYE. 


015 


rays  of  the  lighthouse,  welcoming  the 
traveller  of  every  nation,  to  our  land  of 
freedom  and  happiness !  Where  once 
was  heard  the  horrid  din  and  clarion  of 
war,  here  now  the  anvil  rings,  the  merry 
wheel  dances,  and  the  carol  of  the  peace- 
fid  p!.)ughboy  resounds,  while  he  traces 
the  enriching  and  silent  furrow ! 

The  excellent  view  of  the  •'  Old  DiHop 
House,"  which  accomppnies  this  descrip- 
tion, was  sketched  by  Alfred  He  Groot, 
a  promising  and  native  young  artist  of 
Siaten  Island.  It  is  a  faithful  represen- 
tation of  this  interesting  and  now  vener- 
able spot,  and  which  it  is  the  object  of 
this  article,  to  save  from  neglect  and  pe»- 
haps  oblivion. 


TRUTH. 


"  Think  on  whatever  things  are  true." 
The  operation  of  the  mind  in  regard  to 
truth  is  twofold.     The  first  is  to  acquire 
a  knowledge  of  the  truths,  and  to  examine 
the  evidence  on  which  we  are  to  receive 
them.     In  respect  to  those    great  truths 
which  concern  our  relation  to  God,  this 
leads  us  to  a  diligent  study  of  the  word  of 
God,  as  well  as  of  his  works— ajnd  a  care 
and  diligence  to  examine  what  opinions 
we  have  formed  on  this  supreme  inquiry, 
and  on  what  ground  we  have  formed  them  ; 
what  are  the  objects  of  belief  which  we 
have  received  as  true,  and  why  we  have 
done  so.     Having  by  such  a  careful  exer- 
cise of  the  powers  of  attention  and  judg- 
ment, acquired  a  knowledge  and  a  convic- 
tion of  the  truths,  the  next  exercise  of  the 
mind  is  to  make  them  subjects  of  thought, 
in  such  a  manner  that  they  may  produce 
their  proper  influence  on  the  moral  condi- 
tion.    Now  there  may  be  much  knowl- 
edge of  truth,  and  careful  study  of  evi- 
dence, while  this  great  mental  exercise  is 
neglected  ;  and  the  most  important  truths 
may  thus  be  received  as  matters  of  cold 
and  barren  speculation,  yielding  no  results, 
and  exerting  no  influence  over  the  char- 
acter.    It  is  against  this  mental  condition 
that  the  exhortation  of  the  apostle  seems 
to  be  directed,  calling  upon  us  not  only  to 
know  the  truths,  but  to  make  them  sub- 
jects of  thought  and  reflection,  so  that  they 


may  fix  their  influence  on  the  moral  econ- 
omy of  the  mind. 

Do  we  believe  it  to  bo  the  truth  that  wo 
are  every  moment  exposed  to  the  inspec- 
tion of  a  Being  of  infinite  perfection  and 
infinite  purity,  from  whose  all-seeing  eye 
nothing  can  cover  us,  and  to  whoni  even 
the  thoughts  of  the  heart  and  the  whole 
moral    condition    within    are    constantly 
open  ?     If  we  make  this  solemn  truth  the 
subject  of  frequent  and  serious  thought, 
what  influence  must  it  not  produce  u\n>u 
the  discipline  of  the  heart,  and  the  whole 
of  our  conduct  in  every  relation  of  life. 
No  man  can  put  away  from  him  the  truth 
that  a  day  is  fast  approaching  when  he 
must  lie  down  in  the  grave  ;  but  it  is  also 
a  truth,  thi'»  another  day  will  come  with 
equal  certainty,  when,  at  the  voice  of  the 
Eternal  One,  the    graves  shall  yield  up 
their  dead,  and  those  who  have  slept  in 
death  shall   arise  to  judgment.     Did  we 
think  of  this  truth  with  a  seriousness  in 
any  degree  adapted  to  its  solenm  interest, 
and   make  the    reflection  a  frequent  and 
habitual  exercise  of  the  mind,  it  could  not 
fail  to  make  us  feel  the  value  of  the  soul 
which  is  to  live  for  ever ;  and  to  force  up- 
on us  the  habitual  conviction,  how  triv- 
ial in  importance  are  the  highest  concerns 
of  time,  and  how  big  with  momentous  in- 
terests are  the  concerns  of  eternity. 


i 


THE  AYE-AYE. 

^  HlSextraordinaryan- 
^imal,  respecting  the 
true  situation  and  af- 
finities of  which  a 
great  many  conflicting 
opinions  have  been 
advanced,  and  upon 
which  naturalists  are 
still  "divided,  is  a  native  of  Madngascar, 
where  it  is  either  extremely  rare,  or  at 
least  a  tenant  of  remote  solitudes  seldom 
visited  by  the  aborigities  of  the  island, 
and  never  by  Europeans.  One  specimen 
alone  exists  in  Europe,  brought  home  by 
Sonnerat,  its  discoverer,  in  1781,  which 
is  carefully  preserved  in  the  Royal  Mu- 
seum of  Paris.     Sonnerat  observes  that 


.4* 

I 


i' 


-  "'iM 


H 


>ll 


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>iiMj|«. 


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TH«  AVE  AYE-UKCttEATIONS  IN  NATURAL  HISTORY. 


fin 


i^^-^'  -  •!i^.'.«T.T' i =;  1 7h» ;:™  ^^-V^  rz,,ri::i 


keys,  and  'ho  Bquirrels  ;  and  Bubsequent 
writer.  hav«  lakeiiopposilo  views,  accord- 
ing  as  ihciy  have  been  biased  by  one  par 
of  its  organization  or  another.     Ouided 
bv  its  singular  dentition.  Pennant  placed 

'  1        : I.     itio    rnrniAr    unt    T 


11  among  the  squirrels,  the  former  un 
the  title  of  the  aye-aye  squirrel,  the  lalicr 
un(!.-r   that  of  scixirus  Mudagascanensts. 
Of  its  habits  we  know  nothing  but  from 
the    account  of   M.  Sonnerat,  who   kept 
iwo  of  these  animals,  viz.,  a  male  and  a 
female,  alive  in  captivity.     It  would  ap- 
pear that  their  habits  are  nocturnal.     Uy 
day  they  see  with  difficulty,  and  the  eyes, 
whi(  h  are  of  an  ochre  color,  resemble 
Uiose  of  an  owl.     Timid,  quiet,  and  inof- 
fensive, Ihey  pass  the  day  in  sleep,  and 
are  not  aroused  without  difficulty  ;  when 
awake,  their  motions  are  slow,  as  those 
of  the  U)ri,  and  they  have  the  same  fond- 
ness for  warmth  ;  their  thick  fur  indeed 
sufficiently  proves  their  impatience  of  co  d. 
the  more  n.r,lful.  a.s  night  (between  the 
tenineraiure  of  which  and  laal  of  the  day 
in  I'.ieriropical  counirics  there  is  a  great 
dUVer.i.ce)  is  the  season  of  their  activity. 
During  the  day  the  aye-aye  shinbers  in 
1  iis  sucliuled  retreat,  namely,  some  hole  or 
'  cavity,  in  which  it  conceals  itsell,  and  from 
■  which  on  the  approach  o(  genial  darkness 
;  it  issues  forth  in  quest  of   food  ;  as  the 
structure  of  its  teeth  indicate,  its  diet  con- 
'  sisis  of  buds,  fruits,  and  other  v^egetable 
matters,  to  which  n.ay  be  added  insects 
and  their  Iarv«,  for  which  il  is  said  to 
search  in  the  crevices  and  chinks  of  the 
bark  of  trees,  dislodging  them  by  means 

.  /■      .     ■    .1 1     tinrrartt      and    hV 


The  term  aye-aye  is  the  native  name  of 
this  «ingular  animal,  and  is  said  to  ho  a 
resemblance  of  its  voice,  which  is  a  fee- 
bio  cry,  consisting  of  iwo  plaintive  sylla- 

Notwithstanding  the  length  of  time  that 
has  intervened  from  the  discovery  of  the 
ayo-aye  by  Sonnerat.  to  the  present  day. 
and  visited  as  the  island  of   Madagascar 
has  been  by   Kuropeaus.  nay  more,  not- 
withstanding the  residence  of  Luroponns 
within  its  shores,  it  is  somewhat  strange 
that  no  additional  information  should  have 
been  collected  respecting  the  habits   and 
manners  of  this  animal-that  no  addition- 
al specimens  should  have  been  obtained, 
and  that  not  a  single  notice  of  a  living  in- 
dividual  having   been   seen  or  captured 
should   have  appeared  in  the  records  oi 
I  science. 


RECREATIONS  IN  NATUR.\l  HTSTORV. 

>  HE  following  anec- 
■^^  doles  have  been  col- 
lected together,  from 
the  belief  that  they 
are  too  wonderful  to 
be  lost.  They  illus- 
trate principally  the 
^                 .  instinct    of    animals. 

There  can  not  bo  a  doubt  of  their  an  then- 
t  city,  for  we  assure  ou.  readers  that  they 
Mciiy.  i"»     :„,..w   vvth  a  few  ex- 


barn  01  irees,  uioiu"6>"5   '       ,  , 

of  its  long  claw-furnished  fingers,  and  by 
the  same  means   conveying  them  to  its 
mouth.     The  individuals  alluded  to,  which 
were  kept  alive  by  Sonnerat  for  about  two 
months,  were  fed  upon  boiled  rice  which 
they  took  up  with  their  long  slender  fin- 
eers.  using  them  much  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  the  Chinese  use  their  eating-sticks. 
Sonnerat  remarks,  that  during  the  whole 
of  the  time  these  animals  lived,  he  never 
observed  them  set  up  their  long  bushy 
tail  in  the  same  manner  as  the  squirrel 
does,  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  it  was  al- 
ways kept  lrailiri!4  at  length. 

Of  the  number  of  young  produced,  noth- 
ing is  known,  but  we  may  conclude  that 
ihey  amount  at  the  most  to  not  more  than 


tinlV.  lOr  we  U03U10  "... 

have  appear.-l  previously,  with  a  few  ex- 
.■    '     :„         ^r^i.nirv  newsnapers. 


ceptions,  in 
The   turil 


country  newspapers 
me    .uru.  IS   naturally  of  a  sluggish 
temperament,  but  when  roused  it  has  been 
known  to  do  fearful  things.     Gunter,  the 
greaT  Swiss  naturalist,  tells  an  anecdote 
of  one  that  is  quite  dramatic  in  its  pathos. 
He  had  presented  a  very  fine  specimen  of 
a  urtle  I  the  lord-mayor,  who  sent  it  to 
the  London  tavern  to  be  taken  care  of.  f| 
The  day  before  the  9th  of  November  this 
turtle  was  allowed  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  pave..ent  in  front  of  the  tavern ;  bu 
tS  prevent  people  running  over  it,  a  label 
was  hung  round  its  neck,  on  -hich  was 
written.  "  V  m.l  be  killed  to-morrow. 
This  seemed  to  prey  heavily  upon  the  tur- 
tle's mind,  for  it  waddled  to  and  fro.  evi- 


618 


RECHKATI0N8  IN  NATUUAL  HISTOIIY. 


'■<♦■«» 


i.i 


'^^1 


i-b! 


■t-« 


■■H-. 


(lently  in  a  very  excited  Htnte,  and  a  tear 
wna  seen  distinctly  to  course  down  its  left 
cheek,  and  bedew  Uio  surrounding  flair- 
stones.  The  poor  creature  rolled  about 
with  increasing  uneasiness  every  minute, 
till  the  lord-mayor's  slate  ciirringo  happen- 
ing to  pass,  it  slipped  off  the  pavement,  and 
foil  deliberately  under  the  forowhcels  of 
the  cumbrous  vehicle.  It  was  picked  up 
a  shapeless  mass  of  hopeless  callipash, 
and  mutilated  callippee.  "  There  is  no 
doubt,"  says  Gunter,  "  that  this  was  a  pre- 
meditated act  of  suicide,  for  it  was  proved 
afterward  that  nothing  but  th^^  immense 
weight  of  the  lord-muyor's  carnage  could 
have  crushed  the  shell.  Grief  at  its  im- 
pending fate  evidently  impelled  the  dis- 
trartod  turtle  to  the  rash  act." 

Horses  have  been  known  to  predict  a 
frost  by  going  to  the  blacksmith's  the  day 
before  to  '  c  rough-shod.  Franconi  tells 
a  story  os  a  mare  who  would  never  per- 
form on  the  stage  unless  she  was  i-n  the 
side  of  the  French.  Her  spirit  of  nation- 
ality was  such,  that  if  she  was  carrying 
an  Englishman  or  an  Austrian,  she  would 
inv?niably  throw  him  and  then  run  over  to 
the  side  of  the  emperor.  In  this  way  she 
has  ol\en  thrown  Blucher  and  the  Duke 
of  Wellington.  Napoleon  hearing  of  this 
extraordinary  trait  of  patriotism  in  a  horse, 
went  expressly  to  the  Cirque,  and  having 
witnessed  the  fact  with  his  own  imperial 
eyes,  offered  Franconi  a  whole  regiment 
of  cavalry  in  exchange  for  the  mare  ;  but 
the  French  Ducrow,  to  his  credit  let  it  be 
said,  would  not  part  with  her.  Napoleon 
was  piqued,  but  afterward  decorated  the 
mare  with  the  grand  cross  of  the  legion  of 
honor. 

Pigs  have  been  taught  to  spell.  A  sin- 
gular anecdote  is  told  of  one,  that  indu- 
bitably proves  the  force  of  early  habit  in 
animals  generally,  but  in  a  pig  especially. 
A  learned  sow,  that  was  called  "  Bacon," 
would  always  spell  Vauxhall  with  a  W. 
This  w!is  always  a  matter  of  wonderment, 
till  it  was  ascertained  that  she  had  been 
born  on  a  market  day  in  Smithfield  mar- 
ket. The  inveterate  misuse  of  the  W  at 
once  confirmed  her  cockney  origin. 

Le  Vaillant,  the  African  traveller,  tells 
some  wonderful  stories  about  the  instinct 
of  the  baboon.  He  travelled  with  one  for 
a  long  time  as  a  guide.     Its  name  was 


Snees.  Ho  know  the  shops  where  the 
best  sherbet  was  to  bo  got.  Being  short 
of  butter  once,  Sneos  brought  him  a  num- 
ber of  cocoa-nuts,  which  he  had  thrown 
about  till  the  milk  inside  had  become 
churned.  He  watched  by  his  master's 
side  evrry  night,  killing  the  nul^fl]uitoos 
and  fleas  which  swarm  about  the  hanks 
of  the  Nile.  He  often  helped  Lo  Vail- 
lant in  unrolling  the  mummies,  and  pack- 
ing up  his  trunks.  Le  Vaillant  brought 
this  baboon  to  Europe,  and  Snees  showed 
his  gratitude  by  saving  his  master's  life. 
Thieves  were  plundering  the  house,  when 
Snees  ran  to  the  alarm-bell,  and  never 
ceased  pulling  it  till  the  inmates  were 
alarmed  ;  the  thieves  were  apprehended 
just  in  time,  for  Le  Vaillant  says,  when 
he  awoke  there  were  two  gentleme-  .. 
his  bedside,  the  one  with  a  pistol,  t'.e  oth- 
er with  a  carving  knife.  The  ■  ay  Le 
Vaillant  died,  this  sagacious  baboo  j  b'  ke 
a  blacking  bottle — whether  accidem  dlv  or 
not  is  not  proved — which  blacked  '  'ui 
from  head  to  foot ;  but  many  persons  r.  ..o 
knew  Snees  well,  declare  this  was  done 
purposely,  from  a  desire  of  the  faithful  an^ 
imal  to  show  respect  to  the  memory  of  his 
kind  master,  by  going  into  mourning  for 
him. 

The  instinct  of  bears  is  equally  won- 
derful. There  was  one  at  th»i  Zoological 
gardens,  who  would  never  mount  the  pole 
on  a  Sunday,  because  on  that  day  no  cakes 
are  allowed  to  be  sold. 

A  lady  of  title  informed  Buffon  that  she 
knew  a  blackbird  who  looked  at  the  barom- 
eter every  morning,  and  would  not  go  out 
if  it  pointed  to  wet.  An  anecdote  told  by 
a  German  naturalist  of  a  beaver,  is  no  less 
wonderful  than  the  above  :  he  declares  ho 
saw  a  beaver  weeping  over  the  crown  of 
an  old  hat.  Soon  another  beaver  ap- 
proached it,  and  she  cried  more  piteously 
than  the  first :  then  a  number  of  young 
beavers,  attracted  by  their  sobs,  came  run- 
ning np,  and  they  all  cried  too  He  ac- 
counts for  this  by  saying,  th  .r  the  hat 
being  made  of  beaver,  the  .iimals  had 
evidently  recognised  in  it  the  skin  of  one 
of  their  own  kindred.  "  Who  can  say," 
he  asks,  "  whether  this  very  hat  was  not  to 
them  the  sad  remains  of  an  affectionate 
son — the  only  remembrance  of  a  favorite 
brother  V 


r. 


V  the  hhops  where  the 
to  1)1)  got.  Deing  Hhort 
lecs  liroiight  him  a  nuin- 
I,  which  ho  had  thrown 
Ik  inside  had  become 
itched   by  his   mustor's 

killing  thu  tmisiiuitooM 
iwarrn  about  tliu  l)iuiks 

often  helped  Lo  Vail- 
de  mummies,  and  pack- 
Le  Vaillant  brought 
rope,  i\iid  Sncos  showed 
aving  his  master's  life, 
idering  the  house,  when 
I  alarm-bell,  and    never 

till  the  inmates  were 
ives  were  apprehended 
iO  Vaillant  says,  when 
were  two  gentleme*  ... 
ne  with  a  pistol,  t'  o  oth- 
I   knife.     The     uy  Le 

sagacious  babor  i  b'-  ke 
-whether  accident  ill)  or 
i — which  blacked  '  m.i 
;  but  many  persons  r.  ..o 
,  declare  this  was  done 
desire  of  the  faithful  an- 
ect  to  the  memory  of  his 
{oing  into  mourning  for 

f  bears  is  equally  won- 
as  one  at  thn  Zoologioil 
ild  never  mount  the  pole 
luse  on  that  day  no  cakes 
sold. 

informed  Buflbn  that  she 
who  looked  at  the  barom- 
g,  and  would  not  go  out 
3t.  An  anecdote  told  by 
ist  of  a  beaver,  is  no  less 
)  above  :  he  declares  he 
iping  over  the  crown  of 
3n  another  beaver  ap- 
she  cried  more  piteously 
en  a  number  of  young 
by  their  sobs,  came  run- 
all  cried  too  He  ac- 
»y  saying,  th  f  the  hat 
eaver,  the  amals  had 
jed  in  it  the  skin  of  one 
Ired.  "  Who  can  say," 
r  this  very  hat  was  not  to 
lains  of  an  affectionate 
nembrance  of  a  favorite 


OBOTTO  OF  NEPTt'NB  AT  TlS  OLI. 


019 


Cipliiin  Tarry  tells  a  story  of  a  polar 
boiir,  wiiieh  puts  the  iiixiincl  of  this  ani- 
Miitl  beyond  uil  doubt ;  lie  had  ^iveii  it  to 
one  of  his  sailors,  who  with  this  small 
t:i|>i  .1,  stiirtid  showman,  and  having 
tau«bt  the  bear  to  danee,  used  to  take  it 
about  tile  streets.  The  sailor  afterward 
ossureil  Cu|)tain  Parr)  that  ho  never  could 
get  the  beiir  to  pass  a  barber'N  shop;  ho 
aeeounted  lor  this  by  saying,  that  a» 
"  Ikar's  grease  was  sold  only  at  those 
pjiitus,  the  animal  was  in  a  constant  state 
oi'  fear,  lest  it  should  bo  its  fate  to  bo  sold 
in  sixponnv  pots."  . 

S  Tho  soi'iiii  grosbeak,  a  bird  which  is 
'  found  aliout  the  cape  of  Good  Hope,  dis- 
plays  great  ingenuity  in  builiimg  its  nest, 
winch  is  construeteil  as  strongly  nx  pos- 
sible, so  as  to  keep  out  the  March  rains. 
A  (iciievese  traveller  records  tho  fact  of 
finding  a  wholo  row  of  their  nests,  cov- 
ered over  at  the  roof  with  l)its  of  an  old 
mackintosli,  which  they  had  evidently 
picked  up  from  ono  of  the  freciueiil  wrecks 
olV  the  coast.  What  but  instinct  could 
hav  tuid  these  sociabl.  grosbeaks  that 
mackintoshes  wore  waterproof? 

Many  singular  anecdotes  are  told  of  the 
instinct  of  tho  fox.  Tho  most  probable 
of  lliobo  wo  have  read,  i.^  the  ono  of  the 
fox  plundering  a  hen  every  morning  of  its 
eggs,  and  leaving  a  piece  of  chalk,  of  the 
same   size  as  an  egg,  for  every  one  he 

stole. 

The  following  is  amusing,  for  it  proves 
'  that  tho  piirrot  is  not  .so  .stupid  as  he  is 
generally  represented.  Jack  Sheppard, 
when  he  had  just  escaped  from  Newgate 
heard  called  out  in  a  shrill  voice,  "  Does 
your  mother  know  you're  out  ?'  Jack  was 
frigUteiied  at  first,  but  recovered  his  usual 
courage,  when  he  found  it  was  only  a 
parrot  that  was  hanging  over  a  green  gro- 
cer's door. 

Tho  instinct  of  the  dog,  and  tho  cat,  and 
the  rat,  is  so  well-known,  thil  ono  anec- 
dote we  think,  will  sulhce  to  illustrate  the 
three.  A  terrier  and  a  tom-cat  were  pur- 
suing a  largo  rat  down  the  street.  The 
rat  was  almost  caught,  when  it  dodged 
suddenly  and  ran  into  a  sausage  shop. 
The  eat  and  dog  stopped  convulsively  at 
the  door,  and  looking  up  at  the  yards  of 
sau=iages,  hung  down  their  heads  and 
slunk    away  quite  terror-siricken.      ihis 


anecdote  indubitably  shows  that  solf-pres- 
ervation  is  t'  "  first  law  of  naliin-,  lieside-i 
proving  that  the  feeling  of  veneration  lor 
the  dead  i^  much  stronger  in  iinimals  than 
in  men. 

The  following  anecdoto  is  so  astonish- 
ing that  wo  can  not  help  repeating  it.     We 
should  really  doubt  the  truth  of  it,  unh'ss 
It  was  supported  oy  tho   tcstunony  of  the 
celebrated  Walker.     .Mr.  Tiedein.iiin,  tlic! 
famous  Saxon  dentist,  hail  a  valuaiile  tor- 
toise-shell cat  that  for  days  had  done  noth- 
ing but  moan.     Guessing   tlie  cause,  he 
looked  into   its  mouth,  and  seeing  a  de- 
cayed tooth,  soon  relieved  it  of  its  pain. 
.Vhe  following  morning  there  were  at  least 
f.n  cats  outside  his  door— tho  nay  after 
.;.!'.  •  .venty  ;  and  they  went  on  increasing 
at  such  a  rate,  that  ho  was  obliged  to  keep 
a  bull-dog  to  drive  them  away.     lUit  noth- 
ing would  help  him.     A  cat  who  had  the 
tooih-acho,  would   como   any  number  of 
miles  to  sibmit  its  jaw  to  him.     It  would 
como  do-,  u  the   chimney  even,  and  not 
leave  tho  i  om  till  ho  had  taken  its  tooth 
out.     It  grew  such  a  nuisance  at  last,  that 
ho  never  w.s  free  from  one  of  these  fe- 
line patients.     However,  being  one  morn- 
ing very  nervous,  ho  broke  accidentally 
tho  jaw  of  an  old  tabby.     The  news  of 
this  spread  like  wildfire.     Not  a  single  cat 
ever  came  to  him  afterward.     It  is  extra- 
ordinary how  tho  cats,  in  the  above  in- 
stance, acted  like  human  beings  ! 


GROTTO  OF  NEPTUNE  AT  TIYOLI. 

N  ancient  times,  the  falls 
and  wind'vgs  of  the 
river  Anio,  constituted 
the  pride  and  ornament 
of  Tivoli,  and  they  aro 
no  less  celebrated  at  the 
present  day.  Eustace 
has  described  them  in 
his  "  Classical  Tour," 
The  modern  name  of  the  Anio  is  the 
Teverone.  "  This  river,"  he  says,  "  hav- 
[u<r  meandered  from  its  source  through  the 
vates  of  Sabina,  glides  gently  through 
Tivoli,  till  coming  to  the  brink  of  a  rock 


I 

» 


i 


40 


wmjf 


*a ;: 


K 


SEiivrruDE. 


(121 


mm 


»».  * 


i)i< 


it  precipitates  itself  in  one  mass  down  the 
steep,  and  then,  boiling  for  an  instant  in 
its    narrow     channel,    rushes     headlong 
through  a  chasm  in  the  rock  into  the  cav- 
erns below.     The  first  fall  may  be  seen 
from  the  window  of  the  inn  or  from  the 
temple  ;  but  it  appears  to  the  greatest  ad- 
vantage from  the  bridge  thrown  over  the 
narrow  channel  a  little  below  it.     From 
this  bridge  also  you  may  look  down  into 
the  shattered  well,  and  observe,  far   be- 
neath, the  writhings  and  agitation  of  the 
stream,  ytruggling  through  its  rocky  pris- 
on.    To  view  the  second  fall,  or  descent 
into  the  cavern,  we  went  down  through  a 
garden,  by  a  winding  path,  into  the  nar- 
row dell,  through  which  the  river  flows 
alK;r  the  cascade  ;  and  placing  ourselves 
in    unt  of  the  cavern,  beheld  the  Anio,  in 
two  immense  sheets,  tumbling  through  two 
different  apertures,  shaking  the  mountain 
in  its  fall,  and  filling  all  thv3  cavities  around 
with  spray  and  uproar.     Though  the  rock 
rises  to  the  height  of  two  hundred  feet, 
in  a  narrow  semicircular  form,  clothed  on 
one  side  with  shrubs  and  foliage,  yet  a 
sufficient  light  breaks  upon  the  cavern  to 
show  its  pendent  rocks,  agitated  waters, 
and    craggy  borders.     About   a  hundred 
pirces  from  the  grotto,  a  natural   bridge, 
formed  by  the  water  working  througii  the 
rock,  enables  the  spectator  to  pass  the  riv- 
er, and  to  take  another  view  of  the  cas- 
cade, less  distinct  with  regard  to  the  cav- 
ern, but  more  enlarged,  as  it  includes  a 
greater   portion   of    the    super-incumbent 
rock  in  front,  with  the  shagged  banks  on 
both  sides.     The  rock  immediately  above 
and   on    the    left   is   perpendicular,    and 
crowned  with  houses,  while  from  an  aper- 
ture at  its  side,  at  a  considerable  height, 
gushes  a  rill,  too  small  to  add  either  by  its 
sound  or  size,  to  the  magnificence  of  the 
scenery.     The  bank  on  the  opposite  side 
is  steep  and  shaggy,  but  leaves  room  for 
little  gardens  and  vineyards.     On  its  sum- 
mit stands  the  celebrated  temple  common- 
ly called  of  the  Sibyl,  though  by  many  an- 
tiquaries supposed  to  belong  to  Vesta." 
The  path  which  leads  to  the   GroUo  of 
Neptune  is  highly  picturesque. 

Tivoli  IS  but  20  miles  from  Rome ;  and 
few  leave  that  city  without  visiting  a  place 
possessed  of  such  grand  and  striking  sce- 
nery, and  so  rich  in  classical  associations. 


SERVITUDE. 

T  is  a  curious  consid- 
eration, that  at  all  times 
there  should  have  been 
so  large  a  proportion  of 
mankind  in  the  condition 
of  servitude.    This  state 
is  found  in  all  but  the 
rudest  ami  most  meager 
conmumities,    such    as 
that  which  overspread  North  America  be- 
fore its  colonization ;  and  even  in  these 
communities  there  is  a  form  of  service, 
in  as  far  as  the  women  are  compelled  by 
the  men  to  do  the  hardest  and  meanest 
work.     It  seems  to  bo  natural  in  human 
society  for  a  certain  number,  comparative- 
ly small  in  amount,  to  take  the  i)laee  of 
masters  over  the  rest — or  (to  change  the 
form,  without  changing  the  substance  of 
the  idea)  for  a  certam  large  number  to  fall 
into  the  place  of  servants  under  the  rest. 
The  proportions  of  the  numbers  are  dif- 
ferent in  diflercnt  societies,  and  in  differ- 
ent conditions  of  tiiese  societies,  but  nev- 
er to  so  great  an  extent  as  to  affect  the 
proposition,  that  the  great  bulk  of  the  peo- 
ple are  in  a  dependent  state.     There  are 
also  diflerenees  in  the  character  of  ser- 
vice :  an  early  form  of  it  is  attended  by 
a  complete    surrender  of  personal   free- 
dom— in  short,  slavery  ;  afterward,  this  is 
modified  into  the  state  of  feudal  service, 
where   the   person  is  not   absolutely  the 
property  of  the  master,  but  only  the   will 
is  at  his  command  ;  finally,  the  relation  of 
a  servant  to  a  master  is  improved  into  a 
simple  legal  bargain,  by  which  certain  du- 
ties  are  undertaken  for   wages   or  hire. 
Still,  in  all  these  characters  there  is  one 
distinct  feature,  a  power  in  the  one  party 
to  order  and  direct,  accompanied  by  a  ne- 
cessity in  the  other  to  concede  and  obey. 
And  this  arrangement  has  existed  indiffer- 
ently in  connexion  with  all  forms  of  gov- 
ernment, despoticiil,  republican,  and  mix- 
ed, as  if  it  were  a  matter  with  which  ]w- 
litical  arrangements  had  nothing  to  do,  or 
as  if  the  master  part  of  the  community 
wtjre  the  only  persons  concerned  in  af- 
fairs of  state.     Even  slavery,  the  worst 
form  of  service,  has   existed  quietly  for 
centuries  under   republican  forms,  as  in 


"■'t-w„ 


'':^m 


ill 


■■•.,    ! 


022 


SEaVITUDE. 


Greece  and  Rome:  tlie  masters,  in  these 
iiistiuices,  manifesting  all  possible  zeal 
against  any  encroachment  on  their  politi- 
cal liberties,  withont  ever  once  dreaming 
that  their  poor  helots  were  human  beings 
like  themselves,  who  might  be  supposed 
to  feel  at  least  as  much  vexation  at  a  to- 
tal deprivation  of  their  personal  liberty,  as 
their  superiors  experienced  when  some 
little  interference  was  attempted  with  their 
elective  rights,  or  a  Pericles  or  a  Caesar 
began  to  enjoy  a  dangerous  degree  of  in- 
llucnce  in  the  areopagus  or  the  senate. 

An  arrangement  so  universal  as  servi- 
tude,  and   so  conspicuous   at  almost  all 
times,  and  under  almost  all  circumstances, 
may  be  presumed  to  be  founded  in  nature. 
If  not  so,  it  is  at  least  remarkably  accom- 
modated to  nature  ;  but  the  more  rational 
supposition,  is,  that  nature  dictates  the  ar- 
rangement, and  provides  for  it.     A  careful 
observer  will,  I  think,  be  at  no  loss  to  see 
evidences  of  the  truth  of  this  proposition 
in  common  life.     Individuals,  who  have 
long  acted  extremely  well,  and  lived  hap- 
pily, as  servants,  or  while  employed  and 
directed  by  others,  are  often  found  to  do 
very  differently  when  they  become  mas- 
ters.    A  demand  seems  then  to  be  made 
upon  them  for  faculties  which  they  do  not 
possess.     They  appear  to  want   powers 
of  management,  firnmess,  and  energy,  to 
play  a  Jirst  part  well  ;  they  hesitate,  gel 
confused,  and  take  wrong  courses  ;  or  they 
are  facile,  and  submit  to  be  misled  by  un- 
worthy counsel.     Their   utter    failure  in 
the  objects  they  had  in  view,  is  the  una- 
voidable consequence,  and  they  sink  once 
more  into  subordination,  there  to  be  again 
at  ease,  and  happy.     Nay,  so  nicely  does 
nature  work,  that  there  is  a  class  of  minds 
which  seem  specially  fitted  to  be  seconds 
in  command — having  a  charge  over  some, 
but  subject  to  one  other,  of  energy  a  de- 
gree superior.     Such  was  Ajax  to  Achil- 
les ;  such  Murat  to  Napoleon.     General- 
ly, these  lieulenautb  are  possessed  of  some 
excellent  qualities— unshrinking  courage, 
unshakable  fidelity,  untiring   zeal  and  de- 
votion, but  want  the  very  highest  powers 
of  intellect,  and  therefore   when,  by  fatal 
chance,  made  masters,  go  utterly  wrong, 
and  come  to  destruction — .Murat  himself 
an    example.     It  is  therefore   to  be  pre- 
sumed that  they  were  designed  by  Provi- 


dence only  for  the  second  place.     While 
kept  there,  they  are  fulfilling  their  mis- 
sion :  let  them  aspire  to  a  higher,  and  they 
at  once  go  out  of  their  proper   sphen? ; 
their  powers  and  duties  are  out  of  harmo- 
ny ;  and  they  fail  as  a  matter  of  course.  I 
Perhaps  it  would  not  be  too  mt:ch  to  say,  | 
that  even  third  and  fourth  degrees  of  com-  ; 
mand  are  provided  for  in  the  many  various  ' 
mental  constitutions  which  nature  produ- 
ces.    Not  that,  in  every  case,  these  par- 
ticular constitutions  are  fixed  at  one  point 
throughout  the  whole  of  life.     Many  must 
advance  from  one  point  to  another  by  the 
natural  progress  of  the  mind  from  its  non- 
age to  its  maturity,  or  in  consequence  o{ 
educating    and    edifying    circumstances. 
Upon  this  depends  that  system  of  promo- 
tion which  exists  in  all  liberal  institutions, 
as  well  as  private  establishments.     Hut  it 
is  nevertheless  true  that  particular  minds, 
in  the  particular  conditions  in  which  they 
are  for  the  time,  are  specially  adapted  for 
such  grades  of  command,  and  for  no  other. 
It  must  here  also  bo  observed,  that  in- 
dividuals who  are  at  first  in  the  condition 
of  service,  often  emerge  into  that  of  mas- 
tership, and  act  as  well  in  the  one  capa- 
city as  the  other.     This  is  no  exception  to 
the  rule  ;  it  is  only  an  additional  illustra- 
tion  of   it.     Circumstances,    not   nature, 
were  the  cause  of  the  original  situation  ; 
but    nature    brought    about    the    change. 
These   individuals    were    fitted   by  their 
mental  constitution  for  the  higher  function, 
and  could  not  rest  till  they  attained  it. 
Fortune  gave  them  their  first  place,  not 
the  second,  though  it  is  customary  to  speak 
of  such  changes  as  the  work  of  the  blind 
goddess.     So  also  does  it  sometimes  hap- 
pen, that  those  born  above  service  decline 
into  it ;  and  this  in  like  manner,  is  gener- 
ally the  effect  of  natural  character  opera- 
ting in  despite  of  circumstances. 

To  dwell  a  little  longer  on  the  idea  of  a 
natural  institution  for  producing  this  great 
social  arrangement — it  seems  to  depend 
more  immediately  and  expressly  on  gen- 
eral force  of  character,  than  upon  any 
special  powers  of  intellect.  Pevsons  in 
subordinate  situations  often  display  great 
ingenuity  and  very  considerable  powers 
of  thought ;  otherwise,  indeed,  they  would 
not  be  fitted  for  the  duties  which  they  are 
expected  to  perform.     But  they  are  usu- 


lecond  place.     While 
B  fulfilling  their  inis- 
p  toaliight>r,  and  they 
their  proper    sphere  ; 
ties  are  out  of  hiirtno- 
is  a  matter  of  course, 
/t  be  too  m!:ch  to  say, 
fourth  degrees  of  com- 
or  in  the  many  various 
which  nature  produ- 
jvery  C3se,  these  par- 
are  fixed  at  one  point 
le  of  life.     Many  must 
oint  to  another  by  the 
the  mind  from  its  non- 
or  in  consequence  oi 
ifying    circumstances, 
that  system  of  proino- 
all  liberal  instilutionr,, 
istablishments.     Hut  it 

that  particular  minds, 
nditions  in  which  they 
e  specially  adapted  for 
mand,  and  for  no  other. 
D  be  observed,  that  in- 
it  first  in  the  condition 
nergo  into  that  of  mas- 
well  in  the  one  capa- 
rhis  is  no  exception  to 
■  an  additional  illustra- 
mstances,  not  nature, 
the  original  situation  ; 
It   about    the    change. 

were  fitted  by  their 
for  the  higher  function, 
it  till  they  attained  it. 
n  their  first  place,  not 
it  is  customary  to  speak 
s  the  work  of  the  blind 
does  it  sometimes  hap- 
n  above  service  decline 
1  like  manner,  is  gener- 
latural  character  opera- 
circumstances, 
i  longer  on  the  idea  of  a 
for  producing  this  great 
It — it  seems  to  depend 
and  expressly  on  gen- 
iracter,  than  upon  any 
'  intellect.  Persons  in 
ons  often  display  great 
•y  considerable  powers 
.vise,  indeed,  they  would 
e  duties  which  they  are 
rm.    But  they  are  usu- 


SEllVITUDE. 


G2.3 


ally  deficient  in  self-confidence  and  nmbi- 
lioii  ;  they  are  ofien  timid,  and  disposed 
to  rest  satisfied  with  a  moderate  certainty, 
rather  than  undertake  a  risk  for  the  sake 
of  even  the   most   tempting   advantages. 
Their  tastes  and  propensities  have  gener- 
ally consideralile  power  over  them  ;  and, 
these  being  gratified,  they  wish  for  noth- 
ing more.     It  seems  to  be  mainly  owing 
to  such  causes  that  the  gr(!at  bulk  of  man- 
kind are  ccuitont  to  give  their  entire  servi- 
ces to  those  who  can  only  afford  them  the 
necessaries,  and  a  few  of  the  luxuries  of 
life.     What,  on  the  other  hand,  prompts 
men  to  seek  the  master  position,  and  do 
all  they  can  to  maintain  themselves  in  it, 
seems  "to  be  mainly  a  general  energy  of 
nature,  which  knows  not  to  submit,  and 
will  not  rest  with  humble  things.     Self- 
esteem,  the  love  of  distinction,  the  desire 
of  gain,  and  the  feeling  which  delights  to 
meet  and  overcome  ditficulties,  appear  to 
be  main  elements  in  this  impulse ;  and  all 
of  these  are  not  intellectual,  but  ser.dment- 
al  faculties.     There  may  also  be  superior 
imellecv  '  .  -nany  cases  ;  but  what  I  would 
conteiiii     ,'      ,  that  the  impulsive  part  of 
our  natui  •  Is  probably  what  is  most  con- 
cerned in  selecting  the  individuals  who 
are  to  form  the  class  of  masters.     On  any 
such  subject  as  this,  it  is  well  to  ascertain, 
if  possible,  what  is  the  declaration  of  na- 
ture herself.     Those  who  look  into  phys- 
iology for  explanations  of  our  mental  sys- 
tem, find  that  the  larger  volumed  brains 
are  those  which  usually  rise  to  the  higher 
places  in  society ;  and  some  curious  proofs 
of   this  proposition    have  been  adduced. 
It  is  sometimes  the  practice  of  hat-makers 
to  have  four  sizes  for  crowns,  the  smallest 
of  which  is  required  for  the  hats  of  boys, 
the  next  for  day-laborers    and   servants, 
while  the  largest  size  is  required  by  the 
professional  and  upper  classes.     An  ex- 
tensive hat-maker  in  London  has  stated 
that  the  sizo  of  hats  generally  required 
there  for  the  men  who  fulfil  the  duties  of 
the  humbler  walks  of  life,  ure  under  sev- 
en inches  in  diameter  at  the  part  in  con- 
tact with  the  head,  while  the  hats  required 
in  other  departments  of  society  are  gen- 
erally above  seven  inches.     This  seems 
to  show  that  the  entire  volume  of  the  head, 
not  that  minor  part  alone  which  is  sup- 
posed to  be  devoted   to   the   intellectual 


functions,  is  what  produces  the  grades  of 
society. 

It  may  perhaps  occur  to  some,  that  there 
is  a  disrespect  toward  a  large  portion  ol 
mankind,  in  considering  ihem  as  placed 
by  a  natural  institution  in  inferior  positions. 
But  this  idea  will  vunish  when  the  sub- 
ject is  viewed  in  a  proper  li'^ht.     There 
is,  in  reality,  nothing  either  flattering  to 
one  party,  or  derogatory  from  the  other, 
in  attributing  peculiarities  which  are  sim- 
ply the  gift  of  nature :  the  possession  of 
a  super-average  brain  is  no  more  a  boast 
than  the  being  six  feet  high  ;  neither  is 
the  having  a  small  one  more  a  discredit 
than  the  being  only  five  feet  six.     Nature 
makes  both  for  ends  which  are  intended 
to  be  generally  beneficial,  and  the  one  is 
as  essential  to  the  grand  design  as  the 
other.     Considering  that  in  general  ser- 
vice is  the   natural   destiny  for   which  a 
large  portion  of  mankind  seems  fitted,  it 
becomes  the  duty  of  all  who  are  placed  in 
that  situation  to  rest  satisfied  with  an  en- 
deavor to  turn  it  to  the  best  account  in 
their  power,  and  to  be  very  careful  to  as- 
certain if  they  have  a  real  vocation  to  a 
higher    position,  before  venturing  out  of 
•heir  original  sphere.     They  may  be  ful- 
ly assured  that,  if  only  formed  for  a  sub- 
ordinate function,  and  io  live  as  depend- 
ents of  some  stronger  minds  which  can 
take  care  of  them,  they  will  not  be  secu- 
ring Uieir  happiness,  but  endangering  it, 
by  aspiring  to  become  masters.     It  may 
be  born     m  mind   by  them,  that,  in  the 
lowlier  place,  if  less  honored  and  distin- 
guished, they  are  also  saved  from  many 
evils  which  are  hazaru^  ^  r-ndured  by 

their  superiors.     These,  <i^  I'ying  ''•" 

front  rank,  have  to  bear  the  of  eve- 

ry battle.  Loaded  with  graw  .  tirs,  and 
harassed  by  anxieties,  they  oaen  spend 
far  more  wretched  lives  than  the  humblest 
of  serfs.  And  how  often  do  all  their  best- 
laid  and  most  steadily-pursued  schemes 
end  in  disappointment !  Alas  for  man, 
and  his  many  aims  and  doings,  how  little 
distinction  is  there  to  be  seen,  in  many  in- 
stances, at  the  last,  between  tlie  life  that 
has  appeared  most  brilliant,  and  that  which 
has  seemed  the  most  obscure  !  How  of- 
ten is  the  exalted  seen  to  be  foolishly 
pufled  up,  and  the  lowly  most  needlessly 
invidious !     On  the  other  hand,  the  advau- 


f 


ilia 


Oi 


I»tt|» 


C24 


THE  LANDING  OF  JULIUS  CjESAU  IN  ENGLAND. 


I«M»| 


ta"os  enjoyed  by  'hose  who  serve  reed 
scarcely  be  enumerated,  as  they  are  so 
obvious — an  abnost  certain  supply  of  all 
the  ni:iiii  requisites  of  life — duties  which, 
being  definite,  occasion  no  feverish  ex- 
citement or  fret — exemption  from  all  the 
taxing  responsibilities  which  so  much  em- 
biiter  the  existence  of  their  superiors. 
The  results  of  the  lives  of  both  classes 
seem  to  come  more  nearly  to  an  equality, 
than  the  fact  of  its  being  a  point  of  ambi- 
tion to  rise  from  the  one  to  tlie  other  would 
seem  lo  indicate.  We  deceive  ourselves, 
if  we  think  this  ambition  an  acknowledg- 
ment of  there  being  a  real  superiority  in 
the  one  state  over  the  other.  It  is  only 
the  exponent  of  a  kind  of  mind  to  which 
the  lower  state  is  imsuitable,  and  which 
desires  to  be  engaged  in  circumstances 
and  duties  in  harmony  with  itself. 

If  the  relation  of  master  and  servant — 
superior  and  dependant — were  correctly 
understood,  an  improvement  to  the  happi- 
ness of  both  parties  might  be  the  conse- 
quence. It  is  simply  an  arrangement  for 
a  distribution  of  duties  with  a  regard  to  the 
natural  or  acquired  qualifications  of  indi- 
viduals, and  therefore  does  not  necessarily 
imply  any  right  on  the  one  side  to  domi- 
neer, or  a  duty  on  the  other  to  be  over-obse- 
quious. The  commands  and  obediences 
which  the  relation  implies,  may  very  well 
consist  with  a  degree  of  kindly  regard  on 
the  master's  part,  and  of  respectful  attach- 
ment on  the  servant's,  which  would  tend 
to  make  the  situation  of  both  agreeable. 
There  is  one  point  in  the  conduct  of  the 
former  to  which  too  much  attention  can 
not  be  given — an  avoidance  of  everything 
in  language  and  in  deed  that  can  make  a 
servant  feel  his  situation  to  be  one  at  all 
compromising  his  personal  respectability 
or  freedom. 

Servants  are  often  cooped  up  in  a  more 
or  less  solitary  manner,  without  permission 
either  to  go  abroad  or  to  receive  visits,  and 
are  expected  in  these  circumstances  to  be 
perfectly  happy,  as  well  as  cheerfully  as- 
siduous in  the  performance  of  their  duties. 
It  is  an  outrage  on  nature,  and  therefore 
nothing  but  evil  can  come  of  it.  The  so- 
cial feelings  of  servants  call  for  exercise, 
as  well  as  those  of  their  masters  and  mis- 
tresses, and  a  reasonable  indulgence  should 
be  allowed  to  them. 


LANDING  OF  JFLIUS  CESAR  IN 
ENGLAND. 

T  ten  o'clock  on 
a  morning  in  an- 
tuinii  (llalley  the 
astronomer,    has 
p.hnosi      demon- 
strated, in  a  pa- 
per in  the  "  Phil- 
osophical   Tran- 
sactions," that  it 
must    have  been 
on  the  26lh  of  August,  B.  C.  55),  Cresar 
reached  the  British  coast,  near  Dover,  at 
about  the  worst  possible  point  to  effect  a 
landing  in  face  of  an  enemy,  and  the  Brit- 
ons were  not  disposed  to  be  friends.     The 
submission  they  had  offered  through  their 
ambassadors  was  intended  only  to  preveiit 
or  retard  invasion  ;  and  seeing  it  fail  of 
either  of  these  effects,  on  the  return  of 
their  ambassadors  with  Comins,  as  Cic- 
sar's  envoy,  they  made  that  prince  a  pris- 
oner, loaded  him  with   chains,  prepared 
for  their  defence  as  well  as  the  shortness 
of  time  would  permit ;  and  when  the  Ro- 
mans looked  from  their  ships  to  the  steej) 
white  cliffs  above  them,  they  saw  them 
covered  all  over  by  the  armed   Britons. 
Finding  that   this  was  not  a  convenient 
landing-place,  Ctesar   resolved  to  lie  by 
till  the  third  hour  after  noon,  in  order,  he 
says,  to  wait  the  arrival  of  the  rest  of  his 
fleet.     Some   laggard    vessels    appear  to 
have  come  up,  but  the  eighteen  transports, 
bearing  the  cavalry,  were  nowhere  seen. 
Caesar,  however,  favored   by  both    wind 
and  tide,  proceeded  at  the  appointed  hour, 
and  sailing  about  seven  miles  further  along 
the  coast,  prepared  to  land  his  forces,  on 
an  open,  flat  shore,  which  presents  itself 
between  Walmer  Castle  aiid  Sandwich. 
The  Britons  on  the  cliffs,  perceiving  his 
design,  followed  his  motions,  and  sending 
their    cavalry   and    war-chariots    before, 
marched  rapidly  on  with  their  main  force 
to  oppose  his  landing  anywhere.     Caesar 
confesses  that  the  opposition  of  the  na- 
tives was  a  bold  one,  and  that  the  difllcul- 
ties  he  had  to  encounter  were  very  great 
on  many  accounts  ;  but  superior  skill  and 
discipline,  and  the  employment  of  some 
military  engines  on  board  the  war-galleys, 
to  which  the  British  were  unaccustomed, 


^:n 


lND. 

'LI us  CESAR  IN 
LAND. 

T  ten  o'clock  on 
a  morniiiL'  in  aii- 
tiiinn  (Hallcy  tbo 
astronomer,    luis 
p.linost      (Ifinon- 
ix      strated,  in  a  pa-  ! 
'^^      per  in  the  "  Pliil- 
osopliicnf    TriiiT- 
saetions,"  that  it 
must    liave   be';n 
ust,  B.  C.  55),  CiPsar 
1  coast,  near  Dovor,  at 
sible  point  to  effect  a 
n  enemy,  and  tiie  Brit- 
led  to  be  friends.     The 
d  offered  through  their 
tended  only  to  prevent 
;  and  scein<»  it  fail  of 
iecis,  on  the  returT>  of 
with  Comins,  as  Cre- 
ade  that  prince  a  pris- 
with   chains,  prepared 
1  well  as  the  shortness 
lit ;  and  when  the  ]?o- 
heir  ships  to  the  steep 
them,  they  saw  them 
ly  the  armed   Britons, 
was  not  a  convenient 
tar   resolved  to  lie  by 
fter  noon,  in  order,  he 
rival  of  the  rest  of  his 
ird    vessels    appear  to 
;he  eighteen  transports, 
■,  were  nowhere  seen. 
avored   by  both    wind 
I  at  the  appointed  hour, 
jven  miles  further  along 
to  land  his  forces,  on 
,  which  presents  itself 
Castle   aiid  Sandwich, 
e  cliffs,  perceiving  his 
s  motions,  and  sending 
1    war-chariots    before, 
J  with  their  main  force 
,ng  anywhere.     Caesar 
opposition  of  the  na- 
le,  and  that  the  difficul- 
lunter  were  very  great 
;  but  superior  skill  and 
I  employment  of  some 
I  board  the  war-galleys, 
ih  were  unaccustomed, 


>N 


.  4 

■  v  i 


'■■  .*«* 


626 


LANDING  OP  JULIUS  CiESAR  IN  ENGLAND. 


and  which  projected  missiles  of  various 
kinds,  at  last  triumphed  over  them,  and 
ho  disembarked  his  two  legions.  Wo 
must  not  o.Tiit  llic  aot  of  tho  standard- 
bearer  of  the  tenth  Ji.'frion,  wlu.'h  has  been 
thought  deserving  of  particuiiit  conmem- 
oration  by  his  gcn«,Jal.  Whilo  tho  ilo  uin 
soldiers  were  ii;>sita;ing  to  leave  th-;  nhips, 
chiefly  deterrr*',  a.cor  iing  ?:;  (/ffisn';;  ac- 
count, by  the  depth  uf  thu  water,  l;ii.v  3fli- 
cer,  having  firs'  solemnly  besought  the 
gods  that  what  he  was  about  to  do  might 
j,..rove  fortunate  for  the  legion,  and  then 
'jxclaiming  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Follow 
me,  mv  fellow-soldiers,  vnlcss  you  will 
f;ive  Uj)  yoivr  f;a;]lo  to  tho  enemy  !  I,  at 
least,  ivill  do  my  duty  to  (he  repuiiUc  and 
to  our  LCen-jril !"  loippd  iiUo  the  Kea  as  he 
spoke,  iin(i  dished  vhh  his  ensign  among 
the  enemy '«  ranks.  The  men  instantly 
followed  their  heroic  leader ;  and  the  sol- 
diers in  tho  other  ships,  excited  by  the 
example,  also  crowded  forward  along  with 
them.  The  two  armies  were  for  some 
time  mixed  in  combat ;  but  at  length  the 
Britons  withdrew  in  disorder  from  the 
well-conteM  .1  beach.  As  their  cavalry, 
however,  wa-  not  yet  arrived,  the  Romans 
could  not  pursue  them  or  advance  into  the 
island,  which  Caesar  says  prevented  his 
rendering  the  i  ictory  complete. 

The  native  maritime  tribes,  thus  defeat- 
ed, sought  the  advantage  of  a  hollow  peace. 
They  despatched  ambassadors  to  Ceesar, 
offering  hostages  and  an  entire  submission. 
They  liberated  Comius,  and  restored  him 
to  his  employer,  throwing  the  blame  of  the 
harsh  treatment  his  envoy  had  met  with 
upon  tho  multitude  or  common  people,  and 
entreating  Ctesar  to  excuse  a  fault  which 
proceeded  solely  from  tne  popular  igno- 
rance. The  conqueror,  after  reproaching 
them  for  sending  of  their  own  accord  am- 
bassadors into  Gaul  to  sue  for  peace,  and 
then  making  war  upon  him  without  any 
reason,  forgave  them  their  offences,  and 
ordered  them  to  send  in  a  certain  number 
of  hostages,  as  security  for  tiieir  good  be- 
havior in  future.  Some  of  these  hosta- 
ges were  prr seated  iumiediately,  and  the 
Britons  pri,  .;•  1  to  deliver  the  rest,  who 
lived  at  a  iV  ...t-e,  in  the  course  of  a  few 
dayp.  Tl  '  siative  forces  then  seemed  en- 
tirely i'>c!'.?mued,  and  the  several  chiefs 
came  v.-  i  uJour's  camp  to  offer  allegiance, 


and  negotiate  or  intrigue  for  their  own 
separate  interests. 

On  the  day  that  this  peace  was  conclu- 
ded, and  not  before,  the  unlucky  transports 
with  the  Roman  cavalry,  were  fiiabled  to 
quit  their  port  on  the  coast  of  Gaul.  They 
stood  across  the  channel  with  a  gentle 
gale  ;  but  when  they  ncared  the  British 
coast,  and  were  even  within  view  of  Csb- 
sar's  camp,  they  were  dispersed  by  a  tem- 
pest, and  were  finally  obliged  to  return  to 
the  port  where  they  had  been  so  long  de- 
tained, and  whence  they  had  set  out  that 
morning.  That  very  night,  Ca;sar  says, 
it  happened  to  be  full  moon,  when  the 
tides  always  rise  highest,  "  a  fact  at  that 
time  wholly  unknown  to  the  Romans," 
and  the  galleys  which  he  had  with  him, 
and  which  were  hauled  up  on  the  beach, 
were  filled  with  the  rising  waters,  while 
his  heavier  transports,  that  lay  at  anchor 
in  the  roadstead,  were  either  dashed  to 
pieces,  or  rendered  altogether  unfit  for 
sailing.  This  disaster  spread  a  general 
consternation  through  the  camp  ;  for,  as 
every  legionary  knew,  there  were  no  oth- 
er vessels  to  carry  back  the  troops,  nor 
any  materials  with  the  army  to  repair  the 
ships  that  were  disabled  ;  and  as  it  iiad 
been  from  the  beginning  Caisar's  design 
not  to  winter  in  Britain,  but  in  Gaul,  he 
was  wholly  unprovided  with  corn  and  pro- 
visions to  feed  his  troops.  Suetonius 
says,  that  during  the  nine  years  Caisar 
held  the  military  command  in  Gaul,  amid 
a  most  brilliant  series  of  successes^  ho 
experienced  only  three  signal  disasters ; 
and  he  counts  the  almost  entire  destruc- 
tion of  his  fleet  by  a  storm  in  Britain  as 
one  of  the  three. 

Nor  were  the  invaded  people  slow  in 
perceiving  the  extent  of  Caesar's  calamity, 
and  devising  means  to  profit  by  it.  They 
plainly  saw  he  was  in  want  of  cavalry, 
provisions,  and  ships  ;  a  close  inspection 
showed  that  his  troops  were  not  so  nu- 
merous as  they  had  fancied,  and  probably 
familiarized  them  in  some  measure  to  their 
warlike  weapons  and  demeanor;  and  they 
confidently  hoped,  that  by  defeating  this 
force,  or  surrounding  and  cutting  oil"  their 
retreat,  and  starving  them,  they  should 
prevent  all  future  invasions.  The  chiefs 
in  the  camp,  having  previously  held  secret 
consultations  among  themselves,  retired, 


ntriguo  for  their  own 

liis  peaco  was  conclu- 

the  unlucky  transports 
I'alry,  wcro  enabled  to 
I  coast  of  Gaul.  They 
hannel  with  a  gentle 
ey  neared  the  British 
sn  within  view  of  Cae- 
re dispersed  by  a  tem- 
ly  obliged  to  return  to 
!  had  been  so  long  de- 

they  had  set  out  that 
ry  night,  Cocsar  says, 
full  moon,  when  the 
ghest,  "  a  fact  at  that 
wn  to  the  Romans," 
lich  he  had  with  him, 
uled  up  on  the  beach, 
3  rising  waters,  while 
irl„,  that  lay  at  anchor 
vere  either  dashed  to 
1  altogether  unfit  for 
ster  spread  a  general 
gh  the  camp  ;  for,  a? 
iw,  there  were  no  oth- 

back  the  troops,  nor 
the  army  to  repair  the 
cabled  ;  and  as  it  hud 
nning  Cffisar's  design 
itain,  but  in  Gaul,  ho 
led  with  corn  and  i)ro- 
s  troops.  Suetonius 
ho  nine  years  Ca;sar 
Humand  in  Gaul,  amid 
ries  of  successesj  ho 
iree  signal  disasters  ; 
Eilmost  entire  destruc- 

a  storm  in  Britain  as 

vaded  people  slow  in 
It  of  Caesar's  calamity, 

to  profit  by  it.  They 
J  in  want  of  cavalry, 
IS  ;  a  close  inspection 
)ops  were  not  so  nu- 

fancied,  and  probably 

some  measure  to  their 
id  demeanor;  and  they 
hat  by  defeating  this 
g  and  cutting  otf  their 
ig  them,  they  should 
ivasions.     The  chiefs 

previously  held  secret 
I  themselves,  retired, 


THE  IRON  AGE. 


('.•27 


by  degrees,  from  the  Romans,  and  began 
to  draw  the   islanders    together.     Cajsar 
says,  tiiat  though  he  was  not  fully  apprized 
of  their  designs,  ho  partly  guessed  them, 
and  from  their  delay  in  sending  in  the  hos- 
tages promised  from  a  distance,  and  from 
other   circumstances,  and    instantly  took 
measures  to  provide  for  the  worst,     lie 
set  part  of  his  army  to  repair  his  shattered 
fleet,  using  the  materials  of  the  vessels 
most  injured  to  patch  up  the  rest;  and  as 
the  soldiers  wrought  with  an  indefatigabil- 
ity  suiting  the  dangerous  urgency  of  the 
case,  he   had   soon  a  number  of  vessels 
fit  for  sea.     He  then  sent  to  Gaul,  for  oth- 
er  materials    wanting,  and   probably  for 
some  provisions  also.     Another  portioa  of 
his  troops  he  employed  in  foraging  parties, 
to  bring  into  the  camp  what  corn  they 
could    collect   in    the   adjacent    country. 
This  supply  could  not  have  been  great, 
for  the  natives  had  everywhere  gathered 
in  their  harvest,  except  in  one  field ;  and 
there,  by  lying    in    ambush,  the  Britons 
made  a  bold  and  bloody  attack,  which  had 
well    nigh   proved   fatal  to  the  invaders. 
As  one  of  the  two  legions  that  formed  the 
expedition  were  cutting  down  the  corn  in 
that  field,  Ca;sar,  who  was  in  his  fortified 
camp,  suddenly  saw  a  great  cloud  of  dust 
in  that  direction.     He  rushed  to  the  spot 
wiih  two  cohorts,  leaving  orders  for   all 
the  other  soldiers  of  the  legion  to  follow 
as  soon   as   possible.     His   arrival   was 
very  opportune,  for  he  found  the  legion 
which  had  been  surprised  in  the  cornfield, 
and  which  had  suffered  considerable  loss, 
now  surrounded  and  pressed  on  all  sides 
by  the   cavalry  and  war-chariots  of  the 
British,  who  had  been  concealed  by  the 
neighboring    woods.     He    succeeded   in 
bringing   off    the    engaged    legion,   with 
which   he    withdrew    to   his    intrenched 
camp,  declining  a  general  engagement  for 
the  present.     Heavy  rains,  that  follo^yed 
for  some  days,  confined  the  Romans  with- 
in their  intrenchments.     Meanwhile,  the 
British  force  of  horse  and  foot  was  in- 
creased from  all  sides,  and  they  gradu- 
ally drew  round  the  intrenchments.     Cae- 
sar, anticipating  their  attack,  marshalled 
his  legions  outside  of  the  camp,  and,  at 
the  proper  moment,  fell  upon  the  island- 
ers, who,  he  says,  not  being  able  to  sus- 
tain the  shock,  were  soon  put  to  flight. 


In  this  victory  he  attaches  great  impor- 
tance to  a  body  of  thirty  horse,  which  Co- 
mius,  the  Atrebalian,  had  brought  over 
from  Gaul.  The  Romans  pursued  tlie  fu- 
gitives as  far  as  their  strength  would  per- 
mit ;  they  slaughtered  many  of  then),  set 
fire  to  some  houses  and  villages,  and  then 
returned  again  to  the  protection  of  their 
camp.  On  the  same  day  the  Britons 
again  sued  for  peace,  and  Cicsar,  being 
anxious  to  return  to  Gaul  as  quickly  as 
possible,  "  because  the  equinox  was  ap- 
proaching, and  his  ships  were  leaky," 
granted  it  to  them  on  no  harder  condition 
than  that  of  doubling  the  number  of  hos- 
tages ihey  had  promised  after  their  first 
defeat  He  did  not  even  wait  for  the  hos- 
tages, but  a  fair  wind  springing  up,  he  set 
sail  at  midnight,  and  arrived  safely  in  Gaul. 


THE  IRON  AGE. 

^E  live  in  the  iron 
age,  as  poets,  from 
time  immemorial, 
sung  of  the  days  in 
which  they  lived. 
Who  has  not  heard 
that  the  ago  of  chiv- 
alry is  gone — that 
the  spirit  of  poe- 
try has  left  this  world — that  the  sordid 
vices  of  Mammon,  restless  and  vigilant, 
have  extinguished  in  our  time  the  true 
constituents  of  happiness — faith,  hope,  and 
love. 

There  was  much  of  poetical  and  moral 
beauty,  and  of  philosophical  truth,  though 
darkly  obscured,  in  many  opinions  and 
superstitions  which,  literally  understood, 
were  erroneous  or  idolatrous.  In  the  degra- 
ding system  of  polythei.>'in  itself,  the  dev- 
otee dimly  recognised  the  power  and  pres- 
ence of  the  only  and  universal  God,  who  by 
day  and  night,  through  the  varied  phenom- 
ena of  nature,  ever  speaks  with  a  still 
voice  to  the  soul  of  the  intelligent  and  pi- 
ous worshipper.  And  llius  in  many  an 
error  and  superstition  of  bygone  ages  there 
was  originally  a  moral  and  a  meaning 
which  we  have  not  always  advantageous- 
ly exchanged  for  the  proud  intelligence  of 


!^ 


iliai 


'^! 


!!t:i 


028 


THE  IRON  AOE. 


*«•«»!. 


our  own.  But  those  who  deem  that  poe- 
try and  romaeicn  have  left  us,  proclaim  on- 
ly tlifir  own  (iuiness.  Nature  is  yet  fresh 
in  her  ix-auly  as  she  was  ccnlnries  ago — 
the  skies,  rivers,  forests,  lakes,  the  blue 
oeean,  the  overlasiing  mountains,  ami  the 
varyiu!^  Measons  arc  all  to  him  "  who  has 
a  soul  aliiniod  ariyht,"  as  glorious  as  ever. 
Tlie  luipcM  anil  buoyancy  of  youth — over 
extinguished  by  advancing  years  and  re- 
produced in  till)  child — the  calmer  and 
more  resolute  passions  of  inaturcr  age — 
"  whatever  stirs  this  mortal  frame,"  shall 
furnisli  the  materials  of  romance  .and  po- 
etry so  l(in;»  as  tlio  world  and  tlio  divine 
portions  of  our  nature  continue  to  exist. 

Wo  live  in  the  iron  age,  but  iron  has 
aceomplislieil  for  us  results  of  which  the 
poet  or  alchymist  never  dreamed.  The 
native  of  our  woods  coidd  only  by  a  most 
wearisome  process  fell  the  tree  which  the 
iron  axo  so  quickly  prostrates — the  instru- 
ment through  which  the  ground,  so  rucenl- 
ly  covered  with  I'oresis  and  tenanted  by 
wild  animal,  bus  become  dotted  by  the 
lloeks  and  cities  of  a  civilized  nation, 
whose  rapid  peopling  of  an  entire  conti- 
nent, familiar  and  common-place  to  us, 
shall  be  the  theme  of  poetry  and  wonder 
to  many  a  future  age.  Our  weapons,  more 
terrible  than  lightning,  teach  us  the  folly 
of  war.  One  instrument  of  science  shows 
us  myriads  of  animated  beings,  susceptible 
of  pleasure  and  pain  in  the  drop  of  stag- 
nant water,  and  covering  in  similar  pro- 
portions nearly  all  matter,  while  another 
disjjlays  to  our  vision  the  mountains  and 
oceans  of  hea\  enly  orbs,  and  teaches  us 
that  far  in  the  regions  of  infinite  space 
are  innumerable  worlds,  each  it  may  be 
e(iualling  our  own,  and  like  it,  teeming  in 
its  atoms,  with  life  incalculable.  Ma- 
chinery which  to  the  Roman  or  Greek 
would  have  appeared  impossible,  propels 
the  huge  train  of  carriages  on  the  iron 
road,  and  urges  the  iron  boat  against  the 
power  of  wind  and  water,  through  the 
storms  of  mid-ocean,  or  the  crashing  and 
solemn  icebergs,  where  the  ordinary  ship 
must  inevitably  perish. 

A  recent  publication  of  high  authority 
assures  us  that  "  writing  paper  has  been 
manufactured  from  iron,  and  that  books 
with  both  leaves  and  binding  have  been 
made  from  the  same  material." 


Manufncturing  machinery  performs  the 
work  of  millions  of  men  ;  and  chymislry 
in  a  thousand  methods  produces  cliaiigea 
more  beneficial  than  the  avaricious  alchy- 
mist vainly  toiled  to  discover  When  ilio 
Macedonian  conqueror  .Vlexandt  r  wished 
to  prove  the  truth  of  the  Delpiii.in  oracle, 
knowing  no  better  test,  Ik  asked  to  bo 
told  what  his  father  then  at  a  distance  was 
doing.  Our  magnetic  telegraph,  claiming 
no  supernatural  agency,  might  accurately 
have  answered — and  by  the  same  myste- 
rious and  subjugated  power,  the  recent 
corpse  ilse !f,  starling  rudely  as  if  indig- 
nant at  the  interruption  of  its  last  repose, 
may  bo  roused  into  energy  wild  and  lil'o- 
like,  but  transient.  The  discoverit  j  of 
science,  and  varied  information  of  the  arts 
and  thoughts  of  other  men  and  n:itions, 
are  dillused  through  the  iiiediiim  of  the 
iron  press.  We  in  our  iron  ajj<'  have  re- 
alized things  more  wonderful,  than  nursed 
amid  the  romance  of  wild  Arabia, 

"  Tlio  wandering  tribos  ro'|uiic, 
Strotclicd  in  llic  desert  round  tlio  ovniing;  firo." 

It  is  true  that  the  fairy  tales  and  strange 
legends  which  our  forefathers  ceased  to 
believe  have  now  become  almost  extinct. 
The  chivalry  and  glory,  pomp  and  savage 
sports  of  feudalism  have  departed,  but  like 
a  gaudy  and  imperfect  picture,  or  the  illu- 
minated transparency  of  a  theatre,  the  fas- 
cination of  feeling  which  we  experience 
when  regarding  them  through  distance 
or  darkness,  changes  upon  a  closer  view 
in  the  light  of  day  to  indignant  dissatis- 
faction. Rather  than  admire  the  spirit  of 
those  times,  which  colored  and  gilt  by 
time  and  imagination  may  sometimes  ap- 
pear poetically  beautiful,  as  clouds  of  nox- 
ious vapor  receive  from  the  sun  a  brillian- 
cy which  is  not  their  own,  we  should  re- 
gret that  in  dark  places  of  the  earth  are 
legends  and  stories  as  unreasonable  as  ev- 
er, and  that  ancient  feudalism,  tyrannical 
as  it  was,  is  surpassed  by  modern  slavery. 

A  few  only  of  the  sublime  and  wonder- 
ful discoveries  of  our  age  have  been  men- 
tioned. Volumes  would  not  suffice  to  tell 
all.  The  riches  of  the  past,  most  of  its 
histories,  experience,  literature,  and  in« 
ventions — itself  no  poorer  for  the  legacy — 
the  vast  discoveries  and  powers  of  the 
present  day— and  the  bright  hope  for  the 
future,  which,  reasoning  from  that  which 


nschinery  performs  the 
)f  men  ;  and  diymislry 
lio'ls  produciJS  tliiiiiiifa 
m  the  aviiriciou'f  alcliy- 
to  discover.  W'Ik'ii  ilio 
icror  Alcxaiidir  wislicd 
of  tlio  Di'ljiiiiiii  oratlo, 
r  t(!st,  he  iiskrd  to  1)0 
r  tluMi  at  a  distanre  was 
otic  telegrapli,  chiiiiiing 
;ency,  might  accurately 
md  by  tho  samo  myste- 
ited  power,  tho  recent 
:ing  rudely  ns  i(  iudig- 
iption  of  its  last  r(!poso, 

0  energy  wild  and  lifo- 
t.     Tho    discoverii  i  of 

1  information  of  tho  arts 
)lher  men  and  nations, 
gh  the  medium  of  tiio 
n  our  iron  ag(^  have  re- 

I  wonderful,  than  nursed 

of  wihl  Arabia, 

eriiig  tribes  ro(|iiii'o, 

icrl  round  tlic  ovoiiiii3  firo." 

le  fairy  tales  and  strange 

r  forefathers  ceased  to 

become  almost  extinct. 

glory,  pomp  and  savage 

II  have  departed,  but  like 
rfect  picture,  or  tlie  iilu- 
acy  of  a  theatre,  tlie  fas- 
[  which  we  experience 
them  through  distance 
ges  upon  a  closer  view 
ly  to  indignant  dissatis- 
han  admire  the  spirit  of 
:h  colored  and  gilt  by 
ion  may  sometimes  ap- 
autiful,  as  clouds  of  nox- 

I  from  the  sun  a  brillian- 
leir  own,  we  should  re- 
places of  the  earth  are 
s  as  unreasonable  as  cv- 
it  feudalism,  tyrannical 
(sed  by  modern  slavery, 
the  sublime  and  wonder- 
our  age  have  been  men- 
would  not  suffice  to  tell 
of  the  past,  most  of  its 
nee,  literature,  and  in- 
3  poorer  for  the  legacy — 
ies  and  powers  of  the 
the  bright  hope  for  the 
soning  from  that  which 


f 


HAUPLIA. 


r.-29 


lias  already  occurred,  we  dare  not  limit- 
are  all  lor  us  ,  but  in  tiinuits  hiiinililij  we 
axk  oiirsrlvcx  if  the  inrnnse  of  liaj>iiinfss 
and  virtue  is  prupuiiwiiiilc  to  the  increase 
of  kiiouUilfr, — whether  as  children  of  the 
ninvlreiith  century,  heirs  to  its  we.ijth  aid 
power,  ue  use  our  inheritance  to  the  bust 
advantage , 


NAUPLIA. 


^,  HE  town  of  Nauplia, 
S  or  Napoli  di    Roma- 
nia, is  situated  along 
tho  foot  of  an  abrupt 
rocky  promontory  of 
considerable      eleva- 
f'ifjy^^!'^    tion,  which   projects 
V  »  into   the    sea  at   the 

liead  of  the  gulf  bearing  tho  same  name. 
It  occupies  the   whole  length  of  tho  nar- 
row strip  of  low  land  between  tho  clilfs 
and  the  siiore,  so  that  further  enlargement 
is  impracticable.     It  is  well  foriilied,  and 
enclosed  by  walls  on  which  the  "  winged 
lion"  is  still  visible,  in  proof  of  their  Ve- 
netian construction,  and  though  miserably 
bad,  is,  upon  the  whole,  one  of  the  best 
l)uilt  towns  in  the  Morea,  of  which  it  is 
justly  considered  t(»  be  tho  maritime  key. 
It  is  admirably  situated,  both  in  a  mili- 
tary and  conunercial  point  of  view  ;  but 
the  place  is  very  unhealthy,  partly  owing 
to  the  neighboring  marshes  in  the  plains  of 
Argos,  and  partly  owing  to  the  total  want 
of  cleaidiness.     Fevers  are  very  preva- 
lent, and  the  town  has  often  been  ravaged 
by  plaiiue.     In  1824  it  was  visited  with  a 
dieadl'iil  epidemic,  which  carried  off  about 
one  third  of  the  population.     The  interior, 
with  the  exception  of  one  square,  consists 
of  very  narrow,  lilthy  streets,  from  which 
the  breeze  is  always  excluded  by  the  up- 
per stories  of  the  houses  projecting  one 
al)ove    the   other   till   they  almost  meet, 
i'he  larger  houses  generally  have  been 
buili  by  the  Venetians,  and  are  now  made 
subservient  to  public   purposes  ;  but  the 
greater  part  are  Turkish,  though  very  dif- 
Ifreui  from  the  light  well-built  houses  of 
Constantinople.     In  these  the  lower  part 
is  invariably  appropriated  as  a  stable  for 


the  horses,  whence  a  miserable  and  often 
unsafe  staircase  leads  to  the  u|)per  inliab- 
ited  apartments.  The  shops  are  princi- 
pally for  the  sale  of  wine,  provisions,  and 
arms. 

At  present  Napcli  is  tho  seat  of  govern- 
ment and  residence  of   King  Otho,  and 
may  therefore  be  considered  the   caj)iial 
of  Greece  ;  but  although  it  nnisl  ever  bo 
a  place  of  groat  importance  as  a  military 
and  commercial  post,  it  is  by  no  means 
calculated  to  liecome  the  metropolis  of  the 
kingdom,  from  its  unhealthiness  and  \ery 
circumscribed    extent.      Tho    population 
may  amount  to  5,000  or  0,000,  but  lluctu- 
ates  greatly ;   it  is,  however,  one  of  the 
most  thickly-peopled  cities  in  tho  world, 
averaging  three  or  four  inmates  to  eacli 
room.     Since  tho  arrival  of  King  Otho, 
Nauplia  has  undergone  considerable  im- 
provement ;  and,  as  security  of  property 
becomes  more  certain,  will  doubtless  make 
rapid  advances,  a  great  number  of  emi- 
grants from  Europe  having  already  estab- 
lished   themselves   in   trade    here.     The 
market  of  Napoli  is  well  supplied  with 
fruit  and  vegetables  in  great  variety  and 
abundance  ;  but  butcher's  meat  is  indifl'er- 
ent.     The  adjacent  country  is   rich  and 
fertile  ;  even  tho  wildest  and  most  uncul- 
tivated parts   are   covered  with    beds  of 
thyme,  fennel,  and  mint,  which  afford  in- 
exhaustible materials  for  honey  ;  but  this 
indulgence  must  be  gratified  with  caution, 
as  the  honey  is  medicinal  in  its  proper- 
ties. 

The  port  is  exceedingly  good  and  eligi- 
ble for  shipping,  being  perfectly  safe  and 
easy  of  access.  From  the  bay,  the  view 
is  at  once  pleasing,  picturesque,  and  ex- 
citing ;  the  lofty,  majestic  rock,  surmount- 
ed by  the  citadel ;  the  busy  town  and  port ; 
the  plain  and  town  of  Argos,  with  its  Acrop- 
olis, backed  by  a  range  of  lofty  mountains, 
and  the  snowy  summits  of  Taygetus  to 
the  west ;  all  heightened  by  the  associa- 
tions of  former  times— contribute  to  ren- 
der the  surrounding  scenery  highly  inter- 
esting. But  as  soon  as  the  stranger  puts 
his  foot  on  shore,  the  enchantment  ceases 
and  his  enthusiasm  vanishes  ;  all  feelings 
of  pleasure  give  way  to  nausea  and  dis- 
gust. 

Prior  to  the  revolution,  Napoli  was  the 
depot  for  all  the  produce  of  Greece  ;  and 


U  \\t 


"■  %*i% 


\    '8,! 


(;:}0 


NAUPLIA. 


aliliouuli  ihis  cxchisive  trndo  has  latterly 
been  shared  bj'  other  ports,  there  is  still 
an  extensive  commerce  carried  on  in  wine, 
oil.  corn,  wax,  honey,  8pon>;is,  and  col!on. 
The  transport  of  these  articles  is  priiK  '- 
pally  limit!  .1  (o  kaiks,  or  open  boats  of  11, 
teen'  or  thirty  tons  burden.  Napoli  oilers 
no  facility  for  ship-buddrnfj ;  but,  as  ■^ome 
of  iht!  islands  engage  largely  in  'liis  oc- 
cupation, it  may  be  expected  that,  .is  the 
inerc'iiiiile  navy  increases,  commerce  will 
also  emerge  from  tiie  narrow  bounds,  to 
which  it  has  hitherto  been  lonlined.  Al- 
i-eady,  indeed,  it  has  begun  to  experience 
the  eiu  ouraging  elFects  of  freedom,  order, 
and  peace.  The  sea-breeze  blows  furi- 
ously up  the  gulf  of  Nauplia  during  the 
d.iy,  and  it  is  the  custom,  therefore,  for 
vessels  to  leave  the  anchorage  in  the  even- 
ing, when  they  catch  the  land-breeze, 
which  blows  duiug  the  niglu,  and  gener- 
ally carries  them  out  of  the  gulf  before 
morning. 

The  strength  of  Napoli  is  the  citadel, 
which  is  called  the  Palamedi,  over  whose 
lurreicd  walls  a  few  cypresses  raise  their 
sombre  heads ;  it  stiinds  on  the  eastern- 
most :ind  highest  elevation  of  the  promon- 
tory, and  comflettl."  overhangs  and  v.*  n- 
mands  the  to\  n.  To  all  appearance  ii 
is  impregnable,  and  from  its  situation  and 
aspect  has  In  ;i  termed  the  "  Gibraltar  o) 
Greece,"  nri  appellation  v\  ,  ,  when  in  a 
better  staio  of  dcience,  ii  may  deserve. 
It  is  720  liet  above  the  soa,  and  has  only 
one  <(>>  dablo  point  where  a  narrow  isth 
mus  connects  it  with  the  main  land — and 
this  is  overlooked  by  a  rocky  precipice  : 
the  asc'-iil  is  by  flights  of  steps  cut  in  the 
nick.  UeneatU  the  I'alimedi,  the  land 
continues  ai  the  elevalio  "f  about  I '^0 
feet  to  the  extreme  point  i  the  promon- 
tory, and  on  this  are  various  forts,  &c, 
Tl;  present  fortifications  are  chiefly  Ve- 
netian, repaired  at  van  'is  limes  by  the 
Turks  and  Greeks  ;  but  he  ruins  of  an- 
cient walls  of  Cyclop*  i  masonry,  'n 
which  those  of  'ho  Palarvisdi  are  bah;  i, 
may  still  be  seea.  Man\  pieces  of  Ve- 
netian oni  lauce  remain  on  tie  walls  to  this 
day.  Th  Palamedi,  i  aich  some  ex- 
cellent banacks  have  lately  been  'milt,  is 
capable  ol  ontaining  a  large  gar  -son. 
Besides  these  points,  and  the  walls  which 
enclose  the  town  and  are  defended  by  bas- 


tions, there  is  a  small  rocky  islet  in  lb'- 
harbor  on  which  stands  the  castle  of  Si 
'I'heodore,  which,  though  commnnded  by 
the  upper  forts,  wmiM  be  very  formidabli' 
to  an  assailing  sipiadron  of  ships.  Tlii- 
Greeks,  in  the  siege  of  Napoli,  olitaiiicd 
possession  of  this  post  very  early,  "nd 
in  spite  of  Us  disadvantageous  jMisition, 
contrived  to  annoy,  not  only  the  town,  but 
the  TuiKish  garrison  in  the  ujiper  forts  ; 
it  is  at  present  used  as  a  stale-prison. 
The  town  of  Napoli  is  supplied  with  wa- 
ter by  a  stream  issuing  from  the  celebra- 
ted fountain  of  Cunathus.  It  passes  by 
an  ocpuiduct  under  tlio  clifls  of  the  I'ala- 
medi,  and  admits  of  being  easily  cut  oil' 
by  tin  besiegers,  as  it  was  by  the  Cireeks. 
The  ancient  Nauplia  is  said  to  have 
been  built  by  Nauplius,  the  son  of  Nep- 
tune, before  the  Trojan  war,  Nauplia 
vvas  sulisetpiently  the  chief  naval  ar  lal 
of  the  Argives,  It  was  desolate  i  die 
time  of  Pausanias,  who  saw  only  the  ru- 
ins of  the  V  ills  and  of  a  temple  of  .Nep- 
tune rrinaiiii.,4.  The  Venetians  obtained 
pos-  ision  of  it  in  1460.  In  M'.)5  it  sur- 
rendered to  Hajazet,  but  was  again  taken 
by  the  Venetians,  under  M<  ;  >/ini,  in  Au- 
gust, 1586,  al'tei  a  month's  siege,  and  be- 
came the  headquarters  of  that  nation  in 
the  M(  "a  In  1714  it  was  treacherously 
given  1  >  \\i  Coumourgi,  and  vvas  the 
seal  of  1  .,  ish  government  ami  residence 
m  'le  paclia  of  the  \Iorea  till  Tripolizza 
^elec'«'d  as  being  more  central,  when 

.  bocanv  ubjec  to  the  bey  of  Argos. 
The    cr  *    rt  iiairi'  1    uninterrujiledly 

flying  on  t,  •'»»"  ss  till  the  12ih  of  De- 
cember, 18.;,i,  .,  it  surrendered  to  the 
(  reeks,  at'ii  r  a  long  aid  tedious  blockade, 
liieTurki^ii  garrison  having  been  reduced 
to  such  a  hlale  of  starvation  as  to  feed  on 
the  corpses  of  tlc'ir  companions.  h\  1825, 
Ibrahim  Pacha  made  a  fruitleh.s 
to  surprise  the  place ;  and  it  has 
stronghold  of  the  Greeks  in  tliei, 
for  liberty.  In  April,  1826,  the 
sion  of  government  held  their 
here,  but  were  obliged  to  re.  re  to  iE<;  i 
on  acco  nt  of  civil  disseii-sions,  and  i  " 
of  the  revolted  chiefs  beinir  in  pos  -^sioii 
of  the  Pahunedi,       luring  u  *  piuNidency 

•f  Capo  d'Istriii  ,  who  always  resided  (and 
was  assassinated)  in  the  tow:  it  again 
became  the  seat  of  government     and  on 


ttempt 

■  lilO 

iimis- 

Mitiii_-i 


I 


imall  rocky  islot  in  t'. 
stiiiids  t'.iC  castle  of  S 

tliiHiph  coihiiihiiiUmI  l)y 
(III!, I  be  very  ('oniiiiliil)!!' 
lii;t<lron  of  Hliips.  'i'lii' 
pg«  of  Napoli,  ohtairii'il 
3  post  vrry  rnrly,  'nil 
saclvniit!i|,'<'oiis  |)()Miti(»ii, 
,•,  not  only  lln'  lowo,  i)tii 
ioii  in  the  upper  forts  ; 
nsed  hs  ii  Mtate-priwoii. 
oli  is  supjdii'il  wiili  \vn- 
Hiiinjj  j'roin  the  c(.'lehr;i- 
"aiiiitlnis.  It  piissi's  l)y 
r  tlm  clifls  of  ihe  Puhi- 

of  being  easily  cut  olf 
as  it  was  l>y  tlie  (Ireeks. 
Jaupiia  is  saiil  to  have 
iipliua,  the  son  of  Nep- 

Trojan    war.     Nunplia 

the  chief  naval  iir     ml 

It  was  desolate  ,  ue 
i,  who  saw  only  the  ru- 
ind  of  a  temple  of  Nep- 
The  Venetians  obtained 
1  14G0.  In  M'.).3it  sur- 
iet,  bi!t  was  again  taken 

under  M<  >/ini,  in  Au- 
i  month's  ssiej;n,  and  l)e- 
larters  of  that  iKilioii  in 
714  it  was  treacherously 
'oumourgi,  and  was  the 
)verninent  anil  residence 
he  Morea  till  Tripolizza 
t'ing  more  central,  when 
to  the  bey  of  Argos. 
;iittinf>d  uninterruptedly 
r«88  till  the  rith  of  De- 
it  fi  it  surrendered  to  the 
ng  ind  tedious  l)lot:kadn, 
son  having  been  reduced 

starvation  as  to  feed  on 
r  cotnpanions.  'u  1825, 
iiade  a  fruiih'  ^  itempt 
ice  ;  and  it  bus  bt  n  die 
Greeks  in  tlteir  si  iggle 
Lpril,  1826,  the  <  >  umis- 
lent  held  their  "-iitin.^ 
diged  to  ri  re  to  JEu  •  < 
vil  dissensions,  and  i  " 
liefs  being  in  pos  ssion 
'  )uring  lilt  pre-money 
who  always  resided  (and 
)  in  the  tow  it  again 
of  government     and  on 


H 


M  ^ 

nv 


■i  w  »•   i,-.u, 


■fc^%'il»..^ 


839 


HUMOROUS  PEOPLB. 


ho  3 1st  of  January,  1833,  tho  princo  of 
Havaria  arrived  here  as  first  king  of  re- 
«(orc(l  (ireece. 


HUMOROUS  PEOPLE. 

ERSONS  who  are  in- 
nocently j{oo(l  hiMtiitreJ 
1110  very  useful  in  tlii» 
world,  by  difluHing  n 
g(  finrous  ilieorfiilness 
among  all  who  ap- 
proach them.  Habit- 
ual vivacity  lias  the 
rccoinmondation  of  not 
only  its  own  plnuHurablo  feelings,  but  it 
has  a  sanitary  bcnelit ;  for  it  keeps  the 
blood  in  proper  circulation,  (juickons  tho 
iinderstandini,',  and  even  hel[)'  ligestion. 
Indeed  it  conduces  to  long  lilV;  ;  while, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  habit  oi  yieldinsf 
i{»  and  fostering  sadness  of  heart,  embit- 
ters and  shortons  tho  days  of  tho  young. 
It  is  well  said  by  Solomon,  that  "  a  merry 
heart  doeih  good  liko  a  medicine  ;  but  a 
.broken  spirit  drieth  the  bones."  In  later 
times,  Bolingbroku  gave  it  as  his  experi- 
ence tliat,  "  in  tliis  farce  of  lilV*,  wise  men 
pass  their  time  in  mirth,  while  fools  only 
are  serious,"  an  observation  that  recalls  to 
memory  the  linos  of  the  poet — 

"  Sporlsrnoii  fiml  svuodcooks  by  thoir  eyes, 
Ab  fools  aro  known  by  looking  wise." 

If  this  be  so,  it  is  surely  best  lobe  cheer- 
ful, and,  in  tho  words  of  Byron, 

"  To  luiigli  at  all  things,  for  wo  wish  to  know 
What,  iiltt't  all,  aro  all  Uiiiigs  but  a  show  ? 

Sheridan  Knowles,  in  his  play  of  "  Wil- 
liam Tell,"  has  happily  described  the  bles- 
sings of  a  cheerful  temper  : — 

"  Who  would  not  have  an  eye 
To  see  the  sun,  where  othci    see  a  cloud  : 
A  frame  so  vt-riml,  as,  in  spite  of  snow, 
To  think  it  gonial  siiniiner  all  year  round  7 
I  do  not  know  tha  fu'il  would  not  bo  such 
A  man !" 

Humorists  would  be  much  more  in  fa- 
vor, could  they  only  be  taught  what  are 
and  what  are  not  the  proper  times  and 
subjects  for  the  exercise  of  their  jocular- 
ity. Above  all  things,  they  ought  to  re- 
frain from  playing  off  their  jests  upon  the 
reputations  and  manners  of  their  friends. 
The  little  incidents  of  the  passing  hour, 


and  the  lively  fancies  of  llin  imnL'iniilion, 
ought  solely  to  supply  the  fun  of  the  friend- 
ly circle.  Natural  iniperfoelii)ns  tiiid  blem- 
ishes ought  never  to  be  aeleeii  1  as  markx 
for  ridicule  to  shoot  its  HhaftM  at.  It  is 
well  to  "lauKh  at  all  ihini,'s"  tint  may  Im- 
properly laughed  at ;  but  it  is  still  more 
commendable  to  resist  all  temptations  to 
raise  a  laugh  by  personal  allnsioiis  which 
hurt  the  feelings  of  some  one  individual 
in  tho  company.  When  tint  virliitius  for- 
bearance is  strictly  observed,  a  humorist's 
society  becomes  an  enjoyment  to  all,  for 
each  feels  sure  that  there  is  no  danger  of 
the  flying  shall  pcMietraliiig  the  saneinary 
of  frienilly  secresy,  or  going  beyond  the 
bounds  of  good  lireeding.  Hy  sporting 
with  another's  weaknesses,  infirmities,  and 
personal  singularities,  we  may  certairdy 
divert  tho  company  for  a  moment,  and 
gratify  our  own  selfish  vanity,  which  is 
ambitious  to  show  superiority  ;  but,  as 
Chesterfield  justly  observes,  this  is  a  pret- 
ty sure  way  to  make  enemies  for  ever,  for 
"  even  those  who  laugh,  will,  upon  rcllee- 
tion,  fear  and  despise  us  :  it  is  ill-natured, 
and  a  good  heart  desires  rather  to  conceal 
than  expose  other  people's  weaknesses  or 
misfortunes.  If  wo  have  wit,  wo  should 
use  it  to  please,  and  not  to  hurt :  we  may 
shine,  liko  the  sun  in  tho  temperate  zone, 
without  scorching."  Conversation  may 
impart  pleasantry  and  cheerfulness,  with- 
out having  even  the  slightest  recourse  to 
pnsonality,  an  indulgence  in  which  is  an 
infallible  sign  of  an  uneducated  and  una- 
miable  disposition.  Barrow,  in  his  "  Ser- 
mon against  Foolish  Jesting,"  remarks,  that 
"  The  weaknesses  of  ukmi,  of  what  kind 
soever  (natural  or  moral,  in  quality  or  in 
act),  considering  whence  they  spring,  and 
how  much  we  are  .always  subject  to  them, 
do  need  excuse,  and  in  fairness  call  for 
compassion,  not  for  mirth,  to  be  drawn 
from  them ;  they,  in  respect  to  common 
hutnanity,  should  rather  bo  studiously  con- 
nived at  and  concealed,  or  mildly  excused, 
than  wilfully  laid  open  and  wantonly  des- 
canted on  ;  they  are  rather  to  be  secretly 
deplored  than  to  be  openly  derided." 

The  truly  pleasant  and  well-behav»  J 
humorist  will  scorn  to  convert  his  wit  ii.io 
a  sparring  weapon  or  an  offensive  missile  ; 
but  will  ever  be  mindful  of  the  observation 
of  St.  James,  "  If  any  man  offend  not  in 


ii'N  of  tlin  imnL'iiiuliiin, 
ily  tile  fun  of  the  frit- iiil- 
iiii|K'rfL'Ctir>n><  uttil  bictn- 
;o  on  81'ltirti  1  qm  murks 
K)t  it.i  nlmfis  nt.  It  is 
ill  iliirisrs"  that  may  Im 
It ;  but  it  in  Htill  iiioru 
?NiHt  nil  tiMiiptatiotiM  to 
srsonal  allusioiis  wliicli 
if  HOiiit!  one  inilividiial 
When  tlii't  virliiiMis  for- 
■  ()l).srrvt'il,  a  liiiniorist'!) 
n  enjoyment  to  nil,  for 
,t  tlicro  is  no  danjjcr  of 
ujtratini;  llu'  sanciiniry 
■,  or  j,'oiny:  licyond  tlic 
ireedinj;.  Hy  sporlini; 
knessrH,  inlirmitie.s,  and 
ics,  we  may  cerlairdy 
iiy  for  ii  inoniinit,  anil 
[■Ifisii  vanity,  wliidi  is 
f  superiority ;  but,  as 
observes,  this  is  a  pr(!l- 
io  enemies  for  ever,  for 
augli,  will,  upon  reflee- 
ise  us  :  it  is  ill-natured, 
esires  rather  to  conceal 
people's  weaknesses  or 
0  liavo  wit,  wo  should 
d  not  to  hurt :  we  may 
in  the  temperalo  zone, 
."  Conversation  may 
ind  cheerfulness,  with- 

0  slightest  recourse  to 
ulgcncc  in  whicli  is  an 
a  uneducated  and  ima- 

Barrow,  in  his  "  Ser- 
i  Jesting,"  remarks,  that 

of  men,  of  what  kind 
moral,  in  quality  or  in 
henco  they  spring,  and 
dways  subject  to  them, 
rid  in  fairness  call  for 
)r  mirth,  to  bo  drawn 
in  respect  to  common 
ither  be  studiously  con- 
iled,  or  mildly  excused, 
pen  and  wantonly  des- 
e  rather  to  be  secretly 

openly  derided  " 
ant  and    well-behav    1 

1  to  convert  his  wit  uuo 
or  an  ofTensive  missile  ; 
idful  of  the  observation 
any  man  ofTend  not  in 


-^IIE  MINU  UEYONH  THE  OUAVK. 


(i;j;j 


word,  he  is  a  p.-rfect  man."     Ill-natured 
wits  miuiit  take  an  improving  leHson  from 
un  anecddle  or  two  which  we  may  herr 
relate:    In  the   midst  of  a  gay  party  at 
Versiiilles,  Louis  XIV.  conuneneed  a  fa- 
celioiis  -.tdi),  but  concluded  ilaliruptly  ami 
ii,,ipully.     Presently,  one  of  the  company 
liaving  left  the  room,  the  king  said,  "  I  am 
sure  you  must  have  observed  how  very 
uiiiiiieic>itiii;.;  my  anecdote  was.     After  I 
hud  couiuieiiued,  I  recollected  liiat  it  re- 
llocled  liiilier  severely  on  the  imuuidiato 
ancestor  of  tlie  prince  of  Armagnac,  who 
has  just  tpiitted  us  ;    and  on  this,  us  on 
every  other  occasion,  I  think  it  far  better 
to  spoil  a  good  story  than  distress  tlio  feel- 
ings of  a  worlhy  man."     The  celebrated 
mimic,  (irilleii,  wus  asked  to  imitate  the 
person,  manner,  and  singularly  awkward 
delivery  of  Dr.  Woodward,  the  geologist 
and    physician,  in  the   character  of   Dr. 
I'ossil,  I'li  a  farce  tiien  preparing  under  tiie 
title  of   "'I'hreo    Hours  after   Marriage." 
The  mimic  dressed  himself  up  as  a  coun- 
tryman, and  went  to  the  doctor  to  ask  his 
advice  aliout  a  long  series  of  diseases  with 
which  ho  pretended  his  poor  wife  was  af- 
llicted.     All  this  he  did  'o  justify  and  pro- 
long  the    interview,  that    he    might  have 
sullici(^ut  time  to  study  the  doctor's  man- 
ner.    Tiiis  accomplished,  ho  offered  him 
the  fee  of  a  guinea,  which  the  doctor  de- 
clined, saying,  "  Keep  your  money,  poor 
man  !  keep  your  money  !  you  have  need 
of  all  your  cash  and  all  your  patience  too, 
with  such  a  load  of  diseases  at  home." 
'I'he  actor,  on  his  ri  urn  to  the  farce- wri- 
ter, related  this  conversation,  and  conclu- 
ded by  declaring  that  ho  would  sooner  die 
than  prostitute  his  talents  by  making  a  pub- 
lic laughing-stock  of  Dr.  Woodward,  who, 
rcceiviiig  liim  as  a  poor  man.  hud  shown 
tender  humanity  and  compassionate  sym- 
patliy  at  the  narrative  of  his  assumed  ca- 
lamities. 

As  the  more  a  person  manifests  un- 
easiness at  the  direct  attacks  of  a  heart- 
less humorist  the  better  sport  he  proves  to 
him,  it  is  wisest  to  receive  his  sallies  with 
apparent  indiliuieiice,  however  acutely  one 
may  feel  his  cruel  jokes. 


He  who  refuses  to  do  justice  to  the  de- 
fenceless, will  often  be  found  making  un- 
reasonable concessions  to  the  powerlul. 


THE  Mi:'li  MYOND  TIIH  flllAVK. 

\Vk  -v.  •  -  but  feel  that  we  are  being* 
of  a  tw  .''d  nature— that  our  jourti<  y  to 
the  tomb  IS  short,  and  the  existence  be- 
yond it  immortal.  Is  there  any  attainment 
that  we  may  reserve  when  we  lay  down 
the  body  ?  We  know  that  of  the  gol.l 
which  perishes  we  iiuiy  tuke  none  with 
us  when  dust  retnrneth  to  ilust  ( »f  the 
treasures  which  the  mind  ai'cumulnes, 
may  we  carry  augln  with  uh  to  "  that 
bo'iriio  whence  no  traveller  returns"  >. 

Wo  may  have  b'eii  deliuiU'il  with  the 
studies  of  nature,  and  penetrated  into  those 
caverns  where  she  perfect?,  her  ehymistry 
in  secret.  Composing  and  decomposing, 
changing  matter  into  nameles-  ibrms,  pur- 
suing the  subtlest  essences  tlirongh  the 
an,  and  resolving  even  that  iuto  its  origi- 
nal elements,  what  will  be  the  g  tin  when 
we  pass  from  material  to  immaterial,  and 
this  great  museuiii  and  laboratory,  the 
time-worn  CJirih,  shall  dissolve  in  its  own 
central  lires  1 

Wo  may  become  adef)ls  in  the  physiol- 
ogy of  man,  scanning  ibe  meehiiiism  of 
the  eye,  till  light  itself  unfolds  its  invisible 
laws,  of  the  ear,  till  its  most  hidden  retic- 
ulations confessed  tlieir  mysterious  agei;- 
cy  with  sound,  of  the  heart,  till  tint  cita- 
del of  life  rovealecl  its  hermit  policy,  but 
will  these  reseavchcs  bo  availai)le  in  a 
state  of  being  which  ♦'  eye  haih  not  seen, 
nor  ear  hoard,  nor  ihe  heart  of  man  con- 
ceived" ? 

Will  he  who  fathoms  the  waters,  and 
computes  its  pressure  and  power  have 
need  of  this  skill  viicre  there  is  no  sea  I 
Wil'  the  mathematician  exercise  the  lore 
by  which  he  measures  the  aveiis,  of  the 
astronomer,  the  science  wi.icli  discovered 
the  stars,  when  called  to  go  beyond  that 

Those  who  have  penetrated  most  deep- 
ly into  the  intellectual  structure  of  man, 
lifted  the  curtain  from  the  birth-place  ot 
thought,  traced  the  springs  of  attention  to 
their  fountain,  and  thrown  the  veiled 
shrinking  motive  into  the  crucit)le,  per- 
ceive the  object  of  their  study  taking  a 
new  form,  eu'er  into  a  dibembodied  and 
unknown  state  of  existence,  and  receiv- 
ing powers  adapted  to  its  laws  and  modes 
of  intercourse. 


Mtiaof-mMtmUii 


*  ••Hit- »». 


'%im 


nt 


'*=?;;..  , 


634 


LIGHT  FROM  FLOWERS— THE  MOCKING  BIRD. 


We  have  no  proof  that  the  sciences  to 
which  years  of  labor  have  been  devoted 
will  survive  the  tomb.  But  the  impres- 
sions they  have  made,  the  dispositions  they 
have  niirtiired,  the  good  or  evil  they  have 
helped  to  stamp  npon  the  soul,  will  go 
with  it  into  eternity.  The  adoring  awe, 
with  deep  humility,  inspired  by  the  study 
of  the  planets  and  their  laws,  the  love  of 
truth  which  he  cherished,  who  pursued  the 
science  that  demonstrates  it,  will  find  a 
response  among  arch-angels.  The  praise 
that  was  learned  amid  the  melodies  of  na- 
ture, or  from  the  lyre  of  consecrated  ge- 
nius, may  pour  its  perfected  tones  from  a 
seraph's  harp.  This  goodness  taught  in 
the  whole  frame  of  creation,  by  the  flow- 
er lifting  its  honey-cup  to  the  insect,  and 
the  leaf  drawing  its  green  curtain  around 
the  nursing  chamber  of  the  smallest  bird, 
by  the  pure  stream,  refreshing  both  the 
grass  and  the  flocks  that  feed  on  it,  the 
tree,  and  the  master  of  its  fruits,  the  ten- 
der charity  caught  from  the  happiness  of 
the  humblest  creature,  will  be  at  home  in 
his  presence,  who  hath  pronounced  him- 
self the  '•  God  of  love." 

The  studies,  therefore,  which  we  pur- 
sue as  the  means  of  intellectual  delight, 
or, the  instruments  of  acquiring  wealth  or 
honor  among  men,  are  valuable  at  the  close 
of  life  only  as  they  have  prompted  those 
dispositions  which  constitute  the  bliss  of 
an  unending  existence.  Tested  by  its 
bearing  and  result,  it  transcends  all  other 
sciences.  The  kiwwledge  which  it  im- 
parts does  not  perish  with  the  stroke  which 
disunites  the  body  from  its  ethereal  com- 
panion. While  its  precepts  lead  to  the 
highest  improvement  of  this  state  of  pro- 
bation, its  spirit  is  congenial  with  the  in- 
eflable  reward  to  which  we  aspire.  It  is 
the  preparation  for  immortality,  which 
should  be  daily  and  hourlj-  wrought  out, 
amid  all  the  mutations  of  time. 


LIGHT  FROM  FLOWERS. 

Among  the  remarkable  efiects  produced 
through  the  agency  of  light,  a  singular  phe- 
iiumenon  in  natural  history  is  given  in 
"  Dick's  Practical  Astronomer,"  as  related 
by  a  Swedish  lecturer.     One  evening,  he 


perceived  a  faint  flash  of  light  repeatedly 
dart  from  a  marigold.  Surprised  at  such 
an  uncommon  appearance,  he  resolved  to 
examine  it  with  attention ;  aiul,  to  he  as- 
sured it  was  no  deception  of  the  eye,  he 
placed  a  man  near  him,  with  orders  to 
make  a  signal  at  the  moment  when  he  ob- 
served the  light.  They  both  saw  it  con- 
stantly at  the  same  moment.  The  light 
was  most  brilliant  on  marigolds  of  an  or- 
ange or  flame  color,  but  scarcely  visible 
on  the  pale  ones.  The  flash  was  frequent- 
ly seen  on  the  same  flower  two  or  three 
times  in  quick  succession,  but  more  com- 
monly at  intervals  of  several  minutes  ; 
and  when  several  flowers  in  the  same  place 
emitted  their  light  together,  it  could  be  ob- 
served at  a  considerable  distance.  The 
phenomenon  was  remarked  in  the  months 
of  July  and  August  at  sunset,  and  for  half 
an  hour  when  the  atmosphere  was  clear; 
but  after  a  rainy  day,  or  wnen  the  air  was 
loaded  with  vapors,  nothing  of  it  was  seen. 
The  marigold,  monk's-hood,  orange-lily, 
and  Indian  pink,  emitted  flashes  more  or 
less  vivid.  As  to  the  cause  of  this  phe- 
nomenon, says  Dick,  difl'erent  opinions 
may  be  entertained.  From  the  rapidity  of 
the  flash  and  other  circumstances,  it  may 
be  conjectured  that  electricity  is  concerned 
in  producing  this  appearance.  Mr.  Hag- 
gem  of  Sweden  after  observing  the  flash 
from  the  orange-lily,  the  anthera;  of  which 
are  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the 
petals,  found  that  the  light  proceeded  from 
the  petals  only ;  whence  he  concludes 
that  this  electrical  light  is  caused  by  the 
pollen,  which,  in  flying  ofl"  is  scattered  on 
the  petals. 


THE  MOCKING-BIRD. 

HIS  very  extraordi- 
^nary  bird,  which,  in 
extent  and  variety  of 
vocal  powers,  stands 
unrivalled  by  all  the 
feathered  songsters 
of  America  <■>'•  per- 
haps any  other  coun- 
try, is  prculiar  to  the  New,  World  ;  and 
inhabits  a  very  considerable  extent  of  both 


m 


^i-i*i^- 


ash  of  light  repeatedly 
(1.  Surprised  at  such 
arance,  he  resolved  to 
DUtiori ;  ai:d,  to  be  as- 
ception  of  the  eye,  he 
r  him,  with  orders  to 
e  moment  when  he  ob- 
They  both  saw  it  con- 
5  moment.  The  light 
in  marigolds  of  an  or- 
r,  but  scarcely  visible 
Fhe  flash  was  frequent- 
3  flower  two  or  three 
ession,  but  more  com- 

of  several  minutes  ; 
)wers  in  the  same  place 
ogether,  it  could  be  ob- 
erablo  distance.  The 
;markcd  in  the  months 

at  sunset,  and  for  half 
tmosphere  was  clear; 
y,  or  wnen  the  air  was 
nothing  of  it  was  seen, 
[ik's-hood,  orange-lily, 
litted  flashes  more  or 
he  cause  of  this  phe- 
ck,  diflerent  opinions 
From  the  rapidity  of 
circumstances,  it  may 
electricity  is  concerned 
ppearance.  Mr.  Ilag- 
ter  observing  the  flash 
',  the  antherac  of  which 
)le  distance  from  the 
le  light  proceeded  from 
whence  he  concludes 
light  is  caused  by  the 
i^ing  off  is  scattered  on 


]KING-BIRD. 

HIS    very  extraordi- 
\nary  bird,  which,  in 
extent  and  variety  of 
vocal  powers,  stands 
unrivalled  by  all  the 
feathered      songsters 
of   America   f""   per- 
haps any  other  coun- 
ho  New.  World  ;  and 
iderable  extent  of  both 


"1 


41 


J 


*  ""Ml? 


i 


'  •'{■•■■. 


^'1       ^ 


636 


THE  MOCKING  BIRD. 


North  and  South  America,  havirjg  been 
traced  from  the  states  of  New  England  to 
Brazil,  and  also  among  many  of  the  adja- 
cent islands.     They  are,  however,  much 
more  numerous  in  those  states  south  than 
those  north  of  the  river  Delaware  ;  being 
generally  migratory  in  the  latter,  and  res- 
ident (at  least  many  of  them)  in  the  for- 
mer.    A  warm  climate,  and  low  country 
not  far  from  the  sea,  seems  most  congenial 
to  their  nature  ;  the  species  are  accord- 
ingly found  to  be  less  numerous  to  the  west 
than  east  of  the  great  range  of  Allegany, 
in  the  same  parallels  of  latitude.     In  these 
regions  the  berries  of  the  red  cedar,  myr- 
tle, holly,  many  species  of  smilax,  togeth- 
er with  gum  berries,  gall  berries,  and  a 
profuse  variety  of  others,  abound,  and  fur- 
nish them  with  a  perpetual  feast.     Winged 
insects  also,  of  which  they  are  very  fond 
and  very  expert  in  catching,  are  there  plen- 
tiful even  in  the  winter  season. 

The  precise  time  at  which  the  mocking- 
bird begins  to  build  his  nest  varies  accord- 
ing to  the  latitude  in  which  he  resides, 
from  the  beginning  of  April  to  the  middle 
of  May.     There  are  particular  situations 
to  which  he  gives  the  preference.     A  sol- 
itary thorn-bush,  an  almost  impenetrable 
thicket,  an  orange-tree,  cedar,  or  holly- 
bush,  are  favorite  spots  and  frequently  se- 
lected.    It  is  no  great  objection  to  the  bird 
that  a  farm  or  mansion-house  happens  to 
be  near  ;  always  ready  to  defend,  but  nev- 
er over-anxious  to  conceal  his  nest,  he 
very  often  builds  within  a  small  distance 
of  the  house,  and  not  unfrequently  in  a 
pear  or   apple-tree,  rarely  at  a  greater 
height  than  six  or  seven  feet  from  the 
ground.     The  nest  varies  a  little  accord- 
ing to  the  conveniency  of  collecting  suit- 
able materials.     Generally  it  is  composed 
of,  first,  a  quantity  of  dry  twigs  and  slicks, 
then  withered  tops  of  weeds  of  the  pre- 
ceding year,  intermixed  with  fine  straw, 
hay,  pieces  of  wool  and  low  ;  and,  lastly, 
a  thick  layer  of  fine  fibrous  roots,  of  a  light 
brown  color,  lines  the  whole.     The  fe- 
male sits  fourteen  days,  and  generally  pro- 
duces two  broods  in  the  season,  unless 
robbed  of  her  eggs,  in  which  case  she  will 
even  build  and  lay  the  third  time.     She  is, 
however,  very  jealov  '  of  her  nest,  and  very 
apt  to  forsake  it  if  rruch  disturbed.     Du- 
ring   the   period  o.    incubation,  neither 


cat,  dog,  animal,  nor  man,  can  approach 
the  nest   without   being    attacked.     The 
cats,  in  particular, are  persecuted  whenever 
they  make  their  appearance,  till  obliged  to 
retreat.     But  his  whole  vengeance  is  more 
particularly  directed   against  that  mortal 
enemy  of  his  eggs  and  young,  the  black 
snake.    Whenever  the  insidipus  approach- 
es of  this  reptile  are  discovered,  the  male 
darts  upon  it  with  the  rapidity  of  an  arrow, 
dexterously  eluding  its  bite  and  striking  it 
violently  and  incessantly  about  the  head, 
where  it  is  very  vulnerable.     The  snake 
soon  becomes  sensible  of  its  danger,  and 
seeks  to  escape  ;  but  the  intrepid  defend- 
er of  his  young  redoubles  his  exertions, 
and,  unless  his  antagonist  be  of  great  mag- 
nitude, often  succeeds  in  destroying  him. 
AH  his  pretended  powers  of  fascination 
avail  it  nothing  against  the  vengeance  of 
this  noble  bird.     As  the  snake's  strength 
begins  to  flag,  the  mocking-bird  seizes  and 
lifts  it  up  partly  from  the  ground,  beating 
it  with  its  wings,  and  when  the  business 
is  completed,  he  returns  to  the  nest  of  his 
yrung,  mounts  the  summit  of  the  bush,  and 
pours  forth  a  torrent  of  song  in  token  of 

v'*='"'"y-  ...  J      I,  If 

The  mocking-bird  is  nine  and  a  halt 

inches  long  and  thirteen  across  when  its 
wings  are  spread.  Some  individuals  are, 
however,  larger  and  some  smaller,  those 
of  the  first  hatch  being  uniformly  the  lar- 
gest. The  upper  parts  of  the  head,  neck, 
and  back,  are  a  dark  brownish  ash,  and 
when  new  moulted,  a  fine  light  gray; 
the  wings  and  tail  are  nearly  black,  the 
first  and  second  rows  of  coverts  tipped 
with  white ;  the  primary,  in  some  males, 
are  wholly  white,  in  others  tinged  with 
brown.  The  three  first  primaries  are 
white  from  their  roots  as  far  as  their  cov- 
the  white  on  the  ntxt  six  extends 


erts  ,  ."« -- - 

from  an  inch  to  on«  and  three  fourths  lur- 
ther  down,  descending  equally  on  each 
side  the  feather;  the  tail  if  cuneiform; 
the  two  exterior  feathers  wholly  white,  the 
rest,  except  the  middle  ones,  tipped  with 
white  ;  the  chin  is  white  ;  sides  of  the 
neck,  breast,  belly,  and  vent,  a  brownish 
white,  much  purer  in  wild  birds  than  in 
those  that  have  been  domesticated  ;  iris 
of  the  eye,  yellowish  cream  colored,  in- 
clining to  golden  ;  bill  black  ;  the  base  of 
the  lower  mandible  whitish  ;  legs  and  feet 


1 


)T  man,  can  approach 
being  attacked.  The 
■e  persecuted  whenever 
pearance,  till  obliged  to 
hole  vengeance  is  more 
id  against  that  mortal 

and  young,  the  black 
the  insidipus  approach- 
re  discovered, the  male 
he  rapidity  of  an  arrowr, 
r  its  bite  and  striking  it 
'santly  about  the  head, 
ulnerable.  The  snake 
sible  of  its  danger,  and 
3Ut  the  intrepid  defend- 
edoubles  his  exertions, 
igonist  be  of  great  mag- 
eeds  in  destroying  him. 

powers  of  fascination 
rainst  the  vengeance  of 
\a  the  snake's  strength 
mocking-bird  seizes  and 
om  the  ground,  beating 
and  when  the  business 
eturns  to  the  nest  of  his 

summit  of  the  bush,  and 
ent  of  Bong  in  token  of 


Bird  is  nine  and  a  half 
hirteen  across  when  its 
Some  individuals  are, 
ind  some  smaller,  those 
being  uniformly  the  lar- 
r  parts  of  the  head,  neck, 
dark  brownish  ash,  and 
lied,  a  fine  light  gray; 
ail  are  nearly  blacky  the 

rows  of  coverts  tipped 
primary,  in  some  males, 
e,  in  others  tinged  with 
ree  first  primaries  are 
roots  as  far  as  their  cov- 
on  the  next  six  extends 
)ne  and  three  fourths  fur- 
sending  equally  on  each 
;  the  tail  if  cuneiform; 
feathers  wholly  white,  the 
middle  ones,  tipped  with 
I  is  white  ;  sides  of  the 
Uy,  and  vent,  a  brownish 
rer  in  wild  birds  than  in 

been  domesticated  ;  iris 
owish  cream  colored,  in- 
1 ;  bill  black  ;  the  base  of 
ible  whitish  ;  legs  and  feet 


THE  MOCKING  BIRD. 


637 


black  and  strong.  The  female  much  re- 
senihliis  the  male,  and  is  only  distinguish- 
able by  the  white  of  her  wings  being  less 
pure  and  broad,  and  her  black  feathers  hav- 
ing a  niore  rusty  hu". 

It  will   be  seen  from  this  description, 
liiiit  though  the  plumage  of  the  mocking- 
bird is  none  of  the  homeliest,  it  has  noth- 
ing gaudy  or  brilliant  in  it ;  and,  had  he 
nothing  else   to  recommend   him,  would 
Bcircely  entitle  him  to  notice.     But  his 
figure  is  well  proportioned  and  even  hand- 
sDiae.     The  ease,  elegance,  and  rapidity, 
of  his  movements,  the  animation  of  his 
eye,  and   the  intelligence  he  displays  in 
listening  and  laying  up  lessons,  from  al- 
most every  species  of  the  feathered  crea- 
tion within  his  hearing,  are  really  surpri- 
sing, and  mark  the  peculiarity  of  his  ge- 
nius.    To  these  qualities  may  be  added 
that  of  a  voice  full,  strong,  and  musical, 
and  capable  of  almost  every  modulation, 
from  the  clear,  mellow  tones  of  the  wood- 
ihiush  to  the  savage  scream  of  the  bald- 
eagle.     In  measure  and  accent  he  faith- 
fully follows  his  originals  ;  in  force  and 
sweetness  of  expression   he  greatly  im- 
proves upon  them.     In  his  native  groves, 
mounted  on  the  lop  of  a  tall  bush  or  half- 
grown  tree,  in  the  dawn  of  the  morning, 
while  the  woods  are  already  vocal  with  a 
multitude  of  warblers,  nis  admirable  song 
rises  pre-eminent  over  every  competitor. 
The  ear  can  listen  to  his  music  alone,  to 
which  that  of  aU  the  others  seems  a  mere 
accompaniment.     Neither  is  his  strain  al- 
together imitative.     His  own  native  notes 
are  bold  and  full,  and  varied  seemingly 
beyond  all  limits.     They  consist  of  short 
expressions  of  two,  three,  or,  at  the  most, 
five  or  six  syllables,  generally  interspersed 
with  imitations,  and  all  of  them  uttered 
with  great  emphasis  and  rapidity,  and  con- 
tinued with  undiminished  ardor  for  half  an 
hour  or  an  hour  at  a  time.     His  expanded 
wings  and  tail,  glistening  with  white,  and 
the  buoyant  gaye»y  of  his  action,  arresting 
the  eye  as  his  song  most  irresistibly  does 
the  ear,  he  sweeps  round  with  enthusias- 
tic ecstacy,  and  mounts  and  descends  as 
his  song  swells  or  dies  away.     While  thus 
exerting  himself,  a  bystander,  destitute  of 
sight,  would  supporie  that  the  v/hole  feath- 
ered tribes  had  assembled  together  on  a 
trial  of  skill,  each  strivmg  to  produce  his 


utmost  elTect.  He  often  deceives  the 
sportsman,  and  sends  him  in  search  of 
birds  that  are  not,  perha;>s,  within  miles 
of  him,  but  whosn  note  he  exactly  imi- 
tates :  even  birds  themselves  are  frequent- 
ly imposed  upon  by  this  admirable  mimic, 
and  are  decoyed  by  the  fancied  calls  of 
their  matfis,  or  dive  with  precipitation 
into  the  depth  of  thickets  ut  the  scream 
of  what  they  suppose  to  be  the  sparrow- 
hawk. 

The  mockiiig-bird  loses  little  of  the  pow- 
er and  energy  of  his  song  by  confinement. 
In  his  domesticated  state,  when  he  com- 
mences his  career  of  song,  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  stand  by  uninterested.  He  whistles 
for  the  dog ;  Cesar  starts  up,  wags  his 
tail,  and  runs  to  meet  his  master.  He 
squeaks  out  like  a  hurt  chicken,  and  the 
hen  hurries  about  with  hanging  wings  and 
bristled  feathers,  chuckling  to  protect  its 
injured  brood.  The  barking  of  the  dog, 
the  mewing  of  the  cat,  the  creaking  of  a 
passing  wheelbarrow,  follow  with  great 
truth  and  rapidity.  He  repeats  the  tune 
taught  aim  by  his  master,  though  of  con- 
siderable length,  fully  and  faithfully  ;  he 
runs  over  the  quaverings  of  the  canary, 
and  the  clear  whistlings  of  the  Virginia 
nightingale,  or  red-bird,  with  such  supe- 
rior execution  and  eifect  that  tne  mortified 
songsters  feel  their  own  inferiority,  and 
become  altogether  silent,  while  he  seems 
to  triumph  in  their  defeat  by  redoubling 
his  exertions. 

This  excessive  fondness  for  variety, 
however,  in  the  opinion  of  some,  injures 
his  song.  His  elevated  imitations  of  the 
brown  thrush  are  frequently  interrupted  by 
the  crowing  of  cocks  ;  and  the  warbhngs 
of  the  blue-bird,  which  he  exquisitely 
manages,  are  tningled  with  the  screaming 
of  swallows  or  the  cackling  of  hens. 
Amid  thr  simple  melody  of  the  robin,  one 
is  suddenly  surprised  by  the  shrill  reiter- 
ations of  the  whip-poor-will,  while  the 
notes  of  the  kildeer,  blue-jay,  martin,  bal- 
timore,  aiid  twenty  others,  succeed,  with 
such  imposing  reality,  that  the  auditors, 
look  round  for  the  originals,  and  with  as- 
tonishment discover  that  the  sole  peribrm- 
er  in  this  singular  concert  is  the  admira- 
ble bird  now  before  us.     During  ihib  ex- 


hibition  of  his   powers,  he   spreads  his 
wings,  expands  his  tail,  and  throws  him- 


^m 


M 


i     'i  ■ 


m 


638 


THE  MOMENT  OF  SUCCESS. 


self  around  the  cage  in  all  the  ecstacy  of 
enthusiasm,  seeming  not  only  to  wing  but 
to  dance,  keeping  time  to  the  measure  of 
his  own  music.  Both  in  his  native  and 
domesticated  state,  during  the  stillness  of 
the  night,  as  soon  as  the  moon  rises,  he 
begins  his  delightful  solo,  making  the 
whole  neighborhood  resound  with  his  in- 
imitable medley.  The  mocking-bird  is 
frequently  taken  in  trap-cages,  and,  by 
proper  management,  may  be  made  suf- 
ficiently tame  to  sing.  The  usual  price 
of  a  singing-bird,  is  from  seven  to  fifteen, 
and  even  twenty  dollars.  Mr.  Wilson  has 
known  fifty  dollars  paid  for  a  remarkably 
fine  singer  ;  and  one  instance  where  one 
hundred  dollars  wer*!  refused  for  a  still 
more  extraordinary  one.  Attempts  have 
been  made  to  induce  these  charming  birds 
to  pair,  and  rear  their  young  in  a  state  of 
confinement,  and  the  result  has  been  such 
as  to  prove  it,  by  proper  management,  per- 
fectly placticable. 


THE  MOMENT  OF  SUCCESS. 

N  the  fair  bowers  of 
paradise,  ere  the  ser- 
pent had  accomplished 
his  deadly  work,  or  the 
tree  of  knowledge  yield- 
ed its  fatal  gift,  labor 
and  care  were  unknown. 
Fruitful  nature  yielded, 
unsought,  her  richest 
treasures,  and  the  bounties  of  heaven, 
gently  as  its  own  dew,  descended  upon 
man,  demanding  no  return  save  gratitude 
and  enjoyment.  But,  when  he  had  passed 
the  precincts  of  that  happy  plr.ce,  for  ev- 
er closed  against  him  by  the  flaming 
sword  of  the  angelic  guard,  far  different 
were  the  conditions  of  his  being.  la  the 
swTsat  of  his  brew  was  he  to  eat  his  bread  ; 
with  labor,  toil,  and  suffering,  was  he  to 
purchase  all  earthly  good.  Stern  as  was 
this  decree  of  tho  Almighty,  mercy  was 
eHclosed  therein — dark  as  was  the  cloud 
of  human  destiny,  the  rainbow  of  peace 
and  joy  was  painted  upon  it.  Rest  was 
to  be  doubly  sweet  after  toil — prosperity 
more  bright  after  adversity — success  more 


glorious  after  obstacles  surmounted  and 
diflUculties  vanquished.  True  it  was,  the 
soft  vales  of  paradise  were  no  longer  to 
be  his  inheritance,  and  the  bright  inhabi- 
tants of  heaven  his  familiar  guests  no 
more  ;  yet  some  flowerets  of  bliss,  lovely 
as  those  of  Eden,  were  to  gladden  his  ex- 
ile with  their  beauty,  and  still  to  be  to  hitn 
and  his  descendants,  the  sweet  teachers 
in  the  lessons  of  happiness.  Yes,  surely, 
in  this  desolate  world, 

"  Some  momonts  aro  to  mortals  given. 
With  less  of  earth  in  tliein  tlian  lieaven." 

Some  brief  seasons,  which  fully  compen- 
sate for  years  o*"  toil  and  pain,  bringing  to 
the  soul  an  intensity  of  enjoyment,  which 
makes  it  conscious  of  its  vast  capabilities 
of  happiness,  when  the  fetters  of  mortal- 
ity shall  be  broken.  In  the  arrangements 
of  Infinite  Wisdom,  such  feelings  have 
been  decreed  to  man,  as  the  reward  of  ex- 
ertion in  the  attainment  of  laudable  ob- 
jects— the  laurel  crown  of  well-directed 
effort.  No  faculty  of  our  being,  exercised 
in  its  proper  sphere,  can  fail  to  bring  this 
promised  blessing.  And,  though  all  ex- 
perience in  kind  this  happiness,  from  the 
child,  who  triumphantly  sees  his  tiny 
house  stand  secure,  to  the  sovereign,  who 
beholds  successfully  carried  out  his  vast 
plans  for  a  nation's  welfare,  yet  the  de- 
gree must  depend  on  the  greatness  of  that 
purpose,  and  the  difficulties  that  have  im- 
peded its  accomplishment. 

Who  can  know  what  a  moment  was  that 
for  Columbus,  when  after  years  of  untiring, 
ever-baffled  effort  for  the  attainment  of  his 
favorite  object— after  a  thousand  dangers 
of  an  unknown  ocean,  and  many  a  sleep- 
less and  anxious  night,  he  ^aw  floating 
near  his  vessel  a  green  herb — the  joyful 
herald  to  his  troubled  spirit,  of  the  long- 
sought  object  of  his  ardent  hopes.  And 
when  these  joyful  anticipations  were  con- 
firmed by  the  sight  ot  that  lovely  island, 
reoosing  upon  the  ocean  in  all  its  green- 
ness and  beauty,  inhabited  by  an  unknown 
race — perhaps  the  neighbor  of  a  mighty 
continent,  which  was  l-y  i,  i  o  be  be- 
queathed to  the  world,  y.uil  become  the 
perpetual  monument  of  hi.  fame,  what 
emotions  must  have  /uied  his  soul !  A 
joy  so  pure,  so  deep,  to  concentrated,  as 
to  have  outweighed  whole  years  of  suffer- 
ing !     What  though  his   childhood  had 


itacles  surmounted  and 

shed.     True  it  was,  the 

Use  were  no  longer  to 

,  and  the  bright  inhabi- 

his   familiar   guests  m: 

lowerets  of  bliss,  lovely 

were  to  gladden  his  ex- 

ity,  and  still  to  be  to  hitn 

nts,  the  sweet  teachers 

lappiness.     Yes,  surely, 

arid, 

re  to  mortals  given, 

h  in  ihcm  than  lieavRn." 

IS,  which  fully  compen- 
oil  and  pain,  bringing  to 
,ty  of  enjoyment,  which 
s  of  its  vast  capabilities 
jn  the  fetters  of  mortal- 
1.  In  the  arrangements 
)m,  such  feelings  have 
lan,  as  the  reward  of  ex- 
inment  of  laudable  ob- 
crown  of  well-directed 
f  of  our  being,  exercised 
re,  can  fail  to  bring  this 
f.  And,  though  all  ex- 
;his  happiness,  from  the 
iphantly  sees  his  tiny 
e,  to  the  sovereign,  who 
lly  carried  out  his  vast 
I's  welfare,  yet  the  de- 
on  the  greatness  of  that 
litHculties  that  have  iin- 
ishment. 

what  a  moment  was  that 
sn  after  years  of  untiring, 
for  the  attainment  of  his 
iter  a  thousand  dangers 
!e.in,  and  many  a  sleep- 
night,  he  ^aw  floating 
green  herb — the  joyful 
bled  spirit,  of  the  iong- 
lis  ardent  hopes.  And 
I  anticipations  were  con- 
it  ot  that  lovely  island, 
)  ocean  in  all  its  green- 
nhabited  by  an  unknown 
e  neighbor  of  a  mighty 
was  by  <iii ;  o  be  be- 
worM,  ?.iid  become  the 
lent  of  '.  i.  fame,  what 
ave  iiiied  his  soul !  A 
leep,  10  concentrated,  as 
;d  v^hole  years  of  sufier- 
igh  his   childhood  had 


THE  MOMENT  OF  SUCCESS. 


639 


been  spent  in  the  midst  of  privations  and  I 
(!aiiger.s,  and  the  fountains  of  joy  peculiar  j 
to  that   happy  season,  to  liini  alnnist  uii-  i 
known;   wiiat  though   the  bright  dn;  anis  | 
of  his  youlhfu!  imagination  were  indulged  , 
in  the  .silence  of  solitude,  finding  in  no 
synii):iiliiziiig  breast  an  answering  chord  ;  I 
and  the  dei'p  yearnings  of  his  enthusiastic  j 
nature  made  known,  only  to  be  chilled  and  I 
repressed   by  llie   disapprobation   of  dull 
mediocrity  ?     What  though  his  more  ma- 
ture years  were  marked  by  disap(i(unlmenl 
and  "sorrow,  and  that  agony  that  a  noble 
mind  can  so  deeply  feel,  when,  conscious 
of  its  own  greatness,  and  the  loftiness  and 
integrity  of  its  purposes,  it  finds  them  un- 
appreciated, or  met  with  indifVcrence  or 
contempt?     What  though  he  had  left  the 
siiores  of  Spain,  amid  the  jeers  and  male- 
dictions of  the  spectators,  denounced  as  a 
visionary — a  mark  for  the  finger  of  scorn, 
with  a  world  of  dread  uncertainty  present 
to  his  imagina'ion,  and  none  to  ask  the 
blessing  of  Heaven  on  an  enterprise  so 
cliiinencal,  or  commend  him  to  that  Being, 
who  holds  the  waters  in  the  hollow  of  his 
hand  ?      Was     there    ever    prospect    .so 
gloomy — ever  circumstances  so  disheart- 
ening '.     liut,  in  that  moment  of  success — 
111   the   realization    of   all    those    brilliant 
hopes  of  life's  fair  morning — in  the  actual 
possession  of  the  goal,  to  gain  which  his 
•.vhole  life  had  been  consecrated  to  self-de- 
nial and  sufl'ering,  the  trials  of  the  past 
were  remembered  no  more.     He  was  to 
return  to  his  adopted  land  in  triumph— to 
see  himself  an  object  of  applause  and  ad- 
miration, where  but  late,  ha  liad  been  one 
ol  piiy  and  contempt ;  to  be  welcomed  to 
the  presence  of  royalty,  bearing  with  him 
a  gill  that  even  majesty  would  be  proud  to 
accept — the  gift  of  a  new  world. 

From  Columbus,  we  turn  U)  another  of 
the  sons  of  genius,  one  who  discovered, 
not  a  world,  but  the  secret  and  invisible 
chain  that  binds  all  worlds — the  immortal 
Newton.  We  are  told  by  his  biographer, 
that  when  he  perceived  that  the  great  law 
of  gravitation — a  law  whose  existence  for 
years  he  had  susjiected,  and  labored  to 
prove,  was  about  to  be  esiablishrtd  beyond 
a  doubt,  by  his  calculations,  so  deeply  was 
he  aliected  by  the  grandeur  of  the  discov- 
ery, and  the  astonishing  effects  resulting 
from  it,  that  he  was  obliged  to  commit  to 


the  firmer  hand  and  cooler  judgment  of  a 
friend,  the  completion  of  what  was  to  give 
his  name  to  inunortality.  It  was  a  tri- 
umph of  intellect,  that  sliook  the  pillars  of 
the  frail  tenement,  that  oiistrucied  its  far- 
seeing  vision,  and  limited  its  heavenward 
aspirations.  What  had  he  not  accom- 
plished ?  Truly,  he  had  become  the  high 
priest  of  science,  and  entered  within  the 
veil  never  before  lifted  to  mortal  vision! 
Before  him  was  spread  out  the  illimitable 
universe,  with  its  systems  of  worlds,  all 
revolving  in  their  aerial  and  unwearied 
journeys,  in  allegiance  to  that  same  sim- 
ple but  grand  and  beautiful  law  that 
brought  the  apple  to  the  ground.  What 
though,  since  touched  by  the  hand  of  Om- 
nipotence, the  complicated  machinery  of 
the  material  world,  had  moved  in  "  sol- 
emn silence,"  it  was  now  compelled,  at 
the  mandate  of  genius,  to  disclose  its  se- 
crets, and  reveal  to  mortal  ear  its  harmo- 
nies. In  that  moment  of  success,  he  must 
have  fell  that  his  name  henceforth  was  to 
be  linked  with  the  beautiful  order  of  the 
universe,  and  his  fame  written  in  the  heav- 
ens. 

On  the  page  of  history  stands  another 
name,  more  uear  to  every  American  heart 
than  that  of  the  discoverer  of  this  vast 
continent,  or  the  promulgator  of  nature's 
hidden  laws — our  own  beloved  Washing- 
ton. In  the  glorious  success  that  crowned 
his  noble  purposes  and  indelatigable  exer- 
tions for  his  country's  good,  another  bright 
example  is  left  to  the  aspirant  after  those 
imperishable  honors,  that  encircle  the  brow 
of  him  who  becomes  the  benefactor  of  his 
race.  Do  they  not  oid  him,  when  he  feels 
within  him  the  upspringing  of  a  lofty  sen- 
timent— a  consciousness  of  powers  that 
may  contribute  to  ihe  elevation  of  man,  to 
press  on  through  dilliculties  and  dangers, 
with  duly  for  his  watchword,  and  the  arm 
of  Omnipotence  for  his  defence,  till  the 
object  is  attained— the  victory  won?  And 
how  boundless  is  ths  field  of  laudable  am- 
bition !  True,  ri  no  far  distant  ocean,  may 
an  unknown  world  be  awaiting  the  ap- 
proach of  genius  to  give  it  a  name  in  the 
annals  of  tune — no  grand  universal  truth, 
may,  at  his  bidding,  stand  confessed  to  the 
admiration  of  the  world ;  nor,  like  Wash- 
ington, may  it  be  his  to  bring  to  a  succoss- 
i  ful  issue  a  great  political  revolution,  and 


iiisiitj 


■^1  ii' 


W'wRpMijjIiHI 


**'U^,4ii 


»«!'S««|,S...;|; 


640 


THE  OROTTO  OF  ADKLSBEIIO. 


to  be  the  founder   of  a  republic,  whose 
name  is  a  disiiiiguished  star  in  the  con- 
stellation of  nations.     Along  these  bright 
paths  his  destiny  may  not  lead  him  ;  yet, 
let  him  remumber  that  in  the  moral  and 
physical  world,  the    cause  of  truth  still 
calk  for  champions— that  from  the  great 
hea.t  of  humanity,  may  still  be  heard  the 
unceasing  groan,  extorted  by  sullenng,  ig- 
norance, and  guilt ;  that  the  field  of  doing 
good  is  everywhere  ripe  unto  harvest,  and 
success  certain,  if  the  spirit  faints  not. 
Nor  should  he  forget  that  in  this  struggle 
for  the  supremacy  of  the  nobler  principles 
of  our  nature,  the  lowest  soldier,  if  he 
stands  his  ground,  and  fearlessly  unsheaths 
his  weapon,  contributes  to  the  victory,  and 
will  share  the  reward  ;  that  every  noblo 
thought  sent  fonh  from  hk  own  soul,  will 
find,  like  the  winijed  seed,  its  resting-place, 
and  perchance,  vierve  some  arm  more  vig- 
orous than  hie  own,  or  like  a  wheel  with- 
in a  wheel,  set  in  motion  the  energies  of 
some  spirit,  that  shall  prove  to  the  world 
a  Washington  or  a  Newton.     In  the  noble 
cause  of  good  to  man,  surely  nor.e  should 
despair,  for — 

"  Lives  of  great  men  all  remintl  un. 
We  can  moke  our  Uvea  subliine, 

And,  departing,  leave  behind  us. 
Footsteps  (     'he  sands  of  time. 

Let  as,  then,  b  i  up  and  doing, 
With  a  heart  for  any  fate ; 

Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 
Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait" 


GROTTO  OF  ADELSBERG. 


.^HE  circle  of  Carni- 
f^ola  is  one  of  the  most 
interesting  portions  of 
the  dominions  of  Aus- 
tria. Its  bare  and  cal- 
careous mountains  are 
grand  and  striking, 
and  their  geological 
structure  is  peculiar.  The  waters  of  sub- 
terraneous rivers  issue  from  their  recesses, 
and  the  lake  of  Zirknitz  is  celebrated  on 
account  of  the  singular  fact  that  at  stuted 
times  it  suddenly  becomes  dry,  its  contents 
being  drained  iiito  the  bowels  of  the  moun- 
tains, and  after  the  lapse  of  a  certain  pe- 
riod, they  again  issue  into  their  usual  ba- 


sin.    Adelsbcrg  is  situated  half-way  be- 
tween Laybach  and  Trieste,  in  the  district 
which   overhangs    the    Adriatic,  and,   as 
shown  in  the  engraving,  is  placed  at  the 
foot  of  a  considerable  eminence.     Thertt 
ar..  two  apertures  in  this  eminence,  one  of 
whi^h  receives  the  river  Poick.     One  of 
these  openings  seems,  from  its  regular  ap- 
pearance, to  be  the  work  of  art  rather  than 
of  nature,  while  the  other  aperture  has 
none  of  this  regularity,  but  is  broken  into 
jagged  shapes.     The  entrance  by  which 
visiters  are  conducted  hito  these  caverns 
is  considerably  higher  than  that  by  which 
the  river  disappears ;  and  the  gallery  which 
it  forms  is  divided  from  the  other  cavern 
i)y  a  partition,  which  is  broken  through  in 
various  places,  the  visiter  hearing  the  wa- 
ters rushing  beneath  along  their  subterra- 
neous bed.     This  gallery  runs  but  a  short 
way  into  the  mountain,  while,  "  as  you 
advance,  the  murmurings  of  the  stream 
and  the  distant  gleams  of  daylight  die  away 
together,  and  the  silence  and  darkness  of 
ancient  night  reign  around."     Such  is  the 
entrance  to  the  cavern  of  Adelsberg  ;  but 
its  recesses  can  liot  be  penetrated  without 
the  assistance  of  lights.     The  visiter  can 
then  proceed   along  the  passage  above  de- 
scribed, which  graubUy  widens,  until  it 
opens  into  an  immens  ;  "'  •  ^rn,  or  rather 
there  are  two  caverns,  L>  is  crossed  by 
a  ledge  of  rock,  which  does  not  rise  ' 
the   roof.     This    ledge    forms   a   naluri^i 
bridge,  on  one  side  of  which  the  waters 
furiously  pursue  their  course,  and  further 
on  they  have  worn  a  passage  through  ll  o 
partition  which  divides  the  cavern.     Tht 
darkness  is  opprussive  and  impenetrable, 
and  the  lights,  which  are  too  feeble  to 
pierce  through  the  obscurity,  only  render 
it  more  striking.     The  waters  rush  along 
with  a  heavy  and  indistinct  sound.     It  is 
only  within  a  comparatively  recent  period 
that  any  one  has  been  so  adventurous  as 
to  proceed  any  further  than  this  ledge,  as 
it  sinks  down  precipitously.     At  ihe  point 
where  the  descent  is  the  least  abrupt,  a 
flight  of  steps  was  cut,  the  partition  was 
pierced,  and  steps  were  cut  on  the  other 
side,  which  land  the  visiter  on  the  lloor 
of  the   larger    cavern.     Here   the    river 
flows   steadily  -long  in  a  well-indented 
channel,  and  it  enters  the  mountain  at  the 
opposite  wall  of  the  cavern.     A  wooden 


:'^& 


■■-^^^jr'sh;: 


3  situated  lialf-way  bo- 
il Triosle,  in  tlie  district 
the    Adriatic,   mid,   us 
raving,  is  placed  at  tht! 
iible  eminence.     TIj^-rH 
in  this  eminence,  one  of 
e  river  Poick.     One  of 
jms,  from  its  regular  ap- 
I  work  of  art  rather  tliiui 
the  other  aperture  has 
arity,  but  is  broken  into 
The  entrance  by  which 
cted  mto  these  caverns 
gher  than  that  by  which 
rs ;  and  the  gallery  which 
1  from  the  other  cavern 
ich  is  broken  through  in 
6  visiter  hearing  the  wa- 
ath  along  their  subterra- 
I  gallery  runs  but  a  short 
luntain,  while,  "  as  you 
rmurings  of  the  stream 
Jams  of  daylight  die  away 
silence  and  darkness  of 
m  around."     Such  is  the 
avern  of  Adelsberg  ;  but 
■ot  be  penetrated  without 
lights.     The  visiter   can 
mg  the  passage  above  de- 
jraubUy  widens,  until  it 
nmeiis  ;  ''  •  irn,  or  rather 
irerns,  fi>-  r  is  crossed  by 
which  does  not  rise  • 
ledge    forms   a   naturiil 
de  of  which  the  waters 
their  course,  and  further 
rn  a  passage  through  l\  o- 
livides  the  cavern.     Thk; 
essive  and  impenetrable, 
which  are  too  feeble  to 
he  obscurity,  only  render 
The  waters  rush  along 
d  indistinct  sound.     It  is 
njparatively  recent  period 
I  been  so  adventurous  as 
urther  than  this  ledge,  as 
■ecipitously.     At  the  point 
ent  is  the  least  abrupt,  a 
ras  cut,  the  partition  was 
ps  were  cut  on  the  other 
i  the  visiter  on  the  floor 
cavern.     Here   the   river 
j,iong  in  a  well-indented 
enters  the  mountain  at  the 
f  the  cavern.     A  wooden 


S 


s'flsii 


M 


NKMnM 


liltoNKiJtniit. 


'^*-M.^ 

**»i 

r*, 

'■-             1 

S|^«5-« 

r- 

■# 

-    ■■'■'    * 

-■ 

■■■i 

S„^^  . 

642 


GROTTO  OF  ADELSIIERO. 


bridge  is  thrown  across  the  river,  and  the 
terininatiiig  wall  of  the  cavern  apparently 
opposes  all  further  progress.  About  twen- 
ty years  ago  some  individual,  by  means  of 
the  projecting  points  of  rock,  reached  the 
top  of  this  wall,  which  is  al)out  forty  feet 
iiigh.  His  adventurous  spirit  was  reward- 
ed by  discovering  that  the  wall  was  not  so 
high  as  the  roof,  and  another  cavern  pre- 
sented itself.  Steps  were  cut  on  the  op- 
posite side,  a;id  beyond  this  there  was 
found  a  succession  of  immense  caverns, 
branching  ofT  in  two  separate  series. 

The  suite  of  caverns  to  the  left  is  the 
more  extensive,  ample,  and  majestic,  but 
the  one  which  branches  to  the  right, 
though  smaller,  is  richer  in  varied  and 
fantastic  forms.  They  are  all  different  in 
size  and  form  and  ornament,  and  are  con- 
nected by  passages  which  are  sometimes 
low  and  bare,  sometimes  spacious  and 
lofty,  supported  by  pillars,  and  fretted  with 
cornices  of  the  purest  stalactite.  The  col- 
unuis  are  sometimes  uniform  in  their  mass 
and  singularly  placed  ;  sometimes  they 
are  so  regularly  arranged,  and  consist  of 
smaller  pillars  so  nicely  clustered  togeth- 
er, that  one  believes  he  is  walking  up  the 
nave  of  a  Gothic  cathedral.  Many  of 
these  columns,  which  are  entirely  insula- 
ted, have  a  diameter  of  three,  four,  and 
even  five  feet.  Frequently  the  pillar  is 
interrupted  as  it  were  in  the  middle,  lo- 
sing its  columnar  form,  and  twisting,  di- 
viding, or  spreading  itself  out  into  innu- 
merable shapes.  Sometimes  it  dilates  in- 
to a  broad  thin  plate,  almost  transparent  in 
the  light  of  a  lamp ;  sometimes  this  plate 
curves  itself  round  in  a  circular  form, 
sometimes  the  descending  part  tapers  to  a 
point,  which  rests  on  the  broad  surface  of 
the  ascending  stalagmite.  The  walls  are 
entirely  coated  with  the  substance,  and,  in 
the  smaller  grottoes,  it  is  so  pure,  that  trav- 
ellers have  covered  it  with  names  written 
in  pencil,  which  have  already  resisted  the 
moisture  five  or  six  years.  The  other 
division  is  more  spurious,  and  extends 
much  further.  The  caverns  which  com- 
pose it  are  wider  and  loftier,  but  not  so 
beautifully  adorned  as  in  the  other.  The 
enormous  clustered  columns  of  stalactite 
that  seem  to  support  tlie  everlasting  roof 
from  which  they  have  ordy  originated,  of- 
ten tower  to  such  a  height,  that  the  lights 


do  not  enable  you  to  discover  their  sum- 
mit ;  but,  though  infinitely  majestic,  they 
are  rougher,  darker,  and  more  shapeless 
than  in  the  smaller  suite.  The  further 
you  advance,  the  elevations  become  bold- 
er, the  columns  more  mausive,  and  the 
forms  more  diversified,  till,  af'  anning 
about  six  miles  into  the  earth,  i.  ■.  scene 
of  wonderment  terminates  with  the  ele- 
ment with  which  it  began,  water.  A 
small  subterraneous  lake,  deep,  clear,  cold, 
and  dead-still,  prevents  all  further  prog- 
ress. It  has  not  been  passed  ;  it  would 
therefore  be  too  much  to  say  that  nothing 
lies  beyond. 

One  of  the  most  spacious  and  regular 
of  any  of  the  caverns,  of  an  oval  Ibrm, 
about  sixty  feet  long  and  forty  broad,  and 
whoso  roof  is  not  visible  owing  to  its 
great  height,  is  used  as  a  ball-room  by  the 
peasantry  of  Adelsberg  once  a  year,  on 
the  festival  of  their  patron  saint.  The 
floor  is  smooth  ;  the  walls  are  covered 
with  stalactite,  but  are  otherwise  less  orna- 
mented than  the  other  caverns  ;  a  few  nat- 
ural stone  seats  and  wooden  benches  con- 
stitute the  furniture,  and  candles  are  light- 
ed in  rustic  chandeliers,  formed  of  a  wood- 
en cross  stuck  horizontally  on  the  top  of  a 
pole.  Here,  many  hundred  feet  beneath 
the  surface  of  the  earth,  and  a  mile  from 
the  light  of  day,  the  rude  music  of  the 
Carniolian  resounds  through  more  mag- 
nificent halls  than  were  ever  built  for  mon- 
archs.  The  flame  of  the  uncouth  chan- 
deliers is  reflected  from  the  stalactite  walls 
in  a  blaze  of  ever-changing  light.  A  vast 
stalactite  has  formed  from  the  ceiling,  hav- 
ing the  appearance  of  the  most  beautiful 
alabaster,  and  the  form  is  that  of  a  most 
perfectly  arranged  drapery.  The  trick- 
ling of  the  water  at  the  edges  has  thick- 
ened them,  and  given  the  appearance  of 
an  edging  or  border  to  the  drapery.  The 
substance  being  semi-transparent,  the 
guides  who  show  the  cavern  put  their  tor- 
ches behind  it,  in  order  to  display  its 
beauty  to  the  greatest  advantage  amid  the 
surrounding  darkness. 

Gigantic. — So  vast  is  the  Atlantic 
ocean,  that  it  has  been  said  that  all  the 
ships  in  the  world  might  be  so  dispersed 
over  it  that  none  would  be  able  to  see  one 
another. 


^Mik-Mk 


>  discover  iheir  sum- 
fiiiitfily  m;»jestic,  tlicy 
,  ami  riiore  shapeless 
■  suite.  The  further 
jvatioiis  become  bold- 
)re  maiisive,  and  the 
ied,  till,  aP  aniiiiig 
the  earth,  i.,t,  scene 
niriales  witli  tlie  eie- 
it  began,  water.  A 
lake,  deep,  clear,  cold, 
Jilts  all  I'urlher  prog- 
een  passed  ;  it  would 
:h  to  say  that  nothing 

spacious  and  regular 
irns,  of  an  oval  Ibrin, 
:  and  forty  broad,  and 
visible  owing  to  its 
as  a  ball-room  by  the 
lerg  once  a  year,  on 
r  patron  saint.  The 
e  walls  are  covered 
e  otherwise  less  orna- 
ir  caverns  ;  a  few  nat- 
wooden  benches  con- 
and  candles  are  light- 
ers, formed  of  a  wood- 
ontally  on  the  top  of  a 
[lundred  feet  beneath 
urlh,  and  a  mile  from 
e  rude  music  of  the 
through  more  mag- 
sre  ever  built  for  mon- 
of  the  uncouth  chan- 
)m  the  stalactite  walls 
anging  light.  A  vast 
from  the  ceiling,  hav- 
)f  the  most  beautiful 
orm  is  that  of  a  most 
Irapery.  The  trick- 
the  edges  has  thick- 
:n  the  appearance  of 
to  the  drapery.  The 
emi-transparent,  the 
)  cavern  put  their  tor- 
order  to  display  its 
t  advantage  amid  the 


ast  is  the  Atlantic 
;en  said  that  all  the 
ight  be  so  dispersed 
Id  be  able  to  see  one 


*!!•"»'  ! 


1- 


ll<>*iiti 


1^ 


■*»«« 


**"ti..,* 


ii"^v,,^ 


644 


DY.^    BP8IA. 


DYSPEPSIA. 


casing,  the  shncj 


DARKLY  poelical  no- 
tion was  current  among 
"ur  forefathers,  that  a 
jierson  of  a  morose,  un- 
amiabh  'lisposition  wan 
po8sesse('  of  a  devil. 
They  h  Ueved  that  he 
was  merely  the  outer 
/a  (l(»ihiitg  of  a  ort  of 
supernatural  wolf;  tl  uif  the  visible  shell, 
ill  the  likeness  of  man,  could  be  removed, 
then!  would  Mt'peat  lo  the  t.  rrified  vision" 
of  the  multituil  i  figur  wiih  horns,  hoi  ,,, 
a  tail,  and  the  very  iiarp  gon  1  with  which 
it  was  supposed  to  prick  on  its  victim  to 
say  spiteful  things,  and  to  do  bad  actions. 
This  idea  of  our  forefathers  has  been 
proved  by  an  lorn)  md  physiology  (of 
which  they  knew  nothing)  to  be  ite  er- 
loneous  as  far  as  refrurds  ''e  bnr'  pres- 
ence of  the  evil  spirit.  Scuuce  has 
robbed  us  of  the  horns,  th  ^  ifs,  and  the 
tail ;  Out  it  has,  with  all  its  pt  ry-spoiling 
diacoveiies,  still  left  us  'he  .  ssential  de- 
mon. 1  lie  monster  is  calud  b  losologists 
"  dyspepsia,"  and  by  the  rest  of  the  world 
indigestion. 

Many  a  snapuish,  disagreeable  man, 
who  is  feared  at  iiome  as  a  domestic  ty- 
rant, shunnea  abroad  as  a  social  Tartar, 
and  denounced  ererywhere  as  the  wilful 
incarnation  of  ill-temper,  is  nothing  more 
than  the  victim  of  tlie  demon  dyspepsia. 
Perhaps  he  was  in  his  early  years  as  good- 
humored  and  kind  a  being  as  ever  breathed. 
Gradually,  his  ti lends  and  relations  per- 
ceived a  change  in  his  disposition.  This 
began,  in  all  probability,  by  snappishness 
to  his  wife,  scolding  his  children,  and  oc- 
casionally kicking  his  dog.  When  expos- 
tulated with  for  allowing  these  causeless 
improprieties  to  grow  upon  him,  he  is 
ready  enough  to  own  his  faults,  but  at  the 
same  time  equally  ready  to  make  excuses 
for  them.  He  declares  business  is  going 
wrong,  though  you  know  it  never  prospered 
better ;  or  that  his  children  worry  him, 
though  it  is  evident  he  has  terrified  them 
into  taciturnity  and  shrinking  obedience. 
He  makes  every  excuse  but  the  right  one  ; 
because,  poor  wretch,  he  is  perfectly  ig- 
norant of  the  real  cause.     He  really  be- 


lieves what  he  says,  and  thinks  that  he  is 
on  the  road  to  tb  '  iikrupt  ourt,  and  that 
his ofTspring reall)  ^ediKolf  'ient.  Alas! 
it  is  I  •  of  th«  cl)  .racteristi  'f  the  in- 
sidious !  inoii  h  is  possesseii  with,  to 
liiil«i  itscit  from  it)  ken  of  its  victim. 
I  ven  when  the  monster  lUtuiges  his  bud- 
uy  health,  and  drives  him  to  the  doctor,  he 
describes  evf "  symp'  in  I  it  those  which 
are  i  dicativo  of  (In  loal  disease.  The 
skilful  physician,  howt^ver,  finds  it  out  in 
s[iito  of,  or  rather  in  consequence  of,  his 
niystif"'ations,  and  proceeds  to  exorcise 
the  evil  ijnrit — not  after  the  ancient  plan 
wiih  bt  II,  book,  and  candle — but  with  pill, 
drauf^ht,  and  plenty  of  exercise. 

When,  therefore,  we  meet  with  such  a 
man  as  we  have  described,  let  us  be  a  lit- 
tle charitable.  I'lm't  let  us  denounce  him 
without  remorso  or  mitigation.  Pity  is 
the  jif'fier  .sentiment  which  be  should 
awaken  Human  nature  is  not  so  iniiat<;ly 
viciousi  as  some  philosophers  imagine; 
instiiuuvi'l  our  good  impulses  pre- 
dominate, would  remain  dominant, 
were  they  often  blunted,  checked, 
and  strui  _,,u.l  »y  dyspepsia.  Imagine 
yourself  in  a  dyspeptic  condition,  and 
then  ask  whether  you  could  bo  amiable  to 
your  fellow-creatures,  or  l.-e  able  to  as- 
sume that  virtue  when  you  have  it  not  ? 
Fancy  yourself  in  a  state  which,  when 
asked  about  it,  you  are  obliged  to  describe 
as  a  something  which  makes  you  wretch- 
edly uncomfortable,  but  you  don't  know 
what ;  a  condition  which,  nevertheless, 
unfits  you  for  occupation  ;  a  feeling  which 
imparts  a  distressing  craving  fur  food, 
combined  with  a  disgust  at  the  very  idea 
of  eating  it ;  a  constant  drowsiness,  with- 
out the  power  of  sleeping  ;  a  sensation  of 
overwhelming  fatigue  and  weariness,  with 
a  longing  to  take  exercise  ;  a  weight  over 
the  brow,  a  weight  at  each  joint,  a  weigh? 
at  every  extremity,  and  a  still  grr 
weight  in  the  stomach.  Then  as  tu  the 
state  of  your  nerves  :  co  -jeive  yourself 
in  the  lowest  of  low  Sj  .rits ;  in  hourly 
dread  of  some  misfortune ;  haunted  with 
suspicions  regarding  your  dearest  friends ; 
looking  upon  your  whole  household  as  a 
set  of  conspirators  against  your  comfort : 
feeling  all  this,  I  say,  with  a  thorough 
conviction  that  such  sensations  mislead 
you ;  that  in  reality  no  misfortune  impends ; 


nys,  and  thinks  that  he  is 
e  bankrupt  'uurt,  ami  that 
\y    redisobi  I  lent.     Alus! 
cb  iracluristiv  -,    >r  the  in- 
b"  is  posoesseil  with,  to 
he   ken  of  ih    victim, 
nuiister  ilci  uige»  liis  liud- 
rives  him  tu  the  doctor,  lie 
syiiiji'   in  I  tit  those  wiiich 
r  (h<    tuul  disnuse.     The 
,  hout'ver,  finds  it  out  in 
er  in  consequence  of,  his 
nd  proceeds  to   exorcise 
lot  after  the  ancient  pinii 
and  candle — but  wilh  pill, 
nty  of  exorcise, 
•re,  we  meet  with  such  a 
described,  let  us  bo  a  lit- 
I^oit't  let  us  denounce  him 
I   or  mitigation.     Pity  is 
:iment    which  bo   should 
n  nature  is  not  so  innately 
s    philosophers   innugine ; 
ir    good     impulses    pre- 
would    remain  dominant, 
■  often  bhniled,  checked, 
oy    dyspepsia.     Imagine 
Jyspeptic    condition,    and 
r  you  could  bo  amiable  to 
ituros,  or  L<e  able   to  as- 
a  when  you  have  it  not  ? 
in  a  state  which,  when 
ou  are  obliged  to  describe 
Arhich  makes  you  wretch- 
ble,  but  you  don't  know 
ion    which,  nevertheless, 
cupation  ;  a  feeling  which 
essing    craving    for   food, 
I  disgust  at  the  very  idea 
constant  drowsiness,  with- 
f  sleeping  ;  a  sensation  of 
itigue  and  weariness,  with 
B  exercise  ;  a  weight  over 
ght  at  each  joint,  a  weight 
nity,  and  a   still    gp       i 
tomach.     Then  as  tu  ihe 
lerves  :  co "jeive  yourself 
if  low  b,  .nts ;   in  hourly 
misfortune  ;  haunted  with 
ding  your  dearest  friends  ; 
our  whole  household  as  a 
ors  against  your  comfort : 
,  I  say,  with  a  thorough 
such  sensations  mislead 
ity  no  misfortune  impends ; 


DYSPEPSIA. 


645 


nti'l 
Th 
ben 


our   family  love   you  dearly, 
ht,  instead  of  enjoying  the 


fCi  swccl  rontorcr,  bnlmy  ilnrp," 
you  at,    ■isitf'd  bv  your  attendant  demon's 
terrible  ally,  niglltmare,  who  inllicts  even 
ar.iiicr  tortures  on  you  than  his  daytime 
colleague.     "  In   a   half-waking  or  inter- 
soiii.iious  condition,"  saith  the  learned  IJr. 
Voa  DrulFelof  Berlin,  "  you  behold  a  mon- 
ger of  some  kind— a  goblin,  a  fiery  horse, 
1  wild  gigantic  man— glide  slowly  toward 
This  apparition  seals  itself  on   the 
your  suiinach,  and  presses  you  with 
ishing  weight  that  you  can  nei- 
ilie  uoT  move  a  limb."     Vmi  are 
1(  ep  ;  you  are  suiricienlly  awake  to 
,  that  could  you  but  move  your  little 
„ger  the  charm  would  be  broken,  and  the 
lie  nightmare  galL.p  away.     Bm  y<»ii  t"^" 
not :  all  power  is  removed,  and  there  the 
imaginary  quadruped  remains,  caprioling 
upon  your  devoted  breast,  like  a  heavily- 
shod  war-horse  on  parade.     Even  when 
you  fall  asleep  you  are  no  better  off.     You 
have  horrid  visions.     You  dream  yourself 
to  be  the  most  detestable  villain  in  exis- 
tence.    In  the  short  space  of  an  hour's 
nap,  you    inflict   tortures   on    some  dear 
friend    which    would   have    frightened    a 
Spanish  inquisitor.     You  commit  crimes 
of  unheard-of  atrocity,  and  only  escape 
the  gibbet  by  waking,  the  victim  of  re- 
morse and  despair. 

After  enduring  all  this,  picture  yourself 
seated  at  breakfast,  and  though  surrounded 
with  every  comfort  administered  by  a  most 
affectionate  household,  just  say  whether 
you  think  it  to  be  within  the  pale  of  hu- 
man probability  iliat  you  could  look,  speak, 
or  behave  pleasantly  ?     If  your  wife  were 
to  offer  you  the  sincerest  sympathy,  and 
the  tenderest  condolences,  would  not  the  , 
internal  demon  "  dyspepsia,"  incite  you  to 
accuse  her  of  "  teasing"  you  ?     Can  you 
for  a  moment  believe  that,  in  such  a  stale 
of  mind  and  stomach,  your  expostulation 
would  be  mild  and  Christian-like,  if  the 
butter  were  bad,  or  the  egg  you  had  just 
broken  somewhat  too  odoriferous  1    Would 
you,  if  ever  so  coaxingly  asked,  hand  oyer 
a  check  for  your  wife's  milliner's  bill  with- 


out grumbling  ?     If  you  could  do  all  these 
things,  you  are  more  than  mortal. 

Let  me  repeat,  therefore,  when  you  heat 


an  individual  denounced  as  a  monster  oi 
ill-humor,  do  not  be  too  harsh  upon  his 
moral  character,  before  you  have  inquired 
into  his  physical  syin|>lom».      Many  a  man 
who  is   accused  of  having  a  bud   heart, 
ought  rather  to  be  described  as  having  a 
bad  stomach,  for  the   immenso  influence 
which  that  organ  exercises  over  (lie  world- 
ly conduct  of  mankind   is  greatly  over- 
looked.    A  femide  patient  of  the  celelira- 
ted  French  physician  I'mel,  who  was  ful- 
ly possessed  with  the   demon  dyspepsia, 
and  knew  it,  thus  details  her  condition  ;— 
'•  The  foundation  of  all  my  misforlunt^s  is 
in  my  stomach.     It  is  so  sensitive,  iliat 
pain,  grief,  pleasure,  and,  in  a  word,  all 
sorts  of  moral    affections,  seem  to  take 
their  origin  in  it.     Even  a  frown  from  a 
friend   wounds  me  so  sensibly,  tliat   my 
whole  system  is  disagreeably  affected  by 
it,    I  think  by  means  of  my  stomach,  if 
I  may  bo  allowed  so  to  express  myself." 
How  many  apparently  evil-disposed  per- 
sons whom  one  meets  wilh  may  be  pre- 
cisely in  this   lady's  condition,  and  think 
and  act  from  the  dictates  of  the  stomach, 
or  rather  from  those  of  the  demon  con- 
tained in  it— dyspepsia!     How  frequently, 
therefore,  may  not  our  judgment  err  m  the 
matter   of    first    causes,   regarding   petty 
cruellies  and  small  tyrannies  ?     When,  (or 
example,  a  rich  debtor  refuses  a  poor  cred- 
itor a  long-deferred  payment,  may  not  this 
piece  of  injustice  be  the  result,  not  so 
much  of  sheer  dishonesty,  as  of  deranged 
digestive  organs  f     May  we  not  attribute 
it  less  to  a  defect  in  'he  moral  sentiments, 
than  to  evil  influences  diffused  over  his 
nervous  system  by  a  piece  of  undigested 
pigeon-pie?      1    knew    a   whole    family 
whose  happiness  seemed  to  depend  upon 
what  the  head  of  it  ate  for  dinner.     His 
dietar'  was    watched,  especially  by  the 
younger  branches,  with  incessant  anxiety. 
After  mutton-chops  and  boiled  nco,  they 
could— provided   he  abstained  from  pud- 
ding—coax  papa  out  of  anything.     Boiled 
beef  boded  evil ;   and  in  that  case  they 
cared  very  little  to  come  in  as  «sua    to 
lake  their  share  of  dessert.     When  lob- 
ster-salad had  been  partaken  of,  they  crept 
about  the  house  like  mice,  and  kept  as 
much  as  possible  out  of  papa's  way.     Uu- 
ring  his  paroxysms  of  ill-humor,  reason- 
ing was  vain  ;  neither  the  expostulations 


Bp^SewBw*-**'-^*"'""'-  ■■' 


«.». 


i    4Jt 


ill 


lt-*«w»iii*, 


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C46 


THE  RKOALIA  OF  THK  BHITI8H  CROWN. 


of  his  brother  tho  roctor,  nor  the  kind  en- 
treaiics  of  a  wife  whom  he  devotedly 
loved,  were  elTtcliial  in  reslraiiiinjf  hin 
tetcliy  (iliulliiiotiH  of  nplenn.  Tho  demon 
within  1,'row  diiily  more  inHufntial,  till  he 
began  to  l>o  shunned  by  his  I'riendH.  No 
good  ''flTect  was  produced  oven  by  that. 
At  length  a  medical  adviser  was  consulted 
reHpecling  his  cadaverous  appearance  and 
certain  pains  which  "  shot"  across  tho 
shoulders.  The  doctor  ordered  him  to 
Chelteidiarn,  placed  him  on  a  strict  regi- 
men, enjoined  frequent  visits  to  tho  pump- 
room,  ^»nd  in  three  months  our  friend  re- 
turned, to  all  appearance  an  angel  of  good 
temper.  The  banished  roses  returned  to 
his  cheeks — he  felt  strong  and  hearty,  and 
never  spoke  a  cross  word.  His  meals 
were  no  longer  watched,  fur  the  juveniles 
found  him  ever  kind  and  complying,  no 
matter  what  vvas  for  dinner.  It  was,  how- 
ever, observed  tiiat  he  ate  much  more 
sparingly  than  formerly,  and  never  would 
allow  such  a  thing  as  a  round  of  salt  beef 
or  a  lobster  to  enter  his  door. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  aflirm,  that  half 
the  crimes  to  which  human  frailty  is  lia- 
ble are  concocted  in  the  stomach.  Tho 
poor  are  incited  to  mischief  by  the  cra- 
vings of  their  digestive  organs  for  some- 
thing to  do  ;  while  the  rich  are  often  im- 
pelled to  wrong,  because  they  give  their 
digestive  powers  more  than  they  can  do. 
If  the  former  could  keep  fuller  stomachs, 
and  the  latter  emptier  ones,  there  would 
assuredly  be  fewer  evil  deeds  in  tho  world 
than  are  perpetrated  at  present. 


POWER  OF  THE  VOICE  OVER 
CHILDREN. 

It  is  usual  to  attempt  the  management 
of  children  either  by  corporeal  punish- 
ment, or  by  rewards  addressed  to  the  sen- 
ses, or  by  words  alone.  There  is  one 
other  means  of  government,  the  power 
and  importance  of  which  are  seldonj  re- 
garded— I  refer  to  the  human  voice.  ^ 
blow  may  be  inflicted  on  a  child,  ac':  o.i'.- 
panied  by  words  so  uttered  as  to  counte- 
act  entirely  its  intended  eflect ;  or  ihe 
parent  may  use  language,  in  the  correction 
of  the  child,  not  objectionable  in  itself,  y<;t  i 


spoken  in  a  tone  which  more  than  defeats 
its  influence.  IiCt  any  one  endeavor  to 
recall  the  imago  of  a  fond  moilwr  long 
since  at  rest  in  heaven.  Ilor  swcjel  sniilo 
and  ever  clear  countenance  are  brought 
vividly  to  recollection  ;  and  so  also  is  her 
lice,  and  blessed  is  that  parent  who  is 
endowed  with  a  pleasing  utterance.  What 
is  it  which  lulls  the  infant  to  repose  ?  It 
is  no  array  of  mere  words.  There  is  no 
charm  to  the  untaught  one  in  letters,  syl- 
lables, and  sentences.  It  is  tlie  sound 
which  strikes  its  little  ear  that  soothes 
and  composes  it  to  sleep.  A  few  notes, 
however  unskilfully  arranged,  if  uttered 
in  a  soft  tone,  are  found  to  possess  a 
magic  influence.  Think  wo,  that  this  in- 
fluence is  confined  to  tho  cradle  ?  No  ; 
it  is  difl'used  over  every  age,  and  ceases 
not  while  the  child  is  under  the  parental 
roof.  In  the  pressure  of  duty,  we  are 
tempted  to  utter  ourselves  hastily  to  our 
children.  Perhaps  a  throat  is  expressed 
in  a  loud  and  irritating  tone  ;  instead  of 
allaying  the  passions  of  the  child,  it  serves 
directly  to  increase  them.  Every  fretful 
expression  awakens  in  him  the  same  spir- 
it which  produced  it.  So  does  a  pleasant 
voice  call  up  agreeable  feelings.  What- 
ever disposition,  therefore,  we  would  en- 
courage in  a  child,  the  same  we  should 
manifest  in  the  tone  in  which  we  address 
them. 


THE  REGALIA  OF  THE  BRITISH 
CROWN. 

^  HE  regalia,  deposit- 
I\ed  in  a  room  recently 
appropriated  to  that 
purpose,  presents  a 
magnificent  specta- 
cle. Here  is  the  an- 
cient imperial  crown 
of  Ch, lies  II. ;  prince 
the  aniient  queen's 
t  niagniiicent  display 
:4  Eiigland's  regalia  is  the  crov/n  of  her 
presoni.  majesty.  The  cap  is  of  purple 
velvet.  With  silver  hoops  covered  with 
diamonds  ;  on  the  top  of  these  hoops  is 
a  ball  covered  with  smaller  diamonds,  with 


of   WhIos' 
crju.i,  but 


crovii, 
the  n-r' 


jssm 


N. 


'hich  mnro  thnit  dwfeata 

t  any  one  onilenvor  to 
if  a  fond  inodicr  loiii; 
ivcn.  Hfjr  8W(!i't  smile 
iiintoriaiico  an'  hroiiylit 
iuii ;  and  so  also  is  her 
in  that  parent  wlio  is 
asiiig  nttorancp.     U'li'it 

0  infant  to  roposo  ?  It 
B  words.  Thoro  is  no 
light  oni)  in  letters,  syl- 
ices.     It  is  the   hoiiikI 

littlo  ear  that  sooilies 
J  sleep.  A  few  notes, 
ly  arranged,  if  uttered 
re  found  to  possess  a 
Think  wo,  that  tins  in- 

1  to  the  cradle  ?     No  ; 
every  age,  and  ceases 

Id  is  under  the  parental 
ssuro  of  duty,  wo  are 
urselves  hastily  to  our 
i  a  threat  is  expressed 
ating  tone  ;  instead  of 
ns  of  the  child,  it  serves 
0  them.  Every  fretful 
IS  in  him  the  same  spir- 
it. So  does  a  pleasant 
uablo  feelings.  What- 
erefore,  we  woulil  en- 
l,  the  sanio  we  .should 
e  iu  which  we  address 


OF  THE  BRITISH 
lOWN. 

^  HE  regalia,  deposit- 
\ed  in  a  room  recently 
appropriated    to    that 
purpose,    presents    a 
magnificent     specta- 
cle.    Here  is  the  an- 
>  cient  imt'erial  crown 
of  Ch  r.esn. ;  prince 
the    an.:i<?nt   queen's 
'I  niagniiicent  display 
ia  is  the  crov/n  of  her 
The  cap  is  of  purple 
r  hoops  covered   with 
top  of  these  hoops  is 
smaller  diamonds,  with 


--.a^R)i/M;MaiMt'aat^''!^^4?iri.e«»sS-iaMM-!l8^ 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-S) 


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Corporation 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)8721503 


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Collection  de 
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648 


THE  REGALIA  OF  THE  BRITISH  CROWN. 


a  cross  of  brilliants,  containing  a  remark- 
able central  sapphire.     On  the  front  is  a 
hcarl-shaped  ruby,  said  to  have  been  worn 
by  Edward  the  black  prince.     This  dia- 
mond weighs  one  and  three  fourths  pounds, 
and  is  valued  atone  million  pounds.     The 
baptismal  font   with  stand  of  silver  gilt, 
which   was  used  at  the  baptism  of  her 
present  majesty,  and  the  prince  of  Wales, 
IS  lour  feet  high,  and  cost  forty  thousand 
pounds   (two  hundred  thousanr'.  dollars). 
A  large  silver  wine  fountain  is  also  ex- 
hibited, weighing  ninety-six  pounds,  and 
which  cost  fifty  thousand  dollars.     There 
are  various  other  costly  parapiiernalia  be- 
longing to  the  regalia,  such  as  St.  Ed- 
ward's stair,  of  pure  gold,  four  feet  seven 
inches   in  length;    the  royal  sceptre,  of 
gold,  two  feet  nine  inches  long,  the  rod  of 
equity,  of  gold,  three  feet  seven   inches 
long,  the  queen's  ivory  sceptre,  mounted 
in  gold,  with  a  dove  of  white  onyx ;  the 
orb,  Hve  inches  in  diameter,  edged  with 
pearls,  and  surmounted  with  roses  of  dia- 
monds.    The  sovereign  holds  this  orb  in 
the  left  hand  at  the  coronation  ;  the  swords 
of  Justice,  temporal    and  ecclesiastical  ; 
and  numerous  other   articles    which   we 
can  not  mention.     The  value  of  the  whole 
regalia  is  estimated  at  three  millions  of 
pounds  equal  to  fourteen  millions  five  hun- 
dred and  twenty  thousand  dollars  ! 

The  regalia  represented  in  the  group  in 
our  engraving,  exhibits  not  only  the  rega- 
lia, properly  so  called,  but  also  those  which 
are  used  when  a  queen  consort  is  crowned. 
The  reader  will  please  to  bear  in  recollec- 
tion the  difference  between  a  queen  reg- 
nant, and  a  queen  consort.  A  queen  reg- 
nant occupies  the  kingly  office,  as  of  right. 
She  IS  the  king,  and  is  called  queen  as 
being  a  female.  But  a  queen  consort  is 
called  queen,  as  being  the  wife  of  the 
king,  and  her  only  right  (if  right  it  can  be 
called)  to  be  crowned  lies  in  the  will  and 
pleasure  of  her  husband. 

The  regalia,  properly  so  called,  are  rep- 
resented grouped  on  the  left  side  of  the 
engraving.  The  two  crowns  are  the  crown 
of  state  and  the  imperial  crown.  The  im- 
perial crown  is  also  called  St.  Edward's 
crown,  as  having  been  made  for  the  cor- 
onation of  Charles  II.  to  supply  the  place 
of  the  old  crown  (whicii  bore  the  name 
of  Edward  the  confessor)  destroyed,  along 


with  the  other  ancient  rogalia  by  order  of 
parliament.  The  imperial  crown  is  •'  the 
crown  royal,  which  is  set  upon  the  ki.ijr\s 
head ,;"  the  crown  of  state  is  for  the  ac- 
commodation of  the  king,  to  be  worn  in 
procession.  The  crown  of  state  w;,s 
made  for  the  coronation  of  George  IV 
the  old  one  having  been  broken  up  A 
new  crown  of  state  has  been  made  for  the 
present  queen,  which  contains  all  the  jf-w- 
els  of  the  former  crown,  with  many  ad- 
ditional ones. 

Four  swords  are  used  at  a  coronation 
1  he  sword  of  state,  sheathed  in  its  orna- 
mented 3cabbard,  and  the  three  swords  of 
mercy  and  of  justice.     The  sword  of  n.or- 
cy  is  Curtana,  or  the  pointless  sword  ;  the 
sword  of  spiritual  justice  is  obtusely  point- 
ed ;  but  the  sword  of  justice  of  the  tei.i- 
porahty  is  acutely  pointed.     St.  Edward's 
staff  IS  represented  as  crossing  the  impe- 
rial crown  ;  it  is  a  large  golden  rod,  wuh 
a  mound  and  cross  at  the  top,  and  is  car- 
ried before  the  king  in  the  procession  to 
the    coronation.     The    sceptre    and    the 
virge,  or  rod,  are  represented  crossed  in 
the    foreground  of  the    engraving.     The 
sceptre,  surmounied  by  a  mound  and  cross 
IS  placed  in  the  king's  right  hand  ;  and  the' 
virge,  or  rod,  surmounted  by  a  cross  and 
dove,  is  placed  in   the  left  hand.     The 
globe,  or  orb,  surmounted  by  a  cross,  is 
supposed  to  have  been  used  originally  as 
a  type  or  emblem  of  sovereignty.     The 
other  portions  of  the  regalia  are  the  .spurs, 
of  fino  gold,  curiou-dy  wrought,  the  ring, 
and  the  armil,  or  armilla,  which  is  used  in 
the  ceremony  of  investiture. 

That  portion  of  the  regalia  which  is 
used  when  a  queen  consort  is  crowned, 
consists  of  a  crown  of  state,  a  circlet  of 
gold,  an  orb,  similar  to  the  king's  scep- 
tres, and  a  ring.  They  are  grouped  on 
the  right  side  of  the  engraving,  the  sword 
of  state  crossing  them. 


Kino.— The  word  "  king,"  is  of  Teu- 
tonic or  German  origin,  and  is  very  gen- 
erally stated  by  etymologists  to  be  derived 
from  the  same  root  as  "  cunning,"  used  in 
Its  old  signification  of  skill  or  capacity. 
The  title  of  cuning,  cyning,  cyng,  and 
now  "king,"  was  bestowed  by  consent 
and  acclamation  on  the  bold  leader  who 
shewed  his  capacity  for  the  post. 


It  rugalia  by  order  of 
penal  crown  is  •'  tlie 
»  set  upon  the  kiiiir\s 
state  is  for  the  ac- 
king,  to  be  worn  in 
rown  of  state  w.is 
lion  of  George  IV., 
aeon  broken  up.  A 
as  been  made  for  tlio 
contains  all  the  jcw- 
own,  with  many  ad- 

i«d  at  a  coronation, 
heathod  in  its  orna- 
the  three  swords  of 

The  sword  of  nior- 
lointless  sword  ;  the 
ice  is  obtusely  point- 
justice  of  the  ter.i- 
ited.     St.  Edward's 

orossing  the  impe- 
de golden  rod,  with 
the  top,  and  is  cur- 
i  the  procession  to 
'  sceptre  and  the 
esented  crossed  in 
5  engraving.  The 
'  a  mound  and  cross, 
right  hand  ;  and  the 
ted  by  a  cross  and 
e  left  hand.  The 
ited  by  a  cross,  is 

used  originally  as 
sovereignty.  The 
sgalia  are  the  .spurs, 
wrought,  the  ring, 
a,  which  is  used  in 
iture. 

J  regalia  which  is 
)nsort  is  crowned, 
'  state,  a  circlet  of 

the  king's  scep- 
iy  are  grouped  on 
graving,  the  sword 

king,"  is  of  Teu- 
,  and  is  very  gen- 
•gists  to  be  derived 
cunning,"  used  in 
skill  or  capacity. 
'yning,  cyng,  and 
owed  by  consent 
I  bold  leader  who 
the  post. 


MARCH. 


649 


ARCH,  named 
so  by  Romulus, 
from  the  heath- 
en deity,  Mars, 
by  the  Saxons, 
Length-Monetk, 
because,  in  this 
month,  the  days 
begin  in  length 
to  exceed  the  nights.     The  sun  has  now 
acquired  so  much  power,  that  on  a  clear 
day  we  often  feel  all  the  genial  influence 
of  spring,  though  the  naked  shrubs  and 
trees  still  give  the  landscape  the  comfort- 
less   appearance   of    winter.      But    soft, 
pleasant  weather,  m  the  month  of  March, 
is  seldom  of  long  duration. 

A'^  soon  as  a  few  dry  days  have  made 
the  land  fit  for  working,  the  farmer  goes 
to  the  plough;    and,  if  the  fair  weather 
continue,  proceeds   to   sowing   oats  and 
hurley  ;   though  this  business  is  seldom 
fuiislied  till  the  next  month.     The  impor- 
tance of  a  dry  season  for  getting  the  seed 
early  and  favorably  into  the  ground,  is  ex- 
pressed in  the  old  proverb, 
"  A  buciiel  of  March  dust  is  worth  a  king's  ransom." 
The  mellow  note  of  Jie  throstle,  who 
sings  perched  on  the  naked  bough  of  some 
lolty  tree,  is  heard  iVom  the  beginning  of 
the  month :    at  the  same   time,  the  ring- 
dove  coos   in   the   woods.     The    lesser 
white  throat,  and  the  chiff-chaff,  arrive  to- 
ward the  end  of  the  month.     The  rookery 
is  now  all  in  motion,  with  the  pleasing  la- 
bor of  building  and  repairing  nests  ;  and 
highly  amusing  it  is,  to  observe  the  tricks 
and  artifices  of  the  thievish  tribe,  some  to 
defend,  and  others  to  plunder,  the  materi- 
als of  their  new  habitations.     These  birds 
are  accused  of  doing  much  injury  to  the 
farmer,  by  plucking  up  the  young  corn, 
and  other  springing  vegetables  ;  but  some 
think  this  mischief  fully  repaid  by  their 
diligence  in  picking  up  the  grubs  of  va- 
rious insects,  whicii.  if  suffered  to  grow 
to  maturity,  wouM  occasion  much  greater 
damage.     For  this  purpose,  they  are  fre- 
quently seen  following  the  plough,  or  set- 
tling in  flocks  on  uewly-iurned-up  lands. 
"  Rooks,"'  says  an  intelligent  observer 
of  aatufo,  "appear   to  have  a  language 


among  themselves,  which  is  understood 
by  the  whole  community ;  and  a  peculiar 
note,  from  a  bird  set  to  watch  and  warn 
them  of  approaching  danger,  is  ([uite  suf- 
ficient to  make  them  lake  flisiht,  and  al- 
ways in  an  opposite  direction  to  that  from 
which  the  danger  is  apprehended." 

Frogs,  which  during  winter  lie  in  a 
torpid  state  at  the  bottoms  of  ponds  or 
ditches,  are  enlivened  by  the  warmth  of 
spring,  and  early  in  this  month  rise  to  the 
surface  of  the  water  in  vast  numbers. 
They  are  at  first  very  timorjus,  and  dive 
to  the  bottom  with  great  quickness  as  one 
approaches  ;  but  in  the  coupling  season 
they  become  bolder,  and  make  themselves 
heard  to  a  great  distance  by  their  croak- 
ing. 

Those  most  elegant  fish,  smelts  or  spar- 
lings, begin  to  run  up  the  rivers  in  this 
month,  in  order  to  spawn.  They  are  of 
so  tender  a  nature,  that  the  least  mixture 
of  snow  water  in  the  river  will  drive  them 
back  again  lo  the  sea.  But  nothing  in  the 
animal  creation  is  a  more  pleasing  spec- 
;■.  '  ,  than  the  sporting  of  the  young  lambs, 
most  of  which  are  yeaned  during  this 
month,  and  are  trusted  abroad  when  the 
weather  is  tolerably  mild. 

Another  most  agreeable  token  of  the 
arrival  of  spring  is,  that  the  bees  begin  to 
venture  out  of  their  hives  about  the  mid- 
dle of  this  •  nth.  As  their  food  is  the 
honey-likt  ;  fo".nd  in  the  tubes  of  flow- 
ers, their  comli.  .broad  is  a  certain  sign 
that  flowers  aro  now  to  be  met  with.  No 
creature  seems  possessed  of  a  greater 
power  of  foreseeing  the  sttte  of  the  weath- 
er ;  so  that  their  appearance  in  the  morn- 
ing may  be  reckoned  a  sure  token  of  a  fair 
day. 

"  My  bees,"  says  Mr.  Jesse,  "  are  a  con- 
stant source  of  amusement  to  me  ;  and 
the  more  I  study  them,  the  more  I  am  led 
to  admire  their  sagacity.  Few  things, 
however,  surprise  me  more,  than  the  pow- 
er A«liich  they  possess  of  communicating 
what  I  can  only  call  intelligence  to  each 
other.  This  I  observe  to  be  almost  inva- 
riably the  case  before  they  swarm.  Some 
scouts  may  then  be  observed  to  leave  the 
hive,  and  for  sometime  to  hover  round  a 
particular  bush,  or  branch  of  a  tree  ;  after 
which,  they  return  to  the  hive.  In  a  lit- 
tle while,  the  new  swarm  quits  it  and  set- 


!.r 


1!  i1 

■  "i 


(ipaii 


650 


VISIONS  OP  GOOD  MEN-CHAMOIS  HUNTING. 


lies  on  the  branch  which  had  been  previ- 
ously fixed  upon  by  the  scouts.  The 
same  power  of  communication  may  be 
observed  in  the  ant.  I  have  often  put  a 
small  green  caterpillar  near  an  ant's  nest ; 
you  may  see  it  immediately  seized  by  one 
of  the  ants,  which,  after  sevaral  ineffect- 
ual efforts  to  drag  it  to  its  nest,  will  quit 
it,  go  up  to  another  ant,  and  they  will  ap- 
pear to  hold  a  conversation  together  by 
means  of  their  antennae,  after  which  they 
will  return  together  to  the  caterpillar,  and, 
by  their  united  efforts,  drag  it  where  they 
wish  t<»  deposite  it. 

"  Each  crawling  insect  holds  a  rank 
important  in  the  plan  of  Him  who  framed 
this  scale  of  beings." 

In  the  latter  part  of  this  month,  the 
equinox  happens,  when  day  and  night  are 
of  an  equal  length  all  over  the  globe ;  or 
rather,  when  the  sun  is  an  equal  time 
above  and  below  the  horizon  ;  for  the 
morning  and  evening  twilight  make  appa- 
rent day  considerably  longer  than  night. 
This  takes  place  again  in  September. 
The  first  is  called  the  vernal,  the  latter 
the  auiuumal  equinox.  At  these  times, 
storms  and  tempests  are  particularly  fre- 
quent, whence  they  have  always  been  the 
terror  of  mariners.  March  winds  are 
boisterous  and  vehement  to  a  proverb. 


VISIONS  OF  GOOD  MEN. 

How  many  beautiful  visions  pass  be- 
fore the  mind  in  a  single  day,  when  the 
reins  are  thrown  loose,  and  fancy  feels  no 
restraints !      How    curious,    interesting, 
and  instructive,  would  be  the  history  of 
a  single  mind  for  a  day  !     How  many  im- 
aginary joys,  how  many  airy  castles,  pass 
before  it,  which  a  single  jostle   of  this 
rough  world  at  once  destroys  !     Who  is 
there  of  my  readers  who  has  not  imagined 
summers  fairer  than  ever  bloomed,  scepery 
in  nature  more  perfect  than  was  ever  com- ' 
bined  by  the  pencil,  abodes  more  beauti- 
ful than  were  ever  bestowed,  homes  more 
peaceful  than  were  ever  enjoyed,  compan- 
ions more  angelic  than  ever  walked  this 
earth,  and  bliss  more  complete,  and  joys 
more  thrilling,  than  were  ever  allotted  to 
man  ?     You  may  call  these  the  dreams  of 


the  imagmation,  but  they  are  common  to 
the  student.     The  man  who  lives  for  this 
world  alone,  these  visions  of  bliss,  poor 
as  they  are,  are  all  that  ever  come.     But 
good  men  have   their  anticipations— not 
the  paintings  of  fancy,  but  the  realities 
which  faith  discovers.     Good  men  have 
the   most    vivid    conceptions.      Witness 
those  of  old.     As  they  look  down  the  vale 
of  time,  they  see  a  star  arise,  the  everlast- 
ing hills  do  bow,  the  valleys  are  raised, 
and  the  moon  puts  on  the  brii>htnoss  of 
the  sun.     The  deserts  and  the  dry  places 
gush  with  waters.     Nature  pauses.     'J'lio 
serpent  forgets  his  fangs;  the  lion  and  tlie 
Iamb  sleep  side  by  side,  and  the  hand  oi 
the  child  is  on  the  mane  of  the  tiger.     Na- 
tions gaze  till  they  forget  the  murderous 
work  of  war,  and  the  garments  rolled  in 
blood.     The  whole  earth  is  enlightened, 
and  the  star  shines  on  till  it  brings  in  ev- 
erlasting day.     Here  are  glowing  concep- 
tions,  but  they  are  not  the  work  of  a  de- 
praved imagination.     They  will  be  all  re- 
alized.     Sin   and  death   will    long    walk 
hand  in  hand  on  this  earth,  and  their  foot- 
steps will  not  be  entirely  blotted  out  till 
the  fires  of  the  last  day  have  melted  the 
globe.     But  the  head  of  the  one  is,  already 
bruised,  and   the  sting  is  already  taken 
from  the  other.     They  may  long  roar,  but 
they  walk  in  chains,  and  the  eye  of  faith 
sees  the  hand  that  holds  the  chains.     But 
we  have  visions  still  brighter.     Wo  look 
for  new  heavens  and  a  new  earth  where- 
in dwelleth  righteousness,  where  no  sin 
will  mar  the  beauty,  no  sorrow  diminish 
the  joy,  no  anxiety  corrode  the  heart,  or 
cloud  the  brow. 


CHAMOIS  HUNTING. 

HE  chamois  hunter 
sets  out  i;iion  his  ex- 
pedition of  fafiguo  and 
danger  gonera  y  in 
the  night.  His  ob- 
ject is  to  find  himself 
at  the  break  of  day, 
in  the  most  elevated 
pastures,  where  the  chamois  comes  to 
feed  before  the  flocks  shall  have  arrived 


y  are  common  to 
who  lives  for  this 
•ns  of  bliss,  poor 
ever  come,     lint 
inticipations — not 
but  the  realities 
Good  men  have 
Hions.      Witness 
)ok  down  the  vale 
rise,  the  everiast- 
illeys  are  raised, 
the  l)rightness  o 
id  tile  dry  places 
ire  pauses.     Tim 
;  the  lion  and  the 
and  the  hand  ol 
f  the  tiger.     Na- 
t  the  murderous 
rments  rolled  in 

I  is  enlightened, 

II  it  brings  in  ev- 
glowing  coiicep- 
!  work  of  a  de- 
3y  will  be  all  re- 
will  long  walk 
h,  and  their  foot- 
y  blotted  out  till 
lave  melted  the 
le  one  is,  already 
3  already  taken 
ly  long  roar,  but 
Ihe  eye  of  faith 
he  chains.  But 
liter.  We  look 
w  earth  where- 

,  where  no  sin 
orrow  diminish 
le  the  heart,  or 


riNG. 

■hamois  hunter 
n  r.pon  his  ex- 
m  of  fatigue  and 
'  gonera  y  in 
ght.  His  ob- 
to  find  himself 
break  of  day, 
most  elevated 
lois  comes  to 
1  have  arrived 


652 


THE  MISSISSIPPI  AND  THE  NILE. 


thero.  The  chamois  feeJs  only  at  morn- 
ing and  evening.  When  the  hunter  has 
nearly  reached  the  spot  where  he  expects 
to  fnul  his  prey,  ho  reconnoitres  with  a 
telescope.  If  he  finds  not  the  chamois, 
he  mounts  still  higher:  but  if  he  discovers 
him,  lie  endeavors  to  climb  above  him  and 
get  neiirer,  by  passing  round  some  ravine, 
or  gliding  behind  some  eminence  or  rock. 
When  he  is  near  enough  to  distinguish 
the  horns  of  the  animal  (which  are  small, 
round,  pointed,  and  bent  backward  like  a 
hook,  as  in  our  engraving),  he  rests  his  ri- 
fle upon  a  rock,  and  takes  his  aim  with 
great  coolness.  He  rarely  misses.  This 
rifle  is  often  double-barrelled.  If  the 
chamois  falls,  he  runs  to  his  prey,  makes 
sure  of  him  by  cutting  the  ham-strings, 
and  applies  himself  to  consider  by  what 
way  he  may  best  regain  his  village.  If 
the  route  is  very  diflicult,  he  contents  him- 
self with  skinning  the  chamois  ;  but  if 
the  way  is  at  all  practicable  with  a  load, 
he  throws  the  animal  over  his  shoulder, 
and  bears  it  home  to  his  family,  undaunt- 
ed by  the  distance  he  has  to  go,  and  the 
precipices  he  has  to  cross. 

But  when,  as  is  more  frequently  the 
case,  the  vigilant  animal  perceives  the 
hunter,  he  flies  with  the  greatest  swiftness 
into  the  glaciers,  leaping  with  incredible 
speed  over  the  frozen  snows  and  pointed 
rocks.  It  is  particularly  difficult  to  ap- 
proach the  chamois  when  there  are  many 
together.  While  the  herd  graze,  one  of 
them  is  planted  as  a  sentinel  on  the  point 
of  some  rock,  which  commands  all  the 
avenues  of  their  pasturage ;  and  when  he 
perceives  an  object  of  tlarm,  he  makes  a 
sharp,  hissing  noise,  at  the  sound  of  M'hich 
all  the  rest  run  toward  him,  to  judge  for 
themselves  of  the  nature  of  the  danger. 
If  they  discover  a  beast  of  prey  or  a  hunt- 
er, the  most  experienced  puts  himself  at 
their  head,  and  they  bound  along,  one  af- 
ter the  other,  into  the  most  inaccessible 
places. 

It  is  then  that  the  labors  of  the  hunter 
commence  ;  for  then,  carried  away  by  the 
excitement,  he  knows  no  danger.  He 
crosses  the  snows,  without  thinking  of 
the  precipices  which  they  may  cover  ;  he 
plunges  into  the  most  dangerous  passes 
of  the  mountains — he  climbs  up,  he  leaps 
from  rock  to  rock,  without   considering 


how  he  can  return.  The  night  often  finds 
him  in  the  heat  of  the  pursuit ;  but  he 
does  not  give  up  for  this  olistaclo.  He 
considers  that  the  chamois  will  stop  du- 
ring the  darkness  as  well  as  himself,  and 
that  on  the  morrow  ho  may  asrain  roach 
them.  Ho  passes  then  the  night,  not  at 
the  foot  of  a  tree,  nor  in  a  cave  (Dvered 
with  verdure,  as  the  hunter  of  the  plain 
docs,  but  upon  a  naked  rock,  or  upon  a 
heap  of  rough  stones,  witlioui  any  sort 
of  shelter.  He  is  alone,  without  firo, 
without  light ;  but  he  takes  from  his  bacr 
a  bit  of  cheese,  and  some  of  the  barley- 
bread,  which  is  his  ordinary  food — bread 
so  hard  that  he  is  obliged  to  l)reak  it  l)e- 
tween  two  stones,  or  to  cleave  it  with  the 
axe  which  ho  always  carries  with  him  to 
cut  steps  which  shall  serve  for  his  ladder 
up  the  rocks  of  ice.  His  fruy;al  meal 
being  soon  ended,  he  puts  u  stuno  under 
his  head,  and  is  presently  asleep,  dream- 
ing of  the  way  the  chamois  has  taken. 
He  is  awakened  by  the  frcshn<-ss  of  the 
morning  air ;  he  rises,  pierci'd  through 
with  cold  ;  he  measures  wiih  his  eye  the 
precipices  he  must  yet  climb  to  reaeh  the 
chamois  ;  he  drinks  a  littlo  brandy  (of 
which  he  always  carries  a  small  provis- 
ion), throws  his  bag  across  his  shoulder, 
and  again  rushes  forward  to  encounter 
new  dangers.  These  daring  and  perse- 
vering hunters  remain  whoie  days  in  the 
dreariest  solitudes  of  the  glaciers  of  Cha- 
mouni ;  and  during  this  liinf?,  their  fami- 
lies, and,  above  all,' their  Uiihappy  wives, 
feel  the  keenest  alarm  for  their  safety. 


THE  MISSISSIPPI  AND  THE  NILE. 

Y  the  Greeks  the 
space  included  with- 
in the  mouihs  of  the 
Nile,  was  called  the 
Delta,  from  its  resem- 
blance to  the  letter  (A) 
of  that  name.  This 
space  embraced  all 
of  that  part  of  Kgypt, 
from  the  site  of  ancient  Mempins.  or  mod- 
ern Cairo,  to  the  Mediterranean  sea.  It 
was  the   great  alluvial  formation  of  the 


The  m'sht  often  finds 
the  pursuit ;  but  he 
or  this  oliMtiicIn.  He 
chamois  will  stop  ihi- 
s  well  as  liimarir,  and 
'  ho  may  uuain  r(!ach 
ihnn  the  ni^lii,  not  at 
lor  in  a  cave  (overcd 
e  hunter  of  tin;  plain 
aked  rock,  or  upon  a 
les,  without   any  sort 

I  alone,  without  fire, 
le  takes  from  his  bag 

some  of  the  barley- 
ordinary  food — bread 
bliged  to  break  it  be- 
r  to  cleave  it  with  the 
's  carries  wiih  him  to 

II  serve  for  liis  ladder 
JO.  His  fruiial  meal 
he  puts  H  stone  uiuler 
(sently  asleep,  dream- 
3  chamois  has  taken. 

the  freshness  of  the 
ises,  piercrd  throujfh 
ures  wiih  his  eye  the 
f'et  climb  to  reach  the 
s  a  litilo  brandy  (of 
arries  a  siiiaii  provis- 

across  his  shoulder, 
forward  io  otieounter 
se  daring  and  perso- 
■in  whole  days  in  the 
f  the  frlaciers  of  Cha- 
this  iimf%  their  fami- 
their  uahappy  wives, 
■m  for  their  safety. 


:  AND  THE  NILE. 

Y  the  Greeks  the 
space  included  with- 
in the  inouihs  of  the 
Nile,  was  called  the 
Delta,  from  its  resem- 
blance to  the  letter  (A) 
of  that  name.  This 
space  embraced  all 
of  that  part  of  Fgypt, 
nt  Mempnis.  or  mod- 
idilerranean  sea.  It 
ial  formation  of  the 


THE  MISSISSIPPI  AND  THR  NILR. 


c:.3 


Nile.  It  constitutes  a  triantjio,  nearly 
('([uiliteral,  the  sides  of  which  average 
almiit  eighty  miles.  The  wliole  tjreat  val- 
ley of  ihe  Nile  is  about  nine  huudred  miles 
Idiiy,  and.  on  an  average,  al)out  six  miltss 
jjioail.  Within  this  narrow  space  all  that 
oih;i>  was  great  in  the  world  was  centred. 
It  was  the  kin},'dom  of  Egypt — the  foun- 
t.iiu  of  civilization — the  mistress  of  the 
civili/ed  W(uld.  Wo  read  of  the  glories 
of  riielu'S  and  Memphis  with  incrcduliiy. 
'rii.ir  hundred  brazen  gates,  anil  the  sixty 
lliousand  armed  men  which  could  at  all 
liuii's  issue  from  them,  though  they  are 
fails  related  liy  grave  historians,  from  Ile- 
rodi/ius  downward,  seriously  tax  our  pi.iw- 
ors  of  belief.  But  when  we  remember 
that  the  chosen  people  of  Heaven  were 
but  a  race  of  uneducated  sheplierds  when 
Il|,'vpl  was  a  powerful,  enlightened  king- 
(lo;n — when  we  gaze  upon  the  heaviui- 
reared,  eternal  pyramids,  and  explore  the 
vast  excavated  temples — the  !)uilders  of 
which  are  not  known,  and  the  date  of 
which  can  not  be  fixed,  we  must  acknowl- 
edge that  this  little  river,  this  narrow  val- 
ley, shows  to  mankind  what  man  can  do. 
To  Egypt  we  trace  all  civilization  ;  from 
the  Egyptians  we  must  confess  that  we 
have  derived  most  of  the  arts  of  life.  Her 
early  history  is  veiled  in  obscurity,  hut  hi;r 
niimuments  stand,  and  will  for  ever,  the 
admiration  and  the  wonder  of  mankind. 

The  valley  of  the  Nile,  and  that  of  the 
Mississippi,  have  often  been  compared, 
but  save  in  their  fertility,  wherein  do  tliey 
resemble  each  other  ?  The  one  is  a  long 
narrow  strip  of  land,  skirted  by  sandy  des- 
erts, depending  for  its  yearly  capacity  to 
sui)ply  human  wants  upon  the  rise  of  the 
river — the  other  extends  in  length  more 
than  fourteen  hundred  miles,  and  in 
br(!adth  from  the  Alleganies  to  the  Rocky 
mountains,  and  embraces  a  soil  of  inhe- 
rent and  perpetual  fertility ;  the  one  is 
watered  by  a  single  river,  without  branch- 
es or  tributaries  ;  the  other  possesses  more 
than  eight  thousand  miles  of  navigable 
streams.  If  the  people  who  heretofore 
inhabited  the  valley  of  the  Nile,  could 
construct  works  so  stupendous,  and  exer- 
cise upon  all  succeeding  time  an  influence 
so  remarkable — who  can  say  what  shall 
be  the  destiny  of  the  citizens  of  this  great 
valley  of  the  "  ff.ther  of  waters"  \     What 


is  not  in  their  power?  who  can  imagine 
the  strength  which  they  will  wield,  or  the 
glories  they  will  achieve  ? 

When  the  great  Alexander  had  con- 
(piered  the  world,  ho  was  desirous  of  leav- 
ing to  |)ost(!rily  some  record  of  his  lame. 
The  shattered  walls,  the  ruined  temples, 
and  the  falling  columns  of  the  citi<'s  which 
he  had  destroyed,  nmst  shortly  disa|>pear. 
He  wished  to  impress  his  name  upon  a 
living  and  enduring  inoninnent.  He  had 
the  world  in  which  to  select  its  site,  and 
he  chose  the  Delta  of  the  Nile.  The  city 
of  Alexandria  was  at  once  a  testimony  to 
his  power  and  his  sagacity.  Connected 
by  a  canal  with  the  western  opening  of  the 
Nile,  it  commanded  the  whoh;  commerce 
of  the  valley — its  galleys  covered  the 
Mediterranean,  and  a  thousand  carivans, 
traversing  the  deserts  of  Asia  and  Africa, 
poured  into  it  the  untold  wealth  of  thosi; 
extensive  regions.  For  years  it  was  the 
first  city  of  the  world  ;  and  after  ages  of 
wars,  domestic  revolutions,  and  foreign 
plunder,  it  is  said  that  at  its  final  conipiest 
by  the  lieutenant  of  the  calif  Omar,  it 
contained  a  population  of  600,000. 

If  such  was  Alexaiulria,  the  capital  of 
Egypt,  the  emporium  of  the  valley  of  the 
Nile,  what  may  not  .New  Orleans,  the  nat- 
ural outlet  of  our  great  valley,  become ' 
We  are  not  dependent  on  caravans,  traver- 
sing the  deserts  ;  we  are  not  bona  led  by 
the  narrow  limits  of  the  Mediterranean  ; 
we  have  not  for  our  sole  support  6,000 
square  miles  of  territory  ;  we  are  not 
ground  down  by  a  tyranni"'.!  gover.iment; 
how  far,  then,  must  we  ;  ,  'ss  the  proud 
city  of  Egypt  in  her  palmiest  days  !  What 
the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  are  to  the  Medit- 
erranean, what  the  Mississipj)i  is  to  the 
Nile,  what  steamships  are  t(»  two-banked 
galleys,  must  this  emporium  be  to  Alexan- 
dria. The  prospect  before  us  is  indeed 
bright  and  cheering.  The  full  accom- 
plishment of  the  most  sanguine  hopes  de- 
pend only  upon  ourselves  Nature  has 
done  everything  that  is  necessary — 'it  on- 
ly remains  for  man  to  do  his  share. 

Maxlms. — Persevere  against  discour- 
agements. Employ  leisure  in  study,  and 
always  have  some  work  in  hand.  Be 
punctual  and  methodical  in  business,  and 
never  procrastinate. 


^!?»^ 


^l**^^ 


654 


THE  PATHWAY  OF  8CIBNCE. 


THE  PATHWAY  OF  SCIENCE. 


E  have  been  read- 
ing of  the  wonder- 
ful properties  of  the 
electro-magnetic  tel- 
egraph, and  it  has 
set  our  fancy  afloat 
in  the  wide  field  of 
speculation.  The 
mind  soars  upward 
and  onward,  awakened  in  all  its  energies, 
struggling,  grasping,  expanding,  with  the 
magnificent  conceptions  which  are  awa- 
kened in  the  pathway  and  the  progress 
of  science ! 

Science  ?  what  is  it?  where  was  it  en- 
gendered ?    What  are  its  achievements, and 
what  are  the  limits  which  God  has  ascribed 
to  its  astounding  developments  ?     Did  it 
belong  to  antiquity,  or  is  it  ours  ?    Science ! 
In  the   academy,  in  the  lyceum,  or  the 
porch  at  Athens,  shall  we  search  for  it  ? 
Will  we  go  to  the  dark  ages  to  trace  its 
foot-prints  ?     Those     ages,    with     their 
"  wonderful"  and  "  illuminated"  doctors, 
and  their  magnificent  creeds.    Ages  which 
brought  the  hoary-headed  Galileo,  before 
the  solemn  convocation  of  the  wise  and 
learned,  to  pronounce  upon  him,  through 
seven   grave  cardinals,  the  anathema  of 
the  church — "That  to  maintain  the  sun  to 
be  immovable  and  without  local  motion  in 
the  centre  of  the  world,  is  an  absurd  prop- 
osition, false  in  philosophy,  heretical  in 
religion,  and  contrary  to  the  testimony  of 
the  scripture  ;  that  it  is  equally  false  and 
absurd  in  philosophy  to  assert  that  the 
earth  is  not  immoveable  in  the  centre  of 
the  world,  and,  considered  theologically, 
equally  erroneous  and  heretical!"     The 
dark  ages,  with  Copernicus   imprisoned 
by  the  pope  to  recant  his  "  absurd  dog- 
mas"-—with  Faustus  flying  from  Paris  af- 
ter his  fatal  bibles  had  been  exposed  for 
sale — the  dark  ages  with  the  ponderous 
tomes  of  Thomas  Aquinus,  Abelard  Duns 
Scotus,  and  Peter  Lombard,  piled  up  on 
groaning  shelves— the  science  of  the  dark 
ages !    We   come  to  the  Baconian    era. 
Bacon,  the  genius  of  inductive  science, 
is  born.     He  defines  its  lines  and  teaches 
its  limits.     His  pathway  is  upward — ama- 
zing truths — amazing  developments  ! 


"  Eirth'i  dl«cmboweloil  I  meRHurad  sre  the  iikluil 
Stari  oro  dclccu-il  in  llio  ilecp  rofeu  ! 
Crnation  vrliloiml  vnn(|iiiiihuil  imttiro  yioltla, 
Ilur  •cereta  «ru  oxtortod  t  art  prnvaiU ; 
What  monumunt  of  guiiiai,  apirit,  power  I" 

Science    ha.t     been    manifesting     God 
Where  is  God  in  nature  ?     The  illiterate 
and  the  savage  see  him  in  the  whirlwind 
and  the  storm,  but  in  ten  thousand  beauti- 
ful combinations  is  ho  revealed  to  the  sci- 
entific.    The  earthquake   causing  moun- 
tains  to  totter  on   their  bases,  ocean  to 
heave    her   immense    volumes  in  au!»usi 
majesty  to  the  sky,  and  bare  her  profound 
cavern.s — the  earthquake  thundering  riv- 
ers from  their   channels,   rocking    down 
cities,  and  swallowing  them  up  in  yawn- 
ing abysses — these  are  God  to  trembling 
man    universally    revealed— God   in   his 
might,  in  his  awful  magnificence  !     iJm, 
oh,  to  a  few  only  is  he  in  the  soft  beauty  of 
the  landscape,  the  meandering  stream,  the 
rippling  fountain,  tlie  cascade,  the  zephyr 
bearing  on  its  wings   Flora's  balmy  fra- 
grance, the  blade  of  grass,  the  pebble,  the 
shell— God  the  kind  and  attentive  parent, 
God  the  benefactor,  the  friend,  minister- 
ing with  equal  hand  to  the  great  family  of 
living  existence. 

Take  up  the  book  of  astronomy — Go 
with  the  astronomer  and  contemplate  the 
illimitable  empire  of  worlds,  and,  like 
Newton,  overpowered  to  trace  the  great 
law  that  connects  them  together.  Exam- 
ine your  own  earth,  if  you  please.  See 
it  selecting  with  mathematical  precision 
the  only  permanent  axis  out  of  an  infinity 
of  others  on  which  it  might  have  revolved. 
Observe  the  position  of  that  axis  too- 
perpendicular  or  parallel  to  the  ecliptic, 
where  would  have  been  the  seasons  and 
animal  life?  What  else  would  have 
reigned  throughout  this  wide  domain  but 
solitude  ?  dreary,  dreadful,  interminable 
solitude  !  The  poet  was  not  over-enthu- 
siastic when  he  exclaimed — 

"  An  andcvoat  aatronomer  is  mad  I" 

Contemplate  with  the  chymist  the  great 
law  of  definite  proportions  without  emo- 
tion. Trace  the  polarization  of  light,  the 
magnet,  electricity's  subtle  and  powerful 
fluid  pervading  nature — see  with  the  min- 
eralogist the  regular-formtd  and  polished 
crystals  which  the  great  Architect  has 
fashioned — the   earth   unboweled  to  the 


<ll  msMnrad  are  the  akioal 
tliii  cliTp  roreiiHl 
rii|iiUhuil  imturo  yioIJa, 
tuil  I  art  (imvaiU ; 
joiiiua,  apirll,  power  I" 

em  manifesting  God 
mture  ?  The  illiteiato 
I  him  in  the  whirlwind 
in  ten  thousand  hciiuti- 

ho  revealed  to  tiie  sci- 
liqiiake   causing  moun- 

their  bases,  ocean  to 
se  volumes  in  aufjusi 
,  and  bare  her  profound 
iquake  thundering  riv- 
annels,  rocking  down 
king  them  up  in  yawn- 
i  are  God  to  trembling 
revealed — God  in  his 
I  magnificence  !  Bm, 
he  in  the  soft  beauty  of 
meandering  stream,  the 
lie  cascade,  the  zephyr 
gs  Flora's  bahny  fra- 
f  grass,  the  pebble,  the 
d  and  attentive  parent, 
r,  the  friend,  minister- 
\  to  the  great  family  of 

ok  of  astronomy — Go 
r  and  contemplate  the 
of  worlds,  and,  like 
red  to  trace  the  great 
lem  together.  Exam- 
1,  if  you  please.  See 
lathematical  precision 
axis  out  of  an  infinity 
t  might  have  revolved. 
m  of  that  axis  too— 
irallel  to  the  ecliptic, 
been  the  seasons  and 
lat  else  would  have 
this  wide  domain  but 
Ireadful,  interminable 
t  was  not  over-enthu- 
lairaed — 

itronomer  ia  mad  I" 

he  chymist  the  great 
onions  without  emo- 
iarization  of  light,  the 

subtle  and  powerful 
re — see  with  the  min- 
-formtd  and  polished 

great  Architect  has 
h  unboweled  to  the 


GREENWICH  0B3KHVAT0aY. 


655 


geologist,  its  mighty  mountains  penetra- 
ted to  trace  their  structure  and  arrange- 
ments— jtfl  fossils  sought  out  and  inter- 
preted in  evidence  of  rolling  thousands 
and  thousands  of  ages !  Examine  with 
the  lK)tanist  and  the  anatomist  organic  sen- 
Bibility  and  organic  insensible  nature. 
Everywhere  and  everything  excites  an 
intensity  of  emotion  !  All  is  great,  all  is 
wonderful,  all  is  inexplicable  !  Or  if  men- 
tal philosophy  bo  admitted  to  the  dignity 
of  science,  the  single  discovery  that  tho 
lawN  of  association  which  influence  mem- 
ory are  in  them-selves  indestructible — that 
an  aflection  of  tho  body  stimulates  their 
action — that  submitted  to  certain  modifi- 
cations the  whole  train  of  past  thoughts, 
feelings,  and  affections,  which  now  seem 
shrouded  in  the  dark  vista  of  the  past, 
may  be  completely  developed  so  that  no 
one  item  of  life  shall  be  lost.  This  fact, 
if  clearly  established,  completes  the  dig- 
nity of  the  effect,  man,  and  the  cause, 
God,  and  is  a  field  for  the  exercise  of 
deep  and  profound  thought. 


GREENWICH  OBSERVATORY. 

MONO  the  exis- 
ting iiistituti(ms 
of  this  descrip- 
tion, the  observ- 
atory at  Green- 
wich, of  which  a 
representation  is 
arinextid,  has  long 
held  an  ernnent 
place.  It  stands  on  the  most  1 1<  v  ited 
spot  in  Greenwich  park,  and  con.  .sts  of 
two  buildings,  one  a  low  oblong  edifice, 
which  is  properly  the  observatory,  and  the 
other  a  house  for  the  astronomer  royal. 
The  upper  part  of  the  latter,  however,  be- 
sides serving  as  a  library-room,  is  also 
filled  with  instruments  ;  and  there  is  a, 
ca^nera-obscura  on  the  top  of  the  house. 
The  library  contains  many  scarce  and  val- 
uable works,  principally  on  scientific  sub- 
jects. The  observatory  is  divided  into 
,  four  apartments,  fitted  up  with  transit  cir- 
cles, quadrants,  clocks,  sectors,  and  other 
astronomical  instruments.     Among  them  \ 


ia  an  instrument  for  observini^  the  ptwage 
of  the  diflerent  heavenly  bodies  over  the 
meridian,  of  eight  feot  in  length,  which  is 
famous  as  having  beeni  that  used  by  Hal- 
ley,  Uradley,  and  Maskelyne.  Bradley's 
zenith  sector  id  also  in  one  of  the  rooms, 
with  which  ho  made  the  observations  at 
Kew,  from  which  ho  deducwd  his  discov- 
eries of  the  aberration  of  light  and  the 
mutation  of  the  earth's  axis.  Two  snvall 
buildings,  with  hemispherical  sliding 
domes,  stand  to  tho  north  of  tho  observa- 
tory, which  are  fitted  up  chiefly  for  the 
observation  of  comets.  Most  of  the  old 
observatories  were  provided  with  a  deep 
well,  from  the  bottom  of  which  the  stars 
might  be  observed  in  the  daytime ;  and 
that  of  Greenwich  had  also  formerly  an 
excavation  of  this  kind,  descending  to  the 
depth  of  a  hundred  feet,  in  tho  southeast 
corner  of  the  garden.  It  is  now,  howev- 
er, arched  over. 

Greenwich  observatory  stands  on  the 
site  of  an  old  fortified  tower  belonging  to 
tho  British  crown,  said  to  have  been  first 
erected  in  the  early  part  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  by  Humphrey,  Duke  of  Glouces- 
ter, the  brother  of  Henry  V.,  one  of  tho 
earliest  patrons  of  learning  in  that  coun- 
try. It  was  either  repaired  or  rebuilt  by 
lienry  VIII.  in  1526  ;  and  continued  long 
afterward  to  be  considered  a  place  of  some 
strength.  Paul  Hentzner,  the  German 
traveller,  says  that,  in  the  time  of  Eliza- 
beth, it  was  known  by  the  name  of  "  iVIire- 
deur,"  and  was  supposed  to  be  the  same 
which  is  mentioned  in  the  romance  of 
"  Aniadis  de  Gaul." 

The  foundation-stone  of  the  building 
was  laid  on  the  tenth  of  August,  1675. 
Flamsleed  was  appointed  the  first  super- 
intendent of  the  establishment,  under  the 
title  of  astronomer  royal ;  and  he  com- 
menced his  observations  in  August  of  the 
following  year.  This  great  astronomer 
continued  to  reside  at  the  observatory  till 
his  death,  on  the  thirty-first  of  December, 
1719,  forty-three  years  after  his  appoint- 
ment. The  results  of  his  laborious  ob- 
servations and  calculations  during  the 
whole  of  this  period  were  given  to  the 
world  in  1725,  in  three  volumes  folio,  un- 
der the  title  of  "  Historia  Celeslis,"  an 
immortal  monument  of  his  industry  and 
genius.     Flamsteed  was  succeeded  as  as- 


titm9ki 


■'it 


.Ml 


KW^"* 


?^^ 


,!il: 


'f-!^iyy^:w"':^'^ 


^ 


REPRODUCTION  OF  I'LANTS. 


657 


tronomer  rciynl  by  tlio  ({rcot  Halluy,  who 
oociipiril  th<i  Miluaiion  lw«;nly-lhro(>  yearn, 
haviiij;  iliod  in  17'1'J,  at  the  agi^i  of  cighty- 
tivo.  Hit  Miicuessur  was  arioihor  most 
(liMtinguishml  aBtronomor,  Bradloy,  tho  dis- 
coviTer  of  tho  iiborraiion  of  light,  or  that 
diiriiri'rir'o  hctwoon  tlia  apparuiit  and  tho 
true  pluco  of  any  of  tho  fixed  otars,  which 
in  occaHioncd  by  the  motion  of  the  earth 
and  the  motion  of  light  from  tho  star  to 
tho  observer.  After  Hradloy'H  death, 
which  took  i)lace  in  1762,  Mr.  IJliss  held 
tho  otfuM-  for  two  years,  when  ho  died, 
and  gave  place  to  the  lute  eminent  Dr. 
Maskelyne.  who  enjoyed  ir  for  a  period 
not  much  short  of  half  a  century,  having 
survived  till  ItilO.  He  was  succeeded  by 
till!  present  astronomer  royal,  Mr.  Pond. 
Siiico  17G7,  tho  observations  made  by  tho 
astronomer  royal  at  Greenwich  have  been 
annually  published,  under  tho  superinten- 
dence of  the  royal  society.  The  admira- 
ble instruments  with  which  tho  observa- 
tory is  providiid,  together  with  tho  ability 
and  high  character  of  the  successive  as- 
tronomers, have  secured  to  the  Greenwich 
observations  a  reputation  for  accuracy 
scarcely  rivalled  by  those  of  any  other 
similar  institutions. 


REPRODUCTION  OF  PLANTS. 

HE  main  object  of 
,a  plant  during  growth 
seems  to  be  the  repro- 
duction of  its  kind. 
Whether  the  term  of 
its  existence  be  lim- 

Ctf^flMT  ^^  ited  by  a  day,  by  a 
»  year,  or  by  centuries, 

its  sole  effort — as  it  proceeds  from  leaf  to 
stem,  from  stem  to  branch,  and  from  branch 
to  (lower  and  fruit — is  the  muhiplication  of 
itself.  This  is  effected  variously ;  by 
seeds,  by  spores  or  germs,  by  tubers,  by 
runners,  which  put  forth  shoots  as  they 
elongate,  by  branches  which  send  down 
roots,  by  slips  or  detached  branches;  or 
even  by  single  leaves.  We  shall  notice 
the  more  remarkable  of  these  modes  as 
exhibiting  at  once  the  perfection  of  de- 
sign, and  the  inexhaustible  contrivances 


which  nainre  ha*  ovnr  at  her  ndo|)tion  for 
the  ru;(:om|ilishment  uf  the  end  in  view. 

Increase  by  seed  is  the  most  familiar 
modo  of  reproduction,  beii^  coninioii  to 
all  (lowering  plants.  Sends  are  mi^rely 
leaves  preserved  in  peculiar  cereincnis  till 
tho  return  of  tho  season  of  growth.  And 
hero  it  may  bo  remnrked,  that  wherever 
we  have  a  healthy-growing  leaf,  or  num- 
ber of  leaves,  there  is  no  ditFicnlty  in  rear- 
ing an  independent  plant,  since,  according 
to  tho  doctrines  of  morphology,  the  lout" 
is  the  primary  organ  from  which  all  other 
parts  take  Mioir  form  and  development. 
A  numerous  class  of  vegetables  have  their 
seeds  composed  of  two  leaves  or  lobes,  as 
may  bo  seen  in  the  bean  and  apple ;  in 
another  class,  as  tho  oat  and  cocoa-nut, 
tliey  consist  of  a  single  lobe.  Hut  wheth- 
er they  have  one  or  two  lobos,  in  all  of 
them  the  function  of  reproduction  is  of  tho 
most  perfect  description.  To  produce  a 
fertile  seed,  the  pollen  or  dusty  gr:'nules 
which  tip  the  stigmas  must  l)e  C(...jyed 
to  the  pistil,  and  through  the  pistil  to  the 
embryo  in  the  ovary.  For  this  purpose  a 
thousiiad  beautiful  adaptations  have  been 
called  into  existence.  These  precious 
granules,  liable  to  bo  swept  away  by  jvery 
breeze  and  shower,  are  protected  by  tho 
sheltering  calyx  and  corolla,  which  turn 
their  backs  to  tho  wind,  or  droop  like  a 
pent-house  to  ward  off  the  rain.  And 
even  should  the  pollen  be  scattered  by  ac- 
cident, the  pistil  is  covered  with  a  fine 
muci'ige,  wliiidi  intercepts  and  retains  it 
in  spite  of  every  antagonist  force.  Some 
plants  have  the  stamen.s  and  pistils  in  one 
and  the  same  flower;  in  ''hers  tho  stig- 
mas are  in  one  flower  and  the  pi.stil  in 
another ;  while  in  not  a  few  the  iikiIu  and 
female  flowers  are  produced  on  separate 
stems — yet  in  all,  the  means  of  fertiliza- 
tion are  seldom  rendered  nugatory.  If 
the  male  and  femalo  flower  are  near,  ♦hey 
are  placed  to  be  brought  in  contact  by  the 
slightest  waving  of  a  branch ;  or  if  dis- 
tant, the  passing  breeze  and  the  limbs  of 
the  wandering  bee,  r.re  the  agents  by  which 
the  pollen  is  carried  to  the  destined  re- 
ceptacle. When  properly  matured,  a  seed 
must  be  provided,  first,  with  the  means  of 
dispersion  and  preservation,  and  second- 
ly, with  a  sufficiency  of  internal  nourish- 
ment for  the  embryo  plant,  till  its  roots 


r"' 


ti 


»w*<"C 


•■»^-"^V^', 


'■ 


658 


EEPRODUCTION  OF  PLANTS. 


have  struck  into  the  soil,  and  its  leaves 
have  expanded  in  the  atmosphere.  Ac- 
cordingly, some  seeds  are  farinaceous,  oth- 
ers albuminous,  and  many  oleaginous — all 
of  those  products  being  converted,  during 
germination,  into  those  elements  which 
enter  into  the  structure  of  a  growing  plant. 
For  the  conversion  of  these  products,  a 
certain  amount  of  heat  and  moisture  is 
necessary  ;  but  too  much  heat  would  parch 
them,  and  too  much  cold  or  moisture  would 
destroy  their  vitality.  To  provide  against 
such  contingencies,  nature  has  conferred 
on  the  seeds  of  plants  the  most  ingenious 
and  perfect  coverings.  The  cocoa  has  a 
tough  fibrous  coir  and  woody  nut,  imper- 
vious alike  to  draught  and  rain  ;  the  chest- 
nut has  a  compact  leathery  envelope  ;  the 
plum  a  hard  stony  drupe  ;  the  apple  a 
fleshy  pome,  enclosing  leatheiy  cells  ;  the 
rose  a  flesh  hip,  packed  with  down  ;  the 
pea  and  bean  a  pod  of  parchment ;  and 
seeds  apparently  naked  have  either  a  co- 
riaceous membrane,  or  have  the  exterior 
tissue  so  condensed  that  they  look  as  if 
they  had  come  from  the  hand  of  a  japan- 
ner.  Thus,  the  protection  against  cold, 
drought,  moisture,  and  other  destructive 
agencies,  is  so  complete,  that  seeds  which 
have  been  buried  for  centuries,  have,  on 
being  brought  to  the  surface  sprung  up 
into  healthy  plants  ;  even  a  r  rop  of  wheat 
has  been  reared  from  grain  found  in  the 
case  of  an  Egyptian  mummy  more  than 
three  thousand  years  old. 

Equally  perfect  with  this  protection  is 
the  means  for  their  dispersion  over  the 
surface  of  the  globe.  What  could  be  bel- 
ter adapted  for  floating  from  island  to 
island  than  the  cocoa-nut,  with  its  light, 
waterproof,  fibrous  coir,  and  woody  shell  ? 
What  more  easily  caught  up  by  the  slight- 
est breath  of  air  than  the  seeds  of  the 
thistle  or  dandelion,  with  their  little  paia- 
chutes  of  down  ?  Or  what  more  aptly  fit- 
ted for  attachment  to  the  coats  of  wander- 
ing animals,  than  the  hooked  heads  of  the 
teasel  and  burdock?  Nor  does  contri- 
vance end  here.  Many  when  ripe,  nre 
ejected  from  the  vessels  which  contain 
them  with  considerable  force  by  means  of 
elastic  valves  and  springs.  The  carda- 
mine  impatient  throws  its  ripe  seed  to  a 
distance  on  being  touched ;  so  does  the 
squirting   cucumber,   the    geranium,   the 


common  broom,  and  others,  as  if  they  were 
endowed  with  vitality,  and  had  a  care  for 
their  embryo  progeny.  Some  do  not  ever, 
part  with  their  seeds  till  these  have  struck 
root  as  independent  plants.  Thus  the  man- 
grove, which  flourishes  amid  the  mud  of 
tropical  deltas  and  creeks,  retains  its  ber- 
ries till  they  have  sent  down  long  thread- 
like radicles  into  the  sill  below,  as  if  it  felt 
that  the  water  and  slime  by  which  it  was 
surrounded  were  elements  too  unstable  to 
be  intrusted  with  its  ofl'spritig. 

Plants  that  reproduce  themselves  by 
spores  or  germs,  belong  lo  the  cryptogamic 
or  flowerless  class  of  vegetation,  as  the 
ferns,  sea-weeds,  mosses,  mushrooms.  In 
many  of  these  the  reproductive  spores  are 
so  minute,  that  they  float  in  the  air  unseen ; 
and  not  a  dried  mushroom  or  pufl'-ball  that 
is  struck  by  the  wandering  foot,  but  dis- 
perses thousands  of  iis  kind  around  it. 
The  littl'o  brown  specks  on  the  leaf  of  the 
fern,  the  snufl'-like  powder  of  the  pufl^'-ball, 
or  the  dust  arising  from  the  mould  of  a  de- 
cayed cheese,  are  all  alike  the  germs  of 
future  plants  ;  and  when  we  consider  how 
minute  each  individual  is,  how  liable  to  be 
borne  about  by  winds,  by  water,  and  by 
the  coverings  of  animals,  to  which  they 
may  adhere,  we  shall  cease  to  wonder  at 
the  fact,  that  there  is  not  a  portion  of  sur- 
face, organic,  or  inorganic,  that  may  not 
be  covered  with  their  growth.  The  spores 
of  the  fuci,  or  sea-weeds,  which  are  al- 
ways surrounded  by  water,  and  covered 
with  a  mucilage  that  enables  them  to  ad- 
here to  whatever  solid  body  they  touch  ; 
and,  what  is  peculiar  in  this  adhesive  sub- 
stance, it  is  insoluble  in  water.  "  Let 
chymistry,"  say  M'CuUoch,  in  his  "  Illus- 
traiions  of  the  Attributes  of  a  God,"  "  name 
another  mucilage,  another  subsstance,  which 
water  can  not  dissolve,  though  apparently 
already  in  solution  with  water,  and  then 
ask  if  this  extraordinary  secretion  was 
not  designed  for  the  special  enr'  attained  ? 
and  whether,  also,  it  does  not  afford  an 
example  of  that  Power  which  has  only  to 
will  that  it  may  produce  what  it  desires, 
even  by  means  the  most  improbable  ?" 

Many  plants,  as  the  potato,  reproduce 
themselves  by  both  seed  and  tubers.  Both 
modes,  howeve'',  do  not  take  place  with 
equal  exuberance  at  one  and  the  same 
time.     In  its  native  region  of  South  Amer- 


IjWSJI*'-'^ 


others,  as  if  they  were 
;y,  and  had  a  care  for 
y,  Some  do  not  even 
J  till  these  have  struck 
ilants.  Thus  the  man- 
hes  amid  the  mud  of 
reeks,  retains  its  ber- 
snt  down  long  thread- 
1  silt  below,  as  if  it  felt 
lime  by  which  it  was 
;ments  too  unstable  to 

ofl'spritig. 

)duce  themselves  by 
»ng  to  the  cryptogamic 
of  vegetation,  as  the 
sses,  niuehrooms.  In 
productive  spores  fire 
loat  in  the  air  unseen  ; 
iroom  or  puff-ball  that 
ndering  foot,  but  dis- 
its  kind  around  it. 
cks  on  the  leaf  of  the 
owder  of  the  puff-ball, 
om  the  mould  of  a  de- 
1  alike  the  germs  of 
'hen  we  consider  how 
lal  is,  how  liable  to  be 
Is,  by  water,  and  by 
imals,  to  which  they 
,1  cease  to  wonder  at 
i  not  a  portion  of  sur- 
)rganic,  that  may  not 
growth.  The  spores 
^feeds,  which  are  al- 
'  water,  and  covered 

enables  them  to  ad- 
lid  body  they  touch  ; 
:  in  this  adhesive  sub- 
)le  in  water.  "  Let 
'ulloch,  in  his  "  Illus- 
ites  of  a  God,"  "  name 
it'.ier  substance,  which 
^0,  though  apparently 
with  water,  and  then 
inary  secretion  was 
special  enf'  attained  ? 
t  does  not  afford  an 
rer  which  has  only  to 
luce  what  it  desires, 
lost  improbable  ?" 
he  potato,  reproduce 
»ed  and  tubers.     Both 

not  take  place  with 
t  one  and  the  same 
Bgion  of  South  Amer- 


EEPaODUCTION  OF  PLANTS. 


659 


ica,  where  the  climate  is  better  adapted 
for  blossom  and  maturation  of  seed,  the 
potato  (lowers  luxuriantly,  but  yields  an 
insignificant   crop  of  small  acid  tubers. 
Acting  upon  the  know'sdge  of  this  prin- 
ciple, the  farmer  in  Europe  cuts  off  the 
flower-buds  of  the  potato-plant  to  increase 
his  crop  of  tubers ;  just  as  the  tulip  or 
hyacinth  fancier  prevents  his  plants  from 
flowering,  in  order  to  increase  the  stock 
of  his  bulbs,  which  throw  out  a  number 
of  offsets  from  their  bases.    There  is,  it 
would   seem,  a  certain    amount  of  vital 
force  in  every  plant,  and  if  that  force  be 
expended  on  flowering,  tubers  will  not  be 
produced,  and  if  on  the  production  of  an 
underground  progeny,  the  seed  will  not  be 
matured,  as  is  the  case  with  the  horse- 
radish and  Jerusalem   artichoke.     Here, 
however,  it  must  be  remarked,  that  tubers 
are  not  roots  in  the  botanical  sense  cf  the 
word  ;  they  are  true  underground  .       s, 
which,  instead  of  terminating  in  fruii  and 
seed,  terminate  in  nodes  full  of  eyes  or 
leaf-buds,  and  supplied  with  a  quantity  of 
farinaceous  mailer  for  the  support  of  the 
young  budp,  till   they  have  struck  their 
roots,  in  the  soil  sufficient  to  elaborate 
their  own  sustenance.     Let  any  one  un- 
earth a  potato-plant  with  care,  and  ho  will 
ai  once  perceive  the  difference  between 
the  true  roots  spreading  out  into  minute 
fibres,  and  the  underground  stems  termi- 
nating in  tubers.     The  former  are  tough 
and  fibrous,  diverging  into  minute  radicles, 
each  lipped  with  its  little  suckiiig  point  or 
spongiole  ;  the  latter  are  soft  and  succu- 
lent, undivided,  and  ending  in  a  mass  of 
farinaceous   matter,  studded  with  young 
buds.     Each  of  these  buds,  if  detached 
with  a  portion  of  the  tuber,  and  placed  in 
proper  soil,  will  spring  up  into  a  perfect 
plant— the  farinaceous  fragment  supplying 
it  with  food,  until  roots  and  leaves  are 
formed. 

The  manner  in  which  plants  reproduce 
themselves  viviparoushj  differs  according 
to  the  conslitulional  character  of  the  indi- 
vidual. Some,  a°  »he  elm  and  poplar, 
have  their  roots  furnished  with  buds, 
which,  sooner  or  later,  sprout  forth  into 
offsets  and  suckers,  as  they  are  called, 
and  these  annually  increase  in  bulk  and 
height — ultimately  becoming,  under  prop- 
er conditions,  perfect  trees.     Others,  as 


the  greater  number  of  bulbs  and  tubes, 
multiply  themselves  by  sending  out  run- 
ners, eachof  which  produces  several  young 
plants  ;  and  herbaceous  perennials  extend 
themselves  in  the  same   way,  either  by 
runners  underground,  as  the  couch-grass, 
or  above  ground,  as  the  strawberry.     Most 
people  must  have  observed  the  continual 
efforts  of  t^e  latter  plant  to  extend  itsolf 
in  this  way  ;  and  so  it  is  with  many  oth- 
ers— the  propensity  being  most  powerful 
where  there  is  the  least  opportunity  of 
bringing  forth  seed.     It  is  often  highly  in- 
teresting to  watch  the  progress  of  these 
runners.     Where  the  soil  is  soft  and  fa- 
vorable throughout,  the  young  shoots  are 
developed  at  about  equal  distances ;   but 
where  the  soil  is  hard,  or  covered  with 
stones,  the  runner  pushes  its  way  over 
these  obstructions,  refusing  to  put  forth  a 
single  bud  until  the  proper  conditions  for 
its  maintenance  be  reached.     We  have  of- 
ten seen  a  gravel-walk  thus  crossed  by  a 
strawberrj  runner,  the  runner  being  as 
budless  as  a  piece  of  copper  wire,  until 
it  had  arrived  at  the  soil  on  th*  other  side, 
where  it  immediately  put  forth  its  young 
progeny  in  abundance.     Instances  of  this 
kind  are  often  ascribed  to  vegetable  in- 
stinct ;  and  were  it  not  for  the  essential 
differences  which  evidently  e.xisl  between 
vegetables  and  animals,  one  would  be  al- 
most tempted  to  assign  to  it  a  higher  des- 
ignation.    Some    plants    produce    living 
seeds  in  the  vessels  where  the  ordinary 
seed  is  matured,  as  may  be  seen  in  cer- 
tain species  of  the  onion  family — known 
as  tree  and  apple  onions  ;  and  others,  like 
some  of  the  lilies,  yield  little  perfect  ijulbs 
in  the  axile  of  the  stem  leaves. 

Another  manner  in  which  trees  multi- 
ply themselves  is  by  their  branches  bend- 
ing downward  till  they  touch  the  ground 
with  the  growing  points,  which  then  take 
root  and  spring  up  into  independent  stems. 
This  frequently  happens  among  trailing 
shrubs,  as  the  bramble  and  honeysuckle, 
and  may  also  be  witnessed  among  our 
garden  roses  and  gooseberries.  A  some- 
what similar  mode  of  extension  is  pre- 
sented by  the  banyan,  which  becomes  en- 
larged without  the  assistance  of  either 
seeds  or  suckers.  Roots  are  produced  by 
the  under-side  of  the  lower  branches; 
these  hang  dangling  in  the  air  for  many 


.■**'  *^^' 


iiwwik 


M! 

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„i^j! 

6  GO 


REPRODUCTION  OF  PLANTS. 


months  before  'hey  reach  the  ground  ;  this 
at  last  ihey  penetrate,  and  become  stems 
to  a  new  head  of  branches.  An  old  tree 
of  this  kind  presents  a  most  magnificent 
object,  forming  concentric  corridors  over 
a  great  extent  of  surface.  Acting  upon 
the  principles  hero  pointed  out  by  nature, 
gardeners  propagate  many  of  their  favor- 
ites by  layers  ;  that  is,  by  bending  a  branch 
or  shoot  till  a  portion  of  it  be  buried  in 
tlie  soil,  where  it  throws  out  roots,  and 
establishes  itself  as  an  independent  plant. 
This  being  done,  it  is  removed  from  the 
parent  stock  and  placed  in  another  situa- 
tion. 

Trees  are  also  propagated  by  slips  ;  that 
is,  by  detached  young  shoots  being  thrust 
into  the  soil,  where  they  usually  throw 
out  roots,  anil  grow  up  into  healthy  indi- 
viduals. All  plants  of  course  can  not  be 
slipped  with  the  same  facility  ;  but  gener- 
ally speaking,  where  there  are  well-devel- 
oped Ical'-buds  in  the  axiles  of  the  perfect 
leaves,  and  where  there  is  true  wood 
formed,  the  slip  will  be  found  to  take  root 
and  grow.  Budding  is  another  artificial 
mode  of  propagation  ;  it  is,  in  fact,  mere- 
ly slipping  at  an  earlier  stage  of  growth. 
In  the  one  case  there  are  many  leaf-buds 
on  a  common  stem,  in  the  other  there  is 
only  a  single  bud.  The  operation  is  per- 
formed by  taking  the  leaf-bud  from  one 
tree,  and  neatly  inserting  it  under  the  cu- 
ticle of  another,  where,  fed  by  the  neces- 
sary juices,  it  extends  into  a  new  bough 
or  arm. 

Perhaps  the  most  curious  mode  of  nat- 
ural reproduction  is  that  by  the  leaf.  It 
is  well-known,  that  many  leaves,  as  those 
of  the  echeveria,  malaxis,  gloxinia,  or- 
ange, and  others,  when  fallen  to  the  ground 
in  a  young  and  growing  state,  put  forth 
roots  and  become  perfect  plants.  This 
fact  is  at  present  exciting  much  attention  ; 
and  since  all  parts  of  a  plant  are  but  spe- 
cial developments  of  this  single  organ,  it 
is  argued  i  ..it  there  is  nothing  to  prevent 
the  propagation  of  any  species  of  vegeta- 
tion by  this  simple  means.  Considering 
the  truth  and  universality  of  the  doctrines 
of  morphology,  we  can  not  see  why  there 
should  ;  and  feel  justified  in  the  hope, 
that,  once  gardeners  have  arrived  at  a 
knowledge  of  the  proper  times  and  modes, 
they  shall  be  enabled  to  rear  any  form 


of  vegetation  from  this  universal  organ. 
What  a  curious  view  of  vegetable    life 
do  tbo  principles  of  reproduction  unfold! 
namely,  that  all  parts  of  a  plant,  whether 
root,  tuber,  bulb,  stem,  branch,   leai*,  or 
seed — will  under  certain  conditions,  grow 
up  into  a  perfect  individual,  similar  to  the 
parent  from  which  it  has    sprung.     All 
modes  do   not   take  place    at    the    same 
time,  for  nature  is  never  prodigally  waste- 
ful of  her  resources  ;  but  where  climate 
or  other  conditions  interrupt  production  by 
one  source,  another  is  developed  more  ex- 
uberantly than  usual  to  supply  its  place. 
If  we  have  not  conditions  to  mature  fruit 
and  seed,  there  will  be  tubers,  or  suckers, 
or  runners  instead  ;  ajid  just  as  the  chan- 
ces of  failure  are  great,  so  are  the  modes 
of  reproduction  proportionally  increased. 
There  is  nothing  corresponding  to  this  in 
the  animal   kingdom,  unless    among   the 
very   lowest   forms,  as    the    polyps    and 
sponges,  which  also  increase  by  division. 
Lop  away  a  branch  from  a  tree,  and  its 
place  may  be  supplied  by  another  ;  break 
off  the  limb  of  a  crab  or  insect,  and  anoth- 
er limb  will  shortly  take  its  place;    but 
while  the  detached  branch  will  spring  up 
into  a  tree  similar  to  its  parent,  all  vitality 
has  fled  from  the  separated  limb  of  the 
crustacean.     Higher  animals  than  insects 
and  crustaceans  have  no  power  to  repro- 
duce lost  parts  ;  but  while  devoid  of  this 
vegetative-like  power,  they  have  a  more 
exalted  sentient  development ;  and  if  de- 
nied the  power  to  reproduce  a  lost  limb, 
they  are   endowed  with  faculties   which 
can  better  protect  them. 


The  Earth.— The  surface  of  the  earth 
is  196,862,266  square  miles,  and  its 
solidity  257,726,934,416  cubic  miles. 
Not  more  than  one  fifth  of  the  whole 
earth  is  habitable  by  man.  The  mean 
depth  of  the  ocean  is  about  three  miles, 
and  the  mean  height  of  mountains  above 
the  level  of  the  ocean  is  one  and  three 
fourths  miles. 

Distribute  this  land  over  the  bottom 
of  the  ocean,  and  the  waters  would  im- 
mediately rise  to  such  a  height  as  to 
cover  the  whole  face  of  the  earth.  The 
mean  annual  temperature  of  the  earth  is 
fifty  degrees. 


SEBASTIAN  CABOT. 


6G1 


lis  universal  organ. 
V  of  vegetable    life 
oprodiiction  unfold! 
of  a  plant,  whether 
m,  branch,  leaf,  or 
lin  conditions,  grow 
idual,  similar  to  the 
t  has    sprung.     All 
place    at    the   same 
er  prodigally  waste- 
but  where  climate 
;rrupt  production  by 
developed  more  cx- 
lo  supply  its  place, 
ions  to  mature  fruit 
5  tubers,  or  suckers, 
id  just  as  the  chan- 
t,  so  are  the  modes 
rtionally  increased. 
3sponding  to  tiiis  in 
unless    among   the 
s    the    polyps    and 
icrease  by  division. 
■om  a  tree,  and  its 
by  another ;  break 
r  insect,  and  anoth- 
ike  its  place ;    but 
nch  will  spring  up 
s  parent,  all  vitality 
arated  limb  of  the 
iiimals  than  insects 
10  power  to  repro- 
hile  devoid  of  this 
they  have  a  more 
pment ;  and  if  de- 
roduce  a  lost  limb, 
th  faculties  which 


surface  of  the  earth 
e  miles,  and  its 
16  cubic  miles, 
fth  of  the  whole 
man.  The  mean 
about  three  miles, 
f  mountains  above 
is  one  and  three 

over  the  bottom 
waters  would  im- 
i  a  height  as  to 
f  the  earth.  The 
re  of  the  earth  is 


m 


Portrait  of  Sebastian  Cabot. 


SEBASTIAN  CABOT. 


N  1497,  John  Cabot, 
and  his  son  Sebastian, 
from  Bristol  (England), 
arrived  at  Newfound- 
land, or,  more  probably 
I^abrador  ;  but  no  inti- 
4^vc^qp/.y>  mation  is  afforded  of  his 
iSiM^^!^^\X^^  *  having  sailed  to  any  dis- 
tance along  the  coast. 
In  1498,  however,  his  son  Sebastian,  with 
two  vessels,  made  an  extensive  survey, 
beginning  in  the  latitude  of  56  degrees, 
and  terminating,  it  is  said,  in  that  of  the 
straits  of  Gibraltar,  or  about  36  degrees. 
This  must  have  brought  him  to  the  mouth 
of  the  Chesapeake,  or  even  of  Albemarle 
soimd  ;  and  it  is  impossible  not  to  regret 
that  no  details  should  be  extant  of  this 
memorable  voyage.  He  soon  after  sought 
the  service  of  the  Spanish  monarch,  and 
was  created  a  member  of  the  council  of 
the  Indies.  In  1517,  he  is  again  found 
employed,  though  only  as  second  to  Sir 


Thomas  Pert,  in  an  expedition  from  Eng- 
land, by  which  the  exploration  of  Hud- 
son's bay  was  certainly  effected,  though 
not  actively  followed  up.  Returning  to 
Spain,  he  was  promoted  to  the  rank  of 
chief  pilot  of  that  kingdom,  and  sailing 
under  its  flag,  made  the  important  discov- 
ery of  the  Rio  de  la  Plata.  Lastly,  at  an 
advanced  age,  being  again  in  England,  he 
was  nominated  grand  pilot,  and  governor 
of  the  company  of  merchant-adventurers, 
in  which  capacity  he  drew  up  instructions 
for  Sir  Hugh  Willoughby's  noble  ea&t."rn 
expedition.  He  appears  to  have  ranked 
second  to  Columbus  among  the  navigators 
of  that  age,  superior  in  science,  and  rival- 
ling him  in  enterprise,  gallantry,  and  hon- 
orable feeling. 

If  a  seaman  should  put  about  every 
time  ho  encountered  a  head  wind,  it 
would  be  impossible  for  him  ever  to  make 
a  voyage.  So  the  person  who  permits 
himself  to  be  baffled  by  adverse  circum- 
stances, will  never  make  the  voyage  of 
life. 


v}.4 


th'- 


ii««iiiii 


"  'fit 


110^'^' 


r 


662 


EE8USCITATI0N. 


RESUSCITATION. 

HE  purpose  of  res- 
piration is  to  expose 
the    portion    of    tin 
blood  which  has  re 
turned  to  the   heart, 
after  it  has  circulated 
through  the  body,  and 
which    has   acquired 
during   that  circulation  the  properties  of 
dark  or  venous  blood,  to  the  influence  of 
atmospheric  air  in  the  lungs.     The  oxy- 
genous portion  of  the  air  so  received  in- 
to the  lungs  converts  this  venous  blood  in- 
to florid  or  arterial  blood  ;  that  is,  into  a 
state  for  being  again  circulated  through 
all  parts  of  the  system.     Any  interruption 
to  this  process — by  submersion  in  waler, 
exposure    to   choke-damp,    strangulation, 
and  the  like — if  continued  beyond  a  few 
minutes,  is  destructive  of  life.     Recovery 
is,  however,  possible  within  certain  limits  ; 
hence  tha  resuscitative  appliances  to  ca- 
ses of  "  suspended  animation." 

The  restoratives  generally  resorted  to 
are  warmth,  friction,  electricity,  and,  above 
all,  supplying  of  the  lungs  with  fresh  or 
properly  oxygenated  air,  eiiher  by  free  ex- 
posure to  an  external  current,  or  by  artifi- 
cial injection.     The  cause  of  the  latter 
appliance  is  sufficiently  obvious,  as  the 
cessation   of  the   heart's   action,  techni- 
cally called  asphyxia,  is  occasioned  by  the 
interruption  of  respiration,  or  rather  by 
the  interrup'ion  of  the  effect  produced  by 
that  function  on  the  blood.     Any  means, 
therefore,  that  can  restore  the  process  of 
respiration,  or  otherwise  supply  its  place, 
till  the  action  of  the  heart  has  been  estab- 
lished, must  be  of  value  in  resuscitation, 
and  especially  so  where  they  can  be  ap- 
plied with  ease  and  rapidity.     Various  ap- 
paratus have  been  invented  for  the  injec- 
tion of  common  air ;  but  as  this  fluid  con- 
tains only  about  twenty  parts  in  the  hun- 
dred of  pure  oxygen,  its  effect  upon  the 
blood  in  the  lungs  can  not  be  so  rapid  as 
that  of  a  mixture   containing   a   greater 
proportion,  and  still  less  so  than  oxygen 
itself.     This   gas   has    accordingly  been 
long  recommended  ;   but  the  difficulty  of 
obtaining  it  with  sufficient  rapidity  has 
hitherto  proved  a  barrier  to  its  application. 
A  new  mode  has,  however,  been  proposed 


by  Dr.  George  Wilson,  of  Edinburuh,  by 
which  an  unlimited  supply  can  be  obtained 
and  administered  in  a  few  minutes,  and  it 
is  to  this  that  we  would  direct  more 
eral  attention. 

It  has  been  some  time  known  that  the 
chlorate  of  potassi  if  mixed  with  a  metal- 
lic oxydo — such  as  the  peroxyde  of  iron, 
or  the  black  oxyde  of  manganese — and 
heated  to  redness,  will  give  off  oxygen  in 
a  copious  stream,  and  without  any  inter- 
ruption, so  long  as  there  is  any  of  that  gas 
in  the  compound.     The  proportion  of  the 
metallic  oxyde  to  the  chlorate,  is  a  matter 
of  difference  among   chymists;    but  Dr. 
Wilson  has  found  by  repeated  experiment 
that  about  one  of  the  former  to  five  of  the 
latter  is  the  most  advantageous.     We  were 
recently  invited  to  witness  in  his  chymical 
class-room  an  exhibition  of  the  apparatus 
by  which  he  proposes  to  administer  the 
gas,  and  which,  in  the  opinion  of  medical 
men,  is  likely  to  prove  efficacious.     In  this 
case  the  supply  was  on  a  limited  scale 
only — some  600  or  800  cubic  inches  in 
four  minutes — but  from  the  rapidity  and 
certainty  with  which  the  gas  was  produced 
and  administered  to  a  fictitious  patient,  it 
left  the  most  favorable  impression  upon 
the  minds  of  the  spectators.     A  glass  re- 
tort containing  four  or  six  ounces  of  the 
mixture,  was  heated  with  a  spirit-lamp, 
and  in  a  few  seconds  the  gas  began  to  be 
evolved,  the  evolution  increasing  in  rapid- 
ity, till  at  the  second  minute  it  flowed  over 
in  a  continuous  stream,  and  was  conveyed 
into    an    ordinary   telescope    gasometer. 
From  this  reservoir  it  was  extracted  by 
means   of   injection   bellows  fitted    with 
flexible  tubes,  and  then  conveyed  to  the 
lungs  of  the  supposed  patient.     This  con- 
trivance   wao   next   abandoned,  and    the 
head  of  the  patient  placed  in  an  air-tight 
box,  into   which  the  gas  was  conveyed 
from  the  gasometer.     This  box  was  fitted 
with  a  glass-slip  for  watching  the  changes 
produced  on  the  countenance  of  the  pa- 
tient ;     and    the    necessary    inspirations 
and  expirations  were  caused  by  external 
pressure  on  the  chest,  as  is  done  in  ordi- 
nary cases  of  administering  atmospheric 
air.     Indeed  several  methods  of  applying 
the  gas  were  suggested  ;  but  to  these  we 
need  not  advert,  as  the  great  merit  of  the 
proposal   consists   in   the   rapidity   with 


r  El]inbur^h,  by 
can  be  obtained 
'  minutes,  and  it 
irect  more  gen- 
known  that  the 
ad  with  a  metal- 
sroxyde  of  iron, 
langanese — and 
e  off  oxygen  in 
thout  any  inter- 
I  any  of  that  gas 
roportioii  of  the 
rate,  is  a  matter 
mists ;    but  Dr. 
ited  experiment 
3r  to  five  of  the 
ous.     We  were 
in  his  chymica! 
f  the  apparatus 
administer  the 
lion  of  medical 
Lcious.     In  this 
I  Hmited   scale 
ubic  inches  in 
e  rapidity  and 
I  was  produced 
ious  patient,  it 
ipression  upon 
1.     A  glass  re- 
ounces  of  the 
a  spirit-lamp, 
as  began  to  be 
asing  in  rapid- 
it  flowed  over 
was  conveyed 
)e    gasometer. 
1  extracted  by 
</8  fitted    with 
nveyed  to  the 
It.     This  con- 
med,  and    the 
in  an  air-tight 
ivas  conveyed 
box  was  fitted 
ig  the  changes 
ice  of  the  pa- 
ir  inspirations 
id  by  external 
I  done  in  ordi- 
I  atmospheric 
Is  of  applying 
It  to  these  we 
t  merit  of  the 
rapidity   with 


BOTANIC  GARDEN  AT  BRUSSELS. 


6(53 


which  the  supply  can  be  produced  and  ad- 
ministered. On  this  head  we  think  Dr. 
Wilson  deserving  of  the  thanks  of  the 
public,  and  especially  for  the  pains  he  has 
taken  in  laying  it  before  the  medical  fac- 
ulty, the  directors  of  humane  societies, 
and  others  capable  of  making  the  applica- 
tion. Of  the  individuals  who  are  asphyx- 
iated by  submersion,  exposure  to  choke- 
damp,  &c.,  only  a  small  percentage  are 
resuscitated  by  the  appliances  at  present 
in  use  ;  but  there  is  every  reason  to  con- 
clude, that  if  a  supply  of  oxygen  were 
obtained  by  the  means  above  proposed, 
and  kept  in  readiness  at  the  offices  of  hu- 
mane societies  and  otherwise,  the  recov- 
eries would  be  trebled,  or  even  quadrupled. 
It  is  agreed  on  all  hands  that  pure  oxygen 
is  more  efficacious  in  asphyxia  than  com- 
mon air ;  and  certainly  no  plan  could  be 
more  rapid  or  more  economical  than  that 
proposed  by  Dr. Wilson. 


THE  PERSPIRATORY  TUBES  OF 
THE  SKIN. 

Taken  separately  the  little  perspiratory 
tube,  with  its  appended  gland,  is  calcula- 
ted to  awaken  in  the  mind  very  little  idea 
of  the  importance  of  the  system  to  which 
it  belongs  ;  but  when  the  vast  number  of 
similar  organs  composing  this  system  is 
considered,  we  are  led  to  form  some  no- 
tion, however  imperfect,  of  their  probable 
influence  on  the  health  and  comfort  of  the 
individual.  We  use  the  words  "  imper- 
fect notion"  advisedly,  for  the  reality  sur- 
passes imagination  and  almost  belief.  To 
arrive  at  something  like  an  estimate  of  the 
value  of  the  perspiratory  system  in  rela- 
tion to  the  rest  of  the  organization,  we 
counted  the  perspiratory  pores  on  the  palm 
of  the  hand,  and  found  three  thousand  five 
hundred  and  twenty-eight  in  a  square  inch. 
Now,  each  of  these  pores  being  the  aper- 
ture of  a  little  tube  of  about  a  quarter  of 
an  inch  long,  it  follows  that  in  a  square 
inch  of  skin  on  the  palm  of  the  hand, 
there  exists  a  length  of  tube  equal  to  eight 
hundred  and  eighty-two  inches,  or  sev- 
enty-three feel  and  a  half.  Surely  such  an 
amount  of  drainage  as  seventy-three  feet 


in  every  square  inch  of  skin,  assuming 
thi)  to  be  the  average  for  the  whole  body, 
is  something  wonderful,  and  the  thought 
naturally  intrudes  itself,  what  if  this 
drainage  were  obstructed  ?  Could  we 
need  a  stronger  argument  for  enforcing 
the  necessity  of  attention  to  the  skin  ? 
On  the  pulps  of  the  fingers,  where  the 
ridges  of  the  sensitive  layer  of  the  true 
skin  are  somewhat  finer  than  in  the  palm 
of  the  hand,  the  number  of  pores  on  a 
square  inch  little  exceeded  that  on  the 
palm ;  and  on  the  heel,  where  the  ridges 
are  coarse,  the  number  of  pores  on  the 
square  inch  was  two  thousand  two  hun- 
dred and  sixty-eight,  and  the  length  of  the 
tube  five  hundred  and  sixty-seven  inches, 
or  forty-seven  feet.  To  obtain  an  esti- 
mate of  the  length  of  the  tube  of  the  per- 
spiratory system  of  the  whole  surface  of 
the  body,  we  think  that  two  thousand  eight 
hundred  might  be  taken  as  a  fair  average 
of  the  number  of  pores  in  the  square  inch, 
and  seven  hundred,  consequently,  of  the 
number  of  inches  in  length.  Now,  the 
number  of  square  inches  of  surface  in  a 
man  of  ordinary  height  and  bulk,  is  two 
thousand  five  hundred ;  the  number  of 
pores,  therefore,  seven  millions,  and  the 
number  of  inches  of  perspiratory  tube, 
one  million  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand ;  that  is,  one  hundred  and  forty-five 
thousand,  eight  hundred  and  thirty-three 
feet,  or  forty-eight  thousand  six  hundred 
yards,  or  nearly  twenty-eight  miles. 


BOTANIC  GARDEN  AT  BRUSSELS. 

RUSSELS  has  long 
been  celebrated  for 
its  "  Jardin  Botan- 
ique."  It  occupies 
the  side  of  a  hill 
which  slopes  upward 
from  the  Boulevard 
Botanique,on  the  nor- 
thern rampart  of  the 
city.  It  is  about  half  a  mile  long,  by  a 
quarter  broad,  and  now  contains  a  range 
of  hothouses,  four  hundred  feet  long,  or- 
namented with  a  rotunda  and  porticoes, 
and  has  an  extensive  collection  of  plants. 


I'WtKSill 


VW^f"'  ' 


lrtH*s"tt1?! 


'**■*-.■  -^W  t 


1 


f 


\ 


! 


I 


PIASAU  nocK. 


605 


I,  ^ 


'1,1' 


The  roof  of  the  houses  is  formed  of  cur- 
vilinear iron  bars,  and  the  whole  is  heat- 
ed by  steam,  The  principal  range  of  hot- 
houses is  shown  in  our  engraving.  It  is 
on  the  terrace,  having  several  fountains 
and  broad  (lights  of  steps  in  front  of  it. 
The  plants  are  labelled  with  their  com- 
mon and  scientific  names,  and  in  some 
cases  with  the  names  of  their  countries. 
Opposite  to  the  hothouses  are  the  herba- 
ceous grounds,  laid  out  in  a  circular  man- 
ner, and  divided  into  small  compartments 
for  the  Linniean  classification.  The 
grounds  generally  are  laid  out  in  walks, 
and  beds  of  well-cultivated  native  plants, 
intermingled  with  parterres  of  the  more 
gaudy  exotic  races.  They  are  also  adorned 
with  ponds  and  cisterns  for  aquatic  vege- 
tation, and  at  the  west  end  is  a  small  ar- 
boretum. In  front  of  the  hothouses  is  a 
"  parade,"  furnished  with  seats  ;  Brussels 
is  seen  from  it  with  great  advantage. 

The  gardens  are  open  to  the  public  three 
limes  a  week,  on  Tuesdays,  Thursdays, 
and  Saturdays,  from  ten  o'clock  till  three. 
They  arc  open  every  day  for  students  and 
Ibrei^'iiers.  The  society  to  whom  this 
yoiuig  but  liberally  ..nd  excellently  man- 
aged institution  belongs,  is  composed  cf 
natives  and  foreigners  ;  they  have  half- 
yearly  exhibitions  at  the  rotunda,  which  is 
at  the  back  of  the  central  conservatory. 


PIASAU  ROCK. 


\^... 


lASAU,  or  Pi-as-sau 
Rock,  so  called  from  a 
remarkable  legend  con- 
nected with  it,  is  situ- 
ated on  the  northern 
confines  of  the  city  of 
i^^  ciV>  Alton,  immediate  on 
"V^'^^^^  th^    Mississippi,  from 

the  surface  of  which  it 
rises  to  a  height  of  nearly  one  hundred 
feet,  including  a  receding  base  of  broken 
and  shelving  rock,  extending  about  thirty 
feet  from  the  wnter's  edge,  and  about  the 
same  distance  in  height.  Its  summit  is 
sparsely  studded  with  dwarf  cedars,  and 
it  pre  sents  a  cragijy  and  jagged  front,  with 
the  exception  of  a  space  of  about  fifty  feet 


by  forty,  which  is  smooth  and  even.     On 
this  space  is  emblazoned  the  figure  of  a 
hybridous  animal,  having  a  head  resem- 
bling that  of  a  fox,  from  which  protrude 
large  horns  or  antlers  ;  its  back  is  supplied 
with  wings,  and  it  has  a  long  curling  tail, 
and  four  feet,  or  rather,  four  huge  claws. 
The  sketch  of  th<!  figure  is  voiy  roujili, 
and  evidently  executed  by  no  nuister  hand. 
It  seems  to  have  been  first  drawn  with  a 
species  of  red  paint,  and  afterward  rubliiil 
over  and  polished  with  lime,  or  some  oth- 
er white  substance.     Inmiediaiely  in  the 
r(!ar  is  another  figure,  but  so  obliterated  by 
time,  and    by   being    marked   over    with 
names  of  ambitious   visiters    (who    have 
taken  this  only  available  method  of  ma- 
king themselves  known  to  fame),  that  it  is 
im()ossible  to  trace  its  outline  ;  it  is  prob- 
able, however,  from  the  few  marks  visible, 
that  it  was  intended  to  represent  an  ani- 
mal similar  to  the  former,  but  in  a  difier- 
ent  position.     The  figure,  which  remains 
entire,  is  about  ei  .jht  feet  long,  and  five  in 
height,  to  the   tip  of  the  wing  which  is 
thrown  u|)ward  over  the  back.     The  Pi- 
asau  rock  is  the  lower  extremity  of  the 
lilufTs,  which,  commencing  at  Alton,  ex- 
tend northward  up  the  Mississippi  river. 
It  has  been  marked  as  we  have  described, 
"  from  the  time  whereof  the  memory  of 
man  runneth  not  to  the  contrary  ;"  and 
what  is  most  remarkable,  the  tradition  con- 
nected with  it,  is  not  confined  to  a  few 
tribes  of  Indians  only,  but  si'ems  to  exist 
among  all  the  aboriginal    inhabitants   of 
the  great  west,  none  of  whom  even  to  this 
day,  pass  the   rock  without   discharging 
their  arrows  or  rifles  at  the  figure,  upon 
and  around  which,  are.  innumerable  marks 
of  balls  and  other  missiles. 

The  legend,  as  we  have  heard  it,  is  as 
follows :  The  numerous  and  powerful 
nation,  called  the  Illinois,  formerly  inhab- 
ited the  state  which  now  bears  their  name, 
over  the  greater  portion  of  which  their 
hunting  grounds  extended.  For  very 
many  years  they  continued  to  increase  in 
numbers  and  prosperity,  and  were  deemed 
the  bravest  and  most  warlike  of  all  the 
tribes  of  the  Great  Valley.  At  length,  in 
the  most  populous  district  of  their  coun- 
try, near  the  residence  of  their  greatest 
chief,  there  appeared  an  enormous  animal, 
part  beast,  part  bird,  which  took  up  its 


^IF' 


iiwiiiii 


m 


r 

r 


» 


OR 


6C6 


PIASAU  ROCK. 


kbode  on  the  rock,  and  banqueted  daily 
upon  numbcra  uf  the  people,  whom  it  bore 
oil  in  its  immense  talons.  It  was  covered 
with  scales  of  every  possible  color,  and 
had  a  large  tail,  with  a  blow  of  which  it 
could  shake  the  earth ;  from  its  head, 
which  was  like  the  head  of  a  fox  with  the 
beak  of  an  eagle,  projected  immense  horns, 
and  its  four  feet  were  armed  with  power- 
ful claws,  in  each  of  which  it  could  carry 
a  bulTalo.  Tiie  flapping  of  its  enormous 
wings  was  like  the  roar  of  thunder;  and 
when  it  dived  into  the  river,  it  threw  the 
waves  far  upon  the  land.  To  this  animal 
they  gave  the  name  of  the  "  Bird  of  the 
Pi-as-sau,"  or  the  bird  of  the  evil  spirit. 
In  vain  did  the  "  medicine  men"  use  all 
their  powers  to  drive  away  this  fearful  vis- 
iter. Day  by  day  the  number  of  their 
tribe  diminished,  to  feed  his  insatiate  ap- 
petite. At  last  the  young  chief  of  the 
nation,  VVassatogo,  who  was  beloved  by 
his  people,  and  esteemed  as  their  bravest 
and  best  warrior,  ailed  a  council  of  the 
priests,  in  a  secret  cave,  where,  after  fast- 
ing for  many  days,  they  slept,  and  the 
Great  Spirit  came  to  the  young  chief  in 
his  sleep,  and  told  him  the  only  way  to 
rid  his  people  of  their  destroyer,  was  to 
offer  himself  as  a  sacrifice.  Wassatogo 
started  up  with  joy,  and  aroused  the  slum- 
bering priests,  informed  them  what  had 
occurred  to  him,  and  of  his  detcrmination 
to  make  the  sacrifice  required.  He  then 
assembled  the  tribe,  and  made  a  speech — 
recounting  his  deeds  of  valor,  acquainting 
them  of  his  dream,  and  exhorting  them, 
like  him,  to  be  ever  ready  to  die  for  their 
people.  Wassatogo  then  dressed  himself 
in  his  chieftain's  garb,  put  on  his  war- 
paint, as  if  going  to  battle,  and  taking  his 
bow,  arrows,  and  tomahawk,  he  placed 
himself  on  a  prominent  point  of  the  rock, 
to  await  the  coming  of  the  monster  bird. 
Meanwhile,  as  he  had  been  directed  in  his 
vision,  a  band  of  his  best  braves  had  been 
concealed  in  the  interstices  of  the  rock, 
each  with  his  arrow  drawn  to  the  head, 
waiting  the  moment  when  their  chief 
should  be  attacked,  to  wreak  their  last 
vengeance  on  their  enemy.  High  and 
erect  the  bold  Wassatogo  stood,  chanting 
his  death  dirge,  with  a  calm  and  placid 
countenance,  when  suddenly  there  came 
a  roar  as  of  awful  thunder,  and  in  an  in- 


stant the  bird  of  the  Pi-as-sau,  uttering  a 
wild  scream  that  shook  the  hills,  darted 
upon  and  seized  the  chieftain  in  his  tal- 
ons ;  at  that  moment  Wassatogo  dealt  it 
a  blow  in  the  head  with  his  tomahawk,  and 
his  braves  let  fly  their  arrows  from  the 
ambush,  and  the  unwieldy  carcass  of  the 
bird  rolled  down  the  clifl',  while  the  cliiuf- 
tain  remained  unhurt.  The  tribe  now 
gave  way  to  the  wildest  joy,  and  hi-ld  a 
great  feast  in  honor  of  the  event,  and  to 
commemorate  it,  painted  the  figure  of  the 
bird,  on  the  side  of  the  rock  on  whose 
summit  Wassatogo  had  stood,  and  there 
it  has  endured  for  ages,  a  mark  lor  the  ar- 
row or  bullet  of  every  red  man,  who  has 
since  passed  it,  in  descending  the  great 
father  of  waters. 

Every  people  have  had  their  traditions 
of  monsters  and  strangely-formed  destruc- 
tive animals.  The  ancient  Greeks  and 
Romans  had  their  stories  of  centaurs  and 
of  hydras ;  the  Moors  and  Egyptians, 
their  tales  of  anthropophagi  and  various 
other  hideous  creatures  ;  and  even  the 
English  have  transmitted  a  legend  of  the 
winged  dragon  vanquished  by  St.  George. 
Historians  have  traced  the  probable  caus- 
es, and  reconciled  to  nature  the  fables  of 
the  monsters  of  antiquity  by  allowing 
largely  for  the  workings  of  the  imagina- 
tion, among  a  semi-barbarous  people.  It 
may  be,  that  the  tradition  of  the  Pi-as-sau 
bird  is  not  without  a  foundation  in  truth, 
when  we  reflect  on  it,  in  connexion  with 
the  enormous  fossil  remains  found  in  va- 
rious places  in  the  west,  and  allow  for  the 
imperfect  skill  of  the  limners  who  sketched 
its  portrait,  and  for  the  natural  love  (or  the 
marvellous  in  man,  as  well  as  for  the  ad- 
ditions made  by  the  fancy  of  the  rude  sav- 
ages who  have  perpetuated  it  in  oral  lore  ; 
and,  taking  these  considerations  together 
with  the  resemblance  of  many  jjarts  of  the 
animals  of  tradition,  to  the' skeletons  of 
the  mammoth,  the  mastodon,  and  the  rais- 
sourium,  it  would  be  no  uneasy  or  unreason- 
able task,  to  believe  thai  some  one  of  those 
animals  formed  the  basis  on  which  the 
imagination  of  the  savage  has  erected  his 
legend  of  the  bird  of  the  Pi-as-sau.  In 
coimexion  with  this  subject,  and  with  a 
view  of  throwing  out  a  hint  tliat  may  be 
useful  to  others,  we  make  a  few  extracts 
concerning  bones  that  have  been  found  at 


Pi-as-sau,  uttering  a 
uok  th(5  hills,  durtod 

chioftaiii  in  Iuh  taU 
Wassatojfo  dealt  it 
:h  his  toiiKthawk,  and 
eir  arrows  from  the 
ielily  carcass  of  the 
did',  while  the  eliief- 
ft.  The  trilie  now 
dest  joy,  and  hidd  a 

of  the  event,  and  to 
ited  the  figure  of  the 

liio  rock  on  whose 
lad  stood,  and  there 
ea,  a  mark  for  the  ar- 
■y  red  man,  wiio  has 
iescending  tiie  great 

had  their  traditions 
igely-formed  destruc- 
ancient  Greeks  and 
iries  of  centaurs  and 
urs  and  Egyptians, 
pophagi  and  various 
ires ;  and  even  the 
tted  a  legend  of  the 
ished  by  St.  George, 
id  the  probable  caus- 
nature  the  fables  of 
tiquity  by  allowing 
ngs  of  the  iniagina- 
irbarous  people.  It 
tion  of  the  Pi-as-sau 

foundation  in  truth. 
,  in  connexion  with 
emains  found  iu  va- 
38t,  and  allow  for  the 
imncrs  who  .sketched 
e  natural  love  for  the 
I  well  as  for  the  ad- 
ancy  of  the  rude  sav- 
uated  it  in  oral  lore  ; 
isiderations  together 
of  many  i)arts  of  the 

to  the  skeletons  of 
stodon,  and  the  mis- 
» uneasy  or  unreason- 
lat  somo  one  of  those 
basis  on  which  the 
I'age  has  erected  his 
f  the  Pi-as-sau.  In 
subject,  and  with  a 

a  hint  tiiat  may  be 
nake  a  few  extracts 

have  been  found  at 


THE  KINKAJOU. 


667 


dilfcrcnt  periods  and  places.  Dr.  William 
Goforlh,  of  Cincinnati,  in  a  letter  to  Thom- 
as Ji'llerson,  dated  in  December,  1800,  in 
describing  some  boiKis  taken  by  him  from 
Uig-boiio  liick,  Kentucky,  says  :  "  The 
bones  of  one  paw  nearly  filled  a  flour  bar- 
rel ;  it  had  four  claws,  and  when  the  bones 
were  regularly  placed  together,  measured 
from  the  oscalists  to  the  endof  either  mid- 
dle claw,  five  feel  two  inches.  The  bones 
of  this  paw  were  similar  to  those  of  a 
bear's  foot.  Where  I  found  these  bones, 
I  found  largo  quantities  of  bear's  bones  at 
the  same  time,  and  had  an  opportunity  of 
arranging  and  comparing  the  bones  togeth- 
er, and  the  similarity  was  striking  in  ev- 
ery particular,  except  the  size.  The  ver- 
tebric  of  the  back  and  neck,  when  ar- 
ranged in  order  with  the  os  sacrum  and 
coccygis,  measured  nearly  sixty  feet,  al- 
lowing for  cartilages ;  though  I  am  not 
confident  the  bones  all  belonged  to  one 
animal,  and  the  number  of  vertebra;  I  can 
not  lecoUect.  I  had  some  thigh  bones  of 
incognita  of  a  monstrous  size,  when  com- 
pared with  any  other  animal,"  &c. 

Ill  1839,  Mr.  Albert  Koch,  proprietor 
of  the  St.  Louis  Museum,  procured  a  large 
quantity  of  bones,  from  the  vicinity  of  the 
iSulpluir  springs,  on  Little  Rock  creek,  in 
Jctibrson  county,  Missouri,  about  twenty- 
two  miles  south  of  St.  Louis.  To  a  skel- 
eton formed  of  some  of  these  bones,  he 
gave  the  name  of  Koch's  Missourium. 
This  animal  had  a  trunk,  and  enormous 
tusks  and  claws,  and  was  much  larger 
than  the  Mastodon.  Among  the  bones 
found  by  Mr.  Koch,  was  the  "  head  of  an 
undescribed  animal  from  which  it  appears 
that  it  exceeded  the  elephant  from  four  to 
six  times." 

TJie  tradition  of  the  Indians  certainly 
bears  strong  alTinity  to  the  existence  of 
those  immense  animals,  which  have  left 
us  no  trace  of  their  being,  except  their 
bones.  What  an  extensive  scheme  for 
conjecture  and  research,  do  they  atford  to 
the  anticjuarian,  tho  naturalist,  and  the  phi- 
losopher I 

Reme.mber  that  labor  is  indispensable 
to  excellence.  This  is  an  incontrover- 
tible truth,  although  vanity  can  not  be 
brought  to  believe,  or  indolence  be  made 
to  heed  it. 


THE  KINK.\JOU. 

F  solitary  and  re- 

cluHo    hal)it'<,    this 

animal  furiln'  most 

Al'TVil   ' '-Jf'Jl/ P'^""''  lives    among 

trees  in  largo  for- 
ests, and  is  in  ev- 
ery respect  well 
adapted  for  climbing ;  being,  however, 
decidedly  nocturnal,  it  is  but  little  exposed 
to  the  observation  even  of  those  who  so- 
journ among  the  places  frequented  by  it. 
During  tho  day  it  sleeps  in  its  retreat, 
rolled  up  like  a  ball,  and,  if  roused,  ap- 
pears torpid  and  inactive.  As  soon,  how- 
ever, as  the  dusk  of  evening  sets  in,  it  is 
fully  awake,  and  is  all  activity,  displaying 
the  utmost  restlessness  and  address,  climb- 
ing from  branch  to  branch  in  quest  of  food, 
and  using  its  prehensile  tail  to  assist  itself 
in  its  manccuvres.  Few  mammalia  are 
more  incommoded  by  light  than  the  kin- 
kajou  ;  the  pupils  of  the  eyes  contract  to  a 
mere  round  point,  even  when  the  rays  of 
the  sun  have  not  been  very  bright,  while 
the  animal  at  the  same  time  testifies  by  its 
actions  its  aversion  to  tho  unwelcome 
glare. 

In  size  tho  kinkajou  is  equal  to  a  full- 
grown  cat,  but  its  limbs  are  much  stouter 
and  more  muscular,  and  its  body  more 
firmly  built.  In  walking,  the  sole  of  tho 
foot  is  applied  fairly  to  tho  ground,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  badger.  Its  claws  are 
strong  and  curved,  the  toes  on  each  foot 
being  five.  The  ears  are  short  and  round- 
ed. The  fur  is  full,  but  not  long,  and  very 
closely  set.  The  kinkajou  was  not  un- 
known to  Bufibn,  who,  however,  for  a  long 
time  confounded  it  with  the  glutton,  nor 
was  he  aware  of  his  error  until  an  oppor- 
tunity occurred  of  his  seeing  two  of  these 
animals.  One  was  exhibited  at  St.  Ger- 
main in  1773,  under  the  title  of  "  an  ani- 
mal unknown  to  naturalists."  The  other 
was  in  the  possession  of  a  gentleman  in 
Paris,  who  brought  it  from  New  Spain. 
This  latter  individual  was  suffered  to  go 
at  large,  being  perfectly  tame  ;  and,  after 
rambling  about  all  night,  would  return  to 
its  accustomed  sleeping-place,  v/here  it 
was  always  to  be  found  in  the  morning. 
Without  being  docile,  it  is  familiar,  but 


43 


f-f'fl 


Pi 


i)»«»kii 


Aiii^ 


r 


DESCIUI'TION  OF  TKXA8. 


fifi!) 


^-^ 


MTfej, 


rtHV' 


Ail^ 


^^j\ 


ffi' 


only  rrcogtiisc's  iti  masior,  ami  will  fdl- 
|(i\v  liin.  It  drinks  civery  lluiil — water, 
(■iiiri'c,  milk,  wiin-,  and  oviiu  brandy,  if 
swi'itcned  with  sugar,  with  wliicii  latter 
it  will  lu'ciMUo  intuxicatvil ;  but  it  is  ill  lor 
Movcral  days  afterward.  It  eats,  with  the 
sanu!  indiir«Teni;e,  bread,  meal,  pnUe, 
roolM,  and  espi.'ciully  t'rnits.  It  is  pasnion- 
aifly  fund  »>!'  HutMits,  and  eagerly  devours 
sugar  and  sweutinoats. 


DESCRIPTION  OF  TEXAS. 

UK  stato  of  Texas 
,  now  divided  into 
^  thirty-five  counties, 
viz.,  Galveston,  Har- 
ris, Hrazoriu,  Mata- 
gorda, Victoria,  Gou- 
rales,  San  I'atrucia, 
Refugio,  Goliad,  Mi- 
liin,  Jackson,  Boxar,  Hastrop,  Trivis,  Fay- 
iMU!,  Colorado,  Austin,  Fort  Uend,  VVash- 
iiiylon,  lluberlson,  Montgomery  (the  giant 
c.  uiiiy).  Liberty,  Jefferson,  Jasjjer,  llous- 
t(pii,  SabiiK^,  Nacogdoches,  Rusk,  San  Au- 
;fiistine,  Shelby  (more  I'amiliarly  known 
as  state,  of  Tuiiuiha},  Harrison,  Howie, 
Red  River,  Fanning,  and  Lamar. 

Of  thes(^  Montgomery  is  the  most  pop- 
ulous of  the  interior  counties,  and  Galves- 
ton the  most  [wpulous  of  those  situated 
on  the  coast.  Galveston  is  the  largest 
<ity  of  Texas,  though  Houston,  perhaps, 
contains  about  the  same  number  of  inhab- 
ilanis.  The  next  city  of  imjmrtanco  is 
Sun  Augiistino,  in  which  are  located  the 
Washington  college,  with  about  one  hun- 
dred and  forty  students,  and  a  seminary, 
w  itli  from  sixty  to  sevcnty-livo.  It  has  a 
population  of  about  fifteen  hundred. 

Austin,  tho  seat  of  government,  in 
Travis  county,  at  the  foot  of  the  San  Sa- 
ba mountains,  and  figuratively  called  the 
"  City  of  the  seven  hills,"  is  beautifully 
situated  on  the  Colorado,  in  one  of  the 
most  picturesque  and  romantic  portions  of 
Texas,  It  has  a  population  of  twelve  or 
liiteen  hundred,  and  is  rapidly  increasing. 
The  new  constitution  provides  that  the 
seat  of  government  shall  continue  at  Aus- 
tin until  1850,  when,  should  the  slate  be 


divided  in  tho  mcanlinie,  tlin  pn)l)al)ility 
is  that  it  will  be  remturd  furilur  east. 

San  .\ntunio  de  Mexar,  ne.ir  ihe  extreme 
woslern  fnmlier  of  T«'xas,  on  ilie  Sun  .An- 
tonio rivor,  is  ihn  oldest  and  best  built 
town  in  Texas.  It  was  settled  about  two 
liuuilred  vi'ars  ag((,  under  the  aiispii  es  of 
an  a.sMoi'iation  of  Spanish  monks,  ami  at 
on«  time  contained  about  liiteen  ihun.s.inil 
inhabiiants.  Hut  it  has  itevorul  times 
been  nearly  depnpidate  1  within  the  last 
century  by  the  allacks  ftoin  tliu  (>'amiinilie 
Indians,  it  never  !ia\ing  been  ailecjuately 
defended  by  its  inhabitants,  or  the  Sj)aii- 
ish  and  .Mexican  governments,  nor  until 
its  partial  0(CU|)atioii  by  Texan  or  Ameri- 
can cilizi'iis.  The  town  is  l)uilt  entirely 
of  stone,  and  now  contains  a  population 
of  about  lifteen  hundred,  primip:illy  Mex- 
ican. 

Tho  Alama,  a  dismantled  fortress,  tho 
memoralde  scene  of  tiio  lamented  fate  of 
Travis,  liowie,  and  Oockett,  is  situated 
on  the  east  bank  ol'  the  San  Antonio  riv- 
or, opposite  the  town,  and  Ci)ntains  within 
its  walls  a  (.liurcii  in  a  partial  state  of  pres- 
ervation, 'i'liere  is  also  in  the  city  a  largo 
catholic  cathedral,  used  by  the  Mexicans 
as  a  place  of  worship,  This,  like  aU  the 
churches  in  the  vicinity,  of  which  tluie 
are  five,  are  built  in  an  ancient  style  ot 
architecture,  and  give  to  the  stranger  the 
impression  that  he  is  wandt'ring  amid  the 
Castilian  edilices  of  old  Spain. 

There  an;  two  largo  public  sipiares  in 
the  city  of  San  Antonio,  one  called  the 
Military  square,  intended  for  military  oc- 
cupation, and  th(!  other  the  C^ivil  sciuare, 
containing  the  public  buildings  of  tho  mu- 
nicipal auihorities. 

About  live  miles  above  tho  city  are 
tho  sources  of  the  San  Antonio  riv- 
er. These  consist  of  four  "  fountains," 
or  springs,  the  largest  covering  nt;arly  an 
acre,  and  tho  others  smaller  in  size.  The 
water  of  these  fountains  is  so  transjiarent 
that  a  ten-cent  piece  may  be  seen  at  the 
depth  of  forty  feet.  Tho  outlets  to  tl  esc 
fountains  unite  a  short  distance  belovi,  and 
at  a  point  about  three  miles  above  the  city,  a 
dam  of  solid  masonry  is  thrown  across 
tho  stream,  and  aijueducts  are  thence 
constructed,  on  either  side  of  the  river,  to 
convey  the  water  from  the  main  reservoir 
to  tho  houses  and  gardens  of  die  city  and 


fiiltfVi 


HHaMM«»' 


t 


f 


i 


*  :0 


BAM  ROCK. 


*li-  ili^>im  holow      Tlieso  aquotluct.i 

\s,  iii  t.  istnicted  pcrtinp*  4  ceiitwry  anil 
ahull  ug,,  '»)•  lliv  (ilholic  pslMh!i>l  ■ ''nl; 
mill  uii'liT  I  iir  rcgiil.iiions  then  i'mi  l^|l^^ll  •■' 
tlie  jiropriftiir  of  each  li.iciondo  was,  a=4  ;> 
saiil,  |)f'rmilli>il  to  use  the  wattsr  for  irriga- 
fjiifr  Ills  ciiliro  j)l  K  <iion  an  often  a«  ro- 
(juiK  il,  and  in  <iu:inii,,  s  jiroporlioncd  to 
f)"*  extent  of  liiH  possrssioni*. 

flwre  aro  three  old  catholic  itii  ion- 
ary  wslahlishrn'-nts  in  the  vicinity  of  .San 
Anioiuo,  siiuato  on  tlio  rivor  below  the 
oily,  at  iiilrrvaU  of  a  few  miles.  These, 
Conception,  .^>an  Jose,  and  San  .Iiian,  are 
eaeh  a  ehnrch,  snrroundnd  by  a  wall  in- 
tended for  purposes  of  defence.  Within 
these  walls  aro  also  erected  nnmerous 
small  buildings  for  the  shelter  and  protec- 
tion of  the  neighboring  farmers,  and  their 
families  during  the  predatory  visits  of  the 
Indians. 

It  is  a  ctjrious  fact,  that  in  a  city  like 
.San  Anionio,  with  the  improvements  do- 
seribed,  its  antique  eliurehes  and  other 
pul)lic  edifices,  should  have  existed  for 
centuries,  comparatively  unknown,  near 
the  extrcino  western  frontier  of  this  now 
infant  republic  of  the  wildernes.^. 

The  other  principal  towns  of  Texas, 
are  Matagorda,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Colo- 
rado, on  -Matagorda  bay  ;  Washington,  on 
the  Hrazos  ;  Corpu.s  Christi,  just  sjfrung 
into  existence,  and  numbering  about  2,000 
besides  the  United  States  army,  of  near 
'iftOO,  making  in  all  a  population  of  7,000  ; 
iNucogdochos,  Hrazoria.on  the  Hrazos  riv- 
er, and  Montgomery,  tho  capital  of  the 
coumy  of  tho  same  name. 

Cotton  is  principally  raised,  and  to  best 
advantage,  on  the  Colorado,  IJrazos,  Trin- 
ity, and  lied  rivers  ;  but  is  also  profitably 
cultivated  in  other  sections.  Tho  sugar 
region  is  near  the  coast,  and  lying  south 
of  latitude  30^.  Wheat,  and  the  fine 
grains,  are  raised  to  most  advantage  in 
the  mountains  and  hilly  regions  u!  the 
upper  Colorado,  Hrazos,  and  Trinity  riv- 
ers. Of  the  wilderness  region  above  this 
point,  toward  Santa  Fe,  but  little  compar- 
atively is  known. 

'•"he  principal  streams  are  the  Red  riv- 
e.  navigable  within  Texas  about  500 
mi. .  ■  <n8  Sabine,  navigable  four  months 
il.  ths  ..  .bou*  -100  mile.T  ;  the  Neches, 
for  il  (i  ^    .J9  "  iiod,  about  150  miles  ;  the 


Trinity,  for  ievon  months,  about  fiOO  miles ; 
the  Hullalo  Hayoii,  navigiitrd  by  sleani- 
boats  overv  day  in  the  year,  from  lions- 
ton  to  (ialveston,  about  100  miles,  and 
the  greatest  thorcuighfiire  of  thi!  (ouiilry  ; 
the  Hrazos,  four  nioiiths  in  the  veiir,  \M 
miles,  and  may  be  easily  remii  rod  na\  i- 
gablo  ;J00  miles;  tho  Colorado,  wliieli  by 
removing  tho  raH  at  its  moutli,  may  be 
navigated  at  least  400  miles  ;  the  (luada- 
loupe,  navigable  about  fifty  inilis  ;  the 
Nueces,  about  100  miles  ;  and  tho  Uio 
Hravu  del  Norto,  about  GOO  niilei). 


BASS  HOCK. 

AS.S  Rock  is  one  of 
the  first  obj(!ct8  seen 
in  crossing  the  .Scot- 
ti.sh  border  by  Her- 
wiek.  This  remark- 
nhlo  rock  in  the  sea, 
lies  ut  tho  mouth  of 
the  Frith  of  Forth,  at 
the  distance  of  a  mile 
and  a  half  from  tin- 
coast  of  East  Lothian.  It  is  about  a  mile 
in  circumference,  and  not  much  more  than 
400  feet  above  the  level  of  tho  sea,  but 
looks  considerably  higher.  The  water 
that  washes  its  precipitous  sides  is  from 
30  to  40  fathoms  deep.  Tho  rock  can  bo 
approached  in  safety  only  in  fine  weath- 
er;  and  its  stark,  rugged  cliffs,  are  only 
accessible  by  one  narrow  passage  that  fa- 
ces tho  mainland.  Close  by  this  only 
landing-place  is  a  castle,  now  in  ruins, 
but  once  a  place  of  great  strength  and 
some  importance  in  history,  consisting  of 
four  square  towers  and  connecting  works. 
During  the  war  of  religion  between 
Charles  II.  and  mc  ccrei.vaers,  this  cas- 
tle was  converted  ii'i  ;..  state-pria  r 
and  became  ;i  s.'ii.rv  residence  of 
many  west-country  whigs  »nd  recusants. 
When  the  dynasty  of  the  Stuarts  was 
driven  from  the  throne  of  tho  United 
Kingdom,  the  Bass  Rock  was  occupied 
by  a  brave  garrison  devoted  to  that  ill-fa- 
ted family,  who  obstinately  defended  it  for 
several  years,  and  gained  for  the  place  tho 
dubious  honor,  of  its  being  tho  last  spot 


ilm,  about  fiOO  milcij ; 
fivij,Mt(il  liy  Nli'iiin. 
I)  yeur,  friun  llnui- 
Hit  100  niilcH,  luiil 
irc  of  llii'  rniiniry  ; 
liM  ill  llic  vi'ur,  l.'iO 
isily  ri'iiili  ii'tl  nin  i- 
('oldriidit,  wliifli  l)y 
its  iiioutli,  miy  lie 
milps  ;  the  (Jiiadu- 
iit  lifty  iniliH  ;  ilif 
iilcs  ;  ami  tlio  Hio 
t  COO  miU-H. 


lOCK. 


SS  Rock  is  one  of 
0  first  ohjoctH  soeii 
crossing  iho  Scot- 
ih  border  by  Uor- 
ick.  This  nmnrk- 
de  rock  in  tho  hpix, 
38  at  tho  mouth  of 

0  Trith  of  Forth,  at 
e  distance  of  a  milo 
id  a  half  from  tin- 
It  is  about  a  mile 

not  much  more  than 
vol  of  tho  sea,  but 
igher.  Tho  water 
)ilou3  sides  is  from 
The  rock  can  be 
)n!y  in  fine  weaih- 
ged  clifls,  aro  only 
i)w  passage  that  fa- 
^loso  by  this  only 
stlo,  now  in  ruins, 
great  strength  and 
story,  consisting  of 

1  connecting  works, 
religion    between 

rouJVMers,  this  cas- 
110  .'.  state-prid  -i-, 
itury  residence  of 
ligs  »nd  recusants, 
tho  Stuarts  was 
no  of  tho  United 
ock  was  occupied 
voted  to  that  iil-Ai- 
ifely  defended  it  for 
ed  for  tho  place  the 
jeing  tho  last  spot 


■^M'S 


U=-. 


-*^( 


m 


072 


INCIDKNTS  IN  THE  HISTOUY  OF  WASHINGTON. 


of  British  grouml  to  yield  to  the  improveil 
and  more  consiitiitiotuil  government  in- 
troduced by  the  revolution  of  IfiSS. 
Besides  the  cnsth;  there  seems  once  to 
hnve  been  a  hermitnge  and  some  other 
lialwtiitions  on  tiiis  rock  ;  but  soldiers, 
monks,  prisoners,  and  peasants,  have  all 
been  long  gone  ;  and  now  the  only  inhab- 
itants ot  the  Bass,  are  immense  (locks  of 
•Solan  geese,  and  some  score  of  sheep, 
liiat  contrive  to  climb  up  its  precipitous 
sides  and  find  ])asture  on  its  summit. 

The  base  of  the  rock  is  perforated  com- 
pletely through  from  east  to  west,  by  a 
natural  cavern  fearfully  dark  in  the  centre, 
and  through  which  the  sea  frequently  dash- 
es and  roars  with  astounding  violence,  but 
which  may  be  examined  at  low  water  on 
a  calm  day.  When  the  tide  is  out,  the 
water  remaining  in  this  curious  fissure,  at 
a  few  yards  from  its  mouth,  is  not  more 
than  knee-deep.  The  young  fishermen 
often  go  through  it,  though  its  aspect  is 
exceedingly  teiiific.  At  one  of  the  en- 
trances to  this  cavern  it  appears  as  if  the 
Bass  were  composed  of  two  immense 
rocks,  the  larger  of  which  leans  diagon- 
ally against  the  smaller,  leaving  this  nar- 
row chasm  between  them  at  the  bottom, 
but  closely  joining  with  each  other  at  all 
other  points.  There  are  several  other 
caverns  of  considerable  length,  the  open- 
ings into  which  resemble  fretted  gothic 
windows  or  doors  that  have  been  made  to 
deviate  from  the  perpendicular  by  time  or 
violence.  The  pencil  of  an  able  artist 
alone  could  convey  an  idea  of  their  sin- 
gularity and  beauty. 


INCIDENTS  IN  THE  HISTORY  OF 
WASHINGTON. 

,E  are  all  familiar 
'  with  the  fact,  as  de- 
clared by  an  Indian 
chief  on  the  treaty 
ground,  that  he  had 
three  times  taken 
deliberate  aim  (du- 
ring the  battle  which 
ended  in  the  del'eat 
of  Braddock),  at  Washington,  then  com- 


!  manding  the  provincials,  and  missed  every 
j  time.     The  following  anecdotes  nlatiiiiv  I'o 
'  the  same  individual  are  not  so  generally 
known  : — 

1      Col.  Ferguson  of  the  British  army,  who 
'  lay  with  part  of  his  ridemen  on  the"  skirls 
of  a  wood  in  front  of  Gen.  Knyphansen's 
division,  writing  to  his  brother  Dr.  A.  Fer- 
guson, the  day  after  the  battle  at  Brandy- 
wine  creek,  states  "  we  had  not  lain  lonl', 
when  a  rebel  officor,  remarkable  by  a  hus- 
sar dress,  passed  toward  our  army,  within 
a  hundred  yards  of  my  right  flank,  not  per- 
ceiving us.     He  was  followed  by  anoth- 
er dressed  in  dark  and  blue,  mounted  on 
a  good  bay  horse,  with  a  remarkably  large 
high  cocked  hat.     I  ordered  three  good 
shots  to  steal  near  to  them  and  fire  at  them, 
but  the  idea  disgusted  me  ;  and  I  recalled 
the  order.     The  hussar  in  returning  made 
a  circuit,  but  the  other  passed  within  a 
hundred  yards  of  us  ;  upon  which  I  ad- 
vanced from  the  wood  towarJ  him.     Up- 
on my  calling  he  stopped,  but  after  look- 
ing at  me,  proceeded.     I  again  drew  his 
attention,  and  made  a  sign  to  him  to  stop, 
levelling  my  piece  at  him  ;  but  he  slowly 
continued  his  way.     As  I  was  within  that 
distance  at  which,  in  the  quickest  firing,  I 
could  have  lodged  half  a  dozen  balls  in  or 
about  him,  before  he  was  out  of  my  reach, 
I  had  only  to  determine,  but  it  was  not 
pleasant  to  fire  at  the  back  of  an  unof- 
fending  individual,  who    was    acquitting 
himself  very  coolly  of  his  duty  ;  so  I  let 
him  alone.     The  day  after,  1   had  been 
telling  this  to  some  wounded  ofl^cers  who 
lay  in  the  same  room  with*ie,  when  one 
of  our  surgeons,  who  had  been  dressing 
the  wounded  rebel  ofBcers,  came  in  and 
told  us,  that  they  had  been  informing  him, 
that  Gen.  Wasliington  was  all  the  morn- 
ing with  the  light  troops,  and  only  attend- 
ed by  a  French  officer  in  a  hussar  dress, 
he  himself  dressed  and  mounted  in  every 
point  as  above  described.     I  am  not  sorry 
that  I  did  not  know  at  the  time  who  it 
was." 

Immediately  after  the  organization  of 
the  present  government.  General  Wash- 
ington repaired  to  Fredericksburg,  to  pay 
his  humble  duty  to  his  mother,  prepnralo- 
ry  to  his  departure  to  New  York.  An  af- 
fecting scene  ensued.  The  son  feelingly 
remarked  the  ravages  which  a  lingering 


I 


TON. 


icials,  .11111  missed  rvory 
'ig  aiiucdotes  rdatina  lo 
il  are  not  so  ijencrallv 

the  Briti.sh  army,  wlio 
i  riHoiiion  on  tlic  skins 
of  Gen.  Knyphaiiscii's 
his  brother  Dr.  A .  I'cr- 
r  the  battle  at  Brandy- 
'  we  had  not  lain  lonu', 
r,  remarkable  by  a  hiis- 
•ward  our  army,  within 
my  right  flank,  not  per- 
as  followed  by  anoth- 
and  blue,  mounted  on 
vith  a  remarkably  large 

I  ordered  three  good 
)  them  and  fire  at  them, 
ed  me  ;  and  I  recalled 
ssar  in  returning  made 
)tlier  passed  within  a 
IS  ;  upon  which  I  ad- 
lod  towaru  him.  Up- 
opped,  but  after  look- 
ed.    I  again  drew  his 

a  sign  to  him  to  stop, 
It  him  ;  but  he  slowly 
As  I  was  within  that 
n  the  quickest  firing,  I 
lalf  a  dozen  balls  in  or 
3  was  out  of  my  reach, 
rmine,  but  it  was  not 
the  back  of  an  unof- 

who    was    acquitting 

of  his  duty  ;  so  I  let 
ay  after,  1  had  been 
wounded  oflicprs  who 
m  withotne,  when  one 
10  had  been  dressing 

officers,  came  in  and 
d  been  informing  him, 
ton  was  all  the  morn- 
oops,  and  only  attend- 
cer  in  a  hussar  dress, 
and  mounted  in  every 
ibcd.  I  am  not  sorry 
V  at  the  time  who  it 

r  the  organization  of 
nent.  General  Wash- 
redericksburg,  to  pay 
lis  mother,  preparalo- 
a  New  York.  An  af- 
i.  The  son  feelingly 
es  which  a  lingering 


THE  WHALE,  AND  WHALE-CATCHINQ. 


C73 


disease  had  made  upon  the  aged  frame  of 
his  parent,  mid  thus  addressed  her : — 

"  The  p'iople,  motlier,  have  been  pleas- 
ed, with  the  most  flattering  unanimity  to 
elect  me  to  the  chief  magistracy  of  the 
United  States,  but,  before  1  can  assume 
tiio  functions  of  that  oflice,  I  have  come 
to  bid  you  an  afl'ectioi.nte  farewell.  So 
soon  as  the  public  business,  which  must 
necessarily  be  encountered  in  arranging  a 
now  government,  can  be  disposed  of,  I 
shall  hasten  to  Virginia,  and — " 

Here  the  matron  interrupted  him  :  "  You 
will  see  me  no  more.  My  great  age,  and 
the  disease  that  is  fast  approaching  my 
vitals,  warn  me  that  I  shall  not  bo  long  in 
ihis  world.  I  trust  I  am  somewhat  pre- 
lared  for  a  better.  But  go,  George,  fulfil 
^he  high  destinies  which  Heaven  appears 
•o  assign  you  ;  go,  my  son,  and  may  that 
(leaven's  and  your  mother's  blessing  be 
iviih  you  always." 

The  president  was  deeply  aflfected.  His 
head  rested  upon  the  shoulder  of  his  pa- 
reiit,  whose  aged  arm  feebly  yet  fondly 
encircled  his  neck.  That  brow  on  which 
fame  had  wreathed  the  greatest  laurel 
virtue  ever  gave  to  created  man,  relaxed 
from  its  lolly  bearing.  That  look  which 
could  have  awed  a  Roman  senate,  in  its 
Fabrician  day,  was  bent  in  filial  tender- 
ness upon  the  timeworn  features  of  this 
venerated  matron. 

The  great  man  wept.  A  thousand  rec- 
ollections crowded  upon  his  mind,  as 
memory,  retracing  scenes  long  past,  car- 
ried hiin  back  to  his  paternal  mansion,  and 
the  days  of  his  youth ;  and  there  the  cen- 
tre of  attraction  was  his  mother,  whose 
care,  instruction,  and  discipline,  had  pre- 
pared him  to  reach  the  topmost  height  of 
laudable  ambition;  yet  how  were  his 
glories  forgotten  while  he  gazed  upon  her 
from  whom,  wasted  by  time  and  malady, 
he  must  soon  part  to  meet  no  more  on 
earth! 

The  matron's  predictions  were  true. 
The  disease  which  had  so  long  preyed 
upon  her  frame  completed  its  triumph,  aiid 
she  expired  at  the  age  of  85,  confiding  in 
the  promises  of  immortality  to  the  humble 
believer. 


St.  Paul  exhorts  to  pray  without  ceas 
Ig — habitual  piety  is  ceaseless  prayer. 


THE  WHALE,  AND  WHALE-CATCHING. 

N  giving  a  description 
of  the  whale,  wc  must 
necessarily  repeat  much 
that  has  been  written 
by  others  ;  but  one  who 
has  seen  them,  in  their 
native  element,  ;iiul  has 
often  met  them  in  all 
their  terrors,  can  at  least 
strip  his  description  of  the  exaggeration  in 
which  most  writers  have  indulged. 

The  whale    may  be   properly  divided 
into  two  genera  :  the  bone  whale  and  the 
sperm  whale.     I  prefer  this  description  lo 
the  scientific  one  usually  given,  as  it  will 
more    definitely  mark  the  diflerence   of 
these  animals  than  classic  words,  to  which 
we    attach    littlo   meaning.      The    bone 
whales  are  of  several  species,  all  agree- 
ing in  general  habits  and  character,  but 
each  having  some  distinct  characteristic. 
The  first  and  most  important  is  the  black 
whale,  or,  as  the  Americans  call  him,  the 
right  whale.     This  animal  is  usually  about 
fifty-six  feet  in  length,  the  largest  may 
reach  to  sixty  feet.     Their  color  is  black 
on  the  back,  and  white  on  the  centre  of 
the    belly.      Occasionally  he    is    spotted 
with  white.     The  head  of  this  creature  is 
about  one  third  of  his  whole  length.     The 
eyes  are   placed  upon  the  sides  of  the 
head,  near  the  body,  and  from  its  great 
size,  it  is  consequently  unable  to  see  either 
directly  forward  or  behind  it,  so  that  it 
may  be  approached  very  near,   without 
being   alarmed.     But  the  most   singular 
part  of  the  animal  is  its  mouth,  and  its 
adaptation  for  collecting   the  food  upon 
which  it  lives.     The  upper  jaw  opens  at 
least  fifteen  feet  in  length,  and  is  provided 
with  over  five  hundred  laminae,  or  slabs 
of  thin  black  bone,  which  are  hairy  on  the 
inner  side,  and  when   seen  without,  have 
the  appearance  of  a  Venetian  blind,  placed 
perpendicularly.     The  under  jaw  is  broad, 
and  when  closed  receives  the  ends  of  this 
bone  upon  its  soft  gums.     It  is  also  pro- 
vided with  two  immense  lips,  one  on  each 
side,  which  are  large  enough  to  close  the 
whole  mouth  and  cover  the  bone.     Some 
idea  of  these  lips  may  be  formed,  when 
we  know  that  the  longest  bone,  is  fourteen 
feet  in  length,  and  the   largest  lip  will 


.#^'»|| 


■  ■  1 ; 

.^^,„  ••■*i 


■4 


x_ 


I 


mt 


THE  WHALE,  AND  WHALE-CATCHING. 


675 


maki;  tlirco  barrels  of  oil.  The  body  is 
from  forty  to  fifty  feet  in  circumference, 
and  liiis  two  fins  just  behind  the  head,  in 
which  wli;il(>mcn,  owing  to  the  peculiar 
situation  of  the  bones,  trace  a  fanciful  re- 
sembiauco  to  the  human  hand  and  fingers. 
Tiie  use  of  the  fins  appears  to  be  to  direct 
their  course,  and  not  to  assist  them  in 
s^vimming.  The  body  is  thick  for  the 
greater  part  of  its  length,  but  it  tapers 
near  the  end,  and  finishes  in  a  tail,  or  as 
it  is  usually  called,  in  flukes.  These 
flukes  are  from  twelve  to  fifteen  feet  in 
breadth,  aiul  in  them  is  placed  the  animal's 
moans  of  offence  and  defence.  With  its 
flukes  it  strikes  blows  which  may  be 
heard  at  the  distance  of  miles,  and  from 
their  force,  one  would  suppose  that  noth- 
ing could  sustain  them,  but  we  find  that, 
ii\  their  contests  ^s'ith  each  other,  they 
seiilom  or  never  produce  death. 

'i'liis  whale  feeds  upon  the  animalculae 
of  the  ocean,  more  particularly  upon  a 
very  minute  species  of  shriinp,  by  the 
whalemen  called  britt,  which  is  found 
without  the  tropics,  both  in  the  northern 
and  southern  oceans.  This  is  obtained 
by  swinuning  with  its  mouth  partly  opened, 
until  a  sufllcient  quantity  is  collected  and 
retained  by  the  hairy  bone  of  the  upper 
jaw,  when  the  lips  are  closed,  and  by 
means  of  its  tongue  this  small  food  is  col- 
lected and  swallowed.  Its  manner  of 
feeding  would  remind  you  of  the  grazing 
of  the  ox — the  same  disproportion  between 
the  size  of  its  focd  and  the  animal  to  be 
supported.  But  when  we  reflect  upon 
the  fact  that  the  ocean  is  teeming  with 
life,  and  remember  tho  immense  net-like 
mouth  of  the  whale,  we  shall  at  once  see 
that  the  end  is  not  disproportioned  to  the 
means.  Like  the  ox  too,  this  animal 
feeds  industriously  for  a  few  hours,  and 
then  either  rises  above  the  surface  and 
sleeps,  or  exercises  itself  in  awkward 
gambols.  If  playful,  it  beats  the  water 
with  its  flukes,  or  sinks  to  the  depths  of 
the  ocean,  and  ascends  with  such  velocity 
that  it  throws  its  whole  body  out  of  the 
water.  It  can  not  remain  long  under  the 
water  at  one  time,  but  must  ascend  for  res- 
piration. Its  usual  time  of  breathing  is 
once  in  fifteen  minutes.  It  has  two  ori- 
fices on  the  top  of  the  head  which  answer 
for  nostrils,  and  when  it  throws  out  its 


breath  it  is  detected  by  the  spray  or  steam 
which  it  throws  up  ;  owing  to  this,  it  be- 
comes the  prey  of  tho  whalemen.  'J'his 
animal  is  sought  for  its  oil  ami  bono. 

The  other  species  of  bone  whale  are 
tho  humpbacked  whale,  tho  finback,  and 
a  species  called  the  sul[)hur-b()ttoni,  by 
American  whalemen  (perhaps  answering 
to  the  razor-back  of  the  English).  Tlie 
luiipback  is  killed  for  his  oil,  but  his 
bone  is  small  and  of  no  value  ;  he  dillers 
from  tho  black  whale  in  having  a  large 
hump  on  the  back,  and  in  his  fins,  which 
are  at  least  fifteen  feet  in  length,  with 
which  he  strikes  severe  blows,  and  will 
readily  destroy  a  boat.  Tlie  finback  whale 
is  ninety  feet  in  length,  being  much  longer 
than  either  of  the  others;  is  distinguisheci 
from  them  by  throwing  his  spout  nmch 
higher,  and  by  having  a  fin  on  the  top  of 
his  back,  and  never  lifting  his  flukes  out 
of  the  water.  He  is  also  much  fleett;r 
than  the  l)lack  or  humpbacked  whales. 
For  while  they  usually  move  but  three  or 
four  miles  an  hour,  and  when  excited  can 
only  for  a  short  time  accelerate  their  mo- 
tion to  ten  or  twelve  miles,  and  must  then 
stop  and  rest,  the  finback  can  readily  move 
at  the  rate  of  twenty  miles  an  hour  (at  the 
least),  and  will  continue  that  rate  for  a 
length  of  time,  that  render  all  attemptD  to 
take  him  unavailing.  The  last  aivl  largest 
of  the  whale  species,  is  the  sulphur-bottom 
or  razor-back  whale.  They  have  been 
met  with  at  the  estimated  length  of  one 
hundred  and  thirty  feet,  they  ciiU'or  little 
in  appearance  from  the  finback,  except 
that  the  back  fin  is  nearer  the  tail,  and 
their  motion  is  much  slower,  seldom  ex- 
ceeding five  miles  an  hour.  Thoy  feed 
in  the  same  manner  as  the  black  whale, 
and  like  them  are  killed  for  their  oil. 
AH  tho  species  of  bone  whale  are  alike 
in  their  habits,  being  all  timid  and  cow- 
ardly, trusting  to  flight  when  attacked, 
and  never  if  they  can  avoid  it,  defending 
themselves  by  injuring  others. 

The  bone  whales  have  but  one  known 
enemy  except  man.  This  is  a  fish  called 
by  whalemen  "  the  killer,"  about  twenty 
feet  long,  rather  large  in  the  body,  and 
armed  with  strong  teeth,  which  attacks 
the  bone  whale  for  the  sake  of  his  tongue. 
He  first  fastens  upon  the  blow-holes  or 
nostrils  of  the  whale  until  he  is  forced  to 


f 


^nmm\ 


■tmf**'^' 


"ft'  4^ 


ii 


67G 


THE  WHALE,  AND  WHALE-CATCniNG. 


open  his  mouth  to  breathe,  which  then 
entering,  lie  fastens  upon  the  tongue  and 
devours  it,  thus  killing  this  immense  ani- 
mal, wliicli  would  appear  from  its  bulk  to 
be  safe  from  the  attack  of  all  minor  crea- 
tures. 

The  sperm  wliale  differs  from  the  bone 
whale  in  its  feeding  The  food  of  the 
sjierin  whale  is  a  species  of  animated  vege- 
table, called  squid,  usually  found  in  deep 
water.  As  this  substance  has  much  con- 
sistency, the  whale  is  provided  with  thirty- 
six  large  teeth  on  the  under  jaw,  with 
which  it  rends  its  food  from  the  rocks  to 
which  it  is  attached.  The  head  of  the 
sperm  whale  is  square  at  the  end,  and 
seems  unlit  for  rapid  motion,  but  it  is  so 
hard  that  it  is  unatfected  by  collision  with 
hard  substances,  and  one  means  of  offence 
with  this  aniiiial  is  to  strike  with  the  head. 
Its  head  is  not  only  one  third  the  length 
of  the  body,  but  contains  one  third  of  the 
oily  matter  of  the  whole  creature  ;  its  up- 
per jaw  is  frequently  fourteen  feet  in  thick- 
ness. Its  upper  surface  of  about  six  or 
eight  feet  in  thickness  (in  a  very  large 
whale)  is  called  junk,  being  formed  of 
hard  muscular  fibres  filled  up  with  very 
fat  oily  matter.  Beneath  this  is  a  cavity 
called  the  case,  in  which  is  contained  a 
semi-liquid  matter,  which  is  spermaceti 
mixed  with  a  little  oil.  This  whale  is  not 
so  timid  as  the  bone  whale,  and  has  more 
means  of  offence.  It  can  attack  with  its 
square  head,  its  jaw,  or  its  flukes,  and 
either  of  them  are  usually  fatal  to  its  op- 
ponent. It  is  the  monarch  of  the  ocean, 
and  probably  the  leviathan  of  Job.  It  is 
not  usually  dangerous  or  malicious,  but 
when  aroused  and  aware  of  its  enemy,  its 
ferocity  is  terrible  ;  it  is  not  satisfied  with 
beating  him  off,  but  pursues  him  to  his 
destruction.  It  pursues  the  boat  of  the 
whalemen  until  he  has  dashed  it  in  pieces ; 
but  they  who  man  it  are  too  contemptible 
an  enemy  for  this  terror  of  the  deep :  when 
the  apparent  enemy  is  destroyed,  the  men 
are  left  to  their  fate,  and  are  safely  picked 
up  by  another  boat. 

The  sperm,  like  the  bone  whale,  breathes 
air,  but  is  capable  of  remaining  longer 
under  the  water.  It  is  usually  supposed 
that  the  sperm  whale  remains  as  long  un- 
der the  water  as  he  does  on  the  surifa;;e ; 
and  the  largest  have  been  known  to  be 


one  hour  and  a  quarter  on  the  surface, 
breathing,  and  the  same  time  below.  This 
whale  has  but  one  nostril  or  spout-hole, 
and  in  breathing  blows  the  spray  forward 
and  low.  Ho  moves  slowly  ilirough  the 
water  when  not  excited,  but  when  attack- 
ed is  capable  of  moving  seven  or  (.'i;,'ht 
miles  an  hour,  and  continuing  at  that  rate 
for  a  great  length  of  time.  The  mule  of 
the  sperm  whale  is  much  larger  tliau  the 
female  ;  the  largest  male  whales  having 
produced  from  one  hundred  and  fifty  to 
two  hundred  barrels  of  oil,  while  the 
largest  female  never  yields  more  than 
forty  barrels.  Of  the  same  genus  as  the 
sperm  whale  are  the  porpoise  and  1)lack 
fish.  Their  habits  are  similar,  and  their 
oil  of  the  same  kind.  All  whales  produce 
their  young  alive,  one  every  year,  and  the 
young  are  suckled  like  the  calf  until  they 
are  capable  of  providing  for  their  own 
sustenance. 

Having  given  a  short  account  of  the 
habits  of  whales,  and  the  character  of  the 
different  species,  I  shall  now  describe  the 
manner  of  taking  them  and  saving  the  oil. 

A  whale-ship  is  usually  fitted  with  three 
or  four  boats,  according  to  her  size.  Each 
boat  is  manned  with  six  people — one  mate, 
one  harpooner,  or  boat-steerer,  and  four 
sailors.  Besides  the  boats'  crews,  she 
has  six  or  eight  men  to  keep  the  ship 
when  the  boats  are  in  pursuit  of  whales  ; 
having  in  all  from  twenty-five  to  thirty- 
three  men  on  board.  Each  boat  is  provi- 
ded with  a  tub  containing  thirteen  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  of  tow-line,  which,  when 
used,  is  made  fast  to  two  harpoons.  She 
also  has  several  lances,  which  are  sharp 
weapons  five  feet  in  length  and  made  fast 
to  a  pole,  and  used  io  despatch  the  whale 
after  the  boat  is  made  fast  to  him  by  the 
barb-harpoon.  There  are  also  several 
minor  articles  attached  to  the  boat,  which 
conduce  to  the  safety  of  the  men  in  case 
of  accident.  The  ship  is  also  provided 
with  two  or  three  large  iron  pots,  capable 
of  containing  from  one  hundred  and  sixty 
to  two  hundred  and  twenty  gallons  each, 
for  the  purpose  of  boiling  out  the  oil. 
Thus  provided,  the  ship  takes  her  depart- 
ure in  search  of  the  monsters  of  the  deep. 
At  this  time  commences  the  toil  and  ex- 
citement of  the  whalemen,  which  I  shall 
now  attempt  to  describe,  using  the  Ian- 


^ 
^ 


fs^i^mm 


rter  on  the  surfiice, 
retime  below.  This 
lostril  or  spout-hole, 
va  the  spray  forward 
i  sk)\vly  tlirDujrh  ihc 
ed,  but  wheu  attack- 
iving  seven  or  eiyht 
ontiuuing  ut  that  rate 
time.  Tlie  male  of 
nuch  larger  lliau  the 
male  whales  having 
hundred  and  fifty  to 
)  of  oil,  while  the 
r  yields  more  than 
B  same  genus  as  the 

porpoise  and  black 
ire  similar,  and  iheir 

All  whales  produce 
!  every  year,  and  the 
le  the  calf  until  they 
ding  for   their  own 

hort  account  of  the 
the  character  of  the 
lall  now  describe  the 
n  and  saving  the  oil. 
ually  fitted  with  three 
g  to  her  size.  Each 
X  people — one  mate, 
)at-steerer,  and  four 
3  boats'  crews,  she 
n  to  keep  the  ship 
1  pursuit  of  whales  ; 
iventy-five  to  thirty- 
Each  boat  is  provi- 
ling  thirteen  hundred 
-line,  which,  when 
two  harpoons.  She 
3S,  which  are  sharp 
ength  and  made  fast 
despatch  the  whale 
)  fast  to  him  by  the 
e  arc  also  several 
d  to  the  boat,  which 
of  the  men  in  case 
ip  is  also  provided 
;e  iron  pots,  capable 
B  hundred  and  sixty 
wenty  gallons  each, 
soiling  out  the  oil. 
ip  takes  her  depart- 
onsters  of  the  deep, 
as  the  toil  and  ex- 
}men,  which  I  shall 
ibe,  using  the  Ian 


C78 


THE  WHALE,  AND  WHALE  CATCHINO. 


piinge  of  the  whalemen  where  it  is  intel- 
ligible to  lanilsmen. 

The  ship  goes  on  her  course  with  an 
ofTirfr  at  her  mainmast  head,  and  a  sailor 
ar    her    fore.     All   is   industry  on   deck. 
WJion  the  look-out  aloft  cries,  "  There  she 
blows,"  instantly  he  is  answered  from  the 
ofTirer  of  the   deck,  with  the  shrill  cry, 
"  Where  away  ?"     He  answers,  giving  the 
direction   in  which  the  fish   is   from  the 
ship.     Now  all  is  hustle,  hut  all  is  order. 
The  captain  with  his  telescope,  ascends 
the  mast,  and  observes  the  spout,  and  di- 
rects the  ship  to  steer  for  the  expected 
prey.     The  mates  and  boat-steerers  pre- 
pare their  weapons  for  the  conflict.     The 
men  are  all  on  the  look-out  to  catch  the 
first  view  of  the  whale  from  the  deck. 
The   old  and   seasoned  whaleman   looks 
forward  to  the  strife  with  hope  and  ex- 
citement, and  perhaps  amuses  himself  by 
friglitening  the  landsmen  with  the  dangers, 
they    are    about   to   encounter.      At   last 
comes  the  order,  "  Haul  aback  the  main- 
yard,  lower  away  the  boats."     In  breath- 
less haste  the  orders  are  obeyed,  the  boats 
are  gone,  the  ship  lies  like  a  log  on  the 
waters,  and  all  is  silence  and  expectation. 
The  boats  speed  toward  their  object,  the 
old  sailors   recklessly  indifferent   to  the 
danger,  and  highly  excited  with  the  hope 
of  gain,  and  the  pride  of  conte.st,  the  lands- 
men doubting  but  usually  firm,  and  too 
proud  to  yield  when  others  will  lead. 

Unaware  of  his  danger,  the  leviathan  of 
the  deep  lies  idly  on  the  water.  His  foe 
is  upon  him.  All  is  silence  and  e.vertion  ; 
now  comes  the  stern  order  to  the  harpoon- 
er,  "  Stand  up — dart,"  and  the  barbed  iron 
is  buried  deep  in  his  vitals.  Then  is 
heard  the  shout,  "  Stern  all"  (to  escape  the 
danger  of  the  agonized  exertions  of  the 
wounded  monster),  and  the  reckless  ex- 
ultation of  the  daring  whaleman  ;  then 
writhing  with  pain  he  lashes  the  waters 
with  his  tail,  and  in  the  words  of  the  He- 
brew poet,  "  he  maketh  the  sea  to  boil 
like  a  pot,  one  would  think  the  deep  to  be 
hoary."  But  this  soon  passes  away,  his 
strength  is  exhausted,  and  he  lies  trem- 
bling on  the  waters,  or  he  seeks  safety  in 
flight.  Now  the  boat  by  its  tow-line  is 
brought  near  to  him,  and  the  mate  with 
his  lance,  strikes  him  to  the  heart ;  he 
throws  blood  from  his  nostrils  ;  his  breath- 


ing is  choked  ;  in  his  agony  he  lashes  the 
water ;  the  ocean  resounds  wiili  his  bel- 
lowing ;  his  strength  can  endure  no  more, 
he  rolls  a  lifeless  mass  on  the  waters,  the 
prize  and  scorn  of  his  puny  enemy.  Yet 
in  all  this  there  is  but  little  danger  to  tlic 
bold  and  experienced  whaleuian.  \lf 
watches  the  motions  of  his  timid  foe,  ho 
avoids  the  agonized  blows  of  his  ttil,  an^l 
suflers  him  to  exhaust  his  great  strengih 
in  futile  exertions. 

When  the  whale    is  dead  commences 
the  labor  of  saving  the  oil.     The  animal 
is  brought  along  side  of  tlic  ship,  and  se- 
cured by  a  chain  around  the  small  part  of 
the  body  where  it  joins  the  flukes.     Large 
tackles  (or  pulley-blocks  with  ropes  rove 
through  them)  are  made  fast  at  the  main- 
mast head,  one  end  of  the  fall  or  rope  is 
passed  around  the  windlass  forward  ;  and 
to  the  lower  block    is  attached  a  large 
hook.     A  hole  is  now  cut  in  the  blubber 
or  outer  coat  of  the  whale,  and  the  hook 
is  placed  in  it ;  the  men   at  the  windlass 
then  heave  up  the  hook,  a  strip  of  about 
four  feet  in  width  of  the  blwbljor  is  cut  by 
the   officers   of  the  sliip,  and  the   fat   or 
bhibber  is  peeled  ofli'as  the  bark  is  peeled 
from   a  tree.     When  a  piece    extendinir 
from  the  animal  to  the  head  of  the  main^ 
mast  is  hove  up,  a  new  hole   is  cut  and 
another  tackle  is  made  fast  below,  and  the 
part  above  is  cut  oflT  and  lowered  into  the 
hold.     The  other  tackle  is  hove  up  witli 
another  piece,  rolling  the  whale  over  and 
over,  until  the  whole  of  the  blu!)ber  is 
taken  into  the  ship.     When    everything 
valuable  is  secured,  preparation  is' made 
to  boil  out  the  oil.     Two  men  commence 
cutting  the  blubber  into  small  oblong  pie- 
ces.     It  is  then  passed  to  two  others,  who 
with   large  knives   mince   it   thin,  when 
it  is  placed  in  the  large  pots   and  heated 
until  the  oil  flows  from  it,  and  all  the  wa- 
ter is  expelled.     The  oil   is  then  bailed 
into  a  large  copper  vessel  from  which  it 
runs  through  a  strainer  into  a  large  pot,  and 
is  thence  put  into  casks  and  rolled  away 
to  cool.     The  scraps  or  solid  matter  of  the 
blubber  are  used  for  fuel,  so  that  every 
part  IS  useful ;  and   if  it  were  not  for  the 
scraps,  no  ship  could  carry  wood  enough 
to  boil  out  its  oil.     When  the  oil  is  cooled 
it  is  sent  below  into  casks  in  the  hold,  by 
means  of  leather  hose,  and  is  there  done 


is  ai,'ony  he  lashes  thn 
esoiinils  witli  his  hoi- 
1  can  endure  no  more. 
ass  on  tlio  waters,  the 
lis  puny  enemy.  Yet 
Hit  little  (Innfrer  to  the 
cod  whaleman.  lie 
s  of  his  timid  foe,  ho 
blows  of  his  tail,  and 
list  his  great  strength 

is  dead  commences 
the  oil.     The  animal 
i  of  tlic  ship,  and  se- 
innd  the  small  part  of 
ns  the  flukes.     I,aru;e 
looks  with  ropes  rove 
ado  fast  at  the  main- 
3f  the  fall  or  rope  is 
indlass  forward  ;  and 
is  attached   a   larjje 
w  cut  in  the  hhiliber 
whale,  and  the  hook 
iTien   at  the  windlass 
look,  a  strip  of  about 
the  blublier  is  cut  by  | 
ship,  and  the   fat   or 
as  the  bark  is  peeled 
1  a   piece    e.vtending 
lie  head  of  the  main- 
lew  hole   is  cut  and 
le  fast  below,  and  the 
and  lowered  into  the 
:kle  is  hove  up  with 
the  whale  over  and 
e  of  the   blubber  is 
When    cvervthinir 
preparation  is  made 
Pwo  men  commence 
ito  small  oblousr  pie- 
id  to  two  others,  who 
lince   it   thin,  when 
•ge  pots    and   heated 
m  it,  and  all  the  wa- 
e   oil    is  then  bailed 
essel  from  which  it 
•  into  a  largo  pot,  and 
ks  and   rolled  away 
3r  solid  matter  of  the 
fuel,  so  that  every 
it  were  not  for  the 
carry  wood  enough 
'hen  the  oil  is  cooled 
asks  in  the  hold,  by 
e,  and  is  there  done 


PERSISTENCY  OF  FAMILY  FEATUUES. 


Gt9 


with  until  the  ship  arrives  at  home.  The 
description  of  a  whale-ship  boiling  at 
nii;ht,  may  amuse,  and  would  convey  no 
bid  idea  of  the  fancied  infernal  regions  of 
former  days.  If  the  observer  were  placed 
near  enough  to  see  the  general  movements, 
and  yet  not  so  contiguous  as  to  let  dull 
reality  dispel  the  illusion  of  appearance, 
and  could  fiiiicy  the  heaving  ocean  glaring 
in  the  fitful  light  to  bo  liquid  sulphur,  he 
would  have  the  material  hell  of  our  precise 
ancestors  before  him.  The  men  feeding 
their  huge  fires,  and  now  stirring  them 
into  fierce  action,  the  briglit  blaze  flaring 
wide  over  the  oce;in  and  throwing  in  bold 
relief  visages  blackened  by  smoke,  un- 
shorn and  shaggy,  their  bright  steel  forks 
and  pikes  now  flashing  in  the  light,  and 
now  indistinct  as  the  flickering  blazo  fades 
away,  and  again  seen  as  the  master-demon 
throws  boiling  oil  into  the  blaze  (to  give 
light  to  his  operations),  the  hasty  move- 
ments of  the  men  passing  suddenly  before 
the  fires  and  then  lost  in  darkness,  or  their 
forms  thrown  at  length  before  the  blaze  in 
liio  moments  of  relaxation — a  mcbid  fan- 
cy might  easily  make  it  an  image  of  terror, 
or  a  lighter  mood  might  laugh  at  the 
ridiculous  pageant  as  it  passed  before 
him. 


PERSISTENCY  OF  FAMILY  FEATURES. 

T  is  well  known  that 
personal  pecuUarities  of 
all  kinds,  defects  as  well 
beauties,  casts  of  fea- 
tures, and  traits  of  ex- 
pression, are  transmit- 
-.f^^^SSfl^  ted  from  parents  to  their 
'^C^^\\'^<S.  '  children.  The  fact 
stares  us  in  the  face 
whenever  we  enter  a  family  parlor,  for 
there  it  is  invariably  seen  that  the  young 
people  bear  a  resemblance  in  one  respect 
or  another  to  their  father  or  mother,  or  to 
both.  This  is  a  subject  which  has  never, 
as  far  as  we  are  aware,  been  honored  with 
more  than  a  transient  notice  at  the  hands 
of  the  learned  ;  yet  it  might  be  worthy  of 
philosophical  investigation.  We  merely 
propose,  in  this  place,  to  illustrate  it  by  a 


few  facts,  wliich  we  have  picked  up  either 
from  personal  observation,  or  from  books. 

Sometimes  the  reproduction  of  face  and 
figure  in  the  chihl  seems  almost  perfect. 
Sometimes  face  is  borrowed  from  one  pa- 
rent, and  form  of  head,  or  of  body,  or  of 
some  of  the  limbs,  from  the  other.  Occa- 
sionally, there  is  a  remarkable  blending 
of  the  two  throughout  the  whole  or  parts 
of  the  person.  Even  peculiarities  in  the 
carriage  of  the  head  or  of  the  mode  of 
walking  are  transmitted,  and  a  family  voice 
is  nearly  as  common  a  marvel  as  a  family 
face.  A  man,  in  a  place  distant  froni  his 
home,  and  where  he  was  totally  unknown, 
has  been  distinguished  as  the  brother  of 
one  known  there  by  the  sound  of  his  voice 
heard  in  a  neighbormg  apartment.  But 
the  almost  perfect  reproduction  of  the  el- 
der Kean's  voice  in  the  younger,  is  per- 
haps the  most  convincing  illustration  we 
could  adduce  upon  this  point.  It  will  al- 
so be  found  that  children  resembling  eith- 
er parent  externally,  have  a  stronger  af- 
finity of  mental  character  to  that  parent 
than  to  the  other.  A  gentleman,  very  in- 
timately known  to  us,  is  strikingly  like  his 
father,  who  has  been  deceased  since  his 
early  youth  :  he  also  exhibits  the  same 
dispositions  and  intellectual  tendencies  in 
a  remarkable  degree,  delights  in  the  same 
studies,  has  the  same  turn  for  the  percep- 
tion of  human  character;  nay,  he  often 
feels,  in  the  simplest  procedure  of  com- 
mon life,  so  absolute  an  identity  with  what 
he  remembers  of  his  father  in  the  same 
circumstances,  and  at  the  same  period  of 
life,  as  expressed  by  gesture  and  conver- 
sation, that  it  seems  to  him  as  if  he  were 
the  same  person.  Nor  can  this,  he  says, 
be  a  result  of  imitation  ;  it  is  something 
which  takes  place  independently  of  all  de- 
sign, and  which  he  only  remarks,  in  gen- 
eral, after  the  act  or  feeling  or  movement, 
which  recalls  his  father,  has  passed. 

But  it  is  not  parents  alone  who  are  thus 
reproduced  in  new  generations.  In  a 
large  family  familiarly  known  to  us,  as  are 
all  its  relationships,  we  see,  in  the  young 
persons,  resemblances  both  to  the  father 
and  mother  and  to  one  or  other  of  the 
two  grandfathers  and  grandmothers,  not- 
withstanding that,  in  one  or  two  instances, 
the  intermediate  generation  did  not  bear 
those  features  of  the  first  which  are  traced 


HMiiii 


.-ria< 


impssi 


:)jW"r"' 


r 


680 


PERSISTENCY  OF  FAMILY  FEATU11E8. 


in  the  third.  It  thus  appears  that  a  pecu- 
linrity  will  sink  in  one  generation,  and  re- 
appear in  the  next.  Perhaps  even  more 
jrenerations  than  one  are  occasionally 
passed  over.  In  this  family,  several  of 
the  children  are  totally  diflerent  from  the 
rest ;  complexion,  form,  gesticulations, 
voices,  all  peculiar.  This  seems  to  bo 
owiiij,'  to  their  'Making  after"  diileretit  pa- 
rents, or  the  families  to  which  the  dilTer- 
ent  (larents  belonged.  What  makes  this 
the  more  remarkable,  is,  that  one  of  these 
cliiMren,  while  iu  all  respects  unlike  cer- 
tain brothers  and  sister.s,  has  one  feature 
strikingly  recalling  the  imago  of  a  distant 
cousin — a  character  of  feature  not  seen 
in  any  other  existing  member  of  the  fam- 
ily, and  not  remembered  of  any  that  are 
decisased.  It  would  appear  as  if  these  mi- 
niitiic  of  I'amily  characters  llitted  about  fit- 
fully and  vaguely,  and  ordy  settled  now 
and  tben  upon  individuals  in  a  clan,  some- 
times uj)on  not  more  than  two,  or  perhaps 
upon  one  only,  in  the  same  ago.  From 
all  of  these  facts,  it  may  be  inferred  that 
the  strong  resemblances  sometimes  re- 
marked between  cousins,  are  indications 
of  their  representing  a  common  original, 
aiul  of  their  being  in  reality  more  consan- 
guineous than  are  many  brothers  and  sis- 
ters. The  unsuiiableness  of  such  rela- 
tions for  matrimonial  alliances,  must  of 
course  be  allecled  by  this  consideration. 
Whore  resemblances  exist,  their  union 
may  be  held  as  even  more  decisively  con- 
denmed  by  nature,  than  is  that  between 
brothers  and  sisters  who  are  not  observ- 
ably alike. 

'riie  limitation  of  portrait-painting  as  to 
time,  is  a  bar  to  our  knowledge  with  re- 
gard to  instances  of  long  transmission  of 
family  faces  and  features.  Yet  enough 
is  ascertained  to  establish  the  law  of  the 
case.  In  the  royal  family  of  England, 
a  certain  fulness  of  the  lower  and  lateral 
parts  of  the  face  is  conspicuous  in  the 
portraits  of  the  whole  series  of  sovereigns, 
from  George  I.  to  Victoria.  It  has  been 
equally  seen  in  other  members  of  the  fam- 
ily. The  Duke  of  Cumberland  who  fig- 
ured at  CuUoden,  presents  generally  the 
same  visage  as  several  of  the  sons  of 
William  IV.  This  physiognomy  may  be 
traced  back  to  Sophia,  the  mother  of 
George  I. ;   how  much  further,  we  can 


not  tell.  It  is  equally  certain  that  a  thick- 
ness of  tlie  imder  lip,  peculiar  to  the  im- 
perial family  of  Austria  (Maria  Louisa  is 
said  to  bo  charactc^rized  by  ii),  has  been 
hereditary  in  the  race  since  a  marriat."' 
some  centuries  ago  with  thr-  Polish  house 
of  Jagellon,  whence  it  c;ime. 

A    remarkable    anccdyte   ilhi:5trafive  of  j 
this  subject  was  told  us,  some  years  ago,  ' 
by    a   gentleman    who   has    since    dislin-  i 
guished  himself  in  the  walk  of  fictitious 
literature.     Horn   in  Nova  Scotia,  where  i 
his    family,  originally  Scotch,  had    been 
settled  for  the  areatcr  part  of  a  century, 
he  had  not  an  opportiiiiiiy  of  visiting  Siiot- 
land  till  past  the  middle  of  life.     Here  he 
endeavored  to  sec   as   many  as    possible 
of  the  individuals  bearing  his  rather  im- 
common    name,    and    in    this    (piest   he 
often  took  journeys  to  considerable  dis- 
tances.    Having  beard  of  a  family  of  the 
name  residing  at  a  lonely  farm  among  the 
Lammernmir  hills,  he  proceeded  thither  on 
foot  from  the  nearest  market  town.     As  is 
not  uncommon  in  such  situations,  the  ap- 
proach of  a  visiter  could  be  observed  from 
this  house  while  he  was  yet  fully  a  milo 

distant.     Mr.  II' was  observed  at  that 

distance  by  some  of  the  children,  who 
immediately  cried  out  with  one  voice, 
"  There  is  Uncle  George  !"  When  the 
stranger  arrived  at  the  house,  the  seniors 
of  the  family  fullj'  acknowledged  the  gen- 
eral resemblance  of  the  figure  ami  carriage 
to  the  person  called  uncle  George ;  and 
it  was  asc(  tained,  after  a  little  conversa- 
tion, that  the  Nova  Scotian  was  in  reality 
their  cousin  at  two  or  three  removes. 

When  Mr.  William  Howitt  visited  Strat- 
ford-on-Avon,  in  order  to  write  respecting 
the  places  connected  with  Shakspere,  the 
schoolmaster  informed  him  that  a  descen- 
dant of  a  near  relation  of  the  poet  was 
one  of  his  pupils.  "  He  marshalled  his 
laddish  troop  in  a  row,"  says  Mr.  Howitt, 
"  and  said  to  me,  '  There,  now,  sir,  can 
you  tell  which  is  a  Shakspere.'  I  glanced 
my  eye  along  the  lino,  and  quickly  fixing 
it  on  one  boy,  said,  'That  is  the  Shak- 
spere.' '  You  are  right,'  said  the  mas- 
ter, 'that  is  the  Shakspere — the  Shak- 
spere cast  of  countenance  is  there.  That 
is  William  Shakspere  Smith,  a  lineal  de- 
scendant of  the  poet's  sister.'  The  lad," 
continues  Mr.  Howitt,  "  was  a  fine  lad  of 


y  certain  that  a  tliick- 
I,  ppciiliar  to  iho  im- 
ria  (Maria  Louisa  is 
izod  by  it),  lias  Ix-iii 
CO  since  a  niarriatii' 
villi  the  Polish  house 
it  came, 
ccilpte   illustrative  of 

us,  soino  years  a<>o, 
10  has  since  tlisiin- 
he  walk  of  fictitious 

Nova  Scotia,  where 
y  Scotch,  had  been 
■r  part  of  a  century, 
unity  of  visitin}^  Scot- 
Idlu  of  life.  Hero  he 
IS  many  as  possible 
Niriii!!  his  rather  uii- 
1    ill    this    ([uest    ho 

to  coiisiihrable  dis- 
ird  of  a  family  of  the 
anely  farm  amoncr  the 
3  proceeded  thither  on 
t  market  town.  As  is 
eh  situations,  the  ap- 
)uld  be  oljserved  from 

was  yet  fully  a  iiiilo 
-  was  observed  at  that 
)f  the  children,  who 
out  wiili  one  voice, 
jcorjje  !"  When  the 
lie  house,  the  seniors 
:knowk'dged  the  gen- 
;he  figure  and  carriage 
J  uncle  George ;  and 
after  a  little  convcrsa- 
Scotian  was  in  reality 
>r  three  removes. 
n  Ilowitt  visited  Strat- 
er  to  write  respecting 
1  with  Shakspere,  the 
ed  him  that  a  descen- 
tion  of  the  poet  was 

"  He  marshalled  his 
w,"  says  Mr.  Howitt, 

There,  now,  sir,  can 
hakspere.'  I  glanced 
ae,  and  quickly  fixing 
,  'That  is  the  Shak- 

right,'  said  the  nias- 
hakspere — the  Shak- 
mance  is  there.  That 
re  Smith,  a  lineal  do- 
t's sister.'  The  lad," 
itt,  "  was  a  fine  lad  of 


PBB8I8TENCY  OF  FAMILY  FRATUHE8. 


681 


perhaps  ten  years  of  ago  ;  and  certain- 
ly the  resemblance  to  the  bust  of  Shak- 
spere, ill  the  church  at  Siratl'ord,  is  won- 
derful, iiMisideriug  he  is  not  descended 
from  Sliaksperc  himself,  but  from  his  sis- 
ter, a!id  that  the  seventh  in  descent.    What 
is  odJ  enough,  whether  it  be  mere  acci- 
dent or  not,  the  color  of  the  lad's  eyes,  a 
liirht  htizol,  is  the  same  as  that  given  to 
tlitise  of  the   Shakspere  bust,  which  it  is 
well  known  was  originally  ccdored,  and  of 
which  e.vact  copies  remain."     These  oli- 
servalionsof  Mr.  Howitt  are  confirmed  by 
a  jKirliait  of  the  youth,  which  ho  gives  in 
his  hook.     Wo  are  the  less  disposed  to 
eiiteitain  doubts  on  the  subject,  in  conse- 
quence of  circunibtauces  which  have  fallen 
under  our  own  notice.     Some  years  ago, 
a  young  man  in  humble  life  came  forward 
to  claim  the  restoration  of  the  forfeited  ti- 
tles of  the  Seatons,  carls  of  Wintoun,  his 
grandfather  having  been  assured  that  he 
was  a  legilim;ito  though  obscurely  born 
son  of   ihc  noble,  who  lost  honors,  and 
lands,  by  joining   in    the    insurrection  of 
1715.      From  want  of  evidence,  the  claim 
was  a  hopeless  one,  and  it  was  not  prose- 
cuted ;  but  of  one  fact  there  could  be  no 
doul)t  that  the  young  man  so  nearly  resem- 
bled the  sons  of  the  liftli  Lord  Scaton,  as 
represented  in  a  family  picture  painted  by 
Antony  More,  that  ho  might  have  passed 
for  their  brother.     These  persons  lived  in 
the  latter  half  of  the  sixtienth  century. 

The  doubts  which  might  rest  on  cases 
of  particular  resemblance  in  families,  ought 
perhaps  to  be  in  a  great  measure  dispelled, 
when  we  reflect  on  the  evidence  that  ex- 
ists with  respect  to  the  persistency  of  ex- 
ternal characters  in  sets  and  races  of 
people.  Not  only  have  we  such  facts  as 
the  ])revalent  tallness  in  the  inhabitants 
of  Potsdam,  where  Frederick  I.  assembled 
his  regiment  of  longitudinal  guards,  and  a 
strong  infusion  of  Spanish  features  in  the 
people  of  the  county  of  Galway,  in  which 
some  centuries  ago  several  Spanish  set- 
tlements were  made  ;  but  we  are  assured 
by  Major  Bevan  that  he  could  distinguish 
the  several  castes  in  India  by  their  pecu- 
liarhies  of  countenance  ;  and  the  Jews  are 
the  same  people  in  Egyptian  entablatures 
of  three  thousand  years  ago,  as  they  are 
in  some  countries  at  the  present  day.  Mr. 
Kohl,  in  his  travels  in  Austria,  speaks  of 


^1) 


I  Prague  as  a  very  garden  of  beauty.     "  For 
the   young  ladies  of   18n,"say.«»  he,  "  1 
am  ready  to  give  my  testimony  most  un- 
reservedly, and  many  an  enraptured  travel- 
ler has  left  us  his   books  as    living  wit- 
nesses  to  the    loveliness    of  the   grand- 
mothers   and    great-granduiotherH    of   the 
present  generation.     The  old  chromeler, 
Hammerschmidt,  and  his  (!oiileni|)oniries, 
dwell    with   (Mpial  jdeasure  on    the   sweet 
faces  that  smiled  upon  them  in  their  d:iys, 
and   the   picture-gallery  of  many  a  Dohe- 
mian  castle  is  there  to  testify  to  the  truth 
of  their   statements.     One   witness   there 
is  to  the  fact,  whoso  right  (v\v  will  ijues- 
tion  to  decide   on  such  a   point.     Titian, 
who   studied   the   faces   of  lovely  women 
for  ninety-six  years,  and  who,  while  at  the 
court  of  Charles  V.,  spent   five   years  in 
Germany,  tells  us  it  was  among  the  ladies 
(if  Prague   that   ho    fotind   his    iilntl  of  a 
beautiful    fem.'lo   head.      If  we    go    back 
beyond  the  times  of  Titian,  we   have  the 
declaration  of  Charles   IV.,  that   Prngno 
was  a  hortiis  (Jiliriariirn,  and  whoever  has 
read  the  life  of  that  emi)eror,  will  scarcely 
doubt    that   beautiful    women    iiiist    have 
been  included  in  the  delights  of  a  cripit.il 
so  apostrophized.     Nay,  the  tiim^-honored 
nobility  of  the  beauty  of  Prague  may  he 
said  to  go  back  even  to  the  earliest  tradi- 
tion, where  we  find  it  celebrated  \fi   \\u'. 
legends  of  Libussa   and  Vlasta,  and   the 
countless  songs  composed  in  honor  of  the 
Deviy  Slavanske  or  Tshekhian  damst's." 
While  there  is  a  law   of  persistency, 
there  seems  also  to  be  one  modifying  it, 
a  law  of  variation.     The   contiiuiance  of 
national   features    depends   much   on    ad- 
herence to  the   same  region  of  the  earth, 
and  the  same   mode  of  living.     NVlien  a 
peojde  migrate  to  a  remote  and  difl'crenily 
characterized   clime,  they  are  often   seen 
to    undergo,   in   the    next   generation,    a 
change  of  features  and  of  figure.     Thus 
the  unctuous  Saxon  of  Kent  and  Suflblk, 
when   transferred   to   Massachusetts,  be- 
comes metamorphosed  into  the  lank  anu 
wiry   New-Eiiglander.      Descendants  of 
British  settlers  in  the  West  Indies  have 
been  remarked,  after  several  generations, 
to  acquire  some  of  the   peculiar  features 
of  the  aboriginal  Americans,  particidarly 
high  cheek-bones  and  eyes  deeply  set  in 
the  head.     It  has  also  been  remarked  in 


r 


682 


KETEOSPECTION.. 


I 


n 
1 

4 


15" 
I 

if 


i 


ct 


Now  South  Wales,  that  tho  generation  of 
English  l)()rn  tliero  aro  chan^'ed  from  tlieir 
pr()j,Mnit()rf* — taller,  aiul  le^s  rolnist,  ho- 
biilest  having  a  share  of  that  nasal  toiiO 
which  ia  found  in  tho  American  English. 
Tlu'80  aro  curious  facts,  conveying  tho 
impression  that  national  forms  have  been 
ih'ierminetl  to  some  extent  by  peculiarities 
of  climate  and  other  external  influences. 

In  the  main,  ono  generation  is  repre- 
sented in  another  succeeding  it.  We  die 
as  individuals,  but  tho  character  in  mind 
and  body,  "  with  a  difreronco,"  ia  'iCveJ 
and  continued  by  those  who  come  after 
us,  and  the  tissue  of  human  races  is  a  kind 
of  immortality. 


POPE'S  TREE. 

^  HE  village  of  Binfield, 
f^in  Berkshire,  situated 
about  seven  miles 
west  of  Windsor,  and 
within  the  precinct  of 
the  forest,  is  remarka- 

fgjyjf^^j^^lK-^^  ]y\Q  ffQf,^  having  been 
»  the  residence  of  Alex- 
ander Pope,  during  his  early  years.  The 
father  of  tho  poet,  having  accumulated  a 
considerable  fortune  by  business  in  Lon- 
don, retired  to  this  place  during  the  infan- 
cy of  his  son,  and  here  purchased  a  house 
and  estate. 

Speaking  of  this  house,  which,  although 
probably  much  altered  from  its  original 
state,  is  still  standing.  Pope  calls  it — 


"  my  paternal  cell. 


A  little  house,  with  trees  a-row. 
And,  like  its  master,  very  low." 

About  half  a  mile  from  the  house,  an 
interesting  memorial  of  the  poet  still  re- 
mains, or  at  least  did  so  a  few  years  since. 
There  is  here  a  fine  grove  of  beeches, 
pleasantly  situated  on  the  gentle  slope  of 
a  hill,  which  commands  an  agreeable 
though  not  extensive  view  of  the  surround- 
ing country.  This  grove  was  a  favorite 
resort  of  Pope's,  who  is  said  to  have  com- 
posed many  of  his  earlier  pieces  sitting 
under  'he  shade  of  one  of  the  trees,  below 
which  a  seat  was  then  placed.  The  rec- 
ollection of  this  circumstance  was  pre-  j 


served  by  Lady  Oower,  an  adinin-r  of  tho 
poet  .ho  catisnd  tho  words  "  II nun  I'oi-r 
sii.Nii,"  to  bo  cut  in  largn  leif.rs  in  llio 
bark,  at  some  height  from  the  groniid , 
and  as  this  inscription,  at  tho  time  \\n 
mention,  was  distinctly  legible,  it  was  ns 
doubt,  at  ono  period,  occasionally  renewed. 


RETROSPECTION. 

E  know  of  no  spec- 
tacle so  well  calcu- 
lated to  teach  hu- 
man humiliation,  and 
convince  us  of  tho 
utter  fnj'ility  of  tho 
proudos!  monuments 
of  art,  as  tliu  relics 
which  remind  us  of 
vast  populations  that  have  passed  from  the 
eartii,  and  the  empires  that  have  crumbled 
into  ruins.  Wo  read  upon  the  ruins  of 
the  past  tho  fate  of  the  present.  Wo  feel 
as  if  the  cities  of  men  were  built  on  foun- 
dations beneath  which  tho  eartluiuake 
slept,  and  thnt  we  abide  in  tho  midst  of 
tho  same  dc  j,  i  which  has  already  swal- 
lowed so  mu'.h  ol  the  records  <A'  mortal 
magnificence.  Under  such  emotions,  wo 
look  on  all  human  power  as  foundation- 
less,  and  view  the  proudest  nations  of  the 
present  as  covered  only  with  the  mass  of 
their  desolation. 

The  Assyrian  empire  was  once  alike 
the  terror  and  wonder  of  the  world,  and 
Babylon  was  perhaps  never  surpassed  in 
power  and  gorgeous  magnificence.  But 
where  is  there  even  a  relic  of  Babylon 
now,  save  on  the  faithful  pages  of  Holy 
Writ?  Tho  very  place  of  its  existence 
is  a  matter  of  uncertainty  and  dispute. 
Alas !  that  the  measure  of  time  should  bo 
doomed  to  oblivion  ;  and  that  those  who 
first  divided  the  year  into  months,  and  in- 
vented the  zodiac  itself,  should  take  so 
sparing  of  immortality  as  to  be,  in  tho 
lapse  of  a  few  centuries,  confounded  with 
natural  phenomena  of  mountain  and  val- 
ley. 

Who  can  certainly  show  us  the  site  of 
the  tower  that  was  "  reared  against  heav- 
en" ?     Who  were  the  builders  of  the  pyra- 


BS'iiiiiDamiiiiiiawii 


mmBsmmm 


iTTltfiwj  Hi 


ECTION. 

E  know  of  no  spec- 
tacio  so  woll  calcu- 
lated to  t(:a<h  hu- 
man liiiiniliatiun,  and 
convinci!  iis  of  llio 
utter  fniMlily  of  the 
proudos!  nioMuinciits 
of  art,  as  tliu  relics 
which  remind  us  of 
lave  passed  from  I  ho 
that  have  cruiiihlcd 
upon  the  ruins  of 
e  present.  We  feel 
were  built  on  fuun- 
ch  tho  eartluiunko 
de  in  tho  midst  of 
;i  has  already  swal- 
3  records  of  nuirtal 
:  such  emotions,  wo 
)wer  as  foundation- 
iidest  nations  of  the 
ily  with  the  mass  of 

>ire  was  onco  alike 
r  of  the  world,  and 

never  surpassed  in 
magnificence.  But 
a  relic  of  Babylon 
thful  pages  of  Holy 
ice  of  its  existence 
tainty  and  dispiuo. 
•e  of  time  should  bo 
and  that  those  who 
into  months,  and  in- 
lelf,  should  take  so 
y  as  to  be,  in  the 
es,  confounded  with 

mountain  and  val- 

show  us  tho  site  of 
■eared  against  heav- 
builders  of  the  pyra- 


fijii 


I 


ntfm*' 


r 


«?' 


n- 


ifi. 


ws' 


084 


LEEDS  CA8TLK,  KKNT. 


m'uh  iliiit  have  excited  ho  much  the  aston- 
i»liirii-nt  of  modern  nutioiis  ? 

Wlitre  ia  Home,  tho  irronintiWo  mon- 
arch of  tho  cast,  iho  terror  of  iho  world ' 
Whcro  iiro  tho  proud  odiCicPs  of  her  ^lory, 
the  fame  of  which  has  reached  even  to 
our  time  in  classic  vividness  ?  Ahis,  she, 
too,  has  faded  away  in  sins  and  vices. 
Time  lias  swept  his  iinspiring  scythe  over 
her  j>lori()s,  and  shorn  tliis  prince  of  its 
towering  diadems. 

"  Ilcr  hinoly  rnlumnn  itanit  »ubllmn, 
KliiiK'HiB  ll"'i''  sliii'l"W»  fri'iri  nii  hiijh, 
Mkc  iliiiN  which  llic  wiiiinl  Tiinp 
Hath  ruisptl,  to  count  his  age»  by." 

Throiipliout  tho  range  of  our  western 
wilds,  down  in  Mexico,  Yucatan,  Bolivia, 
&.C.,  travellers  have  been  able  to  discover 
the  most  indisputable  ovidiMices  of  extinct 
rac>  s  of  men  highly  skilled  in  learning 
and  the  arts,  of  whom  we  have  no  earthly 
record,  save  tho  remains  of  their  wonder- 
ful works  which  time  has  spared   for  our 
contemplation.     On  the  very  spot  where 
forests    rise    in   unbroken    grandeur,  and 
seem  to  have  been  explored  only  by  their 
natural  inhabitants,  generation  after  gene- 
ration has  stood,  has  lived,  has  warred, 
grown  old,  and  passed  away  ;  and  not  only 
their  names,  but  their  nation,  their  lan- 
guage, has  perished,  and  utter  oblivion  has 
closed  over   their  once-populoua  abodes. 
Who  shall  unravel  to  us  the  magnificent 
ruins  of  Mexico,  Yucatan,  and   Bolivia, 
over  which  hangs  tho  sublimest  mystery, 
and  which  seem  to  have  been  antiquities 
in  the  day  of  Pharaoh?     Who  were  tho 
builders  of  those  gorgeous  temples,  obe- 
lisks, and  palaces,   now  tho  ruins  of  a 
powerful    and    highly-cultivated    people, 
wlio.se  national  existence  was  probably  be- 
fore that  of  Thebes  or  Rome,  Carthage  or 
Athens  ?     Alas  !  there  is  none  to  tell  the 
tale  ;  all  is  conjecture,  and  our  best  infor- 
mation concerning  them  is  derived  only 
from  uncertain  analogy. 

How  forcibly  do  these  wonderful  rev- 
olutions, which  overturn  the  masterworks 
of  man,  and  utterly  dissolve  his  boasted 
knowledge,  remind  us  that  God  is  in  them 
all !  Wherever  the  eye  is  turned,  to  what- 
ever quarter  of  tho  world  the  attention  is 
directed,  there  lie  the  remains  of  more 
powerful,  more  advanced,  and  more  highly 
skilled  nations  than  ourselves,  the  almost 


obliterated  recordu  of  tho  mighty  pust, 
Mow  seemingly  woll-founded  was  llie  de- 
lusion, and  indeed  how  current  even  now, 
that  the  discovery  of  Colimibns  first  open- 
ed the  way  for  a  cultivated  people  in  the 
'•  new  world."  And  yet  how  great  reason 
is  there  for  the  conrlusion,  that  wliile  the 
country  of  Ferdinand  and  Isiibitlla  was  yet 
a  stranger  to  the  cultivated  arts,  America 
teemed  with  power  and  grandeur — with 
cities  and  temples,  pyramids  and  mounds, 
in  comparison  with  which  the  liiiildiMi^s 
of  Spain  bear  not  the  slightest  resemblance, 
and  before  which  the  relics  of  the  old 
world  are  shorn  of  their  grandeur ! 

All  these  great  relics  of  still  greater  na- 
tions, should  thoy  not  teach  us  a  lesson 
of  humiliation,  confirming,  as  they  do,  the 
truth  that  God  is  in  histnrii  which  man 
can  not  penetrate?  If  tho  historian  tell.i 
us  truly  that  a  hundred  thousand  men,  re- 
lieved every  three  months,  were  tliirty 
years  in  erecting  a  single  Egyptian  pyra- 
mid, what  conclusion  may  we  not  rcason- 
ablv  form  of  the  intiquities  of  our  own 
continent,  which  is  almost  by  way  of  de- 
rision, one  would  suppose,  styled  the  "  new 
world!" 


LEEDS  CASTLE,  KENT. 

N  a  wild  park  south- 
east of  Maidstone  about 
five  miles,  stands  Leeds 
Castle, an  extensive  pile 
of  military  architecture, 
principally  of  the  thir- 
teenth, fourteenth,  and 
fifteenth  centuries.  In 
its  history,  there  is  little 
beyond  that  attaching  to  every  other  sim- 
ilar building,  which  can  "  point  a  moral 
or  adorn  a  tale."  It  passed  several  times 
from  the  crown  to  the  favorites  or  faithful 
servants  of  the  sovereign.  Having  by  its 
strength  and  importance  excited  the  jeal- 
ousy of  Edward  I.,  the  family  which  then 
held  the  fief  resigned  it  to  Edward  II., 
who,  about  1318,  granted  it  in  exchange 
to  the  "  rich  Lord  Badlesmere  of  Leeds." 
This  nobleman  is  said  by  Philipot,  in  his 
"  Villare  Cantianum,"  to  have  lost  it  by  his 


il 


of  ihn  mighty  pint. 
l-f('iin<l«!il  w(is  ilii«  ill'- 
Kiw  ciirront  <nfii  now, 
f  ('oluintm-j  lirst  opfii- 
illivatcil  p<!oplo  ill  tlin 
1  yt<t  how  nr«ti»t  fcasun 
c-hi^iiMi,  tliiit  wliijt'  tiio 
(1  niul  Isiibt;il;i  was  yet 
illiviited  iiriN,  AiiuTica 
•  and  tfnmdfiir — with 
pyraini'lM  and  inouiidH, 
1   which  the   i)iiiidint,'s 

Hlightesl  rt'!(eiiii)liuic<', 
iho  ridics  of  iho  ohl 
tliuir  sranth'ur ! 
dic8  of  still  nunilPT  na- 
lot  teach  us  n  lesson 
irmini;,  as  they  do,  tlio 
in  historij  which  man 
If  tlio  historian  tolls 
Ircd  thoiisund  men,  re- 
I  months,  were  thirty 
,  single  Egyptian  pyra- 
on  may  wo  not  reason- 
intiiiiiiiies  of  our  own 
I  almost  by  way  of  de- 
ippose,  styled  the  "  new 


lSTLE,  KENT. 

N  a  wild  park  south- 
east of  Maidstone  about 
five  miles,  stands  Leeds 
Castle, an  extensive  pile 
of  military  architecture, 
principally  of  the  thir- 
teenth, fourteenth,  and 
fifteenth  centuries.  In 
its  history,  there  is  little 
ling  to  every  other  siin- 
;h  can  "  point  a  moral 
It  passed  several  times 
the  favorites  or  faithful 
vcreign.  Having  by  its 
rtance  excited  the  jeal- 
.,  the  family  which  then 
gned  it  to  Edward  II., 
granted  it  in  exchange 
Badlesmere  of  Leeds." 
said  by  Philipot,  in  his 
im,"  to  have  lost  it  by  his 


i     1 


m%\ 


4 


■•-1! 

;•  J : 


'-1 


i*^i« 


■•..'•<«»4. 


«^'^* 


086 


PARIS  AT  THE  PRESENT  DAY. 


was'! 


^-fe: 


castellain  refusing  to  receive  Isabel,  queen 
of  Edward  II.,  and  her  train,  on  a  prog- 
ress to  Canterbury,  because  the  messen- 
gers brought  the  castellain  no  authority 
from  his  lord.  The  king  was  so  much 
incensed  at  this  uncourteous  treatment, 
t'lat  orders  were  given  to  besiege  the  cas- 
tle, which  was  taken,  and  the  unfortunate 
keeper  was  hung.  The  lady  and  children 
of  Lord  Badlesmere  were  sent  to  the 
Tower,  and  the  Lord  Badlesmere  joined 
the  barons  then  in  arms,  but  he  and  his 
associates  and  their  followers  being  de- 
feated by  the  royal  forces,  he  was  put  to 
death  at  Canterbury.  Richard  II.  resided 
at  Leeds  Castle  at  several  periods  ;  and 
during  an  alarming  visitation  of  the  plague, 
in  the  second  year  of  the  reign  of  Henry 
IV.,  that  king  also  made  it  his  residence. 
George  III.  and  his  consort  visited  the 
castle  in  1779,  and  reipuined  there  two 
days. 

The  first  stack  of  buildmgs  on  approach- 
ing the  castle  from  the  east,  consists  of  the 
remains  of  tov/ers,  once  of  almost  im- 
pregnable strength ;  but  they  are  now 
sapped  to  their  foundations  by  a  otream 
of  water  from  the  surrounding  moat,  which 
is  fed  by  a  rivulet  called  the  Len.  In 
whatever  point  of  view  it  is  regarded,  the 
most  picturesque  combinations  are  visible  ; 
the  great  lines  are  finely  broken  ;  the  mass- 
i  s  boldly  projected  ;  the  colors  chastely 
blended,  and  in  many  places  beautifully 
relieved  by  groups  of  ash  and  other  trees, 
which  cluster  round  the  older  and  more 
decayed  towers  ;  and  the  picture  is  fin- 
ished by  an  amphitheatre  of  umbrageous 
hills. 


PARIS  AT  THE  PRESENT  DAY. 

LACE  de  la  Concorde 
is  the  casket  in  which 
is  contained  the  rich- 
est jewels  in  the  crown 
of  Paris,  I  might  say 
of  all  the  capitals  in 
the  world.  There  are, 
in  many  cities,  monu- 
ments, which,  when  ta- 
ken separately,  are  as  beautiful  as  those 


which  form  the  frame  of  this  magnificent 
picture,  but  nowhere  are  they  brought  to- 
gether as  in  this  place.  Let  us  endeavor 
to  station  ourselves  in  the  middle  of  this 
panorama,  that  we  may  understand  it  as  a 
whole  and  in  its  details. 

In  the  middle  of  the  square,  rises  the 
obelisk  of  Luxor,  that  speaking  witness 
of  Egyptian  grandeur,  from  the  height  of 
which  the  empire  of  the  Sesostris,  and 
the  genius  of  past  ages,  looks  down  upon 
the  grandeur  and  genius  of  the  present 
time.     On  each  side  of  this  page  of  his- 
tory, cut  in  granite,  two  magnificent  foun- 
tains throw   their   sheets  of  water  over 
groups  of  bronze,  the  wonders  of  modern 
art.     Each  basin,  set  in  an  embankment 
of  asphaltum,  is  surrounded  by  fifteen  or 
twenty  candelabras.     The  whole  surface 
of  the  Place  is  also  covered  with  asphal- 
tum, and  surrounded  with  monumental  can- 
delabras, the  stands  and  gilded  branches 
of  which  give  to  the  whole  place  a  deli- 
cate yellow  tint,  which  is  in  harmony  with 
the  tone  of  the  obelisk.     A  passage  has 
been  arranged  for  carriages  from  the  four 
cardinal  points  of  this  compass,  of  which 
the  obelisk  forms  the  hieroglyphic  needle. 
A  more  noble  portico  could  not  have  been 
formed  for  the  Champs- Elysees,  the  fabu- 
lous name  of  which,  has  now  become  a 
truth.     Lighted  by  gas  from  one   end  to 
the  other,  and  in  every  direction,  the  sides 
of  the  paths  of  this  drive  have  become  a 
bed  of  lava  which  tempts  the  delicate  feet 
of    pedestrian    ladies.     Basins,    statues, 
sumptuous  restorateurs,  have  sprung  up 
on   every   side.     The    Olympian    circus 
carries    there,   during    the    summer,    its 
equestrian  spectacles,  for  which  a  scene 
has  been  prepared  worthy  the  Roman  am- 
phitheatres.    On  the  other  side  the  pano- 
rama displays  its  magical  canvass.     Ev- 
erywhere, travelling  artists,  ropedancers, 
musicians,  punches,  dispute  for  your  at- 
tention, and  attract  your  eyes,  by  the  pre- 
liminary games  which  compose  les  baga- 
*elles  de  la  parte.     While  the  crowd  sepa- 
rates into  difTerent  groups,  walking,  seat- 
ed, grouped  together  before  the  mounte- 
banks, the  cocoa  merchant  glides  from  one 
to  the  other,  and  his  silver  bell  appeals  to 
thirsty  throats  ;  the  dealer  in  sweetmeats 
and  barley  sugar  drives  a  rival  trade,  and 
while  boys  are  led  away  by  these  tempt- 


me  of  this  magniricent 
re  are  they  brought  to- 
lace.  Let  us  endeavor 
)  in  the  middle  of  this 

may  understand  it  as  a 
Btails. 
if  the  square,  rises  the 

that  speaking  witness 
eur,  from  the  height  of 

of  the  Sesostris,  and 

ages,  looks  down  upon 

genius  of  the  present 
de  of  this  page  of  his- 
;,  two  magnificent  foiin- 

sheets  of  water  over 
the  wonders  of  modern 
set  in  an  embankment 
urrounded  by  fifteen  or 
s.  The  whole  surface 
30  covered  with  asphnl- 
jd  with  monumental  can- 
Is  and  gilded  branches 

the  whole  place  a  deli- 
hich  is  in  harmony  with 
ijelisk.     A  passage  has 

carriages  from  the  four 

this  compass,  of  which 
the  hieroglyphic  needle, 
tico  could  not  have  been 
amps-Elysees,  the  fabu- 
ich,  has  now  become  a 
y  gas  from  one  end  to 
3very  direction,  the  sides 
is  drive  have  become  a 
I  tempts  the  delicate  feet 
dies.  Basins,  statues, 
ateurs,  have  sprung  up 

The  Olympian  circus 
iring  the  summer,  its 
:les,  for  which  a  scene 
1  worthy  the  Roman  am- 
the  other  side  the  pano- 

magical  canvass.  Ev- 
ng  artists,  ropedancers, 
es,  dispute  for  your  at- 
:t  your  eyes,  by  the  pre- 
hich  compose  les  baga- 
While  the  crowd  sepa- 
t  groups,  walking,  seat- 
ther  before  the  mounte- 
merchant  glides  from  one 
his  silver  bell  appeals  to 
tie  dealer  in  sweetmeats 
drives  a  rival  trade,  and 
id  away  by  these  tempt- 


PARIS  AT  THE  I'RESENT  DAY. 


fi87 


ers,  the  little  babies  who  have  not  yet  the 
use  of  their  legs  are  drawn  about  in  small 
carriages,  to  each  of  which  four  little  goats 
are  harnessed.  On  the  course,  brilliant 
c(iiiipages,  on  their  way  to  the  Bois  de 
Hologne,  meet  omnibuses  and  coucoos,  re- 
turning from  Chailly  and  Neuilly.  As  the 
crown  to  this  moving  scene,  this  Parisian 
fair,  the  triumphal  arch  of  the  star,  lifts  in 
the  distance  its  gigantic  form,  which  is  not 
equalled  in  proportion  or  richness,  by  any 
of  tiie  monuments  of  the  kind  which  have 
remained  from  Grecian  and  Roman  antiq- 
uity. This  triumphal  arch  was  finished 
before  1837  ;  the  Hippodrome  has  recent- 
ly been  built  beside  it.  The  Champs- 
Elysecs  has  become  the  favorite  rendez- 
vous of  Parisians,  of  both  sexes,  the  fa- 
mous alleys  of  the  Tuilleries  itself,  are 
almost  abandoned  for  this  unrivalled  prom- 
enade. Now  that  you  have  a  feeble  idea 
of  the  moving  picture  which  is  offered  by 
the  Uhamps-EJysees,  look  into  this  ka- 
leidoscope from  the  middle  of  the  Place 
de  la  Concorde — seize  upon  these  thou- 
sand details,  and  then  turn  to  contemplate 
the  shady  alleys  of  the  garden  of  the  Tuil- 
leries, the  beautiful  marble  groups  with 
which  it  is  decorated,  and  the  imperial  and 
royal  palace  to  which  are  affixed  so  many 
recollections  of  grandeur,  of  terror,  and  of 
glory — on  the  right,  salute  the  Magdalene 
and  her  Grecian  portal,  the  Garde-Meuble, 
and  the  Hotel  de  la  Marine,  with  their 
terraces  and  uniform  colonnades ;  on  the 
left,  turn  your  eyes  to  the  bridge,  Louis 
XV.,  which  has  been  judiciousl)' relieved 
Iroia  the  colossal  statues  which  crushed 
it — to  the  severe  front  of  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies — to  ihe  Dome  des  Invalides, 
which  to  meet  yotir  eye  lifts  its  head  of 
gold  and  bronze  above  the  roofs — follow 
the  .Seine,  which,  changing  its  color  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  objects  reflected  from 
its  sides,  goes  off  toward  Passy,  looking 
back  with  regret — and  you  will  say  it  is 
a  .sii»ht,  unique  in  the  world.  But  it  is  not 
by  daylight  that  is  to  be  looked  at ;  it  is 
ill  the  evening,  at  night,  when  two  or  three 
hundred  gas-burners,  from  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde,  and  five  or  six  hundred  from 
the  Champs-Elysees,  are  lighted  up  at 
once.  Then  the  picture  is  fairy-like,  the 
eyes  are  dazzled  by  these  legions  of  spark- 
ling   lights,  by  these  sheaves  of  water. 


which  murmur  and  shine,  by  this  moving 
crowd,  these  rolling  carriages,  these  chil- 
dren singing,  women  laughing,  coachmen 
shouting,  the  whole  city  in  motion,  and  fi- 
nally by  their  thousand  gigantic  and  phan- 
tasmagoric shadows.  It  is  Nineveh,  Bab- 
ylon, Thebes,  Rome  ;  it  is  all  these,  and 
more  than  r!l  these — it  is  Paris ! 

Paris  covers  at  the  present  day  a  sur- 
face of  more  than  6,900  French  acres,  is 
peopled  by  a  million  of  inhabitants,  and 
contains  32,000  houses.  This  last  item 
does  not  saein  at  first  as  high  as  might 
have  been  supposed.  But  it  will  be  per- 
ceived to  be  immense,  when  it  is  borne  in 
mind,  that  these  are  not  houses,  separated 
as  in  London  by  frequent  squares,  and  that 
they  all  have  from  five  to  eight  stories. 

'i'he  total  length  of  all  the  public  ways, 
is  about  500,000  metres  or  125  leagues; 
that  is  the  distance  from  Paris  to  Lyons. 

The  public  streets  count  at  the  present 
time  3,210,000,  square  metres  of  pave- 
ment, and  800,000  of  streets  not  paved, 
not  including  the  Champs-Elysees  and  the 
Champ  de  Mars. 

The  subterranean  aqueducts  under  Par- 
is make  a  length  of  110,000  metres,  or 
leagues. 

L'J0,000  metres  of  pipe  carry  the  water 
into  every  quarter.  They  supply  1 26  pub- 
lic fountains,  15  fountains  for  merchandise, 
and  1,600  private  fountains. 

150  leagues  of  pipe  distribute  the  gas 
which  lights  the  city,  into  all  its  quarters. 

Add  to  all  this  a  continuous  wall,  sur- 
rounded by  ditches  and  bastions,  covering 
a  circumference  of  14  leagues,  and  pro- 
tected by  sixteen  Titans  of  stone  and 
bronze,  sixteen  fortresses — a  work  of  na- 
tional defence  which  has  no  equal  in  the 
records  of  any  nation,  and  which  is  the 
most  grand  of  all  the  enterprises  conceived 
and  executed  by  Louis  Philippe — that  in 
which  he  has  most  largely  wrought  into 
masonry  and  melted  into  bronze,  his  im- 
mortality— that  which  would  redeem,  if 
necessary,  in  the  eyes  of  intelligent  pa- 
triots, all  his  errors  or  his  faults,  because 
it  secures  for  the  future  the  national  inde- 
pendence, by  rendering  invulnerable  the 
heart  and  the  head  of  France,  and  meets 
the  invaders  of  the  country  with  the  tac- 
tics of  a  strategy  different  from  that  which 
made  the  success  and  caused  the  reverses 


27^ 


M'iftal 


1 


688 


THE  SPIUNGER  ANTELOPE. 


of  Napoleon.  Place  before  your  eyes  all 
these  wonders,  all  these  great  works,  and 
the  ant-heap  moving  within  this  triple  en- 
closure of  granite  and  of  brass.  Such  is 
Paris. 


THE  SPIUNGER  ANTELOPE. 


,^  HE   antelope   repre- 
l^sented  in  the  engra- 
ving, is   one   of  the 
most  beautiful  of  the 
various  species  of  an- 
telopes which  inhab- 
it southern  Africa. — 
It  has  received  from 
the  Dutch  colonists  the  name  of  springbok, 
from  the  bounding  leaps  which  it  takes, 
and   also    pronkbok,   showy  or   beautiful 
buck,   from  the  colors  which  it  discloses 
in  leaping.     This  latter  ellect  is  caused 
by  two  folds  of  the  skin,  which,  ascend- 
ing from  the  root  of  the  tail,  and  tormina- 
ling  upon  the  croup,  dilate  when  the  ani- 
mal is  bounding,  and  expose  a  large  trian- 
gular space,  otherwise  concealed,  of  pure 
white-colored   hair,  edged   by  two   dark 
streaks.     The  head  of  the  animal  is  rath- 
er short,  with  somewhat  of  the  expression 
of  a  lamb  :  the  neck  is  slender,  the  body 
comparatively  bulky,  and  the  legs  slender 
and  elegantly  turned.     It  is  larger   than 
the  gazelle,  but  of  the  same  make  and 
color. 

It  resides  on  the  plains  of  south  Africa, 
to  an  unknown  distance  in  the  interior,  in 
(locks,  assembling  in  vast  herds,  and  ini- 
graiing  from  north  to  south,  and  back  wiih 
ihe  monsoons.  These  migrations,  which 
are  said  to  take  place  in  their  most  nume- 
rous form  only  at  the  intervals  of  several 
years,  appear  to  come  from  the  northeast, 
and  in  masses  of  many  thousands,  devour- 
ing, like  locusts,  every  green  herb.  The 
liun  has  been  seen  to  migrate,  and  walk 
in  the  midst  of  the  compressed  phalanx, 
with  only  as  much  room  between  him  and 
his  victims  as  the  fears  of  those  immedi- 
ately around  could  procure  space  by  pres- 
sing outward. 

The  migrations  of  innumerable  compa- 
nies of  springboks  from  unknown  regions 


ill  the  interior  of  Africa  to  the  abodes  of 
civilization,  are  among  the  most  extraor- 
dinary examples  of  the  fecundity  of  ani- 
mal life.  The  vast  quantity  of  a  species 
of  birds  of  South  America,  which  produce 
the  guano  (a  manure)  in  sufficient  abun- 
dance to  be  a  great  article  of  commerce — 
the  flocks  of  pigeons  of  North  America — 
the  locusts  of  Africa — are  not  more  stri- 
king than  the  herds  of  springboks. 

It  is  scarcely  possible  for  a  person  pas- 
sing over  some  of  the  extensive  tracts  of 
the  interior  and  admiring  that  elegant  an- 
telope, the  springbok,  thinly  scattered  over 
the  plains,  and  bounding  in  playful  inno- 
cence, to  figure  to  himself  that  these  or- 
naments of  the  desert  can  often  become 
as  destructive  as  the  locusts  themselves. 
The  incredible  numbers  which  sometimes 
pour  in  from  the  north  during  protracted 
droughts,  distress  the  farmer  inconceiva- 
bly. I 
The  springbok,  like  the  hare,  conceals  ! 
itself  in  cover  during  the  day,  and  resort.s  i 
to  the  open  plain  in  the  evening  and  at  j 
night,  for  the  purpose  of  feeding   only.  \ 
The  Cape  antelope,  in  fact,  perfectly  re- 
sembles the  hare  in  all  its  characteristics, 
it  lies  continually  in  its  form,  leaving  it 
oidy  to  procure  food,  or  to  escape  from  its 
enemies. 

The  bok  is  shot  in  great  numbers  by  t'ue 
Dutch  boors.  This  sport  is  usually  pur- 
sued on  horseback,  and  in  the  heat  of  the 
day.  The  animal  is  then  lying  in  its  ha- 
bitual lair,  and  on  being  disturbed  by  the 
sportsman,  springs  from  it  with  a  succes- 
sion of  bounds,  than  which  nothing  can 
be  more  beautiful  or  graceful. 

The  Dutch  boor  is  generally  an  uner- 
ring shot ;  but  in  case  the  antelope  should 
be  only  wounded,  the  buck-dog  (a  species 
j  of  large  mongrel)  is  always  at  the  heels 
;  of  his  master's  horse,  and,  at  the  report 
I  of  his  gun,  darts  forward  and  secures  the 
I  animal.     It  is  then  placed  behind  the  sad- 
j  die,  ill  the  way  showi  in  the  engra*  ing. 
I      The  horse  used  in  buck-shooting  is  the 
i  hardy  serviceable  animal   common  to  tlie 
country.     Many    of    them    are    so    well 
trained,  that  they  stop  the  instant  the  bok 
gets  up,  but  in  most  cases  a  sHght  check 
IS  necessary  ;  the  rein  is  then  dropped  on 
tl#j  horse's  neck,  and  he  remains  motion- 
I  loss. 


rica  to  the  abodes  of 
ng  the  most  extraor- 
the  fecundity  of  aiii- 
quantity  of  a  species 
lerica,  which  produce 
i)  in  sufficient  abun- 
irlicle  of  commerce 
s  of  North  America- 
I — are  not  mo 
of  springboks 
sible  for  a  person  pas- 
le  extensive  tracts  of 
liring  that  elegant  an- 
i,  thinly  scattered  over 
ding  in  playful  iniko- 
limself  that  these  or- 
Brt  can  often  become 
e  locusts  themselves, 
bers  which  sometimes 
orth  during  protracted 
^e  farmer  inconceiva- 

ike  the  hare,  conceals 
kg  the  day,  and  resorts 
n  the  evening  and  at 
lose  of  feeding  ouly. 
),  in  fact,  perfectly  re- 
all  its  characteristics, 
in  its  form,  leaving  it 
1,  or  to  escape  Irom  its 

n  great  numbers  by  •be 
is  sport  is  usually  pur- 
and  ilk  the  heat  of  the 
is  then  lying  in  its  ha- 
jeing  disturbed  by  the 
from  it  with  a  succes- 
L»n  which  nothing  can 
>r  graceful. 

r  is  generally  an  uner- 
ase the  antelope  should 
he  buck-dog  (a  species 
is  always  at  the  heels 
)rse,  and,  at  the  report 
>rward  and  secures  the 
placed  behind  the  sad- 
i\\.\  in  the  engravinsi. 
in  buck-shooting  is  the 
animal  common  to  the 
>f  them  are  so  well 
itop  the  install  the  bok 
St  cases  a  slight  check 
rein  is  then  dropped  on 
kud  he  remains  motion- 


690 


PRESENCE  OF  MIND. 


PRESENCE  OF  MIND. 

HE  differences  of  the 
conduct  of  individuals 
in  situations  of  danger 
and  sudden  emergen- 
cy are  very  striking ; 
nor  do  we  always  find 
the  best  conduct  in 
such  circumstances 
from  those  who  act  best  in  the  ordinary 
affairs  of  life.  Often  has  it  happened  that 
a  clever  shrewd  man  of  the  world,  has  lost 
all  reflection  and  power  to  act  when  un- 
expectedly overtaken  by  danger  ;  and  not 
less  frequently  do  we  see  prompt  and  vig- 
orous conduct  manifested,  on  like  occa- 
sions, by  women  who  have  never  before 
given  token  of  their  being  in  any  respect 
endowed  above  their  neighbors.  Pres- 
ence of  mind  thus  appears  as  something 
not  necessarily  to  be  found  in  union  with 
high  intellect  or  skill.  A  cunning  bravery 
of  the  timid,  a  cowardly,  but  laudably 
cowardly  adroitness  of  the  brave,  it  some- 
times almost  appears  as  an  inspiration  ; 
and  yet  we  know  thnt  it  is  but  a  natural  en- 
dowment, capable,  like  all  others,  of  being 
cultivated  in  everybody  by  the  use  of  ap- 
propriate means.  We  have  heard  of  a 
gentleman  who  took  his  son  to  bathe,  and 
actually  threw  him  into  a  situation  of  dan- 
ger, in  order  to  elicit  and  train  his  pres- 
ence of  mind  :  we  also  know  that  barbar- 
ous nations  of  warlike  character  use  simi- 
lar methods  with  their  youth,  by  way  of 
fitting  them  for  every  kind  of  peril  and 
ambuscade.  It  is  not,  perhaps,  desirable 
that  any  such  plans  should  be  resorted  to 
in  our  present  civilized  circumstances ; 
but  certainly  there  is  much  need  to  pre- 
pare the  minds  of  the  young  for  difficulties 
and  crises,  by  a  full  explanation  of  such 
as  are  still  likely  to  occur  in  the  course  of 
life,  and  by  accustoming  them  as  far  as 
possible  to  habits  of  prompt  action  and 
self-reliance.  Much  might  be  done  in 
parlor  existence,  merely  by  establishing  a 
certain  cool  manner  for  the  treatment  of 
all  extraordinary  matters  ;  for  we  are  so 
greatly  creatures  of  habit,  that,  if  we  al- 
low ourselves  to  be  thrown  into  an  excite- 
ment by  all  the  little  out-of-the-way  occur- 
rences of  life,  we  are  extremely  likely  to 


be  thrown  into  a  paroxysm  of  the  same 
feeling  by  events  of  greater  moment ;  nor 
is  it  less  true  that  a  steady  and  sober  way 
of  viewing  small  matters  will  fit  us  for 
viewing  great  ones  without  the  excitement 
which  produces  confubion  of  mind.  Wo 
verily  believe  that  the  stupid  habit  of  get- 
ting up  a  clamor  about  trifles,  has  led  in 
many  instances  to  that  wildness  of  alarm 
in  cases  of  danger  which  not  only  forbids 
escape  to  the  unhappy  being  exhibiting  it, 
but  tends  to  paralyze  and  endanger  others. 
The  general  safety  often  depends  on  an 
entire  suppression  of  excitement  and  out- 
cry, and  it  is  therefore  of  the  greatest  con- 
sequence that  every  person  should  be 
trained  to  a  quiet,  not  to  speak  of  a  firm 
manner  of  acting  under  trivial  difficulties. 

The  value  of  such  conduct  on  occasions 
of  peril  involving  many  lives,  was  never 
perhaps  better  exemplified  than  in  the  de- 
struction of  the  Kent  East  Indiaman  by  fire, 
when  not  even  from  the  women  and  chil- 
dren was  one  sound  of  alarm  heard,  the 
consequence  of  which  was,  that  the  of- 
ficers and  sailors  were  enabled  to  do  all 
that  was  possible  in  the  circumstances  for 
the  preservation  of  the  people  on  board, 
'nd  the  whole  of  the  procedure  connected 
with  their  transference  to  the  saving-ves- 
sel was  conducted  with  as  much  regularity 
and  almost  as  much  safety,  as  if  it  had 
taken  place  on  an  ordinary  occasion.  In 
striking  contrast  was  the  scene  on  board 
the  Halsewell,  where  the  two  daughters 
of  the  captain,  losing  all  seh-command, 
threw  themselves  upon  their  father  with 
such  frantic  cries  and  lamentations,  as 
overwhelmed  his  naturally  intrepid  mind, 
and  thus  extinguished  the  energies  upon 
which  at  the  moment  so  much  depended. 

We  80  continually,  in  the  journals  of 
the  (lay,  see  evil  consequences  from  want 
of  presence  of  mind,  in  circumstances 
where  the  proper  rionduct  has  long  been 
generally  agreed  upon,  that  we  might  be 
tempted  to  believe  it  a  quality  beyond 
mortal  reach,  if  we  were  not  awa.e  how 
many  things,  which  appear  notorious  to  all, 
are  in  reality  unknown  to  many.  Hardly 
a  week  passes  without  telling  us  of  a  fe- 
male having  caught  fire  and  lost  her  life  in 
consequence  of  rushing  out  into  the  open 
air,  instead  of  rolling  herself  in  a  carpet, 
or  at  least  prosuating  herself  on  the  floor. 


PRESENCE  OF  MIND. 


G91 


roxysm  of  the  same 
greater  moment ;  nor 
steady  and  sober  way 
altera  will  fit  us  for 
ithout  the  excitement 
usion  of  mind.  We 
e  stupid  habit  of  get- 
)ut  trifles,  has  led  in 
lat  wildness  of  alarm 
'hich  not  only  forbids 
»y  being  exhibiting  it, 

and  endanger  others, 
often  depends  on  an 
'  excitement  and  out- 
re of  the  greatest  con- 
i  person  should  be 
It  to  speak  of  a  firm 
ler  trivial  difficulties. 

conduct  on  occasions 
lany  lives,  was  never 
plified  than  in  the  de- 
East  Indiaman  by  fire, 
the  women  and  chil- 

of  alarm  heard,  the 
ch  was,  that  the  of- 
ere  enabled  to  do  all 
the  circumstances  for 
the  people  on  board, 

procedure  connected 
ce  to  the  saving-vcs- 
th  as  much  regularity 

safety,  as  if  it  had 
•dinary  occasion.     In 

the  scene  on  board 
e  the  two  daughters 
ig  all  sell-command, 
jon  their  father  with 
md  lamentations,  as 
lurally  intrepid  mind, 
id  the  energies  upon 
t  80  much  depended. 
y,  in  the  journals  of 
isequences  from  want 
id,  in  circumstances 
iduct  has  long  been 
m,  that  we  might  be 

it  a  quality  beyond 
were  not  awavo  how 
ppear  notorious  to  all, 
vn  to  many.  Hardly 
)ut  telling  us  of  a  fe- 
re and  lost  her  life  in 
ing  out  into  the  open 
g  herself  in  a  carpet, 
g  herself  on  the  floor. 


Panics  occasionally  take  place  in  theatres 
and  churche.s,  and  scores  of  lives  are  lost 
by  a  crowding  to  the  door  :  not  one  instance 
do  wo  remember  of  an  alarm  in  such 
places  of  resort  being  attended  by  the  prop- 
er conduct — sitting  still.  Individuals  are 
also  stilk  much  given  to  throwing  them- 
selves out  of  runaway  carriages,  an  act 
which  may  be  pronounced  the  very  oppo- 
site of  the  proper  conducl.  But  the  fact 
is,  that,  wliile  some  of  these  errors  are  the 
consequence  of  mere  confusion  of  mind, 
many  are  also  the  result  of  ignorance. 
The  right  conduct  in  situations  of  difliculty 
is  far  from  being  generally  impressed,  as 
it  ought  to  bo,  on  the  minds  of  the  young. 
Or,  if  it  has  been  taught  as  a  lesson,  there 
has  at  least  been  no  efibrt  to  train  the 
mind  to  look  to  it  as  the  only  course  of 
action  in  which  there  is  the  least  safety  ; 
so  that  when  the  critical  moment  arrives, 
we  are  still  too  prone  to  act  upon  some 
mere  instinct  for  self-preservation. 

Presence  of  mind  is  exemplified  in  its 
simplest  form,  where  all  that  is  necessary 
is  to  take  a  deliberate  view  of  the  circum- 
stances, and  then  do  that  which  seems 
most  advantageous.  It  may  be  shown, 
for  example,  in  a  choice  between  the  door 
and  window  in  a  case  of  fire,  or  in  the 
selection  of  something  to  be  saved,  as  that 
which  is  most  important.  In  the  year 
1716,  when  a  captain  came  with  his  troop 
to  execute  the  vengeance  of  the  govern- 
ment upon  the  house  of  a  Jacobite  gentle- 
man in  Perthshire,  he  humanely  gave  the 
inmates  a  few  minutes  to  remove  whatever 
they  deemed  most  valuable.  A  lady,  the 
sister  of  the  absent  landlord,  flew  to  the 
storeroom,  thinking  to  save  the  plate ; 
when  she  afterward  inspected  the  con- 
tents of  hei  apron  on  the  lawn,  she  found, 
too  late,  that  she  had  oidy  rescued  a  quan- 
tity of  old  candlesticks,  butter-boats,  and 
similar  trash.  A  gentleman  just  escaped 
from  a  fire  in  his  house,  joyfully  told  his 
congratulating  friends  that,  in  the  midst 
of  the  confusion,  he  had  been  able  to  open 
a  drawer  and  save  his  principal  papers. 
He  emptied  his  pockets,  and  found  only 
scraps  of  no  use,  which  had  chanced  to 
lie  in  the  same  place.  We  have  also 
heard  of  a  gentleman  and  his  wife  who 
escaped  with  great  difficulty  from  their 
burning  house,  he  bearing,  as  he  thought, 


their  infant  in  his  arms.  It  proved  to  be 
but  a  pillow  which  ho  had  snatched  up  in 
his  haste  !  A  moment  devoted  to  a  steady, 
thoughtful  consideration  of  the  circumstan- 
ces, might  in  all  these  cases  have  been 
attended  with  the  opposite  consequences. 

Presence  of  mind  is  occasionally  shown 
in  quick  conception  of  some  device  or  ex- 
pedient, such  as  we  usually  suppose  to  bo 
an  emanation  of  superior  intellect.  This 
has  been  repeatedly  exemplified  in  ren- 
contres with  the  insane.  A  lady  was  one 
evening  sitting  in  her  drawing-room  altne, 
when  the  only  other  inmate  of  the  house, 
a  brother,  who  for  a  time  had  been  be- 
traying a  tendency  to  unsoundness  of  mind, 
entered  with  a  carving-knife  in  his  hand, 
and  shutting  the  door,  came  up  to  her  and 
said,  "  Margaret,  an  odd  idea  has  occur- 
red to  me.  I  wish  to  paint  the  head  of 
.lohn  the  Baptist,  and  I  think  yours  might 
make  an  excellent  study  for  it.  So,  if  you 
please,  I  will  cut  off  your  head."  The 
lady  looked  at  her  brother's  eye,  and  seeing 
in  it  no  token  of  a  jest,  concluded  that  he 
meant  to  do  as  he  said.  There  was  an 
open  window  and  a  balcony  by  her  side, 
with  a  street  in  front ;  but  a  moment  sat- 
isfied her  that  safety  did  not  lie  that  way. 
So  putting  on  a  smiling  countenance,  she 
said,  with  the  greatest  apparent  cordiality, 
•'  That  is  a  strange  idea,  George ;  but 
wouldn't  it  be  a  pity  to  spoil  this  pretty 
new  lace  tippet  I  have  got?  I'll  just  step 
to  my  room  to  put  it  off,  and  be  with  you 
again  in  half  a  minute."  Without  waiting 
to  give  him  time  to  consider,  she  stepped 
lightly  across  the  floor,  and  passed  out. 
In  another  moment  she  was  safe  in  her 
own  room,  whence  she  easily  gave  an 
alarm,  and  the  madman  was  secured. 

Some  anecdotes  of  escapes  from  assas- 
sins and  robbers,  by  the  prompt  exercise 
of  presence  of  mind,  are  much  to  the  same 
purpose.  A  young  man,  travelling  in  one 
of  the  public  coaches,  was  much  interested 
by  the  accounts  of  robberies  which  his 
fellow-passengers  were  detailing.  An  old 
gentleman  mentioned  that  he  always  took 
the  precaution  of  secreting  his  money  in 
his  boot,  merely  keeping  silver  for  his  in- 
cidental expenses  in  his  pocket.  The  old 
gentleman  appeared  to  be  captivated  with 
the  politeness  and  intelligence  of  the  young 
man,  to  whom  he  addressed  much  of  his 


.     I 
'    -i 


M«i, 


ft    :1 


*.f 


/^■d. 


692 


PRKSENCE  OP  MIND. 


m^ 


'lia* 


■Wl«:i, 


aa^i 


JWt^i 


conversation,  who  on  his  part  was  equally 
pleased  with  the  kindness  and  urhaiiiiy  of 
liis  elder  companion.  Thu8  some  hours 
had  passed  agreeably,  when,  just  at  night- 
fall, as  they  were  passing  a  wild  and 
lonely  moor,  tlio  coach  was  stopped  by 
robl)ers,  who  rifled  the  pockets  of  those 
nearest  to  them,  giving  the  old  gentleman 
a  hearty  execration  for  having  his  purse 
so  badly  furnislied.  They  came  last  to  the 
young  man,  who  was  seated  in  the  far 
corner,  and  demanded  his  purse.  "  I 
never  carry  any  noney,"  said  he.  "  We'll 
not  take  your  word  for  that,"  said  his  as- 
sailants. "  Indeed  I  don't,"'  said  the  young 
man  ;  "  my  uncle  always  pays  for  us  both, 
and  there  he  is,"  continued  he,  pointing  to 
the  old  gentleman,  '•  and  he  has  got  our 
money  in  his  boot."  The  old  gentleman 
was  dragged  from  the  coach,  his  boot  pul- 
led ofl",  and  three  ten-pound  notes  were 
found.  He  was  then  suirered  to  resume 
his  seat,  and  the  coach  drove  on.  Hot 
was  his  anger,  and  biiter  were  his  upbraid- 
ings,  af;ainst  his  betrayer,  whom  he  did 
not  hesitate  to  accuse  both  of  treachery 
and  pusillanimity.  'J'he  young  man  lis- 
tened in  silence,  as  if  ashamed  and  con- 
science-stricken. They  passed  over  some 
miles,  and  at  length  reached  an  inn  by  the 
wayside.  The  travellers  alighted,  and  on 
going  in,  the  young  man  requested  the  old 
gentleman  would  allow  him  to  say  a  few 
words  in  private.  They  retired  into  a 
room  by  themselves.  "  1  have  not  only  to 
a.sk  your  pardon,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the 
young  man,  "  but  to  thank  you  for  the  for- 
tunate expedient  with  which  your  confi- 
dence furnished  me,  and  to  hand  to  you 
the  sum  of  thirty  pounds,  in  lieu  of  that 
which  I  appeared  so  unceremoniously  to 
point  out  to  the  robbers.  I  am  sure  you 
will  Ibrgive  me,  when  I  tell  you  that  the 
note-case  in  my  pocket  contained  notes 
for  £bQO,  the  loss  of  which  would  have 
been  utter  ruin  to  me."  It  need  scarcely 
be  added,  thiil  the  adopted  uncle  shook 
hands  cordially  with  his  young  acquaint- 
ance, and  took  him  into  more  marked  favor 
than  ever. 

But  there  are  more  painful  tests  to 
which  presence  of  mind  may  be  put  than 
even  personal  danger,  however  great.  It 
is  when,  seeing  a  beloved  object  in  immi- 
nent peril,  one  inadverte-il  word,  one  pas- 


sionate exclamnlion,  one  burst  of  sensibil- 
ity, might  increase  the  risk  tenfold.  It 
were  needless  to  insist  on  the  urgent  ne- 
cessity of  presence  of  mind,  in  the  form 
of  self-command,  at  such  a  time,  and  we 
will  merely  illustrate  the  subject  by  an  ex- 
ample where  the  strongest  sensibilities  of 
our  nature  were  suppressed,  while  some, 
without  one  particle  more  of  affection,  but 
many  thousand  degrees  less  of  sense  and 
self-control,  would  have  screamed,  or 
fainted,  or  acted  so  as  to  hurry  on  the  ca- 
tastrophe most  dreaded.  A  lady  one  day 
returning  from  a  drive,  looked  up  and  saw 
two  of  her  children,  one  about  five,  and 
the  other  iibout  four  years  old,  outside  the 
garret  window,  which  they  were  busily 
employed  in  rubbing  with  their  handker- 
chiefs, in  inutation  of  a  person  whom  they 
had  seen  a  few  days  before  cleaning  the 
windows.  They  had  clambered  over  the 
bars  which  had  been  intended  to  secure 
them  from  danger.  The  lady  had  sufTi- 
cient  command  over  herself  not  to  appear 
to  observe  them  ;  she  did  not  utter  one 
word,  but  hastened  up  to  the  nursery,  and 
instead  of  rushing  forward  to  snatch  them 
in,  which  might  have  frightened  them,  and 
caused  them  to  lose  their  balance,  she 
stood  a  little  apart,  and  called  gently  to 
them,  and  bade  them  come  in.  'I'hey  saw 
no  appearance  of  hurry  or  agitation  in 
their  mamma,  so  took  their  time,  and  de- 
liberately climbed  thu  bars,  and  landed 
safely  in  the  room.  One  look  of  terror, 
one  tone  of  impatience  from  her,  and  the 
little  creatures'  might  have  become  con- 
fused, and  lost  their  footing,  and  been  de- 
stroyed. 

It  has  sometimes  happened  that,  in  hur- 
ry and  confusion,  a  wrong  medicine  has 
been  administered  by  the  hand  of  one  who 
would  have  sacrificed  life  to  save  a  be- 
loved object  from  the  danger  with  which 
they  were  threatened  by  a  sudden  illness 
or  accident,  and  who,  had  they  preserved 
their  presence  of  mind,  might  have  been 
spared  one  of  the  bitterest  misfortunes 
that  can  be  conceived.  To  have  self-pos- 
session in  such  a  case,  may  be  life  and 
health  to  one  who  is  everything  to  us.  It 
may  happen,  too,  that  illness  or  accident 
may  overtake  us  while  away  from  medi- 
cal aid,  or  distant  from  any  friend. 

Presence  of  mind  may  also  be  brought 


one  burst  of  sonsibil- 
the  risk  tenfolJ.  It 
iist  on  the  urgent  ne- 
of  mind,  in  the  form 
such  a  time,  an<l  we 
the  subject  by  an  ox- 
)ngest  scnsihiiiiies  of 
pressed,  while  some, 
more  of  afleclion,  biii 
ees  less  of  sense  and 
have  screamed,  or 
s  to  hurry  on  the  ca- 
ed.  A  lady  one  day 
e,  looked  up  and  saw 
one  about  five,  and 
years  old,  outside  the 
ch  tliey  were  busily 
;  with  their  handker- 
f  a  person  whom  they 
i  before  cleaning  the 
d  clambered  over  the 
1  intended  to  secure 
The  lady  had  sufli- 
herself  not  to  appear 
le  did  not  utter  one 
p  to  the  nursery,  and 
rward  to  snatch  them 
frightened  them,  and 
e  their  balance,  she 
and  called  gently  to 
como  in.  They  saw 
lurry  or  agitation  in 
k  their  time,  and  de- 
10  bars,  and  landed 
One  look  of  terror, 
ce  from  her,  and  the 
It  have  become  con- 
footing,  and  been  de- 

lappened  that,  in  hur- 
wrong  medicine  has 
'  the  hand  of  one  who 
id  life  to  save  a  be- 
e  danger  with  which 
by  a  sudden  illness 
),  had  they  preserved 
nd,  might  have  been 
bitterest  misfortunes 
1.  To  have  self-pos- 
ase,  may  be  life  and 
everything  to  us.  It 
it  illness  or  accident 
ile  away  from  medi- 
m  any  friend, 
may  also  be  brought 


NEAPOLITAN  MACCARONI-EATKIIS. 


f503 


to  bear  with  good  effect  in  iniiriy  of  the 
trivial  ccHijuiictures  of  life.  It  is  oflcn 
shown  ill  a  ready  answer,  turning  aiigir 
into  good  humor,  or  ovorluriiiiig  a  fnise 
accusation,  whii'h  otherwise  luiglit  have 
proved  troublesome.  There  can  be  no 
question  that  it  may  be  impnived  for  se- 
rious emergencies  by  being  cultivated  in 
these  familiar  and  more  simple  cases, 
liut  there  is  one  caution  to  be  observed — 
let  presence  of  mind  be  used  only  as  a  de- 
fence. When  employed  for  purposes  of 
deception,  or  to  advance  selfish  objects, 
we  may  admire  it  as  an  intellectual  fea- 
ture, but  regret  itiust  at  the  same  time 
arise,  that  the  direction  given  to  it  is  one 
in  which  we  can  not  sympathise. 


MUSIC. 


What  is  that  strange  enchantment  which 
results  from  harmonious  sounds  given 
forth  by  an  instrument  or  the  human  voice  ? 
We  call  it  music,  but  what  is  there  in  the 
harmony  of  sounds  or  the  melody  of  voices, 
that  should  so  strangely  aflect  the  human 
mind  ?  The  infant  falls  into  a  gentle  slum- 
ber while  listening  to  the  cradle-song  of  a 
watchful  mother  or  nurse.  The  proud  and 
haughty  spirit  of  the  boy  is  subdued  by  the 
charms  of  song.  The  wayward  youth  is 
roused  from  bis  profligacy  and  melted  to 
tears  and  penitence,  by  the  recurrence  of 
some  simple  melody  heard  often  in  child- 
hood. The  heart  of  manhood  is  chastened 
and  mellowed,  and  the  soul  lifted  from 
earth  as  it  listens  to  or  joins  in  the  swel- 
ling anthems  of  the  sanctuaries  of  God. 
Under  the  influence  of  martial  music,  the 
soldier  rushes  heedless  to  slaughter  and 
death.  The  spirit-stirring  drum  must  be 
beaten  and  heard  above  the  discharge  of 
musketry  and  roarof  cannon,  to  nerve  him 
to  conflict.  The  Marseilles  hymn  will 
rouse  the  populafe  of  France  to  madness, 
and  the  British  soldier  dies  upon  the  field 
of  battle  in  triumph,  if  he  can  but  listen  to 
his  national  anthem.  And  why  is  this,  if 
the  soul  of  man  be  not  itself  an  exquisite 
instrument,  attuned  to  the  harmonies  of  the 
universe — an  immortal  harp,  whose  strings 
catch  the  breath  of  every  melody  ? 


NEAPOLI'IWN  MACCARONI-EATEUS. 

ACC.\R()\Ior 
miiceheroni  (the 
learned  are  di- 
vided as  to  the 
orlhograpliyiiiid 
etymology  of  tlie 
woril)is  the  prin- 
cipal foot!  of  the 
poon^r,  and  the 
favorite  dish  of  all  classes  of  Neapolitans. 
So  much  is  this  the  case,  that  the  people 
of  Naples  have  had  for  many  ages  the 
nickname  of"  Mangia-maccaroni,"or  mac- 
caroni-eaters. 

The  best  maccaroni  is  made  entirely  of 
the  grano  duro  ;  but,  in  the  inferior  quali- 
ties, this  is  sometimes  mixed  with  soft 
wheat.  The  conversion  of  the  flour — 
which  is  somewhflt  more  coarsely  ground 
than  that  intended  for  bread — into  the  long, 
round  strings  called  maccaroni,  is  efliected 
by  a  very  simple  process.  With  the  ad- 
dition of  water  alone,  the  flour  is  worked 
up  into  paste,  and  this  paste  is  kneaded 
for  a  length  of  time,  by  a  heavy,  loaded 
block  of  wood,  which  beats  into  the 
trough  where  the  paste  is  deposited  ;  this 
block  or  piston  is  attached  to  a  beam,  act- 
ing as  a  lever,  whose  fulcrum  is  near  to 
the  block,  while  the  other  extremity  of  the 
beam  is  some  eight  or  ten  feet  from  the 
fulcrum.  One  or  more  men  or  boys  seat 
themselves  astride  at  the  further  end  of 
this  beam,  and  descending  with  their  own 
weight,  and  springing  up  by  putting  their 
feet  to  the  ground,  give  the  requisite  re- 
ciprocating motion  to  the  lever.  They,  in 
fact,  play  at  see-saw  with  the  block  at  the 
shorter  end  of  the  lever  ;  and  the  efl*ect  pro- 
duced on  the  eye  of  a  stranger  by  a  large 
manufactory  where  several  of  these  ma- 
chines and  a  number  of  sturdy  fellows, 
nearly  naked,  and  lU  bobbing  up  and 
down,  are  at  work,  has  something  exceed- 
ingly ludicrous  in  it.  When  the  p;iste  has 
been  sulHciently  kneaded,  it  is  forced,  by 
simple  pressure,  through  a  number  of  cir- 
cular holes,  the  sizes  of  which  determine 
the  name  to  be  given  to  the  substance. 
That  of  superior  diameter  is  maccaroni, 
that  smaller  is  vermicelli,  and  that  smaller 
still  is  called  fedelini.  The  maccaroni  is 
hollow  throughout,  and  many  persons  have 


S»«||| 


»•«"*'#» 


m 


■"•in-.,. 


3^ 


*rtE!t 


,«*5r\^  ■ 


■  "'  il 


THE  FLIGHT  OP  TIME. 


095 


hot")  iuzzled  to  know  how  it  is  formed 
into  tueso  long  tubes.  Nothing  is  more 
simple.  Over  each  of  the  larger  holes 
meant  for  macaroni,  a  small  copper  bridge 
is  eroded,  which  is  sufficiently  elevated  to 
permit  the  paste  to  pass  under  it  into  the 
hole  :  from  this  bridge  depends  a  copper 
wire,  which  goes  right  through  the  hole, 
and  of  course  leaves  hollow  the  paste  that 
kscends  through  the  hole.  Such  of  our 
readers  as  have  seen  our  common  clay 
pipes  for  smoking  manufactured,  will  read- 
ily understand  this,  for  this  part  of  the 
process  is  the  same  for  maccaroni  as  for 
pipes.  There  are  some  minor  distinctions 
in  the  preparation  of  these  respective  ar- 
ticles, which  it  would  be  tedious  to  ex- 
plain, but  the  material  and  main  process 
are  the  same  in  all.  When  the  paste  has 
been  forced  through  the  holes,  like  wire 
through  a  wire-drawer's  plate,  a  workman 
takes  up  the  maccaroni  or  vermicelli,  and 
hangs  it.  across  a  line  to  dry.  From  the 
long  kneading  it  has  received,  the  sub- 
stance is  very  consistent,  and  dries  in  un- 
broken strings  that  are  two  or  three  yards 
in  length. 

This  paste  forms  the  principal  food  of 
the  poorer  classes  of  Neapolitans,  many 
of  whom  do  not  eat  meat  for  weeks,  nay 
months  together,  but  they  care  not  for 
this  if  they  can  have  their  maccaroni, 
which  is  to  them  a  substitute  for  every 
eatable. 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  TIME. 

N  every  age  of  the 
world  the  rapid  flight  of 
time  has  been  a  subject 
of  deep  and  solemn  con- 
sideration. When  the 
patriarch  of  Israel  stood 
before  the  monarch  of 
Egypt  and  listened  to 
his  question — "  How  old 
art  thou?"  it  seemed  to  throw  a  melan- 
choly interest  over  the  past.  Long  as 
this  aged  man  had  lived,  the  time  appeared 
to  him  but  as  a  dream,  and  as  he  looked 
upon  the  numbered  years  which  had  laid 
his  fathers  itt  their  sepulchres,  and  brought 


himself  near  to  their  resting-place,  a  spirit 
of  sadness  came  over  him. 

No  orator  has  been  more  eloquent  npon 
the  flight  of  time  than  the  man  of  Vz — 
"  Man  that  is  born  of  a  woman  is  of  few 
days  and  full  of  trouble.  He  cometh 
forth  like  a  flower,  and  is  cut  down.  Ho 
fleelh  also  as  a  shadow  and  continuoth 
not.  His  days  are  swifter  than  a  weaver's 
shuttle  ;  they  are  passed  away  as  llu^  swift 
ships,  and  as  the  eagle  that  nasteth  to  his 
prey." 

Coming  down  the  tide  of  time  still  fur- 
ther, we  find  the  noble  monarch  of  Israel 
and  the  sublime  Isaiah,  sending  forth  their 
sad  numbers.  "  The  days  of  man  are  as 
grass.  As  a  flower  of  the  field,  so  he 
flourishelh.  For  the  wind  passeth  over  it, 
and  it  is  gone,  and  the  place  thereof  shall 
know  it  no  more," — "  All  flesh  is  grass, 
and  the  goodliness  thereof  as  the  flower  of 
the  field." 

The  great  apostle  to  the  Gentiles  writes  to 
the  Corinthians  to  be  careful  of  their  earth- 
ly rciaiions,  for  the  "  time  is  short,"  and  an- 
other apostle  assures  us  that  "  life  is  but  a 
vapor  that  appeareth  for  a  little  time  and 
then  vanisheth  away."  Whatever  may  be 
the  true  cause,  in  an  apostate  world,  the 
flight  of  years  casts  a  shadow  over  its 
generations.  If  sin  had  never  entered  the 
world,  probably  the  tide  of  time  would 
produce  no  such  feelings  as  we  now  ex- 
perience in  its  rapid  passage.  Death  and 
decay  would  be  unknown.  Age  succeed- 
ing age  would  bring  no  sad  reverse,  no 
melancholy  change.  If  time  departed,  it 
would  only  add  wisdom,  loyalty,  and  love, 
to  sinless  hearts.  But  this  is  not  the 
case.  We  are  in  a  world  where  sin  has 
entered,  where  the  process  of  decay  is 
constantly  going  on,  and  where  death  is 
busily  and  always  at  work.  We  see  mon- 
uments of  arts  and  genius  arise  under  the 
hand  of  man.  The  finger  of  time  touches 
them  and  they  turn  to  ashes.  The  proud- 
est productions  of  human  power,  the  most 
magnificent  structures  which  the  skill  or 
pride  of  man  can  rear,  are  destined  to  fall 
before  the  devouring  ravages  of  time. 

Surrounded  thus  with  the  evidences  of 
frailty  and  decay,  warned  at  every  step  of 
the  certainty  of  our  dissolution,  as  well  as 
that  grand  catastrophe  when  the  world 
shall  burn  and  the  elements  melt  with  fer- 


''»4»ij 


IK^^fMI 


■2:»i 


9a 


W^ 


696 


AFIIIL— MUSCULAll  STllENGTH. 


vonl  lieat,  wisp  will  it  be  for  us  so  to  num- 
ber our  (lectinj;  Jays  as  to  apply  our  hearts 
unto  wisdom,  and  cause  tho  fugilivo  hour 
to  bear  record  of  good  to  Him  in  wiioso 
hands  an;  all  our  times,  and  who  com- 
mands our  breath. 


Miin 


APRIL. 

PRIL  is  usually 
supposed  to  be 
derived  from  the 
Latin  word  ajx:- 
ric,  to  open  :  our 
Anglo-Saxon  an- 
cestors called  it 
Oster  Monat,  and 
Easter  Moneth, 
and  are  said  to 
h:ivo  held  a  feast  in  celebration  of  the 
goildoss  lutstrc. 

April  weather  is  become  a  proverbial 
expression  f(ir  a  mixture  of  the  bright  and 
gloomy.  The  pleasantness  of  tho  sun- 
shiny days,  with  the  delightful  view  of 
fresh  greens  and  newly -opened  flowers,  is 
untniualled  ;  but  they  aro  frequently  over- 
cast with  clouds,  and  chilled  by  rough 
wintry  blasts. 

This  month  gives  the  most  perfect  im- 
age of  spring ;  for  its  vicissitudes,  of  warm 
gleams  of  sunshine  and  gentle  showers, 
have  the  most  powerful  efl'ects  in  hasten- 
ing the  universal  springing  of  the  vegeta- 
ble tribes  ;  whence  the  season  derives  its 
appellation.  J^pril  generally  begins  with 
raw,  uii|)lea8ant  weather,  the  influence  of 
the  equinoctial  storms  still  in  some  degree 
prevailing. 

Early  in  the  month,  that  welcome  guest 
and  harbinger  of  summer,  the  swallow,  re- 
lurtis.  Tlie  kind  first  seen  is  the  chim- 
ney or  house-swallow,  known  by  its  long 
forked  tail  and  red  breast.  At  first,  here 
and  there  only  one  appears,  glancing  quick 
by  us,  as  if  scarce  able  to  endure  the  cold. 
But  in  a  few  days,  their  number  is  much 
increased,  and  they  sport  with  seeming 
pleasure  in  the  warm  sunshine. 

As  these  birds  live  on  insects,  their  ap- 
pearance is  a  certain  proof  that  some  of 
this  minute  tribe  of  animals  are  now  got 


abroad  from  their  winter  retreats.  "  Th« 
migration  of  birds,"  say.s  tho  excellent  Mr. 
Ray,  "from  a  hotter  to  a  colder  i'dumIiv, 
or  a  colder  to  a  hotter,  accurdirig  to  tlic 
season  of  the  year,  as  their  nature  is,  I 
know  not  how  to  give  an  account  of,  it  is 
80  strange  and  admirable.  What  moves 
them  to  shift  their  quarters  ?  you  will  say, 
the  disagreeableness  of  the  temper  of  tim 
air  to  tho  constitution  of  their  bodies,  or 
want  of  food.  liut  how  come  they  to  ln^ 
directed  to  tho  same  place  yearly,  tlioii<jli 
sometimes  but  a  little  island,  as  tht^  Sohm 
geese  to  the  Bass  of  Edinburgh  Irilii 
which  they  could  not  possil)ly  see,  and  s,> 
it  could  have  no  inlliience  upon  them  iliui 
way.  The  cold  or  tlio  heal  might  possi 
biy  drive  them  in  a  direct  line  from  either  , 
but  that  they  should  impel  land  birds  to 
venture  over  a  wide  ocean,  of  which  they 
can  see  no  end,  is  strange  and  unaccouiit. 
able  !  one  would  think  that  tho  sight «,."  sc 
much  water,  and  present  fear  of  drown 
ing,  should  overcome  tho  sense  of  hunger, 
or  disagreeableness  of  tho  temper  of  tlifi 
air.  Besides,  how  come  they  to  steei 
their  course  aright  to  their  several  quar 
ters,  which,  before  the  compass  was  in 
vented,  was  hard  for  a  man  himself  to  do, 
they  being  not  able,  as  I  noted  before,  to 
see  them  at  that  distance  ?  Think  we  that 
the  quails,  for  instance,  could  see  quite 
across  the  Mediterranean  sea  ?  and  yet  it 
is  clear  they  fly  out  of  Italy  into  Africa, 
lighting  many  times  on  ships  in  the  midst 
of  the  sea,  to  rest  themselves  wlien  tired 
and  spent  with  flying.  That  they  should 
thus  shift  places  is  very  convenient  for 
them,  and  accordingly  we  see  they  do  it ; 
which  seems  to  be  impossible  they  should, 
unless  themselves  were  endued  with  rea- 
son, or  directed  and  acted  upon  by  a  su- 
perior intelligent  Cause." 


MUSCULAR  STRENGTH. 

The  power  exerted  by  the  action  of  the 
muscles  in  the  human  body  is  immense. 
Borellus  first  demonstrated  that  the  force 
exerted  within  the  body  greatly  exceeds 
the  weight  to  be  moved,  and  that  nature, 
in  fact,  employs  an  astonishing,  we  might 


nior  rftronls.  "  T!if 
»;iyft  iho  pxcpllf'iit  .Mr, 

to  a  ci)l(lf;r  ciiimliv, 
Icr,  iicxMirdiiii;  in  tlw 
,  as  their  tiittiin*  is,  I 
'o  an  iiecoiint  (if,  it  ii 
iriiblo.  What  inoviis 
larters  ?  you  will  s;iy, 
I  of  llio  tciiipi-r  (jf  lliH 
n  of  thfir  budiis,  or 
how  como  thoy  to  hn 

place  yearly,  tlioii^li 
B  island,  as  the  Sohiu 

of  Edinburgh  liitli 
t  possibly  sec,  and  s,^ 
itencc  upon  ilieni  thai 
ho  heat  might  possi 
lireet  lino  from  either  , 
1  impel  land  birds  tu 
ocean,  of  which  thoj 
range  and  unaccount- 
Ilk  that  iho  sight  o."  sc 
escnt  fear  of  drown 
!  the  sense  of  hunger, 

of  the  temper  of  ths 

como  they  to  stcei 
o  their  several  quar 
:he  compass  was  in 

a  man  himself  to  do, 

as  I  noted  before,  lo 
,nce  ?  Think  we  thai 
nee,  could  see  quite 
nean  sea  ?  and  yet  it 

of  Italy  into  Africa, 
on  ships  in  the  midst 
eraselves  when  lirt-il 
y.     That  they  should 

very  convenient  for 
ly  we  see  they  do  it ; 
ipossible  they  should, 
ere  endued  with  rea- 

acted  upon  by  a  su- 

J80." 


STllENGTH. 

d  by  the  action  of  the 
an  body  is  immense, 
itrated  that  the  force 
jody  greatly  exceeds 
ved,  and  that  nature, 
slonishing,  we  might 


THB  SALTMINES  OF  CAHDONA. 


G97 


ulinost  say  superfluous  power,  to  move  a 
Minall  wt  ii>ht.  it  has  been  calculated  that 
the  deltoid  muscle,  alone,  which  is  situated 
near  the  top  of  tlio  shoulder,  when  em- 
ployed in  supporting  a  weight  of  fifty 
pounds,  exerts  a  force  equal  lo  two  thou- 
Band  four  hundred  and  sixty-eight  pounds. 
An  iilea  of  the  force  exerted  by  the  hu- 
man body  when  in  progressive  motion, 
may  be  formed  from  the  violence  of  the 
shock  received  when  the  foot  unexpect- 
edly strikes  against  an  object  in  running. 
The  slronaest  bones  are  sometimes  frac- 
tured by  the  action  of  the  muscles. 

'I'he  muscular  power  of  the  human  body 
is  indeeil  wonderful.  A  Turkish  porter 
will  trot  at  a  rapid  pace,  carrying  a  weight 
of  six  hundred  pouTids.  Milo,  a  celebra- 
ted athlete  of  I'rooua,  in  Italy,  early  ac- 
customed himself  lo  carry  the  greatest 
burdens,  and  by  degrees  became  a  mon- 
ster in  stivnglh.  it  is  said  that  he  carried 
on  his  shoulder  an  ox  four  years  old, 
vveigbing  upward  of  one  thousand  pounds, 
lor  above  forty  yards,  and  afterward  killed 
ii  wiili  one  blow  of  his  fist,  lie  was 
seven  tiPies  crowned  at  the  I'yphian  games, 
and  six  at  tiie  Olympian,  lie  presented 
liimM'lf  the  sevenih  time,  but  no  one  had 
the  courage  to  enter  the  list  against  him. 
j  He  was  one  of  the  disciples  of  Pythago- 
ras, and  to  his  uncomiuon  strength  the 
learned  preceptor  and  his  pupils  owed 
their  lives.  The  pillar  which  supported 
the  roof  of  the  school  suddenly  gave  way, 
but  Milo  supported  the  whole  weight  of 
the  building,  and  gave  the  philosopher 
time  to  escape.  In  his  old  age,  Milo  at- 
tempted to  pull  up  a  tree  by  its  roots  and 
break  it.  lie  partly  efl'ected  it,  but  his 
strength  being  gradually  exhausted,  the 
tree,  when  half  cleft,  reunited,  and  his 
hands  remained  pinched  in  the  body  of  it. 
He  was  then  alone,  and  being  unable  to 
disengage  himself,  died  in  that  position. 

lialler  mentions  that  he  saw  a  man, 
whose  finger  being  caught  in  a  chain  at 
the  bottom  of  a  mine,  by  keeping  it  forci- 
bly bent,  supported  by  that  means  the 
weight  of  his  whole  body,  one  hundred 
and  lii'ty  pounds,  until  he  was  drawn  up 
to  the  surface,  a  height  of  six  hundred  feet. 
Augustus  II.,  king  of  Poland,  could  roll 
up  a  silver  plate  like  a  sheet  of  paper,  and 
twist  the  strongest  horseshoe  asunder. 


A  Frenchman,  who  was  allached  to 
Rockwell  (k  Slone's  circus,  hist  spring, 
was  alile  to  resist  the  united  strength  of 
four  horses,  as  was  witnessed  by  hundreds 
in  New  V  ork  and  other  places.  A  lion  is 
said  to  have  left  the  impression  of  his 
teeth  upon  a  piece  of  solid  iron. 

Th(!  most  prodigious  power  of  muscle 
is  exhibited  by  fish.  The  whale  moves 
with  a  velocity  ihroiigli  the  dense  medium 
of  water,  that  would  carry  him,  cominned 
at  the  same  rate,  round  the  world  in  little 
less  llian  a  fortnight ;  and  a  sword-fish 
has  been  known  to  strike  his  weapon 
quite  through  the  oak  plank  of  a  ship. 


THE  SALT-MINES  OF  CAIID0N.\. 

AUDONAisasmallbnt 
interesting  town,  scarce- 
ly known  to  geograplnirs 
or  oven  to  the  .Sj)anish 
government,  but  it  will 
repay  the  visit  of  the 
traveller  who,  in  pro- 
ceeding from  France  to 
Barcelona,  takes  the  way 
of  Sou  Urgel  instead  of 
the  one  by  Perpignan,  and  after  passing  a 
fine  forest  of  oak  and  hazel-nut  will  find 
this  picturesque  mountain-town  lying  be- 
tween Solsona  and  Manresa.  The  mines 
are  situated  about  three  miles  to  the  east 
of  the  town,  and  resemble  a  huge  stone- 
quarry,  about  twelve  miles  in  circumfer- 
ence. You  descend  by  a  flight  of  five  or 
six  broad  steps  cut  in  the  rock  on  the 
north  side.  It  is  most  truly  an  ocean  of 
salt,  for  there  is  not  the  smallest  particle 
either  of  mould  or  gravel.  The  Cardon- 
era,  a  mountain  stream  not  more  than 
twenty  feet  wide,  flows  through  the  midst 
of  the  mine  in  a  bed  of  salt,  which  looks 
almost  like  the  work  of  human  hands. 
For  many  miles  of  its  course  it  deposites 
salt  upon  its  banks,  and  the  country  peo- 
ple along  its  whole  extent  till  its  junction 
with  the  Llobregat,  where  it  loses  it  saline 
qualities,  use  the  water  for  culinary  pur- 
poses in  lieu  of  salt.  Fine  flocks  of 
sheep  feed  on  its  banks. 

On  the  left  hand  of  the  entrance  into 


'>a>#Wii 


-*^**» 


TIIR  PULSE. 


C99 


the  mine  is  awuuilon  btiiklinff  used  as  a  ron- 
idcMicc  for  tiio  inspector.  A  sort  of  lar){() 
ciHtnrn,  i-xcavaiod  as  far  back  as  the  ri'iKn 
of  Cliiirio^i  III.,  for  tho  purpose  of  awf.t- 
tainiiij,'  tlu'  dcptti  of  tho  mine,  had  been 
dug  to  the  drpth  of  above  150  feet,  when 
a  Htop  'vax  put  to  tlio  work.  Tho  salt, 
wiiich  litis  «'xponi'd,  consists  of  an  cnor- 
niouH  muss  of  rock  of  dazzling  whiteness, 
nnd  till'  blocks  i)liistfid  in  tho  mine  are 
about  the  sizi)  of  largo  building  stones. 
When  the  sun  throws  its  rays  upon  this 
mine,  which  is  cnclnsod  on  three  sides 
by  rnountiiins,  tho  rellected  light  is  as 
slroni;  as  tluit  of  llin  sun  itself. 

Numerous  other  beds  of  salt  are 
found  in  those  lofiy  mountains,  but  as 
ihey  are  overijrown  with  foresis  of  pine, 
cork,  and  ciirol)-lries,  the  salt  does  not  lie 
80  near  iho  surface  ;  no  attempt,  however, 
has  ever  been  made  to  work  them,  nor  in- 
deed would  it  be  reiiuired,  as  tho  mine  of 
Cardona  alone  could  supply  for  centuries 
the  wants  of  tho  whole  of  Europe,  with- 
out any  apparent  diminution  of  its  re- 
sources. 'I'lie  salt  contained  in  the  moun- 
tains is  not,  however,  white,  being  found 
of  all  colors,  rose,  scarlet,  blue,  green,  vi- 
olet, yellow,  and  brown  of  various  shades, 
some  veined  like  marble,  and  others  again 
shining  with  a  silvery  lustre.  On  being 
pounded,  every  vestige  of  color  disap- 
pears, and  it  becomes  as  wlr  as  that 
found  in  tlio  mine.  Att.-npts  li...»e  been 
made  to  preserve  spei  .iiu  us,  but  in  a  few 
years  they  fade  and  crumble  to  pieces. 
Those  which  have  been  constantly  e.^- 
posed  to  the  weather  possess  greater  per- 
manence. 

About  two  !uindred  men  are  employed 
in  the  min.  Their  labor  consists  in 
blasting  the  enormous  masses  of  rock  salt, 
piliuij  them  up  in  exposed  pyramidical 
magazines  in  the  mine,  rehewing  those 
which  have  stack  from  the  action  of  rain- 
water, and  loading  the  mules  which  are 
to  convoy  the  salt  to  the  neighboring 
towns  and  the  ports  of  Barcelona  and  Tar- 
ragona, whence  it  is  exported  to  England 
and  tho  northern  stales  of  Europe.  A 
single  handful  of  Cardona  salt  has  twice 
the  virtue  of  that  obiained  from  the  sea  at 
Iriza  and  Cadiz,  and  yet,  strange  to  say, 
the  natives  of  Estremadura,  Leon,  Gali- 
cia,  Asturias,  Biscay,  Navarre,  and  Old 


45 


C'astilo  get  their  siipplv  of  ault  from  Por- 
tugal, nay,  oven  from  the  English  vessels, 
which  bring  it  from  the  northern  counties. 
If  it  be  asked  why  half  .Spain  does  not 
avail  itself  of  its  own  exhaiistless  treas- 
ure?, tho  answer  given  is,  that  ilie  Oar- 
dona  salt,  though  of  superior  ipiality, 
comes  denror  on  the  whole,  Wlienco 
does  this  arise,  seemg  that  tho  supply  is 
so  abundant  ?  From  no  other  cause  but 
that  there  is  no  road  to  Cardona  ;  and  yet 
this  pretty  little  town  is  but  twenty  le;ii;ues 
from  iho  much-frequented  harbor  of  Bar- 
celona. Tho  only  access  to  Cardona  is 
by  a  footway  across  tho  mountains,  so 
narrow  as  scarc(dy  to  admit  of  two  laden 
mules  passing  each  other,  and  in  fact,  at- 
tended with  so  many  delays  and  difficid- 
ties,  that  tho  journey  takes  six  days,  at 
the  end  of  which  tho  mules  are  so  ex- 
hausted as  to  require  several  days'  rest. 


THE  PULSE. 


VEHY  one  knows 
that  among  the  nu- 
merous inquiries  and 
examinations  which 
precede  the  prescrip- 
tion of  n  areful  phy- 
sician, the  state  of 
the  pulse  is  never 
omitted  ;  yet  as  it  is 
probable  that  few  of  our  readers  are  ac- 
(j  'ainted  with  the  reasons  for  this  inquiry, 
or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  with  the  facts 
to  be  learned  from  it,  we  think  it  may  not 
be  uninteresting  if  we  (^numerate  some  of 
the  more  prominent  ones. 

It  is  ainost  unnecessary  to  premise  that 
by  the  pulse  is  meant  tho  beat  of  an  ar- 
tery, and  thnt  i!ie  one  commonly  chosen 
for  exapiinatioii  is  the  radial  artery,  which 
beats  at  the  wrist.  The  first  point  gene- 
rally attend'  d  to  is  the  number  of  the 
beats  ;  and  since  in  this,  as  in  all  other 
medical  questions,  it  is  necessary  to  be 
acquainted  with  ihe  state  of  health  in  or- 
der to  recognise  any  deviation  from  it,  we 
must  mention  the  ordinary  frequency  of 
the  pulse  at  different  ages.  In  the  new- 
born infant,  it  is  from  130  to  140  in  a 


••W 


■**-tftti 


700 


ARTICLES  OF  DHESS. 


minute,  btit  decreases  in  frequency  as  life 
advances  ;  so  that,  in  a  middle-aged  adult 
in  perfect  health,  it  is  from  72  to  75.  In 
the  decline  of  life  it  is  slower  than  this, 
and  fulls  to  about  60.  It  is  obvious  that 
if  we  could  suppose  a  practitioner  igno- 
rant of  these  plain  facts,  he  would  be  lia- 
ble to  make  the  most  absurd  blunders,  and 


but  there  is  one  so  remarkable  as  to  de- 
serve particular  mention.  It  will  Ir'.pjion 
sometimes  that  the  interval  between  two 
beats  is  so  much  longer  than  was  expect- 
ed, that  it  would  seem  that  one  iteat  had 
been  omitted  ;  in  this  case  the  pulse  is 
saiu  to  be  an  intertnitlent  one.  When  the 
action  of  the  heart  is  irregular,  th''  beat  of 


might  imagine  a  boy  of  ten  to  be  laboring  i  the  pulse  is  so  likewise ;  but  it  will  occa- 
under  some  crrievous  disease,  because  his  I  sionally  happen  that  the  latter  irregularity 


pulse  had  not  the  slow  sobriety  of  his 
grandfather's.  A  more  likely  error  is,  to 
mistake  the  influence  of  some  temporary 
cause  for  llie  effect  of  a  more  permanent 
disease :  thus,  in  a  nervous  patient,   the 


takes  place  without  the  former  one,  from 
some  morbid  cause  existing  between  the 
heart  and  the  wrist,  it  is  hardly  neces- 
sary to  observe,  that  in  all  doubtful  cases, 
the  physician  examines  the  pulsation  of 


doctor's  knock  at  the  door   will  quicken    the  heart  as  well  as  that  at  the  wrist — 
the  pulse  some  15  or  20  beats  in  a  minute.!  just  as  the  diligent  student,  disc'onienled 


This  fact  did  not  escape  the  notice  of  the 
sagacious  Celsus,  who  says  :  "  The  pulse 
will  be  altered  by  the  approach  of  the 
physician,  and  the  anxiety  of  the  patient 
doubling  what  his  opinion  of  the  case  may 


with  the  narrow  linjits  of  |)rovincial  infor- 
mation, repairs  to  the  metropolis  to  puisne 
his  scientific  inquiries. 

The  strength  or  I'eebleness  of  the  pulse, 
its  hardness  or  softness,  and  iiinumiTalilo 


be.  For  this  reason,  a  skilful  physician  '  other  qualities,  might  be  discussed  here ; 
will  not  feel  the  pulse  as  soon  as  he  comes  ;  j  but  from  the  great  difTiculty  attending  any 
but  he  will  first  sit  down  with  a  cheerful  |  examination  of  these  points,  and  the  tech- 


countenance,  and  ask  how  the  patient  is, 
soothing  him,  if  he  be  timorous,  by  the 
kindness  of  his  conversation,  and  after- 
ward applying  his  hand  to  the  patient's 
arm.— (Uo  Medica,  lib.  iii.,  cap.  7.*) 

Granting,  however,  that  these  sources 
of  error  are  avoided,  the  quickness  of  the 
pulse  will  allbrd  most  important  informa- 
tion. If  in  a  person,  for  example,  whose 
pulse  is  usually  72,  the  beats  rise  in  num- 
ber to  98,  some  alarming  disease  is  cer- 
tainly present ;  or,  on  the  other  hand, 
should  it  have  permanently  sunk  to  50,  it 
is  but  too  probable  that  the  source  of  the 
circulation,  the  heart  itself,  is  laboring  un- 
der incurable  disease,  or  that  some  other 
of  the  great  springs  of  life  is  irremediably 
injured. 

Supposing,  again,  the  pulse  to  be  at  72, 
each  beat  ought  to  occur  at  an  interval  of 
five  sixths  of  a  second ;  but  should  any 
deviation  from  mis  rhythm  be  perceived, 
the  pulse  is  then  said  to  be  irregular. 
The  varieties  of  irregularity  are  infinite  ; 

•  The  lapse  of  eighteen  centuries  has  not  de- 
stroyed the  ulilily,  much  less  the  beauty,  of  the 
eiglil  bonks  ou  medicine  bequeathed  by  Celsus  to 
posterity  ;  thoy  are  unrivalled  for  perspicuous  ele- 
gance and  Icicoiiic  good  sense.  Celsus  is  one  of  the 
writers  of  tlie  Auijustan  age,  and  is  worthy  of  the 
times  in  whicli  lie  flourished. 


nical  niceties  involved  in  anything  uKire 
than  a  bare  mention  of  them,  we  omit 
them.  There  is  one  point,  however, 
which  it  would  be  unpardonable  to  pass 
over  in  silence :  sometimes  no  pulsaiion 
can  be  felt  at  the  usual  part  of  the  wrist. 
This  may  proceed  from  so  great  a  languor 
of  the  circulation  that  it  is  iuipercepiible 
at  the  extremities  ;  or  from  the  radial  ar- 
tery (the  one  usually  felt)  being  ossified ; 
or  from  an  irregular  distribution  of  the  ar- 
teries of  the  fore-arm. 


ARTICLES  OF  DHESS. 

ATS  are  not  a 
modern  invention 
as  they  were  used 
by  some  of  the 
ancient  Greeks. 
In  the  time  of 
Edward  III.  and 
of  Richard  II., 
white  hats  were 
worn  at  Ghent  as  the  badge  of  a  political 
party.     Hats  were  confined  to  tlie  wealthy 


so  remarkiible  as  to  do- 
inenlioii.  It  will  li;'.|)|ioii 
tlie  interval  between  two 
1  longer  than  was  expect- 
l  seem  that  one  heat  had 
in  this  case  tlie  pulse  is 
ermilient  one.  When  tlie 
art  is  irreguliir,  thi'  heat  of 
ikewise  ;  but  it  will  occa- 
that  the  latter  irresfularity 
lOUt  the  former  one,  from 
luse  existing  between  the 
'rist.  it  is  harilly  neces- 
that  in  all  (loubtliil  cases, 
sxamines  the  pulsation  of 
ell  as  that  at  ilie  wrist — 
sent  stuJent,  'liseonienled 
'  limits  of  i)rovincial  irifor- 
;o  the  metropolis  to  pursue 
^uiries. 

or  fecdileness  of  the  pulse, 
softness,  and  iiiMumrral)!e 
might  be  discussed  hern ; 
3at  dilFiculty  attending  any 
these  points,  and  liie  t(?ch- 
nvolved  in  anytliing  more 
ention  of  ihem,  we  omit 
is  one  point,  however, 
be  unpardonal)lo  to  pass 
:  sometimes  no  pulsuiion 
16  usual  part  ol'  the  wrist, 
ed  froin  so  great  a  languor 
on  that  it  is  imperceptible 
ies  ;  or  from  tlie  radial  ar- 
3Ually  felt)  being  ossified ; 
»ular  distribution  of  the  ar- 
re-arm. 


IES  OF  DRESS. 

ATS    are    not  a 

modern  invention 

as  they  were  used 

by   some    of  the 

ancient    Greeks. 

In    the    time   of 

Edward  III.  and 

Vof    Richard    II., 

white  hats  were 

.  as  the  badge  of  a  poiiiical 

vere  confined  to  the  wealthy 


ECHOES. 


701 


until  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII,  In  the 
rriiin  of  l>lizal)elh,  high  frowns  cami;  in 
I'asiiioii,  and  were  often  pointed  and  coni- 
cal. At  that  time  hats  were  restricted  by 
act  of  Parliament  to  the  upper  classes  of 
SDcii'i y  ;  the  middle  and  lower  class  being 
cdiiluied  to  the  use  of  knit  caps.  This 
act  being  rei)caled,  felt  hats  came  into 
common  use.  During  the  commonwealth, 
broaJ-brims  were  generally  usiid.  These 
being  olteii  inconvenient,  it  btH:ame  the 
ctisioin  to  turn  up  one  or  two  sides,  wliich 
K'd  to  the  tlin;e-cocked  hat,  in  the  time  of 
Qiicca  Anne.  About  1750,  round  hats 
being  j)revaieiit  among  the  lower  orders, 
tlie  coiked  hat  was  the  distinction  of  a 
ifCiitlemau.  About  17'JO,  Cdckt.'d  hats  were 
laid  aside,  and  ever  since  round  hats  have 
been  the  universal  wear. 

Shoes  were  worn  by  the  ancient  Egyp- 
tians. Several  Egyptian  slioes  are  pre- 
served in  the  British  museum,  made  of 
mailing,  the  bark  of  papyrus,  leather,  and 
other  materials.  Shoes  were  worn  by 
the  Greeks  and  Romans,  although  they 
generally  wore  sandals,  which  were  mere- 
ly soles  tied  on  the  feet  with  thongs. 
The  most  simple  kind  of  shoes  appear  to 
have  been  a  piece  of  leather  bound  round 
the  foot ;  shoes  of  this  kind  are  still  used 
in  the  remote  parts  of  ihe  Highlands  of 
Scollund.  In  the  reign  of  Edward  IV., 
shoes  were  pointed  at  the  toes,  and  had 
long  beaks  of  four  or  five  inclies,  turned 
up  and  fastened  at  the  knees  by  a  chain. 
Afterward  they  were  quite  round  at  the 
toes,  and  in  the  reign  of  Charles  I.,  the 
toes  were  square,  and  boots  came  only 
half  up  to  the  knee,  with  wide  lops  turned 
down.  The  leather  of  which  shoes  were 
made  was  of  dillerent  colors.  Blacking 
is  a  very  late  fashion. 

Glovks  are  not  a  modern  invention. 
They  were  worn,  as  we  are  informed  by 
Herodotus,  by  the  ancient  Persians ;  they 
were  also  in  use  among  the  ancient  Ro- 
mans. In  the  early  ages  of  Christianity, 
gloves  were  a  part  of  monastic  costume, 
and  in  later  periods  formed  a  part  of  the 
ejiiscopal  habit.  The  glove  was  employed 
by  jninces  as  a  token  of  investiture  ;  and 
to  deprive  a  person  of  his  gloves  wa.s  a 
mark  of  divesting  him  of  his  office. 
Throwing  down  a  glove  constituted  a 
challenge,  and  the  taking  it  up  an  accept- 


ance ;    this    custom    .'ontiiuied    until    the 
reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 

STOCKi\(is,  as  now  made,  are  compar- 
atively a  modern   inveiuion.      Prcv  iimsly 
to  the  lime  of  Henry  VII.,  kniitcd  stock- 
j  ingsof  silk  wen;  nnknowii.     "  Kmci  Uin- 
I  ry  Vlll.  did  wear  only  cloth  hose,"  says 
I  Siowe  in  his  Chronicle,  "or  hose  cut  out 
I  of   ell    broad    laflata ;    or    that    by   [>reai 
j  chance  there  came  ;ipair  of  Spanish  silk 
I  stockings   from    Spain."     Silk    sloekinys 
I  were  articles  of  great  rarity  in   tiio  time 
of  Elizabeth.     Stockings  continued  to  be 
knit  by  hand  until  loS'J,  when  a  slocking- 
loom  was  invented  by  William   Lee,  near 
Notlingham.      Lee,  not  being  sndiiuently 
patnmized  in  England,  removed  lu  Uoiien, 
in  France,  where  ho  established  his  man- 
ufacture. 


ECHOES. 

HE  word  signifies  a 
sound  rcfiected  or 
reverberated  from  a 
solid  concave  body, 
and  so  repeated  to  the 
ear. 

The  ancients,  being 
wholly  unaccpiainted 
with  the  true  cause  of  the  echo,  ascribed 
it  to  several,  which  are  whimsical.  But 
the  moderns,  who  know  sound  to  consist 
in  a  certain  tremor  or  vibration  in  the 
sonorous  body,  communicated  to  the  con- 
tiguous air,  and  by  that  means  to  the  ear, 
give  a  more  consistent  account  of  echoes. 
For  a  tremulous  body,  striking  on  another 
solid  body,  may  evidently  be  repelled 
without  destroying  or  diminishing  its 
tremor  ;  and  consequently  a  sound  may  be 
redoubled  by  the  resolution  of  the  tremu- 
lous body  of  the  air.  In  order  to  produce 
an  echo,  it  would  seem  a  kind  of  vaulting 
is  necessary,  in  order  to  collect,  and  by 
collecting  to  heighten  and  increase,  and 
afterward  reflect,  the  sound  ;  as  we  find 
is  the  case  in  reflecting  the  rays  of  light, 
where  a  concave  mirror  is  required. 

In  efTect,  as  often  as  a  sound  strikes 
perpendicularly  on  a  wall,  behind  which 
is  anything  of  a  vault  or  arch,  or  even 


iM^i 


«>'! 


702 


ECHOES. 


mtn 


another  parallel  wall,  so  often  will  it  be 
reverberated  in  the  same  line,  or  other 
adjacent  ones. 

For  an  echo  to  be  heard,  therefore,  it  is 
necessary  that  the  ear  should  be  in  the 
line  of  reflection ;  for  the  person  who 
made  the  sound  to  hear  its  echo,  it  is  ne- 
cessary that  he  should  be  perpendicular  to 
the  j)lace  which  reflects  it ;  and  for  a 
manifold  echo  it  is  necessary  that  there 
should  be  a  number  of  walls  and  vaults, 
or  cavities,  either  placed  behind  or  front- 
ing each  other.  A  single  arch  or  cavity 
can  scarcely  ever  stop  and  reflect  all  the 
sound  ;  but  if  there  be  a  convenient  dis- 
position behind  it,  part  of  the  sound  pro- 
pagated thither  being  collected  and  reflect- 
ed as  before,  will  return  another  echo ;  or 
if  there  be  another  concavity  opposed  at  a 
due  distance  to  the  former,  the  sound  re- 
flected from  one  upon  another  will  be  tossed 
back  again  by  the  latter. 

Echoes  are  distinguished  into  different 
kinds.  Si7igle  echoes  are  those  which  re- 
turn the  voice  but  once.  Of  these,  some 
are  tonical,  which  only  return  a  voice  when 
modulated  into  some  particular  musical 
tone  ;  and  olhexs, poly syllabical,  which  re- 
turn many  syllables,  words,  and  sentences. 
Multiple  or  tautological  echoes,  are  those 
which  return  syllables  and  words  often- 
times repeated. 

At  the  sepulchre  of  Metella,  wife  of 
Crassus,  there  was  an  echo  which  repeated 
what  was  said  five  times.  Authors  also 
mention  a  tower  at  Cyzicus,  where  the 
echo  repeated  seven  times.  One  of  the 
first  echoes  we  read  of  is  that  mentioned 
by  Barthius,  in  his  notes  on  the  Thebais 
of  Statius,  which  repeated  the  words  utter- 
ed seventeen  times  ;  it  was  situated  on  the 
banks  of  the  Naha,  between  Coblentz  and 
Bipgen.  Barthius  assures  us,  that  he  had 
proved  what  he  writes,  and  had  counted 
seventeen  repetitions. 

We  subjoin  an  account  of  a  remarkable 
echo  detailed  by  a  writer  in  the  philosoph- 
ical transactions  :  "  As  to  echoes,  there 
is  one  at  Brussels  that  answers  fifteen 
times.  But  when  I  was  at  Milan  I  took 
a  coach  to  go  two  miles  thence  to  a  noble- 
man's palace,  not  now  in  great  repair,  and 
only  a  peasant  (Contandine)  living  in  ono 
end  of  it.  The  building  is  of  some  length 
in  the  front,  and  hap  two  wings  jutting 


forward,  so  that  it  wants  only  one  side  of 
an    oblong   figure.     About    one    hundred 
paces  before  the  house,  there  runs  a  small  ! 
brook,  and  that  very  slowly,  over  which 
you  pass  from  the  house  into  the  garden. 
We  carried  some  pistols  with  us,  and  firing  I 
one  of  them,  I  heard  fifty-six  reiterations  , 
of  noise.     The  first   twenty  were  with  I 
some  distinction  ;  but  then,  as  the  noise  ' 
seemed  to  fly  way,  and  answer  to  a  great 
distance,  the  repetition  was  so  doubled,  as 
you  could  hardly  count  them  all,  seeming 
as  if  the  principal  sound  was  saluted  in  its 
passage  by  reports  on  this  and  that  side  at 
the  same  time.     There  were  of  or'  com- 
pany that  reckoned  above  sixty  reiterations 
when  a  louder  pistol  went  ofl";  and  indeed 
it  was  a  very  grateful  divertisement.     But 
on  the  other  side  of  the  house,  on  the  op- 
posite wing,  it  would  not  sound  ;  and  only, 
to  this  advantage,  in  a  certain  chaml)er, 
here  two  stories  high  from  the  ground." 

In  the  neighborhood  of  Edinburgh,  are 
several  remarkable  echoes ;  and  one  author 
mentions  hearing,  in  its  immediate  vicinity, 
the  notes  of  martial  music  with  the  noise 
of  viewless  cannon  thundering  from  the 
clifls  of  Salisbury.     Near  the  castle  of 
Horn,  in  the  county  of  Argyle,  is  a  ruined 
chapel,  opposite  to  which  is  a  precipice, 
in  the  recess  of  which,  if  a  person  calls 
or  speaks  a  sentence,  an  echo  repeats  it 
to  one  who  stands  near  the  cemetery  of 
the  chapel,  clearly  and  unbrokenly.     In 
the  cemetery  of  the  Abercorn  family,  at 
Paisley,  in  the  county  of  Renfrew,  there  ;, 
is  an  echo  exceedingly  beautiful  and  ro-  | 
mantic.     When  the  door  of  the  chapel  is  .• 
closed  with  any  degree  of  violence,  rever-  j 
berations  are  equal  to  the  sound  of  thunder,  y 
Breathe  a  single  note  in  music,  and  the  | 
tone  ascends  gradually  with  a  multitude  of  j 
echoes  till  it  dies  in  soft  bewitching  num- 
bers.    If  the  effect  of  one  instrument  is 
delightful,  that  of  several  in  concert  is 
captivating — for  it  excites  most  tumultuous 
and  rapturous  sensations.     Near  the  Cape 
of  Good  Hope  is  a  rock  called  the  "  Honey 
Rock,"  which  has  an  echo  that  repeats 
several  syllables  successively ;  and  in  a 
tower  at  Bahavia,  is  anothei  which  echoes 
nine  syllables.     A  singular  echo  is  also 
heard  in  Castle  Comber,  in  Ireland.     No 
reverberation  is  observed  till  the  listener 
is  within  fifteen  or  sixteen  feet  of  the  ex- 


it  wants  only  one  side  of 

0.  About  one  huiidri'd 
house,  there  runs  a  small 
very  slowly,  over  which 
e  house  into  the  garden, 
pistols  with  us,  and  firing 

leard  fifty-six  reiterations 
first  twenty  were  with 
;  but  then,  as  the  noise 
ay,  and  answer  to  a  great 
etition  was  so  doubled,  as 
count  them  all,  seeming 
I  sound  was  saluted  in  its 
ts  on  this  and  that  side  at 
There  were  of  oi"  corn- 
ed above  sixty  reiterations 
stol  went  ofT;  and  indeed 
Lteful  divertisement.  But 
s  of  the  house,  on  the  op- 
ould  not  sound  ;  and  only, 
e,  in  a  certain  chamber, 
high  from  the  ground." 
srhood  of  Edinburgh,  are 
le  echoes ;  and  one  author 
;,  in  its  immediate  vicinity, 
•tial  music  with  the  noise 
non  thundering  from  the 
try.  Near  the  castle  of 
inty  of  Argyle,  is  a  ruined 
to  which  is  a  precipice, 
which,  if  a  person  calls 
ence,  an  echo  repeats  it ; 
ids  near  the  cemetery  of 
irly  and  unbrokenly.  In  ^ 
the  Abercorn  family,  at  i 
county  of  Renfrew,  there  ■ 
edingly  beautiful  and  ro- ; 
the  door  of  the  chapel  is 
degree  of  violence,  rever- 
lal  to  the  sound  of  thunder. 
i  note  in  music,  and  the 
idually  with  a  multitude  of 
s  in  soft  bewitching  nuin- 
Feet  of  one  instrument  is 
of  several  in  concert  is 
it  excites  most  tumultuous 
nsations.  Near  the  Cape 
I  a  rock  called  the  "  Honey 
bas  an  echo  that  repeats 
i  successively ;  and  in  a 

1,  is  anothei  which  echoes 
A  singular  echo  is  also 

Comber,  in  Ireland.  No 
observed  till  the  listener 
,  or  sixteen  feet  of  the  ex- 


TIIE  REIGN  OF  TERROR. 


103 


iremity  of  the  grotto  ;  at  which  place  a 
(li'li<,'hirul  echj  enchants  the  ear.  The 
coIel)rated  rock  near  Mulcross  Abbey, 
sends  forth  the  most  fascinating  repercus- 
sions. Sound  a  bugle-horn,  echoes  equal 
to  a  hundred  instruments  answer  to  the 
call.  Report  a  single  cannon,  the  loudest 
thunders  reverberate  from  the  rock,  and 
die  in  endless  peals  along  the  distant 
mountains.  On  the  lake  of  Keswick,  a 
pistol  is  reported  thirty  times  ;  and  a  quar- 
ter of  a  minute  frequently  elapses  between 
each  report.  Echoes  multiplied  every 
sound  in  the  grotto  of  Delphi,  and  in- 
creased the  vensralion  which  prompted 
thousands  to  visit  the  Temple  of  Apollo, 
the  splendor  of  which,  in  marble  and  in 
statues  of  gold  and  silver,  was  for  many 
ages  unequalled  in  Greece.  In  Norway 
and  upon  the  lake  Ontario,  and  in  many 
of  the  West  India  islands,  the  echoes  are 
enchanting ;  while  among  the  Orisons 
there  reigns  an  eternal  silence.  Clothed 
in  a  winding-sheet,  not  an  echo  repeats 
the  fall  •  -'  I  torrent,  or  the  ruins  of  an 
amlanc'-'  i.i  the  baptistry  of  St.  Gio- 
vanne  -tc  uesimo,  there  was  an  echo 
that  repeated  a  note  of  music  six  times. 
Lucretius  mentions  one  that  repeated  seven 
notes  ;  and  it  is  said  that  there  is  one  echo, 
betweeu  Confians  and  Charenton,  which 
repeats  ten  times.  A  few  miles  from 
Narbonne,  the  traveller  is  led  by  his  guide 
to  a  bridge,  beneath  which  is  heard  an 
echo  which  repeats  twelve  times  ;  and 
Migron  mentions  one  in  a  tower,  below 
Lausanne,  on  the  bord<jrs  of  the  lake  of 
Geneva,  which  repeated  twelve  syllables. 
In  limes  when  men  were  less  interested 
in  the  investigation  of  the  causes  of  the 
phenomena  they  heard  or  saw,  the  echo 
must  have  exceedingly  perplexed  them. 
Were  we  permitted  to  indulge  imagination, 
it  would  not  be  difficult  to  picture  to  our- 
selves the  amazement  and  consternation 
with  which  an  inhabitant  of  the  newly- 
peopled  earth  would  be  seized,  when  he 
first  heard  the  rocks  far  and  near  reitera- 
ting the  broken  sentences  that  escaped 
fr;»ia  his  lips,  as  he  wandered  along  by 
the  banks  of  a  river,  or  chased  the  deer 
in  the  mountains.  There  is  much  in  ex- 
ternal nature  calculated  to  awaken  the 
consciousness  of  invisible  power,  which 
resides  in  every  virtuous  bosom. 


THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR. 

^  ME  Reign  of  Terror ! 
fallow  many  recollec- 
tions of  horror  are 
associated  with  these 
words  !  Even  at  tlie 
distance  of  more  th;m 
half  a  century,  the 
imagination  shrinks, 
the  blood  curdles  at  their  sound ;  and 
centuries  hence,  that  era  will  probably  be 
regarded  as  exhibiting  the  "  bloodiest  pic- 
ture in  the  book  of  time." 

This  name  was  applied  to  express  that 
period  in  French  history  which  intervened 
between  the  execution  of  Louis  XVI.  and 
the  overthrow  of  Robespierre,  to  whom 
mainly  it  is  supposed  to  have  owed  its  ori- 
gin. Some  terrible  scenes  had  previou.sly 
been  witnessed.  In  September,  179 J, 
shortly  after  the  overthrow  of  the  monar- 
chy, when  the  passions  of  the  populace 
were  excited  to  the  highest  pitch  by  the 
intelligoiico  of  the  approach  of  the  allied 
army,  a  bai':i  of  assassins  had  at  midday, 
while  the  assembly  were  sitting,  proceed- 
ed to  the  various  prisons  of  the  metrop- 
olis, and  there  commenced  tlio  work  of 
destruction  on  the  inmates.  Tliese  recep- 
tacles had  previously  been  filled  with 
hosts  of  "  e  '  i^hest  society  in  the  capital, 
who  haa  i  ^n  collected,  in  terms  of  a  law 
named  ih.it  of  "  suspicion,"  after  a  search 
of  three  days,  during  which  no  one  was 
allowed  to  leave  his  residence,  but  a  body 
of  delegated  municipal  authorities  pro- 
ceeded from  house  to  house,  and  seized 
all  who  fell  within  its  sweeping  denunci- 
ation. Eighty  monks,  incarcerated  in  a 
temple,  were  first  assailed,  and  most  of 
them  either  struck  down  on  the  ground, 
or  shot  in  the  trees  of  an  adjoining  gar- 
den to  which  they  fled  for  refuge.  The 
great  prisons  of  L'Abbaye,  La  Force,  and 
the  Conciergie,  were  the  next  objects  of 
the  assassins'  fury,  and  in  each  the  pris- 
oners had  their  throats  cut  in  hundreds. 
A  sort  of  mock  tribunal  was  established, 
and  these  homicides  constituted  them- 
selves as  judges.  The  wretched  prisoner 
was  brought  out  alone,  and  after  a  few 
questions  from  his  accusers  atone  end  of 
the  court-yard,  he  was  consigned  to  th»" 
knives  of  the  assassins,  who  quickly  des 


ir 


1^ 


m 


!•« 


704 


THE  REIGN  OF  TERllOll. 


patcliod  liim  at  the  other.  Soiiio  tch)- 
griiph  or  cant  pliniso  was  gorieially  cm- 
|)li)\  <!(1  as  tlie  signal.  At  th(!  prison  of 
L'Al)l)aye,  for  instance,  the  (ala!  sentcni.'c 
was  the  "«  la  Furcp.  .'"  and  while  llie  ii;i- 
suspeciing  prisoner  went  on  is  the  suppo- 
sition tlia'  he  was  to  be  transferred  to 
that  hlion;  'i!)ld  of  incarceration,  he  was 
sniideuiy  assailed  and  j)Ut  to  death  amid 
the  laughter  of  the  assassins,  wlio  amused 
themselves  with  his  fearl'ul  misapprehen- 
sion. During  three  days  these  terrible 
scenes  proceeded  ;  neither  the  legislature 
nor  the  civic  authorities,  in  the  meantime, 
ollering  the  slightest  interruption.  The 
assassins,  who  did  not  exceed  two  hun- 
dred in  number,  throughout  the  whole  pe- 
riod coolly  went  and  returned  to  their 
meals,  as  if  they  had  been  engaged  in 
their  usual  avocations.  The  women  were 
worse  than  the  men,  and  either  joined  ac- 
tually in  the  massacre,  or  stayed  at  home  to 
discharge  the  others'  duties,  that  their 
liusbands  might,  as  they  said  with  horrid 
coolness,  "  woik  in  the  Abbey."  Nay, 
more,  when  the  horrid  "  work"  was  com- 
j)leted,  they  actually  had  the  audacity  to 
proceed  to  the  city  hall  and  demand  pay- 
ment for  their  deeds — a  demand  with 
which  the  approving  or  terrified  munici- 
pality were  forced  to  comply ;  and  the 
sums  paid  to  these  murderous  "  laborers" 
for  a  long  time  remained  a  disgrace  duly 
recorded  in  the  civic  records  of  Paris.  It 
is  impossible  to  calculate  the  number 
struck  down  on  this  occasion  in  Paris  and 
Versailles,  which,  with  one  or  two  of  the 
smaller  towns  in  the  neighborhood,  fol- 
lowed the  capital's  example.  By  the 
most  moderate  calculation  they  have  been 
reckoned  a  thousand  or  twelve  hundred, 
tlviugh  the  list  has  been  swelled  to  thrice 
the  amount.  Many  persons  of  distinction 
fell  during  the  massacre ;  among  whom 
were  the  famous  Madame  de  Barri,  mis- 
tress of  Louis  XV.,  who  died  uttering  the 
most  piercing  cries,  and  exhibiting  the 
most  abject,  yet  natural  timidity,  and  the 
slill  more  celebrated  Princess  de  Lam- 
balle,  whose  beauties  and  virtues  had  not 
been  able  to  save  her,  as  the  friend  of 
Maria  Antoinette,  from  the  fury  of  the 
mob.  She  was  put  to  death  under  cir- 
cumstances of  peculiar  atrocity,  and  her 
head  was  carried  aloft  on  a  pike,  to  be 


'  exhibited  before  the  windows  of  tlie  (piern 
in  the  Temple,  altachment  to  whom  seiMns 

I  to  have  been  the  least  of  her  merits  and 

j  the  chief  of  her  crimes. 

lUit  t(;rril)le  as  these  scenes  in  IT'Ji 
were,  far  greater  horrors  were  perjietra- 
ted — and  in  the  name  of  justice,  too— in 
the  following  year  and  the  first  half  of 
1791,  by  the  sanguinary  revolutionary 
tribunal  which  had  been  cslalili.slied  by 
Danton.  This  dread  triumvir  himself 
perished  by  its  agency  in  the  early  jian 
of  the  last-named  year,  and  while  bewail- 
ing his  fall!,  and  that  of  an  amiable  wom- 
an, who  a  short  time  before  had  been  uni- 
ted lo  him  in  marriage,  he  then  deeply 
deplored  his  instrumentality  in  its  erec- 
tion, calling  the  Almighty  to  witness  tliat 
he  had  never  contemplated  the  crimes  it 
had  achieved  :  but  his  regret  (as  regret 
generally  is)  was  unavailing.  .Shortly 
after  its  creation,  the  revolutionary  tribu- 
nal commenced  its  proceedings  with  the 
most  fearful  rapidity,  and  under  the  dir(;c- 
tion  of  Fouquier  Tinville — a  sort  of  fiend 
in  human  shape,  who  laughed  and  jested 
with  his  victims  while  he  sent  them  lo  the 
scaffold — whole  hecatombs  were  soon  de- 
stroyed. The  slightest  suspicion  was 
fatal  in  the  eyes  of  this  atrocious  wretch, 
and  those  who  appeared  in  court  as  wit- 
nesses were  frequently  sent  to  the  guillo- 
tine as  criminals.  Almost  every  one  tried 
before  him  was  at  length  condemned. 
The  Girondists  were  struck  down  in  a 
body,  on  the  denunciation  of  Robes|)ierre ; 
the  venerable  Malesherbes,  for  defending 
the  late  king,  was,  with  the  whole  of  his 
family,  consigned  to  the  scafTold,  to  which 
he  proceeded  with  a  gay  aspect,  and  an 
air  so  careless,  that,  chancing  to  stumble, 
he  said,  "  it  was  a  bad  omen,  and  a  Ro- 
man would  have  turned  back."  Danton 
and  the  whole  of  his  associates  were  con- 
demned, by  the  instigation  of  the  same 
gloomy  tyrant,  who  felt  that  that  bold  dem- 
agogue formed  the  chief  obstacle  to  the 
dictatorship  to  which  he  now  aspired. 
He  exhibited  less  courage,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment his  feelings  seemed  about  to  give 
way,  when  he  thought  of  his  young  wife, 
of  whom  he  plaintively  e.'cclaimed,  "  I 
shall  never  see  thee  more  !"  but  immedi- 
ately recovering  himself,  and  uttering  the 

I  words  "  Courage,  Danton !"  he  died  with 


"^ 


window.s  of  tlic  <|ii('rii 
[iinoiitto  whom  SiM-irts 
iisl  of  Iht  mt'rils  ami 
lies. 

lese  scenes  in  17'J2 
)rrovs  ivcro  jxTpi'trii- 
iie  of  justico,  too— in 
and  the  first  h:iif  of 
[uinary  revohiiioiKiry 
been  cstalilishoil  by 
id  triumvir  iiiniseh' 
icy  in  llie  early  part 
lar,  and  while  bewail- 
t.  of  an  amiable  woin- 
:  before  had  been  uiii- 
iage,  he  then  deeply 
iientality  in  its  er(;u- 
lighty  to  witness  that 
nplated  the  crimes  it 
his  regret  (as  regret 

unavailing.  Shortly 
e  revolutionary  tril)u- 
jiroceedings  with  the 
,  and  under  the  direc- 
iville — a  sort  of  fiend 
lio  laughed  and  jested 
le  he  sent  them  to  the 
a'ombs  were  soon  de- 
hiest  suspicion  was 
this  atrocious  wretch, 
ared  in  court  as  wii- 
iily  sent  to  the  guillo- 
Vlmost  every  one  tried 
,  length  condemned, 
re  struck  down  in  a 
ation  of  Robespierre ; 
iherbes,  for  defending 
ivith  the  whole  of  his 

the  scalTold,  to  which 
a  gay  aspect,  and  an 

chancing  to  stumble, 
bad  omen,  and  a  Ho- 
rned  back."     Danton 

associates  were  con- 
tigalion  of  the  same 
ell  that  that  bold  dein- 
cliief  obstacle  to  the 
ch  he  now  aspired, 
ourage,  and  lor  a  ino- 
eemed  about  to  give 
[lit  of  his  young  wife, 
lively  exclaimed,  "  I 
■  more  !"  but  immedi- 
tiself,  and  uttering  the 
laiitoa !"  he  died  with 


TIIR  IlEIGN  OP  TEUIlOa. 


705 


fortitude.  Others  of  a  less  daring  temper- 
anie  It  showed  still  more  tranquillity  ;  and 
death  at  last  became  so  common  that  it 
lost  iis  terrors.  Numbers  proceeded  to 
the  guillotine  uttering  jibes  and  wHticisms, 
often  extemporaneous,  but  in  other  in- 
siances  studiously  prepared  for  the  occa- 
sion ;  and  the  victims  at  last  vied  almost 
in  coolness  with  the  crowds,  who  daily 
beheld  processions  to  the  guillotine  with 
as  nnich  iiidiirerence,  or  rather  as  much 
zest,  as  they  would  have  regarded  any 
exhibition  at  the  theatres,  which  were 
never  more  crowded  in  Paris  than  during 
tliis  dismal  period. 

While  such  was  the  .state  of  affairs  in 
the  capital,  matters  were  still  worse  in  the 
provinces.     In  Paris,  condemnation  was 
nude  a  jest,  and  the  names  of  those  who 
had  received  sentence  were  bawled  out  in 
a  street  list,  named,  with  disgusting  levity, 
"the  evening  paper,"   from  which  they 
friupieiitly,  for  the  first  time,  received  in- 
telligence of  their  approaching  death  on 
the  morrow,  or  were  said  to  have  "  drawn 
prizes   in  the  holy  lottery  of  the  guillo- 
tine ;"  but  in  the  rural  districts,  execution 
itself  was  made  a  theme  of   merriment. 
In  the  north,  one  Lebas,  an  apostate  monk, 
the  revolutionary  judge,  generally  presided 
at  the  guillotine  with  the  whole  of  his 
friends  ;  and  in  the  south,  another,  Le  Bon 
(literally,   "the    good,"   and   probably   a 
name  bestowed  in  jest),  publicly  enter- 
tained the  executioner,  as  a  distinguished 
functionary,  at  his  table.    Horrors  scarcely 
inferior  were  perpetrated  in  the  other  dis- 
tricts of  the  republic,  to  which  these  san- 
guinary wretches  were  sent  by  the  revo- 
luiionary  tribunal  in  Paris,  delegated  with 
all  its  powers  ;  and  the  guillotine  at  length 
became  so  much  in  demand,  that  it  was 
proposed   to   have   a   set  of   what  were 
termed  "  perambulating"  machines  of  death 
constructed,  to  move  from  one  part  of  a 
province  to  another,  on  wheels.     Every 
being,  who,  by  his  opposition  or  his  wealth, 
had  excited  the  indignation  or  cupidity  of 
these  emissaries,  was  guillotined.     Were 
an  old  public  functionary  incorrect  in  his 
accounts,  or  a  general  unsuccessful  with 
the  enemy,  ho  experienced  the  same  fate. 
Westermann,  a  fierce  republican  general ; 
Biron,  a  better  soldier ;  Beauharnois,  the 
husband  of  the  amiable  Josephine,  Napo- 


leon's future  empercss,  and  others  of  the 
same  rank,  were  thus  struck  down  ;  and 
tho  dreadful  instrument  was  at  hist  so  fa- 
miliarized, under  the  auspi'\'s  of  Foiujuier 
Tinville,  th.at  Robespierre  hinnelf  h:ul  to 
interfere,  and  declare  "  it  was  doseenUed." 
But  even  these  scenes  yiehluil  m  hor- 
ror to  the  enormities    commiited   in   the 
western  part  of  the  kingdom  on  the  un- 
happy peasantry  of  La  Vendee.     Sliortly 
after  the  revolution  broke  out,  resi.stance 
arose  to  it  there.     The  inhabitants  of  that 
sequestered   district,   where  the   proprie- 
tors, generally  inconsiderable,  lived  chielly 
on  their  own  domains,  had   escaped  the 
severity  of  the  ancient  goverinnent.     In- 
stead of  being  ground  down  by  the  nobles, 
they  lived  on   a  footing  of  comparative 
equality,  joining  in  their  hunting  parlies, 
and  participating  in  their  hospitality  ;  most 
of   the  proprietors  cultivated    iheir   own 
grounds,  or  were  but  liltle  removed    in 
rank  above  their  tenants.     Here,  accord- 
ingly, tho  new  principles  met  with  a  stea- 
dy opposition.     Encouraged  by  their  land- 
lords, who  were  attached  to  the  ancient 
regime,  and  instigated  by  their  priests,  who 
were  averse  to  the  modern  oath,  the  peas- 
ants took  the  field  in  bodies,  and  resisted 
all  who  attempted  to  introduce  revolution- 
ary doctrines  into  their  district.     Success 
at  first  attended  their  arms.     Their  habits 
as  hunters  having  made  them  experienced 
marksmen,   and  their  knowledge  of  the 
country  given  them  a  great  advantage  ov  ir 
their  opponents,  they  in  the  (  utset  bore 
down  the  republican  troops,  who,  while 
marching  unsuspicious  through  the  forest 
ravines  with  which  the  district  teemed, 
were  frequently  fired  on  by  unseen  foes, 
a".;!  while  in  confusion,  struck  down  by 
the  peasants,  who  then  rushed  from  their 
ambuscade.     Whole  bodies  of  men  were 
thus  cut  ofT;.  and  the  insurgents,  becoming 
bolder  by  success,  and  assembling  in  lar- 
ger numbers,  at  last  defeated  not  only 
several  republican  generals,  but  captured 
Nantes  and  some  adjacent  towns.     Under 
the    direction    of    Larochejacquelein,    a 
young  and  enthusiastic  nobleman  ;  Char- 
rette,  a  wagoner ;  StofHet,  a  barber ;  Les- 
cure,  a  pious  gentleman  ;  and  D'Elbee,  an 
o'.d  naval  officer,  they  at  last  attempted 
higher  aims,  and  in  a  body  a  hundred 
thousand  strong,  crossed  the  Loire  with 


"fUl 


rr 


1 


4** 


,.i*" 


1  k 


I! 

;14* 


+1' 


■?^* 


nf!f» 


T06 


THE  REIGN  OF  TEllUOR. 


Ml  W 

SI?-., 


.Ull.<|it 


■->.  ...^ 


the  design  of  marching  upon  Paris.  But 
all  their  habits  and  tactics  unfitted  them 
for  this  purpose.  They  generally  took 
the  field  for  fighting  in  the  same  form  as 
they  had  been  accustomed  to  equip  them- 
selves for  hunting  ;  seldom  carried  above 
three  days'  provisions  with  them ;  and, 
whether  successful  or  defeated,  could 
rarely  be  retained  for  a  longer  period  from 
home.  In  conflict,  too,  they  were  more 
successful  in  sudden  and  sharp  attacks, 
than  qualified  to  cTidure  the  steady  and 
sustained  action  of  regular  troops.  Hence, 
in  this  great  excursion,  they  wholly  failed 
in  their  object.  In  several  engagements 
with  the  rejjublican  troops,  after  varied 
success,  they  were  finally  defeated ;  La- 
rochejacquelein,  their  favorite,  though  not 
ablest  leader,  was  struck  down,  and  his 
followers  fled,  notwithstanding  his  inspi- 
ring war-whoop,  "  If  I  fly,  slioot  me  ;  if  I 
advance,  follow  me  ;  if  I  fall,  avenge  me !" 
Most  of  their  other  generals,  being  accus- 
tomed to  charge  with  their  men,  were 
either  killed  or  disabled  ;  and  their  wives 
and  children  having  followed  them  in  this 
excursion,  a  crowd  of  a  hundred  thousand 
wretched  beings  were  at  last  found,  de- 
feated, dismayed,  and  disordered,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Loire — assailed  by  the  ex- 
asperated republicans  on  the  one  hand, 
cut  off  from  their  country  by  the  river  on 
the  other ;  abandoned  a  prey  to  hunger, 
cold,  wind,  hail,  and  stiow  ;  and  left  to 
contend  with  horrors  which  disposed  their 
supersiitious  imaginations  to  surmise  the 
approacliing  termination  of  the  world  in 
their  sinking  cause. 

It  was  upon  these  unhappy  wretches, 
or  sucii  of  them  as  had  escaped  those 
dangers,  that  the  Jacobin  fury  was  now  to 
be  wreaked ;  and  though  the  peasants 
themselves  had  frequently  been  cruel  in 
putting  their  prisoners  to  death,  assuredly 
they  never  perpetrated  such  atrocities  as 
those  of  which  they  were  now  the  vic- 
tims. An  insHrument  which,  like  the  guil- 
lotine, decapitated  only  one  at  a  time,  was 
of  course  wholly  unable  to  act  with  suffi- 
cient promptitude  for  vengeance  ;  and  they 
were  accordingly  struck  down  in  scores, 
and  lii'iies,  and  hundreds,  by  musketry  and 
grape-shot.  Neither  age  nor  sex  was 
spared  on  these  occasions,  though  the  sol- 
diers, the  stern  executioners,   svere  fre- 


quently interrupted  by  their  victims,  when 
children,  clinging  to  their  knees.  Hut 
even  this  mode  of  putting  them  to  death 
became  too  tiresome  at  last ;  and  when 
the  earth  was  threatened  with  a  pestilence 
from  their  pu'rifying  carcases.  Carrier,  an 
ex-friar,  but  no^r  revolutionary  pro-consul 
at  Nantes,  devised  a  more  horrible  plan 
for  destroying  them  by  water.  Bands  of 
wretched  beings  were  conveyed  in  boats, 
and  thrown  into  the  lakes  or  rivers  ;  and 
when  some  of  them  escaped,  or  attempted 
to  escape,  by  swimming,  the  infernal  ex- 
pedient was  chosen  of  carrying  them  out 
enclosed  in  vessels  constructed  with  false 
bottoms  and  closed  hatchways  for  the  pur- 
pose, when  the  trap  being  withdrawn,  the 
waters  closed  over  all.  Thousands  were 
thus  inhumanly  drowned,  and  these  Nutj- 
adcs,  as  they  were  termed,  at  last  only 
ceased  when  the  fishes  were  poisoned  by 
gorging  on  human  flesh,  and  the  waters 
became  not  less  pestilential  than  the  air. 

The  public  mind  at  last  sickened  under 
these  accumulated  horrors,  and  Robes- 
pierre's associates  in  the  capital  became 
alarmed  by  the  apprehension  that  hu  de- 
signed to  destroy  them  in  turn,  with  ih(i 
view  of  appropriating  power  to  himself 
alone.  The  government  of  the  country 
had,  on  the  abolition  of  the  monarchy, 
been  vested  in  two  comniitlens — one  of 
which,  the  committee  of  public  safety, 
watched  over  the  general  interests  of  the 
republic ;  while  the  other,  named  that  of 
general  safety,  was  intrusted  with  the  su- 
perintendence of  Paris  alone.  It  was 
chiefly  in  the  municipality  that  the  inter- 
ests o{  this  body  lay  ;  but  though  confined 
to  the  capital,  and  made  subservient  to  l\v3 
committee  of  public  safety,  it  had  gradu- 
ally extended  its  power,  and  by  means  of 
the  aifiliations  or  offshoots  of  the  Jacobin 
club,  which  were  dispersed  over  every 
village,  acquired  an  influence  throughout 
all  France.  And  this  was  the  body  wbich 
ilebespierre  designed  to  render  instru- 
mental to  his  views  when  he  had  been 
dismissed  from  the  committee  of  public 
safety,  in  conformity  with  a  law  which 
enjoined  that  two  of  the  ten  members 
should  go  out  every  two  months  in  rota- 
tion, or  when  he  had  refused  to  re-euier  it 
in  consequence  of  some  quarrel  with  his 
colleagues. 


victims,  when 
kncos.  Hut 
hcni  to  ileath 
it ;  and  when 
h  a  pestilence 
3S,  Ciinior,  an 
»ry  pro-consul 
horrible  plan 
ir.  Bands  of 
syed  in  boats, 
r  rivers  ;  and 
,  or  attempted 
B  infernal  ex- 
ying  them  out 
ted  with  false 
ys  for  the  pur- 
iihdrawn,  the 
ousaiids  were 
id  these  A'o^- 
at  lust  only 
3  poisoned  by 
id  the  waters 
than  the  air. 
ckenod  under 
and  Robes- 
apital  became 
n  lliat  he  de- 
turn,  with  thi! 
!r  to  himsulf 
r  the  country 
le  monarchy, 
tens — one  of 
|)ublic  safety, 
terests  of  the 
lamed  tiiat  of 
1  with  the  su- 
one.  It  was 
hat  the  inter- 
uugh  conlined 
servient  to  iImj 
it  had  gradu- 
1  by  niL'iins  of 
f  the  Jacobin 
d  over  every 
ce  througliout 
le  body  which 
ender  instru- 
he  had  been 
tee  of  public 
a  law  which 
ten  members 
inths  in  rota- 
[  to  re-enier  it 
irrel  with  his 


THE  REIGN  OP  TERROH. 


107 


To  all  it  was  apparent   that  a  death- 
strufi^lc  drew  nigh,  and  both  parties  pre- 
pared for  it  with  the  full  conviction  that 
their  lives  were  dependent  on  the  issue. 
The  committee  trusted  to  the  influence  it 
posbcssod   wiih  the   army,  whose  move- 
ments Carnot,  the  ablest  and  best  of  its 
members,  wholly  controlled  :  Robespierre 
conlided  in  the  support  of  the  municipal- 
ity, and,  above  all,  in  that  of  the  .Jacobin 
club.     In  the  convention  his  power  was 
also  greit ;  for  that  body  invariably  joined 
the  strofii,a'r  party,  and  it  had  recently  sup- 
ported a  law  which  he  brought  in  chiefly 
to  justify  the  late  massacres,  and  after  pas- 
sing which  he  had  retired  for  a  month  from 
power,  in  order,  as  was  supposed,  to  de- 
popularize  his  colleagues  by  the  odium  of 
executing  it.     But  this  strat..gem  failed, 
if  it  were  ever  designed,  and  his  retire- 
ment proved  as  fatal  to  him  as  a  similar 
retrciit  had  been  to  Danton.     That  bold 
leadi^r  of  the  populace  had  fallen  a  victim 
chiedy  to  the  artifices  which  Robespierre 
had  employed  to  undermine  him  at  the 
Jacobins'  in  his  absence  ;  and  he  had  died 
exclaiming  tUut  in  three  months  his  de- 
ceiver would    follow   him  to  the    block. 
The  prrdiction  was  fulfilled  •  the  commit- 
tee of  public  safety  seized  the  same  op- 
portunity to  destroy  Robespierre,  and  with 
the  same  success.     On  the  26th  of  July, 
1794,   after   a   month's    absence    during 
which  his  followers  had  almost  worship- 
ped him  as  a  divinity,  he  reappeared  in 
the  convention,  and  delivered  one  of  those 
long,  mysterious,  and  ominous  addresses 
with  which  he  was  accustomed  to  usher 
in  his  sanguinary  proposals.     The  assem- 
bly, slavish  as  ever,  applauded  him  to  the 
echo  as  before ;  but  a  different  reception 
awaited  him  when  he  next  day  prepared 
to  impeach  three  of  his  late  associates  in 
the  committee  of  public  safety,  and  several 
of  their  adherents  in  the  chamber.     These 
men  hud  iu  the  interval  received  intelli- 
gence of  his  intentions,  and  they  prepared 
to  defend  themselves  with  the  courage  of 
despair.     So    soon    as   he    renewed    his 
speech,  they  boldly  interrupted   him   by 
their   hostile    acclamations,    and    Robes- 
pierre's voice,  for  the  first  time,  was  si- 
lenced in  an  assembly  where  it  always 
before  had  been  heard  with  reverence  in- 
spired  by  dread.     The   chamber  at  first 


stood  mute,  like  himself,  with  astonish- 
ment ;  but  as  the  cries  of  his  foes  grew 
louder,  and  vocifera  i<ins  of  "Down  with 
the  tyrant !'  were  heard,  it  prepared  to 
adopt  another  course  ;  and  when  HarriTe, 
a  profligate  ex-noble,  and  member  of  the 
committee  of  public  safety,  who  invaria- 
bly ranged  himself  with  the  stronger,  and 
on  this  occasion  had  prepared  a  speech  for 
either  side — drew  from  his  pocket  and 
coolly  proceeded  to  deliver  a  studied  re- 
port against  Robespierre,  the  cowardly 
legislature  no  longer  remained  uncertain, 
but  fiercely  joined  in  the  h  >o  tliat  struck 
him  down.  Foaming  at  the  mouth,  Rob- 
espierre withdrew,  and  hastened  for  safe- 
ty and  succor  to  his  adherents  in  the  mu- 
nicipality and  JacoI)in  club. 

But  it  was  too  late.     His  enemies  knew 
that  either  his  life  or  theirs  must  be  ex- 
tinguished   in    the   struggle,  and  one  or 
more  of  them  had  attended  the  chamber 
with  the  resolution  of  destroying  either 
him  or  themselves  if  he  carried  his  pro- 
posal.    "  Should  it  pass,"  said  they,  'we 
shall  have  no  alternative  but  to  blow  out 
our  brains  ;"  and  the  legislature  was  soon 
convinced  that  its  own  members  were  in 
similar   danger.     A  decree   was  quickly 
passed  to  outlaw  him  ;  but  there  was  dif- 
ficulty in  getting  parties  to  execute  it ;  for 
Henriot,  the  commander  of  the  Parisian 
guard,  was  an  adherent  of  Robespierre's, 
and  already  at  the  town-hall  l)y  his  side. 
But  fortune,  or  the  frailty  of  this  associate, 
aided  them.     Henriot,  when  he  attempted 
to  take  the  command  of  his  troops,  was  so 
inebriated  that  he  with  ditliculty  retained 
his  seat  on  horseback,  and   his    soldiers 
either  misunderstood  his  orders  or  refused 
to  obey  him.     In  these  circumstances  he 
rode  back  in  dismay  to  the  city-hall,  and 
his  cannoneers  were  easily  persuaded  by 
some  members  of  the  legislature  to  turn 
their  guns  from  against  it  to  the  hostile 
edifice.     A  few  adherents  of  the  commit- 
tee or  chamber  accompanied  them,  and 
boldly  burst  into  the  room  where  Robes- 
pierre and  his   associates   were.     Their 
triumph  was  easy :    the  confederates  at- 
tempted no  resistance  ;  but  some  of  them 
endeavored  to   escape   by  the  windows, 
while  others  essayed  to  avoid  a  public  ex- 
ecution by  suicide.     St.  Just,  a  violent  but 
disinterested  fanatic,  made   this   attempt 


i  , 


i 


H 


»i ',. 


■«**..,' 


.  V 


Si  :.   ... 


]*t 


p^y.^- 


»*'»^ik 


108 


THE  STUDY  OF  NATURE. 


olTiT  tlifinselves  lo  his  iiolice,  prcMciilinir 
iiifmite  diversity  of  form,  and  ohviuiisly 
adapted,  by  their  coiistructii)ii  ;iiid  imhils, 
to  occupy  various  and  widciy-dill'tTdiit  sit- 
uations. The  caridoss  lounjj;i'r,  indexed, 
untaught  to  mark  tiio  less  ohtiusivc  and 
minuter  features  of  the  hindsc;i|ii',  sees, 
perhaps,  tlic  cattle  grazing  in  the  liidd ; 
watches  the  swallows  as  tiuy  ghmco 
alonsr,  or  listens  wiih  undelined  cmoimns 
of  pleasure  to  the  vocal  choir  of  unseen 
]  feathered  songsters ;  and  content  with 
these  symptoms  of  life  around  him,  passes 
unheeding  onward.  Nut  so  the  curious 
and  enlightened  wanderer,  inipiisitivn  to 
understand  all  that  he  finds  amund  him  : 
his  prying  eye  and  mind  intclligc.ni,  not 
only  cr;'  appreciate  the  grosser  hi^autics 
of  the  scene,  and  gather  full  enjoyment 
from  the  survey,  but  perceive  ol)jects  of 
wonder  multiply  at  every  step  he  takes : 
the  grass,  the  trees,  the  Hovvers,  the  earth, 
the  air,  swarm  with  innumerable  kituls  of 
active  living  creatures  :  every  stone  up- 
turned reveals  some  instxt  wonder ;  nay. 


and  failed  ;  his  pistol  snapped  in  the  act, 
and  was  seized  before  he  could  renew  the 
ellurl.  ('onilian,  a  sanguinary  wretch, 
who,  thtiiiyli  half  dead  with  palsy,  talked 
of  deaili  and  nmrder  in  the  blandest  ac- 
cents, had  not  courage  to  attempt  it ;  and 
liol)t!S[)ierre's  jaw  was  only  shattered  by 
a  shot,  but  whether  from  his  own  hands 
or  another's  is  uncertain.  Ilenriol  throw 
himself  from  a  window,  and  was  found 
concealed  in  a  sewer.  The  younger  Rob- 
espierre, a  comparatively  innocent  man, 
whose  allection  for  his  brother  alone  be- 
trayed him  into  danger,  was  one  of  the 
few  who  iipiiducted  himself  with  dignity, 
and  prcpari'd  lo  die  with  tranipiiliity.  The 
whole,  auiDuiiting  to  about  forty  in  number, 
were  conducted  to  the  hall  of  the  conven- 
tion, whence,  being  already  outlawed,  they 
were  the  next  day  sent  to  the  guillotine. 
Robespierre  passed  the  night  on  a  miser- 
able l)encli  in  a  room  adjacent,  but  though 
sulVering  with  agony  he  refused  lo  utter  a 
single  word.  Next  morning,  amid  the 
cheers  and  i^irsea  of  the  populace,  among 

whom  were  many  friends  of  his  recent  , ''"^  stagnant  ditch  he  knows  to  bo  a  world 
victims,  he  was  conveyed  to  the  sea  (Told ;  1  wherem  incalculable  myriads  pass  ■'    - 


and  though  a  momentary  outcry  escaj)ed 
his  lips  when  the  execuiioner  coarsely 
tore  the  biuidage  from  his  fractured  jaw, 
he  died,  the  last  of  his  party,  with  forti- 
tude. With  his  life  the  Reign  of  Terror 
terminated  ;  and  the  convention,  by  whose 
abject  sulnnission  it  had  mainly  been 
caused,  shortly  afterward  made  way  for  a 
dillerent  set  of  snen,  and  another  order  of 
things.  The  revolution,  however,  with  its 
gloomy  anil  appalling  scenes,  did  not  pass 
away  without  teaching  mankind  these  in- 
valuable lessons — that  religion  is  essential 
to  the  prosperity  of  states,  and  that  it  is 
the  interest  us  well  as  the  duty  of  those 
in  power  to  promote  by  all  means  the  hap- 
piness of  the  people. 


THE  STUDY  OF  NATURE. 

It  is  impossible  that  any  person,  how- 
ever thoughtless,  and  unaccustomed  to  ob- 
serve the  works  of  creation,  can  look 
around  him,  even  during  a  morning's  ram- 
ble through  the  fields,  without  being  struck 
with    the  number  of    living  beings    that 


s  pass  their 
lives,  and  overy  drop  to  swarm  with  ani- 
mated atoms,  able  to  proclaim  the  omnip- 
otent Designer  loudly  as  the  stars  them- 
selves. Is  it  upon  the  seashore  that  the 
student  of  nature  walks  ?  Each  rippling 
wave  lays  at  his  feet  some  tribute  from 
the  deep,  and  tells  of  wonders  indescri- 
bable— brings  corallines  and  painted  shells, 
and  a  thousand  grotesque  beings,  samples 
left  to  show  that  in  the  sea,  through  all  its 
spacious  realms,  life  still  is  found — that 
creatures  there  exist,  more  numerously 
than  on  the  earth  itself,  all  perfect  in  their 
construction,  and  although  so  diversified 
in  shape  and  attributes,  alike  subservient 
to  the  general  welfare.  And  yet  how  few, 
even  at  the  present  day,  turn  their  atten- 
tion to  this  wondrous  scene,  or  strive  at  all 
to  understand  the  animal  creation — to  in- 
vestigate the  structure  and  contrivance 
that  adapt  each  species  to  perform  certain 
important  duties — to  perceive  the  uses  and 
relations  of  each  group — to  contemplate 
the  habits  and  the  instincts  that  direct  the 
different  tribes — and  lastly,  to  trace  out  the 
means  whereby  the  mighty  whole,  formed 
of  such  diverse  parts,  is  all  along  prt- 
served  in  perfect  harmony ! 


i 


•  ^«a^ 


THE  UUOl\SK  OP  KUUOPE. 


709 


,  prcscnim;,' 
il   iiliviiiiisly 

1111(1    ll!ll)itM, 

JillVirdiit  Hit- 
her, imleeil, 
jtrusivo  and 
<(;;i|)i',  sees, 
II  tliu  fu'ld  ; 
lluy  gl-inco 
L>J  ciiiouons 
ir  (if  viiisocn 
onteiit  with 
liiiii,  [lasscs 
llio  curious 
Kliiisitivo  to 
[iroiiiiii  liiin : 
fUiyoiit,  not 
si;r  b(,'aiities 

I  enjoyment 
o  ol)jt'cts  of 
p  he  t:ikes : 
rs,  I  lie  earth, 
l)le  kiiiils  of 
•y  stone  up- 
onder  ;  nay, 
o  1)0  a  world 
s  pass  their 
in  with  ani- 

II  tho  OMlIlip- 

stars  tliem- 
oro  that  the 
acli  rippling 
tribute  from 
"iTs  indcscri- 
ainted  shells, 
ngs,  sanriples 
trough  all  its 
found — that 
numerously 
rfcct  in  their 

0  diversified 
3  subservient 
yet  how  few, 

their  aiten- 
r  strive  at  all 
ation — to  in- 

contrivance 
rform  certain 

the  uses  and 

contemplate 
lat  direct  the 

1  trace  out  the 
rhole,  formed 
1  along  prb- 


Capercailzie,  or  Cockof-lhewood. 


THE  GROUSE  OF  EUROPE. 

EW  European  birds 
^have  more   points  of, 
interest  in  their  his- 
tory,  than    those    to 
which  we  now  invite 
attention.    We  allude 
to  the  grouse  strictly 
so    called,   excluding 
the     partridges     and 
quails,     «fcc.,    which 
Lmnaciis  associated  with  them  in  one  ge- 
nus  imder  the  name    of  tctrau.     Dense 
pine-forests  are  the  abode  of  some,  others 
frequent    the    wild    tracks    of   heath-clad 
moor-iand,  while  the  patches  of  vegetation 


scattered  among  the  high  rocky  peaks  of 
the  bleak  mountain  aflord  a  congenial  res- 
idence to  others.  Patient  of  c(dd,  and 
protected  during  the  intense  severities  ol 
winter  by  a  provision  which  we  shall  pres- 
ently more  particularly  detail,  they  relit-ve 
by  their  presence  the  sternness  of  the  Iro- 
zen  solitude,  from  which  other  birds  have 
retired,  and  give  animation  to  the  most 
desolate  scenery. 

j  Their  food  consists  of  the  tender  shoots 
I  of  pines,  the  seeds  of  plants,  the  berries 
j  of  various  species  of  vacrininm,  and  nr- 
'  hutus,  the  buds  of  the  birch  and  alder, 
'  leaves  and  grain.  In  their  liabils  they  are 
'  polygamous.  As  tho  breeding  season 
draws  on,  the  male  birds  choose  each  for 


i#i< 


i 


710 


THE  OROUBE  OF  EUHOPK. 


tlicmselves  a  certain  territory,  from  which 
the  possessor  drives  every  intruding  rival. 
Desperate  combats  are  then  continually 
taking  place,  the  weaker  or  less  fortunate 
being  obliged  to  quit  the  precincts  of  the 
station  ;  and  it  not  unfrequently  happens 
that  the  contest  terminates  only  with  the 
death  of  the  defeated.  Secure  in  his  tem- 
porary dominion,  the  proud  victor  raises 
a  call  of  invitation  morning  and  evening, 
which  resounds  through  the  wood,  and 
brings  his  bevy  of  mates  to  the  selected 
spot.  The  nest  is  very  simply  construct- 
ed, consisting  of  dried  grasses,  and  placed 
upon  the  ground,  sheltered  among  the  her- 
bage. 

In  their  flight  the  forest  grouse  are  rap- 
id for  short  distances,  but  the  motion  of 
their  wings  is  accompanied  by  a  whirring 
noise,  like  that  of  the  pheasant.  The 
scarlet-fringed  skin  above  the  eye,  so  pe- 
culiar an  ornament  in  the  grouse-tribe,  they 
possess  in  great  perfection ;  the  beak  is 
stout,  short,  and  convex ;  the  nostrils  are 
hidden  beneath  a  tuft  of  close  small  feath- 
ers, enveloping  the  base  of  the  upper  man- 
dible. 

Two  species  of  this  genus  are  indige- 
nous in  the  British  islands.  One  is  the 
black  grouse,  common  in  the  pine-woods 
of  Scotland,  and  of  the  northern  counties 
of  England,  and  elsewhere ;  the  other,  is  the 
capercailzie,  or  cock-of-the-wood.  For- 
merly in  Ireland,  and  still  more  recently 
in  Scotland,  this  noble  bird,  the  most  mag- 
nificent of  the  whole  of  the  grouse-tribe, 
was  abundant  in  the  larger  woods ;  indis- 
criminate and  wanton  slaughter,  and  an 
unremitting  system  of  harassment,  have 
caused  its  extirpation.  It  still  abounds  in 
the  pine-forests  of  various  portions  of  the 
north  of  continental  Europe,  such  aa  Swe- 
den and  Norway.  Selby  informs  us,  that 
"  the  last  individual  of  this  species  in 
Scotland  was  killed,  about  forty  years  ago, 
near  Inverness." 

We  shall  now  proceed  to  the  next  Eu- 
ropean group,  that  of  the  ptarmigan-grouse, 
or  genus  lagopus.  Of  this  group  two  spe- 
cies are  exclusively  indigenous  in  the 
British  island,  namely,  the  common  ptar- 
migan (lagopus  mutus),  and  the  red-grouse, 
or  moor-game  {tetrao  Scoticus).  The  com- 
mon ptarmigan  is  not  only  a  native  of 
Scotland,  but  of  the  higher  latitudes  of 


continental  Europe,  wliere  the  willow- 
ptarmigan  anil  the  rock-ptarmigan,  il'c, 
are  also  nhundant.  In  their  manners,  tlio 
ptarmigans  mutuuily  resemble  each  otlier. 
it  may  be  observed,  however,  that  in  Scot- 
land (a  comparatively  temperate  climate) 
the  bare  and  bleak  mountains  are  the  jht- 
nianent  abode  of  the  species  there  in<lige- 
nous  ;  while,  luulor  the  intense  severity 
of  winter  in  the  polar  circle,  they  all  quit 
the  more  ex|i(ised  situations  and  seek  the 
willows  and  copse-woods  which  border  the 
rivers,  and  stretch  over  the  shelt  ned  vales. 
Mountain-berries  and  heath-shoots  in  sum- 
mer, spring-buds  and  leaves  in  w  inter,  con- 
Miifute  their  food,  in  search  of  which,  as 
well  as  for  the  sake  of  shelter,  they 
burrow  beneath  the  snow.  Perhaps  the 
chanifes  of  plumage  in  none  of  the  ''fath- 
ered races  are  more  worthy  ot  attention 
than  those  which  the  ptarmigans  undergo. 
Their  full  summer  plumage  is  of  a  yellow, 
more  or  less  inclining  to  brown,  beautiful- 
ly barred  with  zigzag  lines  of  black  ;  their 
winter  plumage  is  pure  white,  except  that 
the  outer  tail-feathers,  the  shafts  of  the 
quills,  and,  in  one  species,  a  streak  from 
the  eye  to  the  beak,  are  black. 

The  red-grouse  or  moor-game,  under- 
goes no  change  of  color  like  the  ptarmi- 
gan ;  it  however  acquires  a  greater  mass 
of  clothing,  and  its  legs  are  more  covered 
witii  hairlike  feathers  in  winter  than  in 
summer.  It  would  seem  either  that  its 
native  districts,  the  wild  heathy  moorlands 
of  the  British  islands,  afl'ord  more  shelter 
than  the  favorite  localities  of  the  ptarmi- 
gan, or  that  its  system  needs  not  this 
cliangc  in  order  to  enable  it  to  resist  the 
cold.  It  is  somewhat  singular  that  tliis 
beautiful  bird  should  not  be  known  on  the 
continent,  abundant  as  it  is  on  the  moor- 
lands of  Scotland,  England,  and  Ireland. 
Its  value,  as  game,  need  not  be  painted 
out.  Our  readers  must  not  suppose  th;it 
the  two  forms  of  grouse  to  which  we  have 
alluded  arc  all  that  exist ;  on  the  contrary, 
as  in  every  other  group  of  nature,  there 
are  here  also  '^jme  which  lead  off  (or  in- 
dicate affinities)  to  other  groups,  forming 
links  in  the  chain  of  being.  Of  these  we 
may  allude  to  the  urophasianus  of  North 
America,  and  the  sand-grouse  (pteroclti) 
of  the  arid  stony  tracts  of  Turkey,  Spain, 
and  Africa, 


the  willnw- 
nii<,'nn,  Sir., 
maimers,  ilii> 
)  oacli  oilier, 
that  in  Scot- 
ralo  ciirnate) 
are  the  per- 
there  imlitje- 
nsf  severity 
they  all  quit 
ind  seek  the 
ch  border  the 
elnred  vales. 
ioi)t3  insnni- 
1  VI  inter,  con- 
of  which,  as 
ihelter,  they 
Perhaps  the 
Df  the  ''eath- 
oi  attention 
sns  undergo, 
(of  a  yellow, 
/n,  beautiful- 
black  ;  their 
I,  except  that 
halts  of  the 
streak  from 

;ame,  undcr- 
0  the  ptarini- 
jreater  mass 
nore  covered 
nter  than  in 
ther  that  its 
ly  moorlands 
more  shelter 
r  the  ptarmi- 
sds  not  this 
to  resist  the 
liar  that  this 
nown  on  the 
m  the  moor- 
and  Ireland, 
t  be  pointed 
suppose  that 
lich  we  have 
the  contrary, 
nature,  there 
id  off  (or  in- 
•ups,  forming 
Of  these  we 
1US  of  North 
ie  {ptcroclcx) 
arkey,  Spain, 


§ 


III 


■  «■•"• 


wm, 


r- 


tia 


TUB  LOVE  OV  LIFE. 


«H>t?%> 


TIIK   LOv'E    OF    LIFE, 

ITS   USKS  AND  LI.MI  I'H. 

^^  HR  lovo  of  lifo  mny 
\  he  justly  reckiiiM'd  oiir 
of  tlio  MtroMj»L'(it  priii- 
cipli^s  ill  our  coiimii. 
tiition.  It  operiiles 
luidct  I  very  varii'ty 
of  circiuiistiinccs,  and 
with  a  power  ami  en- 
prey  I  eciiliiirly  its  own.  "  It  torri-- 
B|i  "iiflH,"  lis  Ins  hfPii  truly  said,  "in  tlio 
iiihfiiiiiiil  world,  with  the  great  principle 
of  i;r.H'ii;itioii  in  the  material  sysiein,  or 
with  ilm  ceiitripilal  force?  by  whiili  the 
plaiK'ts  are  rel  lined  in  their  pro|)er  orhils, 
and  resint  tlieir  oppo^iilo  tendency  to  fly 
off  frcun  tho  centre.  The  nioHt  wretcheil, 
nol  IiNM  than  the  most  prosperous — lho.se 
who  seeiii  (0  posse.'i.s  nolhiiig  that  can 
reiiih'r  life  desiral)li>,  not  less  than  those 
who  are  Hurrouinh^d  hy  all  it.s  pleaniires — 
are  l)oiitid  to  life  as  hy  a  principle  of  central 
attfufllofi,  which  exleiids  its  influence  to 
the  hint  ni(iiiieiit.-i  of  expirinjf  nature." 

his,  |)(Th;ips,  not .suflieienlly considered 
how  imich  we  owe  to  this  strong  consti- 
tutional sentinient.  The  lovo  of  life  !  it 
is  the  arm  tliai  guards  the  temple  of  our 
being.  It  is  tiie  wall  of  fire  that  surrounds 
our  earthly  existence.  It  is  the  sentinel, 
ever  waketui,  ever  at  its  post,  giving  no- 
tice of  the  first  approach  of  danger,  and 
smmnoiimg  all  the  si. .lor  powers  to  aid 
and  action.  lint  for  the  strength  of  this 
instinct,  can  we  doubt  that  the  number 
would  be  anything  but  small  of  those  who, 
not  inllueiu  I'd  by  higher  and  more  sacred 
considerations;  would  seek  a  shelter  from 
the  calamities  of  the  present  scene  in  the 
grave  ol  the  suicide  1  Besides,  the  anx- 
iety we  feel  for  the  continued  health  and 
protracted  existence  of  those  whom  Prov- 
idence has  consigned  to  our  care,  would 
be  extirpated  ;  for  what  we  felt  of  little 
conseipience  to  ourselves,  we  would  cease 
to  wish  lor  in  the  case  of  others.  The 
absence  ol'  this  ardent  attachment  to  life, 
or  even  its  existence  in  a  feeble  state, 
would  thus  tend  inevitably  to  impair  all 
our  kindly  and  generous  sympathies, 
make  alVection  a  meaningless  word,  and 
leave  the  weak  and  the  helpless  of  every 
class  without  friends  and  without  guar- 


dians. Dill  we,  moreover,  eeate  to  jinzf 
our  being  as  a  boon  of  peerless  price,  oie- 
f;reat  motive  to  iiidiisirioiis  exertion  would 
1)0  destriiyed  ;  the  sweat  of  onr  liruvvs  we 
would  retr;iril  as  loo  dear  a  prirc  to  pav 
fur  our  d:iily  l)read  ;  many  of  onr  nolile.ii 
enterprises  would  never  be  undertaken ;  ! 
and  llw  arts  and  sciencc-j,  the  main  objiii  j 
of  which  is  to  exalt  and  einlnilish  lil'e, 
woulil  eeise  to  be  <ullivale(l,  nr  at  least 
they  would  be  eiiltivated  with  liitlf  care. 
And  tlieii  what  a  scene  of  crime  and  eon- 
seijiieiit  wretclicdnes.s  would  our  wnrld  be, 
if  composed  chielly,  or  rather  exclusively, 
of  itilers ! 

The  restraints  of  law,  too,  would  be 
stripped  of  more  than  half  their  power. 
Tht^  minds  of  men,  losing  the  horror  with 
wiiicli,  in.stinetively,  they  recoil  at  the 
deed  of  the  assassin,  would  regard  the  in- 
vasion of  life  as  a  cr  ,o  of  coinp:iiativ(i|y 
small  moment,  and  thus  society  vvouhl  be 
deprived  of  one  of  its  most  imj)ortanl 
safeguards.  In  a  similar  ratio,  and  lioiii  a 
like  cause,  war,  even  at  present  a  dire 
evil,  would  increase — that  "  game  which," 
to  employ  the  words  of  the  gentle  ( 'ow- 
per,  "  were  their  subjects  wise,  kin;^s 
would  not  play  at,"  would  become  the  uni- 
versal pastime.  We  can,  in  truth,  con- 
ceive few  calamities  more  dismal  than  tho 
extinction,  could  it  be  ed'ected,  of  tho 
dread  with  which  death  is  contemplated 
by  the  luind  cf  man.  The  arrangement 
is  beautiful  and  wise,  that  death  should  be 
tho  "king  of  terrors." 

The  love  of  life,  too,  has  its  religious 
uses.  It  furnishes  a  strong  presun.piion 
of  our  immortality.  It  proclaims  the  hor- 
ror with  which  we  recoil  from  the  idea  of 
annihilation.  It  whispers  to  us  ttiat  some 
part  of  us  is  far  too  good  to  be  consigned 
to  the  dust.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  voice  of  the 
soul,  announcing  its  own  grandeur  and 
indestructibleness. 

Life  is  dear  to  us  for  a  thousand  rea- 
sons. We  cling  with  intense  fondness  to 
the  familiar  ol)jccts  around  us  :  they  be- 
come, in  truth,  a  part  of  ourselves,  and  ii 
costs  the  heart  a  violent  wrench  to  be  torn 
from  them.  The  fair,  blue  heavens — the 
royal  sun — night,  with  its  twinkling  st.us — 
the  landscape,  with  its  charms — ocean, 
sleeping  in  beauty  or  lashed  by  teropost — 
the  scenes  of  childhood  and  youth — the 


■,  rciiMc  to  |iir/,» 
>r]f^H  |»ricr,  (111" 
*  rxtTlioii  would 
if  our  lirows  W(> 
■  II  priiT  to  p-iy 
'  of  our  iKildc.it 
l)(<  uiidrriiikiMi ; 
tlin  iiitiiii  oliji'i't 

I'llllMlliflll      lilt', 

iiti'il,  or  Ml  Ifu^it 
witli  little  I'liro. 
crime  itiiil  coii- 
ilil  our  worlii  liu, 
licr  cxiliisivtly, 

I  loo,  would  l)c' 
df  tlicir   powtT. 

the  horror  wiili 
Y  recoil  nt  tlu) 
d  rt'iijiird  the  in- 
d"  c()iu|)ar;itiv(  ly 
)cii;ly  .vould  ln' 
most  imjiortuiit 
raliu.  Mild  fVoiii  :t 
pri'stdit  a  dire 
"  j^aiiKj  wliitdi," 
ho  g'Mitlo  Cow- 
:ts  wifjf,  kiii;^s 
become  llie  luii- 
,  in  tnitli,  coii- 
disinal  iliaii  tho 
jflculed,  of  thf) 
is  contemplated 
ho  arraii;;ti:ii'ut 
death  hIiouIJ  be 

las  its  religious 
ng  presuii'piioii 
jclaiins  the  lior- 
from  tho  idea  of 
to  us  Uiat  some 
to  1)0  coiisiyiicd 
the  voice  of  the 

II  grandeur  and 

a  thousand  roa- 
m.se  fondness  to 
id  us  :  they  be- 
urselves,  and  ii 
rench  to  be  lorii 
0  heavens — the 
winklinjjstais — 
charms — ocean, 
sd  by  tenipcsi — 
and  youdi — the 


THE  LOVB  OF  LIFB. 


7n 


f.ices  iiroimd  our  hearth— it  is  not  poetry, 
reader,  it  '\i*  nalnro  that  bids  us  pnzo  tho 
boon  of  beiii)< : — 

•'  For  wlK'i '"  '•""  fnrnetfiilnffw  a  pr«>y, 

This  i.liu-iiiK,  luixjoin  b'-iiig  >'  '•'  T<-Mmeil, 
U-il  III!'  "uriii  prriMIlcl!!  of  til.-  ilici-rlul  ■  iiy, 
Nor  oiiKt  oiic  longing,  lliig'fing  look  belund  I 

Hut  the  love  of  life  has  its  limits  ns  well 
riM   its  UHcs      It  may  bo   vaiupiislied ;  it 


may  lie  ex|ielled  the  bosom  by  higher  and 
more   powerful  sentiments.     The  human 
family  were  defamed  when  a  certain  au- 
thority declared,  "  All  that  a  man  hath  will 
he  uive  for  his  life."—"  Your  master;'  said 
the  brave  Carmathian  to  i\who.  who  waited 
on  him,  "  fv  "t  the  head  of  thirty  thousand 
soldurs  :  thrir  swh  men  as  these  arc  want- 
ing  in  his  ho^t ,"  while,  at  the  sn'-ir,  lime, 
uccostini,'  three  of  his  champi  .  s,  lie    om- 
Miaiid.  d  the  lirst  to  plunge       U'u/gcr  n-*o 
his  bii:;i>t,  Hie  second  to  Icf ,)  intii  the  ''.;■ 
gris,  ^iid  ilm  ih'rd  to  cast  "in    ''If  iifa.'- 
long  down  a  precipice.     His  >  •■':■:«  w,   j 
iristatitly.  and  without  a  munn       ob.iyed. 
II  till-,  and  kindred  incidents,  wo  see  tho 
love   of   Ide    giving  way  to  another,  wc 
wont  siiy  a  more  exalteil  sentiment. 

Hut  tin  le  are  other  and  far  higher  dis- 
plvys  of  this   mastery.     We   see   it  cim- 
(piei-ed  ofii'ii  by  the  thirst  for  knowledge, 
espe.  ,  ilK   when   that  is   associated   with 
the  ihir.st  for  distinction.     There  is  a  nu- 
merous,  and   in    many   respects   a   noble 
class,  who  enrich  their  understandings  at 
tho  expense,  may  we  not  say  the  sacri- 
fice, of  ihuir  existence.     There  are  initd- 
lecluul  iiiarlyrs,  even  as  Galileo  was,  when 
sickening  in  his  dmigeon  for  maintaining 
that  cnir  globe  was  not  the  centre  of  the 
planetary  system.     Theie  are  men  whose 
devotion  to  study  is  maintained  at  tho  peril 
of  life.     They  realize  the  words  applied 
to  Henry  Kirlco  White  by  a  brother  poet:  — 
"  Ho  mirsod  the  pinion  which  impelli'il  llie  steel." 

They  are  sal  comments  on  the  wise 
mail's  statement—"  Much  study  is  a  wea- 
riness of  tho  flesh."  Is  it  too  much  to 
say  thai  these  have  conquered  their  love 
of  life,  or  at  any  rate,  got  it  subordina- 
ted to  other  ends  ?  By  no  means.  We 
are  told  of  Achilles  that  he  had  two  alter- 
natives set  b.'ture  him— to  die  covered 
with  glory  won  on  tho  plains  of  Troy,  or 
to  pass  a  long  life  without  renown  in  the 


place  of  his  nativity.     We  can  conceive 
of  such  an   allernaiivo  Iniving  tieeii  suli- 
mitted,  at  llit!  <'omineneetneiit  of  their  in- 
tellectual career,  to  some  as  illuHtrimis  for 
genius  in  the  hero  of  the  lliarl  was  for 
feats    of    arms.     Wd    can    conceive    the 
(luestion  proposoil  to  many  whose  names 
are  now  ideiitifii'd  with  the  moit  brilliant 
intellectual     ncbievenients    of    our    kind, 
whether  thoy  would  go  to  nn  early  ^i  ive, 
or  lose  those  delights  and  those  honors, 
which  scientific  research,   tho  labors   of 
art,  or  the  (lights  of  iitiaginalion,  would  be 
sure  to  win  for  them.     And  we  plead  that 
the    former  alternative  wtmld   have   been 
prfferred.      Would  Milton  have  sacrificed, 
for  a  paltry  addition  of  twnty  years  to  lii»< 
tack  of  life,  the  superb  visions  that  crowded 
thickly  on  his  soul  while  ho  meditated  his 
great  epic,  and  gave  it  to  the  worlil  in  the 
proud  consciousness,  as  he  said,  thai  pos- 
terity "  would  not  willingly  let  it  die^  ? 
Would  Newton  have  changed  ages  with 
Methuselah,  if  his  iiint!-hnndred  and  nine- 
ty-nine years  had  cost  him  tho  glory  of 
tho   di.voverer    of    gravitali-.n  ?     Would 
Byron,  though  skeptical  of  another  world, 
have  "  ripened  liuar  with  time,"  and  for 
this  have  boon  contented  to  uo  down  to 
tho  dust,  leaving  no  name  that  "  made  an 
epitaph"?     Would   Franklin  have  sacri- 
ficed his  fame  as  the  man  who  "  sketched 
the  constitution  of  a  continent  with  one 
hand,  while   with  the  other  ho  drew  the 
lightning  from  the  clouds,"  for  ages  of  in- 
glorious ease?     The  tenacity  with  which 
we  cling  to  existence  is  indeed  strong  ; 
but  we  do  not    hesitate  to  say,  that  in 
minds  of  the   higher  order,  the   love  of 
knowledge,  when,  especially,  it  is  associ- 
ated with  the  thirst  for  renown,  is  still 
stronger. 

Then  the  love  of  life  is  frequently  mus- 
tered and  displaced  by  the  afTections  ;  we 
allude  to  the  benevolent  and  patriotic  emo- 
tions, but  more  especially  to  our  luinestic 
sympathies.  Wo  allow,  indeed,  that  in 
cases  such  as  thoee  wo  are  about  to  men- 
tion, there  may  be  a  mixture  ami  coidlict 
of  motives— a  portion  of  aUoy  mi.vod  with 
the  pure  gold.  Hut  what  of  it  ?  Our  ad- 
miration of  mankind  will  be  limited  in- 
deed, if  we  accord  it  to  none  ol  ihoir  ac- 
tions save  those  that  flow  from  motives 
quite  unadulterated.     This  apart  then,  we 


till 


illq 


*!»#! 


impi^ 


find  that  the  love  of  life  often  yields  to 
purer  and  more  exalted  affections.  The 
gallant  seaman,  braving  the  lash  of  the 
tempest  or  the  scorchings  of  the  fire  alone, 
that  he  may  rescue  the  tenants  of  his  bark 
from  a  grave  in  the  deep — the  devoted 
soldier,  interposing  his  own  person  and 
receiving  the  stroke  that  would  have  killed 
his  leader — the  patriot  facing  the  dangers 
of  the  field  that  he  may  protect  the  honor 
and  independence  of  his  country — the 
Christian  missionary,  toiling  and  dying  in 
the  sublime  cause  of  the  world's  evangel- 
ization— these,  and  such  as  these,  attest 
that  the  love  of  life,  however  strong,  may 
be  conquered.  So  that,  while  the  names 
of  Leonidas,  of  Wallace,  and  of  Tell, 
adorn  the  page  of  history — while  those  of 
Howard  and  other  benefactors  of  their  race 
live  in  the  memory  of  mankind — while  the 
"  Martyr  of  Erromango"  is  not  forgotten, 
we  shall  not  want  proof  of  this. 

Then  there  are  what  we  have  called 
our  domestic  sympathies.     One  page  of 
Roman  story  tells  us  of  two  friends,  Da- 
mon and  Pythias,  whose  attachment  was 
so  heroically  strong,  that  either  of  them 
could  have  died  for  the  other :  here  the 
love  of  life  was  subdued  by  the  ardor  of 
friendship.     The  case  of  the  citizens  of 
Calais  will  also  suggest  itself  to  the  mind 
of  the  reader.     And,  to  speak  more  di- 
rectly in  reference  to  our  domestic  sympa- 
thies, where  is  the  mother  who  would  not 
brave  death  to  snatch  the  infant  of  her 
bosom  from  impending  destruction  t  where 
the  father  who  would  not  peril  liis  own 
life  to  save  that  of  his  son  1  or  the  brother 
who  could  endure  an  existence  purchased 
by  pusillanimous  exemption  from  a  danger 
which  proved  fatal  to  a  sister '     Excep- 
tions there  may  be ;  still,  we  plead,  the 
rule  is  on  that  side  most  honorable  :o  our 
nature. 

Attachment  to  principle,  toe,  will  de- 
throne the  love  of  hfe.  We  need  not 
name  the  thousands  who  hare  not  "  reck- 
oned their  lives  dear  to  them,"  for  the  tes- 
timony they  held — the  noble  army  of 
martyrs,  who 

"  Lived  unknown, 
Till  persecution  dragged  them  into  fame, 
And  chased  them  up  to  heaven." 

They  braved  the  lion,  they  dared  the  stake, 
they  quaffed  the  boiling  lead,  rather  than 


prove  recreant  to  the  cause  of  sacred 
truth.  Their  scorn,  shall  we  call  it,  of 
life,  was  noble,  when,  to  have  preserved  it 
they  must  have  parted  with  what  was  far 
dearer  to  them — a  good  conscience. 

It  is  beautifully  and  wisely  arranged, 
that  our  attachment  to  life  should  be  ar- 
dent ;  but  it  would  be  dishonoring  to  us  to 
suppose  that  it  can  not  be  stirmounted. 
We  have,  in  these  remarks,  endeavored  to 
indicate  both  the  uses  of  this  great  law  of 
nature,  and  also  its  limits. 


THE  CITY  ON  THE  SEA. 

In  Venice  Tasso's  echoes  are  no  more, 
And  Bilent  rows  the  sougless  gondolier; 
Her  palaces  are  crumbling  to  the  sliore, 
And  music  meets  not  always  now  the  ear. 
Those  days  are  gone,  but  beauty  still  is  here. 
States  fall,  hearts  fade,  but  Nature  dolh  not  die, 
Nor  yet  forget  how  Venice  once  was  dear. 
The  pleasant  place  of  al'  festivity.        _ 
The  revel  of  the  earth,  the  masque  of  Italy 
But  unto  us  she  hath  a  spell  beyond 
Her  name  in  story  and  her  long  array 
Of  mighty  shadows,  where  dim  forms  despond 
Above  the  dogeless  city's  vanished  sway. 
Ours  is  a  trophy  which  will  not  decay 
With  the  Kialto  ;  Shylock  and  the  Moor, 
And  Pierre,  can  not  be  swept,  worn  away, 
The  key-ston  a  of  the  arch,  though  all  wer3  o  er- 
ror us  repeopled  were  the  solitary  shore. 

Byron's  Childe  Hauold. 

T  may  be  said  with 
equal  truth  of  empires, 
that  which  a  very  high 
authority  has  said  of 
man.  We  all  do  fade 
as  a  leaf,  and  the  vari- 
ous dynasties  of  time 
which  have  blazed, 
waned,  and  expired,  do 
all  attest  the  fact.  But 
there  is  a  view  of  the  analogy  which  is 
very  seldom  taken  j  and  if  empires  fade, 
they  fade  as  a  leaf,  they  do  not  die .  Noth- 
ing in  nature  dies — the  leaf  which  falls 
to  the  ground  may  appear  to  be  an  insig- 
nificant thing,  and  as  it  perishes  frorn  hu- 
man observation,  it  may  excite  no  inter- 
est or  attention ;  but  we  are  stating  noth- 
ing which  cur  readers  have  heard  for  the 
first  time,  when  we  remind  thom  that  the 
leaf  does  not  perish.  With  thousands 
and  myriads  of  its  fellows  it  is  carried 
1  along,  and  thus  contributes  to  the  forma- 


>  cause  of  sacred 
hall  we  call  it,  of 
,0  have  preserved  it 

with  what  was  far 
i  conscience, 
d  wisely  arranged, 

life  should  be  ar- 
lishonoring  to  us  to 
lot  be  surmounted, 
arks,  endeavored  to 
of  this  great  law  of 
lits. 


i  THE  SEA. 

are  no  more, 
ess  gondolier; 
5  to  the  shore, 
ays  now  tlie  enr. 
beauty  still  is  here, 
t  Nature  dolli  not  die, 
;e  once  was  dear, 
festivity. 

e  masque  of  Italy 
ell  beyond 
if  long  array 
re  dim  forms  despond 
I  vanished  sway, 
'ill  not  decay 
k  and  the  Moor, 
^^ept,  worn  nwiiy, 
;h,  though  all  wers  o'er — 
le  solitary  shore. 
on's  Childb  Harold. 

may  be  said  with 
al  truth  of  empires, 
t  which  a  very  high 
hority  has  said  of 
a.  VVe.  all  do  fade 
a  leaf,  and  the  vari- 
I  dynasties  of  time 
ich  have  blazed, 
ned,  and  expired,  do 
attest  the  fact.  But 
he  analogy  which  is 
and  if  empires  fade, 
sy  do  not  die.  Noth- 
the  leaf  which  falls 
ppear  to  be  an  insig- 
it  perishes  from  hu- 
i>ay  excite  no  inter- 
we  are  stating  noth- 
s  have  heard  for  the 
emind  thom  that  the 
h.  With  thousands 
fellows  it  is  carried 
ributes  to  the  forma- 


^ji 


m 


tm 


JP 


■^"5^' 


h   ■ 


S**! 


716 


THE  CITY  ON  THE  SEA. 


tion  of  the  mighty  deltas  which  are  to  be 
the  future  empires  of  the  globe.  And  em- 
pires can  not  be  said  to  die.  How  many 
instances  does  history  afford  to  our  minds 
of  the  relics  of  the  empire  escaping  from 
the  cruelty  of  the  conqueror's  sword ;  em- 
igrating to  other  lands,  and  founding  there 
a  city,  perhaps  an  empire,  which  has  ri- 
valled tho.r  ancient  birthplace.  We  are 
told,  though  certainly  the  account  seems 
somewhat  fabulous,  how  the  bark  of  Bru- 
tus or  Briutus,  after  the  conquest  of  Troy, 
breasted  the  waves  and  rode  in  triumph 
over  the  stormy  billows,  and  landing  on  an 
uncultivated  part  of  the  coast,  founded 
there  a  colony,  which  took  his  name,  and 
eventually  became  the  seat  of  commerce 
and  glory,  the  island  of  Britain. 

This  certainly  seems  not  an  improbable 
tale,  but  be  it  as  it  may,  thus  was  Venice 
founded.  When  the  Visigoths,  under  Al- 
aric,  poured  down  from  their  mountains 
upon  Home,  spreading  around  them  death 
and  destruction,  a  few  refugees  escaped, 
and  in  the  lagoon  or  mouth  of  the  Adriat- 
ic, built  a  city  which  commanded  the  ad- 
miration of  all  Europe,  and  held  at  once  the 
sword  of  state  and  terror. 

It  may  be  as  well,  before  we  pass  to  a 
slight  sketch  of  the  city  to  notice  the  chief 
cause  which  contributed  to  its  far-famed 
independency,  to  which  indeed  we  have 
already  adverted  when  we  mentioned  the 
lagoon.     The  Adriatic  gulf  receives  in  its 
southern  part  all  the  waters  which  flow 
from  the  southern  declivity  of  the  Alps 
irom  the  Po,  which  has  its  source  in  the 
Cottian  range,  and  collects  all  the  waters 
of   Piedmont  and  Milan  to  the  Lisonzo, 
which  originates  in  the  mountains  of  Car- 
niola.     The  estuary  of  the  most  southern 
of  these  rivers  is  above  thirty  leagues  dis- 
tant from  that  which  lies  furthest  nortl 
ward,  and  between  these  extreme  poinK, 
the  gulf  receives  the  waters  of  the  Adge, 
the  Brenta,  the  Paive,  the   Livenzi    the 
Lemene,  and  the  Tagliamento,  as  well  as 
many  other  streams  of  less  impa.tance : 
every  one  of  them  carries  dowi  in  the 
rainy  season  immense  quantititJ  of  mud, 
sand,  etc.,  etc.;  so  that  the  -ead  of  the 
gulf,  gradually  piled  up  witl  these  depos- 
ites,  is  neither  sea  nor  land    This  vast  estu- 
ary is  called  the  lagooD     it  comprises  a 
space  between  twentj  *.«d  thirty  miles 


from  the  shore,  and  is  inaccessible  to  tem- 
pest and  storm,  though  the  "vMd  waves  of 
the  sea  burst  with  fury  against  the  shores. 
Amid  the  tortuous  channels  of  the  lagoon, 
the  pilot  finds  no  pathway  unless  long  ex- 
perience has  taught  him  its  varied  wind- 
ings.    Yet  amid  these  shoals  and  mud 
banks,  there  have  been  from  ages  the  most 
remote,  individuals  who  have  found  a  home 
on  some  sites  which  appear  to  be  firmer 
and   more  staple  than  others,  and   here 
Venice  eventually  raised  her  glory  and 
renown.     In  tracing  the  history  of  this 
republic,  the  empire  she  had  over  the  sea 
is  clearly  distinguished.     In  the  year  558, 
she  possessed  a  considerable  navy  of  gal- 
leys.    Gibbon  remarks  that  her  marriage 
with  the  Adriatic  was  contracted  in  early 
infancy,  it  originated  in  the  reign  of  Zia- 
ni,  one  of  her  doges.    Pope  Alexander  Bar- 
barossa,  had  taken  refuge  at  Veiiice.  and 
was  protected  by  the  state.     The  einper- 
or  sent  a  considerable   AaoA  against   it, 
which,  under  the  comitand  of   his    son 
Otho,  in  an  obstinate  e-.igagement  that  en- 
sued, the  Venetians  were  victorious  ;  Zia- 
ni  returned  in  triuouph  with  thirty  of  the 
emperor's  vessels,  and  Otho  a  prisoner. 
The  shore  was  «rowded  with  the  inhabi- 
tants— the  pop*  came  attended  by  the  sen- 
ate and  clergy,  and  embracing  Ziani,  he 
addressed  bim  as  follows  :    "  Take  this 
ring,  use  i*  as  a  chain  to  retain  the  sea 
henceforth  in  subjection  to  the  Venetian 
empire,  <jspouse   the  sea  with  the  ring, 
and  le*   he  marriage  be  solemnized  annu- 
ally b/  you  and  your  successors  to  the 
end  of  time,  that  the  latest  posterity  may 
km.  4f  that  Venice  had  acquired  the  em- 
pue  of  the  waves,  and  that  the  sea  is  sub- 
j.)cted  to  you  as  a  wife  to  her  husband." 
This  speech,  certainly  a  very  foolish  one, 
to  say  the  best  of  it,  elicited  the  greatest 
applause,  and  the  ceremony  of  the  mar- 
riage was  performed  every  year  until  the 
French  terminated  the  mummery  in  1798. 
Yet  on  many  occasions  through  her  his- 
tory, Venice  manifested  her  power  on  the 
ocean.     In  804  they  employed  large  ships- 
of-war,  with  which  they  repulsed  Pepin 
the  son  of  Charlemagne,  who  himself  con- 
fessed their  sovereignly.     The  following 
century  they  had  three-masted  square-built 
ships,  carrying  from  1,200  to  2,000  tons. 
At  the  period  of  their  greatest  prosperity 


8  inaccessible  to  tetn- 
^h  the  "j'AA  waves  of 
ry  against  the  shores, 
annels  of  the  lagoon, 
thway  unless  long  ex- 
him  its  varied  wind- 
lese  shoals  and  mud 
sen  from  ages  the  most 
IT  ho  have  found  a  home 
1  appear  to  be  firmer 
lan  others,  and  here 
raised  her  glory  and 
5  the  history  of  this 
she  had  over  the  sea 
led.  In  the  year  558, 
isiderable  navy  of  gal- 
irks  that  her  marriage 
as  contracted  in  early 
d  in  the  reign  of  Zia- 

Pope  Alexander  liar- 
refuge  at  Venice,  and 
le  state.     The  einper- 
-able   fl:<set   ag<tin5t   it, 
comncaiid  of   his    son 
te  evigagement  that  en- 
i  f/«re  victorious  ;  Zia- 
&ph  with  thirty  of  the 
and  Otho  a  prisoner, 
wded  with  the  inhabi- 
ne  attended  by  the  sen- 
d  embracing  Ziani,  he 
follows  :    "  Take  this 
ihain  to  retain  the  sea 
ection  to  the  Venetian 
he  sea  with  the  ring, 
;e  be  solemnized  anim- 
foxxt  successors  to  the  j 
he  latest  posterity  may 

had  acquired  the  em- 
and  that  the  sea  is  sub- 
i  wife  to  her  husband." 
inly  a  very  foolish  one, 
it,  elicited  the  greatest 
ceremony  of  the  mar- 
ed  every  year  until  the 
1  the  mummery  in  1798. 
Cdsions  through  her  his- 
fested  her  power  on  the 
jy  employed  large  ships- 
:h  they  repulsed  Pepin 
lagne,  who  himself  con- 
eignty.  The  following 
hree-masted  square-built 
im  1,200  to  2,000  tons, 
heir  greatest  prosperity 


in  the  fifteenth  century,  they  had  thirty- 
tlireo  sl'ips-of-war,  liesides  merchantmen  ; 
30,000  seamen,  and  16,000  artificers  em- 
ployed in  the  finest  arsenal  llien  in  Eu- 
rope—they  first   acquired  a  lordship   of 
Dalmatia,    and    pursued    subsequently   a 
s.eady  course    of  aggrandizement.     The 
fourteenth  century  was  remarkable  for  the 
slr-.iggle  between  the  Venetian  and  Ligu- 
rian  republics,  which   threatened  at  one 
time  to  reduce  the  Roman  empire  to  a  prov- 
ince of  Genoa,  and  to  annihilate  the  trade, 
and   perhaps    the    existence    of    Venice. 
Venice  was  reduced  to  the  lowest  ebb  af- 
ter the  battle  of  Pola,  and  the  taking  of 
Chioza  on  the  IGth  of  August,  by  the  uni- 
ted armaments  of  the  Genoese  and  Fran- 
cesco di  Carrara,  when  she  called  from 
her  dungeons  the  oidy  man    able  to  save 
her,  and  he  did  save  her.     Confined  by 
the  ingratituile  of  his  country,  he  nobly 
and  magnanimously  forgot  the  wrongs  he 
might  have  avenged — this  man  was  Velior 
Pisani.     The    Venetians    conquered   the 
Genoese,  and  on  the  24  ':  of  June,  i;380, 
the  doge  Contarini  made  his    triumphal 
entry  into  Chioza. 

To  trace  the  dignity  to  which  it  attained 
in  the  fifteenth  century,  its  accessions  to 
mighty  power,  and  .the  envy  it  excited  in 
the  courts  of  Europe,  requires  a  greater 
space  than  can  bo  allotted  to  this  article  ; 
and  as  many  of  the  more  interesting  of 
its  historical  features  will  pass  the  eye  in 
surveyiTS'g  its  public  buildings,  we   may 
pass  through  the  period  of  its  greatness, 
to  the  era  of  its  declining  power,  and  the 
conquest  by  the  French  republic,  when  it 
fell  v/ithout  a  struggle  for  its  liberty.    One 
of  the  most  singular  features  in  the  Vene- 
tian history,  i&  the  inquisition  of  state — 
that   corrupt    and    despotic    government, 
which,  under  any  other  name  than  that  of 
republic,  would  have  been  regarded  with 
universal    execration.     Imagination    fails 
in  endeavoring  to  conceive  a  council  who 
carried  on  their  deeds  of  darkness  with 
such  privacy.     The  bridge  which  led  to 
these  awful  dungeons  and  chambers  of 
gloom,  was  called  the  Bridge  of  Sighs. 
Would    you    visit   the    supreme    council 
chamber,  endeavor  to  imagine  a  room  wide 
and    lofty,    black   -tapestry   hanging    all 
around  it,  and  the  ceiling  covered  with 
terrific  figures  from  the  pencil  of  Tinter- 


etto,  depicting  the  various  virtues,  bearing 
in  their  hands  the  instruments  of  torture 
used  by  the  trioiinal.*     Oh,  what  scenes 
has  this  room  witnessed!  how  many  in- 
nocent victims   to   caprice   and    ro^venge 
have  suffered  here  !     There  are  two  doors 
to  this  apartment,  one  through  which  the 
prisoner  was  conducied  to  the  tribunal — 
one  through  which,  if  guilty,  he  was  con- 
ducted from    it.     These    chambers  were 
opened  by  the  French  government,  imme- 
diately upon  the  surrender  of  the  repub- 
lic,  as   well  as  the   dungeons    beneath. 
These  dungeons  are  entered  by  a  trap- 
door, and  a  chilly  dread  creeps  over  the 
heart,  as  one  remembers  the  fate  of  thou- 
sands of  those  who  entered  these  dread 
abodes.     Vaulted  passages,  where  neither 
light  nor  air  can  penetrate — rooms  whoso 
vaults  and  roofs  are  cased  with  iron,  each 
with  its   broad  wooden   board,  serving  at 
once  the  purpose  of  chair,  table,  and  bed, 
and  the  apartment  terminating  the  series 
of  dungeons,  from  which,  if  a  prisoner 
once    enter,    he    returns    no   more — the 
room  where  he  was  strangled,  the  room 
whence  his  body  was  cast  into  the  canal 
beneath. 

This  governr  •  if  Venice  consisted 
of  a  doge,  who  w  -,  .>  elected  magistrate, 
and  difl'erent  councils  of  the  nobles,  in 
whose  hands  the  chief  magistrate  was  a 
mere  pageant  of  state,  likely  to  have  his 
most  private  affairs  investigated  by  the 
haughty  aristocracy.  The  inhabitants  of 
Venice  were  slaves  to  the  will  of  their 
tyrants.  No  discussion  of  political  mat- 
ters was  allowed,  and  anonymous  accusa- 
tions were  received  and  acted  upon  —the 
accusations  being  placed  in  the  mouth  of 
the  lion  standing  in  the  Place  of  St.  Mark. 
The  following  anecdote  will  convey  an 
idea  of  the  despotic  nature  of  the  Vene- 
tian government.     An  English  gentleman 

•  In  the  armory  of  the  arsenal  at  Venice,  are  pre- 
served four  inslriiments  of  torture  employed  by  the 
Councils  of  the  Three  and  of  the  Ten,  for  wresting 
confession  from  the  victims,  'the  first  is  an  iron 
helmet,  which  was  forced  upon  the  hi'ad  of  the  vic- 
tim intended  for  torture.  He  was  seatt'd,  bound  to 
a  chair,  and  through  various  little  holes,  sliarp  m- 
strumeiits  were  thrust  jito  his  head  l)eliin(t  his  ear, 
and  in  his  shouklers.  Another  iiistnimeiit  is  an  iron 
collar,  bristled  with  spikes  which  were  poisoned. 
The  third  is  a  thumb-screw  of  peculiar  construc- 
tion, capable  of  giving  a  refinement  of  torture  ;  and 
the  fourth  is  a  pair  of  pincers,  which,  when  heated, 
were  used  by  the  torturer  for  tearing  the  flesh. 


*f-\ 


ifin 


?»«?' 


¥'*'*^ 


718 


THE  CITY  ON  THE  8EA. 


one  day  entered  into  conversation  with  a 
Neapolitan  at  one  of  the  taverns  of  the 
city,  and  the  discourse  happening  to  turn 
upon  the  Venetian  government,  the  Nea- 
politan greatly  condemned,  while  the  Eng- 
lishman as  warmly  commended,  some  of 
its   institutions.     In   the   middle   of   the 
night,  the  Englishman  was  aroused  by  a 
loud  knocking  at  the  door  of  his  hotel, 
and  presently  after,  th",  officers  of  justice 
entered  his  apartment,    and   commanded 
him  to  rise.     As  soon  as  he  was  dressed, 
a  handkerchief  was  bound  over  his  eyes, 
and  he  was  put  on  board  a  gondola.    After 
being  rowed  for  some  time,  he  was  landed, 
and  led  through  long  passages  until  he 
reached  a  large  hall,  where  his  eyes  were 
unbound,  and  he  was  desired  to  notice 
what  he  saw.     The  Neapolitan  was  sus- 
pended from  a  beam  by  the  neck.  Shocked 
at  the  sight,  he  inquired  its  meaning,  and 
was  informed  that  he  was  thus  punished 
for  the  free  animadversions  he  had  made 
on  the  Venetian  government,  and  that  al- 
though the  Englishman  had  refuted  his 
argument-,  the   republic  was  displeased 
with  him  for  entering  on  such  a  topic,  ns 
it  needed  no  advocates,  and  commanded 
him  to  quit  its  territories  on  pain  of  death. 
His   eyes  were  again    covered,   and   he 
was  taken  back  to  his  hotel,  where  he  lost 
no  time  in  preparing   for  his  departure, 
having  no  wish  to  remain  in  a  city  where 
political  discussion  was  attended  with  such 
dangers. 

But  the  great  centre  of  attraction  at 
Venice  is  the  Place  of  St.  Mark  ;  and  the 
principal  objects  which  here  meet  the  eye, 
are  the  Cathedral,  Orologio,  and  the  Cam- 
panile, the  latter  seeming  to  be  append- 
ages to  the  main  edifice.  In  front  of  the 
church  are  three  tall,  red  poles,  looking 
like  masts,  from  which,  in  former  days, 
the  flags  of  the  vassal  kingdoms  of  Can- 
dia,  Cyprus,  and  the  Morea,  waved  ;  they 
are  still  decorated  on  festival-days  wi'h 
gay  streamers.  Over  the  porch  of  the 
Orologio  stands  the  admirable  clock,  cel- 
ebrated next  to  Strasburgh  for  its  many 
movements,  among  which,  about  twelve 
and  six,  which  ard  the  hours  of  Ave  Ma- 
ria, when  all  the  town  are  on  their  knees, 
the  three  kings  come  forth,  led  by  a  star, 
and  passing  by  the  image  of  Christ  in  his 
mother's  arms,  do  them  reverence,  and 


enter  the  clock  by  another  door.     At  the 
top  of  this  turret,  another  automaton  strikes 
the  quarters.     The  Campanile  is  a  heavy 
and  heterogeneous  pile,  neither  grand  nor 
beautiful.     It  was  built  when  the  imagi- 
nations of  the  Venetians  were  full  of  Con- 
stantinople, and  the  exploits  of  Dandalo  ; 
most  of  its  materials  came  from  Greece, 
and  the  architects,  as  well  as  architec- 
ture, were  Byzantine.     It  was  here  that 
Galileo  studied   at  the  period  when  the 
persecutions  of  the  Romish  church  would 
have  dimmed  the  lustre  of  the  heavens 
from  which  he  was  drawing  conclusions 
so  sublime   and  important.     The  church 
of  St.  Mark  is,  without  exaggeration,  the 
most   intensely   glorious   in    its    internal 
construction  and  adornment,  that  the  eye 
has  ever  seen  or  that  the  imagination  has 
ever  conceived.     Columns  of   porphyry, 
verd  antique,  and  oriental  marbles  ;   the 
pavements  composed  of  minute  pieces  of 
white  and  colored  marbles,  jasper,  agate, 
lapis  lazuli,  etc,  variously,  and  for  the 
most  part,  beautifully  disposed  :  the  inlaid 
ornaments  and  gilded  capitals  produce  al- 
together    astonishment    and    admiration. 
This  temple  is  adapted  for  nocturnal  illu- 
mination, and  when  brilliantly  lighted  up, 
its  effect  must  be  splendid  in  the  extreme. 
The  Piazza  is  the  only  place  in  Venice 
where  those  things   which  we  vulgarly 
call  legs,  but  for  which  a  Venetian  has  no 
use,  can  be  used,  every  excursion  in  Ven- 
ice being  by  water  ;  but  if  it  should  oc- 
cur to  the  mind  that»the  leg  may  be  used, 
the  Piazza  is  the  place  of  promenade,  and 
the  associations  connected  with  that  small 
spot   of    earth    are    deeply    interesting. 
Here  were  celebrated  the  great  fair,  the 
carnival,  the  ceremonials  of  the  church, 
the  triumphs  of  the  state  ;  here  the  stage 
was  erected  for  the  juggler,  the  scaffold 
for  the  executioner — 

"  The  sea,  that  emblem  of  uncertainty. 
Changed  not  so  last  for  many  and  many  an  age 
As  this  small  spot.    To-day  teems  full  of  masks, 
And  lo,  the  madness  of  the  carnival ! 
The  monl<,  the  nun,  the  holy  legate  masked  ; 
To-morrow  comes  the  »:atfold  and  the  wheel, 
And  he  died  then  by  torchlight,  bound  and  gagg'd, 
Whose  name  and  crime  they  knew  not." 

[ROOEBS, 

The  bridge  of  the  Rialto  is  interesting ; 
the  mind  immediately  associates  it  with 
Shakspere.     It  was  designed  by  Antonio 


)ther  door.  At  tho 
er  automaton  strikes 
impanile  is  a  heavy 
B,  neither  grand  nor 
It  when  the  imagi- 
ns  were  full  of  Con- 
xploitg  of  Dnndalo ; 
came  from  Greece, 
9  well  as  architec- 
It  was  here  that 
e  period  when  the 
jmish  church  would 
3tre  of  the  heavens 
Irawing  conclusions 
rtant.  The  church 
ut  exaggeration,  the 
3U3  in  its  internal 
rnment,  that  the  eye 
the  imagination  has 
lumns  of  porphyry, 
lental  marbles  ;  the 
of  minute  pieces  of 
rbles,  jasper,  agate, 
riously,  and  for  the 
disposed  :  the  inlaid 

capitals  produce  al- 
nt  and  admiration, 
id  for  nocturnal  illu- 
irillianlly  lighted  up, 
indid  in  the  extreme, 
inly  place  in  Venice 

which  we  vulgarly 
:h  a  Venetian  has  no 
ry  excursion  in  Ven- 

but  if  it  should  oc- 
tho  leg  may  be  used, 
;6  of  promenade,  and 
ected  with  that  small 

deeply  interesting, 
d  the  great  fair,  the 
nials  of  the  church, 
itate  ;  here  the  stage 

juggler,  the  scaffold 


)f  uncertainty, 

many  and  mony  an  age 
i-day  teems  i'liU  of  masks, 

the  carnival ! 

boly  Ifgate  masked ; 
ktattold  and  the  wheel, 
chlight,  bound  and  gagg'd, 

they  knew  not." 

[RoOEBi, 

Rialto  is  interesting ; 
iy  associates  it  with 
designed  by  Antonio 


r 


11! 


.    3 
{ 


f* 

u 


ft* 


ft 


*#w 


is 


Hki 


The  Rialto. 


««'!l4 


1^ 


liO 


THW  CITY  ON  THE  SEA. 


dn  Pome.i;.  architect  of  the  public  prison. 
Oh,  Veiiice !  V»;nice  !  as  we  walk  thy 
streets,  how  our  thoughts  roll  back  to  'he 
days  of  thy  glory,  when  thy  winged  lion, 
which  even  now 

"  Stands  as  in  mockery  of  iti  wilhereo'  jjower," 

was  an  emblem  of  the  s.voep  of  thy  mag- 
nificence and  empire,  to  which,  as  to  the 
monarch  of  the  forest,  the  nations  around 
thee  bowed.  I  walk  upon  the  quay  of  the 
Piazzetta,  but  no  lordly  procession  nuets 
my  view,  as  in  the  days  of  the  prone!  po  «- 
tiff,  Alexander  the  third.  It  was  here  the 
Suabian  sued,  here  the  proud  ecclesisistin 
knelt  upon  his  neck-— it  is  here  the  Aus- 
trian eagle  hovers,  and  triumphs  over  the 
iaipoiency  oi  t'lr  f  ■>wer.  J  trace  thy  his- 
tory, and  I  ii  i  sliat.  not  only  now,  but 
even  in  thy  grea  i  <-.-3, »..'  on  v/mt  a  ; lave — 
a  slave  through  thy  tbivo  hundred  years 
of  stormy  democr'uv --»  sia.e  beneath 
thy  close,  ht^redilaiy  &  :3tocracy— a  slave 
beneath  the  oespvjti'm  of  the  succeeding 
oligarchy,  and  ujure  a  slave  then  than 
now.  I  enter  the  '•'  Sala  del  Gran  Con- 
siglio"  of  thy  ducal  palace — I  see  the 
proud  eld  portraits  of  each  doge.  Gazing 
upon  me,  they  interest  not  my  attention  ; 
they  claim  not  my  admiration.  That 
black  vacancy,  intended  for  disgrace,  is  a 
I  more  noble  memorial  than  all ;  the  "  Lo- 
I  cus  Marini  Falieri  Decapitati,"  is  a  noble 
evidence  that  one  Venetian  once  lived, 
who  sought  to  free  his  country  from  the 
bonds  of  slavery. 

Yet,  Venice,  thy  name  inspires  associ- 
ations of  splendor,  and  a  brilliancy  gathers 
over  even  thy  slavery,  as  we  think  of 
thee— when  we  think  of  the  aspirations  of 
Galileo;  how  the  gray-haired  and  vener- 
able old  man  watched  the  silent  planels 
from  ihy  Cumnanile — of  Paul  Veronese, 
andTitii».n,  anj  the  Palmas,  and  Tinter- 
etlo,  who  called  forth  the  images  which 
breathe  ou  their  canvass  beneath  thy 
skies— of  Petrarch,  who  sung  of  Laura 
amid  thy  crowded  buildings  ;  and  thou 
hast  in  thy  territory  his  dust ;  he  sleeps 
at  Arqua.  Thy  glorious  churches,  thy 
statues,  thy  immortal  tombs,  and  thy  gon- 
doliers, stealing  like  th^^dows  over  the 
waters — although 

"  lu  Venice,  Tasao's  strains  are  lieard  no  more," 


all  these  are  thy  glory,  and  thy  glory  they 
must  ever  remain,  more  elevated  than 
others  ;  and  it  was  upon  those  obsciirn  and 
sequestered  spots  that  Venif»  cveistually 
raised  her  glory  and  renown. 

Venice  presents  to  !'m)  mi.-.d  vca  aspect 
partially  of  venerable  u»ai(>niiy,  partj  Oly 
of  modern  European  pr(''mi»'?:>ca  ;  it  is, 
in  point  of  faci,  as  Si:;sir,iuli  r^mark^  in 
his  "History  of  Italian  republics,"  "the 
link  which  conis'cts  ancient  and  modem 
history ;"  and  when  ',ve  think  or  read  of 
Venice,  •*  dreamy  grandeur  and  a  solemn 
sublimity  gathers  over  the  jjajiii  and  before 
the  eye ;  wher  ill  tht;  elements  of  gov- 
ernment, <!'  governir«rni  such  a  state  of 
policy  can  be  ctllei',  v.-cre  riding  like  mis- 
erable wrecks  «>n  ihe  billow7,  commotion 
of  the  storm,  aii<l  ignoranHy  iivating  the 
conductor  which  was  to  call  the  lightning 
that  eventually  struck  them.  At  that  mo- 
ment Venice  rose,  and  her  eye  glance?' 
along  the  future  and  the  past.  The  west- 
ern  Home  was  her  j>arent ;  she  saw  each 
dying  struggle  for  the  returning  triumph, 
and  the  last  laurels  withered  in  her  eye. 
She  saw  the  eastern  vampire  first  wave  its 
sceptre ;  alternately  ii.?  friend  and  its  foe, 
she  accelerated  or  retarded  its  glory  ;  she 
triumphed  at  last  over  its  disgrace,  and  in 
its  death-pangs  divided  the  s|M>il  with  the 
strong.  She  saw  the  French  power  rise 
when  Clovis  conquered  Gaul.  The  Os- 
trogothic  and  the  Visigothic  powers,  their 
glory  and  their  gloom  were  alike  beheld 
by  her.  The  continent  seemed  shaken  ; 
she  alone  seemed  to  stand  immovable  ;  at 
last  she  fell ;  the  proud  republic  gave  way, 
"  and  the  stale,"  says  Sismondi,  *'  which 
linked  the  present  with  the  past,  and 
joined  the  two  eras  of  the  world's  civili- 
zation, ceased  to  exist." 

We  annex  an  account  of  the  gondola, 
or  boat,  employed  in  traversing  the  marine 
streets  or  canals  of  Venice. 

The  length  of  this  beautiful  boat  is 
nearly  thirty  feet,  and  the  breadth  about 
five ;  and  it  affords  accommodations  for 
six  passengers,  beside  the  two  rowers. 
Some,  however,  ar"  much  smaller,  and 
are  rowed  by  one  j.'rjjn.  The  gondola 
is  flat-bottomed,  ann  as  sides  slope  away 
considerably ,  parti-jiiariy  toward  the  after 
part,  which,  ';!►'.•■  ho  boat  is  »?mpty,  rises 
high  out  of  tjv    ^dtor.     The  seats,  which 


md  thy  glory  they 
re  eUivatoil  thiui 
those  obscure  and 
Veiii^u  eveiiluaily 
own. 

HI  •nv.-.d  Ml  a8[)f!ct 
iraiqif'iy,  paruvlly 
i>  <!mii)'^:>ca  ;  it  in, 
iiriiili  romarJiH  in 
republics,"  "the 
icsfcHt  and  modern 

think  or  read  of 
leur  and  a  solemn 
le  pnun  and  before 

etements  of  gov- 
;  such  a  state  of 
Te  rilling  like  mis- 
lillow;/  commotion 
infiy    I'ivating  the 

call  the  lightning 
lem.     At  that  m<>- 

her  eye  glance;' 

past.  The  west- 
nt ;  she  saw  each 
returning  triumph, 
bered  in  her  eye. 
ipire  first  wave  its 

friend  and  its  foe, 
ded  its  glory  ;  she 
in  disgrace,  and  in 

the  s|M)il  with  the 
French  power  rise 
1  Gaul.  The  Os- 
othic  powers,  their 
were  alike  beheld 
t  seemed  shaken  ; 
md  immovable ;  at 
republic  gave  way, 
Sismondi,  *'  which 
ith    the    past,    and 

the  world's  civili- 

n 

jnl  of  the  gondola, 

iversing  the  marine 

nice. 

I  beautiful  boat  is 

the  breadth  about 
ccommodalions  for 
3  the  two  rowers, 
^tuch  smaller,  and 

>fT.  The  gondola 
^  sides  slope  away 
riy  toward  the  after 
joat  is  j^mpty,  rises 

The  seats,  which 


THE  CITY  ON  THE  SEA. 


721 


are  placed  at  a  distance  of  something  less 
than  two  thirds  the  length  of  the  boat  from 
its  head,  have  a  tilt  over  them,  with  win- 
dows and  curtains.     This  tilt,  which  is 
extremely  light  and  elegant,  and  remove- 
able  at  pleasure,  is  of  frame-work,  covered 
with  black  cloth,  ornamented  with  tufts  of 
the  same  color.     The  head  is  furnished 
with  a  flat  iron  be?.k  or  prow,  of  the  form 
shown  in  the  engraving,  which  is  sun- 
ilar  to  what  is  seen  in  the  representation 
of    the    ancient   galleys;    this    is   never 
painted,   but  kept  highly  polished  :    the 
stern  has  a  wooden  beak,  not  so  elevated 
as  that  at  the  head.     The  seats  usually 
have  cushions  covered  with  plush,  and  the 
floor  is  furnished  with  carpets.     The  gon- 
dolas of  private  persons,  as  well  as  those 
which   are   let   for   hire,    are    invariably 
painted  black.     Formerly  the   Venetians 
vied  with  each  other  in  the  splendot  of 
their  gondolas,  but  so  much  inconvenience 


are  low,  even  the  poorest  people  make 
frequent  use  of  these  boats,  and  on  a 
saint's  day,  or  other  holyday,  they  are  seen 
gliding  in  all  direcii(ms,  their  occupants 
sometimes  conversing  or  listening  to  sto- 
ries, more  frequently  playing  at  larocco. 
a  game  at  caids. 

In  rowing,  the  gondoliers  stand  on  the 
extreme  edge  of  the  vessel :  the  master, 
or  principal  gondolier,  on  the  right  side, 
with  his  face  toward  the  head  of  the  boat, 
and  his  companion  on  the  left  side,  behind 
the  company.     On  the  after  part,  where 
the  back  rower  is  placed,  there  is  a  flat 
piece  added  over  the  gunwale  of  the  boat, 
on  which  he  stands.     Thus   placed,  the 
gondoliers  seem,  to  strangers,  in  imminent 
danger  of  falling  overboard.     But  this  is 
m  event  which  rarely  happens.     They 
balance  themselves  with   apparent  ease, 
and  even  elegance,  pushing  their  oars  for- 
ward, and  giving  them,  by  the  action  of 
the  wrist,  a  turn  in  the  water,  resembling 


gondola  still  appears 


The    black  "color   gives   them   a  very 
sombre,    funereal  appearance,   and   their 
first  effect  on  strangers  is  at  variance  with 
our  notions  of  Venetian  gaycty  and  ele- 
gance.    Our  sailors  call   them  "floating 
coflins,"  "  queer  craft,"  and  indeed  they 
have  something  of  a  hearse-like  character 
about  them.     When  the  black  is  allowed 
to  become  brown  and  rusty,  as  is  now, 
owing  to  Venetian  poverty,  too  often  the 
case,  they  look  particularly  shabby  and 
still  more  dismal.     In  such  a  city  as  Ven- 
ice, intersected  in  every  part  by  canals, 
and  where  there  are  few  parts  where  peo- 
ple can  walk  a  hundred  yards  without 
coming  to  a  high,  steep  bridge,  built  nearly 


the  blade  is  not  bent,  as  in  the  English 
oar,  but  more  in  the  form  of  a  paddle. 
Tliey  do  not  use  rowlocks,  but  employ  a 
single  fixed  thowell,  of  a  crooked  form, 
and  about  a  fool  long,  against  which  they 
hold  the  oar  by  pressure  only.  Previous 
to  tu  (ling  a  corner,  from  one  canal  into  an- 
other, the  gondoliers  have  a  peculiar  cry, 
rather  musical  and  agreeable,  designed  to 
give  warning  to  gondolas  which  may  be 
approaching  in  an  opposite  direction. 

The  gondoliers  were  formerly  a  very 
imeresting  portion  of  the  Venetian  popu- 
lation, and  enjoyed  a  degree  of  consider- 
ation beyond  that  which  persons  in  a  sim- 
ilar station  of  life  receive  among  our- 
selves. They  still  are  a  civil  and  well- 
and  act  as  ciceroni 


r;f,rs=;;::s.:..;^2  --j^l"!.: 


rising  over  an  arch,  carriages  and  horses 
would  be  of  no  use.  The  gondola  is  the 
sole  equipage  of  the  noble  Venetian.  In 
this  he  is  carried  on  his  visits,  for  his 
amusement,  or  to  his  business,  and  m  this 
a  considerable  part  of  his  time  w  passed. 
His  head  gondolier  is  to  him  what  the 
head  coachman  and  the  groom  are  to  an 
English  gentleman,  and  something  more. 
When  he  wishes  to  go  out,  he  does  not 
order  "the  horses  to  be  P"\  *0'"^''"J  _® 
gondola  to  be  got  ready. 


to  travellers  in  showing  them  the  curiosi- 
ties of  Venice,  and  even  go  wiih  them  to 
the  opera-house,  and  conduct  them  to  their 
boxes.  Formerly  they  made  the  city  vo- 
cal ;  for  in  gliding  through  its  canals,  and 
at  other  times,  they  sang  to  one  another, 
in  alternate  stanzas,  passages  chiefly  from 
Tasso.  translated  into  the  Venetian  dia- 
lect. The  verses  they  sang  were  almost 
invariably  taken  from  Tasso,  ^nd  rarely 
from  Ariosto  or  any  other  poet,      rh«  mo- 


t  to     but  me    irom  n.riuaiuvi  »'v ;  ^         ,         u  „.. 

As  the  fares  |  tives  for  this  decided  preference  have  been 


m 


.--* 


^.•i^% 


I 


.S 

CD 

« 

■3 


o 

a 
o 


THE  OCELOT. 


723 


^ 


m 


<§ 


reasonably  assigned  by  several  writers  to 
the  circumstance  of  Tasso's  "  epic,  rela- 
ling  to  the  wars  of  the  Crusades,  where 
the  crescent  of  Mohamet  was  made  to 
wax  pale  before  the  Christian  cross,  and 
to  the  antipathy,  arising  from  long  warfare, 
both  by  land  and  sea,  both  m  Europe  and 
Asia,  that  has  existed  between  the  Vene- 
tians and  the  Turks.  Shakspere's  Othello 
will  show,  as  well  as  any  historical  record 
could  do,  how  violent  was  this  feeling. 
To  this  T.ay  be  added  that  the  Venetians, 
even  d»wn  to  our  own  day,  have  continued 
an  intimate  intercourse  with  Syria,  the 
Holy  Land,  Turkey,  and  all  the  Levant, 
anJ  are  thus  the  better  prepared  to  enjoy 
Tasso's  brilliant  and  beautiful  pictures  of 

the  "  orient." 

The  melody  thus  sung  was  calculated 
for  remote  elf'ect ;  and  when  the  gondo- 
liers of  distant  vessels  sung  to  each  other 
in  alternate  verses,  the  sound,  as  it  came 
"  by  distance  made  more  sweet,"  was  sin- 
gularly pleasing.     Speaking  of  this  vocal 
performance,  it  is  said,  in  a  note  to  the 
fourth  canto  of   "  Childe  Harold"  :    "  It 
suits  particularly  well  with  an  idle,  soli- 
tary mariner,  lying  at  length  in  his  vessel, 
at  rest  on  one  of  these  canals,  waiting  for 
his  company  or  for  a  fare,  the  tiresomeness 
of  which  situation  is  somewhat  alleviated 
by  the  songs  and  poetical  stories  he  has 
in  memory.     He  often  raises  his  voice  as 
loud  as  he  can,  which  extends  itself  to  a 
vast   distance   over  the  tranquil  mirror; 
and  as  all  is  still  around,  ho  is,  as  it  were, 
in  a  solitude  in  the  midst  of  a  large  and 
populous  town.     Here  is  no  rattling  of 
carriages,  no  noise  of  foot  passengers  :  a 
silent  gondola  glides  now  and  then    by 
him,  of  which  the  splashings  of  the  oars 
are  scarcely  to  be  heard.     At  a  distance 
he  hears  another,  perhaps  utterly  unknovvn 
to  him.     Melody  and  verse  immediately 
attach  the  two  strangers ;  he  becomes  the 
responsive  echo  to  the  former,  and  exerts 
himself  to  be  heard  as  he  had  heard  the 
other.     By  a  tacit  convention  they  alter- 
nate verse  for  verse:   though  the  song 
should  last  the  whole  night  through,  they 
entertain  themselves  without  fatigue,  and 
the  hearers,  who  are  passing  between  the 
two,  take  part  in  the  amusement."     But 
this  interesting  practice  has  declined  with 
the  prosperity  and  independence  of  Venice. 


THE  OCELOT. 


HIS  beautiful  animal 
is  a  native  of  Chili 
and    Mexico.      The 
ocelot  was  known  to 
the  natives  of  South 
America  by  the  name 
of    tlalocelotl,     from 
which,  by  abbrevia- 
tion, we  have  derived  a  cognomen  less 
dilficult  to  pronounce,  and  which,  at  the 
same  time  does  not  much  differ  from  the 
original  designation.     In  size  the  ocelot 
is  about  three  feet  in  length  and  eighteen 
inches  in   height.     The  legs  are  long; 
ears  somewhat  broad,  and  sometimes  tip- 
ped  with   a   few   hairs.     Upon   a    gray 
ground  are  oblong,  fawn-colored  patches 
of  a  dark  color,  surrounded  with  a  border 
perfectly  black.     At  the  top  of  the  back 
there  io  a  continuous,  dark  line,  and  the 
tail   is   beautifully    spotted.     The    under 
part  of  the  body  is  white,  with  spots  of 
fawn  which  extend  to  the  feet.     The  skin 
of  the  male  ocelot  exceeds  that  of  tha 
liger  in  beauty  and  variety,  and  in  bright- 
ness and  regularity  of  the  spots  it  is  much 
superior  to  the  leopard.     In  this  respect, 
ihe  panther  or  the  ounce  can  not  be  com- 
pared to  the  ocelot,  so  that  in  appearance 
it  is  more  elegant  than  those  of  its  tribe 
which  inhabit  the  old  world.     In  the  fe- 
male the  colors  of  the  skin  are  compara- 
tively dull,  and  the  spots  less  regular. 

The  ocelot,  like  most  animals  of  the 
cat  tribe,  is  distinguished  in  its  wild  state 
by  considerable  ferocity,  though  speci- 
mens which  have  been  brought  to  Europe 
have  exhibited  a  subdued  character.  A 
male  and  female  were  brought  to  Paris  in 
1764  by  M.  Lescot,  who  had  taken  them 
when  quite  young.  It  rarely  attacks  man, 
and  fears  dogs,  and  when  pursued,  seeks 
safety  in  flight,  endeavoring  to  elude  Us 
BssailanU  by  mounting  a  tree. 

The  ocelot  passes  the  day  in  its  re- 
treat, but  night  it  prowls  about  in  quest  of 
prey  and  under  cover  of  the  darkness,  it 
approaches  human  habitations  and  enters 
the  farmyard.  It  sometimes  awaits  the 
approach  of  its  prey  concealed  amid  the 
branches  of  a  tree,  and  when  they  are 
sufficiently  near,  it  springs  upon  them 
with  unerring  aim.     It  sucks  the  blood  of 


'I 

f»i 


«iii 


nl 


ih\ 


I 


tv 


Vcl 


■^.v^ 


K.H8. 


125 


the  animals  which  it  (iMiroys,  and    ;»ef 
fore  ci.inmiis  greater  riiva«e»  I  ii.n  il  Us 
apm-tiie  were  appeast-.l  l.y  U'edmg  upon 
U,e  lU'sh  of  th.-  ani.nals  il  killed. 

In  a  Slate  of  captivity  il  does  not  lose 
„ual.  (.f  its  natural  character.  M.  Lescol 
states  that  he  was  ohhyed  to  conline  in  a 
ciu'i-  llie  two  specimens  which  he  hrought 
ov.  r,  and  which  had  displayed  their  sav- 
aj..-  character  at  so  early  a  period.  He 
supidied  Ihem  on  the  voyage  wiih  fresh 
nu'ai,  of  which  they  ate  seven  or  eight 
pounds  a  day.  The  ocelot,  like  the  jag- 
liar,  piinther,  leopard,  tiger,  and  lion,  only 
produces  two  of  its  kind  al  a  birth. 


lUILES  FOR  JUDGING  OF  THE 
WEATHER. 

T  is  agreeable  and  use- 
ful lo  have  a  barometer 
in  the   house.     It  is  a 
pleasing  companion  and 
friend.     Those  who  no- 
tice   t  daily  will    soon 
find  iliat  they  are  not  to 
expect   rain    « hen  the 
pointer  is  at  lain,  nor 
fair  weather  when  such 
is  ,  ...  monitory  indication.     That  which 
is  to  be  observ.  (f  is  the  course  of  the  ba- 
rometer.    If  yeb^rday  it   was   at    "  set 
fair      mdto  lay  it  is  down  al  "  fair,    ram 
m         '1  at  iay  moment ;  and  on  the  con- 
trary       i'     IS  b^.n  at  "  much  rain,"  and 
has'grad  risen  to  "  rain,"  fair  weath- 

er -n  V  be  cai  ulated  upon.  The  barom- 
eu  , ,  .'viih  observation,  is  a  weather  guide  ; 
without  it,  unless  in  extreme  cases,  it  can 
not  give  the  information  w^'-led.  Perhaps 
the  most  infallible  indica  of  the  instru- 
ment is  that  of  a  sudden  an.i  tensive  fall, 
when  a  storin  is  sure  to  a  Attention 

to  this  fact  has  probably  iih.  j  than  once 
saved  us  from  shipwreck  or  ..iher  -lisasters 
at  sea.  We  give  be!  w  the  late  Dr.  Dal- 
i  ii's  rules  for  judging  of  the  w  •>''r  by 
the  barometer  : — 

'•  When  ''(8  baromiter  a  ..  ar  the  high 
extreme  lui  the  season  of  the  year,  thcr- 
is  very  iiltle  probability    '  immediate  rain. 
Wlieu  the  barometer  )       »v  for  the  sea- 
son, there  is  seldom  a  grf      weight  ■     rain, 


though  a  fair  day  in  such  a  case  in  rare 
The  general  tenor  of  the  weather  at  siuh 
times  is  short,  heavy  and  sudden  showers, 
with  squalls  of  wind  iroin  the  soulliwesl 
or  northwest. 

In  summer,  after  a  long  coiiumiame  of 
fair  weather,  with  the  barom.  ler  liij;li,  it 
generally  fulls  gradually,  and  for  one,  two, 
or  more  days,  before  there  is  much  appear- 
ance of  rain.  If  the  fall  be  sudd  ii  and 
great  for  the  season,  it  will,  probably,  b. 
followed  by  thunder. 

When  the  appearances  of  the  sky  are 
very  promising  for  fair,  and  the  barometer 
at  the  same  time  low,  it  maybe  depended 
upon,  the  appearances  will  not  continue  so 
long.  The  face  of  the  sky  changes  very 
suddenly  on  such  occasions. 

Very  dark  and  dense  clouds  pass  over 
without  rain,  when  the  barometer  is  high  ; 
whereas,  when  the  barometer  is  low,  it 
sometimes  rains,  almost  without  any  ap- 
pearance of  clouds. 

All  appearance  being  the  same,  the 
higher  the  barometer  is,  the  greater  prob- 
ability of  fair  weather. 

Thunder  is  almost  always  preceded  by 
hot  weather,  and  followed  by  cold  and 
showery  weather. 

A  sudden  and  extreme  change  of  the 
temperature  of  the  atmosphere,  either  from 
heat  to  cold  or  cold  to  heal,  is  generally 
followed  by  rain  within  twenty-four  hours. 
in  winter,  during  a  frost,  if  it  begins 
to  snow,  the  temperature  of  the  air  gener- 
ally rises  to  32°,  and  continues  there  while 
the  snow  falls,  after  which,  if  the  weath- 
er clear  up,  expect  severe  cold. 


IGIERS. 


LGIERS  is  sit- 
uated in  360  49' 
north  latitude,  3° 
25'  east  longi- 
tude, on  the  sou- 
thern shore  of 
the  Medilurran( 
ansea,  the  waves 
of  which  wash  its 
walls.     It  is  built 


,e  form  of  an  irregular  triangle,  the 


;1 


»>l 


'A 


*^«*M 


*'"■..» 


f^'^f 


72« 


MUSIO. 


base  of  which  is  formed  by  the  seacoast. 
The  sirepts  of  the  town  iiro  temarkiiltiy 
narrow,  fihhy,  and  uneven  ;  very  few  of 
them  cross  others  at  right  angles,  and  very 
few  are  straight. 

The  town  of  Algiers  rontnined  thirteen 
largo  mosques,  with  minarets,  und  about 
seventy  small  ones,  or  chap«;ls,  as  we 
should  call  them,  bolonginir  to  private  in- 
dividuals. There  were  a'  a  synagogue 
for  the  Jews,  and  a  chapel  und  hospital  for 
the  Christians,  the  last  of  which  was  sup- 
ported at  the  expense  of  the  Spanish  gov- 
ernment. The  palace  of  ihe  deys  was 
in  the  lower  part  of  the  town  ;  but  the  lale 
dey  had  hU  esidence  within  the  citadel, 
at  the  highest  ()<)int  of  the  city.  The  town 
derives  from  the  country  a  tolerable  sup- 
ply of  water,  which  is  brought  to  it  by  an 
aqut'duct,  and  then  distributed  by  conduits 
to  the  different  parts  of  the  city.  Algiers 
contains  the  usual  proportion  of  baths  and 
coffeehouses,  but  there  are  none  that  ap- 
pear to  claim  particular  notice. 

Previously  to  the  French  invasion  the 
state  of  Algiers  was  no  anally  subject  to 
the  Turkish  sultan,  but  was,  in  point  of 
fact,  perfectly  independent.     The  Turkish 
dominion  at  Algiers,  originated  with  the 
famous  Turkish  corsair,  whom   we  call 
Barbarossa,    but    whose    real    name   was 
Horush,  or  Baba  (father)  Horush,  as  his 
men  were  accustomed  to  call  him.     This 
person    was    called    in    by   the   Algerine 
Moors  in  151G  to  assist  them  against  the 
Spaniards,  and  availed  himself  of  the  op- 
portunity to  make  himself  master  of  the 
place  ;  but  he  ruled  so  tyrannically,  as  to 
provoke  the  Moors  to  revolt,  and  he  was 
killed  in  1518,  fighting  at  the  head  of  his 
Turks.     He,  however,  left  a  brother  to 
succeed  him,  who  in  order  to  secure  his 
authority,  placed  himself  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  then  mighty  Turkish  em- 
pire the  ruler  of  which,  Selim  I.,  appoint- 
ed him  pacha  and  Regent  of  Algiers,  and 
sent  him  a  body  of  Janissaries.     From 
that  time  the  sultan  used  to  appoint  the 
pacha  of  Algiers,  who  was  at  the  same 
time  commander  of  the  forces,  and  to  send 
men  and  money  for  the  service  of  the  gar- 
rison.    But  iu  the  seventeenth  century  the 
Turkish    militia    obtained    the  right   of 
choosingtheirowncommander,  and  of  pay- 
ing themselves  out  of  the  revenue  of  the 


regency  :  the  sultan,  however,  continued 
to  send  a  pai  ha,  as  civil  governor,  until 
the  beginning  of  the  last  century,  whun 
Haba  Ali  Dey,  a  chief  of  the  militia,  seize(^ 
the  then  pacha,  put  him  on  board  a  nliip, 
and  sent  him  back  to  Constantinople.  The 
rebel  did  not  omit  to  send  by  the  same 
vessel  envo>  s  with  rich  presents  to  the 
vizier  and  other  principal  officers  of  the 
|)orte,  intimating  to  them  that  the  rejeci- 
ed  pachii  had  treacherous  designs,  and  that 
It  would  be  well  that  the  chief  of  the  mil- 
itia should  in  future  perform  thi  duties  of 
tliorivil  governor  also,  subject,  of  cours(!, 
to  the  appro  lation  of  the  sultan.  Tliu 
porte  was  obliged  to  wink  at  this  traniiac- 
tion  ;  and  from  that  time,  the  Janissaries, 
with  their  chosen  chief,  have  been  abso- 
lute masters  at  Algiers.  The  dignity  of 
dey  was  one  which  the  lowest  soldier 
might  hope  one  day  to  fill ;  but  it  wni 
held  by  a  most  precarious  tenure,  as  the 
lives  of  comparatively  few  of  these  mili- 
tary governors  have  been  allowed  to  reach 
th!^ir  natural  terminatiou. 


MUSIC. 

^  HE  musical  faculty 
V^is  not  peculiar  to  innn. 
Itabouwds  in  thecrios 
and  caroUings  of  many 
of  the  inferior  tribes. 
There  is  music  of  the 
most  melting  and 
plaintive  sort  in  the 
notes  wherewith  the  bird  whose  "  little 
household  hath  been  stolen,  fills  and  sad- 
dens all  the  grove  with  melodies  of  deep- 
est pathos."  There  is  a  higher  and 
harsher  harmony  in  the  scream  of  the 
cloud-cleaving  eagle,  who  goes  up,  sing- 
ing his  own  wild  song,  thronsh  the  blue 
ether,  and  over  the  arch  of  uiu  r.nnbow. 
There  is  cheerful  and  elevating  music  in 
the  note  of  the  lark,  rising  alofi  m  the 
d«iwy  dawn,  and  screwing  the  fresh  morn- 
ing air,  which  the  poet  thus  apostro- 
phizes : — 

"  Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit  !— 
Bird  thou  never  wen— 
That  from  hedven,  or  near  it, 
Pourest  thy  full  h^art 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art '. 


♦•'^         '"V, 


1««M 


.i — iiiS 


te.!,.  :.^ 


"  Higher  still,  and  higher, 

Through  the  air  thou  springest ; 
Like  a  cloud  of  f!;«, 
The  blue  deep  thou  wingest ; 
And  singing  still  dost  soar,  and  soaring  ever  singest." 

There  is  music,  who  needs  to  be  told,  in 
the  note  of  the  nightingale,  called  by  Mil- 
ton "  most  musical,  most  melancholy  bird," 
which  trills  her  soft  and  tender  lays  as  if 
to  soothe  the  evening  for  her  grief  at  the 
departure  of  the  sun.     There  is  music  of 
the  boldest  and  most  masculine  kind  in 
the  roar  of  the  lion,  coming  up,  vast  and 
hollow,  upon  the  wind  of  the  wilderness, 
and  affrighting  the  far-off  caravan  on  its 
solitary  way.     What  a  harmony  there  is 
in  the  varied  voices  of  inanimate  crea- 
tion— what  a  fine  pause  in  the  hush  of  the 
evening — what  a  sweet  tenor  in  the  lapse 
of  a   stream,    which,   to   the    "  sleeping 
woods,  all  night,  singeth  a  quiet  tune" — 
what  a  shrill  treble  in  the  higher  notes  of 
the  gale  singing  through  the  shrouds — 
and  what  a  tremendous  base  in  the  voice 
of  the  thunder,  speaking  from  his  black 
orchestra  to  the  echoing  heavens !     Mrs. 
Hemans  asked  Sir  Walter  Scott  if  he  had 
not  observed  that  every  tree  gives  out  its 
peculiar  sound  to  the  wind  ?     He  said  he 
had,  and  suggested  that  something  might 
be  done,  by  the  union  of  music  and  poe- 
try, to  imitate  those  voices  of  trees,  giving 
a  different  measure  and  style  to  the  oak, 
the  pine,  the  willow.     Diversities  in  this 
respect  may  be  noticed  among  the  trees 
of  the  wood  and  the  garden.     From  the 
willow   comes    a    kind   of    dry,   hissing 
sound — from  the    oak,    a    strong,  sturdy 
rustle,  as  if  the  old  king  of  the  forest, 
over  whom  centuries  had  passed,  yielded 
his  head  reluctantly  to  the  force  of  a  blast, 
born  and  dying  that  very  moment — from 
the  sycamore,  with   its   large   leaves,   a 
calm,  full  murmur,  as  if  the  tree  were  one 
vast  hive  of  bees  (and  indeed,  so  often  it 
is) — from  the  yew-tree,  a  funereal  wail,  as 
if  each  leaf  were  a  sigh — and  from  the 
pine,  a  deep,  lingering,  and  most  musical 
sound,  well  called  by  a  poet,  an  "  old  and 
solemn  harmony."     So  much  for  the  mu- 
sic of  nature.     We  will  only  allude  to  the 
beautiful  fancy  of  the  ancients,  that  from 
the  motions  ci  the  heavenly  orbs  there  is- 
sued the  soft  floating  of  an  ethereal  and 
immortal  melody  which  the  gross  ear  of 
man  hears  not,  but  which  is  audible  to 


higher  and  holier  spirits  ;  and  that  thus, 
literally,  do  the  morning  stars  sing  to- 
gether. We  now  know  this  to  be  but  u 
fancy,  though  a  fancy  of  the  finest  and 
most  poetical  kind.  We  now  say  rather 
with  Addison,  in  his  beautiful  hymn  : — 

'  What  though  in  solemn  silence  all 
Move  round  the  dark  terrestrial  ball  ? 
What  though  no  real  voice,  nor  sound, 
Amid  their  radiant  orbs  be  found  ? 
In  Reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice  ; 
For  ever  singing,  as  they  shine, 
'  The  Hand  that  made  us  is  divine.'  " 

Artificial  music  is  divided  into  two 
kinds — instrumental  and  vocal.  We  are 
all  acquainted  with  the  common  kind  of 
instruments  from  which,  by  cunning  fin- 
gers, the  soul  of  music  is  extracted — the 
sweet-toned  flute,  which  sounds  so  finely 
across  a  lake  or  river,  in  the  still  evenings 
of  summer — the  spirit-stirring,  and  ear- 
piercing  fife — the  deep,  reverberating 
drum — the  trumpet,  with  its  long  and 
swelling  blast — the  piano,  with  its  soft, 
mellow,  and  trembling  vibrations — the  vi- 
olin, with  its  cheerful  and  awakening 
notes — the  lute,  with  its  tender  and  amor- 
ous descant — the  harp,  consecrated  as  that 
instrument  which  once  vibrated  to  the 
hands  of  David,  as  he  sang  on  the  plains 
of  Bethlehem,  or  poured  out  his  eloquent 
plaint  from  the  roof  of  his  palace,  in  the 
city  of  the  Great  King — the  guitar,  with 
its  light  and  airy  music,  transporting  our 
thoughts  to  the  groves  of  Italy,  or  to  the 
cork-tree  forests  of  Spain,  to  the  evening 
lattices  of  Madrid,  or  the  moonlit  waters 
of  Venice — and  last,  not  lea  jt,  the  majes- 
tic organ,  with  its  awful  volume  of  sound. 
But  far  above  these,  or  alJ  other  instru- 
ments of  music,  is  that  glorious  instrument 
first  invented  and  tuned  by  Deity  himself. 
We  me .  \  the  human  voice,  with  its  melt- 
ing cadences,  its  guttural  sounds,  its  high, 
clear  melody,  which,  whether  it  swells  or 
sinks,  awakens  to  rapture  or  lulls  to  re- 
pose— whether  it  be  grave  or  gay — 
whether  it  issue  from  the  deep  pipe  of 
man,  or  from  the  softer  breast  of  wom- 
an— has  something  in  it  sweeter,  more 
noble,  natural,  and  various,  than  all  the 
music  of  the  grove,  than  all  the  melodies 
of  birds  and  bees,  and  murmuring  of  sum- 
mer waters  ;  cr  than  all  the  sounds  which 
art  has  extracted  from  cold  and  lifeless  in- 
struments. 


^»agg 


irits  ;  and  that  thus, 

riling  stars  sing  to- 

10W  this  to  be  but  u 

;y  of  the  finest  and 

We  now  say  rallit  r 

beautiful  hynni : — 

oleinn  silence  all 
lark  terrestrial  ball  ? 
real  voice,  nor  sound, 
It  orbs  be  found  ? 
hey  all  rejoice, 
"orious  voice ; 
M  ttiey  shine, 
nade  us  is  divine.'  " 

J  divided  into  two 
and  vocal.  We  are 
he  common  kind  of 
lich,  by  cunning  fin- 
lic  is  extracted — the 
lich  sounds  so  finely 
,  in  the  still  evenings 
rit-slirring,  and  ear- 
deep,  reverberating 
with  its  long  and 
piano,  with  its  soft, 
g  vibrations — the  vi- 
rful  and  awakening 
its  tender  and  amor- 
p;  consecrated  as  that 
nee  vibrated  to  the 
e  sang  on  the  plains 
ured  out  his  eloquent 
of  his  palace,  in  the 
ing — the  guitar,  with 
jsic,  transporting  our 
!8  of  Italy,  or  to  the 
Spain,  to  the  evening 
r  the  moonlit  waters 
not  leaiit,  the  majes- 
vful  vol'ime  of  sound. 
,  or  al)  other  instru- 
at  glorious  instrument 
led  by  Deity  himself, 
voice,  with  its  melt- 
ural  sounds,  its  high, 
,  whether  it  swells  or 
ipture  or  lulls  to  re- 
le  grave  or  gay — 
nn  the  deep  pipe  of 
ofter  breast  of  wcm- 
in  it  sweeter,  more 
various,  than  all  the 
than  all  the  melodies 
id  murmuring  of  sum- 
all  the  sounds  which 
m  cold  and  lifeless  in- 


MUSIC. 


729 


The  origin  of  music,  as  of  all  the  arts, 
is  obscure  in  the  mist  of  ages.     In  its 
simplest  form,  indeed,  it  must  have  been 
as  early  as  the  human  voice,  the  tones  and 
cadences  of  which,  as  expressive  of  joy 
or  sorrow,  love  or  fear,  are  all  musical. 
This  natural  expression  of  emotions  by 
sounds,  would  lead  to  a  repetition  of  these 
sounds,  and  hence,  by-and-by,  would  arise 
that  artificial  division  of  lines  which  we 
call  rhythm,  a  love  of  which  is  one  of  the 
most   general    principles    of    the   human 
soul ;  for  it  will  be  found  to  pervade  all 
tribes,  all  ages,  all  classes.     It  alleviates 
labor  and  cheers  the  heart.     Man  becomes 
a  rhythmist  long  before  he  knows  it.   Wit- 
ness  the  regular  strokes  of  the  oar,  the 
smith's  hammer,  the  thrasher's  flail,  and 
the  dances  of  the  rudest  nations.     Music, 
indeed,  and  dancing,  are  at  first  always 
connected,  till,  by-and-by,  the  song  is  sep- 
arated from  the  dance,  and  instruments, 
which  originally  served  only  to  accompany 
the    song,  become  also  the  object  of  a 
separate  art.     Sortie  suppose  that  mu.sic 
began  with  a  desire  to  imitate  the  songs 
of  birds,  the  voices  of   animals,  or  the 
other  ordinary  sounds  of  nature.     Accord- 
ing to  this  theory,  primeval  man,  walking 
in^the  woody  wildernesses  of  the  world's 
young  day,  and  hearing  every  grove,  every 
bush,  every  stream,  and  every  meadow, 
vocal  with  the  low  of  cows,  the  bleat  of 
sheep,  the  hum  of  bees,  the  buzz  of  in- 
sects,  the  song  of   birds,   the  voice  of 
breezes,  the  murmuring  of  streams,  the 
paltering  of  rain-drops,  the  fine  waves  of 
melody  chasing  each  other  over  the  sum- 
mit  of    the    everlasting   woods,   became 
ashamed  of  remaining  silent  amid  such  a 
congregation  of  song,  and  began  to  imi- 
tate, as  he  best  could,  the  melodies  by 
which  he  was  surrounded.     Be  this  as  it 
may,    music    was    at    length    invented. 
Surely  in  an  auspicious  hour— surely  on 
one  of  the  while  days  of  earth's  dark  pil- 
grimage—on  one  of  those    days   which 
seem  to  have  lost  their  way  to  us  from  a 
loftier  logion — when  the  air  is  balmy,  the 
sky  cloudless,  the  sunshine  asleep  as  with 
excss  of  gladness,  a  light  breeze  warb- 
ling over  the  landscape,  and  whispering 
some  happy   and  unutterable   tidings    m 
every  cowslip's  ear— nay,  surely,  rather 
ll  in  thai  goideii  age  of  the  world,  of  which 


the  tradition  only  remains,  when  the  heav- 
ens were  nearer,  the  skies  clnaier,  the 
clouds  more  gorgeous,  the  fal  of  the  earth 
richer,  the  foam  of  the  sea  brighter,  than 
in    our   degenerate    days— when    ir.    our 
groves  were  still  seen  the  shadows  of  an- 
gels, and  on  our  mountains  the  footsteps 
of  God— surely  then,  and  not  later,  was 
music  born.    So  far  as  respects  the  known 
history  of  the  art,  we  must  consider  the 
rise  of  vocal  and  instrumental  music   as 
coeval.     Perhaps  the  first  instrument  in- 
vented was  the  pipe  of  the  shepherd,  who 
had  heard  the  wind  whistle  among  the 
reeds.     It  is  probable  that  while  warriors 
early  began  to  utter  their  war-cry  and  sing 
their  war-song,  that  shepherds  fiist  cultiva- 
ted music  as  an  art.     According  to  scrip- 
ture, Jubal,  the  son  of  Lamech,  played  on 
musical  instruments  even  before  the  del- 
uge.    He  was  the  "  father  of  those  who 
handle  the  harp  and  organ,"  which  proves, 
not  that  those  instruments  bore  much  re- 
semblance to  what  we  now  denominate 
by  the  terms  harp  and  organ,  but  that  mu- 
sical instruments  of  some  sort  were  then 
found  out,  and  the  art  of  music  cultivated. 
We  find  afterward  that,  among  the  He- 
brews, the  character  of  poet  and  singer 
was  united  in  the  same  individual.     One 
of  the  oldest  songs  with  instrumental  ac- 
companiments is  that  which  Miriam,  the 
sister  of  Moses,  sung  after  the  passage  of 
the  Red  sea.     At  the  time  of  David  and 
Solomon,  music  had  reached  its  highest 
perfection  among  the  Hebrews,  and  pwt 
of    their   religious  service    consisted   in 
chanting  solemn  psalms,  with  instrumen- 
tal accompaniments.     In  the  structure  of 
scripture  poetry  itself,  in  a  certain  paral- 
lelism or  repetition  of  the  main  idea  in 
the  d.iTerent  members  of  a  sentence,  there 
was  a  distinct  rhythm  and  a  varied  music. 
In  the  tomb  of  Osymandyas,  near  Thebes, 
musical  instruments  have  been  found  ;  and 
it   has   hence   been   concluded    that   the 
Egyptians    were  acquainted   with  music 
two  thousand  y  ars  before  Christ.     From 
them,  possibly,  the  Hebrews  derived  their 
music.     Many  beautiful  fables  are  told  by 
the    Greeks    concerning  the   origin   and 
history  of  music  in  their  lovely  land.    By 
it,  they  said,  Orpheus  tamed  the  wildest 
beasts   of   the  desert;    and  as  his    lyre 
sounded,  the  lurid  crest  of  the  serpent 


■■*? 


i 


••*v». 


i4:,.<«*„..^ 


W-n-f- 


m 


'it- 


TW^- 


T^^' 


-"■■«ii.i« 


a:*.;..:^ 


730 


MUSIC. 


fell,  tlie  mane  of  the  lion  ceased  to  bristle, 
the  eye  of  the  tiger  ceased  to  glare ; 
which  was  probably  an  allegorical  form 
of  expressing  the  power  of  the  art  in  sof- 
tening the  most  ferocious  of  human  na- 
tures. By  it,  they  said,  Amphion  made 
the  very  stones  of  his  projected  city  arise 
and  form  themselves  into  shapely  and 
stately  buildings ;  and  by  it,  they  said, 
Arion,  cast  into  the  sea,  compelled  a  dol- 
phin to  bear  him  on  his  back  in  safety  to 
the  shore.  These,  of  course,  were  fa- 
bles ;  but  they  were  fables  which  proved 
that  the  power  and  charms  of  music  were, 
even  at  that  early  age,  fully  appreciated. 

From  the  sixth  century  before  Christ, 
music  seems  to  have  been  studied  scien- 
tifically.    The  celebrated  Pythagoras  in- 
vented an  instrument  for  the  mathematical 
determination   of  sounds,  and  added  an 
eighth  chord  to  the  harp.     The  Romans 
were  principally  fond  of  martial  music; 
as  might  have  been  expected  from  their 
warlike  tastes.     Under  the  emperors,  mu- 
sic became  cultivated  as  an  object  of  lux- 
ury.    We  have  all  heard  of  Nero  fiddling 
while  Rome  was  burning  ;  and  when  he 
perished   "by  the   justest   doom,   which 
him,  the  world's  destroyer,  e'er  destroyed," 
five  hundred  musicians  were  dismissed. 
Perhaps,  though  this  would  lessen  the  ro- 
mance of  the  story,  it  was  one  of  ihese 
"whose  hand,  unseen,  strewed    flowers 
upon  his   tomb."     The  early  Christians 
employed  religious  songs  in  their  assem- 
blius ;  and  we  hear  of  our  blessed  Lord 
himself  singing  a  hymn  ere  going  out  to 
the  Mount  of  Olives.     Holy  songs,  espe- 
cially, were  sung  at  the  Lord's  supper, 
and  at  their  love   feasts.     In  the  fourth 
century,  regular  psalms  were  introduced, 
which' were  sung  from  notes,  by  persons 
appointed  for  that  purpose.     The  mode 
of  singing  in  the  primitive  churches  was 
sometimes  in  solo,  scmetimes  alternately, 
and  sometimes  by  a  chorus  of  the  whole 
assembly.     In  the  fourth  century,  precen- 
tors were  appointed  to  lead  the  praises  of 
the  church.     Schools  appropriated  to  sing- 
ing were  instituted   somewhat  later,  and 
only  in  a  few  places.     Choirs  were  grad- 
ually inirorluced  in  Italy,  and  contributed 
greatly  to  the  splendor  at  least,  of  reli- 
gious worship.     Italy,  indeed,  has  alw ..ys 
been  the  laud  of  music.     Luther,  the  first 


reformer,  was  an  enthusiastic  musician  ; 
and  we  owe  to  him  that  fine,  solemn  strain 
called  "  Old  Hundred."  Our  readers  are 
familiar  with  the  names  of  the  great  mu- 
sical composers  of  later  times.  HuyJn, 
Handel,  Bethooven,  and  Mozart,  were 
among  the  principal  of  these.  Handel's 
great  piece,  the  "  Messiah,"  produced, 
when  sung  in  London,  at  the  close  of  ilie 
last  century,  a  prodigious  eflect ;  and  ii 
was  fine  to  see  old  George  the  Third 
standing  \f'p  at  its  celebration,  amid  a 
crowded  assembly  of  his  subjt^cts,  and 
bursting  into  tears.  Robert  Hall  witnes- 
sed this  with  much  emotion,  and  said  it 
seemed  a  national  testimony  to  the  truth 
of  Christianity.  Of  Mozart,  the  great 
German  composer,  singular  stories  are 
told.  His  sensibility  to  the  finest  dider- 
ences  of  tones  was  so  exquisite  as  often 
to  cause  him  much  pain.  The  sound  of 
the  trumpet,  on  one  occasion,  so  ali'ected 
him  that  he  fell  to  the  ground,  pale,  life- 
less, and  convulsed.  He  was  the  most 
absent,  careless,  and  childish  of  men,  till 
seated  at  his  piano,  when  he  seemed  to 
become  inspired. 

We  may  now  specify  some  of  the  pleas- 
ures and  powers  of  music,  We  have  been 
now  shaken  with  laughter  at  some  ludicrous 
ditty,  which  made  us,  for  the  time,  forget 
our  poverty,  and  remember  our  misery  no 
more  ;  and  a^ain  we  have  been  elevated, 
soothed,  softened  into  devotion,  as  some 
psalin-tune  of  more  than  ordinary  sweet- 
ness was  being  sung  amid  the  deepening 
shadows  of  a  sabbath  evening.  We  have 
been  now  transported  by  the  voice  of  one 
beloved  singing  to  us  alono ;  and  now  by 
the  many  mingling  notes  and  harmonies 
of  a  great  concert  of  perforinors.  And 
wc  felt  these  pleasures  to  be  intellectual 
in  their  nature.  They  touched  all  that  was 
high,  and  all  that  was  pure,  and  all  that 
was  spiritual,  and  all  iliat  was  immortal, 
in  our  natures.  Such  pleasures  we  felt 
were  simple  and  cheap  ;  they  were  at 
once  exquisite  and  economical.  Such 
pleasures,  too,  were  pure  and  holy  ;  they 
stung  us  not  as  we  passed  ;  and  \ve  could 
look  their  memory  in  the  face  on  the  next 
day.  Yes,  music  has  in  it  wondrous,  mys- 
terious, we  had  almost  said  divine  pow- 
ers. It  can  not  indeed,  as  was  fabled  of 
old,  subdue  the  minds  of  beasts  by  the 


usiastic  musician  ; 
t  fine,  solemn  strain 
"     Our  readers  are 
s  of  the  great  mu- 
ter times.     Haydn, 
and    Mozart,    were 
»f  tlit'se.      Handel's 
Messiah,"    produced, 
at  tlie  close  of  the 
;ious  effect ;  and   it 
George    the  'J'hird 
elehration,    amid    a 
liis   subjects,  and 
lobort  Hail  witnes- 
luotion,  and  said  it 
stimony  to  the  truth 
Mozart,    the   great 
ingular    stories    are 
to  the  finest  difler- 
I  exquisite  as  often 
lin.     The  sound  of 
icasion,  so  ad'ected 
e  ground,  pale,  life- 
He  was   tlie  most 
childish  of  men,  till 
when  he  seemed  to 

y  some  of  the  pleas- 
isic.  We  have  been 
ter  at  some  ludicrous 

for  tlie  time,  forget 
inber  our  miserv  no 
have  been  elevated, 
•  devotion,  as  some 
ban  ordinary  sweet- 
amid  the  deepening 

evening.      We  have 

by  tlie  voice  of  one 

alone  ;  and  now  by 
loles  and  harmonies 
f  perl'onners.  And 
3S  to  be  intellectual 
{ touched  all  that  was 
IS  pure,  and  all  that 

that  was  innnortal, 
;h  pleasures  we  felt 
leap ;    they  were    at 

economical.  Such 
pure  and  holy  ;  they 
issed  ;  and  \ve  could 

the  face  on  the  next 
;  in  it  wondrous,  mys- 
jsl  said  divine  pow- 
ed,  as  was  fabled  of 
ds  of  beasts  by  the 


MUSIC. 


731 


power  of  its  melody,  nor  make  .stones  to 
move  and  leap  at  its  bidding ;  but  it  can 
work  wonders  far  superior  in  moral  gran- 
deur.    Music  can  soothe  sorrows  which 
nothing  else  can  assuage  ;  it  can  open  foun- 
tains of  tears  which  had  been  fast  locked 
up  in  the  frost  of  misery,  and  thereby  re- 
lieve the  burdened  heart.     How  often  has 
a  tune  dispelled  the  spirit  of  anger !     How 
does  music  bless   and  cheer    the   Wind, 
whose  ears,  in  fulfilment  of  the  fiue  com- 
pensations of  the  universe,  are  the  more 
exquisitely  open  and  alive  in  proportion  as 
their  eyes  are  shut  to  all  the  beauties  of 
the  external  world  !     We  know  that  when 
Milton  lost  his  eyes  in  the  service  of  his 
country,  he  was  wont  to  refresh  himself 
by  music  ;  and  the  great  structure  of  the 
"Paradise    Lost"    rose,  like  the  ancient 
temple,  to  the  sound  of  the  organ.     See 
how  those  sightless  eyeballs  of  his,  which 
had  rolled  in  vain  to  find  the  day,  seem  to 
dilate  and  kindle,  as  the  solemn  instrument 
pours  out  its  soothing  and  inspiring  strains ; 
and  the  old  man,  though  "  fallen  on  evil 
days  and  evil  tongues,  with  darkness  and 
with  dangers  encompassed  round,"  is  hap- 
pier in  his  little  room  than  Clarendon  on 
the  woolsack,  or  Charles  on  the  throne  ! 
How  does  music  awaken  the  spell  of  pa- 
triotic emotion!     See  how  tears  stream 
down  the  rugged  cheeks  of  Caledonia's 
emigrants  leaving  their  native  land,  while 
the  bagpipe  is  playing,  "  We  return,  we  re- 
turn no  more."     All  have  heard  of  the  ef- 
fects produced  on  the  Swiss  soldiery  when 
they  hear,  in  a  strange  country,  the  "  Ranz 
des  Vaches,"  or  cow-song,  which  they  had 
been  wont  to  hear  from  the  milkmaids  of 
their  own   romantic  land.     They  weep, 
they  tremble,  nay,  have  been   known  to 
throw  down  their  arms,  and  refuse  to  fight, 
under  a  sudden  fit  of  home-sickuess.     But 
if  music  has  sometimes  paralyzed,  it  has 
more  frequently  nerved  the  soldier.     Bat- 
tles are  won  and  lost  to  the  sound  of  mu- 
sic ;  and  the  hardy  veteran  feels  uplifted 
by  the  breath  of  music  ab(  ve  the  fear  of 
death  itself.     We   mention   this,  not  in 
sympathy  with  the  foul  art  of  war,  but  from 
sympathy  with  luc  fine  art  of  music  j  for 
music  has  nobler  scenes  of  triumph  than 
the  field  of  blood.     It  has  sooched  the  soul 
of  the  dying  saint,  whose  spirit  has  burst 
its  prison-tenement  in  song — song  to  be 


47 


renewed  straightway  in  sweeter  and  holier 
strains,under  the  altar, or  before  the  throne. 
It  has  made  the  martyr  forgetful  of  his  fi- 
ery pangs ;  and,  singing  at  the  stake,  or 
on  the  scaffold,  his  soul  has  soared  away, 
"  the  nearest  road  to  the  celestial  gate." 
It  is  now   generally  supposed   that   our 
blessed  Lord  chanted  aloud  the  whole  of 
the  twenty-second  psalm  upon  the  cross, 
and  thereby  at  once  proved  that  he  was  the 
victim  whose  agonies  had  been  there  so 
minutely  prefigured    and    described,    and 
soothed  his  spirit  under  its  burden  of  un- 
utterable  anguish.     Or  if  we  would  see 
music  in  still  another  noble  field  of  its  tri- 
umphs, follow  it  to  the  receptacle  for  the 
insane  ;  see  there  the  poor  maniac  lady 
leaning  over  her  piano ;  and  as  her  fingers 
pass  across  the  ivory  keys,  which  she  has 
touched  in  former  and  happier  day.s,  old 
and  soothing  recollections  stream  in  upon 
her  mind-— her  eyes  roll  less  wildly,  gen- 
tle tears  appear  within  them,  nay,  smiles 
begin  to  draw  upon   cheeks  where  they 
had  long  been  absent,  and  where,  but  for 
the  power  of  music,  they  would  have  re- 
appeared no  more.     Music,  indeed,  from 
the  powers  it  exerts,  and  the  pleasures  it 
gives,  of  all  arts  suggests,  perhaps,  most 
the  idea  of  the  Infinite— of  some  higher 
and  holier  state  of  being— and  awakens 
strange  sensations,  which  we  may  recog- 
nise in  some  more  exalted  stage  of  our 
existence. 

Then  there  are  the  intellectual,  moral, 
and  spiriti;al  a-^vantages  of  music.     Mu- 
sic not  only  supplies  pleasures  of  a  high 
order ;  but,  as  a  science— a  science  which, 
if  taugiit  properly,  must  be  taught  in  a 
scientific    method- it  tends  to  open  the 
mind,  to  cultivate  the  intellect,  to  expand 
the   views.     By  connecting   sound  with 
beautiful  words,  it  tends  to  improve  the 
literary  taste,  to  create  a  love  for  poetry, 
and,  in  general,  a  passion  for  all  the  fine 
arts.     Its  pursuits  generate  a  fine  enthu- 
siasm.    A  man  who  throws  his  soul  into 
the  pursuit,  loses  himself  in  a  delightful 
dream  ;  his  mind  rises  above  th^  grovel- 
ling cares  of  earth,  into  a  rarer,  purer, 
more  intellectual  atmosphere,  from  which, 
if  he  must  and  does  descend,  he  descends 
a  wiser  and  a  better  man.     The  moral  ad- 
vantages of  the  science  of  music  are  un- 
deniable.    Whatever  tends  to   enlighten 


a 


732 


MUSIC. 


the  mind,  to  soften  the  heart,  to  supply  a 
constant  source  of  innocent  and  intellec- 
tual enjoyment,  to  withdraw  the  soul  from 
the  gross  gratifications  of  the  senses,  must 
tend  to  improve  the  morals.  It  will  gen- 
erally be  found,  that  those  who  possess  a 
taste  for  music  are  milder,  and,  on  the 
whole,  better  men  than  those  who  have 
none  ;  and  those  artisans  will  not  be  found 
the  worst  of  the  class,  who  spend  their 
evenings  in  the  midst  of  their  owri  fami- 
lies, practising,  now  and  then,  on  some 
musical  instrument,  or  tuning  their  own 
voices  to  secular  or  to  sacred  song. 

We  have  already  traced  the  connexion 
which  has  subsisted  from  very  early  times 
between  religion  and  music.     Scarce  had 
music  sung  her  first  song,  or  uttered  her 
first  lisping  accents,  than  that  song  arose, 
as  by  a  fine  instinct,  to  heaven,  and  those 
accents  began  to  speak  in  wonder  and 
praise  of  the  great  Creator  ot    all ;  and 
music  has  since,  of  all  sjcondary  causes 
of  the  crfntinuance  of  religion  in  the  midst 
of  a  hostile  world,  been  one  of  the  prin- 
cifjal.     It  has  promoted  private,  family, 
and    congregational     piety.      A    private 
Christian  versed  in  music  cijn  fan   the 
flame  of  his  devotion  by  singing,  even  in 
the  solitary  chamber  ;  or,  as  the  pilgrims 
of  old  were  wont  to  lighten  their  long  and 
lonely  way,   by  spiritual   songs.      Thus 
Henry  Martyn,  as  he  cross'jd  the  great 
deep,  on  his  way  to  receive  the  mission- 
ary's crown — and  seldom  has  there  been 
a  nobler  aspirant  to  the  honor — when  a 
dark  shadow,  from  the  very  greatness  of 
the  enterprise,  fell   somelivnes  upor.  his 
spirit,  was    wont   to    8ol;';;e   himself,   to 
strengthen  his  faith,  to  ren  w  his  flagging 
hope,  by  singing  all  alone  in  his  berth,  or 
on  the  evening  deck,  as  the  sun  was  set- 
ting in  the  direction  of  his  beloved  native 
land,  which  he  was  leaii?)^  for  ever,  such 
hymns  as  that  beginn-i.      vith  the  words, 
"  O'er  the  gloomy  hi'is  oi  darkness  ;"  and 
his  fine  spirit  became  ituelf  again.     How 
advantageous  music  is  to  family  devotion, 
we  need  not  prove ;  nor  need  we  dwell 
on  the  sweet  solemnity  of  family  worship, 
except  to  notice  how  large  a  share  of  the 
beauty  of  the  service  arises  from  its  mu- 
sical part.    Without  the  "  voice  of  psalms, 
the  simple   lung  of   praise,"  it  must  be 
confessed  that  this  religious  duty  is  com- 


paratively cold  and  uninviting.  Let  the 
fathers  and  mothers  of  families  attend, 
therefore,  more  to  the  cultivation  of  mu- 
sic, as  they  would  have  sweeter  services, 
and  happier  circles  around  their  hearths, 
and  offer  up  a  more  acceptable  morning 
and  evening  sacrifice  to  the  God  of  the 
families  of  all  the  earth!  How  con- 
ducive, too,  is  music  to  congregational 
piety  !  What  a  delightful  thing  is  a  well- 
sung  church  !  How  it  "  beets  the  heav- 
enward flame" — to  use  the  words  of  "  The 
Cottar's  Saturday  Night !"  Hov/  fine  to 
hear  a  noble  psalm  or  paraphrase  set  to  a 
suitable  tune,  and  under  the  voice  of  a 
commanding  leader,  a  thousand  voices 
sending  up,  like  a  "  steam  of  rich,  distilled 
perfumes,"  their  worship  to  the  Most 
High ! 

The  art  which  we  thus  panegyrize  is 
not,  we  have  seen,  of  yesterday,  neither 
shall  to-morrow  see  its  end  ;  for  it  is  an 
eternal  art:  it  is  destined  to  survive  the 
sun  and  the  stars.  To  music  shall  the 
present  system  dissolve,  for  "  the  trumpet 
shall  sound." 

"  The  trumpet,  men,  intoxicate  with  pride, 
Arm  at  its  blast  for  cartlily  wars  : 
To  arch-angelic  lips  applied, 
The  grave  shall  open,  qujnch  the  stars." 

Yes ;  the  grave  shall  to  music  open  its 
jaws  ;  the  books  of  judgment  shall  to  mu- 
sic expand  their  oracular  pages  ;  the  new 
heavens  and  the  new  earth  shall  descend 
amid  shoutings — "  Grace,  grace  unto 
them !"  again  shall  the  morning  stars  sing 
together ;  the  "  ransomed  of  the  Lord 
shall  return  and  come  to  Sion  with  songs  ;" 
and  throughout  eternity  shall  the  blessed 
inhabitants,  standing  on  the  sea  of  glass, 
or  sitting  before  the  throne,  amid  the  val- 
leys of  the  heavenly  Canaan,  or  on  the 
summits  of  the  everlasting  hills,  sing  the 
song  of  Moses  and  of  the  Lamb  ! 


Imprudence. — Those  who,  in  conse- 
quence of  superior  capacities  and  attain- 
ments, disregard  the  common  maxims  of 
liio,  ought  to  be  reminded  that  nothing 
will  supply  the  want  of  prudence,  and 
that  negligence  and  irregularity,  long  con- 
tinued, will  make  knowledge  useless,  wit 
ridiculous,  and  genius  contemptible. 


COLONIZATION  OP  GRKICNLAND. 


733 


ninvitiiig.  Let  the 
of  families  attend 
3  cultivation  of  mu- 
le  sweeter  services, 
■ound  their  hearths, 
acceptable  morning 
I  to  the  God  of  the 

earth !  How  con- 
c  to  congregational 
htful  thing  is  a  well- 
it  "  beets  the  heav- 
B  the  words  of  "  The 
jht !"  How  fine  to 
■  paraphrase  set  to  a 
ider  the   voice  of  a 

a  thousand  voices 
earn  of  rich,  distilled 
rship   to    the    Most 

thus  panegyrize  is 
f  yesterday,  neither 
its  end  ;  for  it  is  an 
itined  to  survive  the 
To  music  shall  (he 
ve,  for  "  the  trumpet 

intoxicate  with  pride, 
or  earliily  wars  : 
I  applied, 
pen,  qtjnch  the  stars." 

1  to  music  open  its 
jdgment  shall  to  mu- 
ular pages;  the  new 

earth  shall  descend 
Grace,  grace  unto 
e  morning  stars  sing 
lomed  of  the  Lord 
to  Sion  with  songs  ;" 
ity  shall  the  blessed 

on  the  sea  of  glass, 
throne,  amid  the  val- 
•  Canaan,  or  on  the 
isting  hills,  sing  the 
f  the  Lanab  ! 


lose  who,  in  conse- 
apacities  and  attain- 
common  maxims  of 
minded  that  nothing 
It  of  prudence,  and 
rregularity,  long  con- 
awledge  useless,  wit 
s  contemptible. 


COLONIZATION   OF  GREENLAND. 

EAR  the  end  of  the 
tc nth ceiitury,  an  Ice- 
landic or  Norwegian 
rctvur,  named  Gunii- 
bfiini,  discovered  the 
westt^rn     coast     of 
Crceuland,     having 
been  driven   toward 
it  by  a  storm.  Wheth- 
er the  scanty  vegetation  really  appeared 
to  him  delightful,  after  the  hardships  he 
had  incurred,  or  he  wished  to  tempt  his 
countrymen  to  visit  it,  is  uncertain  ;  but 
the    inappropriate    name    of    Grueitlaui 
came  into  use,  and  still  continues  the  des- 
ignation  of  a   country  described  as  "  one 
immense  glacier."     Eirik  the  Red,  hav- 
ing, as  it  is  stated,  coniinittcd  a  murder  in 
Iceland,  sailed  for  Greenland  ;  and  hav- 
ing spent  some  time  on  its  inhospitable 
shores,  returned  with  flattering  accounts 
of  its  green  and  fertile  valleys,  and,  by 
offering   to    conduct   a   colony   to    settle 
among  them,    procured    his    pardon.     A 
number  of  vessels  set  sail,  under  his  com- 
mand and  direction ;  but  encountering  a 
storm,  several  were  cast  away,  or  driven 
back  to  Iceland,  and  only  about  one  half 
reached  their  place  of  destination.    Those, 
however,  who  did  arrive,  set  to  work  in 
earnest,  and  the  foundation  of  a  colony 
was  laid,   which  flourished  for  three  or 
four  hundred  years.     "  As  the  distance," 
says  Dr.  Henderson,  speaking  on  the  sup- 
position   that  the   Icelandic    colony  had 
been  planted  on  the  eastern   shores   of 
Greenland,  "  between  the  two  countries 
was  little  more  than  two  hundred  miles,  a 
regular  intercourse   was  established   be- 
tween them  ;  and  the  number  of  settlers 
increased  so  rapidly,  that  soon  after  the 
introduction    of    the    Christian    religion, 
about  the  year  1000,  a  number  of  churches 
were    built  along  the   ^ast   coast,  and  a 
bishop  was  appointed  to  superintend  the 
ecclesiastical  affairs  (./  thr  colony.     He 
was    a   suffragan  io   ihc    archbishop   of 
Drontheim,  in  Norway.     For  the  space  of 
more  than  three  huncir;-.!  and  fifty  years, 
a  regular  intercoun: ';  was  carried  on  be- 
tv,  een  the  colony  ana  Denmark  or  Norway. 
In  the  y^ar   1406,  the  last  bishop  was 


sent  over  to  Greenland.  Since  then,  tlio 
colony  has  not  been  heard  of.  Its  loss 
has  been  attributed  to  the  wars  which 
took  place  at  that  time  bolwcHni  the  Danes 
and  Swedes,  which  prevented  the  trading 
vessels  from  putting  to  sea,  and  to  the  ac- 
cumulation of  vast  shoals  of  ice  around 
the  coast,  by  which  they  have  been  ren- 
dered totally  inaccessible." 

At  the  last  accounts  of  this  colony,  it 
was  stated  to  be  composed  of  nearly  200 
villages.     The  question  then  arose — did 
the   colony  still    exist,    though    shut    out 
from  all  intercourse  with  the  rest  of  the 
world  ?     "  A  current,  which  issues  from 
under  the  great  masses   of  ice  enclosing 
the  pole,  runs  southward  along  the  east- 
ern coast  of   Greenland,   carrying  down 
an  immense  body  of  heavy  drift  ice.    'i'liis 
ice  sometimes  occupies  tbe  whole  extent 
of  ocean  between  Greenland  and  Iceland, 
and  often  forms  a  belt  round  Cape  Fare- 
well, reaching  from  120  to  160  miles  out 
to    sea."     Had,   then,    t';is    impenetrable 
barrier  been  formed  since  the  Icelandic 
colony  was  planted  in  Greenland  ?    Were 
villages  and  churches,  Christianity,  and  a 
civilized  people,  still  to  be  found,  though 
shut  up  in  a  world  of  their  own,  by  "  eter- 
nal" ice  1.     Some  ventured  to  affirm  that 
the  colony  had  been  planted  on  the  west- 
ern side  uf  Greenland,  and  that  its  disap- 
pearance must  have  been  caused  by  a  pi- 
ratical expedition,  or  by  a  contagious  dis- 
ease, or  perhaps  by  both  combined.     But 
others  as  warmly  contended  for  the  east- 
ern site ;  and  there  was  romance  enough 
in  the  idea  to  excite  controversy.     Dr. 
Henderson,  resting  his  judgment  on  the 
opinion  of  Egede,  a  Norwegian  clergy- 
man, inclined  to  the  opinion  which  sup- 
posed the  eastern  coast  to  be  the  site  of 
the    colony.     He  expressed   an    anxious 
and  natural  wish  for  its  rediscovery,  and 
for  "  an  account  of  the   state  of  religion 
and  science  among  them,  aftev  they  have 
been  shut  for  so  long  a  period  from  all  in- 
tercourse with  the  rest  of  the  world.    That 
the  descendants  of  the  ancient  colonists 
may  still  exist,  although  cut  off  from  any 
supplies  from  Denmark,  is  rendered  prob- 
able by  the  circumstance,  that  in  Egcde's 
time  the  barrier  of  ice,  as  far  as  he  ex- 
plored it,  did 'not  connect  with  the  shore, 
but  left  a  space  of  open  water,  in  which 


i 
I 


m 


wk 


mi 

ai 


iiimBKaiM!!a!i!M""a'ifc«ti 


'"•"'Wfciimi 


Interior  of  an  Eaqaimaux  Uoaso  at  Frederiksliaab.  on  the  wjwrtern  coast  of  QroentanA 


"~-.^'''*'^-- 


last  of  Greenland. 


UTILITY  OF  BIRDS. 


135 


the  inliabitaKts   miglu  catch  a  sufficient 
quantity  of  fish  for  their  support." 

Tiie  question  sesms  now  to  have  been 
set  nt  rest  by  the  exertions  of  an  enter- 
prising   Danish   officer,    Captain   Graah, 
Ho  contrived,  in  1829,  to  make  his  way 
from  the  western  to  the  eastern  coast  of 
Greenland.     There  were  no  ruins  to  be 
found,  which  might  indicate  that  a  civil- 
ized people  once  dwelt  there  ;  and,  in  his 
opinion,  the  low  tract  of  country  along  the 
coast  was  far  too  limited  for  the  existence 
of  such  a  colony,  containing  so  many  vil- 
lages.    It   seems    unreasonable,  too,    to 
suppose  that  the    access  to  the  eastern 
coast  should  have  been  so  widely  differ- 
ent, a  few  hundred  years  ago,  from  what 
if  is  now.     We  must  therefore  come  to  the 
conclusion,  that  the  ancient  Icelandic  col- 
ony was   planted    on   the  western    side, 
along  the  shores  of  Davis's  strait,  where 
ancient  ruins,  especially  of  churches,  oc- 
cur, apparently  putting  the  conclusion  be- 
yond a  doubt.     The  cause  of  the  extinc- 
tion of  the  colony  must  be  left  to  conjec- 
ture, though  various  causes   might  very 
readily  occur  to  any  one  who  considers 
the  situation  of  the  colonists  at  a   time 
when  intercourse  was  far  fiom  being  reg- 
ularly established. 

The  modern  oj.^nization  of  the  west- 
ern coast  of  Gretona  ''  s  owing  to  the 
exertions  of  the  No.v  gian  clergyman, 
who  thought  that  the  site  of  the  anr  nt 
colony  was  on  the  eastern  coast.  Kans 
Egede,  who  had  long  meditated  tiio  at- 
tempt, at  last  being  aided  by  subscr'niicrxs, 
and  receiving  the  (sanction  of  the  au  isoi 
iiies,  planted  a  missionary  settlement  ;r 
the  year  1721  on  the  western  coast,  nea 
64°  north  latitude.  This  he  named  Gol- 
thaab— Good  Hope.  He  struggled  with 
many  difficulties  foi  about  ten  years,  when 
he  was  joined  by  the  Moravians  in  1733. 
After  the  missionaries  had  established 
themselve.s,  the  Danes  began  to  frequent 
the  coast,  and  gradually  a  number  of  set- 
tlements were  formed,  which  rank  now  as 
colonies  of  Denmark.  The  Danes  pro- 
cure, as  articles  of  commerce,  seal-skirs, 
fur,  eider-down,  train  oil,  whalebone,  and 
fish. 

The  natives  of  Greenland  are  the  Es- 
quimaux, a  V.  idely-spread  national  family, 
with  whose  characteristics  we  have  be- 


come familiar,  from  the  many  expeditions 
that  have  been   made  in  recent  years  to 
the  northern  parts  of  America.     They  are 
found  in   Labrador,  and  spread  over  the 
American  coasts  of  the  Arctic  ocean,  in 
Greenland,  and  on  the  islands  between 
America  and  the  pole,  as  far  as  they  are 
inhabitable.     The  inhabitants  are,  gener- 
ally speaking,  of  a  ripe  olive  color  (some 
also  black),  of  a  mean  stature,  with  black 
hair,  flat  noses,  and  thick  lips.     They  are 
nimble  and  strong,  rather  desperate  than 
courageous,  thievish,  treacherous,  and  re- 
vengeful ;  for  they  would  steal  before  the 
mariners'  faces,  and  kill  them  after  they 
had  been  well  entertained  by  them,  but 
are  very  affectionate  to  one  another  and 
their  country.     In  the  winter  they  come 
from  the  seashore  to  the  valleys,  where 
they  have  their  little  villages,  consisting 
of  caves,  round  like  an  oven,  made  close 
to  one  another  at  the  foot  of  a  mountain  ; 
their  doors  are  to  the   south,  and    they 
draw  off  the  water  that  falls  from  the  hills 
by  trenches.     Before  the  doors  they  have 
a  kind  of  porch,  neatly  made  of  the  ribs 
of  whales,  and  covered  with  sealskins. 
One  part  of  the  floor  is  higher  than  the 
rest ;  this  they  strew  with  moss  to  sleep 
upon.     In  the  summer  or  fishing   time, 
they  live  in  tents  covered  with  skins. 

Our  engraving  represents  the  interior 
of  an  Esquimaux  "cave"  at  Frederick- 
shaab,  one  of  the  Danish  settlements  on 
the  western  coast  of  Greenland.  It  rep- 
tcic-nt-.,  therefore,  the  interior  '.■.■onomy  of 
or.e  of  those  Esquimaux  families  who 
nave  c<'me  under  the  civilizing  influences 
..->d  in'-i'.ructioa  of  the  missionaries. 


a  tit  alirc. 


UTILITY  OF  BIRDS. 

OME  people  contend 
that  these  creatures  are 
incarnatians  of  mis- 
chief, while  others  as- 
sert that  they  are  the 
winged  instrumens  of 
prosperity.  S.  declares 
that  he  would  not  have 
a  gooseberry  if  he  left 
T.  as  stoutly  asserts  that  nei- 


IMW 


i 


m 


|Big|(J^Jbiyj,,lj-jJ;i»'.«?Wl.l' 


m 
«#^- 

*■ 


"■"^^yi'- 


736 


WIESBADEN. 


iher  gooseberries  nor  anything  else  will 
be  left  if  the  lils  are  destroyed.  We  have 
thought  it  advisable  to  give  this  discussion 
full  scope,  because  it  may  be  truly  regarded 
as  or.e  of  the  more  important  of  the  ques- 
tions incidentally  connected  with  garden- 
ing, and  moreover,  one  concerning  which 
there  is  the  most  marvellous  ignorance. 
Thousands  imagine  that  birds  hvo  on 
nothing  but  corn  and  fruit,  and  are  there- 
fore supported  at  the  personal  expense  of 
those  who  grow  corn  and  fruit,  without 
making  any  sort  of  retujn.  "  What,"  say 
they,  "  is  the  use  of  such  things  ?  We 
can't  eat  them  ;  and  there  is  no  good  iri 
feeding  a  swarm  of  useless  plunderers." 
And  therefore,  because  of  this  wise  con- 
ciusiiin,  the  order  is  given  to  shoot,  trap, 
and  poison,  without  mercy.  Let  us  hope, 
however,  that  the  arguments  in  favor  oi 
birds  will  remove  this  error,  and  that  the 
question  between  man  and  birds  will  have 
reduced  itself  to  whether  the  balance  of 
good  is  in  favor  of  the  latter  or  against 
them. 

It  would  be  idle   to  assert  that  birds 
consume  nothing  which,  but  for  them,  we 
might  consume  ourselves.     They  feed  in 
part  at  our  expense.     They  destroy  the 
insects  that  infest  our  gardens,  when  they 
can  find  any  ;  and  when  the  insects  are 
gone,  they  search  for  other  food.     The 
first  is  their  labor,  the  second  their  wages. 
And  is  not  the  workman  worthy  of  his 
hire  1     The  man  who  grudges  a  bird  a 
little  seed  or  fruit,  might  as  well  begrudge 
his  weekly  pay  lo  the  laborer.     There  is 
no  doubt  that  a  garden  would  be  less  ex- 
pensive if  all  the  work  in  it  were  done 
for  nothing.     If  a  master  would  pocket 
his  servant's  wages,  he  would  have  more 
to  spend  upon  himself.     But  this  sort  of 
arrangement  is  not  exactly  consistent  with 
the  design  of  Providence  ;  and  we   are 
sure  that  it  would  not  meet  wilh  the  ap- 
pr(Jaatioii  of  either  S.  or  T.     We  repeat 
it,  then,   let  us  look  at  birds  as  skilful 
workmen,  and  the  fruit  or  seed  which  they 
eat  as  the  coin  in  which  they  are  paid 
their  wages.     Not  that  birds  are  an  un- 
mixed good.     Is  man  himself?     Is  any- 
thing ?     There  are  situations,  doubtless, 
where  birds   are    an   absolute   nuisance. 
Imagine,  for  instance,  a  garden  surrounded 
by  a  wood  which  swarms  with  blackbirds. 


Does  any  one  suppose  it  possible  to  gather 
a  ripe  cherry  in  such  a  place?  If  he 
does,  he  is  greatly  mistaken.  He  would 
find  the  blackbird  a  much  more  dexterous 
gatherer  than  himself,  and  t)ne  who  would 
relievo  him  from  all  trouble  with  his 
cherry  crop.  In  such  a  case  the  birds 
must  be  trapped,  or  the  crop  abandoned. 
There  would  be  no  alternative. 

But  such  instances  are  special,  and 
form  the  exception,  not  the  rule.  Every 
day's  experience  tells  us  that  birds  are 
among  the  most  efficient  instruments  of 
Providence  for  destroying  the  vermin  that 
would  otherwise  overrun  us.  And  people 
may  rely  upon  it,  that  they  can  not  more 
effectually  encourage  the  ravages  of  those 
insidious  foes,  than  by  waging  war  upon 
the  creatures  which  naturally  feed  upon 
thorn. 


WIESBADEN. 


lESBADEN,      or 
Wisbaden,  is  one  of 
the  most  frequented 
watering   places  in 
the    inland    part  of 
Germany.  The  cen- 
tral part  of  the  build- 
ing is  the  ball-room. 
The  left  wing  is  en- 
tirely  occupied    by   gambling-tables,   of 
which  that  appropriated  to  roulette  is  the 
favorite ;  and  so  great  are  the  profits  de- 
rived, that  the  lessees  pay  30,000  florins 
annually  to  the  Duke  of  Nassau,  for  the 
privilege  of  keeping  the  bank.     The  right 
wing  is  a  sort  of  cafe,  or  dining-room,  in 
which  all  kinds  of  refreshments  are  to  be 
obtainea;  and  it  is  never  used   for  any 
other  purpose.     Although  the  exterior  of 
the  building  is  exceedingly  plain  and  sim- 
ple, the  interiors  of  the  wings   are   neat 
and  convenient,  and  the  ball-room  is  hand- 
some, and  even  splendid.     The  floor  is 
inlaid  with  various  woods  ;  a  row  of  mar- 
ble columns,  of  the  Corinthian  order,  runs 
up  each  side  of  the  room,  and  supports  a 
light  and  spacious  gallery  ;  a  considerable 
number  of  marble  busts  and  statues  are 
ranged   beneath   this  double   colonnade; 
the   roof  is  vaulted,   and   though  rather 


'i 
1 
■5 

I 

I 


it  possible  to  gtitticr 
h  !i  place  ?  If  \\v 
stiikcn.  He  woulil 
iich  more  (lexif^rous 
and  one  who  would 
troiil)le  witli  his 
\i  a  case  the  hinls 
le  crop  abandoned, 
lernaiivo. 

s  are  special,  and 
II  the  rule.  Every 
i  us  that  birds  are 
ient  instruments  of 
nng  the  vermin  that 
un  us.  And  people 
they  can  not  more 
die  ravages  of  those 
y  waging  war  upon 
naturally  feed  upon 


LDEN. 


lESBADEN,      or 
Wisbaden.isone  of 
the  most  frequented 
watering   places  in 
the    inland    part  of 
Germany.  The  cen- 
tral part  of  the  build- 
ing is  the  ball-room. 
The  left  wing  is  en- 
gambling-tables,   of 
ed  to  roulette  is  the 
t  are  the  profits  de- 
i  pay  30,000  florins 
■  of  Nassau,  for  the 
he  bank.     The  right 
>,  or  dining-room,  in 
Creshments  are  to  be 
never  used  for  any 
lOugh  the  exterior  of 
Jingly  plain  and  sim- 
the  wings  are   neat 
he  ball-room  is  hand- 
iiidio.      rhe  floor  is 
oods  ;  a  row  of  mar- 
/orinlhian  order,  runs 
room,  and  supports  a 
illery  ;  a  considerable 
usts  and  statues  are 
)  double   colonnade ; 
,  and   though  rather 


■<■. 


i 


• 


^ 


^ 


738 


CUMMEIICB. 


sombre  m  color,  is  tastefully  decoraitirl, 
and  tlio  whole  npurtment  is  of  iiirgo  di- 
meiihiDim. 

Thfse  three  rooms,  ml  iho  park  which 
is  aitaciiod  to  them,  serve  as  tho  usun! 
phi'  e  of  assembly  for  the  numerous  visit- 
ers during  the  season  ;  and  vviuui  it  is  rec- 
ollected that  many  llu)U8aiids  annually 
congregate  from  all  parts  of  Europe  to 
this  little  town,  it  will  be  evident  that  some 
such  point  of  reunion  is  recjiiirod.  The 
famous  boiling  springs  of  mineral  water, 
and  the  baths  which  they  supply,  are  in 
the  town  itself,  at  some  little  distance  from 
the  public  rooms  ;  but  as  not  more  tli  ui 
one  person  in  fifty  corner  to  Wiesbaden 
for  any  other  purposes  than  those  of 
amusement  or  intrigue,  that  circumstance 
is  of  but  little  consequence.  It  is,  besides, 
ttie  iashion  for  those  invalids  who  bathe 
or  drink  the  waters,  to  visit  the  spring 
very  early  in  the  morning,  seldom  later 
than  half-past  seven  or  eight;  for  the  Ger- 
mans keep  much  earlier  hours  than  they  do 
in  England,  and  all  strangers  are  obliged 
in  some  measure  to  conform  to  their  hab- 
its ;  so  that  the  means  to  be  taken  fur  the 
restoration  of  their  h'^alth  do  not  interfere 
with  the  amusements  of  the  day. 

Wiesbaden  is  *  'il  of  large  and  hand- 
some hotels,  tP  ».  i.iv  every  one  of  which 
is  attached  r  .;  i/'Ao/c,  or  ordinary, 
where  sir;.:;;  .'  in-;  for  it  Wiesbaden 
it  is  not  the  c  !>:•/■.,  io  take  dinner  in  pri- 
vate. 

Wiesbaden  is  situated  in  a  hollow,  sur- 
rounded on  all  sides  by  distant  hills,  and 
in  that  respect  bears  a  great  resemblance 
to  Cheltenham,  England.  Though  not 
very  far  distant  from  the  Rhine,  the  rising 
ground  between  the  town  and  the  river  is 
sufficient  in  height  and  extent  to  protect  it 
from  the  damps  which  rise  from  that 
mighty  stream  in  the  evenings  of  summer 
and  autumn ;  and  its  low  position,  to- 
gether with  the  constant  though  inconsid- 
erable quantity  of  heat  which  is  given  out 
by  the  boiling  springs,  tend  in  some  de- 
gree to  soften  the  severity  of  a  German 
winter. 

Wiesbaden,  from  its  late  increase  in 
population  and  in  buildings,  and  from  the 
sum  of  money  annually  spent  there  by  its 
crowds  of  idle  visiters,  has  now  become 
the  most  important  town  in  the  principality 


of  Nassau.  Tho  residence  of  the  reign- 
ing dukt  (Ifrrxof()  is  at  Hilierirh,  a  small 
village  ufi  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Flhine ; 
and  the  sovereign  is  dso  the  proprietor 
of  a  gre:  t  part  of  I  s  O"  n  dominions. 
This  little  r<  aim  is  at^  ut  fn  fight  miles 
in  length  and  twenty-eight  si  brnu  !ih ; 
and  though  it  is,  for  the  most  part,  wooMy 
and  mountainous,  yet  it  is  not  without  fi^  e 
arable  and  meadow  land.  The  duke  Je* 
rives  great  revenues  from  ili»  numerous 
favorite  watering-places  which  n  e  scat- 
tered about  his  principality  :  thi  sale  of 
the  famous  Seltcrs  waters  alone  produces 
great  profit.  Beside  his  j;  ilace  at  Bibe- 
rich,  he  has  a  handsome  &ud  con  enient 
hunting-palace  called  the  Platz,  which  is 
situated  on  the  summit  of  a  wooded  hill 
about  three  miles  out  of  Wiesbaden. 
From  the  top  of  tiio  house  there  is  a  very 
fine  and  extensive  view,  t()mm<t  ling  a 
long  reach  of  the  Rhino  ;  and  inr  towns 
of  Muyence,  Biberich,  Darmsta  .i,  \S 
baden,  and  Frankfort,  are  included  wm 
its  horizon. 


COMMERCE. 

In  the  extended  sense  of  the  term,  com- 
merce includes  within  its  range  the  whole 
tiade  and  intercourse  of  nations  with  each 
other,  and  e.\plains  how  the  mutual  wants 
of  mankind  occasion  the  exchange  of  the 
productions  of  one  country  for  those  of 
another,  its  influence  on  the  character  of 
nations,  and  to  what  extent  it  has  aided  in 
the  refinement  of  a  people  by  the  intro- 
duction of  the  arts  of  civilized  life.  The 
history  of  commerce  in  all  its  ramifications 
is  important  to  every  man  who  desires  to 
become  an  intelligent  and  accomplished 
merchant. 

In  view  of  its  great  importance,  the  reg- 
ulations of  commerce  constitute  prominent 
articles  in  all  treit^ies  between  nations, 
whether  professedfy  commercial  or  other- 
wise, and  they  are  also  among  the  princi- 
pal subjects  of  legislation  in  all  civilized 
states  and  kingdoms.  Commerce  is  one 
of  the  great  sources  of  public  revenue,  and 
one  of  the  chief  causes  of  the  wealth  of 
nations   and  of   individuals.     The   mer- 


[leiK'o  of  tho  reign- 
It  Hilwrif  h,  a  sinfill 
laiik  of  the  Rhine; 
also  the  pruprictor 
3  0  I  rldinitnons. 
lit  r  Mght  miles 

-oiglii  ii  lirt'.iUh; 
e  most  jiart,  wooiiy 
:  is  nui  without  fii  « 
m\.  The  duke  Je- 
froin  tin-  numerous 
ss  whicli  ii  "  scat- 
palitv  :  tb  sale  of 
lers  uione  product  i 
lis  )  lace  at  Bihe- 
mo  ;t  '  (  '11  enient 
the  I'  <.,  which  is 
it  of  a  wooded  hill 
ul  of  Wiesbaden, 
use  'here  is  a  very 
!W,  Litinnia  iing  a 
ne  ;  and  the  towns 
Darmstiuii,  VVi.  - 
ire  included  wit) 


se  of  the  term,  corn- 
its  range  the  whole 
f  nations  with  each 
tv  the  mutual  wants 
tie  exchange  of  the 
tuntry  for  those  of 
on  the  character  of 
ctunt  it  has  aided  in 
eople  by  the  intro- 
;ivilized  life.  Tiie 
ail  its  ramifications 
lan  who  desires  to 
and   accomplished 

mportance,  the  reg- 
oiistitute  prominent 
I  between  nations, 
»mmercial  or  other- 
>  among  the  princi- 
Lion  in  all  civilized 
Commerce  is  one 
public  revenue,  and 
s  of  the  wealth  of 
iduals.     The   mer- 


UAY— FIHEBIDR  MUSINOa. 


U. 


chants  of  anci'  uf  Tyre  and  Sidon,  two  fa- 
mous cities  of  iiicia,  1  m  their  wealth 
acii'iirod  in  tlu  pursuits  ^  commerce, 
Win  liilletl  '•irrchant  pni.  ^,"  and  the 
Florentine  in  of  Medifi,  acquired  as 
highdisiinciioii  ar  their  u'  rcantilo  enter- 
prise as  till  ir  politiialeminence,  and  while 
exeriisiiif,'  the  highest  offices  of  the  repub- 
lic, they  (ill  not  th  k  it  beneath  them  to 
att'  ad  to  the  affairs  of  the  counting-room. 
There  is  no  condition  of  life  more  honor- 
able llian  that  of  the  intelligent,  honest, 
indi  )us,  and  enterprising  merchant; 
no  o.  cuj):ition  in  which  a  man  can  make 
himself  more  useful. 

Conunerce  is  so  intimately  connected 
with  agriculture,  manufactures,  and  the  me- 
chanic arts,  that  they  may  be  said  to  move 
hand  in  hiuul.  Without  proper  attention 
I  'he  pursuits  of  agriculture,  commerce 
woui  be  extremely  limited  in  its  opera- 
tions ,  and  without  commerce,  agriculture 
would  lose  its  chief  support.  Without 
comrner  m  inufactures  would  languish  ; 
with  it,  iiid  their  way  into  every  cor- 

ner of  K  jwn  world.  Freighted  with 
the  productions  of  our  prolific  soil,  and  of 
our  manufactories,  the  sails  of  American 
vessels  whiten  every  sea,  and  are  spread 
to  every  breeze. 


MAY. 

N  the  first  day  of 
this  month,  the  Ro- 
mans held  a  feast 
in  honor  of  Maia, 
the  mother  of  Mer- 
cury ;  and  by  some 
it  is  supposed  t'.^t 
this  was  the  '  igin 
of  the  name  May.  By  the  Saxoi  a  was 
called  Tri-mtlki;  the  pasturage  in  this 
month  being  so  abundant  as  to  enable  them 
to  niiik  their  cows  tri,  or  three  times  in 
the  day. 

May  has  ever  been  the  favorite  month 
of  the  year  in  poetical  description ;  but 
the  praises  so  lavishly  bestowed  upon  it, 
took  their  rise  from  climates  more  sotith- 
ern  than  ours.  In  such,  it  really  unites 
all  the  soft  beauties  of  spring  with  the  ra- 


diance of  sum  md  has  warmth  enough 

to  cheer  11.      n  ite,  witlmiit  overpow- 

ering.    Wi  (jcially  since  we  have 

reckoned  by  lew  style,  great  part  of 

the  month  is  loo  chill  for  a  perfect  en- 
joyment of  the  clianns  of  natun;  ;  and  fre- 
quent injury  is  done  to  the  flowers  and 
young  fruits  during  its  course,  by  blights 
and  blasting  winds.  May-day,  though 
still  observfd  as  a  rural  festival,  has  ofif  ii 
little  pleasure  to  bestow  but  that  arising 
from  ll  <•  name.  In  a  very  elegant  poem, 
<  .tied  "  The  Tears  of  Old  Mayday,"  this 
newer  rn      is  thus  d«8cribed  : — 

Nor  V  '!  '  Nature'!  baiihfut  faco 

Aij  (  her  rude  emljraceii  fear  J 

U  bI)  April's  wayward  race, 

Tl  ghujr  of  the  unripened  year  7 

,H  and  lunahino  In  her  ficlil«  oyoa  j 
iw  Hiiiilca.  procIai^lin^(  iroaclieroua  peace ; 
K  hmlioring  in  their  tliiii  diaguiae, 
!  that  riotH  on  thu  ■pnij|;'8  iiicroanu. 

The  month,  however,  on  the  whole,  is  even 
in  this  country  sufficiently  profuse  of  beau- 
ties. The  earth  is  covered  with  the  fresh- 
est green  of  the  grass  and  young  corn,  and 
adorned  with  numerous  flowers  opening 
on  every  side.  The  trees  put  on  all  their 
verdure  ;  the  laburnum  horse-chestnut,  and 
the  alder,  blossom  in  this  month.  The 
hedges  are  rich  in  fragrance  from  tlie 
snowy  flowers  of  the  hawthorn  ;  and  the 
orchards  display  their  highest  beauty  in 
the  delicate  blush  of  the  apple-blossoms. 
All  this  scene  of  beauty  and  fertility  is 
however  sometimes  dreadfully  ravaged 
by  the  blights  which  peculiarly  occur  in 
this  month.  The  mischief  seems  to  be 
done  chiefly  by  innumerable  swarms  of 
very  small  insects,  which  are  brought  by 
the  northeast  winds 


Will 
V 

Wi. 

'1 


FIRESIDE  MUSINGS. 

It  is  a  moment  of  peril  to  the  young 
child,  when  first  he  breaks  from  the  guid- 
ing hand  of  his  watchful  mother,  and 
stands  unputected  and  alone,  depending 
on  his  own  strength  and  trusting  in  his  own 
judgment.  One  short  step,  inadvertently 
taken,  may,  by  laying  him  prone  on  the 
earth,  at  once  destroy  the  charm  of  his  new 
position,  and  shatter  his  self-confidence, 


t 
t 


|i 


*!« 


mfs^f 


■'^*Wi. 


''^'^^^'if" 


,  ,'??■■"■' 


«)!tii»' 


740 


THK  UIHON. 


that  moving-spirit  of  all  groat  enterpriso  ; 
wliiiu  uriiitlior  taken  iu  (lellber.itioii  nml 
fctrc'sight,  limy  give  him  jiropcr  rolianco 
ill  his  own  powers,  and  place  him  lioyond 
the  reach  ol  hium.  So  it  iti  witii  the  imiiior- 
tul  miiiil ;  that  moment  must  nrrivo  when 
it  burstH  aHUiider  the  bond  iliiit  ha.s  bound 
it,  breaks  from  the  controlling  hand  of  pa- 
rent or  guardian,  and  in  the  lull  consciouH- 
iHfiH  of  its  own  inielleclual  powers,  stiiiidH 
i'orlh,  alone,  to  iliink,  to  will,  and  lo  reaHon 
for  itself,  it  is  a  fearful  inomciit  for  ilie 
mind,  when  sophistical,  shallow  theories, 
narrow  mid  lal.se  doctrines,  appear  before 
it,  ill  llieir  eiiiiciiig,  gorgeous  garbs,  and 
when  vice  itself  lies  hid  beneath  the 
bright  pageant. 

It  is  a  fearful  struggle  to  decide  which 
is  (he  riglit — lo  feel  that  it  is  not  enough 
to  have  been  reared  in  a  faith,  to  have 
had  the  same  doctrines  instilled,  drop 
by  drop,  into  the  infant— to  have  been 
given  precepts  and  blindly  to  have  fol- 
lowed them — to  have  received  the  judg 
inents,  the  principles,  the  very  senlinients 
of  others,  and  to  have  embraced  them  in 
the  cold  ignorance  of  an  unthinking  mind. 
It  is  sad,  indeed,  to  feel  that  the  dearest 
ties  of  nature  are  not  sullicieni,  alom-,  to 
strengthen  or  retain  a  spark  of  the  aflec- 
tions  born  within  us ;  but  it  is  a  pleasing 
reflection  that  the  mind  can  no  longer  be 
led,  that  it  has  arrived  at  that  point  when 
it  must  assert  its  own  power,  and  must 
influence  others  with  its  own  dignity. 
God  of  heaven  help  the  weak  in  that 
hour,  and  the  strong  loo,  for  at  heart  we 
are  frail,  and  need  his  aid  sadly!'  Hut 
wiien  tlie  mind,  after  deep,  serious  "thought, 
long  study,  and  earnest  prayer,  has  arrived 
at  its  own  conclusion,  and  adopted  one 
consistent  course,  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
others— in  the  path  in  which  it  has  been 
reared  and  tended  is  abundance  for  an- 
other— if  the  sweet  memory  even  of  its 
infancy  is  cast  aside  at  once  and  for  ever, 
have  we  a  right  to  censure  ?  Is  it  not, 
oh  !  far  nobler  to  soar  above  the  unworthy 
trammels  of  habit,  and  in  the  broad,  open 
sunshine  of  our  own  intellects,  mark,  de- 
cide, and  act,  for  ourselves?  Where  is 
the  exercise  of  firm  resolution.  Christian 
fortitude,  and  lofty  impulse,  if  we  are 
bound  to  tread  in  one  path,  in  the  calm- 
ness of  indiflference,  and  the  lethargy  of 


ignorance.  Oh  !  wo  are  not  endowed  thus 
richly  with  exalted  faculties,  if  it  wer»> 
intended  by  Heaven  they  should  bo  dor- 
mant within  us.  No!  let  us  investigate 
deeply  and  reflect  seriously ;  let  us  con- 
centrate the  noble  powers  of  our  cultiva- 
ted miiiil<t  upon  the  greate.^t,  tin;  suhlimest 
subject  that  ever  filled  ilie  human  niiml. 
And  in  the  meantime,  let  us  not  condemn 
unmeriifully,  hut  respect,  esteem,  and  em- 
ulate, those  who  have  had  the  moral  cour- 
age high  spirit,  and  iinlepmideiice,  to 
sw.rve  fnnn  llu'  belief  in  whith  they 
have  perhaps,  ilindly  lived,  and  before 
the  whole  world  to  avow  the  beautiful 
triiihs  thai  have  been  revealed  to  them  in 
their  deep  and  prayerful  research 


THK   lliSON. 


V  HIS  remarkable  spe- 
tX'ies  of  ox  is  peculiar 
lo  North  America. 
Until  of  late  years,  it 
was  very  generally 
considered  that  the 
domestic  o.\,  tlie  wild 
bull  (i/ri/.v)  of  Europe 
and  /\  la,  and  the  American  bi.son,  were 
only  varieties  of  the  same  species,  or,  in 
other  wt  ds,  that  the  domestic  ox  was  the 
urus  altered  by  civilization,  and  that  the 
bison  was  the  urus  altered  by  climate. 
This  was  the  opinion  of  Huiroii,  Pallas, 
and  oiher  distinguished  naturalists.  The 
identity  of  the  urus  and  the  l)ison  being 
assumed,  it  became  a  question  ol'  some- 
what diiricult  solution  how  the.se  animals 
migrated  from  the  old  to  the  new  world. 
Many  ingenious  theories  were  framed  to 
meet  the  circumstances,  but  ihe  necessity 
for  these  speculations  has  been  superse- 
ded by  the  discovery  made  by  Cuvier, 
that  the  bison  of  America  is  really  a  spe- 
cies distinct  from  the  urus ;  and  he  has 
indicated  the  very  important  differences 
by  which  the  distinction  is  established. 

We  may  consider  the  bison  as  charac- 
terized by  fifteen  pair  of  ribs  (the  wild 
bull  has  only  fourteen)  and  by  the  im- 
mense disproportion  between  its  fore  and 
hind  quarters.  The  latter  distinction  is 
partly  occasioiied  by  the  great  hump  or 


4T* 


re  not  ondowfid  thiia 
iiculiii^s,  if  it  W('r»« 
hoy  .tlioiiM  be  dur- 
!  let  IIS  inveHtijijnte 
iously  ;  let  us  con- 
vors  of  our  culiiva- 
latu.st,  tliu  siitilirntiHt 
I  ilit>  liuiniiii  niiiiil. 
|i!t  IIS  not  conduiiin 
cl,  i'!«ti'«in,  und  om- 
had  tlif  moral  cour- 
iiiile|)(MidtMien,  to 
v(  in  wliii'ii  they 
'  lived,  und  hcl'ore 
avow  iJHi  heaiitifid 
rtiVfuled  ti)  ihcin  in 
111  ruxeurclL 


i.SON. 

IS  remarkable  spe- 
ys  ol  ox  is  peculiar 

North  America, 
mil  of  late  year^j,  it 
IS  very  {{enerally 
nsidered  tlnit  the 
niestic  ox,  llio  wild 
11  (nn/s)  of  Europe 
icrican  bison,  were 
lino  sjiecies,  or,  in 
Dmeslic  ox  was  the 
ition,  and  that  the 
.Itered  by  climate, 
of  BulTon,  Pallas, 
I  naturalists.  The 
id  the  bison  being 

question  of  some- 
how these  animals 

to  the  new  world, 
es  were  framed  to 
i,  but  the  necessity 
has  been  superse- 

niade  by  Cuvier, 
ica  is  really  a  spe- 
urus ;  and  he  has 
portant  differences 
n  is  established, 
e  bison  as  charac- 

of  ribs  (the  wild 
i)  and  by  the  im- 
3tween  its  fore  and 
atter  distinction  is 
he  great  hump  or 


^>, 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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1.0 


I.I 


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2.5 
2.0 

1.8 


L25  liu  11.6 


^:^J^ 


Hiotographic 

Sciences 

Corpomtion 


23  WEST  NMH  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  U72-4503 


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k. 


1. 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Instltut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


projection  over  its  shoulders.     This  hump 
is  oblong,  diminishing  in  height  as  it  ex- 
tends backward,  and  giving  a  considerable 
obliquity  to  the  outline  of  the  back.     The 
hair  over  the  head,  neck,  and  fore  part  of 
the  body,  is  long  and  shaggy,  forming  a 
beard  beneath  the  lower  jaw,  and  descend- 
ing below  the  knee  in  a  tuft.     The  hair 
on  the  summit  of  the  head  rises  in  a  dense 
mass  nearly  to  the  tip  of  the  horns,  and 
directly  on  the  front  is  curled  and  strongly 
matted.     The  ponderous  head,  rendered 
terrific   by  its   thick,   shaggy   hair,   and 
streaming  beard,  is  supported  upon  a  mas- 
sive  neck   and   shoulders,   the   apparent 
strength  of  which  is  more  imposing  from 
the  augmentation  produced  by  the  hump, 
and  the  long  fall  of  hair  by  which  the  an- 
terior parts  of  the  body  are  covered.    This 
woolly  hair  is  remarkable,  not  less  for  its 
fineness  than  its  length.     The  difference 
between  the  winter  and  the  summer  coat 
of  the  bison  consists  rather  in  the  length 
than  in  the  other  qualities  of  the  hair.   In 
summer,  from  the  shoulders  backward,  the 
surface  is  covered  with  very  short,  fine 
hair,  smooth  and  soft  as  velvet.     Except 
the  long  hair  on  the  fore  parts,  which  is 
to  a  certain  extent  of  a  rust  color  or  yel- 
lowish tinge,  the  color  is  a  uniform  dun. 
Varieties  of  color  are  so  rare  among  the 
species,  that  the  hunters  and  Indians  al- 
ways regard  any  apparent  difference  with 
great  surprise.     The  fleece  or  hair  of  a 
full-grown  bison,  when  separated  from  the 
skin,   is   usua'Uy   found   to   weigh   about 
eight   pounds,  according  to  Charlevoix. 
The  horns  are  shorter  than  in  any  other 
species,    nearly   straight,    sharp-pointed, 
exceedingly  strong,  and   planted  widely 
asunder  at  the  base,  as  in  the  common 
bull.     The  tail  is  almost  a  foot  long,  and 
terminates  in  a  tuft,  which  is  black  in  the 
males  and  red  in  the  females.     The  eyes 
are  large  and  fierce ;  the  limbs   are  of 
great  strength ;  and  the  appearance  of  the 
animal   is   altogether   exceedingly   grim, 
savage,    and   formidable      According   to 
Hearne,  the  size  of  the  bison  is,  on  the 
average,  less  than  that  of  the  urus,  but 
exceeds  that  of  every  other  species  of 
the  ox.    It  has  been  known  to  weigh  1,600 
and  even  2,400  lbs. ;  and  the  strongest 
men  are  said  to  be  unable,  singly,  to  lift 
one  of  -the  skins  from  the  ground.    The 


female  is  much  smaller  than  the  male  ; 
she  has  not  so  much  of  the  long  huir  in 
front,  and  her  horns  are  not  so  large,  nor 
so  much  covered  by  the  hair.  The  males 
and  females  associate  from  the  end  of 
July  to  the  beginning  of  September  ;  after 
which  the  females  separate  from  ti>e 
males,  and  remain  in  distinct  herds.  They 
calve  in  April.  The  calves  seldom  leave 
the  mother  until  they  are  a  year  old,  and 
sometimes  the  females  are  seen  followed 
by  the  young  of  three  seasons. 

The  bisons  generally  seek  their  food  in 
the  morning  and  evening,  and  retire  du- 
ring the  heat  of  the  day  to  marshy  places. 
They  rarely  resort  to  the  woods,  prefer- 
ring the  open  prairies  where  the  herbage 
is  long  and  thick.     They  also  associate 
in  vast  troops,   led   by  the  fiercest  and 
most  powerful  of  the  bulls.     In  both  these 
respects  their  habits  differ  from  those  of 
the  urus,  which  leads  a  solitary  life  in  the 
deepest  gloom  of  the  forest.     The  herds 
of   bisons  are  frequently  of   astonishing 
density  and  extent.     While  feeding,  they 
are  often  scattered  over  a  vast  surface  ; 
but  when  they  move  forward  in  mass,  they 
form  a  dense,  impenetrable  column,  which 
once  fairly  in  motion  is  scarcely  to  be 
turned.     They  swim  large  rivers  nearly 
in  the  same  order  in  which  they  traverse 
the  plains  ;  and  when  flying  from  pursuit, 
it  is  in  vain  for  those  in  front  to  make  a 
sudden  halt,  as  the  rearward  throng  dash 
madly  forward,  and  force  their  leaders  on. 
The    Indians   sometimes   profit    by    this 
habit.     They  lure  a  herd  to  the  vicinity 
of  a  precipice,  and  setting  the  whole  in 
rapid  motion,  they  terrify  them  by  shouts 
and  other  artifices  to  rush  on  to  their  in- 
evitable destruction.     The  chase  of  the 
bisons,  indeed,  constitutes  a  favorite  di- 
version of  the  Indians,  numerous  tribes 
of  whom  may  be  said  to  be  almost  entirely 
dependent  on  these  animals  for  all  their 
necessaries  of  life.    They  are  killed  either 
by  shooting  them,  or  by  gradually  driving 
them  into  a  small  space,  by  setting  fire  to 
the  grass  around  the  place  where  the  herd 
is  feeding.     They  are  much  terrified  by 
fire,  and  crowd  together  to  avoid  it ;  and 
they  are  then  killed  by  bands  of  Indians, 
without  any  personal  hazard.     It  is  said 
that  on  such  occasions,  1,500  or  2,000 
have  sometimes  been  killed  at  a  time. 


9 

X 


the  male  ; 
3ng  huir  in 
)  large,  nor 
The  males 
he  end  of 
nber ;  after 

from  the 
?rds.  They 
Idom  leave 
ar  old,  and 
3n  followed 

leir  food  in 
1  retire  du- 
•shy  places. 
)ds,  prefer- 
he  herbage 

0  associate 
iercest  and 

1  both  these 
m  those  of 
Y  life  in  the 

The  herds 
astonishing 
leding,  they 
St  surface  ; 
I  mass,  they 
umn,  which 
rcely  to  be 
vers  nearly 
ley  traverse 
rem  pursuit, 
:  to  make  a 
throng  dash 

leaders  on. 
fit  by  this 
the  vicinity 
le  whole  in 
w  by  shouts 

to  their  in- 
hase  of  the 

favorite  di- 
erous  tribes 
lost  entirely 
for  all  their 
killed  either 
lally  driving 
jtting  fire  to 
ere  the  herd 

terrified  by 
void  it ;  and 
1  of  Indians, 
It  is  said 
DO  or  2,000 
I  a  time. 


aEOLOGY. 


743 


Tiie  flesh  of  the  bison  is  coarser 
grained  than  that  of  the  domestic  ox,  but 
is  considered  by  hunters  and  travellers  as 
suiiirior  in  tenderness  and  flavor.  The 
hump  is  highly  celebrated  lor  its  richness 
and  delicacy,  and  it  is  said,  when  properly 
cooked,  to  resemble  marrow. 

The  skins  of  the  bisons  are  of  a  loose 
and  spongy  texture  ;  but  when  dressed  in 
the  Indian  manner,  with  the  hair  on,  they 
make  admirable  defences  against  the  cold, 
and  may  be  used  for  blankets.  They  are 
called  buffalo  robes ;  the  term  bufl!"alo 
being  generally,  but  inaccurately,  applied 
to  the  bison.  The  wool  of  the  bison  has 
been  manufactured  into  hats,  and  has  also 
been  employed  in  making  coarse  cloth  of 
a  very  strong  and  durable  texture. 


^    GEOLOGY, 

ITS    OBJECTS    AND    ADVANTAGES. 

O'     ihis    earth 
has  been  created, 
and  its  mountains 
and    valleys    re- 
ceived the  forms 
they    now    pos- 
sess, is  a  1  inqui- 
ry which  8 
natural   to    .      -. 
He  can  not  be  indifferent  to  the  strucii<re 
of  that  globe  which  was  the  birthplace  of 
his  race,  the  theatre  of  all  those  mighty 
deeds  which  adorn  or  disgrace  the  annals 
of  humanity.     With  its  history  his  own  is 
closely  connected,  in  all  its  most  import- 
ant points.     Profane  history  soon  ceases 
to  follow  back  the  chain  of  human  affairs, 
and  the  origin  of  nations  is  lost  in  obscu- 
rity.    The   Scriptures  record  rather  the 
moral  and  religious  history  of  the  species, 
than  the  physical  or  political  fortunes  of 
the  various  tribes  and  nations  into  which 
it  was  divided.     They  no  doubt  contain 
the  earliest  and  most  authentic  accounts 
of  the  creation  and  first  actions  of  men; 
but  those,  though  fully  sufficient  for  their 
purpose,  have  not  satisfied  human  curios- 
ity— ever  desirous  to  know  more  than  has 
been  revealed.     Hence,  at  all  times,  in- 


quiries into  the  origin  of  the  world  and 
the  creation  of  the  human  r»««  have  en- 
gaged the  attention  of  both  the  learned 
and  the  unlearned. 

Nor  are  such  inquiries,  when  pursued 
in  a  right  spirit,  improper.  The  word 
and  the  works  of  God  never  can  contra- 
dict each  other,  and  the  more  fully  each 
is  searched  out  and  understood,  the  more 
clearly  will  they  confirm  the  great  truth, 
that  both  have  one  and  ihe  same  all-wise 
Author.  Geologists  have  often  been  ac- 
cused of  infidelity,  and  of  attempts  to  de- 
stroy the  authority  of  the  Bible  ;  but  we 
believe  that  this  accusation  is  false,  and 
that  no  foundation  for  it  will  be  found  in 
the  writings  of  any  of  the  great  men  who 
have  thoroughly  investigated  its  princi- 
ples. Disappointed  theorists  who  coidd 
ngt  refute  the  arguments  of  their  oppo- 
nents, have  sometimes  accused  them  of 
opposing  scripture ;  but  such  groundless 
affirmations  deserve  as  little  regard  as 
those  of  the  men  who  condemned  Galileo 
for  afllirming  that  the  earth  moved,  while 
the  sun  stood  still.  Astronomy  has  now 
proceeded  far  beyond  what  even  the  ima- 
gination of  the  Italian  philosopher  could 
have  conceived  ;  yet  the  truth  of  the  Bible 
is  not  affected ;  and,  in  like  manner,  we 
may  rest  assured,  that  when  geology  has 
expanded  to  its  full  dimensions,  the  au- 
thority of  revelation  will  remain  wholly 
unirr  peached. 

Geology  is  one  of  the  most  recent  of 
..iO  ccicnces.  A  century  ago  it  could 
hardly  be  said  to  exist,  arnd  the  theories 
of  Leibnitz,  Burnet,  and  Buffon,  were 
equally  fanciful  and  unsupported  by  facts, 
as  those  of  the  ancient  Greeks.  Of  late, 
however,  it  has  entered  on  a  new  and 
more  scientific  path.  It  no  longer  inquires 
how  •'  in  the  beginning  God  created  the 
heavens  and  the  earth ;"  but  assuming  that 
as  a  fact  beyond  all  doubt  or  appeal,  con- 
fines its  investigations  to  the  present  struc- 
ture of  the  globe,  and  the  traces  of  revo- 
lutions which  it  has  undergone.  It  has 
now  ceased  to  be  a  romantic  theory,  built 
up  on  the  fancy  of  speculators,  and  has 
taken  its  place  among  those  inductive  sci- 
ences to  which  the  genius  of  Bacon  has 
given  the  law  and  rule  of  investigation. 
Men  must  now  observe  and  inquire,  be- 
fore they  are  allowed  to  speculate.     Be- 


n 


■>  -^ 


J- 


744 


GEOLOGY. 


fore  forming  a  theory  of  the  earth,  they 
are  expected  to  know  the  facts  which  the 
earth's  crust  exhibits,  and  which  their 
theory  must  explain.  No  one  would  ven- 
ture now  to  write  quarto  volumes  on  rocks, 
without  having  studied  them  in  the  fields, 
and  even  to  boast  of  this  as  a  qualification 
for  his  task.  Geologists  must  now  come 
into  closer  contact  with  the  works  of  the 
great  Creator,  and  thus  learn  more  fully 
tlieir  own  weakness  and  ignorance  ;  and 
they  have  thus  become  more  deeply  im- 
pressed with  that  spirit  of  reverent  humil- 
ity which  becomes  the  true  philosopher. 

The  advantages  to  be  derived  from  the 
study  of  any  science  can  seldom  be  un- 
derstood till  its  principles  are  known,  and 
should  follow,  not  precede,  the  exposition 
of  these.  In  some  respects  this  is  true 
of  geology ;  but  many  of  its  applications 
are  almost  self-evident.  In  the  mines, 
geology  had,  in  a  great  ineasure,  its  birth, 
and  many  of  its  most  important  facts  have 
been  observed  there.  Tlie  theory  of  veins 
and  stratification,  with  the  peculiar  distri- 
bution of  the  valuable  ores  and  minerals, 
were  at  least  partially  known  to  practical 
men  before  they  found  a  place  in  the  sys- 
tems of  geologists.  But  in  these  they 
appear  in  a  new  form,  and  with  new 
light.  They  are  no  longer  mere  facts, 
standing  solitary  and  alone,  for  which  no 
reason  can  be  assigned  aiid  no  cause 
given.  They  now  form  part  of  a  well- 
connected  system,  and  the  miner  is  taught 
not  only  when  they  should  occur,  but  also 
where  he  may  expect  exceptions  to  the 
general  rule.  The  names  of  many  rocks 
are  derived  from  the  local  terras  used  in 
particular  mining  districts ;  but  sciemc 
has  given  precision  to  these  terms,  and, 
from  words  hardly  understood  at  a  few 
miles'  distance,  has  rendered  them  intelli- 
gible over  the  whole  civilized  world. 
The  facts  observed  in  distant  places  and 
countries  can  thus  be  described  in  uniform 
language,  and  compared  with  each  other, 
so  that  what  in  them  is  merely  local,  may 
be  separated  from  what  is  universal. 
Hence  the  system  of  Werner,  with  all  its 
errors,  was  «)f  great  use  in  the  progress 
of  the  science,  by  enabling  inquirers  in 
difl'erent  countries  to  understand  each 
other,  which  they  had  never  previously 
beeit  able  to  do. 


But  geology  gives  to  the  miner  means 
of  distinguishing  rocks  which  he  ilid  not 
formerly  possess,  and  thus  of  knowing 
where  minerals  may  or  may  not  be  ex- 
pected to  occur.  This  is  one  of  its  most 
evident  advan'ages,  and  one  in  which  tlie 
whole  community  is  more  or  less  inter- 
ested. Ignorant  miners  were  often  giii.led 
in  their  search  for  ores  or  coal  by  certain 
characters  which  were  of  little  value,  ex- 
cept in  a  few  localities,  and  induced  men 
to  spend  much  money  stu  king  for  mineral 
treasures  in  places  where  a  geologist 
could  have  said  at  once  that  they  were 
not  to  be  found.  In  many  places  in  Eng- 
land and  Scotlunil,  mines  may  be  seen, 
driven  for  hundreds  of  yards  through  the 
hardest  rocks,  in  the  expectation  of  dis- 
covering coal,  though  men  of  science 
know  that  it  is  never  fout^i  in  such  cir- 
cumstances, and  though  the  whole  succes- 
sion of  rocks  is  laid  open  by  some  neigh- 
boring river  or  ravine.  Mr.  Murchison, 
when  examining  the  geological  structure  of 
Wales,  met  with  repeated  instances  of  this 
kind,  and  the  poor  farmers,  after  ruining 
themselves  in  the  vain  research,  often 
complained  to  him  of  their  landlords,  who 
would  not  continue  the  profitless  pursuit, 
"  Ah !  if  our  squires  were  only  men  oi 
spirit,  we  should  have  as  fine  coal  as  any 
in  the  world,"  was  the  frequent  remark  of 
such  speculators,  wholly  untaught  by  their 
own  painful  experience.  Yet  a  few  pop- 
ular lessons  in  geology  would  have  dissi- 
pated the  vain  delusion,  and  taught  these 
men  that  they  were  spending  their  money 
and  labor  to  no  purpose.  Even  in  the 
south  of  Scotland,  where  the  mass  of  the 
people  are  well  educated,  many  similar 
attempts  have  been  made  on  rocks  of  the 
same  geological  formation,  and  of  course, 
with  equal  want  of  success.  It  is  a  sin- 
gular fact,  that  these  explorers  are  usually 
misled  by  a  variety  of  black  slate,  com- 
posed almost  entirely  of  flint,  and  hence 
as  hard  as  iron,  and  wholly  incombus- 
tible. It  is,  in  truth,  well  described  by 
a  sanguine  ex(  vator  of  this  class,  who 
said  to  his  minuter,  "  It  is  as  black  as  a 
coal,  as  hard  as  a  coal,  and  as  heavy  as  a 
coal ;  in  short,  it  is  coal  altogether — ex- 
cept that  it  will  not  burn." 

In  these  instances,  geology  would  have 
told  these  persons  that  coal  worth  work- 


miner  rne.uu 
id)  he  ilid  not 
i  ol'  knowini; 
iy  not  !)'.'.  ex- 
ile of  iis  most 
3  in  wliicli  tin; 

or  les.s  intor- 
rc  often  iriii'li'd 
oiil  by  certain 
iltle  Viiliie,  fx- 
L  iiulnced  men 
Mg  for  mineral 
3  a  geolojjist 
hat  they  were 
)laces  in  Eng- 

may  be  soon, 
(Is  through  the 
ctalion  of  dis- 
sn  of  science 
i  in  such  cir- 
whole  succes- 
y  some  neigli- 
[r.  Murcliison, 
cul  structure  of 
isiances  of  lliis 
5,  after  ruining 
ssearch,  often 
landlords,  who 
fiiless  pursuit. 

only  men  ot 
ne  coal  as  any 
uent  remark  of 
taiight  by  their 
fet  a  few  pop- 
ild  have  dissi- 
d  taught  these 
ig  their  money 
Even  in  the 
he  mass  of  the 

many  similar 
in  rocks  of  the 
and  of  course, 
.  It  is  a  sin- 
ers  are  usually 
2k  slate,  com- 
int,  and  hence 
jlly  incombus- 
l  described  by 
lis  class,  who 
I  as  black  as  a 
.  as  heavy  as  a 
dtogether — ex- 

gy  would  have 
al  worth  work- 


QEOLoav. 


745 


ing  never  occurred  in  such  rocks,  and  thus 
saved  them  their  dear-bought  experience. 
But  it  not  only  tells  where  coal  is  not,  but 
also  where  it  is  to  be  found.     It  makes 
known  the  order  and  succession  of  the 
various  rocky  beds  that  make  up  the  crust 
of  the  earth,"  and  thus  renders  its  interior 
almost  transiiareiit  to  the  eye  of  science. 
The  practical  geologist  examines  the  sur- 
face of  a  country,  and  finds  it  composed 
of  a  sjiecies  of  rock  which  he  knows  lies 
higher  in  the  series  than  coal.     From  its 
fossil  remains,  the  shells  or  plants  it  con- 
tains, he  knows  its  place  in  the  earth's 
crust,  and  hence   the  probability  of  coal 
lying  behjw  it.     Such  scientific  divining 
has,  in  many  instances,  proved  success- 
fid,  aii  1  many  undertiikings  which  merely 
practical   men    ridiculed,    have    produced 
great  wealth  to  the  bold  theorist  who  dared 
to  despise  their  warnings.     Mr.  Murchi- 
son,  in  the  work  already  alluded  to,  men- 
tions many  instances  of  valuable  coal-pits 
sunk   lliro'iigli   beds  of   red  sandstone,  in 
places   where,  a  few   years  ago,  no  one 
suspected  tliis  mineral  to  exist.     In  the 
north  of  England  many  similar  cases  oc- 
cur.    Tiiere  are  examples,  too,  of  valuable 
minerals,  not  concealed  in  the  bowels  of 
the  earth,  but  lying  open  on  its  surface, 
having  been  wholly  neglected,  till  some 
competent  geoU)gist  was  led  to  the  spot  by 
accident.     In  Lliisl,  the  most  northern  of 
the  British  isles,  great  quantities  of  a  par- 
ticular rock  were  strewed  over  the  ground, 
and  so  little  regarded  as  to  be  used  for 
constructing  walls  or  fences.     Dr.  Hibbert 
found  that  this  was  the  chromate  of  iron, 
from  which  chrome  yellow,  so  much  used 
in  manufactures,  is   prepared,  and  these 
neglected  stones  immediately  became  ob- 
jects of  commerce,  and  a  sotirce  of  large 
income  to  the  proprietors. 

These  few  instances  show  the  advan- 
tages which  may  result  from  the  study  of 
geology.  The  "interests  of  private  indi- 
viduals are  not  only  promoted  by  it,  but 
also  those  of  the  whole  nation.  Many 
instances  might  be  produced  of  the  bene 
fits  It  has  conferred  both  on  private  indi- 
viduals and  the  community,  and  other  ap- 
plications of  its  principles  to  various  pro- 
fessions and  pursuits  might  be  noticed. 

But  few  can  directly  participate  in  these 
advantages,  compared  to  the  number  of 


those  to  whom  it  may  prove   a  copious 

source   of    intellectual    gratification    and 

improvement.     Though  the  study 


moral   ...., —  r, 

of  geology  may  be  begun  in  books  and 
class-rooms,  it  must  be    pursued   in   the 
open  field.s.     The  descriptions  and  theo- 
ries of  our  instructors  must  be  compared 
with  the  realities  and  facts  of  nature.     It 
is  thus  only  that  progress  can  be  made  in 
the  science,  and  its  true  advantages  real- 
ized.    We   must  cease   to   listen   to    the 
voice  of  men,  that  we  may  lier.r  the  Cre- 
ator speaking  to  us  in  his  works.     Nor  is 
it  to  every  part  of  these  works  alike  that 
the  attention  of  the  geologist  is  turned. 
The  verdant  meadow  or  the  fertile  plains, 
covered  with  rich  and  luxuriant  vegeta- 
tion, do  not  escape  his  notice,  and  in  his 
eyes  have  a  meaning  and  a  worth  beyoml 
that  observable  to  the  common  crowd  of 
men.     Their   beauty  and    fertility   is   as 
open  to  him  as  to  the  painter,  poet,  or  ag- 
riculturist;    but,  beside  this,  he  sees  in 
them  [larts  of   a  great   whole,   and  can 
trace  back  their  history,  through   many 
revolutions,  to  the  time  when  they  were, 
perhaps,  the  bottom  of  a  lake  whose  wa- 
ters have  disappeared,  the   estuary  of  a 
river  which  has  ceased  to  flow,  or  a  por- 
tion of  the  channels  of  the  ocean,  above 
which  they  are  now  far  elevated.     But 
the  pursuits  of  the  geologist  lead  him  to 
prefer   other  scenes,  of   a   wilder,  more 
rugged,  and  less  generally  attractive  na- 
ture.     The    rocky   seacoast,    where  the 
land  and  waters  carry  on  their  never-end- 
ing contests  for  the  supremacy,  is  to  him 
full  of  instruction.     In  the  lofty  chffs,  sec- 
tions are  laid  open  he  would  in  vain  look 
for  elsewhere,  and  the  mouldering  pinna- 
cles of  rock  speak  to  him  of  events  older 
than  the  pyramids,  and  chronicled  in  char- 
acters more  enduring  and  intelligible  than 
their  sculptured  hieroglyphics.     The  nar- 
row ravine,  where  the  foaming  river  can 
scarce  force  its  way  amid  the  projecting 
rocks,  has  many  lessons  to  impart  to  him. 
In  its  rude  walls  he  sees  the  various  strata 
concealed  beneath  the  deep  soil  and  abun- 
dant  crops   of   the   neighboring   plains  ; 
while  the  form  and  depth  of  the  channel 
tell  of  the  power  of  aqueous  erosion,  and 
form  a  kind  of  natural  chronometer,  by 
which  the  past  duration  of  our  present 
continents  may  be  estimated. 


ii 


<  m  1 

■i 


746 


QEOLOOY. 


But  the  favorite  resort  of  the  geologist 
is  the  lofty  mountains  and  their  lone  vaU 
leys.  In  their  towering  rocks  and  majes- 
tic precipices  he  sees  clear  traces  of  those 
tremendous  forces  which  have  agitated 
and  convulsed  the  globe.  In  searching 
out  these,  he  is  led  into  wild  scenes  of 
the  most  romantic  beauty,  which  have 
been  for  ages  concealed  in  the  remote 
wilderness.  He  thus  sees  and  enjoys 
much  which  is  hid  from  others,  who  have 
not  this  motive  to  explore  these  lonely 
solitudes.  Here  also  his  science  gives 
meaning  to  natural  appearances,  which  to 
other  men  seem  unintelligible  and  repul- 
sive. In  the  rude  blocks  scattered  over  a 
mountain-side,  he  finds  a  confirmation  or 
confutation  of  a  theory  of  the  universe, 
or  an  explanation  of  facts  observed  in 
some  remote  quarter  of  the  globe.  No 
one  can  look,  without  emotion,  on  the 
granite  pinnacles  of  Arran,  rising  from  the 
broad  estuary  of  the  Clyde,  but  they  have 
assuredly  more  than  a  twofold  interest  to 
those  who  see  in  that  small  island  a  model 
of  the  whole  earth,  and  a  test  of  all  the 
theories  that  have  been  proposed,  to  ac- 
count for  its  phenomena. 

Geology  thus  makes  us  acquainted  with 
some  of  the  most  interesting  parts  of  that 
great  globe  we  inhabit,  and  enables  us  to 
find  pleasure  and  instruction  even  in  its 
rudest  and  most  barren  districts.  The 
bleakest  moor  loses  its  loneliness,  and  the 
sandy  down  is  not  so  uniform  or  devoid  of 
meaning  as  to  disgust  us.  In  this  way, 
travelling  is  rendered  doubly  instructive 
and  amusing,  and  is  changed  from  a  mere 
mean  of  spending  time  or  gratifying  an 
idle  and  ignorant  curiosity,  into  a  source 
of  high  moral  and  intoUectual  improve- 
ment. It  is  indeed  remarkable,  when 
we  look  to  the  number  of  persons  who  in 
the  present  day  wander  over  the  length 
and  breadth  of  our  land,  how  few  take 
any  care  to  derive  from  their  journeys  the 
full  amount  of  amusement  and  information 
they  are  fitted  to  convey.  It  is  not  enough 
to  visit  remarkable  places,  to  stand  on  the 
ground  consecrated  to  virtue  and  patriot- 
ism, unless  we  participate  in  these  feel- 
ings and  have  our  good  resolutions 
strengthened  by  the  emotions  they  inspire. 
So,  also,  in  visiting  beautiful  and  sublime 
scenery,  it  is  not  sufficient  to  yield  up  our 


minds  in  listless  indolence  to  the  pleasu- 
rable emotions  they  excite.  Such  scenes 
are  calculated  to  inspire  higher  sentiments, 
and  wo  forfeit  half  their  use  and  value 
when  our  minds  are  not  prepared  to  re- 
ceive these.  Nothing  stands  alone  in  na- 
ture ;  no  part  of  the  vast  universe  exists 
solely  for  itself.  Every  portion  of  it  is 
connected  with  those  aroimd,  and  bears 
to  them  innumerable  relations,  'i'hc  true 
import  of  the  mountains  atid  hills  can  only 
be  understood  when  viewed  in  connexion 
with  plains  and  valleys  ;  and  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  sandy  des  'rts.  of  the  Sahara, 
may  be  read  in  the  genial  climate  of  our 
own  continent.  But  it  is  geology  and  its 
connected  sciences,  which  hold  the  key 
to  this  branch  of  wisdom,  and  can  alone 
open  their  treasures  to  men.  It  not  only 
unfolds  the  present  purpose  and  uses  of 
various  portions  of  creation,  but  exhibits 
their  connexion  with  what  precedes  and 
follows  them.  It  thus  lays  open  to  us 
wider  and  more  extended  views  of  the 
divine  Providence,  and  proves  that  even 
the  physical  welfare  and  comfort  of  man 
had  been  foreseen  and  attended  to  ages 
before  he  was  called  into  being.  For  to 
what  else  than  the  wise  benevolence  of 
the  Creator  can  we  ascribe  those  stores  of 
coal,  and  iron,  and  limestone,  accumulated 
in  such  inexhaustible  abundance,  and 
brought  into  that  contact  with  one  another 
which  renders  them  available  to  the  uses 
of  men  ?  Had  each  existed  in  equal  or 
even  greater  profusion,  but  widely  separa- 
ted from  the  other,  had  the  iron  ore  been 
found  without  the  coal  and  limestone  ne- 
cessary to  convert  it  into  the  precious  met- 
al, how  far  inferior  would  have  been  the 
advantages  derived  from  them !  What  a 
blight  would  it  cast  on  the  industry  and 
commerce  of  the  world. 

Wisdom  OF  Faith. — Does  not  every  ar- 
chitect complain  of  the  injustice  of  criti- 
cising a  building  before  it  is  half  finished  ? 
Yet  who  can  tell  what  volume  of  the  cre- 
ation we  are  in  at  present,  or  what  point 
the  structure  of  our  moral  fabric  has  at- 
tained ?  While  wo  are  all  in  a  vessel 
that  is  sailing  imder  sealed  orders,  we 
shall  do  that  which  h>  best  for  us,  if  we 
confide  implicitly  in  our  government  and 
captain. 


0  the  pleasu- 
Such  sci.'iies 

3r  sentiments, 
se  and  value 
eparcd  to  re- 
j  alone  in  na- 
iveise  exists 
rtiun  of  it  is 
i\,  and  boars 
s.  The  true 
tiiiis  can  only 
in  connexion 

1  the  signili- 
<  the  Sahara, 
limate  ol'  our 
ilogy  and  its 
!u)ld  the  key 
lid  can  ah)ne 

It  not  only 
and  uses  of 
but  exhibits 
^recedes  and 
1  open  to  us 
news  of  the 
us  that  even 
nfort  of  man 
ided  to  ages 
ing.  For  to 
nevolence  of 
liose  stores  of 
I  accumulated 
ndance,  and 
lone  another 
)  to  the  uses 
in  equal  or 
idely  separa- 
ron  ore  been 
imestone  ne- 
precious  met- 
ave  been  the 
in!  What  a 
industry  and 


1  not  every  ar- 
stice  of  criti- 
lalf  finished  ? 
le  of  the  cre- 
r  what  point 
abric  has  at- 
in  a  vessel 
i  orders,  we 
for  U3,  if  we 
^eminent  and 


NEW  ZEALAND. 


NEW  ZEALAND. 


m 


EW  Zealand,  filling 
a  large  space  in  the 
southern  Pacific,  ex- 
lending  from  31^  to 
to    47^    south    lati- 
tude, and  from  167° 
to   179^  east  longi- 
\*lu(le,  was  discovered 
by  Tasman,  a  Dutch 
navigator   in    ir)t2.     The   vast   southern 
Tacilic   was  then   an   almost  unexplored 
region,  and  liiough  nearly  two  centuries 
had  <'la[)scd   since    European    tiavigators 
discovered  the  passage   to   India  by  the 
cape  of  Good  Hope,  the  mine  of  entcT- 
prise  which  was  then  opened  still  contin- 
ued to  attract  their  chief  attention,  and  to 
satisfy  their  maritime  ardor.     The  reputed 
existence  of  a  fifih   continent,  placed   in 
the  southern  hemisphere,  and  vague  ru- 
mors of  its  supposed  rich  productions,  in- 
flamed  the   imagination    of  geographers, 
and  proved  a  wholesome  stimulus  to  the 
progress  of  discovery.     Tasman  was  des- 
patched by  Anthony  Van  Diemen,  gover- 
nor of  the  Dutch  East  Indies,  and  sailed 
on  the  14th  of  August,  1G42,  from   the 
Fort  of  Batavia,  in  company  with  another 
vessel  under  his  command.     He  first  dis- 
covered the  island  now  known  as  Van 
Die  men's  land;  and  pursuing  his  voyage 
toward  the  east,  again  saw  land  on  the 
13lh  of  September,  and  following  the  line 
of  coast  anchored  next  day  within  a  large 
bay,  here  for  the  first  time  he  had  an  op- 
portunity of  seeing  the  natives,  who  came 
out  in  two  canoes,  and  hailed  the  stran- 
gers ui  a  strong  rough  voice,  but  they  did 
not  approach  very  near  to  the  ship.     On 
the  luUowing  day,  a  canoe  with  thirteen 
men  came  within  a  stone's  throw,  but  no 
temptations  could  induce  them  to  come  on 
board  the  ship.     Tasman  describes  them 
as   of  the  common    stature    and   strong- 
boned ;  their  complexion  between  brown 
and  yellow,  and  their  black  hair  tied  up  in 
the  Javanese  fashion,  on  the  crown  of  the 
head,  with  the  addition  of  a  large  feather 
stuck  therein.     Seven  other  canoes  iii  the 
meantime  put  off  from  the  shore,  and  Tas- 
man, doubtful  of  their  intentions,  hoisted 
out  one  of  his  boats,  which  being  manned 
by  a  quartermaster  and  six  seamen,  was 


48 


on  its  way  to  the  other  .ship  to  put  her 
commander  on  his  guard,  when  the  canoes 
ran  violently  in  upon  the  boat  and  nearly 
upset  it,  at  the  same  time  making  a  des- 
perate attack  upon  the  boat's  crew.     Threo 
of  the  seamen   were  killed  and  oni!  mor- 
tally wounded.     The  savages  then  hastily 
retreated,  carrying  with  them  one  of  the 
dead  bodies.    Tasman  immediately  «  eigh- 
ed  anchor,  and  gave  the  place  the  name 
of  the  Hay  of  Murderers.     Thus  inans- 
piciously  did   the   first  interview    of  the 
New-Zcalanders  with    Europeans  termi- 
nate.    Tasman  had  not  been  able  to  bring 
his  guns  to  bear  upon  the  retreating  i.sland- 
ers,  and  the  savages  could  not  as  yet  ap- 
preciate the  hostile  power  which  they  had 
aroused.     When  the  ship  had  got  under 
sail,  twenty-two  canoes  followed  her,  and 
advancing  within  range  of  the  guns,  were 
fired  upon,  and  one  man  being  killed,  and 
the  shot  striking  the  canoes,  they  turned 
toward  the  shore.     The   man    who   was 
killed  bore  a  white  flag  in  his  hand.     Tas- 
man's  course  precluded  him  from  ascer- 
taining that  what  he  took  for  a  large  bay 
was    the   strait   separating   the    northern 
from  the  southern  island,  which  unitedly 
are   known  under  the  name  of  New  Zea- 
land.    He  therefore  naturally  looked  upon 
the  other  island  as  a  continuation  of  the 
same  land,  and  that  in  fact  ho  was  upon 
the  shores  of  the  new  continent,  believed 
to  exist  in  this  part  of  the  southern  ocean. 
"  It  is,"  he  says,  "  a  very  fine   country, 
and  we  hope  it  is  a  part  of  the  unknown 
south  continent."     One  of  his  countrymen 
had  made  a  similar  mistake  about  a  quar- 
ter of      i-entury  before,  having  come  in 
sight  I .     -nd  which  he  conceived  to  be 
part  of  a  ;ontinent,  and  to  which  he  gave 
the    name  of  Staten  land,  or  State's  land. 
Just  at  this  time,  or  a  few  months  after- 
ward, the  supposed  continent  was  discov- 
ered to  be  an  island  of  no  great  extent ; 
but  Tasman  believed  that  he  had  also  fall- 
en in  with  a  portion  of  Staten  land  or  the 
southern  continent.     When  it  was  ascer- 
tained that  the  country  called  Staten  land 
was  only  an  island,  Tasman's  discovery 
received  the  name  of  New  Zealand.     On 
the  4th  of  January  he  passed  the  north- 
western extremity  of  New  Zealand,  which 
he  named  Cape  Maria  Van  Diemen,  in 
honor  of  a  lady  to  whom  it  is  said  he  was 


■\f 


* 


i 


J 


i:  •lilife' illll;'' 


■,,;ii:    . 
ill- IV  'li:lll|j:lr;i.-;i|Pil|||:!.!,;|-^ 


OIGANTIC  IJUlUri  lU'  TOUMKll  T1MK8. 


7l'.i 


Xl^'ll 


m- 


m 


iittai'lit'd.lho  (liiiinlitcr  of  liip  (fdvcrnor  iiii-  ( 
(Icr  « lioso  UII-.JIUI-S    tlic   I'XjJC'iliiKMi   was 
lirojfCtL'tl. 

It  wiiM  nhivve  ii  century  nlNT  Tasm.in's 
vi)\;i::i'  lu'l'ore  New  '/,r;il,iiiil  was  iinniii 
vi^iti  it  Ity  i'liinipciiiis  ;  liut  (III  till'  (iili  ol' 
(JcIiiImt,  17t)l>,  <'.i|il!im  Cook,  llicii  mu- 
kiiijr  Lis  (irst  vuyiige  of  circumiiaviiiuiioii 
ill  ilif    I'lndoavor,  lumo   in   si^lit  of  the 

!sl;ilul. 

('ii|iiiiiii  Cook  ;i|i|)ro:i(lifil  Nrw  Zoii- 
Iniiil  iVoin  lilt'  wi'st,  oil  liiM  |)assiit,'o  from 
tliu  tSocii'ly  iiilaiKU,  \vlul(!  'ritisinaii  Iiad 
icachi'd  it  Irom  ilio  cast.  'I'lic!  k*^'"''''' 
ii|iiiii<)n  on  hoard  iho  Kiideavor  was  that 
ill  y  also  had  rmiiiil  tiic  " 'I't-rra  Aiisirali.s 
liiioyiiiia."  Oil  iliii  Mil  Cook  aiicliori'il, 
and  soon  alter  went  on  shoro  aceoinpa- 
iiieil  hy  Mr.  (afterward  JSir  Joseph)  Manks 
and  \)r.  ISolander,  and  were  unhappily  at- 
iHiked  i)y  the  natives,  on  whom  they  were 
loiiipelled  to  fire  in  self-defence.  An  at- 
tiiiipi  at  friendly  interetnirse  was  made  the 
(lay  following,  l)iit  though  aided  hy  tliu 
jiersnasions  of  a  native  of  Oiaheito  on 
liiiard  the  Kndeavor,  it  proved  imsuecess- 
lul.  'I'he  Kndeavor  did  not  ItNivc  this 
pari  of  the  coast  willnnit  an  iinloriimaie 
collision  with  the  luitiviis,  wiio  fouyiil  in 
the  most  ohstinate  nninncr  aj^ainst  an  une- 
qual force,  the  contest  enilin<r  in  four  of 
the  savages  heing  killed.  Two  youths, 
one  aged  19,  and  the  other  11,  were  ta- 
ken on  hoard  the  ship,  where  they  expect- 
ed instant  deaili,  hut  being  kindly  treated, 
soon  recovered  tlnir  sjiirits.  IJeing  ui\a- 
lile  to  ohtain  provisions  at  this  place,  to 
which  Cook  f^;i\e  the  name  of  Poverty 
hay,  the  anchor  was  widghed,  and  the 
Eli  Jeavor,  purstiing  the  lino  of  coast,  came 
to  the  su|)pose(l  hay  in  which  Tasman  had 
aiuhored,  an  ■■  aitdi  Cixdi  found  to  he  a 
strait  separa;  il'  the  islands  :  in  the  maps 
It  hears  the  name  of  Cook's  straits. 

The  next  epoch  in  the  intercourse  with 
i\ew  Zealand,  arose  out  of  the  proximity 
ot'  the  English  settlements  in  New  South 
W  ;des,  founded  at  the  close  of  the  last 
ctiiiury,  the  distance  from  them  being 
ahoul  1,200  miles;  while  New  Zealand 
is  not  more  tjum  two  or  tliree  days'  sail 
fro:n  Norfolk  island,  where  a  settlement 
was  commenced  in  1793.  ']"he  natives 
of  Now  Zealand  have  fretpiently  visited 
!Sydn"y,  Port  Jackson,  and  other  Austra- 


lian ixtrts.  At  a  s(Mnewhat  later  period, 
the  sliijis  engaged  in  the  South  sea  whale 
fishnry,  hogan  to  freipient  New  Zi'iihind  ; 
anil  the  government  at  New  South  Wales 
availed  themsid\ cs  of  iliis  ineilinm  to  scml 
[)resents  of  cattle,  grain,  and  sued  oiher 
arlitdes  as  were  ealculaird  to  promote  ilie 
social  improvement  of  the  natives. 

A  third  s'uge  in  iIk;  intercourse  ol'  New 
Zealand  with  civili/ed  nations  is  marked 
hy  llie  arrival  of  (.'hrisiian  missionaiies  in 
Ih'll,  alter  they  had  remained  several 
years  in  .New  South  Wales.  The  Chunh 
missionary  society  commenced  this  wo'k, 
in  which  other  societies  have  engiiiied, 
and  their  operations  during  tin!  last  twcn- 
ly-livr  year.s,  have  hail  simi!'  iinportaiii  m- 
llueiice  on  the  New  Ze,.land  (diaraeler. 
'i'he  island  has  also  hecoiro  an  active 
scene  of  commercial  entorprisp,  and  as 
the  Australian  colonies  increase  in  wealth 
and  j)opnlalioii,  New  Zealand  will  he 
hroui^ht  into  still  closiir  coniiexicm  with 
the  habits  and  wants  of  civili/ation. 


It 


(ilGANTIC  BIRDS  OF  FOU.MER  Ti.MKS.  j 

T  a  late  meeting 
of  the  Hritish  as- 
sociation,  a  very 
inli^restini;  paper 
was  furnishetl  by 
Mr.  lionomi,  on 
certain  gigantic 
birds  of  former 
times.  The  ex- 
istence of  slabs 
of  the  new  red  sandstone  of  America, 
marked  with  footsteps  of  huge  birds  is  well 
known.  As  some  of  these  animals  are 
calculated  to  have  been  fifteen  feet  high, 
they  were  at  (irst  supjjosed  to  have  no  jiar- 
allel  in  the  present  state  of  nature ;  but 
this  was  soon  found  not  to  be  the  case,  as 
several  specimens  of  the  bones  of  a  bird 
not  less  gigantic  have  been  sent  home  from 
New  Zealand,  where  il  is  spoken  of  by 
the  natives  as  existing  under  the  name  of 
Moa.  There  have  also  been  discovered 
by  (Japtain  Flinders,  on  the  south  coast  of 
New  Holland,  in  King  George's  hay, 
some  very  large  nests,  measnriiig  twenty- 
six  feet  in  circumference,  and  thirty-two 


w 


T^o 


OIOANTIO  BIRD0  OF  rORMBR  TIMK8. 


inches  in  ln-ight,  resornbliiiK,  in  ilinwM- 
sions,  Homo  that  are  iK'scribml  by  (.'iiptnin 
Cooii,  iiM  scMMi  by  him  on  the  northciist 
coiiMl  of  the  Niune  iNJanJ,  about  fifl«'i>n  (h;- 
frroes  soulii  latiiuJo.  It  woiilil  appear,  by 
Bomo  commuiiicationM  mado  to  the  eililor 
of  the  London  Alhcnicum,  tlial  Proft-sHor 
Ilitchcocli  of  Massachusells  hail  HiiKgcst- 
eJ  thai  the»o  colossal  nests  belonged  to 
the  Moa. 

In  connexion  with  those  discoveries  is 
another  from  an  opposite  quarter.     "  Be- 
tween the  years  1821  and  1823,  Mr.  James 
Hiirton  discovered  on  tiio  west  coast,  or 
K^ypiian  side  of  the  Red  sea,  opposite  the 
|)(!ninsula  o*"  Mount  Sinni,  at  a  place  called 
(Jebel  Ezzeit,  where,  for  a  considerable 
distance,  the  margin  of  the  sea  is  inac- 
cessible  from   the   desert,  three   colossal 
nes's  within  the  space  of  one  mile.     These 
nests  were  not  in  an  c(|ual  state  of  j)re8- 
ervation  ;  but,  from  one  more  perfect  than 
the  others,  he  judged  iheni  to  be  about  fif- 
teen feet  in  height,  or  as  ho  observed,  the 
height  of  a  camel  and  its  rider.     These 
nests  were  composed  of  a  mass  of  heter- 
ogeneous materials,  piled  up  in  the  form  of 
a  cone,  and  sufficiently  well  put  together 
to  insure  adequate  solidity.     The  diame- 
ter of  the  cone  at  its  base  was  estimated 
as  nearly  equal  to  its  height,  and  the  apex, 
which  terminated  in  a  slight  concavity, 
measured  about  two  feet  six  inches,  or 
three  feet  in  diameter.     The  materials  of 
which  the  great  mass  was  composed,  were 
sticks  and  weeds,  fragments  of  wrecks, 
and  the  bones  of  fishes  ;  but  in  one  was 
found  the  thorax  of  a  man,  a  silver  watch 
made  by  George  Prior,  a  London  watch- 
maker  of   the    last    century,   celebrated 
throughout  the  East,  and  in  the  nest  or 
basin  at  the  apex  of  the  cone,  some  pieces 
of  woollen  cloth  and  an  old  shoe. 

That  tliese  nests  had  been  but  recently 
constructed,  was  sufficiently  evident  from 
the  shoe  and  watch  of  the  shipwrecked 
pilgrim,  whose  tattered  clothes  and  whi- 
tened bones  were  found  at  no  great  dis- 
tance ;  but  of  what  genus  or  species  had 
been  the  architect  and  occupant  of  the 
structure,  Mr.  Burton  could  not,  from  his 
own  observation,  determine.  From  the 
accounts  of  the  Arabs,  however,  it  was 
presumed  that  these  nests  had  been  occu 


illv 
nth 


kind,  which  had  deserted  the  coa:*!  but  a 
short  time  previous  to  the  pi  riod  of  .Mr. 
Burtcm's  visit." — "To  these  facts,'  saiil 
Mr.  Bonomi,  "  I  beg  to  add  the  followiiij,' 
remarks  :  — 

"  Among  the  most  ancient  records  of  the 
primeval   civilization  of  the   human  raee 
that  have  come  down  to  us,  there  is  de- 
scriiied  in  language  the  most  universa 
intelligible,  a  giganl.    stork,  bearing,  w 
respect  to  a  man  of  ordinary  dimensions, 
the  proportions  exhibiteil  in  the  drawing 
before  you,  which  is  faithfully  copied  from 
the    original    document.     It  is  a  bird  of 
white   plumage,  straight  and  large  l)e.ik, 
long  feathers  in  the  tail  ;    the  male   bird 
has  a  tuft  at  the  back  of  the  head,  and  an- 
other at  the  breast ;  its  habits   ai)parenlly 
gregarious.    This  very  remarkable  painted 
basso-relievo  is  sculptured  on  the  wall,  ii. 
the  tomb  of  an  officer  of  the  lunisehold  of 
Pharaoh  Shufu  (the  Suphisof  the  Greeks), 
a  monarch  of  the   fourth  dynasty,   who 
reigned    over    Egypt  while   yet  a   great 
part  of  the  Delta  was  intersected  by  lakes 
overgrown  with  the   papyrus — while  yet 
the   smaller  ramifications    of  the    parent 
stream   were  inhabited  by  the   crocodile 
and  hippopotamus — while  yet,  as  it  would 
seem,  that  favored  land  had  not  been  vis- 
ited by  calamity,  nor  the  arts  of  peace 
disturbed  by  war ;  so  the  sculpture  in  these 
tombs  intimate,  for  there  is  neither  horse 
nor  instrument  of  war  in  any  one  of  these 
tombs.     At  that  period  of  the  building  of 
the  great   pyramid,  which,  according  to 
some  writers  on  Egyptian  matters,  was  in 
the  year  2100  B.  C,  which,  on  good  au- 
thority, is  the  240th  of  the  deluge,  this 
gigantic   stork  was  an  inhabitant  of  the 
Delta,  or  its  immediate  vicinity  ;  for,  as 
these  very  interesting  documenis  relate,  it 
was  occasionally  entrapped  by  the  peas- 
antry of  the  Delta,  and  brought  with  oth- 
er wild  animals,  as  matters  of  curiosity, 
to  the  great  landholders  or  farmers  of  the 
products  of  the  Nile — of  which  circum- 
stance this  painted  sculpture  is  a  repre- 
sentation, the  catching  of  fish  and  birds, 
which  in  these  Jays  occupied  a  large  por- 
tion of  the  inhabitants.     The  birds  and 
fish   were   salted.     That   this   document 
gives  no  exaggerated  account  of  the  bird, 
may  be  presumed  frotn  the  just  proportion 


pied  by  remarkably  large  birds  of  the  stork  |  that  the  quadrupeds,  in  the  same  picture 


tlio  con'"!  litii  :i 
)  pcrioil  "I  Mr. 
•sii  furtH,'  Niiid 
111  tliu  rullowii\^ 

itt  reroriU  of  iIh- 
he  huiiMii  riii'o 
UH,  ihero  in  ilo- 
iioHl  imivi-rsiilly 
k.lit'ariii);,  vviiit 
iiry  tlimt'iiMi"!!!*, 

ill  tlio  (Irawiii^r 
iilly  c()pi<!il  I'riiin 

It  h  a  t>ir(l  (if 
and  lurjio  hoiik, 
;  till)  iiih1*<  liinl 
liu  IlL'Iul,  iiiul  UM- 
il)ils  t>.i>|):irfiilly 
narkal>li)  painti'd 
I  on  the  wall,  ii, 
llio  h()iis<!li()l(l  of 
sof  ihc  Clret'ks), 
1  dynasty,  wlio 
ile  yet  a  great 
rsecteil  by  lakt-H 
yrus— whilo  yet 

I  of  the  pariinl 
ly  the  crocodile 
)  yet,  us  it  would 
lad  not  been  vis- 
u  arts  of  peace 
culpture  ill  tlieso 
is  neither  horse 
any  one  of  these 
'  the  buihiing  of 
zh,  according  to 

II  matters,  was  in 
ch,  on  good  au- 
tho  deluge,  this 
nhubitant  of  the 
vicinity  ;  for,  as 
;uineni^  rolate,  it 
led  by  the  peas- 
rought  with  olh- 
lers  of  curiosity, 
»r  farmers  of  the 
f  which  circum- 
pture  is  a  repre- 
f  fish  and  birds, 
ipied  a  large  por- 

The  birds  and 
t  this  document 
:ount  of  the  bird, 
le  just  proportion 
he  same  picture, 


CATARACT  AT  FOBBVOLLUM,  ICBLAND. 


^1 


hoar  to  tlio  mon  who  are  h-nding  thmn  ; 
»nd,  from  the  ab»i«ncc  of  any  ro|)ri'sinla- 
tiiiii  of  these  I'irds  in  the  lenn  ancient 
inoiHiments  of  K«ypt,  it  :nay  uIko  be  r«!i- 
(loiial)lv  conjectured  they  disajipeared  hooii 
iifu't  ilio  period  of  tho  orociioii  of  these 
toinbn. 

With  respect  to  tho  relation  theno  facts 
hear  to  each  other,  I  beg  to  remark,  that 
the  colossal  nests  of   (.'aptains  Cook  and 
I'liiiilers,  and   also    those  of    Mr.  James 
Hiirioii,  were  all  on  tho   seashore,  and  all 
of  ihose  alKtut  an  equal  distance  from  the 
t-ijuator.     Hut  whether  the  Kgyptian  birds, 
as  described  in  those  very  ancient  scul 
turi'S,  bear  any  analogy  to  those  recorded 
ill  tho  pages  of  the  great  stone  book  of 
nature  (the  now  red  SRnlstnno  formation), 
or  whether  they  bear  anal  >gy  to  any  of 
the  speoies  determined  liy  Piofessor  Owen 
from  the   New  Zealand  fossils,  I  am  not 
(lualified  to  say,  nor  is  it  indeed  the  object 
of  this  paper  to  discuss  ;  the  intention  of 
which,  being  rather  to  biing  together  these 
facts,  and  to  associate  ihem  with  that  re- 
corded at  Uezah,  in  order  to  call  ttiti  al- 
tt'iiiion  of  those  who  have  opp<»rtueity  of 
making  further  research  into  thii*  interest- 
ing mailer." 


I 


CATARACT  AT  FOSSVOLLUM, 
ICELAND. 


,^  HE  volcanic  charac- 
J^tcr   of  the    island  of 
Iceland,  and  the  many 
convulsions  which  it 
has    experienced    at 
various  periods,  rend- 
ing asunder  the  moun- 
tains,   throwing    ob- 
striiciions   in   tho  way  of  the  rivers,  and 
pToduci^^  renti  and  chasms  in  tlie  valleys, 
explain  the  origin  of  the  many  waterfalls 
and  cascades   which  the  traveller    meets 
with  in  that  bleak  and  desolate  country. 
In  many  parts,  especially  in  the  neighbor- 
hood   of    volcanic    mountains,    cataracts 
abound,  generally  presenting   features  of 
the  most  terrific  but  picturesque  character. 
There    are   many  worth   visiting   in    the 
neighborhood    of    the    Geysers,   or    hot 


springs,  in  tho  western  part  of  tho  island, 
but  perhaps  the  most  rfMiinrkalile  is  omt  on 
tho  eastern  coast  iicir  llof.  This  /(»,v.v, 
or  waterfall,  is  surrounded  by  many  lesser 
cataracts,  which  in  anothei  place  would 
bo  viewed  with  tho  most  livcdy  iiiferesi, 
several  of  them  falling  more  than  100  feet ; 
but  in  tho  neighborhood  of  tlie  more  im- 
portant one,  which  is  represented  in  tho 
engraving  they  sink  into  comparntivo  insig- 
niticanco. 

In  visiting  Fossvollum   from  Hcf,  tlio 
margins  of  several  of  these  springs  have 
to  bo  traversed,  and  travellers  find  it  ne- 
cessary to  proceed  with  the  greatest  cau- 
tion.    Tho  whole  track  (road  it  can  not  be 
called,  for  it  would  be  impossible  for  any 
wheeled-carriage  to  pass  over  it)  by  which 
•he    falls    are    approached    from    Hof,   i.i 
dreary  and    mountainous,   intersected    by 
chtisms  at  which  tho  traveller  shudders  as 
he  looks   down  tho  abyss,  now  winding 
around  the  side  of  u  mountain,  and  then 
descending  tho  ubn.ijt  declivity  of  a  ra- 
vine, until  it  leads  to  within  ear-shot  of  t!io 
sound  of  the  falling  waters.     The  troubled 
waters,  dashing  over  a  precipice  uf  rugged 
rocks,  both  sides  of  which  are  lined  wi'.h 
verdant     meads— tho     gentle    elevations 
which  encircle  the  plains,  the  stately  iip- 
pearanco  of  the  farm,  the  extent  and  ver- 
dure of  the  tun,  and  the  number  of  sheep, 
cows,  and  horses,  that  weio  feeding  in  ev- 
ery direction,  produce  altogether  an  eirect 
the  most  lively  and  pleasing. 

The  waters  roll  sullenly  forward  along 
ihe  plains  until  they  arrive  at  an  extended 
and  precipitous  break,  where  they  shoot 
over  111  one  sheet  until  within  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  ground,  when  the  waters 
are  separated  into  thousands  of  sparkling 
streams  and  innumerable  pariicles  of  spray 
Hying  about  in  all  directions.     Tlie  water 
then  glides  swiftly  along  the  plains  below, 
passing  by  the  farm  of  Uiiirnson,  which  is 
of  considerable  extent.     Few  spectacles 
can  be  more  magnificent  than      it  which 
1  these  falls  present.     It  is  won.,   he  disa- 
j  greeable  journey,  to  behold  the  unbroken 
I  surface  of  the  water  shining  like  silver  in 
I  the  rays  of  the  sun,  until  half  way  down 
it  becomes  expanded,  and  appears  to  be 
swallowed  up  in  a  cloud  of  snow,  which 
the  particles  of  spray  closely  resemble, 
and  from  which  the  stream  below  appears 


Ml 


i 


■^ 


THE  HUMAN  BODY. 


703 


t 


bursting,  and   apparently  commencing   a 
new  existence  as  it  ripples  joyously  over 
the  pebbles  bene.ith.     But  it  is  at  night, 
when  the  moon  is  shining  in  the  heavens 
with  suC'cient  power  to  define  the  objects 
around,  that  the  "  ^".ataract  of  the  Plains" 
is  to  bo  seen  with  the  greatest  advantage, 
and  when  it  excites  the  most  lively  admi- 
ration.    The  indistinct  mountainous  tr^ct, 
stretching  away  in  the  distance,  the  huge 
masses  of  rock  that  lie   strewed  around, 
and  the  buildings  of  the  farm,  seen  as  they 
are  but  imperfectly,  aflbrd  greater  play  to 
the  imagination,  which,   excited   by  the 
roaring   of  the   cataract  (the  only  thing 
which  night  renders  more  near  and  dis- 
tinct), exerts  its  influence  on  the  specta- 
tor, who  stands  as  if  under  the  spell  of 
an  enchanter,  wrapped  up  in  the  contem- 
plation of  the  scene. 

Fossviiilum  is  situated  on  the  northeast- 
ern coast  of  Iceland,,  30°  north  latitude, 
and  between  14°  &r,^  -o^"  west  longitude. 
The  farm  of  Biiirnson,  which  although  at 
a  distance  from  the  falls,  appears  to  he  al- 
most under  the  cataract,  is  conducted  with 
much  skill. 


* 


THE  HUMAN  BODY 


J\ 


E  are  fearfully  and 
wonderfully    made, 
may  be  said  of  our 
bodies,  of  our  souls, 
of  our  minds,  of  the 
connexions  between 
soul  and  body,  and 
of  the  whole  man.  l 
There   may  be  far 
more  wisdom  and  skill  manifested  to  the 
spiritual  world,  in  the  formation  ot   our 
souls,  or  the  structure  of  our  minds,  than 
in  our  bodily  frames.     But  this  is  cori- 
cealed  from  our  view.     We  can,  indeed, 
see  that  there  is  something  incomprehen- 
oi!''^  and  overwhelming  in  the  being  and 
nature  of  our  souls,  and  especially  in  the 
connexion  between  our  spiritual  and  cor- 
poreal being.     Yet  the   wisdom  of  the 
Creator  is  not,  and  was  not  intended  to 
be,  set  forth  in  that  evident  and  tangible 
manner  in  the  creation  of  spirit,  in  which 


it  is  exhibited  to  us  in  the  siruciuro  of  our 
bodies.  Here  we  have  something  that 
may  be  seen  with  our  eyes,  and  hiiiuH'jd 
with  our  hands,  and  revolved  and  appre- 
ciated by  our  minds. 

The  human  body  presents  to  our  view 
system  after  system,  appar(n\tiy  complete 
within    themselves,    and   inilfpiMulent    of 
each  other,  yet  all   intimately  connected 
and  interwoven,  so  as  to  form  one  great 
complicated  and  incomprehensible  system, 
a  system  of  order,  harmony,  and  reg\ihir- 
ity,  to  the  intelligent  observer,  but  yo  tlic 
ui\enlightened  mind  a  mass  of  conl'usion. 
Take  the  naked  skeleton  of  a  man,  and 
study  the  osteology  of  his  frame,  look  at 
the  bones  of  his  cranium,  his  spine,  his 
chest,  his  limbs,  his  hands,  and  his  feet. 
Notice    how    strength    is    found    where 
strength  is  needed;  where  delicacy,  deli- 
cacy; where  motion,  joints  and  oth'T  requi- 
sites for  moving.     Observe   tlie  position, 
size,  shape,  and  relations,  of  each  bone. 
Consider  their  structure,  their  density,  and 
strength,   the    solidity  of  some   of  their 
parts,  the    sponginess    of  others ;    mark 
their  cavities,  protuberances,  and  proces- 
ses, and  connect  all  these  with  their  sev- 
eral uses  and    functions.     We  see  great 
wisdom  manifested  in  the  arrangement  of 
such  a  number  and  variety  of  parts,  so  as 
to  harmonize  with  each  other,  and  ail  tend- 
ing to  the   same   general  purpose.     Yet 
what  brittle  substances  ate  human  bones, 
and  how  very  flimsy  are  nwuy  of  them, 
and  how  easily  may  the  whole  sys'em  be 
driven  to  atoms.     Truly  we  ar^-  fearfully 
made.     But  the  wisdom  and  skill  seen  in 
the  structure  of  the  skeleton,  is  greatly 
augmented  by  considering  its  connexions 
with  other  systems.     What  is  called  the 
vascular  system,  may  be  mentioned  as  in- 
timately   connected    with    the     skeh^ton. 
The   vessels,  in    many  instance.^  follow 
the  course  of  the  bones,  and  the  bones  are 
often  fitted  with  grooves,  notches,  perfora- 
tions, and  cavities,  suitable  to  transmit  or 
contain  the  vessels.     This  vascular  sys- 
tem is  the  link  of  connexion  bciweun  the 
solids  and  the  fluids,  between  the  bones 
and   the  blood,  lymph,  chyle,  and  other 
liquids.     The  connexion  of  tliis  system 
with  the  skeleton  is  most  wonderful  and 
surprising.     By  means  of  the    action  of 
fluids,  the  most  solid  and  dense  bones  are 


>jr' 


i 


T54 


THE  HUMAN  BODY. 


sometimes,  in  diseases,  entirely  removed, 
and  in  convalescence   as  completely  re- 
stored ;  and  so  rapid  is  the  action  of  these 
vessels,  and  so  thoroughly  do  they  pene- 
trate the  hardest  bones,  that  the  color  of 
the  bones  may  in  some  cases  be  changed, 
by  a  change  of  diet,  even  in  two  or  three 
days.     Yet  the  bones  and  vessels,  and 
their  connexions  and  relations,  are  but  the 
beginning  of  the  wonderful   structure  of 
the  human  frame.     Were  we  to  take  a 
particidar  view  of  the  muscles,  and  their 
connexions  with  the  parts  already  consid- 
ered, and  particularly  the  skilful  and  sur- 
prising manner  in  which  they  act  upon  the 
bones,  by  means  of  sinews,  and  were  we 
to  examine  the  larger  viscera  of  our  frames, 
and  their  relations  and  functions,  and  then 
look  for  a  moment  on  the  glandular  sys- 
tem, and  learn  the  origin,  course,  and  is- 
sues of  all  the  secreted  fluids,  that  are 
daily  formed  within  us,  we    could   then 
have  some  faint  notion  of  the  intricacies 
of  the  anatomy  of  man,  and  of  the  great 
wisdom  requisite  to  design,  and  skill  to 
to  form  such  a  being.     But  having  taken 
this  view,  it  would  be  nothing  more  than 
an  outline  of  the  great  machine.     Tlie 
The  niinutire  must  be  considered  before 
we  can  fully  learn  what  is  here  to  be 
learned  of  the  wisdom  of  God.     In  the 
outline  we  have  faintly  marked,  we  have 
omitted  the  most  wonderful,  most  intricate, 
and  most  interesting  part.     We  have  said 
nothing  of  the  nervous  system.     Nothing 
of  the  connexion  of  this  system  with  those 
alrcailv  mentioned.     The  nerves  are  the 
seat  of  all  sensation,  feeling,  sympathy, 
and  alVection,  and  the  origin  of  all  motion. 
Paralyze  one  set  of  our  nerves,  and  our 
power  over  the  muscles  and  limbs  of  one 
side  is  gone.     Paralyze  another  set,  and 
the  nmsclfs  of  the  upper  or  lower  extrem- 
ities become  useless— a  third   set   being 
destroyed,  and  we  are  unable  to  speak — 
a  fourth,  and  our  reason  is  gone — a  fifth, 
and  the  digestive  organs  are  destroyed — 
a  sixth,  and  .ve  cease  to  breathe.     Nerves 
are  found  dispersed  over  the  whole  surface 
of  the  skin,  through  every  vessel,  every 
organ,  every  muscle,  all  the  viscera  and 
glands  of  tiie  body— yea,  and  in  the  very 
bones,  and  among  the  cartilages.     In  ev- 
ery pari  of  our  body  we  liave  either  feel- 
ing or  power  of  motion,  or  are  sensible  of 


involuntary  operations.  The  nerves,  by 
old  anatomists  were  considered  as  uniform 
in  structure,  and  functions.  Hut  now  it  is 
known,  that  one  part  of  the  nerves  is  com- 
pletely under  the  power  of  the  will,  and 
the  rest  entirely  independent  of  it.  They 
are  also  divideil  into  nerves  of  motion,  of 
sensation,  of  respiration,  and  sympathetic 
nerves.  The  attenuation  of  all  these  sys- 
tems is  surprising.  We  heaV  anatomists 
speak  of  nerves  of  nerves,  of  veins  of 
veins,  and  arteries  of  arteries.  And  if  it 
is  necessary  that  all  the  large  veins,  arter- 
ies, and  nerves,  should  be  attended  by 
nerves,  veins,  and  arteries,  of  a  smaller 
size,  may  we  not  suppose  that  these  have 
others  still  smaller  attending  them,  and  that 
these  last  are  attended  by  others  still  less, 
and  so  on  ad  infinitum. 

But  let  us  look  at  man  as  a  spiritual 
being.     How  various  are  his  faculties,  his 
desires,  his    capacities.     He  is  a  social 
being,  susceptible  of  the  most  tender  af- 
fections.    He   is    malignant,    capable    of 
cherishing  the  darkest  and  most  diaboli- 
cal designs,  and  most  hitter  animosities. 
He  is  active  and  energetic,  bold  and  ven- 
turesome, daring  to  rise  into  the  air,  to 
dig  into  the  earth,  to  encompass  sea  and 
land,  and  pry  into  the  secret,  and  hunt  out 
the  unknown  parts  of  the  earth.     He  is 
frightened  by  neither  the  depth,  bnadlh, 
or  storms  of  the  ocean,  nor  by  the  height 
or  precipitancy  of  the  most  rugged  moun- 
tains.    The  beasts  of  the  forest,  darkness, 
dangers,  and  horrors,  are  not  to  stop  him. 
War,    with    all   its   train    of    terrors,    is 
sought  by  him.     Yet  he  is  susceptible  of 
meekness,  patience,  self-denial,  kindness, 
gentleness,  mildness.     And  he  has  men- 
tal faculties.     He  remembers  things  long 
past,  he  looks  forward  to  things  far  ahead, 
and  imagines  things  that  never  did  or  will 
exist  or  occur.     He  can   deliberate   and 
decide,  or  suspend  his  judgment.     And 
his    faculties    are   never   dormant.     His 
memory,  his   imagination,    his  judgment 
and  will,  are  always  with  hiin.     In  an  in- 
stant he  is  ready  for  action  with  any  of 
his  faculties.     When  we  consider  his  men- 
tal faculties,  we  see  that  he  is  wonderfully 
made.     But  his  duties,  his  responsibilities, 
his   obligations,  his   dangers,  trials,  ai\d 
temptations,  all  tell  him  that  he  is  fearful- 
ly made.     Every  breath  he  breathes,  ev- 


■* 


i 


le  nerves,  by 
•oil  lis  unilbrm 
Hut  now  it  is 
lerves  is  com- 
the  will,  and 
tofit.  They 
of  motion,  of 
d  sympathetic 
all  these  sys- 
33*1  anatomists 
I,  of  veins  of 
es.  And  if  it 
ra  veins,  arter- 
!  attended  by 
,  of  a  smaller 
liat  these  have 
them,  and  that 
hers  still  less, 

as  a  spiritual 
s  faculties,  his 
le  is  a  social 
lost  tender  af- 
It,  capable  of 
1  most  diaboli- 
jr  animosities. 

bold  and  ven- 
nto  the  air,  to 
uipubs  sea  and 
3t,  and  hunt  out 

earth.  He  is 
depth,  I)r(;ullh, 
•  by  the  height 
t  rugged  moun- 
jrest,  darkness, 
lot  to  stop  him. 

of  terrors,  is 
I  susceptible  of 
jiiial,  kindness, 
id  he  has  ni(>n- 
ers  things  long 
lings  far  ahead, 
ever  did  or  will 

deliberate  and 
Lidgment.     And 

dormant,  iiis 
his  judgment 
liini.  In  an  in- 
on  with  any  of 
insider  his  nien- 
9  is  wonderfully 
responsibilities, 
;ers,  trials,  and 
lat  he  is  fearful- 
le  breathes,  ev- 


raosPECTivE  glory  of  the  united  states. 


755 


ery  'se  he  feels;  every  sensation,  and 
opoiuiion  of  his  body  or  mind,  ought  to 
leach  him  that  ho  is  fearfully  made.  But 
the  good  providence  of  God  preserves  us 
every  moment.  In  him  wc  have  help  for 
every  infirmity,  and  defence  against  every 
danger.  "For  He  knoweth  our  frame. 
He  remembereth  that  we  are  dust." 
"  Remember  I  beseech  Thee,  that  thou 
hast  made  me  as  the  clay,  and  wilt  Thou 
bring  nio  into  dust  again  1" 


PROSPECTIVE  GLORY  OF  THE 
UNITED  STATES. 

The  prospective  glory  of  the  United 
Slates  is  a  subject  which  overwhelms  the 
imagination.     No  citizens  of  ancient  or 
mo(rern  times  ever  had  such  a  country  to 
contemplate  as  those  of  the  United  States. 
So  vast,  so  fruitful,  possessing  every  cli- 
mate, from  the  cold  of  the  north,  to  the 
balmv  airs  of  the  tropics;    every  plant, 
from'the  great  pine  of  the  Aroostook,  to  the 
delicate  jessaini'.e  of  the  Rio  del  Norte. 
Within  our  boundaries  are  the  foitidation 
of  untold  wealth,  our  mountains  are  filled 
witli  the  riches  of  every  mine,  our  valleys 
invite  the  hand  of  cultivation,  and  smile, 
as  none  other,  on  the  labors  of  the  hus- 
bandman.    The  troubled  waves  of  the  At- 
lantic, and  the  stiller  waters  of  the  Pacif- 
ic, lave  our  coasts  ;  our  ships  whiten  the 
ocean,  and  the  loved  flag  that  waves  over 
them,  is  the  harbinger  of  liberty,  and  the 
protection    of  the    powerful   and    brave. 
In  (ixamining  our  geographical  limits,  we 
find  within  it,  the  extent  of  ancient  and 
modern  empires   still  left  in  wilderness, 
yet  by  the  enterprise  of  our  citizens,  the 
additions  of  new  states  almost  realize  the 
prophesy  of  "a  nation  being  born  in  a 
day."     The  ultimate  history  of  our  coun- 
I  try  seems  too  vast  for  human  conception. 
The  experiment  of  millions  of  men  living 
under  a  republican  government,  and  left 
to  the  fruition  of  the  unfettered  body  and 
free  mind,  joined  together  in  advancing 
the  interests  of  humanity,  and  accomplish- 
ing the  highest  perfection  our  nature  is 
capable  of,  who  can  conceive  the  result  ? 
The   United  States  have  a  frontier  of 
over  10,000  miles,  a  seacoast  of  nearly 

i 


4,000   miles,  and  a  lake   coast  of   1,'200 
miles.     One  of  its  rivers  is  t.vice  as  long 
as  the  Danube,  the  largest  river  in  Eu- 
rope.    The  Ohio  river  is  GOO  miles  longer 
than  the  Rhine,  and  the  noble  river  of  the 
Hudson  has  a  navigation  in  the  "  Empire 
state"  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles  long- 
er than  the  Thames.     Within  Louisiana 
are   bayous   and  creeks,  that  are  almost 
unknown,  that  would  shame  by  compar- 
ison the   Tiber  or  Seine.     The  state  of 
Virginia  alone   is  one   third   larger  than 
England.     The    state    of  Ohio    contains 
8,000  square  miles  more  than  Scotland. 
The  harbor  of  New  York  receives  the 
vessels  that  navigate  rivers,  canals,  and 
lakes,  to  the   extent  of   3,000  miles,^  the 
distance  from  America  to  Europe.     From 
the  capital  of  Maine  to  the  "Crescent 


city,"  is  200  miles  further  than  from  Lon- 
non  to  Constantinople,  a  route  that  would 
cross  England.  Belgium,  a  part  of  Prus- 
sia, Germany,  Austria,  and  Turkey.     Thi 
increase  of  population  has  been  rapid  be- 
yond precedence,  and  in  accordance  with 
the  country  itself.     At  the  close  of  the 
revolution,  the  United  States  contained  a 
population  not  twice  as  large  as  the  pres- 
ent  city  of   London ;    in  less   than  filty 
years,  it  has  increased  into  seventeen  mil- 
lions, and  this  population  the  amalgama- 
tion of  the  finest  European  races,  "  form- 
ing a  national  character  having  for  its  basis 
the  irresistible  energy  and  steady  courage 
of  the  Anglo-Saxon,  in  which  are  mingled 
the  religious  tenacity  of  the  thrifty  Scot, 
the  generous  bravery  of  the  quick-witted 
irishman,  the  sanguine  and  elastic  spirit 
of  the  mercurial  Frenchman,  and  the  pa- 
tient, persevering  industry  of  the  honest 
German." 

Yet  all  this  has  been  accomplished 
within  the  ordinary  lifetime  of  an  individ- 
ual. There  are  those  in  our  land  that 
were  present  at  the  birth  of  the  nation,  and 
have  witnessed  its  wonderful  growth. 
The  future — pressed  on  by  the  accumula- 
ted energies  of  the  last  fifty  years— will 
develop  resuhs  in  arithmetical  progres- 
sion, more  wonderlul ;  and  as  the  iniagi- 
nation  attempts  to  draw  a  picture  of  the 
future,  the  mind  shrinks  from  the  concep- 
tion, and  the  judgment  and  fancy  are  de- 
stroyed, in  the  presentation  of  the  not 
half-conceived  reality. 


I 


% 


fr=" 


756 


BE  INDUSTRIOUS— HOPE 


BE  INDUSTRIOUS. 

HERE  is  no   situa- 
'^1%  lio    in  life,  whicli  af- 


fo    .3  SO  much  coni- 
fori  and  enjoyment  as 
that  of  having  body 
and   mind  cmistiuitly 
employed.    Aithouijli 
there   appears   to   be 
in  the  minds  oC  most  people  a  natural  an- 
tipathy to  labor,  vet  it  is  well  known,  and 
irenerally  adniitlcd  by  those  whose  circum- 
stances have  at  times  required  incessant 
labor,  and  at  otiier  times  perfect  leisure 
and   exemption    from   care,  that    there  is 
vastly  more  enjoyment  in  industry  than  in 
idleness.     It  is  the  plain  and  express  duty 
of  every  person  to  be  industrious,  and  to 
improve  every  hour  of  their  time,  in  the 
full  exercise  of  their  natural  strenf,'lh  and 
faculties,  in  the  most  useful  employment. 
No  circumstances  in  life  can  furnish  an 
excuse  for  a  neglect  of   this  duly.     We 
would  not,  in  these  remarks,  wholly  pro- 
scrilie    r<'creation  ;    but    a    well-balanced 
mind  will  find  the  most  healthy  and  pleas- 
iini  rr.  leation  in  exercises  which  are  de- 
cidedly useful  and  beneficial  to  themselves 
and  others.     For  example  :    a  boy  takes 
pleasure  in  the  exercise  of  hauling  a  little 
cart  loaded  with  earth  or  stones,  though 
there  be  no  advantage  in  the  removal  of 
those  articles  ;  but  does  he  find  any  less 
pleasure,  under  a  consciousness  of  doing 
good,  when  removing  the  same  materials 
from  a  place  where  they  were  an  encum- 
brance, to  another  place  where  they  are 
wanted  ?     Certainly  not.     Or    if  a  miss 
finds  pleasure  in  walking  in  the  fields,  that 
pleasure  is  rather  enhanced  than  other- 
wise, if  she   can  accomplish   something 
useful  by  the  walking. 

li  is  a  common  thing  for  men,  during 
their  labor,  to  derive  an  enjoyment  from  the 
anticipation  of  the  pecuniary  compensation 
which  they  are  to  receive  therefor,  but  this 
kind  of  enjoyment  is  far  inferior  to  that 
of  one  who  rejoices,  during  his  labor,  in 
the  consciousness  of  performing  a  duty,  and 
a  sense  of  divine  approbation.  The  scrip- 
tures of  divine  truth,  which  alone  furnish 
perfect  laws  and  rules  of  duly,  and  guide 
to  happiness,  contain  many  injunctions  to 
industry  and  dili\.;ence  in  business  ;  and 


that  forthepurpose,not  of  acquiring  wealth, 
but  of  doing  good.  The  word  "  avarice," 
is  not  'o  be  understood  to  imply  a  desire 
of  earning  or  gaining,  but  of  retaining  or 
hoarding  what  has  been  acquired  of  wealth. 
Ihit  our  subject  is  the  duty  of  industry  and 
diligence.  If  any  man  enterlains  and 
cherishes  the  true  principle  of  sympathy 
and  benevolence,  deriving  UKire  pleasure 
in  relieving  the  sufl'erings  of  his  fellow- 
mortals,  than  in  the  posses.sion  of  such 
articles  of  wealth  as  are  not  utterly  indis- 
pensable, there  will  be  no  danuer  of  his 
being  either  idle  or  miserly.  But  the  neg- 
lect of  improvement  of  an  hour  of  time 
is  as  decidedly  a  crime,  as  the  wasting  of 
money  or  property  ;  and  the  neglect  of 
doing  good  to  others  when  opportunity  oc- 
curs, is  decidedly  incompatible  with  the 
character  or  hope  of  a  true  CMiristian,  lor 
"  he  that  knoweth  to  do  good  and  doeth  it 
not,  to  him  it  is  sin." 


HOPE. 

Hope  is  the  connecting  link  between 
the  past  and  the  future.  It  is  a  constant 
prophet,  save  that  it  always  dresses  out 
events  to  come  in  a  gaudy  hue,  which 
faucs  and  bUckcUs  whun  the  whuels  of 
time  bring  us  to  the  consummation.  Were 
it  not  for  this  earnest  of  the  future,  this 
principle  implanted  in  the  breast  of  man, 
he  would  have  nothing  for  which  to  live, 
nothing  to  induce  him  to  drag  out  a  mis- 
erable existence.  Never  is  hope  so  wild 
and  imaginative,  and  we  may  say,  so  de- 
ceitful as  in  youth  ;  never  so  so  :x,  so 
true,  so  stable,  as  in  age. 

Although  hope  is  often  delusive,  yet,  in 
the  greatest  misery,  the  least  flickering 
ray  of  sunshine  peering  into  the  caverns 
of  the  heart,  revives  the  drooping  soul, 
and  excites  action,  as  when  some  pre- 
cious gem,  under  the  sun's  beam,  flashes 
its  radiance  round  the  darkened  cell  and 
springs  into  multiplied  existence. 

Hope  is  an  eternal  principle.  Though 
in  the  last  strait,  man  never  ceases  to  hope  ; 
when  the  spark  of  life  departs,  it  flies 
heavenward,  and  is  rekindled  upon  the 
altar  of  eternity ! 


Hiring  wealth, 
iril  "  awrice," 
iiiply  :i  ilt'siro 
('  r<'l:iiiiin!r  or 
ircilorwvaltli. 
('  industry  and 
niorlainb  and 
;  <il'  sympathy 
indn;  pleasure 
of  liis  leilow- 
ssion  ol'  siu:h 
I  utterly  indis- 
danuer  <tf  his 
But  tlu'  nej,r- 

hour  of  time 
the  wasting  of 
the  neglect  of 
ipportimity  oc- 
tiliie  with  the 

(Miristian,  for 
id  and  doeth  it 


link  between 
[t  is  a  constant 
ys  dresses  out 
Jy  hue,  wliich 
tae  wheels  of 
nation.  Weie 
the  future,  this 
breast  of  man, 

which  to  live, 
drag  out  a  ruis- 
,s  hope  so  wild 
nay  say,  so  de- 
!r  so  so    T,  so 

lelusive,  yet,  in 
least  flickering 
nto  the  caverns 

drooping  soul, 
hen  some  pre- 
s  beam,  flashes 
rkened  cell  and 
steiice. 
ciple.     Though 

ceases  to  hope ; 
departs,  it  flies 
ndled  upon  the 


Portrait  of  Aloxamler  eiilnrgcil  from  a  Coin. 


F  kings  and  war- 
riors, no  one  has 
acted  so  eminent  a 
part  on  the  mighty 
stage  of  the  world 
as  Alexander,  com- 
monly calle'l  «he 
Great,  third  king 
of  Macedonia  of  tridt  name.  Caesai:  the 
other  great  conqueror  of  antiijuity,  the 
eciual  proliably  of  Alexander  in  ability,  and 
his  rival  in  renown,  had  far  less  influence 
on  the  destinies  of  mankind ;  for  the  un- 


wieldy commonwealth  of  Rome  before  his 
time  was  tending  fast  toward  a  despotism, 
and  it  remained  only  to  be  seen  whether 
that  despotism  should    be    committed  to 
Pompey  or  to  him— to  the  representative 
of  the  aristocratic,  or  the  favorite  ot  the 
('emocratic  party.     The  life  of  Alexander, 
on  the  contrary,  was  one  of  those  critical 
epochs  which  have  changed  the  history  ot 
the    civilized  world.     It  was  foretold  m 
prophecy  as  one  of  the  appointed  means 
I  of  working   out  the  decrees  of  the  Al- 
mighty ,  it  cast  down  the  mighty  empires 
of  the  earth,  it  substituted  new  dynasties, 
new  manners,  and  a  new  language  over 


L-= 


I 


758 


ALEXANDEll. 


i+ 


»* 


i» 


the  richest  part  of  the  known  world.  It 
forms  a  turning  point,  a  link  of  sacred  and 
prnfiiue  history,  and  as  Buch  possesses  a 
great  and  lasting  interest,  independent  of 
tiiat  seductive  glory  which  wails  upon 
brilliant  qualities  and  wonderful  actions 
set  off  by  success. 

The  Macedonians,  of  whom  Alexander 
wp  i  the  hereditary  king,  had  in  the  more 
brilliant  times  of  Greece  been  regarded 
as  little  better  than  barbarians,  unworthy 
of  being  ranked  with  the  polished  citizens 
of  the  Greek  republics,  though  the  kings 
of  Macedonia  were  of  Argive  origin,  and 
traced  their  descent  from  the  honored  line 
of  Hercules.  Philip,  the  father  of  Alex- 
ander, was  the  first  of  them  who  rendered 
his  power  formidable  to  his  southern 
neighbors.  He  was  a  brave,  able,  and 
ambitious  prince,  successful  equally  in  ne- 
gotiation and  war.     He  died  B.  C.  336. 

Alexander  was  born  at  Pella,  B.  C.  356. 
As  by  his  father  he  claimed  descent  from 
Hercules,  so  by  his  mother  Olympias,  of 
the  royal  house  of  Epirus,  he  traced  his 
line  to  Achilles.  His  education  was  con- 
ducted with  care  and  judgment,  and  he  grew 
up  robust  and  active,  skilled  in  military 
exercises  and  the  use  of  arms.  In  run- 
ning and  riding  ho  was  pre-eminent ;  and 
one  of  the  most  celebrated  actions  of  his 
youth  was  the  taming  of  a  magniticent 
Thessalian  horse,  which  had  been  offered 
for  sale  to  his  father,  but  refused,  as  being 
so  fierce  that  no  one  could  ride  it.  This 
was  the  celebrated  Bucephalus,  who,  af- 
ter carrying  Alexander  through  his  Per- 
sian campaigns,  died  in  the  battle  against 
Porus,  on  the  banks  of  the  Hydaspes, 
leaving  his  name  and  fame  (like  the  no  less 
celebrated  Rozinante)  as  an  inheritance 
for  all  of  his  respectable  species.  Alexan- 
der's mind  was  not  less  carefully  cultivated 
than  his  body.  At  the  age  of  fifteen  he 
was  placed  under  the  immediate  superin- 
dence  of  Aristotle,  who  continued  near 
his  person  until  he  set  out  on  the  invasion 
of  Persia.  It  is  conjectured  that  the  phi- 
losopher composed  for  his  use  the  valuable 
treatises  still  extant,  on  logic,  poetry,  &c. ; 
and  there  is  a  letter  extant  in  which  he 
upbraids  his  tutor  "  for  publishing  those 
branches  of  science  hitherto  not  to  be  ac- 
quired except  from  oral  instruction.  In 
what  shall  I  excel  others,  if  the  more  pro- 


found knowledge  I  gained  from  you  he 
communicated  to  all  ?"  The  passage  nmy 
serve  in  omn  respects  as  a  key  l)()th  to 
the  good  and  evil  of  Alexander's  teniptT. 
Ardent  in  the  pursuit  of  excellence,  his 
motive  and  object  seems  rather  to  have 
been  the  desire  to  excel  others,  rather  thiiii 
excellence  in  the  abstract,  and  for  its  own 
sake  ;  as  in  the  very  instance  now  under 
review,  in  which  knowledge  was  avowed- 
ly sought  and  esteemed  for  selfish  purpo- 
ses. How  great  his  progress  in  abstract 
science  may  have  been,  we  have  no  means 
to  determine  ;  that  his  talents  were  care- 
fully improved  is  evident.  His  style  in 
speaking  and  writing  was  clear  and  pure, 
his  capacity  was  suited  no  less  to  civil  than 
to  military  business,  above  all,  he  had  that 
talent  for  command,  that  ascendency  over 
the  minds  of  othars,  which  seems  a  part 
of  the  natural  constitution  of  those  wlio 
enjoy  it,  unattainable,  though  improvalije, 
by  study.  'J'o  judge  from  the  results,  his 
moral  must  have  been  inferior  to  his  intel- 
lectual training:  he  was  rash,  headstrong, 
hot-tempered,  and  selfish,  as  all  must  he 
who  can  not  bear  even  an  equal,  and  with 
whom,  therefore,  self-aggrauuizement  is 
the  first  object  of  life.  That  Aristotle, 
master  as  he  was  of  moral  philosophy, 
had  not  taught  his  pupil  the  art  of  sell'- 
government,  is  evident  from  the  anecdotes 
of  Alexander's  youth,  as  well  as  from  the 
excesses  of  his  maturity.  But  we  must 
not  forget  that  the  gifts  of  nature  and 
of  fortune  combined  in  this  instance  to 
enhance  the  difficulty  of  inculcating  or  of 
practising  self-control. 

Such  as  we  have  endeavored  to  describe 
him,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  Alexander  came 
to  the  throne.  The  suddenness  of  Phil- 
ip's death,  and  the  youth  of  his  successor, 
gave  to  all  those  who  had  borne  with  an- 
ger and  impatience  the  rapid  increase  of 
Macedonian  po\.er,  a  favorable  opportu- 
nity, as  it  then  seemed,  of  emancipation. 
Dangers  and  rebellions  surrounded  Alex- 
ander on  all  sides,  but  decision  and  prompt- 
itude saved  him.  He  marched  an  army  at 
once  into  Thessaly,  and  having  by  his  un- 
expected presence  nipped  in  the  bud  the 
plots  of  the  discontented  party,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  Thermopylae,  where  the  Am- 
phictyonic  counsel  recognised  him,  in 
place   of   his   father,   captain-general   of 


ALEXANDER. 


7o9 


rom  you  w 
piissiii;e  niiiv 
key  both  to 
Uif's  temper. 
:elloiiee,  liis 
tier  to  liiive 
,  rallier  tlwin 
;1  for  its  own 
)  now  under 
vas  avowod- 
Ifisli  piirpo- 

iii  abstract 
ve  no  nieuiis 

were  care- 
lis  style  in 
ir  and  pure, 
to  civil  than 
,  he  had  that 
ndeticy  over 
leeins  a  part 

those  wiio 
improvaiile, 
!  results,  his 
to  his  iritel- 
headstrong, 
all  must  be 
al,  and  with 
iizement  is 
It  Aristotle, 
philosophy, 

art  of  self- 
e  anecdotes 
as  from  the 
ut  we  must 
nature  and 
instance  to 
eating  or  of 

1  to  describe 
cander  came 
!ss  of  Phil- 
3  successor, 
ne  with  an- 
increase  of 
lie  opportu- 
lancipation. 
mded  Alex- 
and  prompt- 
1  an  army  at  | 
J  by  his  un- 
the  bud  the 
ty,  he  pro- 
's the  Am- 
id him,  in 
-general   of 


Greece.  This  decree  was  confirmed  by 
a  .reneral  assembly  at  Corinth  ;  at  which 
he"  was  empowered  to  follow  nut  his  la- 
tlicr's  designs,  by  taking  command  of  the 
whole  Creek  nation  in  prosecuting  the 
war  against  Persia.  Tlie  Lacedicmonians 
alone  dissented,  saying  that  it  had  ever 
been  their  privilege  to  lead,  and  not  to  fol- 
low. It  was  on  this  occasion  that  the  cel- 
ebrateil  interview  between  Alexander  and 
Diogenes  look  place,  when  the  surly  phi- 
Idsopher  requested,  as  the  only  favor  which 


ments  in  which  he  was  victorious,  he  met 
Darius  in  person,  wailing  to  defend  his 
cro>VM.  Hallle  was  joined  about  30  miles 
north  of  Aniioch,  in  the  plain  of  Issus, 
between  the  sea  and  the  mountains  of 
Ainanus.  The  numbers  of  the  Persians 
were  vast,  greater  probably  than  had  been 
collected  since  the  armament  of  Xerxes  ; 
and  of  those  near  150,000  including  30,000 
Greeks,  were  >'.isciplined,  and  ought  to 
have  been  effective  troops.  'I'he  (J reeks, 
in  the  centre  of  the  field,  well  played  their 


ts:i:s^^::z^r.:.:z.  ^.  «i:rT:i:";='[S  "i,;r";:;t 


between  him  and  the  sun. 

In  the  spring  of  33.-3  B.  C,  he  under- 
took an  expedition  against  the  northern 
barbarians,  and  forced  his  way  to  the  banks 
of  the  Danube.     Having  re-established  in 


that  quarter  the  terror  of  the   Macedonian 
name,  he  concluded  peace   with  the    1  n- 


able  assault  of  the  phalanx,  as  the  close 
and  deep  array  of  Macedonian  infantry, 
armed  with  long  pikes,  was  called.  Uut 
ihe  success  of  the  Macedonian  cavalry  of 
the  right  wing,  where  Alexander,  opposed 
to  Danus,  commanded  in  person,  was  de- 
cisive.    Darius  quitted  the  field  ;  and,  as 


=;,^^;=:,==^£  -  r'r-r  =.'1^  '^i:^. 


the  lUyrians  and  Taulantii,  warlike  nations 
dwelling  on  the  coast  of  the  Adriatic. 
While  he  was  thus  engaged  a  report  of  his 
death  became  current  in  Greece,  and  em- 
boldened the  Thebaiis  to  ailempt  the  re- 
covery of  their  independence.  On  re- 
ceiving this  intelligence  Alexander  re- 
lumed southward  by  forced  marches,  and 
arrived  at  Thebes  before  the  rumor  of  his 
death  had  been  even  contradicted.  He 
look  the  ciiy  by  slorm,  levelling  most  ol 
the  buildings  with  the  ground,  a  blow  Irom 
which  Thebes  never  recovered. 

The  Athenians  had  been  active  in  stir- 
rin<'  up  discontent  against  Alexander;  and 
having  been  of  counsel  with  the  Thebans, 
had  cause  lo  apprehend  a  similar  late. 
But  Alexander  received  their  excuses,  and, 
returning  to  Macedonia,  employed  the 
winter  in  preparation  for  the  grand  design 
of  conquering  Persia.  In  the  spring,  B.  C. 
334,  he  commenced  his  march. 

The  force  with  which  he  undertook  to 
overthrow  the  greatest  empire  of  the  world, 
in  wealth  and  extent,  is  computed  at  30,000 
infantry,  and  4,500  cavalry.  Of  the  for- 
mer, 12,000  were  Macedonians,  12,000 
Greeks  ;  the  rest  were  Thracians,  and  of 
other  northern  tribes,  forming  an  excellent 
body  of  light-armed  troops.  The  cavalry 
was  chiefly  composed  of  Macedonians  and 
Thessalians.    The  Hellespont  was  crossed 


sovereign  was  the  signal  of  dispersion 
The  victory  was  complete.  He  then  \)ro- 
ceeded  to  Tyre,  which  after  seven  months 
siege  was  taken  by  storm.  After  con- 
quering Palestine,  he  went  to  Egypt, 
where  he  laid  the  foundation  of  the  city 
of  Alexandria. 

Darius  having  collected  a  second  army 
while   Alexander    was  in  Egypt,  he   re- 
turned  and    met   him   near    Gaugamela. 
The  scene  of  action  was  an   extensive 
plain,  bounded  on  the  east  and   west  by 
the  meeting  streams  of  the    Lycus  and 
j  Tigris,  and  to  the  north  by  the  Gordyiean 
mountains.     Darius  had  chosen  this  as  his 
battle-field  ;  and  had  carefully  levelled  it, 
to  give  the  best  advantage  to  his  war-char- 
iots and  cavalry.     His  enormous  force  is 
calculated  by  the  Greek  historians  at  a 
million  of  infantry,  40,000  cavalry,  200 
chariots,  and  15  elephants ;  a  force  so  in- 
finitely superior  in  number  to  the  Greek, 
that  even  if  we  strike  ofl'  one  half  ol  the 
numbers,  it  derogates  Utile  from  the  hon- 
or of  the  victors.     The  victory  was  de- 
cisive.     Darius    fled   toward    Ecbalana, 
while  Alexander  proceeded  to  gather  the 
spoils  from  the  wealthy  cities  of  Assyria 
and  Persia.     Here  he  remained  somoume, 
receiving  the  homage  of  or  subduing  the 
various  portions  of  the  empire. 

Intheautumnof327B.C.hecommenced 


Thessalians.  The  Hellespont  was  crosseu  ^"  "';"""■  V"T:  Tjjg  ^oule  lay  at  no 
at  Sestos,  and  a  landing  effected  in  Asia  his  ™«^1  ^^  ^"J;^;^  ,l,e  southern  foot  of 
without  opposition.     After  several  engage- 1  great  distance  from  the  souiueru 


A; 


1< 


760 


imiDrf  Ol"  PAIIADISE. 


.1 

IP 


if 


the  Piiropfimisiis,  the  western  portion  of 
till!  jjrt'Hi  lliinuliiyiin  raiiji;e,  llin)iij^'li  war- 
lilif  iril)fs,  with  wlioin  lie  hud  beveral 
siiarp  tlioiijih  olirfcure  '>attles,  and  was 
tvvuo  woiiiiih'd  h(^fore  he  reached  the  In- 
dus. Uur  limits  will  not  allow  us  to  fol- 
low him  lhrou;jii  all  his  campaigns  in  In- 
dia. 

On  his  return  Alexander  fomul  dinor- 
ders  to  he  corrected  and  (UdiiKpKtiii.s  to  he 
punished;  for  llics  satraps,  as  u.sual,  when 
the  supreme  authority  is  far  distant,  had 
presumed  upon  the  eliiiiu'es  of  impuni- 
ty, to  iiiduliii,'  in  corrii|)iioii  and  oppres- 
sion It  is  to  he  meiiiioiied  to  tiu^  kiii<j;'s 
honor,  that  he  never  liiriied  a  di-af  ear 
to  the  complaints  of  the  commonalty,  or 
sullered  such  misconduct  on  the  j)art  of 
';o\<'riiors  to  pass  unnoticed. 

At  Hahyloii,  Alexander  proposed  to  fix 
the  cijjilal  of  his  empire.  His  active 
mtiid  was  now  teemin<r  with  |)lans  of 
another  kind  than  those  of  coucpiesl,  for 
they  tended  to  devtdop  the  resources  and 
ineroii-ie  the  wealth  and  ha|)piness  of  his 
realms,  lie  ordered  ships  to  he  huilt  on 
the  Caspian  sea,  to  explore  those  desert 
waters  which  in  the  utter  ignorance  of 
geoi^rajjliers  were  then  helieved  to  com- 
municate with  the  Indian  ocean.  He 
commenced  a  dock  at  l.lahvlon  lary-e 
enough  to  contain  one  thousand  ships  of 
war,  and  sought  in  all  qu<irlers  the  best 
seamen  of  the  Mediterranean,  in  hopes  of 
rendering  his  metropolis  the  emporium  of 
eastern  commerce,  and  a  rival  of  what 
Tyre  had  cmce  been.  Ho  bestowed  much 
care  in  organizing  and  disciplining  a  new 
I'orce  composed  of  natives  of  the  east,  of- 
ficered by  Macedonians,  analogous  to  the 
East  India  company's  native  troops.  He 
inedilaied  u  new  expedition  for  the  coii- 
(jiiest  of  Arabia  by  land  and  sea,  intend- 
ing to  circumnavigate  that  peninsula  I'rom 
the  mouth  of  the  Euphrates  to  the  gulf  of 
Suez.  And  one  of  the  most  beneticial, 
and  pt^rhaps  not  the  least  costly  and  dilli- 
cult,  of  his  undertakings,  was  to  restore 
the  dikes  and  canals,  by  which,  in  the 
palmy  days  of  Assyria,  the  flow  of  the 
great  rivers  Imd  been  so  regulated  as  to 
convert  that  tract,  naturally  barren,  into 
the  most  fertile  country  of  the  known 
world. 

While  engaged  in  these  manifold  proj- 


ects, Alexander  was  seized  bv  a  siidili.n 
ilhu'ss.  kumois  of  pfMsonini;.  as  is  nini- 
mon  when  great  men  die  suddeulv.  were 
spread  abroad  ;  but  these  haves  iieiiher 
probability  nor  evidence  to  coiilirm  tli.'in. 
According  to  the  best  nccounis,  he  dii'd 
of  fever,  caught  most  likely  in  siipcriii- 
tendini,'  the  works  which  we  have  just 
ineniioned,  in  the  swampy  plains  of  IJab- 
ylon,  and  aggravated  by  imprudtiit  con- 
viviality. A  diary  of  hi^  illness,  the  first 
series  of  royal  bulletins  extant,  is  pre- 
served in  Arrian.  He  died  on  the  ejev- 
ciiih  or  twelfth  day,  al)ont  iniilsummer, 
H.  (;.  ;i2U.  His  body  was  carriid  to 
Alexandria  ;  and  a  beautiful  sarc()pha<,'us 
brotighl  tiieiice,  now  in  the  IJrilisli  .Muse- 
um, has  been  honored  with  the  title  of  his 
tomb. 

He  left  no  distinct  declaration  of  his 
wishes  as  to  a  successor,  and  no  born 
child,  but  his  wife  Roxana  was  pre>;nant 
at  his  decease.  It  is  said,  that  bi  ing 
asked  to  whom  he  befpieathed  his  empire, 
he  replied,  "  To  the  strongest ;"  and  that 
he  foresaw  a  bloody  comi)etition  at  his 
funeral  games.  The  prophecy  was  so 
obvious,  that  we  may  readily  suppose  it 
genuine,  and  it  was  amply  fullilled. 


BIRDS  OF  PARADISE. 

1.  Pnnidisca  npodn.     Tlio  KmcralJ. 
0.  I'll  III  ih  SCO  (iiirea.     The  Sililet. 

3.  The  Incoiiipiiriilili';  (Lo  Viiilliiiit). 

4.  The  Cloiiily;  (Lo  VuillanI). 

5.  J'lirudiscn  snpcrba.     The  CJuiioib. 

ANY  of  the 
narratives  of 
the  older  natu- 
ralists are  little 
more  than  amu- 
sing fables.  To 
deduce  the  lea- 
ding character- 
istics of  an  an- 
imal from  a  minute  investigation  of  its 
physical  construction — to  watch  its  habits 
with  anxious  solicitude  in  its  rative 
haunts — fortned  no  part  of  the  care  of 
those  who  compiled  books  of  natural  his- 
tory a  century  or   two   ago.     Whatever 


Iiy  a  siiiiip-ii 
ij;,  us  is  inm- 
ilili'iily.  wtTii 
liavi!  iii'iilior 
onlinn  tlifin. 
mils,  lilt  iII'mI 
r  ill  siipcriii- 
vv.  liiivf  just 
aiiis  ol'  Jiah- 
pniilt'iit  (■(III- 
Hjss,  tlic  first 
Haul,  is  prt'- 
iiii  ihc    (>li'v- 

iiiiilsiiinmi'r, 
i     Cii.riicil     Id  |i 

anrc((pliaf,'iis  |l 
Jrilisli  Miisc- 
lic!  liil(,'  of  his 

ration  ol'  his 
inil  no  born 
'•as  pri^L'naiit 
,  llial,  liniiii 
1  liis  ompirt', 
St ;"  and  that 
tition  at  his 
t'cy  w.as  so 
y  siijiposo  it 
hilled. 


ISE. 

Cmcrald. 

illlet. 
.'uilliuit). 
t). 
S>U[ierb. 

iY    of    i\w 

rrativcs  of 
1  older  iiaiu- 
ists  are  little 
>re  than  ainu- 
g  fables.  To 
Jiice  the  lea- 
ig  charaeter- 
ics  of  an  an- 
;ation  of  its 
tch  its  habits 
its  rative 
the  care  of 
natural  his- 
.     Whatever 


mimmimmimm 


763 


BIRDS  OF  FARAOISR. 


was  imperrcctly  known  was  immediatoly 
made  the  subject  of  a  tale  of  wonder. 
The  old  accounts  of  the  birds  of  paradise 
are  striking  examples  of  this  disposition 
to  substitute  invention  for  reality.  Now 
and  then  some  traveller  brought  to  F^urope 
the  skin  of  a  beautiful  race  of  birds,  of 
whose  habits  he  knew  nothing,  except  what 
ho  learnt  from  the  natives  who  collected 
them.  Their  plumage  was  of  the  most 
brilliant  lustre  ;  some  were  covereti  over 
the  breast  and  back  with  tippets  of  the 
richest  hues  ;  others  liad  long  delicate 
lines  of  feathers,  prolonged  from  beneath 
their  wings,  or  branching  from  the  hcp  '. , 
and  most  of  these  trappings  appeared  too 
fragile  for  any  use,  and  incapable  of  bear- 
ing up  against  the  rude  winds  which  visit 
the  earth.  The  specimens  were  also  de- 
prived of  feet.  Fancy  had  thus  ample 
materials  to  work  u|)on.  These  birds, 
tender  as  the  dove,  and  more  brilliant  than 
the  peacock,  were  described  as  the  inhab- 
itants of  some  region  where  all  was  beau- 
ty and  purity,  where  no  storms  ever  ruf- 
fled their  plumage,  where  they  floated 
about  on  never-tiring  wings  in  a  bright 
and  balmy  atmosphere,  incapable  of  rest- 
ing from  their  happy  flight,  and  nourished 
only  by  the  dews  and  perfumes  of  a  cloud- 
less sky.  They  were  called  birds  of  par- 
adise :  and  the  few  specimens  that  Euro- 
peans saw  were  supposed  to  have  acci- 
dentally visited  some  sunny  spot  of  our 
world,  rich  with  flowers  and  spices,  but 
not  their  true  abiding-place.  Such  were 
the  talcs  that  the  old  writers  of  natural 
history  adopted  ;  and  to  which  even  sci- 
entific persons  appeared  to  give  belief, 
when  ihey  named  one  of  the  species  par- 
adisca  apoda,  ihefeetless  bird  of  paradise. 
The  most  correct  description  of  the 
birds  of  paradise  is  that  given  by  Gaimard, 
one  of  the  naturalists  who  accompanied 
the  French  expedition  of  discovery  under 
Captain  Freycinet,  in  1817.  He  observed 
many  of  these  birds  in  the  island  of  Vai- 
giou,  one  of  the  islands  forming  the  group 
of  which  New  Guinea  is  the  principal. 
They  constitute  a  genus  of  the  order  of 
Omnivores  (eating  all  things).  Their 
principal  food  is  fruit  and  insects,  and  the 
strength  of  their  beaks  and  feet  admirably 
fit  them  for  sustaining  themselves  in  the 
thick   woods   where   they  dwell.     They 


delight  in  the  most  inacccssii)|e  parts  of 
forests,  and  when  the  weather  is  scrone, 
they  perch  themselves  on  the  topnioit 
branches  of  the  highest  trees.  Tiny  (ly 
with  great  rapidity,  althounb  ibiy  con- 
stantly direct  their  course  ag^tinst  ilie  wind. 
This  is  a  proceeding  which  they  are  com- 
pelled to  adopt,  in  consequence  of  the  lii.x- 
urious  trappings  with  which  nature  hns 
clothed  them  ;  for  the  wind  pressing  in 
the  direction  of  their  long  feathers,  holds 
them  close  to  their  bodies  :  in  a  ".oi.trary 
direction  their  plumage  '.vould  b(?  milled, 
and  their  loaded  wings  would  act  with  dif- 
ficulty. They,  however,  seldoin  venture 
from  their  retreats  in  rough  weather.  \i 
the  approach  of  a  storm  they  entirely  dis- 
appear, instinctively  dreading  the  hurri- 
cane, which  they  would  be  unable  to  meet, 
and  before  whicii  it  would  bo  equally  dan- 
gerous to  fly.  They  are  exirouiely  cour- 
ageous, ready  to  attack  any  bird  of  prey 
that  excites  their  alarm,  'f'hcy  have  nev- 
er been  seen  in  a  state  of  domesticity 
among  any  of  the  Papou  tribes,  inhabiting 
the  islands  where  they  aro  commonly 
found.  Of  their  nests,  tlieir  mode  of 
hatching,  and  their  care  of  their  young, 
nothing  appears  to  be  known. 

In  the  annexed  engraving  we  have 
grouped  together  some  of  the  more  splen- 
did of  the  birds  of  paradise,  as  given  by 
Le  Vaillant,  in  his  work  on  birds.  The 
species  No.  1  (par.  apoda),  is  very  remark- 
able for  the  beauty  of  its  plumage,  which 
is  of  the  most  varied  and  brilliant  colors. 
It  is  especially  distinguished  by  tiie  long 
curved  fillets  which  spring  from  beneath 
its  wings,  and  extend  in  length  about  two 
feet.  No.  2  (le  sifilet),  is  so  called  from 
the  six  fillets  which  adorn  its  head.  Nos. 
3  and  4  are  drawn  and  described  by  Le 
Vaillant.  The  latter  is  represented  dis- 
playing its  splendid  plumes  as  the  pea- 
cock does  his  tail.  No.  5  (the  superb) 
exhibits  pretty  clearly  the  nature  of  the 
plumage  of  the  birds  of  paradise.  The 
sort  of  tippet  upon  its  breast,  and  the  fan- 
like ornaments  of  its  shoulders,  have  no 
connexion  with  either  the  wings  or  the 
tail.  The  bird  has  the  power  of  raising 
or  depressing  thewi ;  but  they  do  not  ap- 
pear to  assist  its  flight.  Those  on  the 
shoulders  fold  down  over  a  part  of  the 
wings  like  a  mantle.     In  dimensions  the 


lile  piirls  of 
ir  ift  stToiio, 
the  ti>|)iii()<tt 
I.  Tlity  (ly 
\\  tln'y  coti- 
llHt  llio  wiiiil. 
Iioy  art!  coin- 

0  of  llio  lux- 
iinliirc   has 

prcssiiij;  in 
itliLTH,  holds 
n  a  :;>r.trary 

1  bo  riim«!.l, 
act  with  dil'- 
h»in  veiituie 
rciilher.  At 
eiitirt'Iy  dis- 
{  the  hiirri- 
abit!  to  ineot, 
equal  ly  ilan- 
rumcly  cour- 
)ird  of  |)r('y 
cy  havn  nov- 

doiiipsticily 
s,  inhabiting 
3  commonly 
ir  mode  of 
their  young, 

ig   we    liavo 

more  Hj)len- 
as  given  by 
birds.  The 
very  remark- 
iiiajje,  wiiich 
liant  colors. 

by  the  long 
"rom  biMicaih 
:h  about  two 

called  from 
head.  Nos. 
ribed  by  Le 
escnt<?d  dis- 

as  the  pea- 
[tho  superb) 
aturo  of  the 
adise.  The 
and  the  fan- 
ers,  have  no 
vings  or  the 
er  of  raising 
y  do  not  ap- 
hoso  on  the 

part  of  the 
lensions  the 


BABBATII  TIIOirnHTS. 


703 


various  species  difTer  considerably  The 
bodies  of  most  are  not  larger  than  tha  of 
a  thrush,  although  the  thicknoM  of  their 
plumage  makes  them  appear  the  size  ol  a 

One  of'lho  most  beautiful  of  the  birds 
of  paradise  is  culled  the   king-bird  (para- 
disea  regia).     Of  this  species  many  curi- 
ous   stories    are    current    in    the    islands 
whore  these  birds  are  found.      I  he  nafves 
aver,  for  example,  that  the  two  principal 
t  species  of  paradise  birds  have  each  tlieir 
I  leader,  whose   impt'rial  mandates  are  re- 
ceived with    submissive   obedience  by  a 
I  numer-ms  train  of  subjects  ;  and  that  liis 

'^   cU  to  IS- 


SABBATH  THOUGHTS. 


uuiuvi......     .1 

iPiijesiy  always  lite.-:  above  the  tlo 
sue  bis  orders  for  inspecting  and  lasting 
the   springs   of    water    where    they  may 
drink  with  safetv— the  Indians  being  in 
the  i)raclice  of  taking  whole  Hocks  of  birds 
by  poisoning  the  water  where  they  resort 
to  drink.     Lc  Vaillant  considers  that  this 
notion  originated  from  the  casual  observa- 
tion of  a  str.ng"3  >s,)ecie.i  among  a  gregari- 
ous llock.     This  explanation  accords  with 
the  account  given  by  M.  Sonnerat  of  the 
manners  of  the  king-bird  of  paradise;  lor 
being  a  solitary  bird,  going  from  bush  to 
bush  in  search  of  the  berries  upon  which 
it  feeds,  it  may  occasionally  be  seen  near 
the  flocks  of  those  which  are  gregarious, 
where  its  singular  plumage  must  render  it 
conspicuous. 

These  gorgeous  trappings  of  the  various 
species  of  the  birds  of  paradise  excite 
the  cupidity  of  man.  The,  feathered  skins 
form  a  large  object  of  commerce  between 
the  people  of  the  New  Guinea  islands 
and  the  Malays. 

The  natives  entrap  the  birds  or  shoot 
them  with  blunt  arrows.    They  prepare  the 
skins  with  consideraole  nicety,  having  re- 
moved the  true  wings,  which  are  not  so 
brilliant  as  the  other  feathers,  and  cut  oit 
the  feet  and  legs.     The  absence  of  feet  in 
all  tho  specimens  brought  to  Europe,  gave 
rise  to  the  fable  that  the  birds  of  paradise 
had  no  power  of  alighting,  and  were  al- 
ways on  th.)  wing.     Their  migratory  hab 
iu   may  probably  also  have  given  some 
color  to  this  tale.     At  the  nutmeg  season 
they  come  in  flights  from  the   southern 
isles  to  India  ;  and  Tavernier  says,     1  he 
8tren:|thof  the  nutmeg  so  intoxicates  them 
that  they  fall  dead  drunk  to  the  earth. 


Manv  and  thrilling  are  the  associations 
which  the  weekly  recurrence  of  the  sab- 
bath brings.     The  sun  of  a  sublialh  morn 
first    shed   light  on   a  finished    creation. 
When  the  ball  we  tread  on  stood  out  a 
complete  and  lovely  thing  b.vfon-  its  Ma- 
ker •   when  Eden  bloomi'd  a  lillle  heaven 
below,  and  man,  with  his  pure  and  lofty 
spirit,  lived  in  its  bowers  ;  ere  yetthe  trai 
nf  the  serpent  was  over  all,  "  Cod  blessed 
the  seventh  day  and  saiielified  it."      I  ho 
beams  of   a  sabbath    morning    tirst    shed 
light   on  a  ransomed  creation.     Then  it 
was  that  the  Captain  of  our  salvation,  hav- 
injr  battled  with  Death  in  his  own  dark 
domain   shivered  his  fetters,  roso  a  victor 
from  the  tomb,  led  captivity  e;iptivo,  and 
gave  "ifts  unto  men  ;  so  that  now,  instead 
of  the^wo  and  shame  sin  had  entailed  up- 
on the  fallen,  there  is  profTered  to  them 
the  beauty,  the  brightness  of  a  purchased 
immortality.     The  sabbath  is  a  type,  and 
itdls  of  that  rest  which  remaineth  to  the 
people  of   God-of  that  hour  w'hen  the 
Christian  pilgrim  shall  termina.e  his  long 
and  toilsome  march  through  the  ^ylldcr- 
ness   and  cross  the  threshold  of  his  !•  a- 
iher's  home— when  the  Christian  mariner 
shall  heave  over  the   last  ocean  billow, 
and  enter  the  desired  haven— when  the 
soldier  of  the  cross  shall  lay  ofl'  his  pano- 
nly.  wear  the  rich  robe   and  the   bright 
crown.      Independently,    loo,    of    these 
urander    associations,   there    is    much- 
much  of  piety,  much  of  poetry-to  make 
the  sabbath-day  to  a  Christian's   soul  the 
very  "  best  of  all  the  seven."     The  image 
of  a  gray-haired  sire,  the  family  shrine, 
the  domestic  Sunday-school,  the  "  big  ha 
bible,  once  his  father's  pride,"  the  music 
of  the  church-bell,  the  house  girt  round 
with  the  graves  of  his  kindred,  devotion  s 
lofty  peal-Oh!    it  can   not  bo   that  the 
man  is  on  his  way  to  heaven  who  loves 
not  as  his  life  this  atom  of  heaven  dropped 
on  earth-it  can  not  be  that  he  is  of   he 
"peculiar   people,"    who    calls    not    the 
..  iabbath  a  delight,  the  holy  ot  the  Lord, 
honorable"-that  he  has  any  claitn  to  the 
character  of  a  religious  being,  who  allows 
its   golden  hours  to  glide  away  without 
some  thoughts  about  that  inheritance  to 
which  it  points ! 


49 


:3ap: 


reec- 


764 


PIIOTKCTION  I'llOM  MOHTNINO. 


PftOTECTION  FROM  LIOHTNINfl. 


"Tp,  apprehonHioii  of 
..  ■^erfromliKhininK, 
dfHt  (he  snlicitudn  to 
discover  niul  adopt 
moans  of  security 
against  it,  are  propor- 
^tiS!^tl^L:       tionnto  to  the  magni- 

produc.'s  rather  than  tlie  freqiUMicy  of  their 
occurrence?.     Tho  chances  which  any  in- 
dividual of  tho  population  of  a  larRo  city 
inturM  of  being  struck  during  a  storm  are 
infinitely  less  than  those  whiidi  he  encoun- 
ters in  liis  daily  walks  of  being  destroyed 
by  tho  casual   fall  of  tho  buildings    near 
which  ho  passes,  or  by  tho  encounter  of 
carriages  crossing  his  path,  or  from  tho 
burning  of  the  house  in  which  he  lodges, 
or  from  a  thousand  other  causes  of  danger 
to  which  ho  exposes  himself  without  ap- 
prehcnsicm.     Still,  oven  those  who   pos- 
sess the  greatest  animal  courage  are  struck 
with  awe,  and  affected  more  or  less  by 
fear,  when  exposed  to  the  war  of  tho  ele- 
ments in  a  violent  slorm  ;  and  there  are 
none  who,  in  such  cases,  will  not  willing- 
ly avail  themselves  of  any  means  of  pro- 
tection which  they  believe  to  be  availing. 
Augustus  entertained  such  a  dread  of  light- 
ning that  in  storms  ho  took  refuge  in  caves, 
thinking  that  lightning  never  penetrates  to 
any  considerable  depth  in  tho  ground. 

Strong  fear,  operating  on  ignorance,  has 
prompted,  in  times  past  and  present,  a  mul- 
titude of  absurd  and  unavailing  expedients, 
among  whifch,  nevertheless,  chance  seems 
to  have  flung  soma  in  which  analogies  to 
the  results  of  modern  science  are  apparent. 
When  a  cloud  menaced  thunder,  the  Thra- 
cians  shot  their  arrows  at  it.     The  arrows 
being  metal,  were  conductors,  and,  being 
pointed,  had  the  virtue  of  attracting  liglit- 
ning.     Pliny  states  that  the  Etruscans  haJ 
a  secret  method  by  which  they  could  draw 
lightning  from  the  clouds,  and  guide  it    t 
their  pleasure.    Numa  possessed  the  meiii- 
od,  and  TuUus  Hostilius,  committing  some 
oversi"ht  in  the  performance  of  the  cere- 
mony," was    himself  btruck.     For  Numa 
substitute  Franklin,  and  for  Tullus,  Rich- 
man,  and  the  Roman  legend  is  converted 
into  a  Hue   historical  record  of  the  last 
century. 


It  WM  formerly  believed  that  perMoni  in 
bed  were  never  struck  by  lighining  ;  nnd 
a  miiilern  metcorologJMt,  Mr,  Howurd,  np 
piirenlly  favors  sueh  an  i<lea,  by  relaliiii; 
two  cases  in  1828,  in  which  liedi  were 
completely  destroyed  by  lighlmiiL',  while 
tho  persons  w!;o  lay  in  them  were  unin- 
jured. Against  this,  however,  many  con- 
trary  instances  may  bo  cili-d.  On  ihe 
VJDth  of  Septoml)er,  1770,  Mr.  Ileurllily 
was  killed  in  his  bed,  by  liuliiiiing,  at 
Harrowgate,  while  his  wife,  who  lay  bo- 
side  him,  escaped.  On  the  *27th  Septem- 
ber, 1819,  a  servant  was  killed  in  herbeil 
at  Confolcns,  in  Franco,  In  IHIIT,  n 
house  was  struck  with  lightnn  .'  at  Ken- 
sington, near  London,  where  n  man  and 
his  wife  were  killed  in  llieir  bed. 

Tho  Romans  believe  I  iliat  seal's  skin 
was  a  preservative  aj^ainti  iighinitig;  and 
tents  were  made  of  this  material  fur  tiiniil 
persons  to  shehcr  under  in  storms.  Au- 
gustus was  always  provided  with  a  seal's 
skin  cloak.  However  ineffectual  may  lie 
such  an  expedient,  experience  abundantly 
proves  that  tho  material  of  the  dress  is 
not  without  considerable  influeneo  on  the 
course  which  lightning  follows,  and  may, 
therefore,  augment  or  diminish  the  peril 
of  the  wearers.  When  lightning  struck 
the  church  at  Chateau-neuf-les-Mouuers, 
during  the  celebration  of  mass,  of  the 
three  priests  who  officiated  at  the  altar, 
two  were  struck  dead,  and  the  third  was 
uninjured.  The  vestments  of  tho  last 
were  of  silk. 

There  are  some  well-attested  facts 
which  indicate  a  relation  between  color 
and  the  movements  of  the  electric  fluid. 
three  cases  are  cited  in  which  hur-ses  and 
oxen  having  while  spots  were  struck  by 
lightning,  and  had  all  the  white  hair 
burned  off,  while  the  remainder  of  the 
I'ide  remained  unaltered. 

It  li.id  'jeen  supposed  that  certain  spe- 
cies of  U  -es  are  pro  )f  -^'jainst  lightning, 
.,  '  I  ^v  struck  by  it.  Tiberius  was  ac- 
customed to  wear  a  crown  of  laurel,  from 
the  idea  that  lightning  never  struck  it. 

Tho  beech-tree  is  said  to  bo  a  non-con- 
ductor of  lightning.  So  notorious  is  the 
fact,  that  the  Indians,  whenever  the  sky 
wears  the  appearance  of  a  thunder-storm, 
leave  their  pursuits  and  take  refuge  under 
the    nearest   beech»tree.     In    'I'ennessee 


1 

I 


that  pennm  in 

■  li)iJiinin(; ;  und 
Ir.  Ilmviinl,  op 
i(lf!ii,  liy  rcliiiiiit! 

Ilicll      llCtln     WITC 

liohtiiinu,  wliili' 
Ill-Ill  wi^rti  tiniii- 
n^\(^r,  many  con- 

cilfil.  On  lh(! 
),  Mr.  IIi':irllily 
hy  liuliiiiini;,  nt 
'ill),  wliii  hy  lie- 
fip  '27lli  Scjilcm- 
killcii  in  lnr Ikm! 
3,  In  IKV:,  n 
i^htnii:';  iii  Kun- 
liiTR  n  Minn  iiiid 
ii)ir  bml. 
I  tliat  Heiil's  iikin 
,1  lightning;  and 
naleriiil  lor  liiiiiJ 

ill  siorins.  An- 
Jed  Willi  II  st-al's 
leflectuiil  may  bo 
ience  abiindanlly 

of  tlio  (Irrss  is 

inducnfo  on  tlio 
)liowH,  and  may, 
inininh  the   peril 

lightning  struck 
iouf-lt's-.\Ii)iiLers, 
of  mass,  ol  the 
itcd  at  the  altar, 
nd  the  third  was 
mta   of    the    last 

Bll-attestcd  facia  j" 
in  between  color 
;ho  elictric  (luid. 
which  horses  and 
3  were  strnck  by 
the  white  hair 
remainder  of  the 

I  that  certain  spe- 
■••.'ainst  lightning, 
Tiberius  was  ac- 
vn  of  laurel,  from 
ever  struck  it. 
d  to  be  a  iioii-con- 
3  notorious  is  the 
vheiicver  the  sky 
f  a  thunder-storm, 
lake  reluge  under 
I.     In    Tennessee 


I' 


HOTKCTION  KHOM  MOHTIflMO. 


Tfl.")  ' 


the  pii'plo  <*onsi(f.  f  It  a  coniplele  prote.- 
iioii.  Dr.  nect'Mi  1"  aUit.r  to  Dr.  Mit- 
el,, II.  (il.ilfi*  tiiut  »hf  li.M'cli-ii-.'.-  U  never 
I  known  to  be  Hiriu  I,  by  iitnio>,plirrn-  •■h'C- 
'  iricnv  whib'  other  tn  «h  "'«  o(m\  ■'bal- 
i.r.Ml  'into  «pliii'«r«.     Muy  not  a  know  I- 

wlirn    ixposed? 

When  iiNHailed  by  a  Nl"rm  in  an  op.-n 
,,l;,in,  the  danger  i-*  greatly    uigmeiiud  by 

s,.,  king  ill"  ''Ixli'-r  "'■  »  ''^'"'  t'XP;-"" 
,.,„,.  and  llieory  eoinliine  t'>  prove  ibin. 
The  portion  of  grealent  snf.iy  i»  such  a 
di«l.iiice  from  till'  tree  that  n  shall  act  as 
a  .ondiiclor,  diverting  the  lighlning  Iroiii 


appeared,  not  the  sliuhlf^l  «r''fe  of  it  re- 
maiiied.  The  lady  wm  Niiuhtiy  wound.'d. 
Urvdone  reliiN  s  iliatabidy  of  l>i»  «ei)U»iii- 
tiinVi-.  Mrs  DoiigliHs,  Mtting  at  an  open 
window,  during  a  stor.n.  had  her  bonnet 
rompieiely  de«ilroy<  1,  but  mill,  red  no  in- 
jury 111  her  pfritou  He  aicoimts  lor  ili>' 
wire  of  the  form  of  the  bonnet  ntiructiiig 
lli(i  ligliiniiig.  I 

Thesf  .  .ind  manv  oilier  iimtiincea  mmlit  i 
be    iiieniioned,    suiTicienily    jiroviug    i!." 
safely  is  best  consulted  in  time  ol   siurn. 
by  laying  aside  all  nietdlic  append  ig.sn, 
llie  I'n'moii,  f*'u;li  as  chains,  walcl.is,  •ai- 
rings, hair  ..rnanients,  ite.     The    Hource 


the  place  assuiiied  for  sulety. 


A  distance 'of  the  gr.aie.t  danger  is  111  U,e  bars  or 


of  half  a  dozen  yards  may  serve  for  this 
purpose. 

Class,  being  a  non-cmidiiclor  of  elec- 
iricitv,  is  generally  supposed  to  have  a 
proicVlivo  virtue.  Thus  it  has  been  pro- 
Kiuncd  that  a  person  ench.sed  in  a  caL'e  o 
glass  .^posed  to  a  thiiiid.r-slorin,  would 
\w  in  absolute  safety.  This  is  proved  to 
be  a  fall.icy  by  many  examples  of  ligbt- 
nii."  sinking  and  penetrating  the  panes  ol 
wiirdows  and  the  frames  of  conservato- 


ries. 


Nothing  is  more  dearly  established  than 
that  pieces  of  metal  of  any  kind,  carried 
ahmil  the  person,  augment  the  danger  (>t 
being  struck  by  lightning  ;  and  this  in- 
crease of  peril  is  greater  in  proportion  to 
th(!  mu'rnitude  of  the  metallic  appendages. 
That  this  material  principle,  illustrating  as 
il  does,  one  of  the  elementary  laws  ol 
electricity,  may  bo  appreciated  as  fully  us 
it  ought  to  be,  we  shall  here  cite  some  ol 
the  numerous  recorded  examples  of  it. 

On  the   21st  of   July,   1819,  liglito'l'g 
strut' 


plates  of  steel  which  ur(^  used  in  Hie  .•■•r- 
gets  of   females,  and  whidi  ought   to      ■ 
abandoned  by  all  ladies  who  do  not  dcs- 
to  invite  the  approach  of  lighliim;; 

It  has  been   already  shown  i    u   whn 
lightiiini:  passes  along  a  line  "1     oiiducl- 
iiig  mall   r,  the  only  points  wIi.mt   .  xplo- 
sioii  tak.s  place  and  damage  ensues,  ure 
at  the  p;    's  wh-re  lighfiing  enters   and 
leaves  tb.    conductor ;  and  as  a  iicccssarj- 
conse.pie,.  'e  of   this,  all    interruption    of 
conliiiuiiy    '  any  part  of  a  cniductor  or 
series  of  c   nductors  is  atieiideil  with  ex- 
phisionaiid    orrespoiidini;  damage.  Since, 
then,  ihe  bu  lies  of  men  and  animals  a- 
ford  a  free  pissage  to  the  electric   lliiid, 
it  niav  be  exi  cclcd  by  analogy,  tliit  wb,;n 
liglmiing  is     ransmitled  through    t  cliain 
of  animals,  .  .thur  in  mutual    coniacl.  or 
ronnected  by    (inductors,  the  chhl   il  not 
iho  only  injur-,    would  be  sustained  by  the 
lirst   and   last'    iidividuals   of    the    aerieS. 
This  principb    is  accordingly  siiiiported 
by  the  results    >(  experience.     The  lol- 
will  illustrate  it :— 


J^k'SL  .So^o^^U  c  lii'Si.  lowing  insumc  w.l  tl.usU^  U  :- ^^  ^^ 
„id,  passing  into  the  grand  hall,  struck  an  <^  f  ^ _^^  '^^^^  ,„  ,,  •,,,,„,.,  a 
,„lnulual    prisoner    who  was   one    m  a    Uam  lou      t .„,, ,  -.ivT,,]  the  lluid  : 


ai 

individual    prisunui    ".."    "--    •-■■-    -         I  c.i^  ,,1' tliinv-two 

group    of    twenty;   the   nineteen   others  |  hie  ol  thirty -two 


were  untouched.  This  individual  was  a 
brigand  chief,  who,  being  under  sentence, 
was  chained  round  the  waist. 

When  Saussure  and  his  party  were  at 
m.-veu,  in  1767,  the  metal  band  and  gold 
button  on  the  hat  of  M.  Jallabat  emitted 

sparks.  ,    , 

Constantini  relates,  that  in  1749,  a  lady 
wearing  on  her  arm  a  gold  bracelet,  raiseu 
her  hand  to  shut  the  window  during  a 
thunder-storm,  the  bracelet  suddenly  dis- 


of  these,  the  lir^ 
the  last  was  sev 
termediate  thirty 


lorses  received  the  lluid  : 
was  laid  still'  dead,  and 
•ely  wounded.  The  iii- 
vere  only  thrown  down. 
On  the  -i-Zd  oi  August,'l808,  liuhtning 
struck  a  schoolro  in  in  Knonau,  in  Swit- 
zerland. Five  cl  ildren  read  together  on 
the  same  bench :  the  first  and  last  w.-re 
struck  dead,  the  oiher  three  only  sustained 

a  shock.  „  .    ,      ,.  1 ,  ■ 

At   Flavigny  (C 'to  d'Or),  the  lightning 

struck  a  chain  of    ive  horses,  killing  the 


i 


f 


I 


! 


766 


CASTLE  HOWARD. 


first  two  and  tbe  last  two,  the  middle  horse 
suffering  nothing.  At  a  village  in  Franche- 
Comte,  lightning  struck  a  chain  of  five 
horses,  killing  the  first  and  last  only.  At 
Praville,  near  Chartres,  a  miller  walked 
between  a  horse  and  a  mule  loaded  with 
grain :  lightning  struck  them,  killing  the 
horse  and  mule.  The  man  was  unhurt, 
except  that  his  hat  was  burnt  and  his  hair 
singed. 

The  danger  from  lightning  during  storms 
may  be  lessened,  by  observing  some  pre- 
cautions suggested  by  the  known  proper- 
ties of  the  electric  fluids.  Chimneys  often 
afford  an  entrance  to  lightning,  the  soot 
which  lines  them  being  a  conductor. 
Keep,  therefore,  at  a  distance  from  them. 
Avoid  the  neighborhood  of  all  pieces  of 
metal,  gilt  objects,  such  as  the  frames  of 
glasses,  pictures,  and  chandeliers.  Mir- 
rors, being  silvered  on  the  back,  augment 
the  danger.  Avoid  the  proximity  of  bell- 
wires.  The  middle  of  a  large  room  in 
which  no  chandelier  is  suspended,  is  the 
safest  position,  and  is  rendered  still  more 
so  by  standing  on  a  plate  of  glass,  or  a 
cake  of  resin  or  pitch,  or  sitting  on  a  chair 
suspended  by  silken  cords. 

The  danger  of  being  struck  with  light- 
ning is  augmented  by  being  placed  in  a 
crowd  of  persons.  The  living  body  being 
a  conductor  of  electricity,  a  connected 
mass  of  ?"oh  bodies  is  more  likely  to  be 
stricken,  for  the  same  reason  that  a  large 
mass  of  metal  is  more  liable  than  a  small 
one. 


CASTLE  HOWAKD. 

^  HE  superb  mansion 
\\of  Castle  Howard,  is 
situated  in  a  noble 
park  about  six  miles 
west  of  Malton,  in 
Yorkshire.  The  ex- 
terior of  the  edifice, 
as  a  whole,  is  grand 
and  imposing,  though  not  free  from  the 
charge  of  want  of  unity  in  its  parts.  The 
design  for  the  buildings  was  made  by  Sir 
John  Vanbrugh,  the  eminent  architect  of 
Blenheim  ;  but  one  of  the  wings  was  built 


much  more  recently  by  Sir  James  Robin- 
son, and  to  him  is  owing  the  alleged  in- 
congruity. The  front  is  very  long,  and 
the  whole  pile,  .vith  its  cupolas,  its  roofs, 
and  its  massy  clustered  chimneys,  is  stu- 
pendous. The  approach  is  through  an 
ancient  gateway  flanked  with  appropriate 
towers.  The  site  of  the  present  mansion 
was  formerly  occupied  by  the  old  castle 
of  Ilinderskelf,  which  was  destroyed  by 
an  accidental  fire.  Castle  Howard,  its 
successor,  was  erected  by  the  third  carl 
of  Carlisle,  rs  he  has  himself  informed 
us  in  some  verses,  amiable  in  sentiment, 
but  not  remarkable  for  spirit  or  elegance. 
The  north  front  consists  of  an  elaborate 
centre  of  the  Corinthian  order,  with  a  cu- 
pola rising  over  the  top,  and  on  either 
side  extensive  wings,  the  east  according 
to  the  original  design,  the  west  from  Sir 
James  Robinson's.  The  south  or  garden 
front  is  also  very  magnificent.  Its  centre, 
consisting  of  a  pediment  and  entablature 
supported  by  fluted  Corinthian  pilasters, 
is  approached  by  a  grand  flight  of  steps, 
and  the  view  from  these  of  the  whole 
front  is  strikingly  noble.  At  the  extrem- 
ity of  the  east  wing  is  the  kitchen  with 
square  towers  at  the  angles.  Before  the 
south  front  a  beautiful  turf  terrace,  deco- 
rated with  statues,  extends  away  from  the 
house  for  the  space  of  half  a  mile,  where 
it  terminates  in  an  Ionic  temple  with  four 
porticoes,  and  a  beautiful  interior.  The 
cornices  of  the  door-cases  are  supported 
by  Ionic  columns  of  black  and  yellow 
marble  ;  and  in  the  corners  of  the  room 
are  pilasters  of  the  same  beautiful  mate- 
rial. In  niches  over  the  door  are  various 
ancient  busts.  The  floor  is  disposed  in 
compartments  of  antique  marble  of  various 
colors,  and  the  whole  crowned  with  a 
richly  gildrJ  tloino. 

The  interior  of  the  castle  fulfils  all  that 
the  imagination,  warmed  by  the  outward 
grandeur,  can  expect  or  desire.  The  lofty 
and  richly  decorated  rooms  are  every- 
where teeming  with  objects  of  curiosity 
and  vertti,  and  with  the  works  and  mas- 
terpieces of  human  skill,  pictures,  statues, 
and  busts.  To  give  our  readers  an  ade- 
quate idea  of  the  amazing  riches  scattered 
about  in  the  greatest  profusion,  and  at- 
tracting the  eye  in  every  apartment  of  the 
building  is  impossible.     The  pictures,  for 


ir  James  Robin- 
the  alleged  iii- 
vcry  long,  and 
iipolas,  its  roofs, 
himneys,  is  stu- 
I  is  through  an 
with  appropriate 
present  mansion 
ly  the  old  castle 
as  destroyed  by 
lie  Howard,  its 
ly  the  third  earl 
imself  informed 
ble  in  sentiment, 
irit  or  elegance, 
of  an  elaborate 
order,  with  a  cu- 
I,  and  on  either 
e  east  according 
)  west  from  Sir 
south  or  garden 
;ent.  Its  centre, 
and  entablature 
inthian  pilasters, 
d  flight  of  steps, 
se  of  the  whole 
At  the  extrem- 
he  kitchen  with 
les.  Before  the 
irf  terrace,  deco- 
Is  away  from  the 
ilf  a  mile,  where 
temple  with  four 
d  interior.  The 
es  are  supported 
lack  and  yellow 
lers  of  the  room 
J  beautiful  male- 
door  are  various 
ir  is  disposed  in 
marble  of  various 
crowned    with  a 

stle  fulfils  all  that 
1  by  the  outward 
esire.     The  lofty 
)oms   are  every- 
ects  of  curiosity 
works  and  mas- 
pictures,  statues, 
readers  an  ade- 
l  riches  scattered 
refusion,  and  at- 
apartment  of  the 
The  pictures,  for 


768 


CASTLK  HOWARD. 


.b' 


(i 


instance,  arc  too  niinioroiis  to  allow  ns 
even  to  nuMition  tlwir  names,  alilioiiiih  ilicy 
aro  almost  inesiimalilo  in  valuo,  as  tlifv 
are  almost  countless  in  number.  Amoiii; 
them  are  works  by  almost  every  jjreat 
master.  There  are  three  painliiius  in  par- 
ticular, which  formed  a  portion  of  iho  cele- 
brated Orleans  gallery,  and  which  found 
their  way  to  England  during  the  troubles 
of  the  French  revolution.  One  is  the 
"  Finding  of  Moses,"  a  line  specimen  of 
the  characteristic  genius  of  the  Spanish 
painter  Don  Diego  Velasquez;  another 
is  the  "  Entombing  of  Christ,"  by  Ludov- 
ico  Carracci,  a  painting  of  extraordinary 
pathos,  grandeur,  and  sublimity.  But  the 
most  valuable  of  the  three,  and  not  only 
of  the  three,  but  of  the  whole  collection, 
is  the  "  Three  Marys,"  by  Annibal  Car- 
racci. 

The   hall   of  the   mansion,  measuring 
thirty-five  feet  square,  and  sixty  in  height, 
is  surmounted  by  a  dome  with  Corinthian 
columns,  the  top  of  which  is  one  hundred 
feet  from  the  floor :  it  is  very  handsome 
and  noble.     On  the  walls  are  representa- 
tions,  by    Pellegrini,   of    the   history  of 
Phaeton,  with  the  four  seasons,  the  twelve 
signs,  &c.     In  recesses  are  statues  of  Au- 
gustus, Marcus  Aurelius,  and  other  works 
of    ancient    sculpture.     There    are   also 
many  antique  busts  on  pedestals.     In  the 
saloon,  a  noble  room,  are  many  more  stat- 
ues and  busts,  with  a  nnmber  of  pictures. 
The  ceiling  is  embellished  with  a  repre- 
sentation of  Aurora.     The  chimney-piece 
of  the  dining-room  is  unusually  superb. 
The  cornice  of  white  and  Sienna  marbles, 
with  groups  of  polished  white  in  the  cen- 
tre, is  supported  by  fluted  columns  of  Si- 
enna   marble.     Upon   it   are   three   fine 
bronzes.     This  room  also    contains  two 
beautiful  slabs  of  Sicilian  jasper,  and  a 
valuable  urn  or  vase  of  green  porphyry, 
with   many  busts  and   pictures.     In   the 
breakfast-room  aro  two  elegant  tables  of 
verd  antique,  with  various    bronzes   and 
pictures  ;  and  in  a  dressing-room  are  two 
curious  cabinets  of  precious  stones. 

The  antique  gallery,  measuring  160  feet 
by  20,  among  many  other  curiosities,  con- 
tains various  rare  and  beaiuiful  slabs,  and 
a  small  antique  statue,  found  in  Severus's 
wall,  gilt  and  inlaid.  The  walls  of  the 
drawing-room  are  richly  decorated  with 


I  tapestry,  from  designs  hy  Hubens.  In 
the  same  apart  meat  are  two  peilestaU  of 
green  |)orplivry,  on  one  of  wlii<h  is  a  syl- 
van deity.  The  museum  rontaiii's  a  ureal 
assemblage  of  interesting  objeeis:  :iiiinii<; 
these  are  thirteen  nrns,  wherein  were  for- 
merly deposited  the  ashes  of  ancient  he- 
roes, an  ancient  mask,  many  bust.s,  vases, 
ice.  In  the  southwest  corner  is  an  ob- 
ject to  gladden  the  heart  of  every  anti- 
quarian, of  every  scholar,  and  of  every 
man  of  taste  ;  we  allude  to  a  small  cylin- 
drical altar,  about  four  feet  and  a  half  high, 
which  is  supposed  to  have  stood  in  tiie 
temple  of  Apollo  at  Delphi,  according  to 
the  site  ascribed  to  it  by  Chandler. 

In  the  centre  of  four  avenues  of  stately 
trees  in  the  park,  stands  an  obelisk,  one 
hundred   feet  in  height,  bearing  on  one 
side  inscriptions  in   Latin  and   English, 
commemorative  of  the  valor  and  successes 
of  the  D'ike  of  Marlborough  •.  on  the  oth- 
er, the  verses  we  have  brf;  re  alluded  to, 
recording  that  the  plantations  around,  and 
the  magnificent  edit.ce  <hey  enclose,  owe 
their    existence  to  the  third    earl.     The 
date  on  the  pillar  is  1712.     The  park  and 
grounds  are  very  extensive,  and  arranged 
on  a  scale  of  grandeur  commensurate  wiih 
the  importance  of  the   mansion   and  the 
family  to  which  they  belong,  and  the  eye  is 
everywhere  delighted  with  the  intermix- 
ture of  lake,  lawn,  and  forest.     A  splen- 
did mausoleum  stands  about  half  a  mile 
from  the  house.     It  is  a  circular  building 
fifty  feet  in  diameter,  with  a  lofty  dome, 
surmounted  by  a  colonnade  of  iwenly-five 
pillars  of   the    Roman    Doric  order,  the 
whole  standing  upon  an  elevated  basement, 
which  is  reached  by  two  fligius  of  steps. 
The  inside  is  very  handsome  :    tlie  cor- 
nice  from  which  the  dome  rises  is  SMp- 
ported  by  eight  columns,  each  standing  on 
its  pedestal ;  the  dome  is  entirely  of  ma- 
sonry, wrought  in  elegant  cotnpartments, 
and  the  pavement,  corresponding  in  style, 
is  inlaid  with  bronze  ornaments,  intermixed 
with  various  marbles. 

The  ornaments  generally  aro  very  light 
and  beautiful.  The  basement  contains 
sixty-four  catacombs  built  under  groined 
arches.  Here  repose  the  remains  of  the 
third  earl.  At  the  entrance  of  the  wood, 
which  shelters  the  house  from  the  east, 
stands  a  square  pedestal  decorated  with 


^ittin^nir<il» 


>'  Riih(>n<«.      In 

iVO  ]>0(U'Sflll.S    of 

wliich  is  a  syl- 
(•(piitiiiiis ;»  uroat 
Dhjtiris  :  nmiiiis 
lert'iii  were  f  ir- 
>  of  ancient  lie- 
[ly  l)Usla,  vasos, 
)rncr  is  an  ob- 

of  every  ;uiii- 
r,  and  of  every 

0  a  sinail  cyliii- 
and  a  half  lii^b, 
ve  stood  in  the 
li,  according  to 
^handler, 
enues  of  stately 

an  obelisk,  one 
bearing  on  one 
II  and  English, 
ir  and  successes  I 
!gh  ;  on  the  olli- 
f^fi  re  alluded  to, 
ons  around,  and 
ey  fsnclose,  owe 
lird  earl.  The 
The  park  and 
re,  and  arranged 
nmensurate  widi 
lansion  and  the 
g,and  '.he  eye  is 
th  the  inlerinix- 
orest.  A  splen- 
)out  haU'  a  mile 
;ircular  building 
ih  a  lofty  dome, 
le  of  twenly-fivo 
Doric  order,  the 
Bvated  basement, 

flights  of  steps. 
Isomo  :  i)ie  cor- 
ne  rises  is  sup- 
each  standing  on 
5  entirely  of  ma- 
tt compartments, 
ponding  in  style, 
nents,  intermixed 

lly  are  very  light 
sement  contains 
It  under  groined 
e  remains  of  the 
nee  of  the  wood, 
le  from  the  east, 

1  decorated  with 


antif.tic  medallions,  and  supporting  an  urn 
with  variovis  figures  representing  the  sac- 
rifice of  Iphi^enia. 


OrOllTO,  rORTUGAl. 


ORTUGAL   is  but  a 
small   coin  try,  in  the 
Jorni     of     an    oblong 
square,  extending  from 
37 ->  to  42^  N.  latitude. 
Its  greatest   length  is 
350  miles  from  north 
to  south,  and  its  aver- 
age breadth  about  1 1 5 
miles  ;  consequenily''the  area  of  its  sur- 
face is  about  40,000  square  mi'es^nd  " 
is  therefore  not  much  more  than  half  the 
size  of  Great  Britain,  and  about  one  filth 
the  size  of   France.     Yet  the  fleets  and 
commerce  of  Portugal  at  one  time  were 
more  extensive  than  those  of  any  country 
in  Europe  ;    and  for   two  centuries,  the 
Portuguese  were  equally  pre-emment  as 
adventurous   and    successful    navigators. 
Madeira,  the   Azores,  and   parts   oi    tlie 
gold  coast,  were  settled  by  them  early  in 
The  fourteenth  century,  and  the  kings  o 
Portugal  placed  themselves  at  the  head 
of  that  enthusiastic  ardor,  which,  ctimula- 
ted  by  the  hope  of  finding  a  way  by  sca, 
to  the  countries  from  which  the  Europe- 
ans received  ivory,  gold-dust,  and   other 
commodities   across   the   desert,  was   at 
leneth  successful  in  accomplishing  its  ob- 
ject    The  Portuguese  led  the  way  from 
Europe  to  India  by  sea;  they  planted  col- 
onies on  the  shores  of  the  African  conti- 
nent, from  its  northern  extremities  almost 
to  its  southern  headland  ;  they  held  pos- 
session of  extensive  territories  in  India  by 
the   right  of  conquest,  and   claimed   lor 
themselves  the  exclusive  right  of  naviga- 
ting the  Indian  seas.     In  the  new  world, 
Brazil  was  one  of  the  earliest  European  I 
settlements;  and  Lisbon  became  the  great 
European  mart  for  the  productions  of  In- 
dia,  Africa,  and  America.     Being  the  first 
to  open  new  paths  to  commeftial  enter- 
prise,  and  engrossirg  the  trade  with  new- 
ly-discovered  countries,  great  profits  were 
made.     When  the  trade  to  India  was  car- 


ried on  overland.  Venire  was  hotter  situa- 
ted as  an  entrepot  for  the  prodm-tions  of 
the  east  than  Lisbon ;  hut  when  tlu-y  were 
brought  by  sea,  Lisbon,  situated   between 
the  north  and  south  of  Europe,  was  most 
conveniently  placed.    The  Poriuour's,.  en- 
deavored  to  secure  to  themselves,  il  possi- 
ble, the  exclusive  advantages  vvliul.  their 
adventurous    spirit   had    placed    m    their 
hands.     No  other  country  was  allowed  to 
participate  in  the  trade  to  the    Porln-iuese 
settlements;    and  the  right  to  trafhc   with 
the  natives  of  newly-discovered  emuitnes 
was  permitted  only  to  those  who  ha<l  suf- 
ficient interest  to  obtain   a  license,  and 
who    were    often    worthless   advenU.rcrs 
Though,  for  a  considerable  period,  com- 
merce flourished,  and  profits  were  groaj 
the  system  of  monopolies,  both  in  the  col 
onies  and  at  home,  was  sure  to  undermine 
the  prosperity  of  the  country  at  some  fu- 
ture period  ;  and  many  subsequent  evils 
are  to  be  traced  to  illiberal    restrictions 
framed  in  the  hope  of  excluding   other 
countries   from   the    African,    Indian,   or 
transatlantic     trade.      These     eflorls    to 
maintain  a  monopoly  were   fruitless  ;  and 
when  other  nations  became  their  competi- 
tors   Portugal  was  in  her  turn   shut  out 
from  profitable  branches  of  forei-n  com- 
merce.    Thus  she  was  left  to  her  monop- 
olies.     Manufactures    declined,   though 
having  such  extensive  colonies,  it  migt  ■ 
have  been  expected  that  the  demands  f 
the  industry  of  the  mother-country  vvou.a 
have  greatly  increased  ;    and    •'".    d.rcct 
object  of  their  restrictive  system  had  been 
to  promote  the  interests  of  Portugal.     1  o- 
litical  events  rapidly  hastened  the   crisis 
which  would  sooner  or  later  have  been 
occasioned   by  the  unsound   coumiercial 
policy  of  the  country.     In  the    hfieenlh 
century,  Portugal  was  successfully  strug- 
gling for  maritime  and  commercial  pre-em- 
inence ;  in  the  sixteenth  century  this  oh- 
iect  was  obtained,  and  the  people   were 
rearing  the  benefits  of  their  enterprise  , 
but  from  1580,  when   Portugal   was  an- 
nexed to  Spain,  its  long  and  melancholy 
decline    commenced.     The   authority  of 
the  mother-country  being  relax.'.L  its  con- 
nexion with  the  colonies  was  weakened 
and  it  was  not  powerful  enough  to  defend 
Ihem  against  aggressions  so  that  one  by 
one  they  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Dutch 


i 


# 


lit 


at" 


710 


OPORTO,  POIITUQAL. 


or  English.  Of  all  its  possessions  in  Af- 
rica, India,  and  the  new  world,  only  Mn- 
deira,  the  Azores,  and  one  or  two  settle- 
ments in  Africa  and  India  now  remain. 

In  1640,  Portugal  once  more  became 
an  independent  state  under  the  sovereigns 
of  the  house  of  Braganza,  a  member  of 
which  is  the  present  occupant  of  the  Por- 
tuguese tluoiie.  But  this  revival  of  its 
political  life  failed  in  quickening  industry 
and  commerce,  which  had  gradually  sunk 
into  insignificance ;  and  though  in  fact 
nominally  independent,  the  principles  of 
vitality  which  should  have  rallied  and  in- 
vigorated ])iiblic  spirit,  were  so  stagnant, 
that  foreign  support  was  required  to  sus- 
tain the  tottering  state. 

The  great  wine  company  of  Oporto,  es- 
tablished in  175'1,  was  the  offspring  of  the 
Anglo-Portuguese  system  of  conmiercial 
policy.  This  body  of  monopolists  as- 
sumed the  right  of  regulating  the  produc- 
tion of  wine  in  the  upper  Douro,  which  is 
the  most  valuable  wine  district  of  Portu- 
gal ;  and  it  even  went  the  length  of  or- 
dering vineyards  to  be  destroyed,  with  a 
view  of  making  the  most  of  their  monop- 
oly at  the  least  possible  trouble.  In  the 
meantime,  although  the  trade  of  England 
with  France,  a  coimtry  containing  more 
than  ten  times  the  population  of  Portugal, 
was  sufl'ered  to  decline,  being  restricted 
within  the  narrowest  bounds  to  which  the 
mutual  wants  of  the  two  countries  could 
be  confined,  the  supposed  advantages  se- 
cured to  Portugal  failed  in  conferring 
those  benefits  upon  her  which  were  an- 
ticipated. 

Under  the  administration  of  Pombal,  a 
minister  of  superior  energy,  the  country 
had  displayed  some  signs  of  life,  and  use- 
ful reforms  had  been  effected,  but  both 
were  transient  benefits,  disappearing  when 
the  infiuence  by  which  they  had  been  pro- 
duced was  no  longer  felt.  In  1807,  amid 
the  distractions  occasioned  by  foreign  in- 
vasion, the  royal  family  of  Portugal  emi- 
grated to  Brazil,  and  from  that  time  until 
the  close  of  the  war,  life  and  property 
were  insecure,  and  industry  languished. 
After  the  peace,  when  the  nations  began 
to  improve  their  internal  resources,  Por- 
tugal was  not  permitted  to  enjoy  the  same 
tranquillity,  but  was  disturbed  by  civil  dis- 
sensions, which  raged  from  1820  to  the 


expulsion  of  Don  Miguel  in  1834,  and 
were  but  ill  calculated  to  stimulate  indus- 
try or  to  allow  of  the  commencement  of 
those  enterprises  which  render  a  nation 
prosperous.  But  the  energy  and  vigor 
which  had  distinguished  the  Portuguese 
of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries 
were  no  longer  the  characteristics  of  the 
naiioi..  Ignorance  and  misgovernmcnt 
had  produced  their  wonted  clli'cts.  The 
foreign  trade  of  Portugal,  once  more 
extensive  than  that  of  any  other  power, 
was  chiefly  carried  on  at  the  two  ports  of 
Lisbon  and  Oporto,  with  English  capital ; 
and  but  for  the  same  stinudus,  even  the 
work  of  reproduction  would  have  ceased 
in  many  instances. 

At  the  termination  of  the  late  civil  war, 
all  the  interests  of  Portugal  wore,  as  may 
be  supposed,  in  a  struggling  condition  ; 
and  the  physical  causes  which  obstruct 
the  internal  activity  of  the  country  ncces- 
sarily  render  it  a  work  of  time  to  over- 
come these  difficulties.  Portugal  consists 
in  a  great  measure  of  niouniain-ridges, 
divided  by  chasms,  Alenitcjo  and  Beira 
are  the  only  provinces  which  contain 
plains  of  any  extent.  The  rivers  are  few, 
and  in  summer  even  some  which  are  nav- 
igable at  other  seasons,  are  nearly  dry  ; 
there  are  no  canals,  and  the  roads  are 
wretched. 

Thus  the  traffic  between  one  part  of  the 
country  and  another  is  insignificant,  and 
local  prejudices  of  the  most  antiquated 
date  hold  undisputed  sway  in  petty  di.s- 
tricts  cut  off  from  each  other  by  ravines 
and  desolate  tracts.  These  circumstances 
have  also  their  political  influence.  At 
present  the  country  is  too  poor  to  construct 
good  roads,  but  Roman  energy  overcame 
the  natural  difficulties  which  the  surface 
presented,  and  there  are  the  remains  of 
highways  which  they  formed.  Tlio  want 
of  roads  is  greatest  in  the  south,  but  in 
the  northern  provinces  the  main  roads  are 
toler^ly  good,  and  tliere  are  bridges 
where  they  are  required,  but  these  are  of 
ancient  date,  and  not  the  result  of  recent 
improvements.  The  cross-roads  restn»ble 
the  tracks  v^iich  cover  the  vast  steppes  of 
Russia.  There  are  neither  stage-coaches 
nor  any  system  established  by  which  trav" 
ellers  may  pursue  their  journey  with  post- 
horses  ;  Portugal,  in  this  test  of  civiliza- 


ii 


in  1834,  and 
iiniulatc  iiidiis- 
imencctneiit  of 
Slider  a  nation 
rgy  and  vigor 
lio  Portuguese 
enth  centuries 
eristics  of  the 
inisi^rovornmcnt 
i  I'fii'cts.  Tlie 
il,  once  more 
J  other  power, 
le  two  ports  of 
ngiish  c'Mpital ; 
iiilus,  <;\<''i  the 
1  have  ceased 

late  civil  war, 
I  were,  as  may 
ng  condition  ; 
ivliich  olistruct 
country  ncccs- 
f  time  to  over- 
)rtugal  consists 
ouni;iin-ri(lges, 
tcjo  and  Beira 
\hich  contain 
rivers  are  few, 
whicli  are  Hav- 
re nearly  dry  ; 
the  roads  are 

one  part  of  tlie 
ignificant,  and 
lost  anti(iuatcd 
!  in  peiiy  dis- 
her  by  ravines 
circumstances 
influence.  At 
3or  to  construct 
ergy  overcame 
ch  the  surface 
he  remains  of 
ed.  The  want 
3  south,  but  in 
main  roads  are 
)  are  bridges 
jl  these  are  of 
esult  of  recent 
roads  resinible 
vast  steppes  of 
•  stage-coaches 
by  which  trav" 
•ney  with  posl- 
est  of  civiliza- 


r^)mv 


I 


^ 


II 


m 


tion,  ranking  lower  than  any  other  country 
ill  Europe.  The  inns  are  few  in  number, 
and  afTonl  very  poor  accommodation,  and, 
indeed,  are  to  be  found  in  the  larger  towns. 
It  is  evident  that  there  are  few  arrange- 
ments based  on  the  locomotive  habits  of 
the  people.  The  wheel-carriages  which 
are  in  use  are  in  keeping  with  the  roads 
over  which  they  are  to  travel,  and  on 
many  of  the  roads  conveyance  by  wheel- 
carriages  is  not  possible,  and  goods  are 
carried  on  the  backs  of  mules. 

The  mines  of  lead,  iron,  copper,  and 
other  metal,  and  the  quarries  of  fine  mar- 
ble, all  once  profitably  worked,  were  neg- 
lected. In  the  fourteenth  century,  when 
the  population  of  Portugal  was  greater 
than  at  present,  sufficient  corn  was  grown 
to  admit  of  some  quantity  being  exported  ; 
but  when  trade  had  dwindled,  and  agri- 
culture was  the  chief  resource  left,  Portu- 
gal had  become  a  grain-importing  country. 
Butter  and  cheese  are  imported  in  consid- 
erable quantities  from  England  and  Hol- 
land. Cows  are  seldom  kept,  goats'  milk 
being  usually  used.  The  wool  of  the 
sheep  in  the  plains  of  Beira  is  of  good 
quality,  and  greater  attention  might  be  ad- 
vantageously paid  to  the  fleece,  which 
would  become  «.n  important  article  of  ex- 
change with  other  countries.  The  devel- 
opment of  the  agricultural  resources  of 
Portugal,  ought,  indeed,  now  to  be  the 
great  object  of  her  rulers.  With  a  fine 
climate,  and  a  soil  favorable  to  the  pro- 
duction of  corn,  wine,  oil,  and  a  variety 
of  fruits,  the  aggregate  riches  of  the  coun- 
try might  be  easily  increased.  Maize 
and  rice  are  raised,  potatoes  are  not  much 
cultivated.  If  irrigation  were  more  gen- 
erally practised,  and  other  improvements 
introduced,  the  surplus  produce  of  the 
soil  would  not  be  confined  to  fruits,  such 
as  oranges,  lemons,  citrons,  chestnuts, 
almonds,  &c.,  which  it  requires  little  ex- 
ertion to  render  profitable  objects  of  cul- 
tivation. The  olive  is  rather  extensively 
cultivated  ;  but  the  produce  is  chiefly  con- 
sumed at  home,  the  oil  forming  one  of  the 
commonest  ingredients  of  cookery  in  Por- 
tugal. The  cork-tree  is  also  a  nrofitable 
native  production.  But  the  vine  is  the 
most  valuable,  and  when,  in  1765,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  spirit  in  which  the  in- 
dustry of  the  country  was  regulated,  the 


vineyards  on  the  Douro  and  Momlrsjo 
were  partially  converted  into  corn  lands 
by  order  of  the  governmcnl,  they  di''  not 
remain  long  diverted  from  their  former 
more  profitable  uses. 

Lisbon  and  Oporto  are  the  only  ports 
of  considerable  importance  in  Portugal. 
The  entrance  of  the  Tagus  is  magnificent, 
and  ships  of  burden  come  close  up  to  the 
town  ;  but  how  sadly  has  the  commerce 
of  this  once  famous  enlrepAt  declined! 
At  one  period  400  large  ships  traded  be- 
tween Lisbon  and  South  America,  besides 
those  which  were  employed  in  the  trade 
with  Africa,  India,  China,  and  with  the 
Moluccas,  and  other  distant  parts  ;  but  the 
whole  foreign  shipping  of  the  country  has 
now  dwindled  to  50  vessels  ;  and  in  1838 
only  324  vessels  entered  the  Tagus,  in- 
cluding steamboats  which  arrive  from 
England  once  a  week,  the  aggregate  ton- 
nage of  these  324  vessels,  being  53,728 
tons.  London  and  Liverpool  are  the  prin- 
cipal ports  engaged  in  the  trade  with  Por- 
tugal ;  vessels  from  these  places  proceed 
with  general  cargoes,  and  return  with  fruit, 
wine,  wool,  and  other  native  produce. 
Oranges  may  be  bought  by  retail  at  one 
penny  sterling  per  dozen,  and  of  course 
are  much  cheaper  when  purchased  whole- 
sale of  the  grower. 

Coal  is  exported  to  Portugal  from  New- 
castle and  Glasgow,  and  the  vessels  which 
bring  fish  from  Newfoundland  and  take 
back  salt  in  return,  are  British.  From 
other  parts  of  the  United  kingdom  besides 
those  just  mentioned,  vessels  for  Portugal 
usually  proceed  in  ballast. 

The  manner  in  which  the  decline  of 
foreign  commerce  occurred,  may  be  easily 
explained.  When  the  Dutch  and  Eng- 
lish, instead  of  obtaining  the  produce  of 
America  and  the  Indies  from  Lisbon,  pro- 
ceeded direct  to  those  parts  of  the  globe, 
Lisbon  ceased  to  be  the  great  dep6t,  which 
circumstances  had  temporarily  made  her. 
The  trade  with  Brazil,  was,  however,  pre- 
served until  within  the  last  few  years  ;  but 
the  monopoly  of  Portugal  ceased  when 
Brazil  became  an  independent  country, 
and  England  and  other  countries  carry  on 
a  direct  trade  for  cotton,  sugar,  and  those 
articles  of  Brazilian  produce  which  the 
mother-country  formerly  required  to  bo 
brought  to  Lisbon  previous  to  their  distri- 


STUDY  A  CHILD'S  CAI'ACITIKS. 


nJ    Moiulrjio 

0  corn  Iaii(l8 

their  former 

lio  only  ports 
ii)  I'orliigal. 

1  niiifjnificent, 
lose  up  to  the 
be  commerce 
:)6t  declined! 
ps  traded  be- 
erica,  besides 

in  the  trade 
and  with  the 
larts ;  but  the 
e  country  has 

and  ill  1838 
le  Tagus,  in- 

arrive  from 
ggregate  ton- 
being  53,728 
I  are  the  prin- 
ade  with  Por- 
laces  proceed 
urn  with  fruit, 
:ive  produce, 
retail  at  one 
ind  of  course 
ihased  whole- 

;al  from  New- 
vessels  which 
and  and  take 
ritish.  From 
gdom  besides 
s  for  Portugal 

le  decline  of 
maybe  easily 
ch  and  Eng- 
le  produce  of 
I  Lisbon,  pro- 
of the  globe, 
t  dep6t,  which 
rily  made  her. 
however,  pre- 
ew  years ;  but 
ceased  when 
dent  country, 
itries  carry  on 
Tar,  and  those 
ce  which  the 
iquired  to  bo 
to  their  distri- 


bution in  Europe.     The  produce  and  man- 
uluctiircsof  Knrope.al^o,  inslead  oi  reacli- 
i„.r   ih.)    Brazilians  from  Lisbon,  are   re- 
ceived direct  from  the  couniry  whoso  i.i- 
(hisiry  has  given  them  an    exrliangeulile 
viluc      The  obstacles  to  a  more  extensive 
export  trade  of  the  native  productions  of 
Portugal  arise  to  a  great  extent  Irom  the 
cost  and   labor  of   conveying   goods   and 
nierchandise  ;  and  thus,  beyond  a  certain 
distance  from   places  which  are    near  a 
'  shii.ping-port  or  possess  some  facilities  tor 
reaching   it,  the    stimidus   to   production 
which  foreign   commerce   excites  is  not 
very  strongly  experienced.     SnU  ihe  trade 
of  Lisbon  is  extensive,  as  there  are  lew 
seaports  in  Portugal,  and  mercantile  oper- 
ations are  concentrated  chiefly  in  Lisbon 
and  Oporto.     The  population  ot  Lisbon  is 
about  200,000.     Oporto,  a  view  of  which 
is  given  in  the  engraving,  is  the  second 
pori  of  the  kingdom,  and  delight  uUy  sit- 
I  uated  on  two  hills  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Douro.  which  winds  among  steep    hills 
'  crowned  with   woods.     It  is  on  the   lelt 
bank  of  the  river,  the  suburb  of  Villa  xNo- 
va  being   opposite,  and   connected   with 
Oporto  by  a  bridge  of  boats.     Oporto  ap- 
pears to  great  advantage   after  escaping 
from  the  tilth  of  Lisbon.     The  immense 
magazines  of  the  great  wine  company  are 
prominent  objects  of  '"t^rest      I  he  pop- 
ulation amom.ts  to  about  70,000.     There 
are,  of  course,  many  small  ports,  but  with 
the  exception  of  St.  Ubes,  they  are  mere- 
ly  the  resort  of  coasting  vessels.     About 
500  vessels  load  annually  at  St.  Ubes  with 
bay-salt,  which   Portugal    exports  to  the 
e-vient  of  100,000  tons  annually.     Ships 
with  fish  take  back  cargoes  of  this  salt, 
which  is  of  a  good  quality. 

Since  1834,  when  Portugal  entered  up- 
on a  new  era.  her  prospects  have  bright- 
ened, and  if  tranquillity  be  firmly  estab- 
lished,  and  more  enlightened  sentiments 
prevail  in  her  councils,  the  interests  ot 
industry  will  revive. 

The  monopoly  of  the  Oporto  wine  com- 
pany has  been  abolished.  Some  judicious 
reductions  of  taxes  have  been  made,  the 
currency  has  been  improved,  and  the  lanu 
of  useless  corporations  declared  public 
properly.  The  government  has  deter- 
mined to  lend  its  aid  to  the  improvement 
of  roads,  the  construction  of  ports,  the  im- 


provem.Mil  of  navigable  rivers  and  sea- 
puris.  and  a  land-bank,  with  lour  l.ranch.'s 
in  diflVrenl  parts  of  the  couniry,  lias  ix'en 
proiccted  lor  the  purpose  of  a>sistinii  the 
maliufacturer  and  the  agrieuliuiist  in  the 
development  of  their  interests. 


STUDY  A  CHILD'S  CAPACITIES. 

F   some    are   naturally 
dull,  and  yet  strive   to 
do  well,  notice  the  ef- 
fort, and  do  not  censure 
the  dulness.     A  teach- 
er might  as  justly  scold 
a  child  for   being  near- 
sighted,   as    for    being 
naturally    dull.      Some 
children  have  a  great  verbal  memory,  oth- 
ers are  quite  the  reverse.     Some  minds 
develop  early,  others  late.      Some   have 
oreat  powers  of  acquiring,  others  ol  origi- 
nating.     Some    may  appear   stupid,  be- 
cause their  true  spring  ot  character  has 
never  been  touched.     The  dunce  ot  the 
school  may  turn  out  in  the  end  the  living 
progressive,  wonder-working  genius  ot  the 
age.     Li  order  to  erect  the  best  spiritual 
influence,  wo  must  understand  the  spirit 
upon  which  we  wish  to  exert  that  mllu- 
ence.     For  with  the  human  mmd,  we  must 
work  with  nature,  and  not  against  it.     Like 
the  leaf  of  the  nettle,  if  touched  one  way 
it  stings  like  the  wasp  ;  if  the  other,  it  is 
softer  than  satin.     If  we  would  do  justice 
to  the  human  mind,  we  must  find  out  its 
peculiar   characteristics,  and    adapt  our- 
selves to  its  individual  -vants.     In    con- 
versation  on  this  point  with  a  friend,  wlio 
is  now  the  principal  of  one  ot   our  best 
grammar-schools,  and  to   whose  instruc- 
fions  I  look  back  with  delight--  ^  our  re- 
marks,"  said  he,  "  are  quite  true  ;  and  let 
me  tell  you  of  a  little  incident  which  bears 
upon  the  point.     Last  summer  1  had  a  girl 
who  was  exceedingly  behind  m  all   her 
studies.     She  was  at  the  foot  ol  tlic  divis- 
ion, and  seemed  to  care  but  little  lur  her 
books.     It  so  happened  that  as  a  re  axa- 
tion,  I  let  them  at  times,  during  school- 
i  hours,  unite  in   singing.     1  noticed  that 
this  girl  had  a  remarkably  clear,  sweet 


f^SM 


11 


774 


THE  OTTER. 


voice,  and  I  said  to  her,  '  Jane,  you  have 
a  good  voire,  and  you  may  lead  in  the 
sinjjinfr.'  She  brijjliti'ned  up,  and  from 
thiu  time  her  mind  seemed  to  be  more  ac- 
tive. Her  lessons  were  attended  to,  and 
she  soon  gained  a  high  rank.  ()iie  day, 
as  I  was  going  home,  I  overtook  her  with 
a  school  companion.  '  Well,  Jane,*  said  I, 
'you  are  getting  along  v*-ry  well,  how 
happens  it  you  do  much  better  now  than 
at  the  beginning  of  the  (juarter  ?' 

"  •  I  do  not  know  why  it  is,'  site    re- 
plied.    '  I  know   wliat  she  told   me   the 
other  day,'  said  her  companion. 
■•"  Ami  what  was  that!'  1  asked, 
"  '  W  liy  she  said  she  was  encouraged.'  " 
Yes,  here  we  have  it — she  was  encour- 
aged. 

Site  felt  she  was  not  dull  in  everything. 
She  had  learned  self-respect,  and  thus 
she  was  encouraged. 

Sonic  twelve  or  thirteen  years  ago, 
there  was  in  the  Franklin  school  an  ex- 
ceedingly dull  boy.  One  day  the  teacher, 
wishing  to  look  out  a  word,  took  up  the 
lad's  dictionary,  and  on  opening  it  found 
the  blank  leaves  covered  with  drawings, 
lie  called  the  boy  to  liim. 

"  Did  you  draw  these  ?"  said  the  teacher. 
"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  boy. 
"  I  do  not  think  it  is  well  for  boys  to 
draw  in  their  books,"  said  tlie  teacher, 
"  and  I  would  rub  these  out  if  I  were  you  ; 
but  they  are  well  done,  did  you  ever  take 
lessons  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  his  eyes  spark- 
ling. 

"  Well,  I  think  you  have  a  talent  for  this 
thing.  I  should  like  you  to  draw  me 
something  when  you  are  at  leisure,  at 
home,  and  bring  it  to  me.  In  the  mean- 
time, see  how  well  you  can  recite  your  les- 
son." 

The  next  morning  the  boy  brought  a 
picture,  and  when  he  had  committed  his 
lesson,  the  teacher  permitted  him  to  draw 
a  iiuip.  The  true  spirit  was  touched. 
The  boy  felt  that  he  was  understood.  He 
began  to  love  his  teacher.  He  took  de- 
light in  gratifying  the  teacher  by  his  faith- 
fulness tu  his  studies  ;  while  the  teacher 
look  every  opportimity  to  encourage  him 
in  his  natural  desires.  The  boy  became 
one  of  the  iirtt  scholars,  and  gained  the 
medal  before  he  left  the  school.    After 


thi.s  he  became  an  engraver,  laid  up  money 
enough  to  go  to  Europe,  studied  the  works 
of  old  masters,  sent  homo  prodiiclions 
from  \UH  own  pencil,  which  have  found  a 
place  in  some  of  the  best  coilcetiiin.i  of 
paintings,  and  is  now  one  of  the  most 
promising  artists  of  his  years  in  the  coun- 
try. After  the  boy  gained  the  medal  he 
.sent  the  teacher  a  beautiful  picture  as  a 
token  of  respect,  and  while  he  was  an 
engraver,  the  teacher  received  freipient 
tokens  of  continued  regard,  and  I  doubt 
not,  to  this  day,  he  feels  that  that  teacher, 
by  the  judicious  encouragement  he  gave 
to  the  natural  turn  of  his  mind,  Ikls  had  a 
great  moral  and  spiritual  elfect  on  his  char- 
acter. 


THE  OTTER. 

LL  anglers,  with 
Izaak  Walton  at 
their  head,  have 
an  inveterate  hos- 
tility against  the 
otter,  inasmuch 
as  it  may  be  re- 
garded as  their 
rival  in  tiio  de- 
struction of  the 
finny  race,  but  not  a  fair  rival,  since  it  is 
ever  upon  the  sjiot.  incessant  in  its  exer- 
tions, voracious  in  the  extreme,  tmd  works 
like  a  poacher  during  the  night,  nefarious- 
ly thinning  the  river  of  tli  finest  li.sli,  and 
thereby  depriving  the  angler  of  his  an- 
ticipated enjoyment.  The  complaint  th:it 
"the  otter  devours  much  fish  and  kills 
iind  spoils  much  more  than  he  eats,"  is 
very  true;  for  where  his  prey  is  abundant, 
he  only  devours  the  fish  from  the  head 
downward  to  the  vent,  leaving  the  tail  as 
a  witness  against  him. 

Like  the  fox  and  wild-cat,  the  otter  i.s 
in  fact  a  nocturnal  beast  of  prey,  remain- 
ing quiet  in  its  retreat  till  the  night  has 
set  in,  when  it  begins  its  depredations, 
and  continues  them  till  the  first  beams  of 
sunrise  warn  it  to  retire.  The  ease  and 
celerity  of  its  aquatic  evolutions  during 
the  chase  of  its  victims  are  astonishing  : 
rapid  as  the  trout  is  in  its  motions,  arrow- 


lit 


the  otter 
ey.  remaiii- 
e  night  has 
ipredatioiis, 
St  beams  of 
9  ease  and 
ons  during 
9tonishing : 
ons,  arrow- 


9Bem 


.»>' 


I  »r 


1^ 

'ft 

■if 


i 


III 


t^« 


m 

■4-' 


770 


THOtroHTS  AND  THlNdS. 


like  an  is  its  speed,  tho  otter  hunts  it 
down,  for  liis  perseverance  is  equal  to  h'tn 
celerity;  lie  follows  the  f\n]\  in  e\  ry  turn 
and  double,  and  maintains  the  pur  nt  with 
a  pertinacity  which  generally  insures  sue- 
cess. 

Fishes  seem  to  have  an  instinctive 
dread  of  the  otter,  for  it  has  been  seen  to 
collect  into  a  shoal  a  vast  number  of  trouts 
in  a  river,  and  drive  them  before  it  until 
the  greater  pari  have  thrown  themselves 
on  shore. 

The  otter  usually  avails  himself  of  any 
convenient  excavation  in  the  bank  over- 
honging  the  water,  especially  if  c  vercd 
and  concealed  by  the  twisted  root-  of  a 
tree,  or  overarched  by  intertangled  siiriibs 
or  bushes.  HufTon  say  that  tho  otter  will 
even  take  up  its  abode  among  piles  of 
(loating  wood.  Sometimes,  however,  its 
retreat  is  at  a  considerable  distance  from 
its  usual  tishiiig  haunt.  In  the  month  of 
March,  or  early  in  April,  the  female  brings 
forth  her  young,  from  three  to  five  in  num- 
ber, upon  a  I)(h1  of  sticks  or  grifs,  in  the 
excavutior  she  has  chosen  for  their  con- 
cenltneiit,  and  she  attends  them  with  great 
soiiciiudo.  'I'he  strength  of  the  instinct- 
ive attachment  for  her  young  is  thus  no- 
ticed by  Steller.  "  Often,"  says  he,  "  I 
have  spared  the  lives  of  the  female  otters, 
whose  young  ones  I  took  away.  They 
expressed  their  sorrow  by  crying  like  hu- 
man beings,  and  followed  me  as  I  was 
carrying  off  their  young,  which  called  to 
them  for  aid  in  a  tone  of  voice  very  much 
resembling  the  crying  of  children.  When 
I  sat  down  in  the  snow  they  came  quite 
close  to  me,  and  attempted  to  carry  off  their 
young.  On  one  occasion,  when  I  had  de- 
prived an  otter  of  her  progeny,  I  returned 
to  the  place  eight  days  afterward,  and 
found  the  female  sitting  by  the  river,  list- 
less and  desponding,  who  suffered  mo  to 
kill  her  on  tho  spot,  without  making  any 
attempt  at  escape.  On  ^''inning  her,  I 
found  she  was  quite  wasted  away  with 
sorrow  for  the  loss  of  her  young.  Anoth- 
er time  I  saw  at  some  distance  from  me 
an  old  otter,  sleeping  by  the  side  of  a 
young  one  about  a  year  old.  As  soon  as 
the  mother  perceived  me,  she  awakened 
the  yoiuig  one,  and  enticed  him  to  betake 
himself  to  the  river ;  but  as  he  did  not 
take  the  hitit,  and  seemed  inclined  to  pro- 


long his  sleep,  she  took  him  up  in  her 
fore  paws,  ntid  plunged  into  ilie  wniir." 
It  is  during  llie  spring  and  suniinir  Mionilit, 
while  the  young  of  the  otter  nn^  depcmU 
"nt  upon  the  nn-'her's  care,  th.it  the  dc 
structioii  she  makes  among  the  fisli  is  must 
considerable  ;  she  has  not  only  her  owu 
wants,  but  those  of  her  offspring  to  pro. 
vide  for,  and  her  exertions  during  the  hi- 
lent  hours  of  night  are  unremitting. 

The  sport  of  otter-lumting,  formerly 
maintained  by  country  gentlemen  for  the 
sake  of  the  diversion,  may  be  regarded  as 
having  been  brought  to  a  close  in  I'^ng* 
land,  with  the  termination  of  tho  last  cen- 
tury, and  is  now  only  practised  for  tho 
sake  of  extirpating  a  noxious  animal.  At 
the  present  day,  few  or  no  parks  of  otter- 
hounds are  kept. 


THOUGHTS  AND  THINGS. 

HOUGHTS  never 
die.  They  are  a  part 
of  the  unseen  things 
that  are  eternal.  Tho 
minds  in  which  they 
spring,  or  in  which 
they  are  implanted, 
have  "  life  everlast- 
ing ;"  and  impressions  made  upon  them, 
never  cease  to  affect  their  welfare,  for  bet- 
ter  or  for  worse.  They  make  them  bet- 
ter and  happier,  or  worse  and  more  miser- 
able for  ever. 

Things  perish.  Most  of  them  soon  de- 
cay, and  the  most  enduring  will  ere  long 
be  consumed.  Our  bodies,  to  us  the  most 
valuable  nnd  the  most  curious  of  things, 
are  but  dust,  and  to  dust  will  shortly  re- 
turn. Impressions  made  on  perishable 
things,  must  perish  with  them.  Soon  no 
trace  will  remain,  to  show  that  they  have 
ever  been. 

He  who  endeavors  to  impart  thoughts 
to  the  minds  of  men,  toils  for  immortality. 
If  he  is  successful,  the  produce,  the  ef- 
fects, of  his  labors  will  endure  for  ever. 
When  ages,  and  millions  of  ages  shall 
have  rolled  away,  they  will  still  be  opera- 
tive for  the  Jjenefit  or  injury  of  those  who 
receive  them. 


m. 


tn  tip  in  tier 

llu'    WJlltT." 

liner  inuntliH, 
nri'  (li'pi'nd. 
Ih.il  l\w  ilr- 
I!  fl^li  is  UUM 
Illy  lifT  <i«ii 
iriii);  to  pM- 
uriiiK  the  si- 
littiiiK. 
ip,  foiinprly 
men  for  tlit> 
)  regarded  nt 
one  in  I'3iij»« 
the  l;i8t  ct'ii- 
isf'd  for  the 
animal.  At 
cks  of  otter- 


[INGS. 

[TS      never 
cy  are  a  piirt 
iscen  thiiig<i 
ternal.    The 
which  tliey 
r   in    which 
implanted, 
fe    everlasl- 
upon  them, 
fare,  for  bet- 
e  them  bet- 
more  miser- 

om  soon  de- 
will  ere  long 
I  us  the  most 
IS  of  things, 
1  shortly  rc- 
I  perishal)lo 
I.  Soon  n& 
It  they  have 

art  thoughts 
immortality, 
uce,  the  ef- 
ire  for  ever, 
ages  shall 
ill  be  opera- 
if  those  who 


JUNK. 


Ill 


IU.I  he  who  Ubor.  to  orcvlw^  th.i.KH. 
,,,     .  ,or^^l.atisperi.haW      The   pro- I 

e,,M.  U.  be.  \U  soWH  to  .he  corruptible, 
tt„a  '•  «hall  reiip  corrupiion. 
"Tba  laborer  who  produces  things,  mn 
,,.,  ,,  ,„r  Ibe  service  ot  .be  ihougbl ;  und 
,,„  ,„H  labors  take  hold  on  etern..y  and 
of  worth.  The  touch  of  faith  changes 
;:::;."-;.  und  imparts  to  them  an  tnh... 

''"Man'oi- thought!  lumorthe  man  of  toil! 
You  could  not  live  to  ih.nk,  a.id  buabl 
the  world  by  your  thoughts  but  (or  lis 

t  d     It  '>•  ''"ly  ^^»'-"  ^'"'  ^"''"  'f" 
I,  "igs  as  an  ci.d,  and  raises  not  h.s  eye 
o    be   higher  good  to  which  .hose  •.h.ngs  , 
8hi.uld   be  made    subservient,  that   he   is 
y,  if  a  human  being  ever  .s,  to  be 

Tv  S^'d.     When  ho  ...ils  for  hi.nsel    as 

a  lei  g  of  .h..ugb.,  or  for  others  that  they 

;j  .   ne  and  .b.nk  ;  then  be  IS  your  wor- 

y  broiher.     If   I-  '^  to  the   cx.en^  o^ 

"M:;;;'ortt;;-"brlrme,  of  thought. 

.I'l::'  though,s    arc    good.      1'   en.    - 
many    such.     S.nue    origmaie    .bougUis 
I  others  only  convey  them  trom  one  to 

.      ,"J       Son  c  impart  them  to  children 
;.::uth.iuthescLol  or  college;  a.K 

others  to  adults  in  the  pulpit,  or  by  ibe 
±sSo.ne  do  it  by  the  voice,  others 

V  the  pen.  But  in  whatever  way  hey 
w^k  they  are  all  producing  that  which 
Tl  be  eternal  in  its  duration  and  use  ul- 
Tss,  and  is  therefore  i^^ifuntetn  us  value^ 

The  fruits  of  their  labor  will  sti  1  exist  . 
auLltL  their  value,  when  al   the  pro- 
ductions of  the  farm  and  the  shop  sbal 

t  ma    be  of  endless  benefit  ar.d  of  count-  ! 
e  s    vorih.     If  it  is  evil,  it  may  rend  a 
'Z,:^\,  n  is  good,  it  may  save  a  soul 

ll  IS  lit  that  they  who  produce  what  IS 
.nfuielyvaluable   should  be  well  paid  for 

u.d  ihev  will  be.  Men  may  be  so 
L;t;i;^o  see  .he  worth  of  the.  pro- 
ductions, and  the  lbi.d.er  may  not  be  paid 


bv  them,  not  be  paid  wub      u.  'i- 

l.'.rs  liiile.     If  he  ibinkH  il...t  ..  i"" 

ihuspaidfordoinu.hedebaHeSlh.  .Mec.o.H 
,„  ,1,;.  H.,rvice  of  the  vile,  and  des-rves  lo 

llH-  unpaid,  b.itif  be  aims  mm  w.mhily  ■>« 
he    Hl'o.dd,  at   rewards    in    .be    vvnld    ol 

Llunight  and  of  eternity,  be  ;mI    1  .b-m 

'there;    nor  mourn    that   ibis    il.ough.less 

I  world  has  paid  him  pt>orly. 


JUNE. 

•r„R  goddess  Juno  is  said  to  claim  ihe 
l.onor  of  giving  name  to  Ibis  inonlh;  oth- 
;!rs  assort  it  to  be    derived    Irom    Jm.ms 

,  Hnitns.     By  th"  !^^""'"^'  '*  ^^'''^   '"'""''' 

Srn-mnwith,  or  dry  moiiib. 
i      June  IS  really,  in  this  chmale,  wlia    the 
I  n.„,s  represent  May  to  be -the  in..st  love- 

V  month  of  the   year.    ^^^"'-"""'^  '"',  ;;•"' 
1  mnired,  and  warm  weather  .h..roui;bl>  OS. 

Uabli.hed,  yet  the  heats  rarely  rise  u-  ev 
:,J.orin!errupt.heenj..ymentoi    .hose 

I  ,,,aihres  which  the  scenes  ol  nature  now 
iT    The    trees    are    in    their    lu  lest 
iress,  and  a  profusion  of  .be  gaye...  I  low- 
ers is  everywhere  scattered  around   whn  b 
,»l  on  all  their  beauty  ins.  before  they  are 

'cut  down  by  ihe  scythe,  or  withered  by 

'^Sorcopious  showers  are  extremely 
welcome  about  the  beginning  ol  '.^ 
,„„n.h,  to  forward  the  growth  ol  the  lur- 

l^'oneof  the  earliest  rural  employments 
I  of  this  month  is  rhe  shearing  ol  sheep,  a 

i  business    of   much   importance    m    many 
iSlof  the  country,  where   wool  IS  one 

1  of  the  most  vahiable  products. 

'Plus   country  is    becoming    celebiated 

for  us  breeds  of  sheep,  -  >-»' J''^'  Jj'" 
of  various  qualities,  suited  .0  the  d.llercni 

branohcsof  the  woollen  uunulacior). 
i  '    •  'he    season    for   shecp-sheanug    com- 
,„ences  as  soon  as  the  warm  weather   is 
0    ar  settled  that  the  sheep  m;.y  without 

jllger  lay  aside  great  part  ol  their  clo- 

|^*''Sbre    shearitig.    the    sheep    undergo 

I  the   operation    of    washing,  m   order     o 

I  free  the   wool  from  the   loulness   it  has 

contracted. 


i 


iTtf" 


II' 


f'l     ' 


nr-' 


ii- 


KARA  III88AB— FORM  AND  STRUCTURE  OF  THE  EARTH. 


KARA  HISSAR. 


ilF. 


■i*y  in'i    ;«wn   of 
\Ilissar,  in  iht) 


priiv- 
iiicn  of  Aiiodoli,  in 
Asia  Minor,  \h  about 
1 80  iiiiU'sidisitant  from 
(/onHtiiiitinuplu  in  a 
dirtirt  lino;  nhuiit  200 
miles  from  Smyrna 
nnd  tlio  ilCgean  sea ;  and  1 30  miles  from 
the  port  of  Adalia  on  the  southern  shores 
of  the  Mediterranean  ;  conse(|uenlly  it  is 
placed  nearly  in  the  centre  of  the  penin- 
sula known  under  the  niiine  of  Asia  Mi- 
nor. There  are  no  pro|ierly-con8lructed 
roads  in  any  part  of  the  Turkish  empire, 
ihou^'h  the  remains  of  the  Komuii  lines  of 
communication  are  still  to  bo  observed,  and 
some  of  the  Uoman  bridjfes  are  yet  in 
use  ;  hut  Kara  Ilissar  enjoys  tin:  advanta- 
ges which  are  derived  from  such  roads  as 
are  common  to  the  country.  The  road 
from  Smyrna  to  the  east,  toward  Armenia, 
Georgia,  Persia,  and  the  countries  border- 
ing on  the  Euphrates,  passes  through  it ; 
and  it  is  the  rendezvous  of  the  caravans 
proceeding  from  Constantinople,  Honce 
nearly  all  European  manufactures  and  col- 
onial produce  which  are  distributed  to  the 
eastward  and  southward,  pass  through 
Kara  Hissar.  This  renders  it  a  place  of 
considerable  importance,  and  stimulates 
the  industry  of  the  inhabitants  ;  as  the  nu- 
merous caravans  which  pass  through  it 
bring  produce  and  merchandise  from  dis- 
tant parts,  and  the  siiops  are  accordingly 
well  supplied.  A  great  proportion  of  the 
houses  are  built  of  stone. 

The  manufacture  of  carpets  is  chiefly 
carried  on  in  the  country  between  Kara 
Ilissar  and  Smyrna ;  but  fabrics  of  wool 
and  tapestry  arc  among  the  staple  articles 
of  industry  in  the  former  place.  From 
the  large  quantity  ol'  opium  cultivated  in 
the  neighborhood,  it  is  generally  called 
Afioum  Kara  Hissur. 

The  situation  of  the  town  is  striking. 
Lofty  and  naked  rocks  rise  up  on  one  side, 
and  on  the  other  is  a  range  of  high  fruit- 
ful hills  covered  with  vineyards.  A  small 
stream,  wliich  in  winter  and  spring  is 
abundantly  supplied,  runs  through  the 
town.  The  circumference  of  the  town  is 
nearly  three  miles,  it  contains  ten  mosques, 


anil  the  population  is  supposed  to  exceed 
50,000.  The  castle  is  niiuated  at  the  lop 
Kara  "'  «»  "'•'•'P  rock,  nearly  '.'00  yards  in  pi-r- 
jieiulicular  height.  At  ihe  sninmit  there 
is  a  wall  Hanked  by  round  towers,  within 
which  are  some  old  cannon  made  of  iron 
bars  and  pieces  of  old  armor.  'I'here  are 
places  for  holding  water,  partly  of  stone, 
and  partly  hewn  out  of  ilie  rock,  and  a 
deep  well.  If  HU|)|)lied  with  water  and 
provisions,  the  place  would  be  impregna- 
ble. This  strong  natural  eitadil  appears 
o?dy  to  have  been  intended  for  oica>ional 
use  in  times  of  trouble.  The  entrance 
could  be  closed  by  a  gate.  'J'he  western 
frontier  of  Asia  has  often  been  the  b.ittle- 
field  of  contending  powers,  and  .such  a 
^  place  as  this  castle  might  be  intciuied  as 
the  last  resort  of  the  vanipiished.  Asia 
Minor  was  ravaged  by  i)arbarians,  anil  af- 
terward for  two  centuries  endured  the 
tyranny  of  the  Persian  yoke. 


FORM  AND  STRUCTLIRE  OF  THE 
EARTH. 

NK  interesting  pe- 
cti.iarity  in  geolo- 
gy is  the  close  re- 
lationship in  which 
it  stands  to  many 
other  departments 
of  science,  lend- 
ing light  to  them, 
and  receiving  it  from  them  in  return.  The 
whole  subject  of  organic  remains  belongs 
not  less  to  zoology  and  botany  than  to  ge- 
ology, and  the  time  is  perhaps  not  far  dis- 
tant when  it  will  be  in  a  great  measure 
resigned  to  them,  and  geologists  be  will- 
ing to  accept  of  the  facts  from  the  stu- 
dents of  these  branches  of  natural  histo- 
ry, and  only  apply  them  to  their  own  re- 
searches. Many  parts  of  it  are,  in  like 
manner  connected  with  natural  philoso- 
phy, astronomy,  and  chymistry ;  facts  from 
all  these  sciences  forming  some  of  its 
most  elementary  principles.  The  shape, 
dimensions,  and  density  of  the  globe,  are 
important  elements  in  astronomical  calci:- 
lations,  but  of  almost  equal  consequence 
to  the  true  theory  of  the  earth's  structure. 


Mi 


lospil  to  fxreed 
tiiitrd  ,ii  tliH  lop 
0  yards  in  per. 
I!   !«iiuiniit  ilit>ro 

towiTN,  within 
II  tniiiKi  of  iron 
)or.  TliiTi'  are 
partly  of  nUtiw, 
lio  nii'li,  aiK 
villi  water  mid 
il  Lit*  iinpri'i>iiu- 
oiladf  1  a|)pt'ar8 
\  for  ot'fa>i(»iiiil 

'I'lii!  ciitraiu'o 
'I'lii;  wesicrii 
been  the  li.ittlo- 
rs,  and  such  n 
hn  iiitciiilcd  as 
(pii.slicil.  Asia 
bariaiis,  mid  nf- 
s  endured  the 
ko. 


[IE  OF  THE 


',  interesting  pe- 
urity  in  geoio- 
is  tho  close  re- 
anshipin  which 
lauds  to  many 
}T  dopartmeuts 
science,  lend- 
light  to  them, 
u  return.  The 
jmnins  belongs 
luy  than  to  ge- 
ap»  nui  far  dis- 
great  measure 
Id'jisls  be  will- 
from  the  stu- 
iiutural  hislo- 
their  own  re- 
it  are,  in  like 
Mural  philoso- 
itry ;  facts  from 
;  some  ;jf  its 
The  shape, 
the  globe,  are 
nomical  ca!cu- 
[  consequence 
rth's  structure. 


f 


iH 


li 


■i 


$4  lit 

ill; 


iipt 


180 


FORM  AND  8TRUCTUKE  OF  THE  EARTH. 


Our  planet  is  not  an  exact  sphere,  but  on- 
ly a  near  approach  to  this  figure.  It  ia 
flattened  or  pressed  in  at  the  poles,  and 
bulges  out  in  the  region  through  which  the 
equator  passes.  In  consequence  of  this, 
the  surface  of  the  sea  under  this  line  is 
about  thirteen  miles  higher  or  more  dis- 
tant from  the  centre  than  at  the  poles.  It 
is  supported  at  this  height  by  the  rotation 
of  the  eartli  ou  its  axis,  which  has  a  ten- 
dency to  throw  any  loose  body  off  from 
the  surface,  in  ihe  same  manner  as  a  stone 
whirled  round  in  a  sling.  Were  the  earth, 
therefore,  to  stand  still,  the  waters  would 
instantly  connnence  flowing  toward  the 
poles,  and  deluge  the  highest  land  around 
them.  Such  a  catastrophe  is  prevented 
by  the  permanent  regular  motion  impressed 
on  the  gl()!)e,  and  its  stability,  with  the 
proper  distribution  of  land  and  water  on 
its  surface,  secured  by  the  form  which  it 
now  possesses.  This  is,  notwithstanding 
its  various  inequalities,  very  nearly  that 
figure  which  all  the  particles  composing 
it,  if  allowed  to  move  freely  among  each 
other,  would  assume.  Were  the  earth 
fluid,  it  would  acquire  this  shape  exactly, 
and  its  near  approach  to  it,  is  often  takc^n 
as  a  proof  that  it  was  formerly  in  that 
condition.  This,  however,  is  not  neces- 
sarily true,  since  it  may  be  shown  that  the 
causes  now  acting  on  the  surface — the 
wearing  down  of  the  highest  mountains 
and  hardest  rocks,  and  the  transportation 
of  their  materials  from  place  to  place  by 
rivers  and  tides — would,  in  the  course  of 
time,  produce  the  same  effect.  It  is  also 
but  reasonable  to  suppose,  thai  if  tlie  earth 
was  created  at  first  of  solid  materials, 
these  would  be  disposed  in  that  form  which 
was  most  consistent  with  the  continuance 
and  order  of  the  system.  Nothing  we 
perceive  in  nature  at  all  supports  the  no- 
tion, now  so  prevalent,  that  the  glorious 
and  perfect  arrangement  of  the  miiverse 
is  the  mere  necessary  development  of 
physical  laws.  The  all-regulating  hand 
of  the  Creator,  seems  to  have  been  always 
present  in  every  corner  of  his  works. 

To  weigh  the  earth  in  a  balance,  might 
appear  to  surpass  not  merely  the  ability,  but 
the  presumption  of  men.  Yet  the-y  have 
not  only  attempted,  but  performed  this 
with  surprising  accuracy,  and  its  specific 
gravity,  or  weight  compared  to  that  of  an 


equal  mass  of  water,  is  known  more  near- 
ly tlian  that  of  most  bodies  on  ii.s  surfnce. 
This  is  rather  more  tluin  five  tiuHis  (fj-tiC)) 
tinitof  water,  or  half  that  of  |)ure  silvt;r, 
and  a  third  less  than  iron  ;  >;old  i«i  more 
than  three  times,  and  platimnn  and   some 
other  metals  almost  four  tinit^s  heavier,  so 
that  only  a  small  part  of  tlie  interior  can 
I  be  filled  with  snatter  nearly  ct\u:i\  to  tuese 
metals  in   density.     The  aviraift;  of   the 
whole  globe  is  only  twice  that  of  the  ex- 
terior crust,  and  as  the  pressure  in  the  in-  | 
terior  must  be  enormous,  condensing    any  | 
sul)stance  exposed  to  it  to  a  VMst    aiiKunit, 
it  has  not  unreasonably  l)een  imagiued  ilnu  | 
the  interior  is  filled  with  snljstauees  light-  I 
er  than  those  forming   the  external   crust.  | 
But  the  heat  which  hot  springs,  voh-moes,  ' 
and  experiments  in  uniuis,  show   t(.'  exist  i 
in  the  interior,  must  act  as  an  antagonist  I 
power  to  the  compression,  and  mudifv  its  ' 
results   to  a  great  extent,     lliine   much  ' 
uncertainty  prevails  in  regard   to  the  in- 
terior structure  of  the  globe. 

That  portion  of  the  crust  which  is  ac- 
cessible to  man,  is  not  very  extensive;  the 
deepest  mine,  added  to  the  highest  moun- 
tain, not  exceeding  six  English  miles,  or 
about  a  thirteen  hundredth  part  of  tlu^ 
earth's  diameter.  Nor  is  even  this  vi.sible 
in  any  one  place,  the  deejiesl  natural  or 
artificial  sections  being  much  less.  This 
crust  is  composed  of  rocks,  these  of  sim- 
ple mineral,  and  these  again  ol'  the  ele- 
mentary substances  of  the  chyniists.  Of 
the  latter,  fifty-five  or  filty-seven  are  enu- 
merated, but  some  of  them  are  very  rare, 
and  only  found  in  a  few  unimportant  bod- 
ies. The  great  mass  of  tlie  earth's  crust, 
consists  of  scarcely  a  dozen  eki;ieiits, 
either  alone,  or  more  conmiouly  united 
with  each  other  in  various  pro[)oriii>iis. 
These  are  named  simple  minerals,  which 
have  not  only  a  definite  cliymical  coiiqio- 
sition,  but  also  a  peculiar  regular  sirueture, 
and  a  tendency  to  assume  ceria  n  external 
forms.  This  is  named  crystallization,  and 
is  well  illustrated  by  salt  or  sugar,  when 
slowly  deposited  from  a  solution.  With 
rare  exceptions,  each  distinct  cliymical 
compound  has  its  own  form  of  eryst  its, 
and  also  peculiar  colors  and  other  jihysi- 
cal  properties,  by  which  ihey  are  distin- 
guished from  all  others.  The  number  of 
these  minerals  now  known  is  about  four 


! 


novvii  morn  near- 
?s  on  ii.s  siirCnce. 
live  tiiiK^s  (f)ti()) 
it  of  |nirf  silver, 
n  ;  f;i)l(i  Im  iiuire 
tiiiiiin  :uii1  tiitine 
iiiii^s  lir;ivicr,  so 
tlir  iiiicriiir  can 
ly  o(]ii,il  t(i  t'licse 
avcrayc  ol'  the 
)  thai  of  till!  <'x- 
cssiiro  ill  llie  iii- 
coiidcnhing  any 
)  a  vast  aiiiDiiiit, 
(Ml  iinagiiiril  tliat 
siiliMlaiicfs  lii;lit- 
•  fxtcriial  crust, 
ring's,  vtdcaiuii's, 
s,  sliDw  to  exist 
as  ail  aiila<{tiiiist 
I,  anil  iiiiKlily  its 
Hciuo  iniicli 
?garil  to  llu!  ill- 
be. 

1st  wliich  is  ac- 
y  extensive ;  the 
I!  highest  inuuii- 
iiglisii  miles,  or 
liii  part  1)1'  tlu! 
L'veii  iliis  visible 
jj)est  natural  or 
uch  less.  This 
8,  tiiese  of  siiii- 
(ain  oC  tile  ele- 
!  chyiiiists.  01' 
-seven  arc  eiiu- 
11  are  very  rare, 
niniporlaiit  bod- 
[lii!  eanh's  crust, 
lozen  ekiiieiits, 
uniiuiiily  united 
>us  |;r(.'[)()rii(iiis. 
minerals,  which 
liyinical  coiuiio- 
egul.ir  structure, 
eeria  n  extriiial 
slallizaiioii,  and 
or  sugar,  when 
.solution.  With 
.^tiiict  chyiuical 
irui  of  crysi  lis, 
lid  other  physi- 
lliey  are  disiin- 
Tiie  nuiiilier  of 
vn  is  about  Jour 


rOK.M  A.NI)  .Srurt-TKUK  OK  TllK   EAIITH. 


7SI 


liuiidr(!tl,  hut  not  a  .seventh  of  these  are  of 
couiinoii  occurrence,  and  the  vast  propor- 
lioii  of  rocks  are  composed  (d'  less  than  a 
do/en. 

(ieologists  use  ihe  wiu'd  rtx^k  in  a  more 
e.vleiided  sense  than  in  coiiiiiion  lan!,'u;iK('. 
Ail  the  great  extended  uiasses  coinposing 
the  crust  of  the  earth  are  rocks,  and  even 
beds  of  sand  or  (day  receive  the  same 
iKiine.  Rocks  art!  eillier  simple,  consist- 
ing (d'  one  mineral,  or  coiii|)imiid,  com- 
posed of  two  (U'  more. 

t,!uariz,  or  ihc  silica  of  tlie  cliymists, 
occurs  ill  a  great  variety  of  forms.  It  is 
itself  a  (Mimpoiiiid  suiislance.  I'ormed  of 
oxyyeii,  the  vital  air  wi-  iireaihe,  and  <d' 
silic(m,  formerly  i)elieved  to  be  a  metal, 
but  now  |)laced  by  cliymists  in  a  dili'erent 
cln.ss.  Its  compound,  silica,  is  the  most 
abundant  siibstaiKre  on  llus  globe,  forming 
more  than  half  (d'  that  pjirt  of  it  with 
which  wu  are  ai'(iiiainled.  TIk^  common 
while  "  ohuckie-stones"  of  (diildreii,  is  one 
of  its  most  characteristic  varietii^s  ;  the 
gun-dints  of  the  s|)orismeii  w  ere  fashioned 
fnim  another,  the  dark  cidor  being  caused 
by  s(mi(!  extraneous  mixture  ;  and  the  line 
piiio  rock  crystal,  the  Cairngorm  stones, 
the  amethyst,  cornelian,  and  jasjier,  are 
all  otlier  varieties  of  this  mineral,  in  more 
or  less  purity.  It  has  many  colors,  ytd- 
lovv,  brown,  red,  gretMi,  blue,  and  black, 
l)iit  is  most  commonly  white  or  gray.  It 
aUo  ajipears  when  crystallized  in  several 
forms,  but  very  frequenlly  in  six-sided 
prisms,  ending  in  a  pyramid  with  the 
saiii(3  number  of  planes. 

IJesides  the  (juartz  forming  the  sand- 
stone, two  and  sometimes  three  other  min- 
erals are  found  in  it.  The  quartz  is  usu- 
ally of  .1  white  color  and  glassy  aspect, 
but  along  witii  it  is  another  miiiera!  of  a 
duller  white  or  red  color,  and  less  hard, 
named  felspar.  Of  this  there  arc  several 
vaneiies,diireringiii  chymical  composition. 
Besides  silica  and  alumina,  which  form 
clay  when  decomposed,  the  common  fel- 
spar contains  potash ;  a  second  variety 
contains  soda,  and  a  third  also  lime. 

Oranite,  besides  these  two  minerals, 
coniains  mica,  well  known  from  dividing 
into  thin,  transjiarfsiit,  elastic  plates,  of  a 
bright  silvery  color.  It  has  so  much  the 
appearance  of  a  metal,  that  ignorant  per- 
sons often  iiiista.ke  it  for  silver,  at.  1  the , 


yellow  varieties  for  gold.  Common  gran- 
ite consists  of  tlies((  three  minerals,  in 
variiuis  proporlions,  and  is  of  a  while  or 
red  color.  iJesides  them,  however,  a 
fourth  mineral,  of  a  dark  oreen  or  Idac  k 
cohir,  occurs  in  it.  This  is  nanu'il  horn- 
blende, am!  much  resemblijs  another  ureeii 
mineral,  named  augit(!. 

Of  these  five  minerals,  now  naniei!,  ;il- 
mosi  the  whohf  rocks  on  iIk^  earth  eonsisi. 
and  there  are  few  which  do  not  (oni.iin 
one  or  other  of  llicm.  'i'ln^  onl\  oilier 
substances  of  much  imporlauce  me  lime, 
the  carbonate  of  which  forms  the  (Dimnoii 
limeshme,  and  marble;  and  iron,  a  siiii  1 
pioporlion  of  which  is  found  in  almost 
overy  rock,  while  its  ores,  from  which  ilie 
metal  can  Ik;  |irepar(rd,  arc  very  aiiundant. 
From  these  few  minerals,  uiih  some  oth- 
ers of  rarer  occurrence,  a  great  v.iriety  of 
rocks  are  formed,  smni!  getdogists  enii- 
meraiiiig  from  two  to  three  hundred  spe- 
cies. 

The  three  kingdoms  of  nature,. the  an- 
imal, veg(!table,  and  mint'ral,  though  «  ide- 
ly  distinguished,  are  yet  (dosidy  connect- 
ed. T!ie  lil'idess  inorganic  inimMal  ccndd 
exist  without  the  plant  or  aiiini;il,  but  these 
are  not  eipially  iiidi;pendeiit.  Xoi  only 
does  the  mineral  kingdom  form  the  rocks 
and  sod  (ui  which  they  live  and  vegetate, 
but  from  it  also  they  draw  their  food  and 
nourishment.  The  plant  converts  the  in- 
organic elements  into  a  state  ad.ipted  for 
the  sujiport  of  animals,  which  seem  inca- 
pable of  performing  this  ofUeo  for  them- 
selves, and,  on  their  dissolution,  their 
bodies  are  tigain  restored  to  the  earili 
vvhencc  they  have  literally  been  taken. 
There  is  thus  a  continual  wonderful  cir- 
culation of  material  elements,  from  the 
mineral,  through  the  plant  and  animal, 
back  to  the  mineral  again.  But  the  plants 
deriving  their  supjiort  from  the  soil,  it  is 
necessary  that  they  should  liud  in  i'  ihe 
various  elements  on  which  they  exist. 
W^ere  any  of  these  wanting,  they  would 
either  perish,  or  become  sickly  and  unlit 
for  the  iioiirishmeiit  of  animals.  Hence 
the  great  importance  of  the  compound  na- 
ture of  rocks,  from  whose  decomposiiion 
the  soil  is  formed,  as  |)lanls  are  thus  fur- 
nished with  those  substances  whi(di  tliijv 
reiiuire.  The  two  rocks  just  mentioned 
are  a  good  il!t;si..''a;;oii  of  i.iis.     Tlib  .siai- 


tIt!i 


^ 


782 


FORM  AND  STUUCTUIIE  OF  THE  EARTH. 


)«■»! 


* 


'  ■*  '1  1 


pie  rock,  the  sandstone,  consisting  of  sili- 
ca alone,  decomposes  into  a  very  barren 
and  unfruitful  soil.  In  granite,  the  silica 
also  prevails,  but.  mixed  with  six  or  eight 
other  substances,  and  the  soil,  though  far 
from  fertile,  is  much  more  so  than  that 
over  pure  sandstone  ;  wliile,  hills,  though 
high,  are  covered  with  fine  grass,  and  in 
the  south  of  Europe,  with  forests  of  oaks 
and  chestnuts.  Hut  still  greater  variety 
of  rocks,  and  the  more  compound  soil 
they  produce,  are  more  favorable  to  vege- 
tation. 

The  sandstone  and  granite  also  furnish 
good  illustrations  of  some  other  distinc- 
tions of  great  importance  in  geology.  The 
name  of  the  former  implies  th-d  it  consists 
of  sand,  that  is,  of  grains  of  a  round  ir- 
regular form.  These  grains  are  of  vari- 
ous sizes,  from  a  pin  head,  or  even  less, 
to  that  of  a  pea  or  marble.  When  larger, 
the  rock  is  named  a  conglomerate,  though 
its  structure  of  broken  fragments  is  still 
the  same.  In  granite,  the  distinct  miner- 
als are  mixed  together  in  apparently  an  ir- 
regular manner,  but  each  portion  has  a 
definite  form,  is  bounded  by  straight  lines 
or  smooth  planes,  and  the  rock,  when 
newly  broken,  shows  numerous  shining 
surfaces  which  reflect  the  light,  instead  of 
a  rough  uneven  fracture  like  the  sandstone. 
Tli'j  granite  is  thus  named  a  crystalline 
rock,  whereas  the  sandstone  is  said  to  be 
uncrystalline,  and  this  diiference  is  be- 
lieved to  arise  from  a  dillerence  in  their 
mode  of  origin.  Sand — broken  irregular 
grains — is  produced  by  water  from  the  de- 
struction of  previous  rocks,  as  on  the 
banks  of  rivers  or  the  seashore.  Where 
we  see  heaps  of  sand  strewed  on  the  sur- 
face, we  immediately  conclude  that  water, 
and  water  in  motion,  has  in  some  former 
time  been  there.  Grains  or  crystals,  like 
those  of  the  granite,  do  not  arise  in  this 
way.  They  are  only  seen  to  form  where 
the  substance  composing  them  has  been 
dissolved,  either  in  a  fluid  or  by  heat,  so 
that  its  particles  can  unite  in  a  regular 
manner.  Hence  it  is  supposed  that  gran- 
ite, and  the  rocks  which  resemble  it  in 
structure,  have  been  formed  in  one  of 
these  ways,  and  probably  in  the  latter,  or 
from  a  slate  of  igneous  fluidity. 

But,  it  umy  be  asked,  do  the  external 
lornis  of  these  rocks  agree  with  this  mode 


of  origin  deduced  from  their  internal  struc- 
ture ?  Sand  or  mud,  depositrd  from  water, 
is  seen  to  form  beds  or  layers  of  greater 
or  less  extent,  and  these  should  be  seen 
in  the  sandstone  rocks,  if  this  is  the  man- 
ner in  which  they  have  been  produced. 
And  such,  every  one  who  has  looked  into 
a  sandstone  quarry,  nuist  have  observed  to 
be  the  case.  'I"he  sandstone  is,  on  this 
account,  said  to  be  stratified,  or  to  form 
strata,  a  word  derived  from  a  Latin  verb 
signifying  to  strew  or  spread  out,  as  the 
materials  of  the  siindstone  beds  are  sup- 
posed to  have  been  at  the  bottom  of  tlie 
sea,  or  in  some  other  larije  body  of  water. 
The  granite  having  a  difierenl  origin,  docs 
not  exhibit  this  peculiarity.  It  appears  in 
large  irregular  masses,  divided  in  various 
ways,  but  not  into  regular  beds  ;  and  most 
of  the  rocks,  whose  structure  is  like  iis 
crystalline,  are  also  massive  and  unstrati- 
fied.  Many  of  them,  indeed,  appear  like 
a  mass  of  molten  metal  poured  out  through 
an  opening  on  the  surface  of  the  ground. 
Some  of  these  details  may  seem  uniuter- 
esting  to  our  readers,  but  they  constitute 
the  first  principles  of  all  geological  science, 
and  even  in  themselves  are  not  barren  of 
reinarkable  results.  It  was  long  a  favor- 
ite endeavor  of  philosophers,  misled  by 
the  desire  of  sim,  .icity,  to  endeavor  to 
explain  all  the  plienomena  of  the  earth  by 
one  agent,  by  fire  or  by  water.  But  even 
these  two  rocks,  found  in  great  abundance 
in  most  quarters  of  the  earth,  show  that 
neither  of  these  theories  is  alone  sufficient, 
and  that  facts  require  both  to  be  combined. 
It  will  also  be  found  that  both  agents,  and 
the  rocks  which  they  produce,  serve  im- 
portant purposes  in  the  economy  of  crea- 
tion, and  produce,  by  their  union  and  op- 
position, a  system  that  is  far  more  perfect 
and  beneficial  than  would  have  resulted 
from  either  of  them  alone.  Even  looking 
at  these  rocks,  in  the  low  and  limited  light 
of  materials  for  human  dwellings  and  oth- 
er edifices,  it  will  be  found  that  each  pos- 
sesses peculiar  properties  and  advantages, 
which  could  not  have  been  combined,  and 
one  class  of  which,  therefore,  must  have 
been  sacrificed,  had  fire  or  water  alone  pre- 
vailed in  the  formation  of  the  earth. 


Take  care  of  your  business,  and  your 
business  will  take  care  of  you. 


l=. 


VL 


their  intoriial  striic- 
■posittnl  from  water, 
)r  layers  of  greater 
[!se  sliouIJ  be  seen 
,  if  this  is  the  mau- 
ve been  produced. 
fho  has  looked  inio 
»t  have  observed  to 
iidstono  is,  on  this 
ratified,  or  to  form 
from  a  Latin  verb 
spread  out,  as  the 
Diie  beds  are  siip- 
t  the  bottom  of  tlie 
ar>je  body  of  water, 
iifereiil  orijiin,  does 
riiy.  It  appears  in 
,  divided  in  various 
iar  beds  ;  and  most 
itructurc  is  liiie  iis 
issive  and  unstrati- 
indeed,  appear  hke 
poured  out  ihroujih 
face  of  the  ground, 
may  seem  uniuter- 
but  they  constitute 
geological  science, 
s  are  not  barren  of 
[t  was  long  a  favor- 
sophcrs,  misled  by 
ity,  to  endeavor  to 
ena  of  the  earth  by 
y  water.  But  even 
in  great  abundance 
lie  earth,  show  that 
!S  is  alone  suflicient, 
)oth  to  be  combined, 
lat  both  agents,  and 
produce,  serve  im- 
i  economy  of  crea- 
:heir  union  and  op- 
is  far  more  perfect 
oidd  have  resulted 
;)ne.  Even  looking 
owand  limited  light 
I  dwellings  andolh- 
found  that  each  pos- 
ties  and  advantages, 
been  combined,  and 
lerefore,  must  have 
i  or  water  alone  pre- 
1  of  the  earth. 

business,  and  your 
3  of  you. 


THE  NARWAL. 


783 


THE  NARWAL 

MONG  the  ccta- 
cea  that  inhabit 
the  Polar  ocean, 
the  narwal,  if  not 
the  largest,  is 
itevertheless  one 
of  the  most  re- 
inarktible.  Its 
general  form  re- 
sembles that  of  the  porpoise  ;  it  has  how- 
ever no  teeth,  properly  so  called,  but  two 
tusks,  or  sp<iars,  implanted  in  the  inter- 
maxillary bone,  hut  of  whiclithe  riuht  re- 
mains usually  rudimentary  and  concealed 
during  life.  The  left  tusk,  on  the  con- 
trary, attains  to  from  five  to  seven  i>r  eight 
and  sometimes  ten  feet  in  length,  and  pro- 
jects from  the  snout  iit  a  right  line  with 
the  body,  tapering  gradually  to  a  point, 
with  a  spiral  twist  (rope-like)  throughout 
its  whole  extent.  In  structure  and 
urowtli,  this  tusk  resembles  that  of  the 
i  elephant,  being  hollow  at  its  base,  or  root, 
and  solid  at  its  extremity. 

The  tusk  or  spear  of  the  narwal  con- 
stitutes a  powerful  weap<m,  which  it  is 
reported  to  u.se  with  terrible  efTect.  It  is 
liowever  its  only  weapon,  for  it  has  neith- 
er the  fornjdable  teeth  of  the  grampus  nor 
(if  the  cachalot.  Crantz  thus  describes 
tiie  narwal :  "  This  species  is  commonly 
twenty  feet  lofig,  and  has  a  smooth  black 
skin,  sharp  head,  and  little  mouth.  A 
iviunil  double-twisted  horn  runs  straight 
out  from  the  leftside  of  the  upper  lip.  It 
is  commonly  ten  feet  long,  as  thick  as 
one's  arm,  hollow  inside,  and  composed 
(if  a  white  solid  substance.  It  is  proba- 
ble he  uses  this  horn  to  get  at  the  sea- 
grass,  which  is  his  proper  food,  and  also 
to  bore  a  hole  in  the  ice  with  it  when  he 
wants  fresh  air;  possibly  also  as  a  weap- 
on against  his  enemies.  Another  little 
horn,  a  span  long,  lies  concealed  in  the 
right  side  of  his  nose,  which  probably  is 
reserved  for  a  fresh  supply,  if  some  acci- 
dent should  dejjrive  him  of  the  long  one; 
and  they  say  that  as  a  ship  was  once  sail- 
ing at  sea  it  felt  a  violent  shock,  as  if  it 
had  struck  upon  a  rock,  and  afterward  one 
of  these  horns  was  found  fastened  in  it. 
Formerly  tlijse  horns,  or  tusks,  were 
looked  upon  to  bo  the  horns  of  the  fabu- 


lous land-unicorn,  and  therefore  they  were 
valued  as  an  inestimable  curiosity,  and 
S(j|d  excessively  dear,  till  the  Greenland 
fishery  was  set  on  foot,  when  they  found 
them  in  the  northern  parts  of  Davis's 
straits  in  greater  plenty  than  anywhere  ; 
yet  for  sometime  they  carried  on  the 
cheat." 

Captain  Scoresby  found  the  remains  of 
cuttle-fish  in  the  stomachs  of  several 
which  were  opened  by  him,  and  similar 
remains  were  also  found  in  the  stomach 
of  one  driven  asliore  near  Boston,  Lin- 
colnshire, England. 

In  g(;neral  form,  the  narwal  resembles 
the  porpoise,  or  grampus,  but  the  head  is 
small  and  blunt ;  the  mouth  is  small,  and 
not  capable  of  much  extension.  The  un- 
der-lip is  wedge-shaped.  The  eyes  are 
placed  in  a  lino  with  the  opening  of  the 
mouth,  at  the  distance  of  thirteen  or  four- 
teen inches  from  the  snout,  and  of  small 
size,  being  about  an  inch  in  diameter. 
The  spiracle,  or  blow-hole,  is  a  single  or- 
ifice of  a  semicircular  ftirm,  on  the  top  of 
the  head,  directly  over  the  eyes.  The 
fins,  or  flippers,  are  about  fourteen  or  fif- 
teen inches  long,  and  from  six  to  eight 
broad,  their  situation  on  the  sides  of  the 
animal  being  at  one  fifth  of  its  length  from 
the  sru)ut.  The  breadth  of  the  tail  is  from 
fifteen  to  twenty  inches.  There  is  no 
dorsal-fin,  but  a  sharp  ridge  runs  down  the 
centre  of  the  back,  the  edge  of  which  is 
generally  found  to  be  rough  and  worn,  as 
if  by  rubbing  against  the  ice.  C'raniz 
describes  the  narwal  as  being  black  ;  it 
is  only  in  young  specimens  that  this  color 
can  be  said  to  prevail :  at  an  early  age  the 
narwal  is  blackish-gray  on  the  back,  with 
numerous  darker  spots  and  markings  run- 
ning into  each  other,  forming  a  general 
dusky^-black  surface.  The  sides  are  al- 
most white,  with  dusky  and  more  ojieti 
markings;  the  under  surface  is  white.  In 
adult  specimens,  tlie  ground-color  of  tho 
back  is  yellowish-white,  with  markings 
varying  from  dark  gray  to  dusky-black,  and 
of  a  roundish  or  oval  figure,  with  inter- 
spaces of  white  or  yellowish-white  be- 
tween them.  The  skin  resembles  that  of 
the  common  Greenland  whale  (hahenu 
myslicetus),  but  is  thinner.  Tho  female 
narwal  produces  a  single  young  one  at  a 
birth,  which  she  nourish'  u  with  milk  for 


III 


mt' 


mi 


AVARICE. 


Y85 


several   months :   the   teats   are   situated 
near  the  ori<;in  of  the  tail. 

The  iKirwal  is  gregarious,  associating 
in  troops  of  from  six  or  eight  to  twenty 
or  more ;  and  numbers  are  often  seen 
clustered  together,  both  in  the  open  sea 
and  in  bays  and  inlets  free  from  the  ice, 
forming  a  compact  phalanx,  moving  gently 
ami  slowly  along.  Under  such  circum- 
stances the  independent  movements  of 
each  individual  are  necessarily  embar- 
rassed, so  that  a  considerable  slaughter 
may  be  easily  effected  among  them. 
When  attacked  at  such  a  time,  the  hind 
ranks,  instead  of  turning  against  their  as- 
saillants,  press  upon  those  before,  sliding 
their  long  weapons  over  the  glossy  backs 
of  their  leaders,  and  all  becomes  disorder 
and  confusion.  Opportunities  of  this  kind 
arc  welcome  to  the  Greenlanders,  to  wliom 
the  narwal  is  an  important  animal. 

The  origin  of  the  word  narwhale,  nar- 
whal, or  narwal,  is  said  to  be  from  the 
Ttuioniu  nar,  or  ner,  which  signifies  a 
beak  or  projecting  snout ;  and  wal,  wale, 
or  whale,  an  indiscriminate  word,  in  the 
same  great  family  of  languages,  for  any 
of  the  cetacea. 


legislator  complains  that  governments  are 
getting  to  be  little  belter  than  political  es- 
tablishments to  furnish   facilities   for   the 
accumulation  of  wealth.     The  philanthro- 
pist complains  that  genero'is  moiives  are 
lost  sight  of  in  the  prevailing  desire  for 
gain,  sr)  that  he  who  evinces  a  disposition 
to  disinterested  benevolence  is  cillier  dis- 
trusted as  a  hypocrite  or  deridi-d  as  a  fool. 
The  moralist  complains  that  '  commerce 
has  kindled  in  the  nation  a  universiil  lliirst 
for  wealth,  and  that  money  receives  all 
the   honors   which  are   the  proper   right 
of   knowledge    and  virtue.'     Tho    candi- 
didate  for  worldly  advancement  :     "  lionor 
protests    against  the   arrangement  which 
makes    promotion  a  matter  of  purchase, 
thus    disparaging    and    discoumging    all 
worth  save  that  of  wealth.     The  poet  la- 
menls  that  '  the   world  is  too  much  for 
us ;'  that  '  all  things  are  sold  ;'  that  ev- 
erything is  made  a  marketable  coimnodity 
and  '  labelled  with  its  price.'     '['he  stu- 
dent of  mental  and  moral  philosophy,  com- 
plains that  his  favorue  science.s  are  falling 
into  decay,  while  the  physical  are  engros- 
sing every  day  more  respect  and  atten- 
r.ion  ;  that  '  the  worship  of  the  beautiful 
and  good  is  giving   place  to  a  calculation 
of  the  profitable  ;  that  every  wink  which 
can  be  made  of  use  to  immediate  profit, 
every  work  which  falls  in  with  the  desire 
of  acquiring  wealth  suddenly,  is  sure  of 
an  appropriate  circulation  ;'  that  we  have 
been  led  to  '  estimate  the  worth  if  all  i>ur- 
suiis  and  attainments  by  »hcir  niarkiiable 
value.' "     Yes,  Mammon  has  otiier  assail- 
ants beside  the  divine.     Still,  however, 
his  votaries,  or  as  we  should  rather  call 
them,  his  slaves,  are  countless ;  and  among 
these  there  are  not  a  few  who  do  not  so 
much  as  suspect  that  they  are  held  in  bon- 
dage.    He    has    so    many,  and  these  so 
shrewd  and  sensible  pleas  to  urge  ;  a  de- 
cent  independence,  amplified    means   of 
doing  good,  provision  against  future  contin- 
gencies, giving  one's  children  a  fair  start 
in  life — these  and  the  like  are  so  neces- 
sary, so  proper,  and  so  becoming,  that, 
were  we  all  father-confessors,  we  sliould 
find,  like  St.  Francis  de  Sales,  that  none 
would  come  to  us  to  confess  the  sm  of 
covetousness. 

The  battle  for  wealth,  is,  we  believe. 


AVARICE. 

UT  little  use  is  there 

in  trying  to  settle  the 

question  what  vice  is 

practised  most  exten- 
sively and  productive 

of  most  evil.     Alas! 

there  are  many  that 

thrive  so  alarmingly, 

that  it  is  hard  to  say 

to  which  we  should 
assign  in  point  of  strength  and  mischiev- 
ous influence  the  unenviable  superiority. 
There  can  be  no  question,  however,  that 
"  the  love  of  money,"  which  is  declared 
by  the  hiiihest  authority  f)  be  "the  root 
of  all  evil,"  is  sadly  prevalent  and  awfully 
injurious.  Into  whatever  department  of 
the  great  social  economy  we  look,  we  see 
this  mean  and  hateful  passion  working 
bancfuUy.  Ail  men,  as  the  author  of 
"  Mammon"  has  well  remarked,  are  be- 
wailing its  power  and  prevalence :  "  The  |  one   of   the   sorest  and   most    fatiguing 


i 


wB? 


tff     .tt.  u 

iii 


fl^ 


li-i 


,»( "'f' 


ff 


786 


AVARICE. 


1 


which  mortals  fight.  The  toils  of  the 
roughest  campaign,  the  hardships  of  flood 
and  field,  are  light  in  comparison  with 
those  of  tlio  man  who  has  set  his  heart  not 
on  empires  but  on  gold — whose  thoughts 
and  projects  by  night  and  by  day  have  ail 
one  aim,  the  acquisition  of  money.  An 
in  lomitable  perseverance  must  have  fallen 
to  his  lot,  or  his  spirit  would  sink  in  the 
struggle.  What  a  round  of  schemings ! 
what  hosts  of  speculations  I  what  distract- 
ing risks  !  what  tear  and  wear  of  brain  in 
calculating  the  chances  in  his  favor!  what 
feverish  disquietude  !  what  racking  cares  ! 
what  twinges  of  conscience,  too !  There 
are,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  comparatively  few 
professional  misers — few  whose  every 
thought  and  cnrrgy  are  given  to  money- 
making — who  deny  the  mselves  every  en- 
joyment, and  hoot  at  every  scheme  of  be- 
nevolence. 

These  libels  on  humanity  are,  we  would 
hope,  few  indeed.  But  we  have  plenty  of 
such  characters  in  miniature.  We  have 
men  in  abundance,  who,  were  they  unfor- 
tunate enough  to  live  twice  or  thrice  long- 
er than  others,  would  be  exhi!)itions  of  the 
miserly  passion,  quite  as  pitiable  as  the 
Dancers,  the  Elweses,  and  such  like. 
The  demon  has  been  generated  into  a  mul- 
titude of  little  demons ;  the  burrowing 
worm  has  been  cut  in  pieces,  but  each 
piece  has  become  a  burrower  in  turn. 
It  has  been  as  with  the  giant  in  the  fable, 
whose  head  was  chopped  off,  but  a  host 
grew  in  its  room ;  or  as  the  dragon-tooth 
that  was  buried  in  the  earth,  but  an  army 
arose  as  its  harvest! 

Now  these  persons  do  not  need  to  be 
told  to  what  privations  and  sickening  cares 
they  are  subjected.  They  confound  two 
things,  which  every  well-regulated  mind 
keeps  quite  distinct — wealth  and  its  uses. 
They  forgot  that  money  is  an  instrument, 
not  an  object  — a  means,  not  an  end — a 
scaflbkling,  not  a  building.  They  fa!!  in 
love  with  the  key  which  opens  the  palace 
door  ;  they  sit  down  on  the  threshold,  turn 
it  in  their  hands,  and  call  it  god :  poor 
dupes,  they  never  cross  the  threshold  to 
gaze  on  the  beauty  and  magnificence  of 
the  interior !  They  please  themselves 
with  the  covers  on  the  table  without  taking 
their  dinner.  And  even  when  the  disease 
does  not  exactly  go  this  length,  we  know 


that  the  solicitude  which  attends  the  get- 
ting and  the  keeping  of  wealth,  is  haras-  | 
sing  in  the  extreme.  Multiplying,  as  rich- 
es invariably  do,  a  man's  relations  and 
movements,  they  make  him  in  the  same 
ratio  a  broader  mark  for  the  arrows  of 
misfortune.  They  may  remove  all  anxi- 
ety as  to  temporal  evil— hunger,  cold,  the 
world's  scorn  Yet  how  many  imaginary 
evils,  artificial  wants,  and  false  appetites 
do  they  create  !  And  how  do  these  in- 
crease in  strength  and  number  as  tliey 
are  fed  !  how  dependent  the  most  inde- 
pendent people  of  the  world  !  The  cares 
which  attend  the  acquisition  of  wealth, 
the  ten  thousand  means  by  which  he  may 
be  deprived  of  it,  keep  the  money-hunter 
the  victim  of  incessant  disquiet,  place  his 
happiness  at  the  mercy  of  so  many  con- 
tingencies, that  we  need  not  startle  wlien 
told  that  the  "abundance  of  the  rich  will 
not  suffer  them  to  sleep."  He  is  like  a 
man  living  in  a  castle  besieged  on  every 
side  ;  not  a  wind  can  blow,  not  a  change 
can  be  mooted  or  made  witliout  causing 
him  fresh  alarm. 

Avarice,  besides  being  a  troublesome 
vice,  is  a  very  dangerous  one.  Su^>pose 
its  victim  successful  in  his  pursuit  of  rich- 
es, to  what  serious  perils  is  h«  exposed? 
Among  these  the  fostering  of  pride  is  per- 
haps the  most  prominent.  We  are  all 
mutually  dependent.  But  the  very  rich 
man,  at  least  if  avaricious,  is  exceedingly 
apt  to  forget  this.  Ho  finds  that  he  has 
got  something  into  his  possession  that  lias 
a  power  resembling  that  of  the  fabled  phil- 
osopher's stone.  It  can  turn  all  it  touches 
into  gold.  He  finds  that  "  money  answer- 
eth  ail  things  ;"  that  it  can  procure  him  ad- 
mission into  almost  every  circle,  and  make 
him  favorably  regarded  when  in  it ;  that 
it  can  convert  the  rske  into  a  paragon  of 
worth  ;  with  marvellous  ease  blot  twenty 
or  thirty  years  from  the  calondar  of  time  ; 
smooth  the  furrowed  brow  of  a<;e,  and 
plant  roses  on  the  faded  check.  He  iiiids 
his  wants  not  merely  supplied  but  antici- 
pated. He  finds  that  every  man  is  ready 
to  serve  him;  that  many  (most  disinterest- 
ed persons  !)  are  even  willing  to  let  tlieir 
own  business  alone  to  attend  to  his. 
Now,  it  is  not  in  poor  human  nature  to 
resist  this  intoxicating  influence.  A  man, 
or  a  few  men,  in  an  age,  may  rise  superior 


1  attends  the  get- 
wealth,  is  haras- 
iliiplying,  as  rich- 
I's  relations  and 
him  in  the  same 
)r  the  arrows  of 
remove  all  anxi- 
hunger,  cold,  the 
'  many  imaginary 
d  false  appetites 
low  do  these  in- 
nuniber  as  tliey 
t  the  most  inde- 
)rl(l  !  The  cares 
silion  of  wealth, 
jy  which  he  may 
lie  money-hunter 
isquiet,  place  his 
of  so  many  con- 
not  startle  wlien 
of  the  rich  will 
I."  He  is  like  a 
isieged  on  every 
3w,  not  a  change 
witiioui  causing 

g  a  troublesome 
s  one.  Si:^)pcse 
IS  pursuit  of  rich- 
is  hrt  exposed  ? 
g  of  pride  is  per- 
it.  Wo  are  all 
U  the  very  rich 
s,  is  exceedingly 
finds  that  he  has 
issession  tliat  has 
)f  the  (al)le<l  phil- 
urn  all  it  toui'lies 
"  money  answer- 
procure  him  ad- 
circle,  and  make 
vhen  in  it ;  that 
[>to  a  paragon  of 
;ase  hlot  twenty 
alendar  of  time ; 
ow  of  age,  and 
beck.  He  tiiids 
plied  but  antici- 
ry  man  is  ready 
mostdisintcn.'st- 
Hing  to  let  ilioir 
attend  to  his. 
uman  nature  to 
uence.  A  man, 
nay  rise  superior 


GENOA. 


T87 


to  it ;  but  to  expect  this  of  mankind  gen- 
erally, or  even  very  extensively,  is  quite 
idle.  The  man  will  grow  proud,  and  who 
knows  not  that  pride  is  fatal  to  oi#  peace  ? 
And  worse  than  all — for  there  is  a  close 
alliance  between  the  two — contempt  for 
his  fellow-men  may  eventually  grow  into 
a  jealousy  of  the  Divine  superiority— all 
those  humbling  truths,  on  the  reception  of 
which  his  eternal  welfare  depends,  he  will 
be  prone  to  spurn.  The  great  Teacher  of 
mankind  made  few  statements  stronger  or 
more  emphatic  than  this  :  "  It  is  easier 
for  a  camel  to  pass  through  the  eye  of  a 
needle,  than  for  a  rich  man  to  enter  into 
the  kingdom  of  God."  There  is,  indeed, 
no  vice  against  which  the  inspired  writers 
caution  us  in  more  solemn  and  startling 
terms  than  that  which  we  are  denouncing. 
"  Take  heed  and  beware  of  covetousness," 
is  a  warning  which  the  messengers  of 
Heaven  again  and  again  reiterate.  And 
the  sacred  volume  teems  with  examples  of 
the  dangers  and  sad  consequences  of  this 
vice.  "  Whether  we  advert  to  the  losses 
and  sufferings  of  Lot,  the  stoning  of  Achan, 
the  leprosy  of  Gehazi,  or  the  fate  of  Ju- 
das, the  secret  of  their  punishment  is  ex- 
plained when  the  Almighty  declares — 
'  For  the  iniquity  of  his  covetousness 
was  I  wroth,  and  smote  him.'  And  what 
do  we  behold  in  every  such  infliction  but 
an  earnest  of  its  coming  doom — the  scin- 
tillations of  that  wrath,  the  flashes  of  that 
distant  lire,  which  is  kindled  already  to 
consume  ill" 

There  is  a  meanness,  moreover,  about 
this  vice  which  must  strike  every  thought- 
ful mind.  'J'he  Scriptures  call  the  cove- 
tous man  an  idolater.  And  assuredly 
there  is  no  meaner  idolatry.  One  can 
pardon,  in  certain  moods  of  mind,  the 
man  who  worships  the  sun  in  the  heavens 
with  his  burning  glories,  or  those  incarna- 
tions of  mental  power  and  energy,  Shak- 
spere,  MiUau,  or  Napoleon  ;  but  the  man 
who  bends  iiis  soul  at  Mammon's  shrine 
locks  a  being  of  quite  another  order — he 
lacks  the  poetry  of  other  idolaters.  And 
then,  what  a  train  of  evils  How  from  this 
vice.  It  poisons  the  peace  of  families,  it 
works  the  ruin  of  empires.  In  almost 
every  land  it  Irames  and  defends  laws 
which  equally  outrage  mercy  and  justice. 
It  Ojjposes  Itself  to  every  benevolent  en- 


terprise.    It  impedes  the  progress  of  truth, 
and    liberty,  and   h)ve.      It   dries    up   the 
most  delicious  sympathies  that  play  in  tlie 
breast  of  man,  and  makes  him,  in  a  thou- 
sand ways,  the  wronger  and  oppressor  of 
his  fellow.     Against  the  inroads  of  a  vice 
thus  dangerous,  thus  annoying,  thus  prolifio 
of  evil,  every  man  who  would  consult  his 
own  happiness  and  the  welfare  of  society 
should  beware.     Speaking  of  avarice,  the 
venerable  Howe  says  :  "  It  is  a  soul-wast- 
ing monster,  that  is  fed  and  sustained  at  a 
dearer  rate,  and  with  more  costly  sacrifi- 
ces and  repasts  than  can  be  paralleled  i)y 
either  sacred  or  other  history;  that  hath 
made  more  desolation  in  the  souls  of  men 
than  was  ever  made  in  those  towns  and 
cities  where  idols  were  served  with  only 
human  sacrifices,  or  monstrous   creatures 
satiated  only  with  such   food;    or  where 
tire  lives  and  safetjiof  the  majority  were 
to  be  purchased  by  the  constant  tribute  of 
the  blood  of  not  a  few  ;  that  hath  devoured 
more,  and  preyed  more  cruelly  upon  hu- 
man lives,  than  Moloch  or  Minotaur  1 


GENOA. 

ENOA  is  situated 
within  a  bay  in  a 
wide  gulf,  which 
extends  in  a  cres- 
cent-like form  from 
the  shores  of  France 
to  those  of  Tusca- 
ny. These  were 
the  shores  of  the 
ancient  republic.  The  hari)or  is  in  tlie 
same  form,  and  about  a  mile  and  a  half  in 
length,  its  entrance  being  protected  by  two 
moles  which  approach  within  half  a  mile 
of  each  other.  The  view  of  the  city  from 
the  sea  is  truly  magnificent.  Several  hills 
rise  from  the  harbor  and  form  a  semicircle, 
on  the  declivity  of  which  the  city  is  part- 
ly built ;  and  a  succession  of  fine  build- 
ings extending  two  miles,  like  wings,  lines 
a  narrow  strip  of  land  between  the  sea 
and  the  adjacent  heights.  Palaces  built 
of  marble  and  surrounded  by  gardens,  with 
churches  and  convents,  rise  one  above  the 
other  on  the  steep  sides  of  the  hills  be- 


ffl 


►»>• 


m 


I 


■I 


ji':/fiMf.ji'  > 


TIIK  MYSTIC  III  K.S  OF  CHKATION. 


789 


iiiiid.  wlioNt!  summits  iiri!  ctdwiumI  wiili 
r;un|Kirts,  iurts,  ami  liaiii-rii's,  lormiiii,'  ;i 
iliiuliln  lim:  of  rorliru-'iitiiiiis,  wliidi  pioiccis 
llii'  city  (III  llm  liiiiil  side,  tlie  f.\:i'ri(ir  lino 
Irfinif  aliovc  eii(hl  miles  in  Iimii;iIi.  He- 
yi.ii.rthfsc  hills  urc  the  liiL'li^r  A|ifniiiiii's. 
Tlic  streets  (if  GeiKiii,  willi  I'ew  rxceplioiis, 
lire  iiiirrow,  dark,  stci'i),  ami  cioDked,  a 
(•iiini)inalii)n  <if  tU'lects  wliiuli  is  not  usii- 
iiliy  Itiiiml  in  so  litrye  a  ciiy  ;  but,  like 
ihose  III  Venice,  the  streets  of  old  Genoa 
were  coiistrncied  only  lor  foot-piisHpngers. 
The  Stradii  iJallii  aiid  Sirada  Nova  are 
spacious  sireels  lined  with  the  marhle  pal- 
aces of  iho  Genooso  patricians,  some  of 
which  <;iintaii(  galleries  of  paintings,  and 
are  otherwise  splendid,  holh  hy  tlieir  ar- 
chitecture and  interior  decorations.  Many 
of  ihc  churches  are  luuidsome,  and  the 
former  palace  of  the  Doges,  with  several 
oilier  public  buildings,  arc  deserving  ob- 
jects of  interest. 

(leiioa  and  the  territory  adjoining,  divi- 
ded into  seven  provinces,  is  now  a  duchy 
forming  part  of  the  kingdom  of  Sardinia. 
The  province  of  Genoa  contains  208,000 
iniiiiliitants.     The   population  of  the  city 
is  04,000,  and  the  suburbs  contain  20,000 
mure.     There  are  several  small  maritime 
towns  ill  the  province.     The  duchy  has 
its  own  institutions — a  high  court  of  jus- 
tice and  a  university,  and  civil  employ- 
ments are  tilled   by  Genoese.     The  gar- 
rison is  under  strict  discipline,  and  much 
care  is  taken  to  conciliate  the  inhabitants. 
The  liberal  spirit  of  the   government  is 
highly  praiseworthy  when  it  is  recollected 
that  Genoa  enjoyed  for  a  long  period  an 
independent  existence,  and  that  many  old 
jirejudices  still  exist  between  the  Genoese 
ami  the  Piedinontesc,  which  their  forced 
union,  by  the  treaty  of  Vienna  in  1815, 
was   calculated  to  keep   alive   for   some 
time. 

The  decline  of  Genoese  commerce  is 
to  bo  attributed  to  internal  factions  and 
foreign  spoliation,  and  to  those  changes 
which  occur  in  the  natural  course  of 
events  ;  but  it  is  still  very  extensive,  and 
has  been  reviving  ever  since  the  peace. 


Never  put  oflf  till  to-morrow  what  you 
can  do  to  day.  When  angry,  count  ten  be- 
fore you  speak;  if  very  angry,  count  a 
hundred. 


TIIK  MYSTKRIKS  OF  Til  NATION. 

/r  (^  ^K^'^f?!?-  "  ''  P"^^'""  "I"  vitality 
( 1  ■^   .;^^;^-  .^f  ^  so    woiiilerliilly    con- 
i\     '^f^W*  \i     8pi<'iiiius  in  the  veiie- 
table  kiiigilom.  which 
cnaldes  a  st.td  to  re- 
tain    its     veuetating 
power     liioiiL;h     diir- 
maiit  for  many  years, 
lias  a  remarkable  analogy  wiili   the  reviv- 
ilication  of  some  of  the  aiiimnliules.     Tlie 
rotifer  rediviviis,  or  wheel  aijiinalciih',  can 
live  only  in  water,  and  is  <  iiiiiinonly  I'uuiid 
in  that  which  has  remained   Ntannant   lor 
some  time  in  tlie  gutters  of  houses.      IJul 
it  may  be  deprived  of  this  fluid,  and  re- 
duced to  perf<'ct  dryness,  so  that  all  the 
fiiiulions  of  life  siiall   i)e    completely  sus- 
pended, yet  wilhoul  the  de>iiwciion  of  the 
vital  principle  ;  lor  this  atom  of  dust,  alter 
remaining  for  years  in  a  dry  state,  may  bo 
revived  in  a  few  miuules  by  being  again 
supplied  with  water. 

Notiiing    stands    alone    in    this    world. 
"The  chain  holds  on,  and  where  it  ends, 
unknown."     llow  strongly  is  this  felt  even 
in  the  vegetable  creation  !      Who  do(!s  not 
perceive  it  while  looking  on  the  principal 
constituents  of  plants,!,  e  ,  carbon,  oxygen, 
hydrogen  and  nitrogen,  and  contemiilaiing 
their  gradual  transformation  into  vugetalile 
albumen,  and  vegetable  caseine,  or  on  any 
of  the  elementary  forms  of  the  nitrogen- 
ized  compounds,  so  absolutely  essential, 
directly  or  indirectly,  to  animal  life.     .And 
even  should  it  also  occur  to  the  mind,  iliat 
the  same  process  ceases  not  with  us,  but 
that  these  human  bodies,  thus  marvellous- 
ly made  and  nourished,  are,  even  the  or- 
gans by  which  the  high  functions  of  the 
brain  are  performed,  material  and  perisha- 
ble, and  that  "  we  feed   ourselves  to  feed 
the  worms,"  and,  being  dust,  return  liter- 
ally to  that  dust  again  ;  let  us  not  pause 
on  the  threshold  of  the  argument,  where 
despondency  might  await  us,  but   go  be- 
yond on  through  the   portal,  and   calmly 
consider  what  deduction  we  may  draw,  by 
the  simple  light  of  reason,  from  this  un- 
deniable truth.     We  see   that  everything 
around  us  here,  when  it  has  accomplished 
the  end  of  its  being,  is  not  annihilated, 
but  only  transformed  into  some  other  state, 
in  which  it  still  continues  to  work  out  the 


m » 


mi** 


790 


ANECDOTES  OF  WA8HIN0T0N  AND  H0RIII8. 


will  of  Him  who  created  it :  orery  male- 
rial  tiling  perfectly  fulfils  itn  destined  pur- 
pose ;  but  man  has  that  within  which  as- 
sures him  that  ho  neither  is  nor  does  all 
that  the  soul  could  be  and  perform  were  it 
disencumbered  of  the  body  in  its  grosser 
Mate.     Has   he   not,  then,  the   strongest 
rt^son  to  confide  to  Him  who  gave  that 
body  for  good  purposes  hero,  that  He  will, 
at  its  dissolution,  still  make  it  8ui)8ervient 
to  his  wise  intentions,  and  after  he  sepa- 
rates it  from  its  present  union  with  the 
soul,  will  assuredly  place  his  rational  crea- 
ture in  a  condition  to  be  and  to  do  all  for 
which    thnt    creature    was    made  ?     Man 
would  then  no  longer  be  the  exception  to 
the  rest  of  sentient  beings,  their  wishes 
and  desires  are  so  arranged,  that  the  means 
of  their  gratification  are  within  their  reach 
on  earth;  we,  on  the  contrary,  feel  aspi- 
rations which  never  can  be  fully  gratified 
here,  and  whose  very  existence  foreshows 
a  time  when  they  will  have  th  -r  fruition. 
The    moral    consequence    we   may  draw 
from  this  is  almost  too  obvious  to  require 
notice.     If  we  look  forward  to  a  state  in 
which  the  body  shall  be  changed  that  its 
present  enjoyments  can   exist  no  more, 
while  those  of  the  soul  shall  last  for  ever, 
how  important  is  it  that  the  will,  which 
triumphs  over  everything  that  is  material 
in  us,  should  be  so  regulated,  that  when 
that  state  arrives,  it  may  not  long  for  those 
earthly  pleasures  which  are  gone  to  re- 
turn no  more,  but  may  have  already  an- 
ticipated in  hope  the  reality  it  shall  then 
experience.     The  wise  of  old,  though  but 
dimly  perceiving  what  is  assured  to  us 
under  the  pledge  and  seal  of  God  himself, 
could  yet  draw  the  right  inference  from 
those  dim  perceptions.     When  in  the  va- 
ried phases  of  the  butterfly's  frail  life  they 
saw  prefigured  their  own  future  destiny, 
they  could  urge  their  disciples  to  purify 
the  soul,  and  fit  it  for  companionship  with 
eternal  love.     In  the  grain  of  wheat  ap- 
parently  perishing  in  the  earth,  but  spring- 
ing up  in  due  season  in  a  form  "  the  same, 
and  yet  another,"  the  apostle  found  a  sim- 
ilar correspondence  with  our  lot ;  all  can 
see  the  appropriateness  and  beauty  of  the 
comparison,  and  all  having  this  hope,  may 
they  continue  "  steadfast  and  immovable" 
in  all  that  is  good,  knowing  that  their  la- 
bor shall  not  be  in  vain. 


ANECDOTES  OF  WASHINGTON 
AND  MORRIS. 

MONO   the  in. 

teresting     anec- 
dotes   related   to 
us  most  graphic- 
ally and  feeling, 
ly.  of  Washing. 
ton,  by  Mr.  Cus. 
tis,  when  in  New 
York  city  lately, 
was  one  on  the  landing  of  the  iremial  at 
Whitehall,    when    ho    was    about    to    bo 
sworn  as  president  of  the  United  States. 
As  the  general   was    stepping   on   shore 
from  the  vessel,  he  was  addressed  by  un 
American  officer  with,  "  Sir,  I  have  the 
honor  to  command  a  guard  of  soldiers  to 
escort  you  to  your  residence,  and  also  on 
any  other  occasion  yru  may  desire."     "  A 
guard  !— a    guard    for    me  !"    exclaimed 
Washington,   rising   in   his   stature,  an;' 
quite  overlooking  the  guard  of  some  fifiy 
soldiers,  "why,  sir,  I  need  no  guard.     I 
ask  for  no  other  guard  than  the  affections 
of  my  countrymen  !"     Whereupon,  with 
a  significant  wave  of  his  hand,  his  guard 
fell  into  the  rear.     Mr.  Custis  says  this  an- 
ecdote was  frequently  related,  among  oth- 
ers, by  John  Carroll,  who  was  then  with 
the  general,  and  heard  the  remark  of  Wash- 
ington, tending  to  show  that  he  was  a  jrnat 
and  good  man,  and  one  worthy  the  uflec- 
tions  of  the  people  ;  this  alone  would  sut- 
isfy  him,  as  it  should  all  others,  of  the  fnet. 
Another  anecdote  related  to  us  by  Mr. 
Custis  was  this  :  When  Wa.shington  liad 
marched  his  army  as  far  as  Elk  river,  on 
his  way  to  Yorktown,  Virginia,  to  .iltnek 
Lord  Cornwallis,  the  soldiers,  then  ionir 
without  their  pay  and  greatly  fatigued,  re" 
quested   their   arrearages,  and    as    pa-x  r 
money  was  of  little  value  to  tlicm,  the  ' 
desired  it  in  silver.     This  was  an  nlarin- 
ing   difficulty    with    Wa,shington    at   this 
crisis,  for  he  knew  full  well  that  his  sol- 
diers should  have  their  pay,  and  yet  he 
was  extremely  anxious  to  reach  Yorktown 
with  his  troops  as  soon  as  possible,  lest 
Lord  Cornwallis  should  escape  with  his 
forces,  which  Washington  had  so  confi- 
dently hoped  to  capture.     In  this  dilemma 
he  immediately  called  to  him  Robert  Mor- 


THE  MinAOR. 


791 


VASHINGTUN 
HIS. 

MONO   the  it,, 
toreaiing     iincc- 
(lotrs    rclntrd   tfi 
us  most  Kraphic- 
nlly  and  f«'cliii!r- 
ly.  of  Wiisliini;. 
ton,  hy  Mr.  C'lisc 
lis,  when  in  \ow 
York  city  I  Mly, 
of  the  i;t'niM:il  at 
as    about    to    bo 
le  United  Stafos. 
Bpping   on   shore 
addressed  l)y  iin 
"  Sir,  I  liave  the 
rd  of  soldiers  to 
nee,  and  also  on 
ay  desire."     "  A 
ne  !"    exclaimed 
his   stature,  an;' 
ird  of  some  fifty 
ed  no  guard.     I 
an  the  affections 
Vhereiipon,  with 
hand,  his  jrnard 
istis  says  this  an- 
ated,  among  otli- 
)  was  then  with 
remark  of  Wasli- 
at  ho  was  a  jjri'at 
vorthy  the  afloc- 
alone  would  sat- 
ihers,  of  the  f;irt. 
3d  to  us  by  Mr. 
iVa.shington  had 
as  Elk  river,  on 
rginia,  to  attack 
diers,  then  long 
itiy  fatigued,  n- 
,  and    as    pinur 
5  to  them,  the  ' 
was  an  nlarin- 
tiingion    at   tills 
}I1  that  his  soi- 
)ay,  and  yet  he 
reach  Yorktown 
18  possible,  lest 
iscape  with  his 
I  had  so  confi- 
In  this  dilemma 
lim  Robert  Mor- 


ris, to  whom  he  related  in  confidence  and 
with  much  feeling  the  particiilarM  of  the 
case,  and  th«  probable  eflecls.  should  it 
bo  iound  impossiblo  to  raise  the  money. 
.Mr.  Morris,  who  an  it  is  well  known,  was 
a  financier,  as  well  as  true  patriot  and  hon- 
est man,  saw  at  once  the  dilficulty  and  its 
probable  conseipienceH,  and,  bethinking 
liimsdf  for  a  moment,  ho  said,  "  Ah,  1 
have  it,  general,  I'll  obtain  the  money," 

The  French  fleet  lay  far  below  in  the 
bay,  y»'l  thither  Mr.  Morris  immediately 
pursued  his  way.  Addressing  himself  to 
the  count  under  wliose  command  the  fleet 
was,  ho  represented  that  anticipated  funds 
from  the  government  for  the  payment  of 
the  troops  not  having  arrived  in  season,  it 
became  necessary  to  pay  them  before 
reacliing  the  battle-ground,  where  success 
was  certain  for  the  combined  French  and 
American  forces;  therefore,  ho  would  take 
the  liberty  of  asking  him — as  a  tried  friend 
of  the  cause  of  freedom — for  an  accom- 
modation for  the  present,  and  that  ho  him- 
self would  be  responsible  for  the  amount 
if  required,  <fcc.  This  was  done  with  so 
much  address,  and  at  the  same  time  with 
so  much  truth  and  confidence,  that  it  pro- 
duced the  desired  effect. 

The  count  readily  and  very  politely 
proff'ered  the  requisite  sum  of  silver ;  and 
proceeding  himself  to  his  iron  chest,  took 
it  out  in  crowns  done  up  in  parcels,  and 
delivered  it  to  Mr.  Morris,  who,  thereupon, 
proceeded  with  a  light  heart  to  the  Amer- 
ican camp,  and  to  the  no  less  joy  of  Wash- 
ington and  his  brave  but  sutfering  army. 
The  army,  it  is  well  known,  proved  suc- 
cessful, and  perhaps,  this  circumstance 
contributed  in  a  great  measure  to  this  re- 
sult. 

There  were  two  or  three  anecdotes  of 
lloberl  Morris,  told  by  Mr.  Custis,  which 
showed  tliat  he  was  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant men,  if  not  next  to  Washington 
himself,  in  the  happy  results  of  the  revo- 
lution, and  Washington  ever  esteemed 
him  as  such.  In  this  connexion,  Mr. 
Custis  related  most  touchingly  the  visit 
of  Washington  to  the  jail  in  Walnut 
street,  Philadelphia  (where  Mr.  Morris 
was  afterward  confined  for  debt !)  on  his 
arrival  in  thai  city.  The  interview  was 
indescribably  affecting,  and  so  also  was  a 
visit  subsequently  paid  by  Mr.  Custis  to 


Mr,  Morris,  when  Mr.  M.  ti-aii  near  his 
death.  But  what  rendered  these  last  an- 
ecdotes more  interesting  on  this  occasion, 
was  the  fact  that  they  were  addressed  to 
a  group  of  gentlemen,  one  of  whom,  was 
the  venerable  son  of  Robert  Morris. 


THK  MIRAGE. 

F  the  many  extra- 
ordinary appearan- 
ces exhibited  occa- 
sionally by  unusu- 
al occurrences  in 
nature,  few  have 
been  observed  with 
more  astoiiislimcnt 
than  the  phenomenon  designated  by  the 
French  "  Mirage."  This  is  an  appear- 
ance often  presented  to  the  traveller  in 
places  where  there  is  a  largo  extent  of 
arid  country  acted  upon  in  a  powerful  man- 
ner by  an  almost  vertical  sun,  in  which  the 
earth  puts  on  the  appearance  of  at»  ex- 
tended lake  or  river,  although  no  water  is 
in  reality  to  be  found  near  the  spot. 

It  is  in  Egypt  that  this  phenomenon  is 
most  frequently  observed.  The  uniform- 
ity of  the  extensive  sandy  plans  of  low- 
er Egypt  is  interrupted  only  by  small  em- 
inences, on  which  the  villages  are  situated 
in  order  to  escape  the  inundations  of  the 
Nile.  In  the  morning  and  the  evening 
objects  appear  in  their  natural  form  and 
position  ;  but  when  the  surface  of  the 
sandy  ground  is  heated  by  the  sun,  the 
land  seems  terminated  at  a  certain  distance 
by  a  geneial  inundation.  The  villages 
which  are  beyond  it  appear  like  so  many 
islands  situated  in  the  middle  of  a  great 
lake,  and  under  each  village  an  inverted 
image  of  it  is  occasionally  seen.  As  the 
observer  approaches  the  limits  of  the  ap- 
parent inundation,  the  imaginary  lake 
which  seemed  to  encircle  the  village  wiih- 
draws  itself,  and  the  same  illusion  is  re- 
produced by  another  village  more  remote. 
It  is  not,  however,  only  in  the  African 
deserts  that  this  appearance  has  been  wit- 
nessed :  many  other  parts  of  the  world, 
where  there  are  large  tracts  of  flat  land, 
often  exhibit  the  same  phenomenon. 


fW 


III 

iii 


(Wl 


IWi, 


i 


lill;; 


i4' 


.§ 

M 


'a 


1^1 


'^5 


?/ 


TIIOSR  WHO  NKVEIl  COMIT.AIN. 


71)3 


Tliiron  llumholdl  (IcscribPi  several  in- 
utiuKMia  witiifsscd  by  him  during  Isi^  trav- 
els ilk  Souili  America,  cHpccially  in  vho 
l);irrcii  steppos  of  the  Caraccas,  and  on 
iho  gandv  plains  biirdcrintr  llio  Oiinoco. 
Littio  hifU  and  chains  of  hills  appeanul 
siisptMidcd  in  the  uir,  when  soen  from  the 
sttppcs  at  thii'o  or  four  leagues  distance  ; 
nahn-trei'M  standinR  sinj^lo  in  the  Llanos 
appeared  to  bo  cut  off  at  bottom,  as  if  a 
stratum  <»f  air  separated  them  from  the 
(rrinind  ;  and,  as  in  the  African  desert, 
plains  destitute  of  vegetation  appeared  to 
be  rivers  <ir  lakes. 

'J'lie  view  aecompanying  this  article  rep- 
resents a  case  of  mirage  witnessed  in  the 
plains  of  Mexico. 

However  supernatural  these  phenomena 
appear,  they  have  been  satisfactorily  ac- 
counted for  l>y  natural  causes.  It  is  only, 
liow<'ver,  within  the  last  forty  years  that 
uii  explanation  was  attempted. 

Moni^e,  the  Kreiieh  philosopher,  and  Mr. 
lluildai-i  in  Mngland,  were  among  the  first 
to  explain  tlie  principle  of  the  mirage,  and 
they  liolli  referred  it  to  an  imusual  refrac- 
tion of  the  atmosphere  caused  by  differ- 
ent densities  of  tlio  strata  of  air  consc- 
ipient  on    liie  heat  of  the  ground. 

"I'he  lower  portion  of  the  atmosphere 
being  warmed  by  receiving  ^  eat  from  the 
earth,  it  becomes  less  dens  than  the  strata 
of  a!\  ubov.  but  as  this  must  receive  a 
curtain  portion  of  heal  from  the  lower 
strata,  the  air  will  be  gradually  denser  as 
the  distance  from  the  earth  is  increased  ; 
so  that  an  aerial  pris-n  will  be  formed, 
through  which,  as  iu  a  common  glass 
prism,  distant  objects  will  be  seen  re- 
versed. 

M.  Biot  adopted  the  same  idea,  and  ex- 


cept in  a  slight  degree  at  th<»  points  of  con- 
tact. This  produced  slightly  dilferfMil 
densities  in  those  portions  of  the  contents 
of  the  vesHii,  being  in  fact  similar  to  glass 
prisms,  and  on  hmking  ihrouuh  the  mix- 
lure  at  an  object  placi^d  at  a  sliuht  distance 
behind,  a  reversed  image  of  the  object  be- 
came apparent. 

Dr.  Hrewster  adopted  a  belter  plan  to 
render  the  true  effect  apparent.     He  siys  : 
•'  Although  the  experimental  method  of  il- 
lustrating this  phenomena  of  unuMi;d  re- 
fraction, as  given  by  Dr.  Widlaston,  is  in 
every  respect  an  excellent  one,  yet  the 
employment  ofdilferentlinids  does  not  rej). 
resent  the  case  as  it  actually  exists  in  na- 
ture"    The    method    employed     by    Dr. 
Brewster,  consists  in  holding  a  heated  iron 
above  a  mass  of  water  bounded  by  paral- 
lel plates  of  glass.     As  the  heat  descends 
through   the    fluid,   it   produces  a  reKular 
variation  of  density,  which  gradually  in- 
creases from  the  surface  to  tlie  bottom.     I  > 
the  heated  iron  be  now  willidrawn,  and  a 
cold  body  substituted  in   its  place,  or  the 
air  allowed  even  to  act  alone,  the  super- 
ficial strata  of  water  will  give  out  their 
heal,  so  as  to  have  ni    increase  of  density 
from  the  surface  to  a  certain  depth  below 
it.     Through  the  medium  thus  constituted 
all  the  phenomena  of  unusual  refraction 
may  be  s.  enin  the  most  beautiful  manner, 
the    vau.itions   being    produced    by  heat 
alone. 


An  appearance  similar  to  the  mirage, 
and  produced  by  similar  means,  may  be^ 
observed  on  looking  along  the  surface  of 
the  boiler  of  a  8ieam-('n<;ine  ;  or  it  wo 
even  heat  a  poker,  and  look  along  its  edge 
at  an  object  placed  al  a  little  distance,  it 
M    iJiot  a.topieu  vne  siio-c  u..u,  ....^  .^     will  be  observed  inverted  in  the  air  at  about 

plained  the   circumstances   on   which  he  U  quarter  of  an  inch  f-^"'" '^e  ?';•;«  •,''« 

founded  his  opinion,  al  great  length  in  a  !  surrounding  objects  appearing  to  be  lloat- 

meinoir  jiresented  to  the  French  Insiitnte  ;    ing  in  water. 

and  Dr.  Wollaston  proved  the  truiii  .1  the 

theory  by  a  very  ingenious  experiment,  by 

which  the  appearances  presented  by  the 

mirage    were    accurately   imilat.  d.     He 

procured  a  square  glass  bottle,  a  third  of 

which  he  filled  with  clear  syrup  ;  to  'his 

he  added  some  distilled  water,  and  filled 


THOSE  WHO  NEVER  COMPLAIN. 

Life  is  nothing  without  a  touch  of  the 
pathetic  ;  a  joke  is  very  well  in  its  way. 


J»     '    ■  ■  .   ..  fKl^iL-Jkl^, 


Mimlm 


^fWS 


Wh 


Si  f 


•13  '5' r 


!»il*-. 


194 


CAUSES  OP  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 


but  we  can  not  be  always  laughing.  Be- 
sides, it  shows  a  want  of  dignity  to  be 
everlastingly  on  the  broad  grin,  the  titter, 
the  giggle,  or  the  chuckle.  We  owe  it 
to  ourselves  to  look  solemn,  and  to  wear  a 
serious  countenance  occasionally — or,  if 
we  are  particularly  fond  of  dignity,  we 
may  always  have  a  solemn  look.  There 
is  something  more  interesting  in  crying 
than  in  laughing,  and  it  would  be  imperti- 
nent to  ask  what  they  are  laughing  at,  but 
if  you  saw  as  many  crying,  your  sympa- 
thy would  lead  you  to  ask  what  they  were 
crying  for.  If,  on  inquiry,  it  should  be 
found  that  their  tears  were  flowing  from 
an  inadequate  or  unworthy  cause,  you 
would  feel  that  the  dignity  of  grief  was 
nuich  abated.  What  then  1  Why  then, 
if  there  bo  a  want  of  dignity  in  giving 
way  to  the  expression  of  grief  when 
the  cause  is  trivial,  there  must  be  great 
dignity  in  not  grieving  when  there  is  an 
abundant  cause  of  grief — hence  the  pleas- 
ure they  have  in  letting  all  the  world  know 
that  they  never  complain,  and  in  talking 
of  their  exemplary  patience  and  unparal- 
lelled  fortitude,  in  bearing  such  a  burden 
of  wo  without  a  word  of  complaint. 


CAUSES  OF  THE  FRENCH 
REVOLUTION. 

ONG  before  the 
advent  of  the  rev- 
olution, the  condi- 
tion of  France  had 
to  discriminating 
observers,  indica- 
ted the  approach 
of  the  impending 
storm.  The  mon- 
archy was  worn 
out,  the  nobility  corrupt,  and  the  clergy 
degenerate.  A  thousand  years  had  al- 
most elapsed  since  the  establishment  of 
the  former  under  Clovis,  and  the  system 
was  thus  hastening  to  that  slate  of  decay 
which  seems  inseparable  from  all  human 
institutions.  The  vices  of  one  king,  and 
the  virtues  of  another,  had  alike  contribu- 
ted to  produce  this  result.  The  long  and 
expensive  wars  of  Louis  XIV.  and  the 


profligacy  of  Louis  XV.  had  exhausted 
the  resources  of  the  kingdom,  and  aliena- 
ted the  affections  of  the  inhabitants  ;  and 
the  quiet,  unobtrusive,  undecided  clriracter 
of  Louis  XVI.  was  calculated  rather  to 
encourage  than  to  suppress  the  rising 
flame.  This  unhappy  monarch,  if  en- 
dowed with  few  qualities  which  attract  our 
admiration,  was  possessed  of  many  which 
engage  our  esteem ;  and  had  he  lived  in 
an  earlier  era,  he  would  have  been  con- 
sideitd  the  beau  ideal  of  that  patriarchal 
system  on  which  the  governmnni  was  sup- 
posed to  be  founded  ;  but  on  the  stormy 
era  when  he  ascended  the  throne,  his  vir- 
tues tended  only  to  excite  the  political 
tempest  which  swept  him  and  his  family 
from  the  earth. 

The  number,  the  frivolity,  and  the 
viciousness  of  the  nobles  had  increased 
to  a  surprising  degree  ;  and  it  was  mainly 
these  that  gave  rise  to  the  revolution.  Ac- 
cording to  Madame  de  Stael,  there  were 
nearly  one  hundred  thousand  of  them  ;  as 
not  only  was  the  head  of  a  family  noble, 
but  likewise  all  his  descendants;  and  titles 
of  nobility  were  besides  obtained  from 
numberless  oflices,  or  were  openly  pur- 
chased by  money.  The  nobles  possessed 
many  privileges — they  contributed  noth- 
ing to  the  support  of  the  state,  and  they 
enjoyed  a  monopoly  of  all  its  higher  offi- 
ces. They  alone  could  hold  commissions 
in  the  army  or  navy,  and  fill  the  more  im- 
portant and  lucrative  posts  of  civil  gov- 
ernment ;  and  to  such  an  extent  had  their 
influence  attained,  that,  in  the  very  year 
before  the  revolution  broke  out,  they  had 
caused  the  feeble  king  to  pass  a  decree 
that  none  but  those  noble  for  four  genera- 
tions should  hold  a  military  commission  ; 
while  they,  at  the  same  time,  declared 
themselves  exempt  from  contiibuling  in 
any  way  to  the  expenses  of  the  state  :  and 
yet,  at  the  moment  when  they  assumed 
such  privileges,  they  were  themselves  the 
very  slaves  of  the  court.  A  post,  a  pen- 
sion, or  some  frivolous  honor,  was  at  any 
time  sufficient  to  gain  the  best  of  them. 
A  few,  indeed,  stood  aluof,  and  were  ap- 
parently exempt  from  this  universal  de- 
generacy ;  but  it  was  either  because,  like 
the  duke  of  Orleans,  they  had  been  dis- 
appointed at  court ;  or,  as  in  the  instance 
of  the  smaller  noblesse  in  La  Vendee,  be- 


ir'i. 
1:;    if^ 


lV.  had  exhausted 
ingdom,  and  aliena- 
e  inhabitants  ;  and 
indecidod  chiracler 
lalculated  rather  to 
ippress  the  rising 
r  monarch,  if  en- 
es  which  attract  our 
ised  of  many  which 
nd  had  he  lived  in 
lid  have  been  con- 
of  that  patriarchal 
overninont  was  sup- 
but  on  the  stormy 
the  throne,  his  vir- 
Bxcite  the  political 
iiim  and  his  family 

frivolity,  and  the 
bles  had  increased 
;  and  it  was  mainly 
he  revolution.  Ac« 
B  Stael,  there  were 
)U9and  of  them  ;  as 
1  of  a  family  noble, 
cendants;  and  titles 
des  obtained  from 
were  openly  pur- 
he  nobles  possessed 
^  contributed  noth- 
the  state,  and  they 
'  all  its  higher  offi- 
d  hold  commissions 
nd  fill  the  more  im- 
posts of  civil  gov- 
an  extent  had  their 
,t,  in  the  very  year 
troke  out,  they  had 
g  to  pass  a  decree 
bie  for  four  genera- 
ilitary  commission  ; 
line  time,  declared 
om  contributing  in 
33  of  tho  state  :  and 
hen  they  assumed 
i^ere  themselves  the 
irt.  A  post,  a  pen- 
honor,  was  at  any 
the  best  of  thom. 
ihtof,  and  wore  ap- 
tliis  universal  dc- 
3ither  because,  like 
they  had  been  dis- 
,  as  in  the  instance 
B  in  La  Vendee,  be- 


cause their  private  fortunes  were  unfit  to 
cope  with  the  costly  dissipation  of  the 
metropolis.  And  yet  these  alone  stood  by 
the  monarchy  in  the  hour  of  danger ;  those 
who  now  fluttered  around  the  throne,  fly- 
ing on  the  first  approach  of  alarm,  when, 
in  its  defence,  they  might  have  been  ex- 
pected to  die  like  men.  A  few  only  of  all 
their  number  were  free  from  this  general 
character,  and  it  must  be  admitted  of  these 
that  they  showed  a  spirit  worthy  of  a  bet- 
ter fate  if  not  a  better  cause. 

The  clergy  were  also  a  numerous  body, 
and  their  conduct,  as  a  class,  had  tended 
greatly  to  demoralize  the  country. 

They  were  upward  of  80,000  in  num- 
ber, and  consisted  of  two  classes — one 
formed  of  the  branches  of  the  nobility, 
designed  for  the  higher  offices  of  the 
church,  and  comparative  idleness ;  the 
other,  comprehending  the  plebeian  portion, 
destined  to  labor  and  indigence.  Many 
of  the  former  of  these  were  men  of  the 
highest  talent,  and  celebrated  in  Europe 
as  statesmen ;  but  others  had  no  higher 
claim  than  to  the  rank  of  wits — which, 
however,  in  the  French  court  of  that  pe- 
riod, was  of  no  uninflueniial  order,  as 
Chateaubriand,  one  of  the  stanchesl  sup- 
porters of  the  ancient  dynasty,  mentions, 
in  his  "  Historical  Studies,"  that  a  bon- 
mot  was  then  considered  of  more  impor- 
tance than  an  oration  or  victory.  And 
though  most  of  the  poorer  order  were  vir- 
tuous men,  they  were  generally  uneduca- 
ted, bigoted,  and  swayed  by  the  populace, 
to  whom  they  owed  their  support.  Like 
the  nobles,  the  clergy  contributed  nothing 
to  the  maintenance  of  the  slate,  except  the 
benefit  of  their  prayers,  which  they  were 
forced  to  give  by  stai.Ue;  but  the  writings 
of  Voltaire  and  hia  associates  had  efl'ected 
such  a  change  in  the  once  "  most  Chris- 
tian" country,  as  its  rulers  had  long  been 
termed  by  the  pope,  that  this  only  provoked 
derision.  It  was  said  to  be  a  provision 
proper  enough,  but  one  that  brought  no  re- 
lief to  the  exhausted  treasury.  The  poor- 
er clergy,  however,  were  unable,  and  the 
superior  unwilling,  until  it  was  too  late,  to 
grant  any  other.  Hence  the  whole  prop- 
erty of  the  church  was,  shortly  after  the 
revolution  broke  out,  confiscated  at  a  blow, 
and  the  higher  clergy  fled  the  country, 
while   the  humbler,  for  the  most  part, 


raiiged  themselves  on  the  side  of  the  rev- 
olutionists. 

The  people  were  in  a  state  of  abject 
slavery.     All  the  ancient  feudal  usages 
which  improved  or  alleviated  their  condi- 
tion, had  either  been  removed  by  violence 
or  impaired  by  time.     Only  a  third  of  the 
land  belonged  to  them,  and  from  this,  be- 
sides  supporting   themselves,  they  were 
constrained  to  sustain  the  stale,  and  up- 
hold the  church  and  nobles.     They  alone 
contributed  to  the  expenditure  of  the  state, 
and,  besides  maintaining  it,  they  had  to 
pay  heavy  dues  to  the  nobles,  and  tithes 
to  the   clergy.     Yet  they  possessed  not 
the  slightest  privilege.     If  they  entered 
the  army  or  navy,  they  could  never  ob- 
tain commissions  ;  if  they  devoted  them- 
selves to  the  civil  service  of  the  country, 
they  could  never  rise  above  the  humblest 
rank ;    if    they   engaged    in    commercial 
pursuits,  they   were   fettered   by  restric- 
tions ;  and  if  they  devoted  themselves  to 
agriculture,  their  fields  were  ravaged  by 
the  game-privileges  of  the  nobles.     An 
English  traveller,  Arthur  Young,  who  trav- 
elled through  France  a  short  time  before 
the  revolution,  represented  them  as  ground 
to  the  earth ;  and  fifty  years  previously, 
the  celebrated    Earl  of  Chesterfield  had 
declared  that  all  the  germs  of  revolution 
were  then  to  be  found   in  the  country. 
But  the  government  itself  appeared  whol- 
ly unconscious  of  danger  ;  and  under  the 
auspices  of  the  beauteous  and  high-minded 
but  unfortunate  Marie  Antoinette,  when  on 
the  verge  of  destruction,  basked  as  if  in 
the  meridian  of  fortune.     In  proportion  as 
the   country  grew  poorer,  its   rulers  in- 
creased in  extravagance.    "  Profusion  was 
substituted  for  parsimony,"  says  Mr.  Ali- 
son, "  in  the  hope  of  circulating  money  ; 
and  prodigality  for  economy,  in  the  ex- 
pectation  of    allaying   discontent."     But 
this  profusion  was  extended  only  to  the 
courtiers,  and  their  immediate  adherents 
alone  reaped  the  benefit  of  it,  while  it  was 
withdrawn  from  the  nation  at  large ;  and 
this  at  a  time  when  the  people  were  op- 
pressed  by   such   restrictions   that   they 
could  embark  in  few  trades  without  a  li- 
cense from  government,  or  procure  even 
law  without  openly  purchasing  justice  ; 
for  before  the  revolution,  the  chief  judicial 
offices  were  either  hereditary  or  sold  to 


lit: 


\^m 


mt:::z 


-Zi 


the  highest  bidder,  who  had  thus  no  alter- 
native but  to  make  a  trade  of  justice  by 
retailing  it  in  turn. 

While  affairs  were  in  this  state,  the 
American  revolution  broke  out,  and  pave 
an  impulse  to  the  opinions  of  the  French 
encyclopa-dists  which  it  was  found  im- 
possible to  repress.  "  In  an  hour,"  says 
Burke,  "  more  unfortunate  lor  himself  thin 
for  a  neighboring  monarch,  Louis  XVI. 
was  induced,  by  his  cabinet,  to  send  as- 
sistance to  the  revolted  colonies  of  Eng- 
land, and  by  thus  attempting  to  diminish 
the  value  of  another's  crown,  he  lost  his 
own."  He  discovered  this  with  regret, 
when  regret  was  unavailing ;  and  the 
measures  he  adopted  to  check  the  popular 
enthusiasm,  when  Lafayette  and  his  asso- 
ciates returned  to  France  from  their  suc- 
cessful assistance  of  the  Americans,  by 
increasing  the  severity  of  the  restraints 
under  which  the  people  then  labored,  on- 
ly accelerated  the  march  of  opinion  which 
he  was  aixious  to  arrest.  Even  then  his 
conduct  was  marked  by  that  vacillation 
and  inconsistency  which  characterized  all 
the  acts  of  this  ill-fated  monarch ;  for,  in 
the  very  hour  when  he  was  receiving 
Franklin  with  the  highest  honors,  as  the 
representative  of  the  American  people,  he 
launched  the  edict  already  mentioned 
against  popular  expectations  at  home ;  and 
his  courtiers  were  encouraged  to  sing  the 
praises  of  liberty  in  other  countries ;  while 
not  a  vestige  of  it  existed  in  their  own. 
"  The  court,"  says  a  cotemporary  writer^ 
"  freely  indulged  those  sallies  without  for 
a  moment  anticipating  their  possible  appli- 
cation, or  surmising  that  what  they  ad- 
mired for  Philadelphia,  could  ever  be  de- 
sired in  Paris." 

But  while  all  these  causes  influenced, 
it  was  the  want  of  money  to  provide  for 
the  national  expenditure  that  was  the  im- 
mediate forerunner  of  the  French  revolu- 
tion. The  country  was  exhausted  alike 
by  the  victories  of  one  war  and  the  re- 
verses of  another,  the  magnificent  projects 
of  Louis  XIV.,  and  the  costly  profligacy 
of  the  fifteenth  prince  of  that  name.  Nor 
was  the  expenditure  diminished  during 
the  reign  of  Louis  XVI.,  though  the  con- 
duct of  that  prince  was  pacific,  and  his 
character  comparatively  pure.  He  had 
hime  If  sent  his  plate  to  the  mint,  and  the 


queen  was  supposed  to  have  pawned  her 
diamonds,  in  order  to  provide  for  the  ex- 
penses of  the  government.  But  still  there 
was  a  deficiency  of  eight  millions  sterling 
in  the  revenue,  and  while  the  people 
groaned  under  imposts,  the  state  staggered 
under  debt.  One  minister  after  another 
was  brought  in  to  relieve  these  embarrass- 
ments, but  each  of  them  failed,  and  one 
of  them,  Neckar,  to  whom  the  revolution 
has,  by  Napoleon,  been  imputed,  but  ap- 
parently on  unreasonable  grounds,  pub- 
lished, on  his  dismissal  from  oflice,  a  fa- 
mous account,  named  the  "  compte  ren- 
due,"'  which  di8c!.„ed  those  appalling  de- 
ficiencies, and  increased  the  general  dis- 
satisfaction that  prevailed.  Under  these 
circumstances,  the  chief  minister,  Ca- 
lonne,  an  able,  though  specious,  plaus- 
ible, and  once  profligate,  but  now  patriotic 
man,  convoked  an  assembly  called  the  no- 
tables, consisting  of  the  leading  persons 
in  the  kingdom,  and  proposed  that  the 
privileged  orders  should  tax  themselves  ; 
but  the  nobles  and  higher  clergy  resisted' 
the  innovation :  and  when  he  aaempt<  . 
to  levy  a  new  impost,  they  declared  that 
this  could  be  done  only  by  the  authority 
of  the  states-general — a  body  representing 
all  classes  of  the  kingdom,  and  unheard 
of  for  almost  a  century  before.  The  word 
states-general  was  no  sooner  pronounced, 
than  it  was  reiterated  by  every  order  in 
the  community,  and  all,  excepting  the 
government,  concurred  in  desiring  its  con- 
vocation from  which  they  expected  relief. 
The  court,  dreading  such  an  assemblage, 
attempted  to  supersede  it,  by  proposing 
what  was  termed  a  "  cour  plenidre,"  or 
meeting  of  the  leading  nobles  and  clergy, 
with  a  few  of  the  higher  merchants,  in- 
stead. The  privileged  orders  resisted, 
and  when  a  troop  of  dragoons  were  sent 
to  arrest  D'Espremenil,  one  of  their  num- 
ber who  had  made  himself  obnoxious  to 
the  government,  they  declared  they  "  were 
all  D'Espremenils."  A  struggle  ensued, 
but  the  court  was,  in  the  end,  obliged  to 
subm'»;  and,  on  the  proposal  of  the  nobles,  a 
decree  wa  i  issued  for  the  convocation  of 
the  st.ites-gnneral,  which  was  to  sweep 
both  nobles  and  court  from  the  land. 

So  long  an  interval  had  elapsed  since 
the  meeting  of  this  body,  that  few  were 
aware  of  its  functions,  or  even  of  the  form 


3  have  pawned  her 

provide  for  the  ex- 
;nt.  But  still  there 
rht  milliona  sterling 

while  the  people 
,  the  state  staggered 
lister  after  another 
fe  these  embarrass- 
am  failed,  and  one 
horn  the  revolution 
!n  imputed,  but  ap- 
ible  grounds,  pub- 
al  from  office,  a  fa- 

the  •'  compte  ren- 
those  appalling  de- 
ed the  general  dis- 
liled.  Under  these 
hief  minister,  Ca- 
[h  specious,  plaus- 
te,  but  now  patriotic 
jmbly  called  the  no- 
he  leading  persons 

proposed  that  the 
jld  tax  themselves ; 
jher  clergy  resisted' 
when  he  aitempt*  . 
,  they  declared  thai 
rtly  by  the  authority 
a  body  representing 
gdom,  and  unheard 

before.  The  word 
sooner  pronounced, 
1  by  every  order  in 

all,  excepting   the 

in  desiring  its  con- 
hey  expected  relief, 
dch  an  assemblage, 
ie  it,  by  proposing 
•cour  pleni^re,"  or 
I  nobles  and  clergy, 
gher  merchants,  in- 
3d  orders  resisted, 
Iragoons  were  sent 
il.one  of  their  num- 
imself  obnoxious  to 
leclared  they  "  were 
A  struggle  ensued, 

the  end,  obliged  to 
posal  of  the  nobles,  a 
'  the  convocation  of 
hich  was  to  sweep 
from  the  land, 
i  had  elapsed  since 
lody,  that  few  were 
,  or  even  of  the  form 


~il 


QLENGABIFF. 


797 


which  it  ought  to  assume.  It  had  not  as- 
sembled since  tho  year  1614  ;  and  the 
court  party  maintained  that  its  sole  duty 
was  to  grant  taxes  ;  but  the  populace  and 
many  of  the  nobles  asseverated  that  it  was 
also  to  inquire  into  grievances.  On  the 
subject  of  its  formation  they  were  equally 
discordant.  The  clergy  and  nobles  as- 
serted that  it  should  consist  of  two  bodies 
to  represent  them,  and  one  on  the  popular 
side — each  equal  in  number,  and  sitting 
in  different  chambers ;  but  the  court,  piqued 
by  the  opposition  it  had  experienced  from 
the  two  former  parties,  and  desirous  to 
conciliate  the  latter,  decided  that  the  third 
estate,  or  plebeian  portion,  should  equal 
in  number  the  other  two  united ;  and 
Neckar,  the  well-meaning  but  incompe- 
tent Genevese  banker,  who  had  again  suc- 
ceeded, as  prime  minister,  the  obnoxious 
Culoime,  temporarily  disposed  of  th«  ques- 
tion of  separate  chambers,  by  leaving  it 
undecided.  This  was  a  fatal  error;  for, 
shortly  after  the  meeting  of  the  states-gen- 
eral, the  popular  party  refused  to  proceed 
to  business  except  along  with  the  clergy 
and  nobles ;  and  a  few  of  these  going  over 
to  the  plebeian  side,  the  whole  were  soon 
constrained  to  follow,  where  they  were, 
of  course,  out-voted  by  the  third  estate, 
which  consisted  of  a  moiety  ^  j/.  and 
was  now,  by  these  desertion.^,  jn>x.rted 
into  a  majority.  It  is  for  thift,  and  the 
neglect  to  provide  for  separate  chambers, 
that  Neckar  has  been  arraigned  by  Napo- 
leon as  the  cause  of  the  revolution ;  but 
his  opinion  was  probably  influenced  by 
his  antipathy  to  Madame  de  Stael,  that 
minister's  celebrated  daughter. 

"  Such,"  says  a  recent  writer  on  the 
subject,  *'  was  the  state  of  France  in  1789, 
when  that  star  of  revolution  arose  which 
was  destined  to  blaze  so  long  on  her  hori- 
zpn,  purifying  her  political  atmosphere, 
but  blighting  almost  all  on  whom  it  shone 
— destroying  her  ancient  monarchy,  and 
one  of  the  most  amiable  princes  that  ever 
sat  upon  her  throne."  A  terrible  elemental 
convulsion  seemed  to  forbode  the  tempest 
that  followed.  In  the  midsummerof  1788, 
a  fierce  hurricane  and  hail-storm  arose, 
which  swept  the  harvest  from  the  fields, 
destroyed  the  vintage  on  the  ground,  laid 
whole  provinces  in  ruin,  and  committed 
such  devastation  that  the  terror-struck  in- 


habitants believed  it  the  forerunner  of  the 
destruction  of  the  world.  "  But  they  had 
yet  to  learn,"  says  the  au^'nor  already 
quoted,  "  that  terrible  as  this  convulsion 
of  nature  was,  it  proved  infinitely  less 
destructive  than  that  which  was  about  to 
arise  among  men." 

The  state  of  Europe,  too,  at  (his  period, 
favored  the  approaching  strife.  Tiie  whole 
continent  was  plunged  in  a  state  of  listless- 
ness  or  degradation.  Britain  alone  pre- 
served any  vestige  of  freedom.  From 
Holland,  liberty  had  been  expelled ;  and 
it  scarcely  found  a  shelter  in  Switzerland 
— the  only  other  part  of  modern  Europe 
in  which  it  had  ever  taken  root.  Italy 
was  engulfed  in  slavery ;  and  Germany, 
though  it  possessed  the  rudiments  of  free 
institutions,  was  in  a  state  of  equal  political 
nonentity.  Spain  and  Portugal  were  sunk 
in  slavish  superstition  ;  and  in  Russia  the 
very  name  of  freedom  was  unknown.  On 
all  sides  there  was  an  apathy,  indicating 
that  the  old  cystem  of  governments  was 
worn  out ;  and  men  were  either  disposed 
to  favor,  or  unable  to  resist,  the  new  opin- 
ions to  which  the  American  revolution  had 
given  birth. 


GLENGARIFF. 

LENGARIFF,  or 
"  the  rough  glen" 
is  a  very  romantic 
8i)ot  on  the  south- 
ern co:i8t  of  Ireland. 
Most  travellers  wlio 
have  been  attracted 
to  the  lakes  of  Kil- 
larney  by  their  nat- 
ural beauties,  and  the  legendary  tales 
connected  with  them,  have  wandered 
thence  to  the  scarcely  less  famed  and  per- 
haps more  beautiful  scenes  around  Glen- 
gariff".  The  entrance  to  the  liule  bay  of 
Glengariff"  is  protected  by  a  small  island, 
on  which  has  been  erected  a  martello 
tower,  crowning  the  prospect  with  one  of 
the  most  picturesque  objects  in  landscape- 
scenery.  The  bay  is  surrounded  by  hills 
clad  in  the  richest  verdure,  here  bending 
by  a  gradual  declination  toward  the  sea, 


4'  !i?-S 


^m  ■ 


(««';■:.;,, 


m^ 


rauspg:' 


^ 


and  there  rjsing  from  the  waters  with  the 
most  high  and  majestic  appearance.  The 
brightest  hues  of  nature  are  reflected  in 
the  still  bosom  of  the  deep — the  yew,  the 
holly,  and  the  arbutus,  giving  a  peculiarly 
graceful  appearanc«  to  the  nearer  hills  ; 
the  various  colored  heaths  brighten  up  the 
middle  distance ;  and  in  the  extreme  verge 
of  the  prospect  the  huge  forms  of  the 
higher  mountains,  but  faintly  seen,  appear 
like  spirits  rising  into  the  clouds.  All 
tourists  speak  in  raptures  of  GlungarifT 
and  the  surrounding  scenery.  The  cli- 
mate of  this  part  of  Ireland  is  extremely 
mild  and  healthy,  the  most  tender  plants 
surviving  throughout  the  winter,  even  in 
the  open  air.  Like  most  beautiful  or 
romantic  parts  of  Ireland,  Glcngariff  boasts 
its  fairy  legend.  In  one  part  of  the  small 
but  dehghtful  bay  of  Glengarifl",  the  sea 
being  protected  from  the  wind  by  a  pro- 
jecting point  of  land,  there  is  a  constant 
culm  ;  and  other  peciiliariiies  of  this  spot 
have  rendered  it  the  object  of  one  of  the 
fairy  superstitions  of  the  south  of  Ireland. 
It  is  called  the  Bog  of  Glengariflf  Bay. 


MEMORY. 

T  has  often  struck  us, 
that,  in  our  modern  edu- 
cational improvements, 
one  point  of  very  con- 
siderable importance  is 
apt  to  be  lost  sight  of, 
or  at  least  to  be  treated 
without  that  degree  of 
attention  which  it  merits. 
We  condemn,  and  justly, 
the  parrot-like  fashion  in  which  the  youag 
were  made  to  go  through  their  schooU 
tasks  in  days  past,  learning  by  rote  and 
by  heart  lesEions,  of  the  signification  and 
value  of  which  they  were  left  in  almost 
total  ignorance.  But,  in  changing  the 
system  and  making  the  meaning  the  pri- 
mary matter  in  every  lesson  taught,  there 
is  some  risk,  it  seems  to  us,  of  our  run- 
ning into  error  in  an  opposite  direction, 
and  overlooking  cne  real  advantage,  which 
most  certainly  attaches  so  far  to  our  old 
academical  customs.  We  refer,  it  will  be 
obvious,  to  the  exercise  and  cultivation  of 


the  memory.  Mcmnria  aufrrtur  exercendo 
(the  memory  is  strengthened  by  exercise) 
is  an  adage  of  equal  antiquity  and  truth  ; 
and  the  committing  of  things  to  memory, 
even  before  a  comprehension  of  their 
meaning  is  attained,  may  be  of  no  slight 
service  to  the  young,  inasmuch  as  the 
adage  in  question  is  thus  fulfilled.  Even 
the  long  propria  quee  maribus  rules  of  Rud- 
diman's  grammar,  which  used  to  be  con- 
signed to  memory,  we  remember,  by  boys 
who  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  their 
meaning,  may  not  have  been  unserviceable 
in  their  way,  simply  from  the  powers  of 
recollection  being  thereby  called  forcibly 
into  play.  But  there  is  no  occasion  for 
the  object  on  which  the  memory  is  exer- 
cised being  something  unintelligible.  Far 
Ifom  it.  It  would  be  easy,  in  communi- 
cating rational  instruction  to  the  young, 
and  exercising  their  minds  upon  compre- 
hensible lessons,  to  accompany  such  tutor- 
age with  the  culture  of  the  memory  ;  and 
this  course,  we  argue,  would  be  a  judicious 
and  most  useful  one.  In  fact,  the  culture 
of  the  memory  seems  to  us  a  matter  of 
such  high  consequence,  as  to  merit  being 
ranked  as  a  dititinct  item  in  every  syllabus 
of  juvenile  instruction.  It  is  a  secondary 
point,  certainly,  to  the  conveyance  of  actual 
knowledge,  but  still  most  important,  though 
it  be  subsidiary. 

Those  who  have  not  particularly  attend- 
ed to  the  subject  would  probably  be  sur- 
prised, on  inquiry,  to  find  to  what  an  ex- 
tent mere  strength  of  memory  appears  to 
have  contributed  to  the  greatness  of  literary 
men  in  all  ages.  Our  own  times  have  pre- 
sented at  least  two  striking  cases  in  proof 
of  this  assertion  Speaking  of  Lord  By- 
ron, Mrs.  Shelley,  an  observer  of  great 
Rcuteness,  and  who  had  the  advantage  of 
ample  opportunities  of  intercourse  with 
that  noble  poet,  has  made  the  remark  that 
his  natural  abilities  did  not  strike  her  as 
very  extraordinary;  in  truth,  she  rather 
thought  meanly  of  them  ;  but  "  his  memo- 
ry" she  says,  "  was  altogether  supernatu- 
ral." Every  page  of  his  writings  supports 
this  statement.  In  the  first  place,  as  re- 
gards the  simple  remembrance  of  words, 
the  endowment  in  question  appears  to 
have  been  of  vast  use  to  Byron.  To  the 
great  strength  of  his  memory,  we  may 
ascribe   the  astonishing  copiousness  and 


I 


800 


MEMORY. 


felicity  of  language,  and  the  facility  of 
rliyming,  displilyed  in  the  brillijinl  galaxy 
of  poetns  which  he  poured  forth  in  rapid 
succession — a  succession  so  rapid,  indeed, 
as  to  have  no  parallel  in  literary  history. 
Again,  when  his  poems  are  fully  examin- 
ed, we  find  in  them  comparatiirel/  few 
traces  of  distinct  originality  of  inoughl. 
A  vast  number  of  his  ideas  and  images 
are  but  able  and  improved  versions  of  the 
conceptions  of  others,  for  which  ho  had 
drawn  upon  the  stores  of  his  "supernatural 
memory."  His  skill  in  this  mode  of  adopt- 
ing and  transplanting  is  seen  to  a  remark- 
able extent  in  his  tragedy  of  Werner ;  but 
the  same  thing  might  be  shown  in  a  thou- 
sand places  in  his  works,  where  he  has 
not  acknowledged  any  obligation,  as  he 
did  in  the  particular  case  mentioned.  An 
example  of  his  talent  at  adopting  thoughts 
witu  emendations  is  seen  in  the  fine  pas- 
sage : — 
"  And  the  waves  bonnd  beneath  me  like  a  rteed 
Tliat  knows  iu  rider." 

"  Here,"  says  Moore,  "  the  poet  has  evi- 
dently caught  an  image  in  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher,  and,  by  a  change,  greatly  im- 
proved it: — 

'  No  more  shall  we  two  feel  our  fiery  horses 
Like  proud  seas  under  us.'  " 

The  illustrations  which  Byron  gave,  in 
his  juvenile  satire,  of  the  faidts  and  follies 
of  "  English  Bards,"  were  almost  all  di- 
rectly borrowed  from  the  other  objects  of 
his  attack, "  Scotch  Reviewers."  In  short, 
everything  tends  to  prove  that  much  of 
Lord  Byron's  success  in  literature  rested 
on  his  "  supernatural  memory."  And  if 
we  turn  to  his  school-days,  wo  shall  find 
distinctly  the  origin  of  his  endowment  in 
this  respect.  He  tells  us,  that  if  he  shone 
in  anything  it  was  in  public  recitation  or 
declamation.  He  probably  little  thought 
that  the  getting  up  of  pieces  by  heart  to 
display  his  boyish  elocution,  was  to  bear 
so  materially  on  his  after-greatness.  The 
case  is  an  instructive  one. 

Not  less  strikingly  apparent  was  the 
value  of  a  well-cultivated  memory  in  the 
case  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  That  he  pos- 
sessed such  a  gift  is  undeniable.  The 
Ellrick  Shepherd  tells  us  that  being  once 
on  the  Tweed  with  him,  engaged  in  sal- 
mon fishing  by  night,  Sir  Waller  requested 
the  Shepherd  to  amuse  a  leisure  moment 


by  repeating  a  certain  ballad.     The  Ijallad 
was  of  some  length,  and  had  never  hef-n 
printed  ;  and   Hogg   could  not  renitiinlier 
more  than  the  first  verse  or  two.     To  his 
great  surprise,  Scott,  though  the  piece  had 
been  but  once  repeated  to  him,  cominrnced 
and  went  over  it,  word  for  word,  from  lie- 
ginning  to  end.     Admitting  that  this  story 
may  be  a  little  exaggerated  by  the  worlliy 
Shepherd,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it 
is  so  far  true  as  to  afTord  a  good  instance 
in  proof  of  Sir  Walter's  wonderful  memory. 
The  surpassing  usefulness  of  the  endow- 
ment to  him  need  scarcely  be  pointed  out. 
It  would  and  did  save  him  much  of  the 
trouble  of  invention,  as  well  as  of  research 
and  references,  in  concocting  his  exquisite 
narratives.     In  the  similar   compositions 
of  other  novelists,  we  can  always  discern 
annoying  marks  of  their  having  "  read  up" 
for  their  tasks.     Digested  long  in  his  ex- 
traordinary  memory,  the   information  of 
Sir  Walter  comes  out  as   naturally  and 
easily  as  if  he  had  been  actually  a  familiar- 
ized denizen  of  the  various   places   and 
times  he  describes.     To  his  memory,  too, 
is  to  bo  ascribed  that  marvehous  felicity 
of  illustration  which  constitutes  so  large 
a   portion   of  the   charm   of  his   works. 
Whatever  subject   engaged    his  pen,  he 
could  abundantly  enliven  and  illustrate  it 
with   anecdote   or   saying,    humorous  or 
pathetic,  as  the  case  might  require,  but 
always  appropriate.     From  the  stores  of 
his  reading  being  more  recondite,  and  also 
from  the  fact  of  his  having  obtained  many 
of  his  countless  good  things  from  oral  con- 
verse with  the  world,  the  extent  to  which 
Scott  drew,  through  his  memory,  on  the 
brains  of  others,  is  neither  so  great,  nor, 
as  far  as  it  goes,  so  discernible,  as  in  the 
case  of  Byron. 

While  thus  endeavoring  to  enforce 
the  propriety  of  cultivating  the  memory, 
by  the  examples  of  such  men  as  Byron 
and  Scott,  it  must  not  be  thought  that  we 
are  blind  to  the  share  which  the  natural 
talents  of  the  individuals  had  in  causing 
their  success,  and  elevating  them  to  great- 
ness and  renown.  Our  object  chielly  is 
to  impress  on  the  minds  of  our  readers  a 
sense  of  the  value  of  a  powerful  memory, 
as  an  auxiliary  endowment ;  though  at  the 
same  time,  beyond  all  question,  a  strong 
and  well-stored  memory  has  often  gone 


I.     The  ballad 
;iil  nnvnr  been 
not  remt!iTil)Rr 
two.     To  his 
» ihe  piece  had 
in,  cominPHceil 
word,  from  he- 
that  this  story 
by  the  ^vl)rllly 
)  doubt  that  it 
good  instance 
derfnl  memory. 
of  the  endow- 
be  pointed  out. 
[11  much  of  the 
at  of  research 
ighis  exquisite 
r   compositions 
always  discern 
viiig  "  read  up" 
long  in  his  ex- 
information  of 
naturally  and 
aally  a  fainiliar- 
lus  places   and 
is  memory,  too, 
vel.ous  felicity 
titutes  so  large 
of  his    works, 
d    his  pen,  he 
Hid  illustrate  it 
,   humorous  or 
ht  require,  but 
nri  the  stores  of  I 
ondile,  and  also 
obtained  many 
a  from  oral  con- 
extent  to  which 
nemory,  on  the 
r  so  great,  nor, 
nible,  as  in  the 

ng  to  enforce 
ig  the  memory, 
men  as  Byron 
thought  that  we 
ich  the  natural 
had  in  causinfi 
g  them  to  great- 
ibject  chiefly  is 
if  our  readers  a 
(werful  memory. 
It ;  though  at  the 
lestion,  a  strong 
has  olien  gone 


MEMORY. 


801 


far  to  make  up  for  the  want  of  original 
powers  of  mind,  and  has  enabled  those 
possessed  of  it  to  outshine  others  who 
possessed  originality  of  mind  without  thn 
accompanying  advantage  of  strength  oi 
memory.  Hitherto,  the  case  of  literary 
men  only  has  been  referred  to;  but  the 
same  arguments  apply  to  all  positions 
which  men  can  occupy,  where  combina- 
tion or  calculation  are  matters  of  frequent 
concernment,  and,  in  short,  to  all  situations 
where  the  records  of  experience  are  avail- 
able or  influential.  Though  of  more  con- 
sequence in  some  circumstances  than  in 
others,  a  powerful  memory  is  indeed  a 
possession  of  paramount  importance  to  all 
mankind. 

The   natural   mode  of  cultivating  and 
strengthening  the  memory,  is,  as  the  old 
adage  -..ays,  by  exercise  ;  and  wonderful, 
indeed,  is  the  extent  to  which  its  powers 
may   be   thus    carried.      Perhaps    Scott 
owed  his  great  memory  in  part  to  the 
numerous  attempts  which  he  must  have 
made  while  collecting  ballads  in  his  youth, 
to  bear  such  pieces  off  by  heart,  when  his 
time  and  other  circumstances  did  not  per- 
mit of  immediate   transcription.      Other 
noted  men,  however,  have  even  far  ex- 
celled him  in  respect  of  the  same  endow- 
ment    Magliabechi,  the  famous  Floren- 
tine,  had    acquired    great   command    of 
memory.     He  was  librarian  to  the  grand 
duke  of  Tuscany,  Cosmo  III.,  and,  in  this 
situation,  became  what  his  friends  called 
a  universal  index.     It  was  common  for 
the  learned   to   consult  him  when  they 
were  writing  upon  any  subject,  and  he 
could  tell  them   not  only  what  previous 
authors  had  directly  treated  of  the  same 
matters,  but  could  also  point  to  such  as 
had  briefly   and   incidentally  alluded  to 
them,  naming  the  author,  the  book,  the 
words,  and  often  the  very  page  at  which 
each   passage   occurred.      Magliabechi's 
memory  was  once  put  to  a  severe  Iriftl. 
A  friend  gave  him  a  manuscript  composi- 
tion to  read,  and  after  a  time  received  it 
again.     Shortly  afterward,  the  individual 
came  to  Magliabechi,  lamenting  the  loss 
of  the  manuscript,  and  entreating  him  to 
put  down  as  much  of  it  as  he  could  re- 
member, that  it  might  be  re-written.    The 
other  consented,  and,  sitting  down,  wrote 
over  the  production,  word  for  word,  from 


1 


beginning  to  end.  This  marvellous  pow- 
er of  recollection  arose  chiefly  from  his 
situation  of  public  librarian,  calling  for  the 
constant  exercise  of  the  faculty. 

La    Molte,  the    French   dramatist,  on 
hearing  a  play  once  read,  could   repeal 
any  given  scene  of  it,   word  for  word. 
Cicero  mentions  one  Carneades,  a  Greek, 
who  had  cultivated  his  memory  to  such  an 
extent,  that  ultimately  he  was  able  to  re- 
peat by  heart  the  contents  of  most  of  the 
books  in  a  whole  library,  as  if  he  read 
from  the  pages  of  the  books  themselves. 
Mithridates,  a  powerful  sovereign  of  .\sia 
1  Minor,  who  had  under  his  rule  twenty-two 
natu.as  ortribes,allofthem  speaking  either 
distinct  languages  or  dialects  of  languages, 
found  it  necessary  to  attempt  the  acquisi- 
tion of  all  these  tongues,  and  by  a  strong 
exertion  of  memory  mastered  them  so  far 
as  to  be  able  to  converse  with  fluency  in 
each.     The  famous    Bishop  Jewel,   dis- 
liking  the  practice  of  reading  sermons, 
accustomed  himself,  early  in  life,  to  get 
his  discourses  by  heart,  and  brought  his 
memory  in  the  end  to  a  wonderful  degree 
of  perfection.     His  powers  in  this  respect 
were  often  tested  by  his  friends.     If  forty 
or   fifty   words,   picked  at  random  from 
languages  alike  barbarous  and  unknown 
to  him,  were  once  read  over,  he  could, 
after  a  little  reflection,  repeat  them  either 
backward   or   forward,  as   he    might   be 
desired.    The  celebrated  scholar,  Sealizer, 
was  even  more  distinguished  for  strength 
of  memory  than  Bishop  Jewel,  or  any  of 
the  individuals  here  mentioned. 

It  would  be  an  easy  matter  to  midtiply 
examples   where   the    cultivation   of  the 
memory  has  strengthened  its  powers  to 
an  astonishing  degree.     Samuel  Johnson 
is  a  case  in  point.     The  force  of  the  facul- 
ty in  him,  in  his  latter  days,  was  do-btless 
owing  to  its  culture  during  the  composition 
of  his  dictionary,  and  it  gave  him  much 
of  his  brilliant  conversational  reu>Un  jss. 
It  is,  however,  unnecessary  to  carry  ihis 
argument  further.     Every  reader  who  has 
perused  the  narratives  of  persons   long 
held  in  captivity,  will  remember  that,  in 
almost  all  instances,  one  of  the  mental 
phenomena  recorded  by  each  prisoner  was 
a  great  increase  of  the  powers  of  memory, 
resulting  from  the  necessity  of  exercising 
and  depending  on  the  faculty,  m  the  ab- 


«K» 


802 


PLATO. 


■ence  of  all  the  aids  to  be  found  in  ordinary 
circumstances.  A  series  of  notches  in  a 
stick,  or  knots  on  a  string,  conveyed  often 
to  the  poor  captive  a  whole  history.  Such 
cases  would  alone  prove  the  value  of  ex- 
ercise to  the  memory.  If,  then,  strength 
ot  memory  be  a  possession  of  such  con- 
sequence as  we  have  endeavored  to  show 
it  to  be,  at  the  risk,  perhaps,  of  being  held 
to  press  on  the  attention  a  self-evident 
fact ;  and  if  the  plain  and  obvious  mode 
of  strengthening  the  memory  is  by  exer- 
cising it,  should  not  this  end  be  kept 
prominently  in  view  in  the  education  of 
the  young  ?  To  us,  as  has  already  been 
observed,  the  culture  of  the  memory  seems 
a  matter  of  so  much  moment,  as  to  merit 
being  ranked  as  a  distinct  item  in  the  pro- 
gramme of  juvenile  educa 'on. 

Remarkable  displays  of  strength  of 
memory  have  occasionally  been  made  in 
public  by  individuals  professing  to  follow 
a  peculiar  and  secret  mode  of  fixing  facts 
on  their  recollection.  One  young  boy, 
who  lately  exhibited  in  public  in  this 
country,  gave  answers  to  a  list  of  ques- 
tions, amounting  to  many  thousands,  and 
some  of  them  involving  long  sums  of 
figures.  A  long  list  of  figures,  set  down 
at  random,  was  also  repeated  by  him  back- 
ward, without  error,  after  being  looked  at 
for  a  few  seconds.  Whatever  was  the 
mode  of  doing  this,  it  was  obvious  that 
much  of  the  boy's  power  of  memory  arose 
from  exercise — exercise,  it  may  be,  with 
a  help,  but  still  exercise.  Such  cases 
only  tend  to  bear  out  what  has  already 
been  said. 


PLATO. 


LATO,  the  biographer 
and  pupil  of  Socrates, 
^\,  the  earliest  Greek  phi- 
losopher   whose    wri- 
tings   are   devoted    to 
the     advancement    of 
/?'^yf^^^V^        moral  and  metaphysi- 
<\f  V^  V.^~)  cal   science,  was   the 

son  of  Athenian  pa- 
rents, but  born  in  the  island  of  .Egina, 
B.  C.  429.     His  descent  was  illustrious, 


being  derived  on  the  mother's  side  from 
the  philosopher  and  lawgiver  Solon,  and 
on  the  father's  from  the  ancient  kings  of 
Athens.  In  after-times  the  flattery  of  his 
admirers,  not  content  with  this  distin- 
guished genealogy,  ascribed  to  him  di- 
vine honors.  Apollo,  the  patron  deity  of 
letters,  was  reported  to  have  been  the  au- 
thor of  his  being.  His  sweetness  of  dis- 
course was  foreshown  by  the  gathering  of 
a  swarm  of  bees  upon  his  lips  in  the  cradle, 
and  Socrates,  the  night  before  he  first  saw 
Plato,  was  warned  of  the  excellences  of 
his  future  pupil  by  a  vision  of  a  cygnet, 
which  as  it  sat  on  his  knees,  suddenly  be- 
came full  fledged,  and  flew  away  with  a 
melodi'-us  cry.  We  may  be  excused  for 
repeating  these  fables,  since  the  scarcity 
of  authentic  details  concerning  the  hfe 
and  history  of  the  philosopher  will  re- 
duce this  paper  to  very  narrow  bounds. 

The  name  first  given  to  him  was  Aris- 
tocles,  that  of  Plato,  under  which  he  be- 
came   celebrated,    is   derived    from    the 
Greek    adjective    which    means    broad. 
The  time  and  the  reason  of  this  change 
of  name  are  both  uncertain  :  it  has  been 
accounted  for  by  his  breadth  and  fulness 
of  expression,  by  his  remarkalije  width  of 
forehead,  and  by  other  etymologies  more 
fanciful   than    convincing.      His    manly 
beauty  has  been  perpetuated  in  the  bust 
from  which  the  above  sketch  is  taken,  and 
his  bodily  vigor,  and  successful  practice 
of  the  gymnastic   exe.cises   enjoined  by 
custom  upon  the  Greek  youth  of  all  ranks, 
and  to  which  he  himself  in  after-life  at- 
tached great  importance,  are  indicated  by 
the  report  that  he  contended  for  the  prize 
in  wrestling  at  two  of  the  great  national 
festivals,  the  Pythian  and  the   Isthmian 
games.     Painting  and  poetry  he  also  cul- 
tivated ;  the  latter  with  zeal  certainly,  and 
probably  not  without  success,  for  he  pro- 
duced an  epic  poem,  and  a  drama  which 
was  brought  on  the  stage ;  but  he  burnt 
his  poems  on  becoming  acquainted  with 
Socrates,  to   whom   he   was    introduced 
when  he  was  about  twenty  years  of  age. 
During  ten  years  he  continued  to  be  the 
philosopher's  pupil  and  constant  attend- 
ant ;  during  his  trial,  he  came  forward  in 
his  defence,  and  offered  to  become  his 
surety  for  the  payment  of  such  fine  u 
might  be  imposed.     Faithful  to  the  last, 


her's  side  from 
ver  Solon,  and 
icient  kings  of 
B  flattery  of  his 
th  this  distin- 
ed  to  him  di- 
patron  deity  of 
'e  been  the  au- 
^eetness  of  dis- 
be  gathering  of 
is  in  the  cradle, 
ore  he  first  saw 
excellences  of 
n  of  a  cygnet, 
8,  suddenly  be- 
V  away  with  a 
»e  excused  for 
e  the  scarcity 
rning  the  life 
opher  will  re- 
row  bounds, 
him  was  Aris- 

which  he  be- 
red    from    the 
means    bruad. 
)f  this  change 
i :  it  has  been 
h  and  fulness 
kable  width  of 
nologies  more 
His    manly 
d  in  the  bust 
I  is  taken,  and 
issful  practice 
i  enjoined  by 
th  of  all  ranks, 
n  after-life  at- 
>  indicated  hy 
1  for  the  prize 
great  national 
the   Isthmian 
y  he  also  cul- 
oertainly,  and 
3,  for  he  pro- 
drama  which 

but  he  burnt 
]uainted  with 
s  introduced 
^'ears  of  age. 
ed  to  be  the 
istant  attend- 
le  forward  in 

become  his 
such  fine  u 
1  to  the  last, 


«»l!i^: 


m 


804 


FLATO. 


he  witncsHod  the  closinf;  scene  of  that 
{rroat  man's  life,  of  which  he  has  given  a 
beauliiui  and  ulTecung  description  at  the 
cU»»o  of  the  dialogue  entitled  "  Phiedon," 
which  has  for  its  subject  the  iinmortulity 
of  the  soul,  and  has  ever  been  regarded 
as  llie  ablest  effort  of  human  intellect,  un- 
assisted by  revelation,  to  prove  that  there 
is  a  future  oxistenc  o  after  death.  This 
celubruled  piece  professes  to  record  the 
conversation  of  Socrates  upon  ihe  day  of 
his  execution.  In  such  circumstances, 
the  discourse  naturally  inrned  up<m  those 
expectations  of  the  future,  in  reliance  on 
which  he  faced  death  with  perfect  tran- 
quillity ;  and  the  profound  philosophy  and 
lofty  eloquence  of  Una  part  of  the  compo- 
sition, are  relieved  and  set  off  by  the 
dramatic  interest  and  pathos  of  the  con- 
cluding narrative.  The  "  Phtodon"  is  said 
to  have  been  Cato's  study  immediately  be- 
fore he  put  un  end  to  his  life  at  Utica,  a 
circumstance  of  which  Addison  has  made 
use  to  introduce  the  most  elaborately- 
wrought  passage  in  his  well-known  tra- 
gedy. 

After  his  master's  death,  Plato  retired 
from  Athens,  and  led  a  wandering  life, 
frequenting  the  schools  of  the  most  emi- 
nent philosophers  whithersoever  he  wont. 
Megara  was  his  first  place  of  abode,  and 
here,  while  the  mournful  details  were  still 
fresh  in  his  memory,  he  is  believed  to  have 
written  the  "  Phsedon,"  with  its  compan- 
ion pieces,  the  "  Criton,"  and  the  "  De- 
fence of  Socrates."  Thence  he  went  to 
Cyrene,  and  from  Cyrene  to  Italy,  where 
he  spent  a  considerable  time  in  studying 
the  rival  systems  of  philosophy  founded 
by  Pythagoras  and  Heraclitus,  both  of 
which,  to  a  certain  extent,  and  with  cer- 
tain modifications,  he  combined  and  taught 
when  he  himself  became  the  founder  of  a 
new  sect.  From  Italy  he  travelled  to 
Egypt,  in  elder  times  the  fountain  and 
seat  of  science.  Here,  according  to  some 
authors,  he  was  admitted  by  the  priests  to 
a  knowledge  of  those  mysteries,  of  which 
they  only  had  the  key,  and  derived  from 
them  the  most  profound  doctrires  of  his 
philosophy.  This  statement,  however,  is 
not  confirmed  by  the  most  credible  au- 
thors, and  Plato  himself  speaks  in  dispar- 
aging terms  of  Egyptian  science  in  his 
day.     Cicero  attributes  his  visit  to  Egypt 


to  the  desire  of  improving  his  knowledge 
of  astronomy,  which,  with  others  of  ihn 
mathematical  sciences,  still  flourished 
there,  and  simple  curiosity  would  furnish 
a  sufficient  motive  for  travelling  to  a  coun- 
try so  remarkable  and  closely  connected 
with  the  early  history  of  art  and  religion 
in  Greece.  It  has  been  supposed  that  in 
Egypt  Plato  became  acquainted  with  the 
Hebrew  scriptures,  but  there  appears  to 
be  no  well-founded  ground  for  this  belief, 
which  probably  arose  out  of  the  clearni'MS 
of  his  views  of  a  future  existence  as  com- 
pared with  those  of  antecedent  philoso- 
pher <. 

Upm  his  return  to  Athens,  B.  C.  395, 
Plato  touk  up  his  residence  adjoininir,  or 
within  the  precincts  of,  a  public  garden 
named  Academia,  from  Acad>.-mus,  who 
bequeathed  it  for  the  use  of  the  people. 
Withiu  this  garden  he  opened  a  school  for 
instruction  in  the  arts  of  disputation  and 
philosophy  ;  and  the  word  "  Academy," 
has  hence  obtained  such  celebrity,  as  not 
only  to  denote  the  school  and  sect  of  which 
he  was  the  founder,  but  to  have  become  in 
modern  languages  a  general  title  for  any 

i)lace  of  education.  His  speculations, 
lowever,  were  varied  by  the  duties  of  ac- 
tive life,  for  it  is  on  record  that  he  served 
as  a  soldier  in  three  battles.  In  B.  0. 
389,  he  visited  Sicily,  attracted  by  the  cu- 
riosities, natural  and  artificial,  of  that  re- 
markable island,  in  which  the  elder  Dio- 
nysius,  the  celebrated  tyrant  of  Syracuse, 
then  bore  the  chief  sway.  The  despot, 
according  to  Diogenes  Laertius,  took  of- 
fence at  Plato's  freedom  of  spirit  and  sold 
him  into  slavery,  from  which  however  he 
was  soon  redeemed  by  his  friends. 

Honored  and  beloved,  with  a  reputation 
established  throughout  Greece  as  a  states- 
man and  lawgiver,  Plato  declined  through 
life  to  take  any  active  part  in  political  af- 
fairs, though,  as  has  been  intimated,  he 
did  not  shun  those  active  duties  which  de- 
volved on  him  in  common  with  all  other 
citizens.  A  life  so  passed,  in  the  pursuit 
and  teaching  of  abstract  truth,  affords  lit- 
tle material  for  the  biographer ;  but  it  is 
not  to  be  omitted  that  Aristotle,  hiH  ^reat 
rival  in  fame  and  influence,  was  Plato's 
pupil  from  the  age  of  eighteen,  during  the 
long  period  of  twenty  years.  Plato  died 
aged  about  81,  B.  C.  347. 


(  his  knowledge 
h  othnrs  of  ihn 
still  flouriNbeil 
y  would  luriiisli 
rclliiif;  to  a  coun- 
losely  coniM'clod 
art  und  reli^non 
supposed  tliut  in 
iiuiiitod  with  tlie 
here  a|)pears  to 
d  for  this  beliof, 
of  the  clearnt'jis 
xistenco  as  com- 
Bcedeiit  philoso- 

lions,  B.  C.  395, 
(ice  adjoiiiintr,  or 
a  public  gurdcn 
Acad»;mu8,  who 
8  of  the  people, 
enod  a  school  for 
disputation  and 
)rd  "  Academy," 
celebrity,  as  not 
nd  sect  of  which 
)  have  become  in 
iral  title  for  any 
is  speculations, 
the  duties  of  ac- 
d  that  he  served 
ittles.  In  B.  C. 
racted  by  the  cu- 
ficial,  of  that  re- 
1  the  elder  Dio- 
ant  of  Syracuse, 
y.  The  despot, 
Liaertius,  took  of- 
af  spirit  and  sold 
lich  however  he 
is  friends, 
with  a  reputation 
reece  as  a  states- 
decliiied  through 
rt  in  political  af- 
en  intimated,  he 
duties  which  de- 
m  with  all  other 
3d,  in  the  pursuit 
truth,  aflbrds  lit- 
rapher;  but  it  is 
risiotle,  his  great 
nee,  was  i'lato's 
hteen,  during  the 
ars.    Plato  died 

r. 


•ft 


W00L8TH0HPK  MANOR  HOry!»B 


Portrait  of  Sir  Uaao  Newton. 


WOOLSTHORPE   MANOU-HOUSE. 

.  HE  birthplace  of  Sir 
*^  Isaac  Newton, known 
"  as    the    Woolsihorpe 
m«nor-house,  is  situ- 
ated   in    a  valley    in 
the  parish  of  Colster- 
worth,    near    Grant- 
,  ham,  in  Lincolnshire, 

at  the  distance  of  about  103  n-il^^J:";" 
London.  The  building  uself  present, 
nothing  to  attract  aitenti-m  ;  but  as  the 
house  in  which  one  of  t»^«  ^esl  men  and 
one  of  the  greatest  philosophers  of  modern 
"mes  first  Lw  the  light,  it  wil   be  viewed 

with  afTeclionate    reverence   by  all    who 
esteem  high  genius  and  true  nobleness  of 

''lt"is  pleasant  to  know  that  the  vast  and 
penetrating  mind  which  could  dictate  such 
a  work  as  the  "  Principia"  whs  once  an 
inhabitant  of  an  insignificant  c"»ag«-  " 
is  pleasant  to  know  thai  the  author  of  such 
a  theory  a.  that  developed  in  his  great 
work,  with  all  its  dependent  cucumslan- 


ces.  was  a  mere  man  with  all  the  cravings 
and  affections  of  mortality  ;  although  there 
is  something  so  vast  and  majestic  in  the 
conception'  embodied  in  the  "  Prmcipia 
that  we  imagine  they  could  only  be  the 
i  productions  of  a  god-like  being,  of  an  im- 
Lr.l  and  unerring  mind!     Yet,  though 
'  his  tame  among  men  will  last  wl>'l«  l')* 
Science  he  so  enriched  shall  endure,  there 
was  nothing  in  his  personal   appearance 
or   mode  of  life  to  distinguish  hiin  In 
his   follow-men   with   minds  too  small    .. 
compass  his  ideas  even  when  d«v,-loped 
with  his  own  simplicity.     Yes.  th.^   nri- 
mortal  Newton  lived  like  other  nien-he 
Tte    and  drank,  and  slept;  his  dweUing 

was  a  cottage;  his  observatory  his  own 
garden  ;  and  here  in  the  solitude  of  Wools- 
fhorpe  did  he  contemplate  the  glorious 
works  of  his  Creator,  and  imagine  the 
means  by  wb.h  the  harmony  of  the  uni. 

verse  is  maintained.  i,„„„i 

The  genius  of  Newton  w  now  acknowU 

edaed    by   the    whole    scientihc     world; 

1  modern  discoveries  have  altered  and  -ui- 

proved   many   aciences   but    imperfectly 


■1? 


':* 


r 


80(5 


WOOLSTnOHPK  MAN0RH0U8B. 


^ 


I 

I 
I 


known  in  thn  dsvB  of  Newton,  and  much 
b»H  been  eflected  in  clearinjf  the  obscure 
(l^-partmrma  of  the  atudy  to  which  he 
directed  his  principal  stlention  ;  but  not 
all  the  efforts  of  modern  philosophers,  as- 
NiHtod  by  the  mechanical  skill  of  modern 
dnys,  have  been  sufficient  to  darken  the 
fame  of  Newton  or  to  eclipse  any  of  his 
discoveries. 

'I'lip  jirivate  habits  of  this  ijreat  man,  as 
of  many  uiliors.are  not  so  generally  known ; 
we  shall  therefore  present  so  much  inform- 
ation on  this  head  as  we  have  been  able  to 
collect.  Although  the  most  trifling  par- 
ticulars in  the  life  of  a  celebrated  character 
are  of  interest  to  his  admirers,  they  are 
not  considered  of  sufficient  importance  at 
the  time  they  occur  to  deserve  to  be  re- 
corded for  the  information  of  future  ages  ; 
thus  it  is  that  we  know  so  little  of  the 
motives  which  have  actuated  so  many  men 
in  actions  for  which  they  are  praised  or 
blamed  by  posterity  without  sufficient 
cause ;  and  in  the  present  instance  we 
have  to  regret  that  particulars  of  thib  na- 
ture are  extremely  scanty. 

The  Newtons  appear  to  h^ve  locatfld 
themselves  at  Woolsthorpe  as  early  as  the 
year  1561,  having  come  thither  from  West- 
by,  in  Lincolnshire.  It  has  been  said  that 
the  family  derived  its  name  originally  from 
Newtown,  in  Lancashire  ;  but  it  seems 
probable,  from  inquiries  which  have  been 
made  by  the  biographers  of  Sir  Isaac, 
acting  on  some  hints  afforded  by  himself, 
that  he  was  descended  from  a  Scotch 
family  of  that  name  in  East  Lothian.  The 
genealogy  of  the  philosopher  is  however 
involved  in  considerable  obscurity,  and  he 
could  not  himself  trace  his  descent  with 
certainty  beyond  his  grandfather  Robert 
Newton,  who,  in  1623,  became  possessed 
of  the  manor-house  of  Woolsthorpe,  which 
had  been  bequeathed  to  him  by  Robert 
Underwood. 

Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  born  on  Christ- 
mas  day,  1642,  O.  S.,  nearly  three  months 
after  the  death  of  his  father.  He  was  an 
extremely  weakly  child,  and  for  some 
time  it  was  thought  he  would  not  livt.  ; 
he  is  also  said  to  have  been  so  small  for 
many  days  after  his  birth  that  "  he  might 
have  been  put  into  a  quart  pot."  He  did 
at  last  spring  up,  and  as  he  grew,  gradually 
mastered  the  natural  weakness  of  his  con- 


stitution.    The  rudiments  of  his  education 
were  received  at  two  small  dnynchools  ai 
Skillington  and  Stoke,  in  the  imniediaie 
vicinity  of  his  home,  where  he  remained 
till  he  was  twelve  years  of  age,  when  he 
was  removed  to  the  great  school  at  (Jrant- 
ham.       Here    he    showed     considerable 
quickness  at  his  studies,  and  mniiifostrd  a 
strong  disposition  for  mechanics,  in  which 
he  missed  no  opporttmity   for  acquiring 
information,   either   theoretically  or  of  n. 
practical   nature.      He   amuNPil    himself 
with  making  models  of  windmills,  water- 
clocks,  and   other  sci'-ntific  toys,  all  of 
which  he  executed  with  considerable  neat- 
ness  and  accuracy.     Some  of  the  sun-dials 
made  by  his  own  han.l  are  still  shown 
in  the  room  used  by  him  as  a  study  at 
Woolsthorpe.    Although  his  natural  quitk- 
ncss  of  apprehension  enabled  him  easily 
to    'saster  the  exercises  of  the  school,  it 
di    s  not  appear  that  he  wns  partiouliiriy 
partial  to  learning  or  forward  in  his  studies. 
Indeed  it  is  probable  that  it  is  to  one  of 
those  accidental  circumstances  to  which 
so  many  great  events  are  ascribable,  that 
we  may  partly  attribute  his  future  eminence. 
He  used  to  relate  that  he  was  always  very 
negligent  at  school,  and  very  low  in  his 
class,    until    he  ha.-j)ened  to  be  insulted 
one  day  by  a  boy  above   him,  when  he 
determined  to  be  revenged,  not  only  by 
giving   his   superior   a   sound    thrashing 
(which  was  promptly  administered  on  the 
spot),  but  by  the  more  noble  method  of 
superseding  him  in  his  studies.     This  de- 
termination gave  a  new  bent  to  his  chnr- 
acter,   and  from    that   day   he   continued 
rising  in  the  school  till  he  was  head  boy. 
When  be   left  Grantham  school,  it  was 
determined  by  his  mother,  after  great  de- 
liberation, and  at  the  earnest  solicitation 
of  his  uncle,  who  had  observed  indications 
of  his  great  genius,  to  send  him  to  Cam- 
bridge, whither  he  repaired  in  1660.  being 
admitted  of  Trinity  College  on  June  5,  in 
that   year.      Here    he   remained    several 
years,  applying  himself  closely  to  the  ac- 
quisition of  the  more  abstruse  branches  of 
knowledge,  to  the  dissomii.ation  of  which, 
means  are  appropriated  in  that  university. 
The  fruits  of  his  studies  were  not  mad« 
public  until  a  vcry  Idte  period,  and  even 
then,  only  at  the  persuasions  of  his  friends, 
and  against  his  own  well-known  desire. 


rhJH  education 
ilnynrhoola  m 
tho  irnmediiito 
5  h«  remiiincil 
app,  wht'n  he 
liool  nt  (irnrit- 
coiiMidcrnblo 
i  maiiifcAtrd  a 
rjics,  in  which 
for  ac<|tiiriiig 
cally  or  of  a 
iiscfl    himscir 
Imiils,  water- 
!   toys,   all  of 
iJerable  neat- 
r  the  sun-dials 
B  Rdll  shown 
IS  a  study  at 
natural  quick- 
id  him  easily 
he  school,  it 
t  particularly 
II  his  studies, 
is  to  one  of 
:e8  to  which 
cribable,  that 
ire  eminence. 
1  always  very 
r  low  in  his 
be  insulted 
m,  when  he 
not  only  by 
d    thrashing 
itercd  on  the 
e  method  of 
8.     This  de- 
to  his  char- 
e   continued 
18  head  boy. 
liool,  it  was 
ter  great  de- 
solicitation 
1  indications 
liin  to  Cani- 
1660.  being 
n  June  5,  in 
ned    several 
\y  to  the  ac- 
branches  of 
M  of  which, 
t  university. 
re  not  made 
J,  and  ev^en 
his  friends, 
3wn  desire. 


808 


HISTORY  OF  THE  FIREPLACE. 


Yet  it  is  remarkable  that  nearly  all  the 
tlipories  and  opinions  which  have  ranked 
his  name  first  among  modem  philosophers, 
were  conceived,  and  the  demonstration  of 
them  considerably  advanced,  while  he  was 
yet  a  young  man. 

In  1665  he  left  Cambridge  for  a  short 
time,  in  consequence  of  the  plague,  which 
in  that  year  committed  such  ravages  in  all 
the  great  towns  and  cities  throughout 
Europe,  and  retired  to  his  house  at  Wools- 
thorpe  (having  inherited  it  in  1663  from 
his  mother),  where  he  passed  the  autumn 
of  thai  year. 

It  was  on  this  occasion,  and  while  sit- 
ting in  the  garden,  that  the  falling  of  an 
apple  from  a  tree  led  to  that  train  of  thought 
which  ultimately  produced  his  beautiful 
theory  of  gravitation.  At  least  such  is  the 
substance  of  a  popular  tradition,  and  it  is 
so  pretty  that  it  would  be  cruel  to  deny 
the  fact,  although  there  are  several  cir- 
cumstances which  might  lead  us  to  doubt  it. 

In  person  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  of  a 
middle  stature,  rather  inclining  to  cor- 
pulency in  his  latter  years.  He  had  a 
benignant  expression  of  countenance,  to 
the  effect  of  which  his  hair,  white  as 
silver,  greatly  contributed.  He  was 
blessed  with  a  strong  constitution,  and  to 
his  last  illness  had  the  bloom  of  health 
mantling  in  his  cheeks. 

In  company  Sir  Isaac  was  very  reserved, 
and  particularly  absent  in  mind.  Of  the 
latter  failing,  excusable  however  in  a  man 
whose  attention  was  occupied  with  such 
abstruse  subjects,  there  are  many  pleasant 
stories  told,  one  of  the  best  cf  which,  and 
perhaps  the  only  authentic  one,  is  that 
given  by  Dr.  Slukeley,  who  relates  that 
after  waitin^j  at  Sir  Isaac's  house  for  a 
considerable  time  without  being  able  to 
see  him,  he  wa„  induced  to  demolish  a 
fowl  prepared  for  the  philosopher's  dinner. 
When  Sir  Lsaac  enteret  he  appeared  as- 
tonished to  find  the  fowl  gone,  and  ex- 
claimed to  his  visiter,  "  You  see,  doctor, 
how  very  absent  we  philosophers  are  ;  I 
really  imagined  I  had  not  yet  dined !" 
Indeed  he  would  much  rather  sit  down  to 
solve  a  geometrical  problem,  than  to  dis- 
cuss the  most  sumptuous  dinner ;  and  he 
would  do  one  with  as  much  celerity  as  the 
other. 

When  Leibnitz  proposed  a  problem  in- 


tended to  puzzle  the  philosophers  of  all 
Europe,  Sir  Isaac  Newton  solved  it  within 
six  hours  after  he  had  received  it ;  and 
previously  he  had  returned  an  answer  in 
as  short  a  time  to  one  proposed  by  Ber- 
noulli, for  the  solution  of  which  Leibnitz 
had  requested  an  extension  to  twelve 
months  of  the  period  of  six  months  origin- 
ally assigned. 

After  the  death  of  Sir  Isaac,  John  New- 
ton, the  heir-at-law,  succeeded  to  the 
manor  and  estates  ;  but  in  1732  they  were 
sold  to  Edmund  Turner,  Esq.,  in  whose 
family  they  still  remain.  The  house  was 
repaired  in  1798,  and  a  marble  tablet  fixed 
in  the  room  where  Newton  was  born,  with 
these  lines  by  Pope  : — 

"  Nature  and  Nature's  laws  lay  hid  In  night ; 
God  laid, '  Let  Newton  be,'  and  all  was  light.'- 


HISTORY  OF  THE  FIREPLACE. 

HE  history  of  the 
fireside  may  be  said 
to  commence  in  the 
dark  ages ;  for  it  ex- 
tends back  to  a  time 
when  man  was  unac- 
quainted with  the  ex- 
istence of  f.re.  The 
early  records  of  nearly  all  nations  refer  to 
a  time  when  that  element  was  unknown. 
Indeed  instances  of  such  ignorance  have 
been  met  with  in  comparatively  modern 
times.  When  Magellan  visited  the  Ma- 
rian islands  in  l.'>21,  the  natives  believed 
themselves  to  be  the  only  people  in  the 
world.  They  were  without  everything 
which  we  regard  as  necessaries,  and  in 
total  ignorance  of  fire.  Several  of  their 
huts  being  consumed,  they  at  first  consid- 
ered the  flame  to  be  a  kind  of  animal  that 
attached  itself  to  the  wood,  and  fed  upon 
it.  Some  who  approached  too  near,  being 
scorched,  communicated  their  terror  to  the 
rest,  who  durst  only  look  upon  it  at  a  dis- 
tance. They  were  afraid,  they  said,  that 
the  terrible  animal  would  bite  them,  or 
wound  them  with  its  violent  breathmg. 
They  speedily  learned  to  use  fire  with  as 
much  address  as  Europeans.  Few  histor- 
ical facts,  therefore,  are  less  doubtful  than 


IMPROVVISATOttl. 


809 


osophers  nf  all 
solved  it  within 
iceived  it ;  and 
id  an  nnswer  in 
>posed  by  Ber- 
ivhich  Leibnitz 
don  to  twelve 
months  origin- 

aao,  John  New- 
ceeded  to  the 
1732  they  were 
Esq.,  in  whose 
The  house  was 
rble  tablet  fixed 
was  born,  with 


y  hid  In  n!ght ; 
and  all  vraa  light.' 


"IREPLACE. 

history  of  the 
e  may  be  said 
nmence  in  the 
ges;  for  it  ex- 
back  to  a  time 
man  was  unac- 
ed  with  tLe  ex- 
B  of  f.re.  The 
nations  refer  to 
was  unknown, 
ignorance  have 
atively  modern 
fisited  the  Ma- 
atives  believed 
'  people  in  the 
out  everything 
ssaries,  and  in 
leveral  of  their 
at  first  consid- 

of  animal  that 
,  and  fed  upon 
too  near,  bning 
eir  terror  to  the 
pon  it  at  a  dis- 
they  said,  that 

bite  them,  or 
lent  breath'ng. 
se  fire  with  as 
.  Few  hisior- 
s  doubtful  than 


that  man  was  once  without  means  of  ar 
tificial  heat.     A  Phcenician  tradition  at 
tribuied  its  discovery  to  a  hunter  observ 
ing  a  conflasration  that  had  been  rxcited 
in  a  forest  by  the  attrition  of  some  trees 
during  a  storm.     Another  tradition  varies 
the  account:  in  the  winter  season,  Vulcan 
the  king,  coming  to  a  tree  on  the  moun- 
tains that  had  been  fired  by  a  ll>unJ"- 
bolt,  was  cheered  by  its  heat,  and  adding 
more  wood  to  preserve  it,  he  invited  his 
companions  to  share  in  his  pleasure,  and 
thereupon  claimed  to  be  the  inventor  of 
flame      Fire  once  discovered,  the  prime- 
val savages,  though  at  first  alarmed,  fv  id- 
ually  felt  its  blessed  influence,  and  .i  is 
thus  that  tradition  gives  us  an  account  ot 
the  earliest  fireside,  for  around  the  embers 
of  the  hurnini;  trees  men  first  learned  to 
herd  "and  as  the  intcipcourse  continued 
under  the  bond  of  the  common  en.oyment, 
the  incoherent  sounds  by  which    ney  ex- 
pressed their  emotions  were  by  degrees 
rouL'hly  cast  into  the  elements  of  speech  ; 
thus  the  discovery  of  fire  gave  rise  to  the 
first  social  meeting  of  mankind,  to  the  tor- 
n.alion  of  language,  to  their  ultimate  union, 
and  to  all  the  wonders  of  subsequent  civ- 
ilization."    The  Chinese  historians  attrib- 
ute the  earliest  power  of  producing  fare 
at  will,  by  the  friction  of  two  pieces  of 
dried  wood,  to  Souigine,  one  of  their  tirst 
kings.     This  power  once  known,  «..he  irio- 
madic  races  in  all  countries  ever  availed 
thempelves  of  it ;  though  a  fire  inade  ot 
dried  wood  or  grass  in  the  open  air,  or  in 
a  rude   tent,   was  their    sole    provision 
against  cold  for  many  ages. 

Increased  intelligence  induced  mankind 
to  seek  for  greater  warmth  under  substantial 
cover,  and  the  first  houses  they  took  to 
were  'ready  built,  being  chiefly  caves,     in 
the  middle  of  these  they  made  fires,  in 
spite  of  the  smoke,  for  which  there  was 
no  other  outlet  than  the  hole  by  which  the 
inhabitants  came  in  and  out.     The  same 
rude  method  was  continued  even   when 
men  learnt  to  build  houses,  and  to  congre- 
gate in  cities,  only  they  made  a  hole  in 
The  roof  to  .et  the  smoke  out  exactly  like 
the  Laplanders  and  some  of  the  Irish  at 
the  present  day. 

During  the  last  few  years,  public  atten- 
tion has  been  laudably  directed  to  the  de- 
fective  means  which  still  exist  for  warm- 


ing and  ventilating  houses.  Although  we 
have  arrived  at  a  high  state  of  civilization 
in  some  resjiects,  yet  the  method  still  in 
use  for  producing  an  artificial  climate  in 
modern  habitations,  is  perhaps  more  prim- 
itive and  defective  than  any  of  our  domes- 
tic contrivances. 


IMPROVVISATORl. 


N  all  parts  of  Italy,  and 
more  particulr:ly  in  the 
Tuscan  province,  there 
has  prevailed  from  titne 
immemorial  a  peculiar 
and    highly  interesting 
exhibition  of  intellectual 
power,  the  delivery  of 
extempore  poems,  by  a 
class  of  persons  called 
in  the  language  of  the  country  the  improv- 
visatori.     Something  of  the  same  kind  may 
be  found  in  other  parts  of  the  world    but 
nowhere  so  fully  developed.     In  Portugal 
the  peasants  may  still  be  heard  in  the 
summer  evenings  singing  improvvisatized 
songs  tothe  accompanimentof  their  guitars, 
but  thfeir  strains  are  of  a  very  humble  un- 
ambitious character. 

Through  Tuscany,  the  custom  of  reci- 
ting verses  has  for  ages  been  the  constant 
and  most  favorite  amusement  of  villagers 
and  country  inhabitants.     At  some  times 
the  subject  is  a  trial  of  wit  between  two 
peasants;  on  other  occasions  a  lover  ad- 
dresses  his  mistress  in  a  poetical  oration, 
expressing  his  passion  by  such  images  as 
his^  uncultivated  fancy  «"gg««»»';"^^^J; 
deavoring  to  amuse  and  engage  her  by  he 
liveliest  sallies  of  humor.     These^"^^^; 
tions,  in  which  the  eclogues  of  Theocntus 
are  realized,  are  delivered  m  a  tone  of 
voice  between  speaking  and  singing,  and 
are  accompanied  with  the  constant  motion 
of  one  hand,  as  if  to  measure  the  time  and 
regulate  the  harmony;  but  they  have  an 
additional  charm  from  the  simplicity  of 
'  the     ountry  dialect,  which  abounds  with 
phrases  highly  natural   and   appropriate 
fhough  incompatible  with  the  precision  of 

^'S'^moTe'eSent  of  the  Italian  im- 
provvisatori  have  been,  of  course,  general- 


I  I 


I'l' 


/  il 


FAL8EH00D. 


ly  found  among  the  higher  and  better  edu- 
cated classes.     The  most  flourishing  pe- 
riod of  the  art  is  considered  to  have  been 
during  the  pontificate  of  Leo  X.,  who  not 
only  encouraged   its  professors,  but  de- 
hghted  in  occasionally   joining  them  in 
their  exercises  of  skill.     The  ambition  of 
the  improvvisalori  at  that  time  was  to  ex- 
hibit their  powers  in  Latin  verse.     Andrea 
Marone  eclipsed  all   competitors  in  this 
way.     His  recitals  were  accompanied  by 
the  music  of  his  viol,  and  as  he  proceeded  j 
he  seemed  continually  to  improve  in  facili- 
ty, elegance,  enthusiasm,  and  invention. 
The  fire  of  his  eyes,  the  expression  of  his 
countenance,  the  rising  of  hia   veins,  all 
bespoke  the  emotions  with  which  he  was 
agitated,  and  kept  his  hearers  in  suspense 
and  astonishment. 

Perhaps  the  extraordinary  faculties  pos- 
sessed by  the  improvvisatori  were  never 
more  strikingly  evidenced  than  in  the  ex- 
hibitions of  Signer  Sgricci,  who  died  two 
or  th  36  years  since.  He  not  only  recited 
poems  of  a  decidedly  superior  character 
on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  but  actually 
before  the  eyes  of  an  audience,  on  re- 
ceiving a  subject  (and  what  that  would  * 
he  could  not  possibly  have  known  befor^ 
hand),  framed  the  dramatis  persona  of  a 
play,  the  plot,  the  contrasts  of  character, 
and  flow  of  story  ;  then  proceeded,  act  by 
act,  and  scene  by  scene,  to  pour  forth  the 
unpremeditated  eff'usions  of  a  rich  fancy 
and  warm  imagination,  and  in  short  crea- 
ted a  play,  an  entire  five-act  drama,,  in 
the  mere  time  required  for  its  utterance  ! 

Among  the  more  curious  of  such  ex- 
hibitions Mr.  Rose  speaks  of  seeing  a  man 
to  whom  three  subjects  for  sonnets  were 
proposed  :  one  of  which  was  Noah  issuing 
from  the  Ark  ;  another,  the  death  of  Cae- 
sar ;  the  third,  the  wedding  of  Pantaloon. 
These  were  to  be  declaimed  interlacedly  ; 
that  is,  a  piece  of  Noah,  then  a  piece  of 
Cffisar,  and  then  a  piece  of  Pantaloon  : 
returning  after  that  for  another  piece  of 
Noah,  and  so  on.     Nor  were  these  diffi- 
culties enough  ;  he  was  also  to  introduce 
a  partieular  verse  specified  by  one  of  the 
audiences  at  a  particular  place  in  each 
wnnet.     He  accomplished  this  task  in  ten 

minutes.  , 

The  difi"erent  writers  who  have  spoken 
of  this  subject  account  for  the  apparently 


52 


marvellous  powers  of  the  improvvisatori 
by  the  exceeding  facility  of  the  langimge, 
the  comparative  laxity  of  its  poetical  rules, 
and  the   mechanical  skill  of  introducing 
similes  and  thoughts  previously  prepared. 
The    first   two  points    must  undoubtedly 
greatly  decrease  the  vlifiiculty  of  making 
extempore  verses  ;  the  last,  we  think,  not 
only  inadequate  for  the  object  proposed, 
but   to   be    altogether   a   mistake.      The 
character  of  the  compositions  produced  is 
not  of  the  patchwork  kind  here  indicated. 
The   truth   lies   deeper  :    the    exceeding 
i  vividness  of  mind  that  all  must  acknowl- 
edge to  be  required   after  any  or  every 
preparation,  to  carry  along  a  dramatic  fa- 
ble through  five  acts,  and  by  its  means 
command  the  sympathies  and  admiration 
of  an  audience,  must  be  sufficient  in  itself, 
without  such  preparation  as  has  been  sup- 
posed, and  which  is  all  that  the  circum- 
stances allow.     In  one  word,  the  improv- 
visatori are  really  inspired  poets  ;  general- 
ly perhaps  of  weak,  but  always  of  ready 
and  most  exc'table  powers,  whose  emo- 
tion, being   genuine   and   poetically   ex- 
pressed, naturally  induces  a  corresponding 
tate  of  feeling  in  their  auditors.     The 
actice  is  now,  we  believe,  on  the  de- 
cline ;  the  more  the  pity,  unless  some- 
thing better  takes  its  place  in  the  hearts 
and  minds  of  the  people  who  have  so  long 
cherished  it,  and  enjoyed  by  its  means  so 
many  a  harmless  and  happy  hour. 


FALSEHOOD. 

LL  careful  stu- 
dents of  human 
nature  must  have 
remarked  the  in- 
difi'erence  with 
which  the  major- 
ity of  mankind 
»,  „.  ,.  -  y  are  apt  to  regard 
r^  eventhe  most  im- 

portant truths,  when  addressed  to  them  in 
abstract  or  general  terms.  We  hold  the 
pulpit  in  sincere  respect.and  concur  cheer- 
fully in  the  eulogy  which  the  gentle  and 
amiable  Cowper  has  passed  upon  it.  Still, 
with  all  deference  to  the  many  good  and 


812 


FALSEHOOD. 


gifteil  men  who  fill  it,  it  is  possihle  that, 
as  nn  instrument  of  doing  K'^"''>  ''  might, 
like  most  others,  be  somewhat  improved. 
We  tliinit,  for  example,  that,  in  the  de- 
lineation of  particular  virtues  or  vices, 
there  might  be,  with  advantage,  a  little 
more  going  into  detail— a  condescending 
upon  the  precise  shapes  and  phases  under 
which  these  may  be  found  in  every-day 
life.  The  great  majority  of  men  feel  com- 
paratively at  ease  when  they  hear  this  and 
the  other  attribuleof  evil  spoken  of  in  vague 
and  indefinite  terms.  Speakers  of  the 
class  alluded  to,  however  well-meaning, 
do,  we  fear,  far  les?  good  than  they  may 
suppose.  Unless  there  be  some  specialty 
of  application,  some  effort  to  present  a 
life-like  portrait  of  the  evil  assailed,  it  is 
very  far  from  being  unlikely,  that,  in  the 
audience,  not  a  few  may  be  committing 
the  very  sin,  even  while  the  preacher  is 
exposing  it.  He  may  be  denouncing 
avarice,  while,  in  yon  nook,  the  avaricious 
man  is  telling  over  his  gold,  and  laying 
fresh  schemes  of  aggrandizement.  He 
may  be  denouncing  malignity  ;  but  the 
malign,  even  while  the  tones  are  falling 
on  their  ears,  are  plotting  new  scandals 
to  propagate  as  soon  as  they  have  crossed 
the  church-door.  He  may  inveigh  against 
envy  ;  but  the  eye  of  the  envious  is  mean- 
while fixed  on  some  part  of  the  dress,  or 
property,  or  good  fortune  of  their  neighbor 
in  the  next  pew. 

But,  without  saying  more  about  the  pul- 
pit— and  where  there  is  so  much  to  praise 
we  are  loath  even  to  insinuate  defect  or 
blame — we  hope  the  pages  of  this  maga- 
zine will  not  be  considered  as  trench- 
ing upon  its  sacred  prerogativijs  should 
they  occasionally  deal  out  a  few  kindly 
hints  respecting  prevailing  vices,  or  those 
moral  graces  so  essential  to  our  welfare 
and  happiness.  To  aid  in  the  smallest 
degree  in  correcting  the  faults  of  mankind, 
cr  strengthening  their  virtues,  is  no  mean 
honor ;  and  perhaps  we  may  do  some 
little  good  in  this  way,  by  an  article,  now 
and  then,  like  that  we  propose  at  present 
to  write,  about  one  vice  too  prevalent,  we 
grieve  to  say,  in  every  circle  of  society — 
we  mean  falsifying. 

The  forms  in  which  this  vice  may  be 
met  with  are  more  numerous  than  perhaps 
most  people  imagine.     There  are  falsifiers 


— for  we  drop  the  harsher  and  more  vulgar 
term — so  young  that  they  can  with  diffi- 
culty lisp  the  syllables  in  which  they  vend 
their  untruths.  There  are  others  so  old 
that  their  tongues  almost  deny  them  ulter- 
anco  when  they  propagate  their  slanders. 
There  are  others  so  fair,  that,  when  one 
hears  them  circulating  their  calumnies,  he 
can  not  help  recalling  a  certain  proverb 
about  a  "  jewel  of  gold  in  a  swine's  snout." 
The  beggar  tells  a  tissue  of  falsehoods 
when  craving  alms  at  your  door  ;  and  some 
would  not  care  to  say  that  courtier  and 
falsifier  are  all  but  convertible  terms.  In 
point  of  fact,  it  is  not  easy  to  tell,  even 
when  we  would — to  borrow  the  legal 
phrase — the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and 
nothing  but  the  truth.  The  statement, 
without  suppression  or  exaggeration,  with- 
out a  shade  to  suit  the  views  of  him  who 
utters  it,  is  not,  kind  reader,  a  commodity 
you  are  every  day  meeting  with.  The 
motives  to  falsehood  are  numeroihs  ;  and 
the  forms  in  which  this  vice  may  l)e  found 
among  men  are  consequently  so  too. 
There  is  one  whom,  in  the  absence  of  a 
better  term,  we  may  call  the  silent  falsifier. 
There  may  be  more  wicked  ones  than  he, 
but  assuredly  there  is  none  meaner  :  he  is 
an  ungallant  arid  ungenerous  soul ;  he  has 
a  paltry,  cringing  heart  in  his  bosom  ; 
there  is  nothing  noble  and  magnanimous 
about  him  ;  he  is  deficient  in  all  great 
qualities  ;  he  is  not  a  brother  to  his  race. 
Fie  on  him !  rather  than  provoke  the 
frown  of  some  one  whose  favor  might  be 
of  service  to  him,  the  wretch  will  hear, 
without  defending  them,  his  old  father 
defamed,  or  shame  cast  on  the  gray  hairs 
of  her  who  bore  him.  Your  mute  falsifiers 
do  a  world  of  mischief  in  their  own  petty 
way.  They  hear  your  character  assailed ; 
circumstances  stated  to  your  disadvantage, 
which  they  well  know  to  be  an  utter  per- 
version of  the  truth  ;  impressions  convey- 
ed to  one  cr  more  listeners  which  they 
are  quite  aware  are  both  false  and  injuri- 
ous :  a  word  from  them  might  silence  the 
detractor ;  but  no ;  they  are  either  glad 
to  hear  you  defamed,  or  it  is  their  interest 
that  your  reputation  should  be  suspected, 
or  they  tremble  to  incur  the  displeasure 
of  the  party  traducing  you,  and  they  are 
as  quiet,  as  immoveably  taciturn,  as  if  they 
had   been  born   dumb.     Who   says  that 


FALSKHOOD. 


813 


?r  and  more  viilgnr 
ley  Clin  with  difH- 
n  which  ihey  vend 
are  others  so  old 
t  deny  them  ntter- 
ite  their  slanders. 
ir,  that,  when  one 
lieir  calumnies,  he 
a  certain  proverb 
1  n  swine's  snout." 
sue  of  falsehoods 
iir  door  ;  and  snnie 

that  courtier  and 
erlihle  terins.  In 
easy  to  tell,  even 
jorrow  the  legal 
whole  truth,  and 
The  statement, 
xaggeration,  with- 
v\e,v/9  of  him  who 
ider,  a  commodity 
eting  with.  The 
e  numeroiw  ;  and 
vice  may  l)e  found 
equently  so  too. 
the  absence  of  a 
the  silent  falsifier. 
;ked  ones  than  he, 
one  meaner  :  he  is 
irous  soul ;  he  has 
rt  in  his  bosom ; 
and  magnanimous 
:ient  in  all  great 
rothcr  to  his  race.  I 
than  provoke  the 
»se  favor  might  be 
wretch  will  hear, 
m,  his  old    father 

on  the  gray  hairs 
four  mute  falsifiers 
in  their  own  petty 
character  assailed ; 
your  disadvantage, 
to  be  an  utter  per- 
ipressions  convey- 
eners  which  they 
h  false  and  injuri- 
1  might  silence  the 
y  are  either  glad 

it  is  their  interest 
>uld  be  suspected, 
ur  the  displeasure 
you,  and  they  are 
taciturn,  as  if  they 
Who   says   that 


these  men  are  not  falsifiers?  Who  refuses 
our  right  to  class  them  with  the  vile  herd 
of  slanderers  ?  It  is  a  nasty  heresy  that 
a  man  may  surely  hold  his  tongue  if  he 
pleases.  Proverbially,  silence  and  assent 
are  the  same  thing.  There  are  times 
when  not  to  speak  out  in  defence  of  o.ir 
opinions,  is  to  prove  recreant  to  them  ; 
and  so,  too,  there  are  times  when  not  to 
speak  out  in  defence  of  our  friend  is  foully 
and  ignobly  to  slander  hitu — to  rob  him 
of  that  good  name,  compared  with  which, 
Shakspere  truly  says,  a  man's  purse  is 
but  trash.  Your  silent  falsifiers  go  further 
at  ti(nes.  There  are  many  ways  in  which 
they  evince  how  willing  they  are  to 
wound,  though  afraid  to  strike.  Heaven 
save  us  from  the  men  who  shake  the 
head,  shrug  the  shoulders,  give  the  piteous 
whine,  or  put  on  the  rueful  aspect — all  of 
which,  when  the  fabrication  is  going 
round,  are  but  different  ways  of  saying, 
\t  IS  very  bad,  and  but  ton  true ! 

The  vain  falsifiers  form   a  numerous 
class.     It  is  easier  to  keep  one's  temper 
serene  when  speaking  of  this  class ;  for, 
except  when  their  own  claims  happen  to 
come  into  competition  with  those  of  others 
— which,  however,  is  frequently  the  case 
— they   are    not   addicted    to   detraction. 
The  truth  is,  they  are  rather  fond  of  the 
idea  that  all  the  world  are  rich,  and  re- 
spectable, and  happy,  were  it  for  no  other 
reason  than  this,  that  they  feel  it  rather 
creditable  to  themselves  that  they  belong 
to   so   excellent  a   community.      As  for 
traducing  their  neighoors,  it"  you  take  care 
not  to  push  the  claims  of  the  latter  too 
eagerly,  so  as  to  bring  them  into  close 
rivalry  with  their  own,  ihey  will  scarcely 
say  a  bad  word  against  any  one,  finding 
that  to  be  a  sufficiently  fertile  topic  on 
which  Lord  Byron  has  shrewdly  remark- 
ed, most  men  are  fluent,  none  agreeable 
— we  mean,  self.     The  vain,  taken  as  a 
class  at  least,  have  too  much  to  say  about 
themselves  to  have  leisure  for  discussing 
the  character  of  their  acquaintances  ;  but 
their  besetting  sin  leads  to  falsehood  of 
another  kind.     Excessive  vanity  and  the 
truth-telling  habit  can  scarcely  be  found 
in  the  same  individual.     Every  conceited 
person  is,  we  may  almost  say,  of  necessity 
a   falsifier.      His   ridiculous   fictions  are 
juu  the  fuel  to  bis  vain  imaginations  ;  his 


lies,  if  we  may  so  express  ourselves,  are 
so  many  imps  going  about  seeking  what 
they  can  devour  as  provender  to  his  vora- 
cious vanity.     There  are  few  who  are  not 
in  some  degree  censurable  on  this  score. 
Whose  conscience  does  not  accuse   him 
with    having  occasionally    perverted    the 
truth,   that  he   might  be   thought  richer, 
more  talented,  or  more  i)enevolent,  than 
he   really  is  ?     Hut  while  most  men  err 
thus  in  some  measure,  there  are  not  a  few 
I  who  go  to  great  extremes.     Their  vanity 
so   beguiles  them   into  dissimulation  and 
falsehood  that  they  come  to  lose  all  sense 
of  the  distinction  between  what  is  truth 
and  what  is  not.     Listen  to  them  in  the 
social  circle.     How  inflated  their  tone ! 
j  How  extravagant  their  statements  !     How 
;  they  deal  in   superlatives  !     What  play- 
things they  make  of  themselves  to  the 
discerning  and  quizzical !     Do  they  talk 
of  their  strength  ?  you  would  fancy  they 
could  heave  mountains.     Of  their  swift- 
ness  of  foot?    they  could  vie   with  the 
mountain  roe.     Of  their  talents  ?  you  feel 
that  you  have  the  honor  to  sit  side  by  side 
with  another  Milton    or  another  Locke. 
Of  their  wealth  f  they  are  a  match  for  the 
Rothschilds.     Of  their  cjnnexions  ?   who 
ever  heard  of  such  prosperous  mortals  ? 
They  are  all  people  of  fashion  and  fortune 
— all  above  dependence — all  shining  in 
the  upper  circles — their  carriage  just  left 
the  door  as  you  entered — of  course  you 
have  heard  of  the  immense  accession  to 
their  income  they  got  t'other  day  ! 

Addison  somewhere  remarks,  that  if 
there  be  anything  which  makes  human 
nature  appear  ridiculous  to  beings  of  su- 
perior faculties,  it  must  be  pride,  well 
aware  as  ihey  are  of  the  vanity  of  those 
little  supernumerary  advantages  on  which 
men  plume  themselves.  But  one  does 
not  need  to  be  an  angel  to  be  astonished 
and  diverted  at  the  silly  self-conceit,  so 
fruitful  in  falsehood,  which  has  been  de- 
scribed. The  violation  of  trutii,  too,  in 
this  instance,  is  all  the  worse  that  it  panders 
to  another  vice,  namely,  extravagant  self- 
appreciation.  It  i-  •-  wicked  daughter 
feeding  a  bad  mothi  r 

The  avaricious  faU if  crs  are  aiiMhing 
but  few  in  number.  It  seeir..<?  they  were 
not  unknown  in  the  days  of  Si-iianon.  The 
wise  man  sketches  them  thua,  with  his 


'•/■;??, 


814 


TALSEHOOD. 


i 


graphic  pen  :  "  It  is  naught,  it  is  naught, 
saith  the  buyer  ;  but  when  he  is  gone  his 
way,  then  he  boastelh."  They  are  plenti- 
ful in  our  times  too.  They  sacrifice  truth 
at  the  shrine  of  worldly  aggrandizement ; 
they  tell  lies  to  fill  their  pockets  ;  contract 
heavy  guilt,  hat,  like  Whang  the  miller, 
they  may  ha-  e  the  exquisite  pleasure  of 
thr.j  iting  their  hands  into  a  heap  of  gold 
up  lo  the  elbow.  There  were,  iti  the 
time  of  the  ling  we  have  nanfed,  the  sel- 
ler, who,  wh.  D  disposing  of  his  goods, 
greatly  overpraih^d  them  ,  nh>]  the  pur- 
chaser, who,  i<^  ^;t  i  them  a:  •«.  lower  price, 
did  exactly  tho  reverse.  Thus  falsehood 
went  on,  out  in  the  market,  an  I  on  oth 
sides  if  the  counter — apd  so  ii  lioes  fuill.  | 
Oh  !  inil  the  maxim  is  current  in  the  v-trh!, 
that  a  man  wont  thrive  now-a  days  if  ht 
be  sternly  honest  anl  unswerving  in  his 
iV, ;uvd  lo  tnr!  Now,  there  is  no  use  in 
m:>.kHig  the  wo 'Id  worse  than  it  is.  Rich 
!  ravci  there  are,  no  doubt :  they  are  the 
eiicejiiion,  not  the  rule,  however ;  and 
were  thcTo  a  wi.idow  in  their  bosoms,  and 
were  you,  gentle  reader,  allowed  to  look 
through  it,  you  would  pity  them,  and  call 
them  "  poor  indeed."  The  shortest  and 
easiest  road  to  wealth  is  clearly  that  point- 
ed out  by  honesty  and  worth.  Is  there  a 
merchant  in  your  community  who  is  known 
to  give  his  candid  opinion  of  the  quality 
of  his  goods — known  neither  to  over-praise 
nor  over-charge — who  gives  the  same  ar- 
ticle at  the  same  price  to  the  injudicious 
and  skilful  alike  ?  Be  sure,  other  things 
being  equal,  that  man  is  a  thriving  man  ; 
his  shop  is  frequented  by  all  who  wish  to 
deal  fairly  ;  his  reputation  is  his  bank. 
And  so  is  it  in  every  department  of  life. 
There  is,  if  men  would  believe  it,  no  need 
for  lying  ;  the  arrangements  of  Providence 
are  not  such,  that  if  a  man  be  truthful  and 
honest  he  must  needs  starve,  and  that  the 
deepest  rogue  will  infallibly  be  the  most 
prosperous. 

But  of  all  kinds  of  falsifiers  the  malicious 
is  the  most  detestable.  A  poet  of  our  own 
day  has  defcigned  slander  the  "  foulest 
whelp  of  »m."  A  malicious  falsifier — 
that  is,  one  who  invents  and  propagates 
lies,  with  the  view  of  injuring  the  peace, 
pr<?°;'(irity,  or  honor  of  another — is  almot. 
tht;  iiggest  reproach  to  his  species  we 
kr.o':  iSf.     He  looks  with  a  jaundice:!  ■;}<; 


on  all  around  him  ;  his  weal  is  the  wo  of 
others  ;  he  "  sleeps  not  except  he  htis 
done  mischief;"  he  lives  upon  the  calami- 
ties and  niiifiirtunes  of  mankind  ;  wortli, 
fame,  lal'snt,  if  pi/ssessed  by  those  aroinid 
hiin,0!i!y  serve  'o  provoko  his  resenlmeni 
towarl  ihem,  and  call  fuitl*  his  slanders 
hi-  is  a  mma\  a.'ssassii'  ;  a  ul,  if  characit^i 
b;i  more  fi?"crf  d  ''an  liP  ,  he  malign  tradu 
cer  of  it  is  every  way  i.s  ioathsome  a  be- 
ing ;,^  he  who  sheds  the  l.lood  of  the  in- 
noceni.  We  stop  not  to  enlarge  this  pic- 
ture. It  is  a  sickening  thing  to  investigate 
deformity.  The  poet  we  have  just  quoted 
has  said  with  truth  and  power : — 

"  The  in'ir. 
In  whom  tliisi  ipirit  cnte.'od  was  uih'.o-ip  ; 
His  wiii^oc  was  iict  on  l;re  of  licll  j  hin  heart 
Was  i.litcli  as  death." 

Tiiere  are  other  forms  of  this  prevailing 
evil  on  which  we  do  not  dwell  at  present 
Those  we  have  sketched  are  perhaps  th« 
most  common.  May  we  give  a  kindly 
hint  or  two  to  those  who  happen  to  glance 
at  this  page  ?  Have  a  passionate  attach- 
ment to  the  truth.  Never  cross  its  sacred 
'ine  to  advance  your  interests,  gratify  youi 
•nnity,  or  injure  the  man  you  love  least 
Check,  in  all  over  whom  you  have  in- 
lluonce,  the  slightest  symptom  of  the  vice 
in  question.  The  habitual  faltiifiei  will 
not  escape  detection  even  in  this  hie,  and, 
when  detected,  he  will  be  held  in  univer- 
sal contempt.  Shun  paltry  equivocation 
on  the  one  hand,  and  inflated  exaggeration 
on  the  other.  Forget  not  that  it  is  the  in- 
tention to  deceive  that  makes  the  lie,  and 
not  the  mere  phraseology  in  which  it  may 
be  couched.  The  truth-ielling  habit  gives 
to  one  so  sunny  a  bosom,  and  earns  for 
him,  eventually,  so  fair  a  reputation,  that, 
irrespective  of  higher  motives,  it  is  well 
worth  being  cultivated.  Crabbe's  "noble 
peasant,"  Isaac  Ashford,  was  a  model  in 
this  respect : — 

"  Of  no  man's  presence  Isaac  felt  afraid, 
At  no  mail's  quentiun  Isaac  looked  dismayed  : 
Shame  knew  him  not ;  he  dreaded  no  disgrace ; 
Truth,  simple  truth,  was  written  on  his  face." 


There  are  two  thousand  five  hundred 
I  r,;--;n  species  of  fishes  ;  forty-four  thou- 
aanJ  of  insects;  seven  hundred  of  reptiles ; 
four  thousand  of  birds  ;  and  five  thousand 
of  mamiierous  animals. 


m 


PROQBESg  OP  AFUICAN  DISCOVERY. 


815 


weal  18  the  wo  of 

except    lie   hiis 

upon  the  calaiiii- 

mankinil  ;   worth, 

I  by  those  around 

Hi  his  reseiifment 

nh  his  slanders 

a  k1,  if  characlei 

he  malign  trailu 

i  loathsome  a  be- 

blood  of  the  in- 

enlarge  this  pic- 

ling  to  investigate 

!  hive  just  quoted 

jower : — 

"  The  m'ir, 
•ivan  uni'.onc  ; 
if  licll ;  hill  heart 

of  this  prevailing  | 
dwell  at  present 
I  are  perhaps  th«  ! 
we  give  a  kindl)i 
happen  to  glance 
)aBsiQnate  attach- 
ir  cross  its  sacred 
rests,  gratify  youi 
n  you  love  least 
)m  you  have  in- 
nptom  of  the  vice 
tual  falbifiei  will 
n  in  this  lite,  and, 
30  held  in  univer- 
iltry  equivocation 
ated  exaggeration 
t  that  it  is  the  in- 
takes the  lie,  and 
Y  in  which  it  may 
telling  habit  gives 
Ti,  and  earns  for 
a  reputation,  that, 
lotives,  it  is  well 
Crabbe's  "noble 
,  was  a  model  in 


ac  felt  arratd, 
10  looked  dismayed ; 
'.  dreaded  uo  disgrace ; 
written  on  his  faue." 


and  five  hundred 

;  forty-four  thou- 

undred  of  reptiles ; 

and  five  thousand 


/■; 


h^ 


^ 


PROGRESS  OF  AFRICAN  DISCOVERY. 


N  ihctimeof  HerodotuH, 
and  lo'ig  afterward,  the 
general  opinion  was  that 
Africa  did  not  extend  so 
far  south  as  the  cciuato- 
rial  line.     There  exist- 
ed, however,  a  tradition 
that    Africa   had    been 
circumnavigated  by  the 
Phoenicians    about    six 
centuries  before  the  Christian  era  ;  but  if 
the  southern    promontory  of   Africa  had 
really  been  reached,  it  is  diiriciilt  to  con- 
ceive  how   so  erroneous    an    impression 
could  have  prevailed  as  to  the  extent  of 
the  continent.     It  is.  th( -cfore,  most  i)rob- 
ablc  that  such  a  voyage  had  never  suc- 
ceeded ;  and,  indeed,  the  circumstances 
under  which  it  was  prosecuted,  according 
to  the  accounts  which  have  come  down  to 
us,  only  add  an  additional  feature  of  im- 
probability   to    the    story.      Turning    to 
modern  times,  we  find,  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  fifteenth  century,  that  Euro- 
peans were  only  acquainted  with  that  por- 
tion of  the  western  coast  of  Africa  which 
extends  from  the  straits  of  Gibraltar   to 
Cape  Nun,  a  line  of  coast  not  exceeding 
six  hundred  miles  in  lengtii.     The  Portu- 
guese had  the  honor  of  extending  this 
limited  acquaintance  with  the  outline  of 
the  African  continent.     Their  zeal  for  dis- 
covery in  this  direction   became  truly  a 
national  passion,  and  the  sovereigns  and 
princes  of  Portugal  prosecuted  this  object 
with  singidar  enthusiasm.     By  the  year 
1471  the   Portuguese  navigators  had  ad 


vanced  2^'^  south  of  the  line.  In  1484, 
Diego  Cam  reached  22'^  south  latitude. 
The  next  navigator,  Bartholomew  Diaz, 
was  commanded  to  pursue  his  course  south- 
ward until  he  should  reach  the  extremity 
of  Africa,  and  to  him  belongs  the  honor 
of  discovering  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 
the  name  given  to  it  at  the  lime  by  the 
king  of  Portugal,  though  Diaz  had  named 
it  Cabo  Tormentoso  (the  Cape  of  Tem- 
pests). The  Cape  of  Good  Hope  was  at 
first  frequently  called  the  -Lion  of  the  Sea, 
and  also  the  Head  of  Africa.  In  1497, 
Vasco  de  Gama  set  forth  with  the  inten- 
tion of  reaching  India  by  sailing  round 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.     After  doubling 


the  cape,  he  pursued  his  course  along  the 
eastern  coast  of  Africa,  and  then  sireiched 
across  the  ocean  to  India.  The  Portu- 
guese had  now  ascertained  the  general 
outline  of  Africa,  and  the  position  of  many  .> 
oflheprincipalriversandh.  adlands.  With 
the  exception  of  a  portion  of  the  coast  from 
the  straits  of  Bab  el  Mandeb  to  Mukdee- 
sha,  situated  in  3^  north  latitude,  the  whole 
of  the  coast  had  been  traced  by  the  Portu- 
guese, and  their  zeal  and  enthusiasm, 
which  had  at  one  period  been  treated  with 
ridicule,  were  at  length  triumphantly  re- 
warded, about  four  years  before  Columbus 
had  achieved  his  great  discovery,  which, 
with  that  of  Vasco  de  Gama,  amply  repaid 
a  century  of  speculative  enterprise.  'I'liis 
inleresling  combination  of  events  had  a 
sensible  cfTect  upon  the  general  mind  of 
Europe.  The  Portuguese  .soon  formed 
seiliements  in  Africa,  and  began  to  acquire 
a  knowledge  of  the  interior  of  the  country. 
They  vvere  followed  by  the  French,  and 
afterward  by  the  English  and  the  Dutch. 
It  is  chiefly  within  the  last  fifty  years 
that  discoveries  in  the  interior  of  Africa 
have  been  perseveringly  and  systematical- 
ly prosecuted.  In  1788  a  society  was 
established  in  London  with  the  design  of 
encouraging  men  of  enterprise  to  explore 
the  African  continent.  John  Ledyard,  an 
American,  was  the  first  person  selected 
by  the  African  association  for  this  task, 
and  he  set  out  in  1788  with  the  intention 
of  traversing  the  widest  part  of  the  con- 
tinent from  east  to  west,  in  the  supposed 
latitude  of  the  river  Niger.  Unfortunately 
he  was  seized  at  Cairo  with  a  fever,  of 
which  he  died.  He  possessed  few  scien- 
tific acquirements;  but  his  vigor  and  pow- 
ers of  endurance,  mental  and  bodily,  his 
indifference  to  pain,  hardship,  and  fatigue, 
would  have  rendered  him  an  admirable 
geographical  pioneer.  "  I  have  known,"  ^ 
he  said,  shortly  before  leaving  England  i 
for  the  last  time,  "  hunger  and  nakedness 
to  the  utmost  extremity  of  human  suffer- 
ing ;  I  have  known  what  it  is  to  have 
food  given  as  charity  to  a  madman,  and 
have  at  times  been  obliged  to  shelter  my- 
self under  the  miseries  of  that  character 
to  avoid  a  heavier  calamity.  My  distres- 
ses have  been  greater  than  I  have  ever 
owned,  or  ever  will  own,  to  any  man. 
Such  evils  are  terrible  to  bear,  but   they 


■I- 


^. 


810 


PROQRESg  OF  AFRICAN  DISCOVERY. 


■««l 


never  yet  bad  the  power  to  liirn  mo  from 
my  ptirpose."     Such  was  the  imlomilahle 
cuTny  of  this  man,  the  first  of  a  long  hst 
of  victims   in  the  cause  of  African   dis- 
covery.    Mr.  Lucas,  wlio  was  ilespatched 
by  ilu!  association  to  supply  tiie  place  of 
Ledyard,  was  compelled  to  return  home 
in  consequence  of  several  of  the  countries 
throu"h  which  he  would  have  to  pass  be- 
ing engaged  in  hostilities.    In  1790,  Major 
lloughlon,  an  ollicer  who  was  acquainted 
witluhe  customs  of  the   Moors   and   Ne- 
groes,   proceeded    to    Africa   under    the 
auspices  of  the  association,  aid  had  made 
consider.able  progressin  the  interior,  when, 
after  having  been  treacherously  plundered 
and  left  in  the  desert,  where  he  endured 
severe  privations,  he  reached  Jarra,  and 
died  there  in  September,  1791,  it  being 
strongly  suspected  that  he  was  murdered. 
The  next  individual  on  whom  the  associ- 
ation fixed   was  Mungo  Park,  who  pro- 
ceeded to  the  river  Gambia  in  1795,  and 
thence    set   out   into   the    interior.     The 
great  object  accomplished  during  his  jour- 
ney was  that  of  successfully  exploring  the 
banks  of  the  Niger,  which  had  previously 
been  considered  identical  with  the  river 
Senegal.     In  1801,  Park  set  out  upon  his 
second  journey,  which  was  unJerlakcn  at 
the    expense   of  the    government.      The 
plan  of  former  travellers  had  been  to  ac- 
company the   caravans  from  one  part  of 
the   country  to  another  ;  but  in  this  ex- 
pedition Park  required  a  party  of  thirty- 
six  Europeans,  six  of  whom   were  to  be 
seamen  and  the  remainder  soldiers,  it  be- 
ing his  intention,  on  reaching  the  Niger, 
to  build  two  vessels,  and  to  follow  with 
his  party  the  course  of  the  river.     If  the 
Congo   and   the    Niger    were    the    same 
stream,  as  was  then  supposed,  he   antici- 
pated little  difficulty    in  his    enterprise  ; 
but  if,  as  was  also  maintained,  the  Niger 
terminated  in  swamps  and  morasses,  many 
hardships  and  dangers  were  expected  in 
their  subsequent  progress.     Park  at  length 
reached  the  Niger,  accompanied  only  by 
seven  of  his  party,  all  of  whom  weTe  m 
a  State  of  great  weakness  from  the  effects 
of  the   climate.     They  built  one  vessel, 
and  on  the  17th  of  November,  1805,  were 
ready  to  embark  on  the  river,  previous  to 
which  Park  sent  despatches  to  England. 
His  party  was  nov   reduced  to  five,  his 


brother-inlaw  having  died  a  few  days  be- 
fore.    Park's    spirit,    however,   remained 
undaunted.     "Though  all  the   Europeiins 
who  arc  with  me  should  die,"  saiil  he,  in 
his  last  letters  to  England,  "  and  though  I 
myself  were  half  dead,  I  would  still  p.-r- 
sovero  ;  and  if  1  could  not  succeed  in  ihi- 
object  of  mv  journey,  1  wotild  nl  least  die 
in  the  Niger."     He  embarked,  therefore, 
with  the   mtention   of   sailing  down    the 
river  to  its  mouth,  wherever  that  might 
be  ;  but  after  passing  Timhuctoo  and  sev- 
eral other  cities,  he  was  killed  in  the  Ni- 
ger, at  a  place  called  Boussa,  a  short  dis- 
tance  below    Yaoiiri.      No   part   of  his 
journal  after  he  left  Sansanding  has  ever 
been  recovered. 

In   1797  the  African    association    had 
engaged  Mr.  Hornemann,  a  German,  who 
left  Cairo  in  September,  1798,  with  the 
intention  of  carrying  into  effect  the  objects 
of  the   association  by  proceeding  as  far 
southward  and  westvyard  as  he  could  get. 
In  his  last  despatches  he  expressed  him- 
self confident  in  being  able  to  succeed  in 
reaching  a  greater  distance  into  the  in- 
terior than  any  other  European  traveller  ; 
but  after  reaching  Bornou,nocertainintellJ- 
j  gence  was  ever  afterward  heard  concerning 
j  him.     Mr.  Hornemann  learned  many  par- 
ticulars which  had  not  before  been  known 
in  Europe  respecting  the  countries  to  the 
east  of  Timbuctoo.     Mr.  Nicholls,  who 
was  next  engaged,  arrived  in  the  gulf  of 
Benin  in  November,  1804,  and  died  soon 
afterward  of  the  fever  of  the  country.    An- 
oti  ei  German,  Bcentzcn,  was  next  sent  to 
Africa.     He  had  bestowed  extraordinary 
pains  in  making  himself  acquainted  with 
the  prevailing  language,  and,  throwing  off 
his  costume,  proceeded  in  the  character 
of  a  Mussulman,  but  unhappily  was  mur- 
dered by  his  guides  on  the  way  to  Soudan. 
The  last  traveller  sent  out  by  the  associa- 
tion was  Burckhardl,  a  Swiss.     He  spent 
several  years  in  acquiring  a  knowledge  of 
the  language  and  customs  of  the   people 
whom  he  intended  to  visit,  and,  like  Mr. 
Ba^ntzen,  assumed  the  characteristics  of 
a  Mussulman.     He  died  at  Cairo  in  1817, 
his  travels  having  been  chiefiy  confined  to 
the  Abyssinian  countries. 

In  1816  an  expedition  was  sent  out  by 

the    government,  under  the  command  of 

,  Captain  Tuckey,  to  the  river  Congo,  under 


1i 


% 

':i' 

ir 


m 

is! 


it* 


818 


PROGRESS  OF  AFRICAN  DISCOVERY. 


tho  idea,  in  which   Park  1    d  coincided, 
that  it  and  the  Niger  were  tin  same  river. 
Captain  Tuckey  ascended  the  Congo  for 
abou'  '.280  miles.     Atthf  same  time.  Major 
Pctlilie,and,afterhi8deatii,  Captain  Camp- 
bell r^'t        '    i' '"roni  the  mouth  of  theriicr 
Sei.^s;,!!   slar  !■(  .^nkundy.     In  1^17,  Mr. 
Tl./Ailith  <■  jild.ed  tho  connirics  adjoining 
Cape   Coast  Caatle.     In  1820,  Mr,  Jark- 
'on  communicated  an  interesting  account 
of  the  terrilorifc=<of  Timbuctooand  Houssn, 
from  dftiiils  which  he  had  collected  from 
a  Mussulman  merchant.     In  1819,  and  in 
1821,  tho  expeditions  of  'Vfox  v^-   Ritchie 
and  Lyon,  and  of    'i;joi-  Lai.ig,  ahowo! 
the  8tron<,'and  general  interest  on  the  sub- 
ject of  African  geography.     In  1822,  the 
important  expedition  under  Major  Denham 
and    Lieut.   Clapperton   set  forth.     After 
crossing  the  desert,  the  travellers  reach- 
ed the  great  inland  sea  or  lake  called  the 
Tchad,  the  coasts  of  which  lo  the  west 
and  south  were  examined  by  Major  Den- 
ham.    This  lake,  from  400  to  600  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea,  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  features  in  the  physical 
geography  of  Africa.     Lieut.  Clapperton, 
in  tho  meantime,  prot   eded  through  tho 
kingdom  of  Borm  a  ami  the  country  of  the 
FellatJihs  to  Sockatoo,  situated  on  a  stream 
supposed  to  run  into  the  Nitrir.     A  groat 
mass  oi'  information  respecting  the  coun- 
tries eastward  of  Timbuc       was  the  result 
of  his  expedition,     Soou  after  his  return 
to  Englanc',  Clapperton  was  sent  out  by 
the  government  to  conduct  a  new  expedi- 
tion, and  was  directed  to  proceed  to  the 
scene  of  his  lormcr  adventures.     Having 
reached  the  Niger  at  P    issa,  where  Park 
w       killed,    he   pass'       through    .arious 
coi      .OS,  and  reach,  i  .Sockatoo,    where 
he  died;  and  Lai  ler,  his  friend  and  ser- 
vant, commenced    his  return  lo  England 
with    r  1;  .perton's  jourr:ils    and    pap  is. 
Major  Laiiig,  meanwhile,  nad  visited  Tim- 
buctoo,  and  transmitted  home  nccounts  of 
this   famous   city,  where   br  spent  some 
weeks  ;  but  on  his  return  he  was  murder- 
ed, and  his  papi       hav         ver  been  re- 
covered. 

Though  the  kr  ^led  ff  interior  .\f- 
rica  now  possess(  'ly  'he  ivijized  world 
is  the  progressive  acquisition  of  many  en- 
terprising men,  to  all  of  whom  we  are  pro- 
foundly indebted,  it  can  not  be  denied  that 


the  last  great  discovery  hat  done  more 
than  any  other  to  place  the  outline  of  Af- 
rican geography  on  a  basis  of  certainty. 
When  to  this  is  a<lded  tlic  consideration 
that  it  opens  a  maritime  ininniunicatiori 
iti'o  tho  centre  of  the  continei  it  may  be 
described  as  the  greatest  geogr.ii-hical  dis- 
covery that  has  been  madi-  since  that  of 
New  Holland. 

It  is  estimated  that  ■  course  of  flu 
Qi'orra  is  about  2,100  mdes  The  coun- 
tries watered  by  it  and  its  iributarif^s  are 
fertile,  and  enjoy  a  climate  said  lo  be  much 
superior  to  that  of  many  other  parts  of  Af- 
rica. We  take  the  following  aliridged  de- 
scriptions from  the  journal  of  John  and 
Richard  Lander,  who  were  commission'  d 
by  the  IJritish  govertnnent,  to  ascertain  the 
course  of  the  Niger,  and  to  follow  its  chan- 
nel to  its  terminaiion  wherever  it  might  be. 
On  th<  ..'tth  of  .lune,  1829,  guiiig  into 
the  maiii  stream  of  the  Niger,  they  foim  I 
it  flowing  "through  a  rich  and  charming 
country."  The  channel  from  being  half 
a  mile  in  breadth,  gradually  widened  to 
rather  better  than  a  mile.  "  lieaui,  ^il, 
spreading,  and  spiry  trees  adorned  the 
country  on  each  side  of  the  river,  like  a 
park  :  CO-  ,  nearly  ripe,  wa.  d  over  the 
watci  s  i.iige  ;  large  open  villages  appeared 
every  half  hour ;  and  herds  of  spotte  ' 
cattle  were  observi  I  grazing  and  <  njoyiiu 
the   cool  of  the  ',e.     The  appearanc. 

1  the  river,  for  several  miles,  was  n  sess 
enchanting  than   its   borders :    it  as 

smooth  as  lake;  canoes  laden  v  i  sheep 
and  goats  were  paddled  by  women  duwn  its 
almost  imperceptible  current ;  swallows 
and  a  variety  of  aquatic  birds  were  sporting 
over  tj  glassy  surface,  which  wa  orna- 
mented by  a  nuinl    "■  of  pretty  little  islanda," 

June  25th.  Thi  iver  gradually  widened 
10  two  miles,  ami  continued  so  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach.  "  It  looked  very 
much  like  an  artificial  canal,  the  banks 
having  the  app.  irance  of  a  dwarf  wall, 
with  vegetation  yond.  In  ost  places 
the  wau  r  was  extremely  sti  w,  but  in 
others  it  vas  deep    nough  to  float  a  frigate. 

iring  the  first  two  hours  of  the  day,  the 
I    tiks  were  lite'  iiv  covered  with  hamlets 

!  villages  ;  fine  trees,  bending  under  the 
w  'it  of  their  dark  foii.ii."  evcvwhcre 
relievi  i!  the  eye  from  the  glare  of  ilu.  sun's 
rays,  and,  contrasted  with  the  lively  ver- 


PROGRESS  OF  AFRICAN  DI8C0VEEV. 


819 


has  (lono  more 
he  outline  of  Af- 
nsis  of  certainty, 
llic  coiisidfrnlion 
3  (-(iinmiinicution 
titineii  ,  it  may  be 
geogr;i|'liicai  dis- 
1(1'  since  that  of 

I!  conrsfi  of  flit 
il(i».  The  coun- 
;s  tribiiiari('8  are 
e  said  to  be  much 
other  parts  of  Af- 
nng  ai)ridj,'ed  '!(>• 
Ill  of  lohn  and 
re  cominissioiK  d 
t,  to  ascertain  the 
)  follow  its  chaii- 
rever  it  niij>ht  be. 
^29,  gtiiiiig  into 
^^iger,  they  foun  I 
;h  and  charming 

from  b!  ing  half 
laliy  widened  to 
lie.  *•  Boauii.ul, 
e.s  adorned  the 
the  river,  like  a 
wa.  d  over  the 
i^illaj^i^s  appeared 
lerds  of  spoltf' 
ing  and  <  ojoyin;.: 
The  appearance 
liles,  was  '  ■■•sa 
lers :    it  as 

laden  w  ''h  sheep 

women  dnwn  iis 
rrent ;  swallows 
•ds  wort-  sporting 
vhich  wa  orna- 
ttyli  leisiaiidB." 
raduully  widened 
ued  .so  as  far  as 
'  It  lo(  cd  very 
lanal,  tlie  banks 
f  a  dwarf  wail, 

In      ost  places 

shn  w,  but  in 
to  float  a  frigate 
I  of  the  day,  the 
ed  with  hamlets 
ending  under  the 
igc,  evf-vwhcre 
'lareof  tl.c  sun's 
I  thp  lively  ver- 


dure of  the  liltlP  hills  nd  plains,  produced 
the  most  pleasing  .llect."  Afterward  the 
scenery  decidedly  changed,  the  banks  con- 
sisting of  "  black  rugged  rocks :  large 
sand-banks  and  islands  wore  scattered  in 
the  river,  which  diverted  it  into  a  variety 
of  little  chanuf's." 

June  '.?7ih.  A  range  of  black  rocks  run- 
ning directly  across  the  stream,  and  the 
water,  finding  otdy  one  narrow  passage, 
rushed  through  it  with  great  impetuosity. 
The  canoe  was  lifted  by  main  force  into 
smoother  water,  and  when  this  reef  was 
passed  the  riv.r  offered  no  similar  imped- 
iments to  its  navigation.  It  now  present- 
ed a  noble  appearance.  Not  a  single  rock 
or  sand-bank  was  anywhere  perceptible, 
its  bordors  resumed  their  beauty,  and 
a  strong,  refreshing  breeze,  which  had 
blown  duruif,'  the  whole  of  the  morning, 
now  gave  it  '  motion  of  a  slightly-agita- 
ted sea.  'I  .  day  they  passed  two  ver- 
dant isles  of  singular  beauty,  as  charming 
as  the  fabled  gardens  of  Ilesperia. 

August  4th.  At  no  great  distance  from 
this  place  (Boussa),  and  within  sight  of  it, 
all  t'le  branches  of  the  Niger  meet,  and 
forii  I  beautiful  and  magnificent  body  of 
water,  at  least  seven  or  eight  miles  in 
width.  At  Bii  :ssa,  within  five  miles,  the 
river  is  only  a  stone's  throw  across,  and 
the  channel'  is  of  proportionate  depth — 
circumstances  which  favor  the  opinion  that 
a  portion  of  its  waters  is  conveyed  by  sub- 
terraneous channels  from  the  town  of  Gar- 
nicassa  to  a  few  miles  below  Boussa. 

October  4ih.  "  The  banks  of  the  river 
near  Lever,  are  high,  being,  according  to 
our  estimation,  about  forty  feet  above  the 
river,  and  steep  to  the  water-side.     The 
river  itself  appeared  deep,  and  free  from 
rocks  of  any  kind  ;    its  direction  nearly 
south.     'Ve  ran  down  the   stream   verv 
pleasaiitis    for  twelve  or  fourteen  mil*    , 
the    Nig'-i     during    the    whole    distance, 
rolling  ^ri  dly  along— a  noble  river,  nei- 
ther obstr     ted  by  islands  nor  deformed  by 
ro>  ks  ana  ston  s.     Its  width  varied  from 
oiu    to  three    niles.     Both  banks  of  the 
river  were   o    rhutig  with  I   ge   shady 
trees."     The  country  seen  froi     the  river 
app<  and  o{)en   and'  well  culti  ated,  and 
thicklv  inhabited. 

Oct  '  "T  5th.  "Just  beu    ■  the  town  of 
Bajieb      lu  Nig(     spii-adb      elf  into  two 


noble   branches   of   nearly  equal    width, 
formed  by  an   island.     The   country  be- 
yond the   banks   was  very  fine."     After 
passing  the  above  island,  both  !)anks  of 
the  river  "  were  embellished  with  mighty 
trees  and  elegant  shrubs  which  were  clad 
in   thick   and  luxuriam    ;oliago,  some  of 
lively  green,  and  others  of  darker  hues; 
and    little    birds    were    singing    merrily 
among  their  br    tches.     Magnificent  fes- 
toons of  creep. ig  pi    its,  always  green, 
hung  from  the  tops  ol    t!      lallcit  trees, 
and,  drooping  to  the  water  ■*  edge,  formed 
immense   natural    grottoes,   pleasing    and 
grateful  to  the  oyo."     But  the  travellers 
remark :    "  Yet  with  all   its  allurements, 
there  is  something  wanting  in  an  African 
scene  to  render  it  comparable,  in  inter- 
est and  beauty  to  an  English  landscape." 
They    add,   that    "  In    Africa,    generally 
speaking,    a   loneliness,    a    solemnity,   a 
death-like  silence  pervades  the  noblest  and 
most  magnificent  prospects,  which  has  a 
tendency  to  fill  the  mind  with  associations 
of  sadness." 

October  16th.     The  tr    "Hers  in  vain 
endeavored  to  effect  a  lauJini;,  but  unfor- 
tunately every  village  was  situated  "  be- 
hind   large   thick   morasses  and   shingly 
bogs,"  which  it  was  impossil)le  to  pene- 
trate.    The  width  of  the  river  seemed  to 
be  two  or  three  miles  across,  and  at  other 
places   double  that  width.     The  current 
was  running  at  the  rate  of  three  or  four 
miles  an  hour,  and  the   direction  of  the 
stream  was  nearly  east.     In  the  oourse 
of  this  day  and  the  following  night  they 
had  travelled  a  distance  little  short  of  a 
hundred   miles.      The    character   of   the 
scenery  completely  changed.     "  The  Ni- 
ger, in  many  places  and  for  a  considerable 
way,  presented  a  very  magnificent  appear- 
ance, and  we  believe  it  to  have  been  near- 
ly eight  miles  in  width." 

her  17th.     "The  banks  now  be- 
(  .igh  and  beautifully  cultivated ;  palm- 

treco  grew  in  profusion,  and  the  towns 
and  villages  were  not  more  than  two  or 
three  miles  from  each  other.  We  ob- 
served some  hundreds  of  large  canoes, 
with  a  hut  in  their  m'  'die,  passing  along 
the  river,  some  crossing,  and  re-crossing  to 
the  opposite  banks,  while  others  were 
pursuing  their  course  along  them.     They 


mostly   seemed    to    contain   '  imilioa    ol 


820 


rHOUllESS  OF  AFUICAN  DISCOVERY. 


people  ;  for  while  the  men  wore  paildling, 
the  women  ami  girls  were  singiru  to  a 
guitar  with  their  little  delicate  ^oicoa,  and 
pruduced  a  very  pretty  eflucl."  The  river 
was  estimated  to  be  from  throe  to  five 
miles  in  width. 

October  '^Sth.  On  this  day  our  travel- 
lers reached  the  junction  of  thr  Quorra 
and  Tchadda,  a  view  of  which  is  given  in 
our '  graving.  "  At  one,  A.  M.,  the  direc- 
tion of  the  river  changed  to  south-south- 
west, running  between  immensely  high 
hills.  .\t  five  o'clock  this  morning,  \\t 
found  ourstlvos  nearly  opposite  a  very  con- 
siderable river,  entering  the  Ni^^er  from 
the  eastward  :  it  appeared  to  be  three  or 
four  miles  wide  at  its  mouth,  and  on  the 
bank  wo  saw  a  large  town,  one  part  of 
which  faced  the  river  and  the  other  the 
Quorra.  We  at  first  supposed  it  to  be  an 
arm  of  that  river,  and  running  from  us, 
and  therefore  directed  our  course  for  it. 
We  proceeded  up  it  a  short  distance,  but 
finding  the  current  against  us,  and  that  it 
increase!  as  we  got  within  its  entrance, 
and  our  people  being  tired,  we  were  com- 
pelled to  give  up  the  attempt,  and  were 
easily  swept  back  into  the  Niger.  The 
l)anks  Oil  both  sides  ul  he  Tchadda,  as 
far  as  we  could  see  up  it,  were  very  high, 
and  appeared  verdan»  ind  fertile."  In  the 
course  of  the  day  they  found  the  bed  of  the 
river  with  a  rocky  bottom,  which  caused 
its  surface  to  ripple  exceedingly. 

October  26th.  They  passed  a  town 
situated  close  to  the  water's  edge,  in  an 
elevated  situationand  on  a  fine  greensward, 
supposed  to  be  Atta,  the  appearance  of 
which  is  described  as  "  unspeakably  beau- 
tiful." Afterward,  for  thirty  miles,  not  a 
town  or  village,  or  even  a  single  hut,  was 
to  be  seen.  "  The  whole  of  this  distance 
our  canoe  passed  smoothly  along  the 
Niger,  and  everything  was  silent  and  soli- 
tary ;  no  sound  could  be  distinguished 
save  our  own  voices  and  the  plashing  of 
the  paddles  with  their  echoes  ;  the  song 
of  birds  was  not  heard,  nor  could  any 
animal  whatever  be  seen ;  the  banks 
seemed  to  be  entirely  deserted,  and  the 
magnificent  Niger  to  be  slumbering  in  its 
own  grandeur." 

November  8th.  The  travellers  to  day 
found  themselves  "  on  an  immense  body 
of  water,  like  a  lake,  and  at  the  mouth  of 


a  rery  considertblo  river  flowing  to  the 
westward,  it  being  an  important  branch  of 
the  Niger.  Aiiotiicr  branch  also  ran 
hence  to  the  southeast,  while  our  couriw 
was  in  a  southwesterly  direction,  on  the 
main  body ;  the  whole  forming,  in  fact, 
three  rivers  of  considcrahlo  miignituile. 
On  Sunday,  November  11 1  to  their  groat 
joy,  they  came  within  the  ude-way  of  the 
river.  Their  progress  was  a  good  deal 
interrupted  by  sand-banks.  On  the  15ih, 
they  landed,  and  while  at  breakfast  on 
shore  th*  tide  ebbed  and  left  their  canoes 
lying  in  the  mud  ;  and  on  the  18ih,  lliey 
reached  the  sea,  and  went  on  board  an 
English  brig  at  the  mouth  of  the  rivi  r. 
As  they  approached  the  sea  the  banks 
were  so  much  overflown  that  the  trees  ap- 
peared to  be  growing  out  of  the  water. 
On  the  9th  of  June,  1 831 ,  the  two  brolhirs 
reached  England  «  ih  the  intelligence  of 
their  discovery. 

In  183!iJ,  some  ""pirited  merchants  of 
Liverpool  fitted  out  two  steam-vessels  and 
a  transport  for  the  purpose  of  attempting 
the  ascent  of  the  Quorra  to  .Sockaloo  or 
Timbuctoo,  and  to  carry  on  a  trade  during 
their  voyage.  Unfortunately  the  expedi- 
tion failed  in  consequence  of  the  wreck 
of  one  of  the  steamboats.  Yet  the  coun- 
tries watered  by  the  Niger  having  been 
opened  by  the  discovery  of  the  Landers, 
the  perioil  probably  is  not  far  distant  when 
this  hithi  rto-neglected  portion  of  the  globe 
may  become  an  extensive  field  lor  com- 
merce and  industry.  Mr.  Laird,  a  recent 
traveller  in  Africa,  says :  "  The  delta  of 
the  Niger  alone,  if  cleare  '  and  cultivated, 
would  support  a  population,  in  proportion 
to  its  area,  far  exceeding  anything  known 
in  Europe." 


Benefits  of  Adversity. — A  smooth 
sea  never  made  a  skilful  mariner ;  neither 
does  Ul  torrnpted  prosperity  iind  success 
qualify  lur  usefulness  or  happiness.  The 
storms  of  adversity,  like  the  storms  of  the 
ocean,  arouse  the  faculties,  excite  the  in- 
vention, prudence,  skill  and  fortitude  of 
the  voyager.  The  martyrs  of  ancient 
times,  in  bracing  their  minds  to  outward 
calamity,  acquired  a  loftiness  of  purpose, 
a  moral  heroism,  worth  a  life  of  softness 
and  security. 


'•'  .'j'^Mgwe 


"1 


EAUTIiai/AKEB. 


821 


it  flowinj?  to  the 
iportaiit  brnnch  »{ 
branch  nho  run 
while  our  courwi 
(lirectiun,  on  the 
funning,  in  fnct, 
rnble  iniignitude. 
4ii  ,  to  their  grout 
ic  ti<le-way  of  the 
was  a  good  deal 
ts.  On  the  15lh, 
at  broaki'aHt  on 
1  left  thf.'ir  canutis 
in  the  18tb,  llioy 
vent  on  board  an 
lulh  of  the  river. 
e  8oa  the  banks 
that  the  trees  iip- 
3ut  of  tlio  water. 
,  the  two  brotlii-rs 
ho  intelligence  of 

led  morchanls  of 
liteani-vesscls  and 
080  of  attempting 
a  to  Sockatoo  or 
on  a  trade  during 
ately  the  expedi- 
ice  of  the  wrt-ck 
i.  Yet  the  conn- 
iger  having  been 
Y  of  the  Landers, 
>t  far  distant  when 
ortion  of  'he  globe 
CO  field  lor  com- 
r.  Laird,  a  recent 
i:  "The  delta  of 
ed  and  cultivated, 
lion,  in  proportion 
;  anything  known 


BiTY. — A  smooth 

mariner  ;  neither 
lerity  and  suctoss 
happiness.     The 

the  storms  of  the 
as,  excite  the  in- 

and  fortitude  of 
rtyrs  of  ancient 
ninds  to  outward 
iness  of  purpose, 

a  life  of  softness 


EAIITHQUAKKS. 


HOCKSofearthquakosi 
have  beiMi  fidl  in  New 
Kii«hind    n»    early    as 
ICjS— '58— '03,      and 
17a7,andl7&.'i;iheliit. 
ter,   owinn   to   its  vio- 1 
lenee,   «.i4    ciilied  the 
"gri'iiteurilHiuiiku."    It 
crtialed    general    con- 
stornation  through  all  Now  Englimd.     For 
several  days  in  succession  shocks   rumb- 
Uuu   noises,  and  vibrations,  rapidly   sue- 
ce.uled  each  other.     A  cistern  in  a  di.lil-  ^ 
l,.rv    was   burst    by   the    agitation  oi    llio 
liquor  in  it;  the  spindles  of  the  yanes  on 
some  of  the  steeples  bent,  thiU  of  !■  aiieuil 
Hall    being    broken    off.       Hricks    were 
thrown  from  chimneys  to  the  distance  of 
ihirty  feet  horizontally.     The  duration  of 
the  whole  shock  is  said  to  have  been  four 
minutes.     The  frost  on  the  ground  at  the 
lime  is  reported  to  have  been  five  limes 
greater  ihan  common.     But,  what  is  sur- 
prising,  the   barometer  and  thermometer , 
liMderwent  no  alteration  at  the  time '.     Dar- , 
win.  in  his  Journal,  speaking  of '!'«  earth- 
quake in  Valdavia  (Chili)  m  18J5,  com- 
pares the  sensations  experienced  from  the 
earth  billows  to  the  movement  of  a  vessel 
in  a  little  cross  ripple,  or  still  more  "  like 
that  felt  by  a  person  skating  over  the  ice 
which  bends  under  the  weight  of  the  body. 
The  same  writer  also  observes,  that  in  the 
forest  ihe  phenomenon,  though  deeply  in- 
teresting, is  by  no  means  as  awe-exciting  ^ 
as  in  the  town,  where  the  "  creaking  and  | 
rattling"   of  the  wood-built  houses—the  | 
wildness  and  terror  of  the  affrighted  in-  j 
habitants  rushing  in  confusion  Irom  their  , 
dwellings,  give  to  the  whole  scene  that 
indescribable    horror    which   attends   the 
phenomena   of  e;>'<hquake8.       Ihe    hrsu 
great  earthquake  on  record  occurred  373  ] 
U   C,  when  the  ancient  cities  of  Helice 
and  Bura  were  destroyed.     The  former 
was  one  of  the  chief  cities  of  Achaia.     In 
115  A.  U.  Antioch  was  destroyed;  and 
1147,   Catania    was    swallowed  up.      In 
178S,  the    earful  earthquake  of  Calabria 
happened    which   destroyed    forty   thou- 
sand persons.     In  1811   South  Carolina 
and  the  valley  of  the    Mississippi  were 
visited. 


I      The  craters  of  voletnOM  t«t  ••  Mfr*"/- 

I  valves;    where   there   is   no  safety-v;  .vo 
there  must  ho  an  earthquake.     Hixl)    m., 
earlhquiikes  have  oeeurred  on  the  coasf  f«f 
'  Chili.     An  earthquake  al  Lisbon,  capital 
I  of  Portugal,  in    175,'^>,  shook  all  the   seas 
I  of  Europe,  the  norih  of  Alriea,  and   llio 
'  West  Indies,  and  even  Lakr  Oitlann !     ll 
lasted  only  six  seconds,  but  in  that  time 
it  destroyed  one  quarter  of  the  dwelling- 
houses,  all  the  public  buildings,  and  IIO.OOO 
inhabitants  of  Lisbon. 

During  an  eartluiuako  at  Lima,  the 
officer  of  a  shio  says  that  the  ship  was 
violently  tossed,  iho  surface  of  the  wa- 
ter Loihtl,  iind  was  covered  with  dead 
fishes.  In  1790,  three  quarleis  of  the 
city  of  Lima  and  one  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  of  its  inhubitanls  were  destroy- 
ed by  an  earthquake. 

In  1822,  an  earthquake  destroyed  the 
greater  part  of  Aleppo  in  a  few  seconds, 
'  together  with  30,000  persons. 
i  On  the  1st  of  January,  1837,  an  earth- 
;  quake  visited  the  countries  along  the 
'  eastern  extremity  of  the  Mediterranean. 
'  The  towns  of  Damascus,  Acre,  Tyre,  and 
'  Sidon,  suir-jred  great  damage,  and  Tiberias 
I  and  Safet  were  entirely  destroyed,  with 
'  6,000  souls. 

On  the  29th  Septomber,  1717,  iho  town 
of  Guatemala  was  greatly  damaged  by  an 
earthquake,  and  enliroly  destroy.  1  by 
another  on  29th  June,  1773. 

Caraccas  was  destroyed  by  an  earth- 
quake, with  12,000  of  its  inhabitants,  in 

1812 

During  an  earthquake,  in  1797,  Quito 
was  greatly  damaged  and  Redbaniba  lev- 
elled to  the  ground,  and  40,000  persons 
;  wore  buried  in  the  ruins. 

The  town  of  Lima  has  always  been 
I  very  subject  to  earthquakes.  Besides  the 
1  earthquake  already  mentioned,  it  was  al- 
most  entirely  destroyed  on  20ili  October, 
1687,  and  again  on  the  28th  October,  17  40. 
During  the  latter,  the  porl  of  Callao  was 
inundated  by  the  sea,  and  every  soul  per- 
ished. Conception,  in  Chili,  was  destroy- 
ed  in  1730,  1751,  and  1835,  by  earth- 
quakes and  inundations. 

Islands  have  been  formed  by  the  force 
of  volcanic  action,  and  it  is  a  curious  fact 
that  earthquakes  frequently  have  an  op- 
posite effect.     For  instance,  m  the  year 


\/l 


*; 


^% 


*ff^ 


*. 


^1f 


82 


THE  PERUVIANS. 


867,  Mt.  Arcarey  fell  into  the  sea.  Many 
towns  in  Japan,  in  China,  were  covered  by 
the  sea  in  1596.  In  1638,  St.  Eapheme 
settled  into  a  lake.  In  1642,  Port  Royal 
sank  into  the  sea.  In  1819,  a  large  tract 
of  land  at  the  mouth  of  the  Indus  sank. 

Earthquakes  sometimes  cause  a  raise 
in  the  land.  During  an  earthquake  on  the 
Chilian  coast,  a  tract  of  land,  one  hundred 
miles  long,  was  elevated  from  two  to  seven 
feet.  At  the  same  place,  in  1835,  the 
land  was  raised  ten  feet.  This  caused 
a  great  wave  of  the  sea  twenty-eight  feet 
high,  which  rushed  in- and  destroyed  the 
town  of  Jalcagnano.  The  amount  of  land 
elevated  was  equal  to  fifty-seven  cubic 
miles,  or  365,000,000  of  the  great  pyra- 
mids of  Egypt.  During  an  earthquake  in 
the  eastern  part  of  Iceland,  in  1819,2,000 
square  miles  of  land  were  converted  into 
an  inland  sea;  at  the  same  time  7,000 
square  miles,  or  more  than  one  fourth  of 
Iceland  was  raised  ten  feet. 


THE  PERUVIANS. 

F  the  early  history 
of  the  Peruvians 
we  have  but  little 
knowledge,  owing 
to  that  barbarian 
(v  policy  exercised 
by  the  followers  of 
Cortez  and  Pizar- 
ro,  in  destroying  everything  belonging  to 
the  tribes  which  they  conquered.  Like 
the  Mexicans,  the  Peruvians  had  advanced 
in  art,  science,  and  learning,  u.  der  the 
administration  of  successive  wise  rulers, 
and  their  state  archives  contained  written 
histories  of  their  country,  from  the  dawn 
of  civilization  among  them,  till  the  period 
of  the  conquest.  But  the  superstitious 
Spaniards  committed  these  works  to  the 
flames,  because  of  their  heathen  origin, 
and  we  are  obliged  to  depend  almost  ex- 
cl  isiv'ily  upon  the  truth  o.'  tradition,  for 
the  knowledge  we  possess  of  the  history 
of  this  people  during  the  inca  dynasty. 

Like  other  aborigines  of  this  continent, 
liie  Peruvians  were  nomadic  tribes  and 
gained  a  subsistence  by  hunting  and  fish- 


]  ing.  Superstitious  in  the  extreme,  their 
I  objects  of  worship  were  as  numerous  ns 
j  those  of  the  Egyptians.  They  adored 
mountains  because  they  sent  forth  refresh- 
ing streams  ;  the  rivers  because  they  fer- 
tilized the  soil ;  the  trets  that  bore  fruit 
the  animals  they  slew  for  food,  and  the 
ocean  as  the  great  mother  of  fishes. 

Fear  seemed  to  be  the  great  pioinpter 
to  worship,  and  their  sacrifices  were  pro- 
pitiatory, rather  than  offerings  of  gratitude 
and  love.  They  erected  altars  to  tigers 
and  serpents,  sacrificed  to  the  directors 
of  storms,  whirlwinds,  and  volcanoes,  and 
frequently  offered  up  their  children  to  avert 
the  wrath  of  some  imaginary  malignant 
deity.  They  believed,  however,  in  a 
great  head,  a  universal  ruler,  to  whose 
will  all  other  gods  were  subordinate  ;  and 
to  the  benevolence  of  this  great  being,  they 
ascribed  the  elevation  of  their  country  and 
its  inhabitants  from  a  wilderness  and  fero- 
cious barbarism,  to  a  well  cultivated  and 
quite  civilized  region. 

According  to  the  chronicles  of  the  an- 
cient  priests,  and   the    traditions  of  the 
present  natives  of  Peru,  Divine  Omnipo- 
tence compassionately  sent  to  them  the 
wise  and  virtuous  Mamco  Capac  and  the 
beautiful  Oello,  his  sister,  and  his  wife, 
for  the  purpose  of  spreading  the  seeds  of 
civilization  among  them,  that  they  might 
reap  a  rich  harvest  of  happiness.     This 
event  occurred  about  four  hundred  years 
prior  to  the  Spanish  invasion.     Whence 
they  came,  none  knew,  but  it  was  general- 
ly supposed  that  they  came  dov.n    from 
heaven,  commissioned  to  increase  the  hap- 
piness of  the  human  race.     However  fab- 
ulous their  traditions  may  appear  concern- 
ing this  pair  and  their  acts,  there  can  be 
no  doubt  of  the  fact,  that  Manco  Capac, 
one  of  the  first  of  the  iiica  dynasty,  was 
a  man  of  extraordinary  abilities,  and  did 
much  toward  raising  the  people   from  a 
state  of  great  degradation,  to  comparative 
civilization  and  happiness.     He  performed 
the  double  duties  of  lawgiver  and  priest, 
instructing   them    in    those    principles  of 
jurisprudence,  founded  upon  social  sym- 
pathies, which  i-nd  to  moral  and  intel- 
lectual elevation  ;     nd  he  taught  them  a 
religion  far  more  rational  and  humane  than 
they  were  before  influenced  by. 

Manco   Capac   taught    the   wandering 


9  extreme,  their 
as  numerous  ns 
They  adored 
jnt  forth  refresh, 
jcause  they  fer- 

that  bore  fruit 
r  food,  and  the 

of  fishes. 

great  piotnpter 
ifices  were  pro- 
ingsof  j^ratitude 

ahars  to  tigers 
to  the  directors 

volcanoes,  and 
ihildren  to  avert 
nary  malignant 
however,  in  a 
uler,  to  whose 
ibordinate  ;  and 
reat  being,  they 
leir  country  and 
;rness  and  fero- 

cultivated  and 

cles  of  the  an- 
iditions   of  the 
divine  Oninipo- 
It  to  them  the 
Capac  and  the 
and  his  wife, 
ig  the  seeds  of 
lat  they  might 
;)pines3.     This 
hundred  years 
ion.     Whence 
it  was  general- 
le  dov,  n    from 
crease  the  hap- 
However  fab- 
ppear  concern- 
,  there  can  be 
Manco  Capac, 
I  dynasty,  was 
ilities,  and  did 
people  from  a 
to  comparative 
He  performed 
'er  and  priest, 
principles  of 
n  social  sym- 
)ral  and  intcl- 
taught  them  a 
1  humane  than 
I  by. 
he   wandering 


-4v 


f. 


am' 


"■fc,. 


824 


THE  PERUVIANS. 


Peruvians  to  lill  the  groinul  and  irrigate 
it  by  ciianging  the  course  of  streams,  while 
Oello  instructed  the  women  to  educate 
their  children  in  the  ways  and  precepts 
of  virtue,  and  to  obey  their  husbands.  He 
fixed  the  division  of  lands  and  enjoined 
every  man  to  devote  some  portion  of  his 
time  to  the  assistance  of  his  neighbor,  thus 
promoting  brotherly  love.  He  instructed 
the  people  to  show  their  gratitule by  wor- 
shipping the  sun,  the  great  ivifier  of 
creation,  and  thus  baied  a  system  of  re- 
ligion upon  one  of  the  best  of  human  vir- 
tues. In  a  little  tune,  wandering  tribes 
became  assimilated,  and  they  built  them- 
selves houses  and  overturned  their  altars 
red  with  the  blood  of  human  victims.  In 
a  word,  this  great  reformer  who  doubtless 
came  Irom  the  Toltecs  or  Aztecs,  then 
quite  a  civilized  people  inhabiting  Central 
America,  poured  a  flood  of  light  into  the 
dark  valleys  of  Peru  that  unfolded  the 
beauties  of  civilization  and  made  the 
"  des<'rt  blossom  as  the  rose." 

But  in  the  judicial  and  religious  sys- 
tems of  this  reformer,  there  were  seri- 
ous defects.  He  compelled  his  subjects 
to  submit  in  all  things  to  the  will  of  the 
incas,  or  kings,  und  materially  retarded 
the  progress  of  genius,  by  making  it  un- 
lawful for  a  sou  to  follow  any  profession 
different  from  his  father's.  The  latitude 
given  to  the  incas  had  a  mischievous  effect, 
and  his  successors  became  despotic  in  the 
extreme.  Their  subjects  were  permitted 
to  approach  them  only  with  rich  offerings 
in  their  hands,  and  the  people  of  a  whole 
province  have  been  destroyed,  to  gratify 
the  cruel  caprice  of  one  of  these  rulers. 
So  divine  and  reverend  was  the  inca  C(m- 
sidered  by  the  people,  that  when  he  died, 
many  human  victims  were  sacrificed  at 
his  tomb. 

Their  civil  and  religious  laws  were 
rigidly  administered,  and  many  of  them 
were  of  the  moei  sanguinary  nature.  For 
instance,  if  a  priestess  of  the  sun  (which 
office  was  filled  by  virgins),  broke  her 
oath  of  chastity  and  was  discovered,  she 
was  buried  alive,  her  paramour  suffered  the 
most  cruel  torments,  and  the  father,  moth- 
er, brothers  and  sisters  of  both,  were  con- 
sidered accomplices  and  were  all  thrown 
upon  a  funeral  pile  together  and  consumed. 
A  boundary  was  drawn  round  the  birth- 


place of  the  two  lovers,   and  it  was  for 
ever  afterward  left  a  wilderness. 

Many  remains  of  ancient  civilization 
may  still  be  seen  in  Peru,  especially  in  ; 
the  vicinage  of  Cuzco,  the  capital  of  thn  j 
incas.  There  are  remains  of  a  road  v\-  | 
tending  from  Cuzco  to  Quito,  a  ilist.nico 
of  fifteen  hundred  miles,  and  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  country  was  another  one  of 
nearly  equal  magnitude.  Many  fine  roads 
extended  from  the  cenliC  to  the  confini's 
of  the  empire,  when  Pizarro  entered  tli.it 
country.  Along  these  roads,  granaries 
were  built  at  certain  distances,  and  the 
incas  built  houses  of  charity  that  were 
constantly  open  to  the  weary  traveller. 
Temples,  fortresses,  and  canals,  were  to 
be  seen  in  all  directions,  and  the  amount 
of  gold  used  in  the  erection  of  fanes  and 
monuments,  was  immense.  In  the  im- 
perial gardens  of  Cuzco,  trees  and  shrubs 
of  gold  and  silver  were  formed,  and  every 
article  in  the  interior  of  the  palace  was 
made  of  the  precious  metals.  It  was 
these  immense  treasures  that  excited  the 
cupidity  of  the  Spaniards,  and  caused  tlie 
overthrow  of  the  great  empire  of  the 
incas. 

The  most  magnificent  of  all  the  Peru- 
vian temples,  was  that  of  the  sun  at  Cuzco, 
the  interior  of  which  is  represented  in 
our  engraving. 

The  mode  of  worship  in  the  temple 
of  the  sun,  was  similar  to  that  of  Heliop- 
olis  in  Egypt,  where  this  great  luminary 
was  adored.  His  golden  image  occupied 
a  large  portion  of  one  side  of  the  interior 
of  the  temple,  and  before  this  the  worship- 
pers prostrated  themselves  with  rich  offer- 
ings in  thei"-  hands,  which  were  received 
by  the  attentl  mt  priests.  Several  virgins, 
selected  from  the  first  families  in  the  king- 
dom, were  in  constant  attendance,  whose 
duty  it  was  to  make  oblations  of  wine  to 
the  burning  deity  and  chant  hymns  of 
praise  to  the  great  Father  of  Light. 

A  Dominican  monastery  now  occupies 
the  site  of  the  temple  of  the  sun,  and  it  is 
said  that  its  walls  are  those  of  that  ancient 
edifice.  It  is  also  related  that  the  altar 
stands  upon  the  very  spot  where  the  golden 
image  of  the  orb  was  adored.  Pinkerton 
remarks  that  "  a  nunnery  now  stands  on 
the  situation,  where  lived  the  virgins  of 
the  sun." 


^^rSfiW''' 


■■%■  ^*^^ 


HISTORY  OF  TH1  MASTODON  RACK. 


825 


I 


;,  and  it  was  for 
deniess. 

cient  civilization 
;ru,  especially  in 
ihe  capital  of  tli(\ 
ius  of  a  road  cx- 
Quito,  a  distance 
,  and  in  tlic  '<)wi;r 
s  another  ori«  ol' 
Many  fine  roads 
»e  to  the  confint's 
wrro  entered  tlmt 

roads,  granaries 
istances,  and  the 
;harity  that  were 

weary  traveller, 
i  canals,  were  to 
I,  and  the  amount 
;lion  of  fanes  and 
nse.  In  the  iin- 
,  trees  and  shrubs 
formed,  and  every 
f  the  palace  was 
metals.  It  was 
i  that  excited  the 
Is,  and  caused  tlie 
it   empire    of   the 

t  of  all  the  Peru- 
the  sun  at  Cuzco, 
is  represented  in 

lip  in  the  temple 
to  that  of  Heliop- 
lis  great  luminary 
en  image  occupied 
ids  of  the  interior 
3  this  the  worship- 
^es  with  rich  offer- 
ich  were  received 
Several  virgins, 
imilies  in  the  king- 
attendance,  whose 
iatioDs  of  wine  to 
chant  hymns  of 
er  of  Light, 
ery  now  occupies 
'  the  sun,  and  it  is 
lose  of  that  ancient 
ited  that  the  altar 
t  where  the  golden 
dored.  Pinkerton 
ry  now  stands  on 
fed  the  virgins  of 


HISTORY  OF  THE  MASTODON  MCE. 


S  far  as  is  known 
at    present,    the 


whole     race     of 
mastodons  is  ex- 
tinct.    There  is 
no    evidence    of 
their  existence  at 
this    day.      But 
the  numerous  re- 
mains of  them  found  in  this  country.in- 
dicate  that  they  have  at  some  period  lived 
in  great  numbers  on  this  continent.     At 
what  time    this  was,   we  shall  consider 
hereafter.     Their   range,  however,  does 
not  appear  to  have  extended  over  the  whole 
of  North  America,  but  to  have  been  con- 
fined mostly  to  tlie  rich  alluvial  valleys. 
Portions  of  two  skeletons  only  have  been 
found  north  of  Orange  county  in  the  state 
of  New  York.     East  of  the  Hudson  river, 
portions    of  two    have    been   discovered. 
Orange  countv,  however,  seems  to  have 
beenlhe  northern  limit  of  their  range,  and 
the   Hudson  river  the   eastern  boundary. 
Passing  then  south  through  New  Jersey, 
••.nd  tiience  westward  through  all  the  great 
western  valb'ys,  throughout  this  whole  re- 
gion t)i<!  bones  are  found  in  greater  or  less 
abundance.  The  sa-ltlicksof  Kentucky  have 
furnished  the  most  of  these  remains  ;  and 
it  has  been  stated,  that  from  one  of  these 
localities  alone,  portions  of  more  thpn  one  , 
hundred  skeletons    have   been   removed. 
This  species  of  mastodon  is  pecuhar  to 
this  continent,   no  remains  of  it  having 
been  found  in  any  other  portion  of  the 

e'obe  ,     ^  , .        •      1 

The  first  bones  and  teeth  of  this  animal 
were  found  as  early  as  1812,  at  Albany; 
and    were   noticed   in   the    philosophical 
transactions,  in  a  letter  from  Dr.  Mather 
to  Dr    Woodward.     In   1739,  a  French 
oflicer,  by  the  name  Longueil,  discovered 
soni  i  of  the  bones,  teeth,  and  tusks,  near 
the  Ohio  river  ;  and  the  next  year,  larger 
quantities  of  similar  bones  were  washed 
up  bv  the  current  of  the  same  river.     Al- 
ter ttVs  time  the  bones  were  occasionally 
found,  down  to  the  present,  but  often  very 
much  decayed,  and   never    in   sufficient 
quantities  t-.  make  an  entire  skeleton.    1  he 
scientific  world  is  much  indebted  to  the 


late  Mr.  Peale,  who,  with  great  labor  and 
at  much  expense,  procured,  in  1800,  suf- 
ficent  bones  to  enable  him  to  construct  a 
tolerably  complete  skeleton,  which  is  now 
in  the  Philadelphia  Museum. 

But   though  the  living  animal   is  un- 
known to   us,  the  aboriginal  inhabitants 
of  this    country  seem  to  have  been  ac- 
quainted  with   them.     Many   people   are 
I  disposed  to  place  very  little  dependence 
I  upon  Indian  tradition  ;  but  however  vague 
I  such  tradition  may  become  in  relation  to 
particular  facts,  by  long  transmission  from 
!  generation  to  generation,  yet  it  must  have 
I  something  real  and   true    for   its  origin. 
'  Such  we  believe  to  be  the  fact  in  relation 
!  to  this  animal.     We  shall,  therefore,  give 
I  a  few  of  these  traditions  as  concisely  as 
1  possible. 

I      In  President  JefTerson's  notes  on   V  ir- 
'  ginia,  we  find  the  following  tradition  of 
'  the  Indians,  in  relation  to  this  animal  :— 
"  That  in  ancient  times  a  herd  of  these 
tremendous  animals  came  to  the  Big  Bone 
Lick   and  began  a  universal  destruction 
of  the  bear,  deer,  elk,  buffaloes,  and  other 
animals,  which  had  been  created  for  the 
use  of  the  Indians. 

"  And  that  the  Great  Man  above,  look- 
ing down,  and  seeing  this,  was  so  enraged, 
that  he  seized  his  lightning,  descended  on 
the  earth,  and  seated  himself  on  a  neigh- 
boring w.ountain,  on  a  certain  mountain 
rock,  where  the  print  of  his  feet  are  still 
remaining,  whence  he  hurled   his  bolts 
among  them,  till  the  whole  were  slaughter- 
ed,  except  the  big  bull,  who,  presenting 
his  forehead  to  the  shafts,  shook  them  ott 
as  they  fell,  but  at  length,  one  of  them 
missing  his  head,   glanced  on  his  side, 
'  wounding  him  sufficiently  to  make  him 
!  mad  ;  whereon  springing  round,  he  bound- 
ed over  the  Ohio  at  a  leap,  then  over  the 
'  Wabash  at  another,  the  Illinois  at  a  third, 
and  a  fourth  leap  over  the  great  lakes, 
where  he  is  living  at  this  day." 

A  Mr.  Stanley,  who  was  taken  prisoner 
by  the  Indians,  and  carried  beyond  the 
western  mountains  to  where  a  river  runs 
westvvard,  says  that  these  bur.e?  abound 
there,  "  and  that  the  natives  described  to 
him  the  animal  to  which  these  belonged, 
as  still  living  in  the  northern  parts  o^  their 

coun'.ry."  ,         y^. 

The   following   we   extract   from   Ur. 


t; 


M 


■it,,. 


^^f 


'*iii. 


826 


CRETAN  OR  WALLACHIAN  SHEEP. 


Koch's  pamphlet  on  the  Missourium :  "  One 
man,  in  1816,  has  asserted  that  his  grand- 
father told  him  that  he  saw  one  of  these 
animals  in  a  mountain  pass  when  he  was 
hunting  ;  and  that  on  hearing  its  roar, 
which  he  compared  to  thunder,  the  sight 
almost  left  his  eyes,  and  his  heart  be- 
came as  small  as  an  inf^nt's." 

The  opinion  is  a  very  prevalent  one, 
that  these  animals  were  antediluvian,  and 
most  persons  reject  with  a  sneer  the  idea 
that  they  have  lived  dt  a  very  recent  pe- 
riod. But  the  .first  has  no  ground  or 
shadow  of  ground  for  belief,  and  all  the 
evidence  seems  to  show  that  they  have 
existed  not  many  centuries  sinoe. 

Mr.  Jefferson,  in  his  notes  on  Virginia, 
reasons  thus  :  "  It  may  be  asked  why  I 
insert  the  mammoth  as  if  it  still  existed  ? 
I  ask,  in  '■eturn,  why  I  should  omit  it  as 
if  it  did  not  exist?  The  northern  and 
western  parts  still  remain  in  their  abori- 
ginal state,  unexplored  and  undisturbed  by 
us,  or  by  others  for  us.  He  may  as  well 
exist  there  now  as  he  did  formerly,  where 
we  find  his  bones,"  &c.  The  same  rea- 
soning which  he  used  will  apply,  with  a 
diminished  force  it  is  true,  to  our  own 
times.  There  are  still  vast  portions  of 
this  continent  yet  unexplo.ed  by  the  white 
man,  and  inhabited  only  by  hostile  Indian 
tribes.  Vast  gorges  of  the  moimtains  in 
the  west  might  still  contain  the  living 
animal,  and  yet  we  be  utterly  ignorant  of 
his  existence.  But  we  will  not  contend 
for  his  present  existence.  We  will  ex- 
amine briefly  tht,  evidence  of  his  having 
lived  within  a  very  few  centuries. 

In  t  3  first  place,  the  testimony  of  the 
Indians,  but  a  few  years  back.  They 
stated  in  the  early  part  of  this  century, 
that  this  animal  still  lived  north  of  the 
Mis>''\iri  river.  They  called  it "  Pere  du 
^^.T  :  '  (father  of  cattle).  But  how  shall 
wd  reply  to  the  question,  if  the  animal  has 
lived  in  these  parts  of  the  country  within 
so  short  a  time,  why  did  not  the  early 
white  settlers  either  see  them  or  hear  of 
them  from  the  Indians  ?  To  this  we  an- 
swer, that  after  the  discovery  of  this  coun- 
try, the  settlements  of  it  took  place  very 
slowly,  ard  then  was  principally  in  those 
parts  which  have  not  apparently  been  in 
the  track  of  the  msstodons.  That  they 
did  not  hear  of  them  from  the  Indians  is 


not  wonderful,  for  '.here  was  nothing  to 
excite  inquiry  with  regard  to  them.  If  a 
bone  of  one  had  been  found  at  that  period, 
and  thus  inquiry  started,  doubtless  some- 
thing would  have  been  ascertained  far 
more  distinctly  than  has  since  been  learn- 
ed. 

That  they  were  not  antediluvian,  is 
settled  by  the  fact  of  their  being  found  in 
a  deposite  of  marl  and  peat,  all  of  whicli 
has  been  formed  in  modern  times,  and 
which  is  still  forming.  Moreover  the 
fact  that  the  bones  in  the  skeleton,  from 
Orange  county,  are  so  fresh,  containing  a 
large  portion  of  animal  matter,  and  that 
the  contents  of  the  stomach  and  intestines 
were  found  unchanged  apparently  by  time, 
is  strong  evidence  that  this  individual  has 
lived  at  a  very  recent  period,  and  we  may 
put  down  five  hundred  years  ago  as  the 
most  distant  time  at  which  he  lived  ;  and 
we  are  strongly  inclined  to  the  opinion, 
that  if  extinct  now,  they  have  not  been 
extinct  one  hundred  years  in  the  western 
parts  of  this  country. 


CRETAN  OR  WALLACHIAN  SHEEP. 

F  all  domestic  an- 
imals, the  sheep 
was  one  of  the  ear- 
liest if  not  the  ear- 
liest that  submitted 
to  man  ;  it  has 
spread  with  him 
as  he  has  spread, 
and  is  essentially  dependent  upon  his  care 
and  protection.  The  varieties  into  which 
it  has  ramified  are  extremely  numerous  ; 
in  fact,  each  country  has  its  own  pecu- 
liar breeds ;  but  these  breeds  arp  not  spe- 
cifically distinct  from  each  oilier ;  they 
produce  a  fertile  progeny,  with  the  blend- 
ed features  of  the  parents. 

The  Cretan  sheep  is  said  to  be  common 
in  Wallachia,  Hungary,  Austria,  and  the 
western  parts  of  Asia.  Like  its  relatives 
peculiar  to  Europe,  it  is  very  stupid,  but 
at  the  same  time  vicious  and  unruly,  and 
of  amazing  strength.  Its  horns  are  very 
large,  spirally  contorted,  adding  greatly  to 
its  striking  and  picturesque  appearance. 


t  antediluvian,  is 
eir  beina;  foiinJ  in 
peat,  ail  of  which 
lodern  times,  and 
;.  Moreover  the 
the  skeleton,  from 
fresh,  containing  a 
I  matter,  and  that 
lach  and  intestines 
ipparently  by  time, 
this  individual  has 
eriod,  and  we  may 
years  ago  as  the 
lich  he  lived  ;  and 
d  to  the  opinion, 
ey  have  not  been 
ars  in  the  western 


VGHIAN  SHEEP. 

F  all  domestic  an- 
imals, the  sheep 
was  one  of  the  ear- 
liest if  not  the  ear- 
liest that  submitted 
to  man  ;  it  has 
spread  with  him 
as  he  has  spread, 
ident  upon  his  caro 
arieties  into  which 
remely  numerous ; 
das  its  own  pecu- 
)reeds  ar^  not  spe- 

each  Oilier ;  they 
ly,  with  the  blend- 
nts. 

said  to  be  common 
',  Austria,  and  the 
Like  its  relatives 
is  very  stupid,  but 
is  and  unruly,  an(3 
Its  horns  are  very 
I,  adding  greatly  to 
esque  appearance. 


* 


:.;r 


828 


JULY. 


''•lis 


Its  wool,  if  wool  it  could  be  called,  dif- 1 
fers  materially  in  quality  and  texture  from  | 
that  of  our  breeds.     Instead  of  being  curly 
and  matted,  or  felted  into  a  mass,  it  is 
of  great  length,  perfectly  straight,  close 
set,  and  beautifully  fine,  falling  from  the 
middle  of  the  back  on  either  side  of  the 
animal  almost  to  the  ground.     On  the  face 
the  hair  is  short  and  of  a  rusty  black,  on 
the  body  it  is  white.     To  this  description 
it  may  be  added,  that  the  horns  of  the  male 
mostly  rise  almost  perpendicularly  from 
the  skull,  making  a  series  of  spiral  turns 
in  their  ascent,  the  first  turn  being  the  lar- 
gest, while  in  the  female  they  diverge,  ta- 
king a  lateral  direction.     In  the  specimen, 
however,  to  which  we  allude,  and  wliich 
is  a  male,  they  extend  laterally  from  the 
skull,  and  after  the  first  turn  take  a  down- 
ward   sweep.     It  is  probable,  therefore, 
that  as  far  as  this  point  is  concerned,  there 
is  a  certain  degree  of  individual  variation 
among  the  breed,  as  indeed  might  be  ex- 
pected, seeing  as  we  do  how  unfixed  are 
all  the  external  characters  of  our  well- 
known  domestic  races,  and  how  soon  they 
are  capable  of  being  modified. 

According  to  Belon  the  present  variety 
occurs  in  Crete,  it  appears  to  have  been 
known  in  ancient  times,  and  is  considered 
by  some  to  be  alluded  >o  botii  by  Oppian 
and  Pliny.  With  respect  to  the  latter 
writer,  this  is  very  doubtful.  In  the  elev- 
enth book  (cap,  xlv.)  he  alludes  to  an  ani- 
mal called  strepsiceros,  the  horns  of  which 
were  erect,  and  wound  round  by  a  spiral 
wreath  of  rugaj,  lyre-shaped  and  pointed  ; 
this  animal,  he  adds,  is  called  Addax  in 
Africa.     It  is  doubtless  an  antelope. 

Buflfon,  in  the  third  volume  of  the  sup- 
plement to  his  work,  gives  a  figure  of  the 
male  and  female  of  this  curious  race,  from 
a  drawing  sent  to  him  by  Mr  Collinson, 
of  London,  from  whom  he  was  in  the  hab- 
it of  receiving  many  communications,  but 
he  obtained  no  information  connected  with 
their  history. 

No  animal  can  be  more  unlike  the  Sar- 
dinian Mouflon  than  the  Cretan  or  Walla- 
chian  sheep,  and  if  that  animal  be  indeed 
the  origin  of  our  domestic  breeds,  it  proves 
to  what  an  extent  the  modifications  of 
physical  structure  may  be  carried  by  the 
arts  of  man  and  a  combination  of  causes. 
The  Moulion  is  covered  with  coarso  brit- 


tle hairs,  having  nothing  of  wool  in  their 
character  ;  yet  as  early  as  history  carries 
us  back,  has  the  sheep  been  ceh.brated  as 
a  wool-bearing   animal  ;    and    thout,'h  its 
•vool  becomes  lost  in  hot  climates,  such  is 
not  the  case  in  the  countries  wii  "c  the 
Mouflon  now  exists.     The  Mouflon,  wild, 
active,  and  vigorous,  tenants  the  cnigiry 
summits  of  the  rocky  mountains  in  Sar- 
dinia, Corsica,  and  some  of  the   Greek 
islands.     It  is  also  abundant  in  the  moun- 
tain ranges  of  southern  Siberia,  where  it 
is  subject  to  a  cold  rather  than  to  a  tem- 
perate climate  ;  everywhere,  however,  it 
preserves  its  own  characiers  without  alter- 
ation, while  in  its  domesticated  and  de- 
generate  descendants,   if  such    they  be, 
which  has  yet  to  be  proved,  we  see  a  per- 
petual series  of  variations,  a  multitude  of 
breeds  presenting  diverse  cliaracters,  but 
all  of  greater  or  less  value   to  man,  on 
whose  care  and  protection  they  all  equally 
rely. 


JULY, 

ULY,  so  named  in 
compliment  to  the 
great  Roman  com- 
mander, was  called  I7 
the  Saxons  Hiy-Mo-  | 
nat,  or  the  season  of 
hay  harvest. 

As  January  is  the 
coldest,  July  is  the 
hottest,  month  of  the  year.  The  direct 
influence  of  the  sun,  indeed,  is  continually 
diminishing  after  the  summer-solstice  ;  but 
the  earth  and  air  have  been  so  thoroughly 
heated,  that  the  warmth  which  they  retain 
more  than  compensates,  for  a  time,  the 
diminution  of  solar  rays.  The  effects  of 
this  weather  upon  the  face  of  nature  soon 
become  manifest.  All  the  flowers  of  the 
former  month  diminish  in  beauty,  shrivel, 
and  fall ;  at  the  same  time  their  leaves 
and  stalks  lose  their  verdure,  and  the 
whole  plant  hastens  to  decay.  Many 
plants,  however,  do  not  begin  to  flower 
till  July  :  these  are,  particularly,  the  aro- 
matic, the  succulent,  or  thick-leaved,  sev- 
eral of  the  aquatic,  and  of  those  called 


g  of  wool  in  their 
r  as  history  carries 

been  celebrated  as 
I  ;  and  lh()ii|,d>  its 
lOt  cliinalos,  such  is 
ninitriea  wii  'e  the 
'J'he  MouHiiii,  wild, 
tenants  the  cragijy 

niounliiitis  in  Sar- 
inie  ot"   the   Greek 
indant  in  the  nioiin- 
1  Siberia,  where  it  j 
thor  tiian  to  a  teni- 
where,  however,  it 
aciers  withf)nt  aller- 
meslicated  and  de-  : 
,  if  such    they  be,  | 
roved,  wo  see  a  per-  j 
ions,  a  multitude  of 
erse  characters,  but 
i  value   to  ntan,  on 
ilion  they  all  equally 


LY,  so  named  in 
)mpliment  to  the 
reat  Roman  com- 
lander,  was  called  by 
le  Saxons  Hsy-Mo- 
at,  or  the  season  of 
ay  harvest. 

As  January  is  the 

oldest,    July    is   the 

3  year.     The  direct 

ndeed,  is  continually 

summer-solstice ;  but 

e  been  so  thoroughly 

ith  which  they  retain 

lies,  for   a  time,  the 

rays.     The  effects  of 

e  face  of  nature  soon 

lU  the  flowers  of  the 

sh  in  beauty,  shrivel, 

ne  time   their  leaves 

lir  verdure,  and   the 

s   to   decay.      Many 

not  begin  to  flower 

particularly,  the  aro- 

or  thick-leaved,  sev- 

and  of  those  called 


JULY. 


829 


compound-flowered,  in  which  many  florets 
are  collected  into  cme  head,  as  the  thistle, 
sowthistle,  hawkweed,  &c.  The  lily  is 
one  of  the  principal  ornaments  of  gardens 
in  this  inontn;  and,  with  its  delicate  white 
flowers,  gives  an  agreeable  sensation  ol 
coolness  to  the  eye 


..  Wt'lcome,  yc  hIiihIps  '■  ye  liowcry  lliicketH,  Imil ; 
\^^  idfty  pilifs!  yo  vcni'iiibli'  hiikh  ; 
Y<!  awlirs  Willi,  nrHoiimlin^?  o'l-r  tlio  uterp  ; 
Ui'lirii'us  is  your  tihelu-r  to  the  Houl, 
As  to  the  hunted  hurt  llie  sallying  apring." 

TH()M50(J. 

Bathing,  loo,  is  a  delijihtful  amusement 
at  this  season  ;  and  happy  is  the  swimmer 
Tiral^mal   c^e;.ion   seem  oppressed    who  is  able  to  enjny  the  full   pleasure  of 
.J^L^iuring  this  hot  -  -n^^tlns   heal   di      e™^ 
,  either  seek  the  recesses  of  -oods,  o    ^e-    ha      U,         r  ^^^^^^^  __^  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^^ 

sort  to  pools  and  streams    t^o  cool  ^hur     >otM^t,  ^^1^       ^^^^^^^      ^^^^.^^^   .^ 

bodies  and  quench  their  thirst.                     I  ^.^^V     ^,„,,,e    to  support    himself    in 

llie  insect  tr.be,  however,  are  pecular-^  _|^P^,^^^^  ^^,,,,^^^i,,^^ 

ly   active    and   vigorous    m    the    hottest       c  wa  u-  ^.^^  ,^^ 

leather.      These    minute    features     r      the  putt^at^  ^^  ^^^^     ^^^^  ,^^^_^  ^^ 

for  the  most  part^  ammal,  being  ''^^^''^^  ^  3'^  ^  have  acquired  the  art,  it  is  a 
in  the  spring,  and  dying  at  the  approach  X'rim.s"  n  iatigi.i..g  exercise.  Where- 
of winter:  they  have  therefore  no  '>'"«  'f  "  /"  „;;;,tl  "  ountries,  where  from 
to  lose  in  indolence,  but  must  make  the  ^^^.X^^Z^  .^xes  are  con- 
uiost  of  their  short  existence;  especial  y  ^^^  ,;\7,^, ''  "  l,^  ^^e  water,  they  be- 
as  their  most  perfect  state  contmues  ot.ly  ' -fj^'^"  f  ^^j.  „  ..biou.  creaU.res. 
duringapartof  their  lives.  ^I'l^uVsv^^mmuR  and  diving  with  the  utmost 
..udergothreechanges   in  eachon^ht^^^^^  ^^^^^^  together,  without  ia- 

they  are  transformed  to  a  totally  Uitlc rent 

appearance.  From  the  egg,  they  first  ^^"'  f^'^"'^-^^^^;,^  j^.^j^  ^f  this  period  of 
turn  into  caterpillars  or  maggo  s,  ^^^^'^  \  .j!^JZZl\lch  an  evaporation  from 
they  crawl  upon  many  f-!v  ^'^  J.  :;^;  1 1  lu  a  oT  ,he  earth  and' waters,  that, 
tremely  voracious  ;   many  kinds  of  them  ,tej,  ,r  „f  ^       ^^ather, 

doing  much  mischief  in  '^e  gardens  a      ,  a Oe r  -  -  -^^^^^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^^^y  ^^.^^^  ^^^ 

wmelimes  devouring   the    leaves  ot    the    ^  f^  y  collected  fluid  in  ex- 

.c^.,   nd  even  the  herbage  on  the  ground  jlngU^^^^^^^^^^^^  ^_^j  ^^^^^  ,.^^. 

'l.i.^«  their  state  -  '  -  ^P^;,  ihe^qu-tly  belt  down  the  full-grown  grain 
next  become  aure'    s^,  or  chrysalides.,  ytnen  ^  i       J       .  j  ,         the  comtry  with 

they  resemble  an  infant  closely  wrapt  i,i  '  J,;  '^.j^  l^  \,Z,,,,  „„,  H|htning 
swaddling  clothe..bc|nt.i.,Mm>less.  taking    ^"""...^^^.^...^^...y  these  summer  storms. 


no  iiourishmen'  aod,  indeed,  i.avirig  no 
appearance  of  li  iJife  creatures  From 
this  state  they  bur.t  »>»i  H  into  :he  p-.^rlect 
insect,  shining  in  all  .x  ■  ^olc-s,  furnished 
with  wings,  full  of 


generally  i-ccompany  these  summer  storms. 
Lightning  is  a  coUectiou  of  electric  Hire 
drawn  from  the  healed  air  and  earth,  and 
accumulated  in  the  clouds,  which,  at  length 


•  K      ■  f  1.   Of     ;.v  r%Zr^|ov  n;;^rged.  suddenly  let  go   their  con 

with  wings,  full  of  -'-'^f'.'^fr,'!,"^    tents  in  the  form  of  broad  flashes  or  fiery 
propagating  its  species  and  feed  ng,  for  the    terns  ^^^^^^^^  ^^^^ 

most  part,  on  thin  liquid  aliments  such  as  ,  da   9       i  lit         intercepted  by  buildings, 
the  h^ney  of  flowers  and  juices  oammaJs  J    a^^^  o  ^^^J^^        >^^^^  ^^^^^^ 

Most  of  them  continue  thus  but  a  shor  j  "f  ^^J^         j  ^y  the  shock.     Thunder  is 
time.     The  male  impregnates  the  female  ;  i  are  i,nauereu  oy  ^ 

she  lays  her  eggs  ;  and  they  both  die. 

This  is  a  favorite  season  lor  the  en- 
tomologist. Large  copper  and  other  but- 
terflies are  very  active  during  this  period 
—the  large  tiger  and  lacky  moths  are  also 
to  be  found 

The  I'lxury  of  cooling  shades  is  now 
peculiarly  grateful;  and,  indeed,  is  scarce- 
ly desired  in  this  climate  longer  than  a 
few  weeks  at  the  height  of  summer. 


i  are    oiiancniv.    ^j    

1  the  noise  occusioned  by  the  explosion,  ami 
therefore  always  follows  the  lightning  ; 
the  sound  travelling  slower  to  our  ears 

'  than  the  light  to  our  eyes.  Just  the  same 
thing  happens  when  a  gun  is  tired,  at  a 
distance.  When  we  hear  the  thiinder, 
therefore,  all  danger  from  that  flash  ol 
lightning  is  over  ;  and  thunder,  though  so 
awful  and  tremendous  to  the  ear,  is  ol  it- 
self entirely  harmless. 


830 


THE  NELSON  MONUMENT,  YARMOUTH—CLASSIFICATION  OF  ROCKS. 


The  effects  of  the  groat  heat  on  the 
human  body  arc  agreeably  allayed  by  the 
various  wholesome  fruits  which  Provi- 
dence offers  at  this  season  for  the  use  of 
man.  Those  which  are  now  ripe  are  of 
all  the  most  cooling  and  refreshing ;  as 
currants,  gooseberries,  raspberries,  straw- 
berries, and  cherries.  These  are  no  less 
salutary  and  useful,  than  the  richest  prod- 
ucts of  the  warmer  climates. 

Fowls  moult,  or  Jose  their  feathers, 
during  this  month.  The  smaller  birds  do 
not  moult  so  early ;  but  all  renew  their 
plumage  before  winter,  when  they  are  in 
their  finest  and  warmest  clothing. 


THE 


NELSON  MONUMENT, 
MOUTH. 


YAR- 


HE  Nelson  monu- 
;  ment  at  Yarmouth  is 
a  fluted  column,  130 
feet  in  height,  erected 
on  the  South  Denes, 
between  the  barracks 
and  the  mouth  of  the 
haven.  The  monu- 
ment may  be  distinguished  at  sea  by  tho 
distant  mariner  :  there  would  scarcely  be 
a  more  appropriate  landmark.  In  the 
fonndation-stono  a  plate  was  placed,  on 
which  was  engraved  an  inscription  in 
Latin.  It  is  so  rarely  that  these  composi- 
tions are  calculated  to  touch  the  heave  and 
imagination,  that  their  absence  is  scarcely 
to  bo  regretted.  Their  brevity  at  least 
would  be  deserving  of  commendation.  Un- 
less, however,  there  exist  popular  senti- 
ments shared  in  by  all  rankr.,  from  the 
palace  to  the  fisherman's  cabjn,  it  is  in 
vain  that  even  monuments  are  raised,  for 
they  can  excite  no  adequate  and  appro- 
priate interest.  Tho  truest  fame  is  that 
which  gives  feeling  of  pride  to  the  hum- 
blest man,  who  thus  feels  himself  a  par- 
taker in  it.  It  is  this  which  strengthens 
the  heart  of  a  nation,  nerves  it  in  the  hour 
of  danger,  and  gives  that  confidence  which 
leads  to  actions  in  which  feelings  of  self- 
vanish,  and  men  become  heroic,  whether 
it  bo  on  the  field  of  battle  or  in  civil  con- 
tests.    A  monument  which  cherishes  high 


feelings  of  honor  and  public  virtue  ainoiii; 
all  classes,  without  exciting  their  fanati- 
cism, may  truly  be  termed  national. 


CLASSIFICATION  OF  ROCKS. 

PRIMARY     FORMATIONS. 

^  HERE  are  two  prin- 
f^ciples   on  which  the 
classification    of   the 
ri^cks  composing  the 
crust  of  the  earth  may 
proceed.     In  the  one 
j^fj^y^lPi^    they  are  regarded  as 
V  '  mineral    compounds, 

and  arranged  according  to  the  similarity 
of  their  composition  and  physical  proper- 
ties. In  the  other,  they  are  viewed  as 
produced  at  successive  periods,  and  class- 
ed according  to  their  age.  The  latter  is 
evidently  best  adapted  to  geology,  con- 
sidered as  a  history  of  the  earth  and  of 
those  revolutions  it  has  undergone,  and  is 
now  generally  adopted  in  ail  cases  where 
the  relative  age  of  the  various  formations 
can  be  determined.  This,  however,  is 
not  always  the  case,  when  the  former 
must  be  chosen,  and  the  rocks  named 
simply  as  mineral  compounds. 

Some  rocks  are  stratified,  or  divided 
into  beds  of  great  length  and  breadth  com- 
pared to  their  thickness ;  others  formed 
irregular  masses  of  no  determinate  shape. 
This  is  the  foundation  of  the  first  great 
division  of  rocks  into  stratified  and  un- 
stratified ;  the  former  supposed  to  have 
been  deposited  from  water,  the  latter  to 
have  been  produced  by  igneous  agency 
Some  rocks,  it  also  appeared,  were  crys 
talline  in  their  structure,  others  uncrystal- 
line,  and  composed  of  fragments.  Divi- 
ding the  rocks  on  this  principle,  the  clasdi- 
fication  is  found  nearly  to  correspond  with 
the  former  ;  the  igneous  or  massive  rocks 
having  m  general  a  crystalline  structure, 
the  stratified  being,  on  the  other  hand, 
mostly  fragmentary.  There  is,  however, 
a  class  of  rocks  participating  in  both 
characters,  being  stratified  in  form  but 
crystalline  in  structure.  These  are  sup- 
posed to  have  been  originally  strata  con- 
sisting  of  fragments  like  the  others,  but 


CRE  are  two  prin- 
Ihs  on  which  llie 
saification  of  the 
ks  composing  tho 
st  of  the  earth  may 
iceed.  In  tho  ono 
y  are  regarded  as 
leral  compounds, 
g  to  the  similarity 
d  physical  propnr- 
ey  are  viewed  as 
periods,  and  chiss- 
;e.     The   latter  is 

to  geology,  con- 
f  the  earth  and  of 

undergone,  and  is 
in  all  cases  where 
various  formations 
Ihis,   however,  is 

when    iho   former 

the  rocks  named 
wunds. 

atifiod,  or  divided 
1  and  breadth  com- 
ss ;  others  formed 
determinate  shape. 
1  of  the  first  great 

stratified  and  im- 
siipposed  to  have 
ifater,  the  latter  to 
y  igncons  agency 
peared,  were  crys 
),  others  uncrystal- 

fragments.  Divi- 
rinciple,  the  clasdi- 
to  correspond  with 
s  or  massive  rocks 
ystalline  structure, 
n  the  other  hand, 
rhero  is,  however, 
licipating  in  both 
dfied  in  form  but 
Those  are  sup- 
finally  strata  con- 
ke  the  others,  but 


-S.i-Sm 


tl  ^ 


>* 


'»*? 


M 


832 


CLASaiK !     \T!ON  OF  HOOKS. 


to  have  hrcn  exi>osc(l    to   iii'nnsn   beat,  j 
wliii'h  has  nitcrfil  tht-ir  strui  tiire  and  ar-  ' 
ringed  tlie  malorials  of  which  t'lcy  were' 
coiiiposeil  ill  iit'W  (onus.     On  tbi  account 
thoy  are  named   metaniorphic  rovkc,  as 
having  l)epn  melamorj)hosed  or  chmged 
ill  ilieir  forms. 

C)f  these  three  classes,  only  the  stra'if- 
ed  r.)cks  occur  in  a  certain  known  chroi»- 
oloj^ical  order.  Havijig  been  deposited 
from  water,  at  the  bottom  of  lakes  or  the 
sea,  the  oldest  or  first-formed  beds  are  ne- 
cessarily the  lowest,  and  are  covered  suc- 
cessively by  newer  and  newer  strata. 
Hem.  J,  where  these  rest  on  each  other  in 
an  undisturbed  position,  there  is  no  dilfi- 
culty  in  discovering  the  order  of  time  in 
which  they  were  formed,  and  what  is  ob- 
scure in  one  place  is  often  cleared  up  in 
another.  But  in  the  igneous  rocks  no 
such  order  is  discoverable.  They  have 
been  produced  in  every  period,  and  exhibit 
few,  if  any,  certain  marks  by  which  their 
relative  age  can  be  determined.  This  is 
also  true  of  the  mctamorjihic  formations, 
which  have  been  produced  at  various 
times,  and  from  strata  of  very  different 
ages.  From  their  mode  of  formation, 
however,  they  are  usually  found  in  the 
lowest  position,  and  covered  by  all  the 
other  strata  which  may  be  present,  and 
hence  have  been  named  primitive  or  pri- 
mary rocks  by  the  Wernerians,  and  sup- 
posed to  constitute  part  of  the  original 
structure  of  the  globe. 

These  three  classes  of  rocks  are  gen- 
erally distinguished  in  all  systems  of  geol- 
ogy. The  varieties  of  the  igneous  and 
metamorphic  rocks,  to  which  particular 
names  have  been  assigned,  are  also  very 
nearly  the  same.  More  diversity  prevails 
in  the  division  and  classification  of  the 
stratified  rocks,  almost  every  author  alter- 
ing the  system  of  his  predecessors  to  suit 
his  own  views.  The  arrangement  of 
Werner,  the  celebrated  German  mineral- 
ogist, is  still  the  best  known,  and,  with  a 
few  modifications  from  recent  discoveries, 
the  most  suitable  for  our  purpose,  and  we 
shall  consequently  adopt  it  here.  Ac- 
cording to  this,  there  are  five  divisions  of 
stratified  rocks.  The  first,  or  primary, 
corresponds  to  those  classed  above  as 
metamorphic.  The  t.3cond  division,  or 
the  transition  rocks,  includes  the  oldest 


uiiiili<  red  beds,  and  was  so  nnmpil  as  form- 
ing ti  |ia»sai.'P  from  llie  crystalline  to  (hi- 
fi:ii»mentary  lormations.  In  these,  anin 
:  iiiai  t  bf-j^iii  to  appear,  though  in  l»>ss 
rofi)  ■  than  in  the  third  or  sccoiniiry 
iiods,  w  fh  are  also  more  truly  frnu  i<nta- 
ry  in  siucture.  These  are  followed  by 
th«  tertiary  form  tions,  with  still  morn 
nb'ii.  lain  remain  of  animal?'  and  vegrt  • 
i)!«53,  belonging  also  to  species  more  clo».- 
ly  fUi»d  to  tlioHH  now  (  xisting  on  the 
earth.  Th'  fifth  and  last  class  are  ih 
rf^jen*  c?  nlluvial  formations,  produced  by 
cause-  now  in  m  tiial  operofi"  ■it  the 
globe  To  '.ese  we  shall  Mictcssivcly 
advert,  >  i -mg,  at  the  same  time,  the 
igneou**  rookt  connected  with  them  in 
nature.  lhoug>  n  might  seem  nn  re  so 
cntifit-  to  have  described  the  latter  t'v 
thorns  Ives,  «t  this  arTin^^einent  appears 
better  adapted  for  poov'r  llustration,  and 
even  for  giving  vne'  otions  of  th' 
structure  of  the  •       ■ 

In  examining  a  .tt  of  p-imary  rocks, 
like  the  Highlands  oi  SeoiUn.'',  or  the  simi- 
lar parts  of  oil  r<  intrjes,  an  arrange- 
ment of  this  kiiul  lb  jften  seen.  In  ihfi 
highest  and  central  part  of  the  6lrtri«t  ar« 
granite  mountains,  enclosed  by  none*  ct 
gneiss,  quartz  rock,  mica-slate,  clay-t>l»ve, 
limestone,  and  other  primary  strata.  L 
was  at  one  time  believed  that  these  fol- 
lowed each  other  in  the  order  now  stated, 
but  further  investigation  has  shown  that, 
though  very  common,  this  arrangement  is 
by  no  means  invariable.  The  order  is  not 
only  reserved,  but  the  rocks  alf^rnate  or 
are  mixed  with  each  other  in  various 
ways. 

The  mineral  characters  of  rocks,  unless 
where  they  can  be  illustrated  by  speci- 
mens, are  not  very  interesting,  and  we 
shall  therefore  avoid  entering  into  details. 
Granite,  as  formerly  stated,  is  a  compound 
of  quartz,  felspar,  and  mica,  sometimes  also 
containing  hornblende.  Its  varieties  are 
very  numerous,  two,  three,  or  all  the  four 
minerals  above,  being  mixed  in  almost 
every  degree  of  relative  abundance  ;  but 
that  of  quartz,  felspar,  and  mica,  i«  by  far 
the  most  common,  and  is  that  most  usually 
understood  by  this  name.  Gneiss  agrees 
willf  it  in  composition,  in  almost  every 
respect,  but  is  divided  into  beds  or  strata, 
and  has  often  a  slaty  structure.     Mica- 


so  nnniPt!  as  form- 
crystalline  to  l)i'' 

In  thesn,  nniiii 
r,  ihoinjli  in  U'ss 
iird  or  seroiiiliiry 
re  truly  frn>;  wtta- 
I  iiro  foll'twi'il  by 
,  with  Btill  iniiri! 
itnHJ^  !»n(l  vegpi  • 
lecies  more  cIoim!- 
■  I  xisting  on  the 
last  class  arf>  0' 
ions,  produced  hj 
operafi"'  'm  the 
ilinll  succi;»sivf|y 
I  same  time,  the 
3(1  with  them  in 
ht  seem  mure  sci- 
.(1  the  latter  ^v 
angeinent  appi  .u 
'  llustratioii,  and 
otions  of  thf 

tofp'jmary  rocks, 
oU»>n.'',  orthesimi- 
tries,  an  %rrange- 
ten  sftrio.  In  thfl 
of  the  olnrict  ar« 
osed  by  aone:*  ct 
a-slate,  clay-»Uve. 
rimary  strata,  h 
ed  that  these  ful- 

order  now  slated, 

n  has  shown  that, 

lis  arrangement  is 

The  order  is  not 

rocks  alfirnate  or 

other  in  various 

jrsof  rocks,  unless 
istrated  by  speci- 
ileresting,  and  we 
lering  into  details, 
ted,  is  a  compound 
ica,  sometimes  also 
Its  varieties  are 
ree,  or  all  the  four 

mixed  in  almost 
e  abundance  ;  but 
and  mica,  i"  by  far 
is  that  most  usually 
le.  Gneiss  agrees 
I,  in  almost  every 
into  beds  or  strata, 

structure.     Mica- 


CLAB8IFICATI0N  OF  ROCKS. 


833 


slate  consists  of  quartz  and  mica,  arrant; 
III  disli     t  layers,  and,  consequeni,      ! 
vidcB  m        TV  thin  beds,  which  are 
curiously  I  Jit  and  contorted.     Somei, 
(luiiriz  i«  '"'»"'l  alone,  composing  quart 
or  quariv.rock.     Clay-slate  is  well  known 
ns  the  common  rooling  slate  with  which 
li  uses    are   covered.      Limestone  is  not 
V ,  ry  abundant, but  is  remarkable  as  furnish- 
,,iB  the  various  statuary  and  ornani'iiinl 
marbles  of  commerce,   the  former  being 
pure  white,  the  latter   vu"",i8   shades  of 
gray,  yellow,  green,  red,  <     black 
these  rocks,  other  beds  of  less  ini 
occasionally  occur,  which  it 
sary  to  mention. 

The  manner  in  which  the 
been  formed  has  given  rise 
troversy,  and  the  theory  o 
above  is  only  partially  recei 


us  analogies  in  astronomy,  but  only  its 
ological  bearing  can  be  iiere  considered. 
L)r.  James  Iluiton,  a  singular,  encnlric, 
,ut    profound    philosopher,  who  lived  in 
Edinburgh  in  the  end  of  the  last  century, 
U.iH  the  merit  of  proposing  the  true  theory 
of  these  rocks,    lie  considered  that  granite 
Wits  an  igneous  production,  similar  to  lava, 
but  dillering  from  this  in  const  '|iience  of 
having  been  formed  in  the  interior  of  the 
earth,  below  other  rocks,  and  not  like  the 
..„  u,    1  iller  on  the  surface.     He   also  thought 
With  I  that  "'any  of  the  peculiaritie  .  in  the  prima- 
Mice  '  ry  beiis  were  owing  to  their  being  in  con- 
tact with  this  rock,  which  had  hardened 
them    and    given   them    their   crystalline 
,ve    aspect.     He    had   long  looked    for   some 
'  confirmation  of  this  opinion  in  nature^  but 


allied    geology  then  was  little  understood  in  Scot 
.•  u    v„.„,  Werner'  land,  and  no  description  of  its  rocks,  or 

above  IS  only  partial  y  «cei.  Werner     a  .  ^^.^^^j 

supposed  that  the  «'">«>»«-';'=*  "    \'  ^'^    IdK Thron  avisit  iti  Perthshire.he  ex- 
globo    were  originally    «!'««"'  «f''' J  ^ 

waters  of  a  primeval  ocean,  which  grad   ;  am mc  ^^^^^^  ^.^^^^^  ^^^^ 

ually  deposited  t-  various  substa..^^^^^        S  mounuins  of  the  Grampians  to  the 
contained.     First  of  all,  the  granitt  rocKs  ^  Blair-Aihol.     The 

were  thrown  down  in  vast  beds  extending    ryj      ,  ^^^^^^^^^        .iJe   of   the   Tilt 

over  the  whole  globe.     Then  ^'',«  g"!';l^ '^^  ^.T^f""^  rock,  mixe^'    near  the 
followed,  succeeded  m  turn  by  mica-slate,    consist  "1^  '^.^^  ^„  „,,^  ,,^,^1- 

clay-slate,  and  the  o^r,n.u^J^-^^  M"  litLount'ains.     Here  Hutton 
tions,  investing  the   earth  '"successive  ^  ^^^  ^^ 


^^^ Here  Hutton 

found  what  he  had  long  looked  for,  veins 
of  granite  running  into  the  strata  above, 
and^was  so  delighted  with  this  confirma- 
tion of  his  speculations  as  to  shout  loud 
for  joy,  so  that  his  companions  thought 
him  out  of  his  senses.  In  Glen  Tilt  the 
changes  on  the  stratified  rocks  near  the 
granite  are  very  interesting,  and  fully  con- 
firm the  Huttonian  view  of  their  origin. 
There  seems  little  doubt  that  the  marble, 

•      1    1  TLpf  it  was  then  '  of  ureen,  yellow,  white,  or  gray  colors, 

observe  in  the  heavens.      1  hat  it  was  then    oi   g        ,  y  .^ 

a  muss  of  intensely-heated  ^'^P"^  ^'^'^^f  i  2"it"elriltered  by  the  vicinity  of  'he 

cooUng  down,  condensed  and  ^hrew  off   a    m^^^^^^^^^^ 

the  various  ph.'     *   which   surround  th«    >g"««^™^f  Carrara  is  now  known  to 

sun;  that  the  ^^^^ -«  j,^"  ^j^^^r^s  ,  b  a"^^^^^^^  changed  by  heat, 
of  molten  rocks,  and  thus  acquirea  its  e  „,,„,.|eg  jje  in  a  wild  desolate  valley, 
present  form;  continuing,  however,  to  cool,    The  quarrjes  lie  in  ^a  w  ^^ ^  ^^  ^^/^ 


shells,  almost  like  the  coats  of  an  onion. 
His  opponents  soon  pointed  out  the  in- 
consistency of  this  theory  with  facts,  and 
the  impossibility  of  finding  a  mass  of  water 
capable  of  dissolving  these  rocks,  and  his 
aqueous  ch.:08  is  now  almost  forgotten. 
Some,  however,  seem  inclined  to  put  an 
igneous  one  in  its  place.  They  affirin  that 
the  solar  system  was  originally  a  neoula, 
like  one  of  those  which  astronomers  still 


I 


first  the  granite  rocks,  and  next  the  gneiss, 
with  its  associated  beds,  formed  on  the 
surface,  while  the  interior,  still  ret..ining 
its  heat  and  fiuidity,  produces  earthquakes 
and  volcanoes,  with  changes  in  the  eleva- 
tion of  the  land,  and  dislocations  m  the 
strata,  by  contracting  as  it  cools  still  ibore 


at  some  distance  from  the  town,  on  the 
western  declivity  of  the  Apennines  ;  and 
the  marble  has  probably  been  produced  by 
the  igneous  agency  elevating  these  moun- 
tains. In  many  other  places,  similar  rocks, 
once  believed  to  be  the  oldest  on  the  earth, 
are  found  to  have  been  formed  at  a  period 


strata,  by  contracting  as  it  cools  still  itiore.   "^.'7'" ';i^,„ically  considered,  is  very 
This  theory  is  supported  by  many  ingeni-  I  which,  geoiogicauy        ^^^______ 


mmma 


mmmmmm 


T^W 


*»*«i, 


'••.lii, 


834 


CLASSIFICATION  OF  HOCKS. 


recpiil.  Thus  the  micn-slnte  forming  Mont 
Blanc,  the  monarch  of  European  moun- 
tains, changes  (jradualiy  into  a  rof  k  iiower 
than  the  coni  strata  round  Edinburgh,  and 
this  giant  hill  is  probuhly  more  recently 
formed  than  the  diminutive  Arthur  Pcit. 
There  is  thus,  therefore,  no  ground  for 
considering  them  as  portions  of  the  origin- 
al structure  of  the  globe,  at  least  in  their 
present  condition. 

These  rocks  are  found,  ilmost  with  the 
same  characlers,  over  nc  irly  the  whole 
earth,  and  from  its  lowest  plains  to  the 
summits  of  its  highest  mountains.  In 
Europe,  they  have  been  traced  from  Fin- 
land and  the  North  Cape  to  the  mountains 
of  Spain  and  Greece,  on  one  hand,  and, 
on  tlie  other,  from  the  western  isles  of 
Scotland  to  the  far  distant  Urals  on  the 
borders  of  Asia.  Humboldt  found  them 
in  the  mountains  of  South  America,  and 
in  North  America  they  are  seen  encircling 
flie  great  Canadian  lakes  and  the  still 
more  vast  hasin  of  the  Mississippi  and 
Missouri.  They  form  the  extreme  south 
of  both  the  old  and  new  continents  in  the 
cape  of  Good  Hope  and  Terra  del  Fuego. 
In  Asia,  they  are  not  less  dominant  from 
Siberia  and  the  Altai  mountains  to  the 
lofty  chain  of  the  Himalaya. 

The  character  these  rock.s  impress  on 
the  scenery  is  often  very  diverse,  but  in 
all  a  spt-cies  of  harsh  rugged  grandeur 
prevails.  Each  rock  formation  has  its 
own  peculiar  character,  arising  from  its 
nature  and  mode  of  decomposition,  and  is 
also  favorable  to  the  growth  of  certain 
plants  and  trees,  which  form  as  it  were 
its  appropriate  clothing.  There  is  a  har- 
mony prevailing  throughout  nature,  and 
all  its  various  kingdoms,  which  show  it  to 
bo  the  work  of  infinite  goodness  and  in- 
telligence. Not  only  are  the  various  parts 
cf  the  material  world  beautifully  adapted 
to  each  other,  but  also  fitted  to  inspire  the  ' 
mind  of  man  with  those  elevated  emotions 
which  constitute  his  truest  and  most  last- 
ing enjoyments. 

But  these  rocks  possess  other  recom- 
mendations, in  the  rich  mines  they  con- 
tain and  the  valuable  gems  or  precious 
stones  found  in  them.  The  rock-crystal 
of  the  Cairngorm  mountains  was  at  one 
time  in  great  reputation  as  an  ornamental 
stone  ;  and  the  amethyst,  topaz,  and  some  ; 


others,  more  rarely  occurred.  Garnets 
of  various  sizes  are  common  everywhere 
it)  the  mica-slate,  hut  are  too  abundant  to 
have  much  value.  In  Hra/il,  this  rock 
contains  diamonds,  more  commonly,  how- 
ever, found  in  the  debrii  or  iijgments 
near  primary  mountains.  The  emerald 
of  Peru,  the  ruby,  and  corundmn,  seem  to 
be  derived  principally  from  the  granite, 
but,  for  obvious  reasons,  arc  more  fre- 
quently sought  for  among  the  jjravel  form- 
ed by  its  decay.  Less  attractive,  but  more 
valuable,  are  the  mines  for  which  these 
rocks  are  justly  cflcbraled.  The  granite 
of  Cornwall  conliiins  those  stores  of  tin 
which  drew  to  its  shores  Phrenician  mer- 
chants, centuries  before  the  Roman  legions 
had  crossed  the  channel.  In  Sweden,  the 
gneiss  contains  the  richest  mines  of  copper 
and  iron.  Gold  and  silver  are  also  found 
in  it  in  that  land,  but  in  less  abundance 
than  in  the  Ural  chain  which  bounds 
the  eastern  side  of  the  great  plain  of 
northern  Europe.  From  the  mines  in 
these  mountains,  and  in  Siberia,  the  Rus- 
sian government  has  obtained,  in  the 
twenty  years  before  1842,  about  250,000 
lbs.  troy  of  gold,  besides  silver  and  platina. 
But  the  expense,  even  in  that  country, 
where  labor  costs  little,  is  enormous,  and 
the  profit  far  less  than  might  be  imagined. 
The  rich  mines  of  America  are  also  in 
similar  rocks,  where  igneous  formations 
have  disturbed  and  altered  the  regular 
beds. 

A  speculative  author  of  the  seventeenth 
century  maintained  that  the  original  fuim 
of  the  earth  was  a  great  plain,  hills  and 
mountains  being  the  effects  of  that  curse 
pronounced  on  the  ground  for  the  sin  of 
man.  This  notion  could  only  have  origi- 
nated in  the  mind  of  a  native  of  a  level 
country,  who  knew  little  of  the  true  econ- 
omy of  nature.  To  an  eye  accustomed  to 
a  mountain  land,  few  objects  are  more 
tiresome  than  a  great  extent  of  level  ground 
with  no  inequalities,  and  such  regions  are 
seldom  so  fertile  as  those  of  more  veued 
outline.  In  like  manner,  the  igneous 
rocks,  with  the  disruption,  C'^'^ioion,  and 
alteration,  they  produce  on  the  connected 
beds,  have  been  looked  on  as  inconsistent 
with  a  system  of  perfect  wisdom,  and  benef- 
icence. Yet  this  view  undoubtedly  arises 
merely   from  our  ignorance   and  partial 


..i^^ 


curred.  Garnets 
inion  evorywhorp 
)  too  nhniiilRrit  to 

Urnzil,  this  rock 

cotnmonlv,  how- 
irii  or  iiajjmpnts 
s.  Th«)  emerald 
onindtim,  tionrn  to 
from  the  granite, 
m,  nro  more  frc- 
l  tlin  gravel  form- 
ttraclivo,  hut  more 

for  which  these 
Btl.  The  gmnito 
lose  stores  of  tin 
i  I'litt'iiician  mer- 
lio  llomnri  legions 
In  Sweden,  the 
St  mines  of  copper 
fer  are  also  found 
I  less  abundance 
n  which  hounds 
e  great  plain  of 
m  the  mines  in 
Siberia,  the  Kus- 
ohtained,  in  the 
2,  about  250,000 
silver  and  plaiina, 

in  that  country, 
is  enormous,  and 
ight  be  imngined, 
jrica  are  also  in 
neous  formations 
ered   the   regular 

if  the  seventeenth 
the  original  luim 
t  plain,  hills  and 
Dcts  of  itiiil  curse 
nd  for  the  sin  of 
I  only  have  origi- 
niitive  of  a  level 
of  the  true  ocon- 
ye  accustomed  to 
jbjecls  are  more 
Mit  of  level  ground 
8uch  regions  are 
e  of  more  veued 
ner,  ;he  igneous 
n,  c"-'f..giori,  and 
on  the  connecied 
m  a»  inconsistent 
visdorr,  and  benef- 
mdoubtedly  arises 
anco   and   partial 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


11.25 


b4|28     12.5 
■^  1^    12.2 

!:    1;°    III  2.0 


1.8 


1.4    IIIIII.6 


^%. 


7^ 


HiotograpMc 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WES7  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


: 


,V4 


^^ 


Li 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


<\ 


S 


V 


.Mt 


CICEKO. 


835 


1 


.1 


knowledge  of  the  innumerable  relations 
subsisting  among  the  various  portions  of 
the  universe.     So  far  as  we  do  see,  we 
can  perceive  that  this  irregularity  is  pro- 
ductive of  beauty  and  a  higher  harmony  ; 
that  these  igneous  rocks  decompose  into 
a  rich  and  fertile  soil ;  and  that  these  con- 1 
vulsions  promote  the  natural  drainage  of  j 
the  land,  so  essential  to  its  salubrity,  and  ; 
give  rise  to  springs,  as  these,   by  their 
union,  to  brooks  and  rivers ;  while  the 
rocks  in  which  change  and  alteration  are 
most  evident,  are  the  most  prolific  of  those  : 
minerals  on  which  so  much  of  the  comfort  \ 
and  happiness  of  men  depend.     It  is  in- 
deed rarely  safe  for  man  to  propose  amend- 
ments in  that  system  which  Infinite  Wis- 
dom has  adopted. 


CICERO. 


HE  concurrent  testi- 
mony of  ancient  and 
modern  times  has 
placed  Demosthenes 
and  Cirtro  side  by 
side  as  the  two  great 
masters  of  ancient 
oratory,  each  eminent 
beyond  comparison,  in  his  own  style,  in 
his  own  tongue,  and  above  his  own  coun- 
trymen. Each  of  them,  by  that  brilliant 
talent,  was  introduced,  from  stations  com- 
paratively humble,  to  the  highest  office 
and  honors  which  they  could  enjoy,  and 
each  has  thus  won  an  imperishable  name. 
Demosthenes,  however,  is  eminent  only 
as  a  public  man ;  Cicero  is  no  less  dis- 
tinguished as  a  philosopher  and  man  of 
letters  than  as  a  speaker  ar.d  statesman. 

Marcus  Tullius  Cicero  was  born  at 
Arpinum,  a  small  inland  town  of  the 
province  of  Latium,  about  68  miles  east 
of  Rome,  in  the  648th  year  after  the 
foundation  of  the  city,  and  the  106th  be- 
fore the  birth  of  Christ.  He  was  of  very 
ancient,  but  not  of  patrician  family.  Both 
his  grandfather  and  lather  were  men  of 
talent,  possessed  of  influence  in  their 
neighborhood  ;  and  the  father  in  particular 
was  intimate  with  many  leading  men  of 
his  day.  Bad  health  however  compelled 
him  to  live  in  retirement,  which  he  em- 


ployed in  cultivating  the  talents  of  his 
two  sons,  Marcus  and  Quintus,  who  had 
in  addition  the  ablest  instruction  which 
Rome  could  afibrd.  Oratory,  the  Roman 
law,  and  the  Greek  language,  literature, 
and  philosophy,  were  the  principal  branch- 
es of  the  future  statesman's  study.  As  an 
amusement,  both  at  this  time  and  later  in 
life,  he  practised  composition  in  verse ; 
and  he  appears  to  have  regarded  his  efforts 
with  some  complacency.  None  of  them 
however  are  preserved  ;  and  to  judge  from 
the  extracts  which  remain  in  Cicero's 
prose  writings,  the  loss  has  not  detracted 
from  his  reputation.  The  warlike  con- 
stitution of  republican  Rome  required  that 
all  her  citizens  should  be  trained  to  arms ; 
and  it  was  in  compliance  with  the  law, 
and  not  from  any  turn  for  the  military  pro- 
fession, thai  at  the  age  of  17,  B.  C.  89, 
and  in  the  following  year,  Cicero  served 
in  the  Marsic  war.  This  however  was 
but  a  short  interruption  to  his  laborious 
course  of  preparation  for  the  bar,  to  which 
he  steadily  applied  throughout  the  bloody 
civil  war  of  Marius  and  Sylla.  In  addition 
to  his  professional  studies  he  attended 
diligently  the  lectures  of  those  Greek 
philosophers  who  visited  Rome,  and  prac- 
tised declamatior'  in  Greek  as  well  as  in 
Latin.  He  first  appeared  as  an  advocate, 
at  the  age  of  26,  B.  C.  81 ;  to  which  year 
belongs  his  earliest  extant  speech  in  de- 
fence of  Quinctius.  In  the  following  year 
he  defended  Sextus  Roscius  from  a  charge 
of  parricide  ;  and  obtained,  according  to 
his  own  report,  by  his  speech  on  this  oc- 
casion, which  is  preserved,  a  place  among 
the  first  orators  of  Rome.  He  gained  the 
cause  ;  and  h'!.i  exertions  in  this  case  were 
the  more  honorable,  because  the  prosecu- 
tion was  abetted,  for  private  reasons,  by 
the  unscrupulous  and  all-powerful  dictator 
Sylla.  Soon  afterward  a  prudential  care 
of  his  health,  which  in  youth  was  delicate, 
not  unconnected  probably  with  the  appre- 
hension of  Sylla's  resentment,  induced 
him  to  undertake  a  tour  in  Greece  and 
Asia,  which  filled  up  two  years.  During 
this  period,  however,  he  continued  the 
study  of  philosophy  and  oratory,  frequent- 
ing the  schools  of  the  most  eminent  mas- 
ters wheresoever  ho  went,  both  with  ap- 
plause and  advantage.  B.  C.  67,  after  the 
i  death  of  Sylla,  ho  returned  to  Rome. 


CICERO. 


887 


K-: 


Of  mature    age    and    highly-cuUivated 
talents,  he  now  applied  his  whole  mind 
to  the  practice  of  the  law,  through  which 
he   looked   to  attain    power   and   dignity. 
The  profession  of  an  advocate  at  Rome 
was  different  in  many  respects  from  that 
of  a  barrister  of  our  times  ;  there  was  no 
body  of  men  set  apart,  and  called  to  the 
bar  ;  but  a  client  chose  his  advocate  from 
the  learned,  or  the  powerful,  or  the  elo- 
quent, and  the  courts  were  open  to  the 
advocacy   of  all    alike.      Such   services 
were    gratuitous,    for    in    the   republican 
times  it  was  disgraceful  to  accept  money 
for  pleading  a  cause  :  still  the  profit  of  an 
advocate  in  large  practice,  though  indirect, 
was  certain,  especially  if  he  looked  Ibr- 
ward  to  advancement   in    public   life,  to 
which  the  power  of  conferring  obligations 
on  a  great  many  persons,  and  at  the  same 
time   of  displaying  talents  for  business, 
very  mainly  contributed.    It  was  necessary 
for  those  who  aspired  to  the  highest  offices 
of  the  state  to  pass  in  rotation,  with  cer- 
tain intervals  between  the  holding  of  e",  Vi 
office,  through  those  of  inferior  digni.^  ; 
and  in  the  second  year  after  his  return, 
B.  C.  75,  he  obtained  the  lowest  of  them, 
being  made  one  of  the  quaestors.     These 
were  a  set  of  ofBr  ers,  who  had  various 
duties,   principally    connected    with   the 
collection  and  administration  of  the  lev- 
enue,  both  at  Rome  and  in  the  provinces: 
Cicero  was  sent  into  Sicily,  where  he 
discharged  his  functions  with  usefulness 
and  honor.     He  thought  that  his  services, 
even  in  this  subordinate  station,  could  not 
fail  to  command  attention  :  but  being  dis- 
appointed in  this,  finding  that  his  absence 
had  passed  unnoticed,  and  that  the  people, 
in  his  own  words,  had  dull  ears,  but  quick 
eyes,  he  resolved  thenceforward  to  remain 
at  Rome,  and  to  apply  himself  still  more 
closely  to  the  business  of  the  forum,  even 
to  the  relinquishment  of  those  provincial 
governments  which  were  the  mobt  lucra- 
tive situations  that   the  republic  had  to 
bestow. 

During  the  next  five  years  Cicoro|8 
life  was  spent  in  the  quiet  practice  of  his 
profession  :  but  none  of  his  speeches  dur- 
ing this  period  have  been  preserved,  ex- 
cept the  series  in  accusation  of  Verres, 
late  governor  of  Sicily,  a  man  infamous 
for   extortion   and   cruelty.     Cicero  was 


Jiot  fond  in  general  of  acting  the  part  of 
an  accuser  ;  hiil  his  connexion  witli  Sirily 
seemed  to  onforct!  ilie  claim  of  the  prov- 
ince on  his  services.  Verres  wiis  sup- 
ported by  the  powerful  influence  of  an 
oligarchy  interested  in  screening  abuses 
by  which  they  had  themselves  profited  or 
hoped  to  profit ;  but  the  case  against  him 
was  so  strong  that  in  an  early  stajje  ty(  the 
proceedings  he  went  into  exile,  rather  tluui 
encounter  the  full  exposure  of  his  mis- 
deeds cotisequent  upon  a  public  trial.  Of 
the  seven  orations  on  this  8ul>iect,  tliere- 
fore,  two  only  (those  entitled  Ditnnatio 
nwA  Actio  prima)  were  spoken  ;  the  others, 
however,  are  finished,  as  if  for  delivery. 

B.  C.  69,  Cicero  tilled  the  oflice  of 
aedile  ;  and  B.  C.  66,  that  of  prtetor.  At 
the  close  of  the  latter  he  declined,  accord- 
ing to  his  resolution  above  noticed,  to  take 
a  provincial  government,  which  magis- 
trates usually  looked  to  as  the  means  of 
repaying  with  interest  the  enormous  sums 
which  were  usually  spent  in  gaining  an 
election,  either  in  direct  or  indirect  bribe- 
ry. His  views  no  doubt  were  directed  to 
the  speedy  attainment  of  his  highest  ob- 
ject of  ambition,  the  consulship  ;  still,  as 
his  fortune  was  small,  and  rendered  .ide- 
quate  to  the  support  of  his  rank  and  dignity 
only  by  a  strict  economy,  his  moderation 
in  this  'sped  is  honorable. 

If  summer  of  the  year  64  B.  C, 

Ciceij  !>•,  -'   le  a  candidate  for  the  con- 
sulship, aiid  having  gained  his  election, 
eiitered  with  the  new  year  upon  the  duties 
of  his  office.     The  state  of  Rome  at  this 
lime  was  very  critical.     An  extensive  plot 
was  organized,  not  to  change,  but  rather 
to  subvert  the  constitution,  by  the  entire 
destruction  of  the  party  in  possession  of 
the  good  things  of  the  slate,  and  the  trans- 
fer of  both  their  political  influence  and 
private    wealth  to  other   hands.     At  the 
head   of  this   plot   was   Lucius  Sergius 
Catilina,  a  man  known  and  feared,  of  an 
illustrious  family,  but  ruined  alike  in  for- 
tune and  character,  and  fitted  for  the  des- 
perate course  into  which   he   had   now 
plunged,  by  a  brain  fitted  to  contrive,  and 
a  hand  and  tongue  to  carry  through,  the 
most  daring  and  atrocious  design.     His 
chief  supporters  were  men  similarly  situ- 
ated, of  high  rank,  expensive  and  profligate 
habits,  and  neither  fortune  nor  expecta 


■I*  M 


•     i 


tions,  except  in  the  lottery  of  public  life  ; 
in  short,  it  was  a  sort  of  Calo  street  con- 
spiracy, except  that  the  actors  were  of  the 
highest,  instead  of  the  lowest  class.     In 
Rome,  it  would  appear,  from  the  caution 
considered  necessary  in  dealing  with  the 
conspirators,  that  a  large  proporiion  of  the 
physical  force  of  the  metropolis  must  have 
been  well  inclined  to  assist  their  views. 
These  were,  to  murder  the  consuls  and 
those  senators  whose  character  and  talents 
were  to  be  feared  ;  to  set  fire  to  the  city, 
and  in  the  confusion  to  seize  the  capital, 
and  gain  possession  of  the  seat  and  en- 
signs of  the  government.     The  support 
of  a   large  body  of  soldiers,  trained  to 
bloodshed  in  the  wars  of  Marius  and  Sylla, 
and  settled  upon  grants  of  land  in  different 
parts  of  Italy,  was   readily  promised  to 
men  who  held  out  th^  prospect  of  further 
benefit   from  civil  strife.     Not  only  the 
existence  of  the  plot,  but  full  particulars 
of  its  progress  were  made  known  to  Cicero 
through  private  channels  of  information  ; 
but  it  was  found  very  difficult  to  obtain 
legal  evidence  to  convict  the  actors.   Cati- 
line,  though   the   matter    was    generally 
notorious,  maintained  the  bold  front  of  in- 
nocence ;  and  even  appeared  in  the  senate 
on  the  8th  of  November.     Provoked  at 
this  effrontery,  Cicero  burst  out  in  what 
appears  to  have  been  an  unpremeditated 
invective   against   him— the  first  oration 
against  Catiline.     In  this  he  exposes  the 
vices  of  Catiline's  life,  goes  into  the  de- 
tail of  his  past  and  future  schemes,  and 
urges  him  to  depart  into  exile,  or  repair 
to  his  associates,  and  begin  the  civil  war 
which  he  had  resolved  ;  and  he  explains 
the  lenity  or  seeming  weakness  of  his  own 
conduct,  in  opening  the  door  of  escape  to 
such  a  criminal,  on  the  ground  that  many 
could  not  or  would  not  see  the  impending 
danger.     If,  he  argued  on  the  other  hand, 
the  chief  criminal  be  once  driven  into  open 
rebellion  :  "  none  can  be  so  silly  as  not  to 
see  there  is  a  plot,  none  so  wicked  as  not 
to  acknowledge  it ;  whereas,  by  taking  off 
him  alone,  though  this  pestilence  would 
be  somewhat  checked,  it  could  not  be  sup- 
pressed ;  but  when  he  has  thrown  him- 
self into  rebellion,  and  carried  out  his 
friends   along  with   him,  and  drawn  to- 
gether the  profligate  and  desperate  from 
all  part3  of  the  empire,  not  only  this  ripen- 


ed plague  of  the  republic,  but  the  very 
root  and  seed  of  all  our  evils  will  be  ex- 
tirpated with  him  at  once."  He  concluded 
with  a  grand  burst  of  indignation  against 
Catiline,  who,  though  startled  at  this  open 
attack,  rose  to  defend  himself,  but  was 
overpowered  by  trie  general  outcry  of  the 
senate.  He  exclaimed,  in  fury,  "  Since 
I  am  thus  entrapped  and  driven  headlong 
by  my  enemies,  I  will  extinguish  the  (lame 
raised  about  me  by  the  common  ruin,"  and 
rushing  out  of  the  senate-house,  quitted 
Rome  that  evening,  and  made  all  haste 
into  Tuscany,  where  the  discontented 
soldiery  were  already  in  motion. 

This  open  step  removed  one  portion  of 
Cicero's  difficulties;  and  fresh  evidence 
being  obtained,  the  principal  conspirators 
who  remained  in  Rome  were  arrested. 
To  bring  them  to  an  open  trial,  or  to  n- 
tain  them  in  custody,  was  alike  thought 
unsafe,  on  account  of  the  danger  of  a 
rescue  ;  and  the  question  of  their  fate  was 
remitted  by  the  consuls  to  the  senate.  It 
was  determined,  chiefly  through  Cicero's 
eloquence,  that  they  should  forthwith  be 
put  to  death  ;  an  illegal  act,  to  be  justified 
only  by  that  extreme  necessity  which  over- 
rules all  law.  The  fourth  and  last  Catili- 
narian  oration  is  on  this  subject.  In  the 
evening  Cicero  was  conducted  to  his  own 
house  by  the  senate  in  a  sort  of  triumph, 
while  the  people  thronged  the  way,  salu- 
ting him  with  acclamations  as  the  savior 
and  second  founder  of  Rome.  These  im- 
portant  transactions  took  place  on  the  fifth 
(the  None,  according  to  the  Roman  calen- 
dar) of  December,  to  which  Cicero  con- 
tinually refers  as  the  most  glorious  epoch 
of  his  life. 

After  his  elevation  to  the  consulship,  a 
decided  change  is  to  bo  traced  in  Cicero's 
political  feelings  and  conduct.  For  his 
proinotion  he  had  depended  on  the  demo- 
cratic elements  of  the  constitution  ;  having 
gained  it,  it  became  his  object  to  secure 
the  good-will,  and  to  identii  his  own  in- 
terests with  those  of  the  senate  and  no- 
bility. In  this  he  never  completely  suc- 
ceeded. There  was  always  a  prejudice 
against  him  as  a  new  man,  that  is,  one 
who  had  no  hereditary  honors  to  boast ; 
and  the  eminent  service  which  he  had 
done  was  rendered  distasteful  and  almost 
ridiculous  by  his  constant  reference  to  it 


1 


CICERO. 


839 


ic,  but  the  very 
Jvils  will  be  ex- 
'  He  concluded 
lignalion  against 
rtled  at  this  open 
limself,  but  was 
ral  outcry  of  the 
in  fury,  "Since 
driven  headlong 
nguish  the  (lame 
nimonnjiii,"  and 
e-house,  quitted 

made  all   haste 
fie    discontented 
motion. 
(1  one  portion  of 

fresh  evidence 
pal  conspirators 

were  arrested. 
n  trial,  or  to  n- 

15  alike  thought 
he  danger  of  a 
of  their  fate  was 
•  the  senate.  It 
irough  Cicero's 
lid  forthwith  be 
:t,  to  be  justified 
sity  which  over- 
1  and  last  Catili- 
lubject.  In  the 
icted  to  his  own 
sort  of  triumph, 
I  the  way,  salu- 
s  as  the  savior 
ne.  These  im- 
!ace  on  the  fifth 
e  Roman  calen- 
ich  Cicero  con- 
glorious  epoch 

16  consulship,  a 
aced  in  Cicero's 
iduct.  For  his 
sd  on  the  demo- 
titution  ;  having 
)bject  to  secure 
tif  his  own  in- 
senate  and  no- 

completely  suc- 
ays  a  prejudice 
m,  that  is,  one 
nnors  to  boast ; 
which  he  hud 
eful  and  almost 
;  reference  to  it 


in  public  and  private,  and  by  his  over- 
weening vanity  and  egotism.  When  the 
time  of  need  came,  he  experienced  the 
lukewarmncss  of  his  new  friends.  There 
was  one  Clodius,  a  dissolute  young  patri- 
cian, in  whose  prosecution  for  a  gross 
violation  of  religion  and  public  decency 
Cicero  had  been  concerned.  Clodius  be- 
came his  mortal  enemy  ;  and  being  sup- 
ported for  party  purposes  by  Ca;sar  and 
Pompe) ,  he  procured  the  enactment  of  a 
law  by  which  any  one  who  had  taken  the 
liCe  of  1  citizen  uncondemned  and  without 
trial  should  be  interdicted  from  fire  and 
water,  a  phrase  equivalent  to  outlawry  and 
excommunication  combined.  This  was 
manifestly  aimed  against  Cicero,  who  by 
the  advice  of  ins  friends  withdrew  into  a 
voluntary  exile,  in  March,  B.  C.  58;  and 
shortly  after  his  departure  a  law  was 
passed  forbidding  him  to  appear  within 
400  miles  of  the  capital.  He  took  up  his 
abode  in  Greece.  No  part  of  his  life  is 
less  dignified  than  this  :  short  as  it  proved, 
his  downfall  overwhelmed  him  with  grief; 
and  he  so  far  lost  the  control  of  his  feel- 
ings and  conduct,  that  his  mind  was  even 
supposed  for  a  time  to  be  disordered.  His 
exile  however  did  not  last  for  a  year  and 
a  half,  a  law  having  been  carried,  after 
much  opposition,  to  authorize  his  return. 
He  was  received  with  extraordinary  hon- 
ors ;  his  whole  journey  through  Italy  re- 
sembled a  triumphal  procession,  and  his 
entry  into  Rome  was  attended  with  still 
greater  honors.  "That  one  day,"  he 
says,  "  was  worth  an  immortality ;  when 
on  my  approach  toward  the  city,  the  senate 
came  out  to  receive  me,  followed  by  the 
whole  body  of  the  citizens,  as  if  Rome 
itself  had  left  its  foundations,  and  marched 
forward  to  embrace  its  preserver." 

We  can  not  number  among  Cicero's 
good  qualities  the  strength  of  principle 
and  moral  courage  which  are  the  only 
security  for  honest  and  consistent  conduct 
in  stormy  times.  He  had  experienced 
the  ill  effects  of  provoking  the  powerful, 
and  had  no  time  to  be  made  a  martyr  a 
second  time.  Hence  we  find  him  con- 
nected sometimes  with  Porapey,  some- 
times with  Csesar ;  ill  at  ease,  as  is  evi- 
dent from  his  correspondence,  with  the 
state  of  public  affairs,  and  seldom  satisfied 
with  his  own  conduct.     Wo  abstain  from 


attempting  to  conduct  the  reader  through 
the  tortuous  maze  of  Roman  politics  ;  in 
which,  for  some  years,  Cicero  ceased  to 
take  a  leading  part.  He  still  continued 
the  frequent  exercise  of  his  rhetorical 
talents  in  defence  of  accused  persons,  and 
applied  his  leisure  hours  to  the  study  of 
philosophy  and  the  composition  of  his 
philosophical  writings. 

B.  C.  51,  Cicero  was  obliged,  by  an 
alteration  of  the  law,  to  take  the  govern- 
ment of  a  province,  which  he  had  hitherto 
declined.  Cilicia  fell  to  his  share.  It 
had  been  greatly  pillaged  by  the  preceding 
governoi' ;  and  Cicero  found  abundant  em- 
ployment in  healing  the  disorders  which 
his  predecessor  had  caused.  The  military 
transactions  of  his  proconsulship  were  un- 
important; though  he  would  willingly  have 
magnified  some  slight  successes  into 
ground  for  a  trium[)h. 

He  returned  to  Rome  in  January,  but 
just  before  the  march  of  Cajsar  into  Italy. 
Reduced  to  the  necessity  of  choosing  be- 
tween the  party  of  that  daring  leader  and 
the  senate  headed  by  Pompey,  he  hesita- 
ted, but  took  the  side  which  consistency 
required  him  to  adhere  to.  But  when 
Pompey  found  it  expedient  to  evacuate 
Italy  and  retreat  into  Greece,  Cicero  re- 
mained behind,  and  negotiated  for  a  recon- 
ciliation with  Caesar,  who  required  from 
him  no  more  than  neutrality.  A  tempora- 
ry check  to  Caesar's  fortunes  again  revealed 
the  real  bent  of  Cicero's  wishes  :  he  es- 
caped to  Greece,  and  joined  the  army  of 
Pompey.  In  the  field,  however,  he  was 
no  acquisition.  Discontented  and  dis- 
pirited, he  vented  his  spleen  in  evil  fore- 
bodings and  bitter  discouraging  jests.  Af- 
ter the  battle  of  Pharsalia  he  lost  all  hope, 
and  returned  to  Italy  in  October,  B.  C. 
48  ;  where,  after  remaining  many  months 
in  suspense,  he  received  from  the  con- 
queror the  assurance  of  safety. 

From  this  time  to  the  death  of  Caesar, 
B.  C.  44,  Cicero's  political  importance 
ceased ;  and  he  lived  in  retirement,  chiefly 
employed  in  the  composition  of  his  phi- 
losophical works,  of  which  these  few  years 
produced  an  ample  harvest.  Caesar's  mur- 
der brought  him  again  into  public  life.  In 
that  act  he  had  no  hand,  probably  being 
regarded  by  the  conspirators  as  too  timid 
and  undecided  to   be  trusted  in  such  a 


i 


840 


8WORDFI8H. 


cause.  But  he  expressed  his  concurrence 
and  joy  after  the  deed  was  done ;  and 
lamented,  more  to  the  credit  of  his  fore- 
sight than  of  this  morality,  that  Antony 
had  not  been  included  in  Csesar's  doom. 
To  Antony  he  was  inveterately  hostile  ; 
and  it  was  with  the  view  of  making  him 
odious,  and  stimulating  the  senate  and  the 
people  against  him  and  his  friends,  that 
the  fiimous  series  of  orations,  which,  in 
imitation  of  Demosthenes,  Cicero  entitled 
his  Piiilippics,  was  composed  and  spoken. 
His  hopes,  however,  and  those  of  his 
party,  were  finally  destroyed  by  the  for- 
mation of  what  is  called  the  second  trium- 
virate, the  union  of  Octavius  with  Antony 
and  Lepidus.  The  bond  was  sealed  by 
a  new  proscription,  as  it  was  called,  in 
which  those  who  were  obnoxious  to  the 
contracting  parties  were  consigned  by 
name  to  military  execution.  Octavius 
readily  abandoned  Cicero  to  the  vengeance 
of  Antony,  whose  haired  was  strongly 
roused  by  the  profuse  invectives  which  the 
orator  had  lavi.shed  on  him.  The  news 
reached  him  at  his  Tusculan  villa,  about 
ten  miles  from  Rome.  His  fi'sl  thought 
was  to  escape  by  sea  ;  but  being  opposed 
by  the  winds,  and  fluctuating  and  uncer- 
tain in  his  resolutions,  he  landed  again, 
and  proceeded  to  his  Formian  villa,  near 
Naples,  where  he  was  put  to  death,  with- 
out resis'ince,  by  a  party  of  soldiers.  De- 
cember 7,  B.  C.  43,  at  the  age  of  64. 
His  head  and  hands  were  carried  to  Anto- 
ny, who  ordered  them,  according  to  Plu- 
tarch, to  be  set  up  in  the  Forum,  above 
the  rostrum  or  platform  from  which  he  had 
been  used  to  address  the  people. 

None  of  Cicero's  historical,  and  only 
fragments  of  his  poetical  works  remain : 
those  which  are  extant  of  his  writings  are 
divisible  into  four  heads  :  1,  On  the  sci- 
ence of  rhetoric ;  2,  On  religion  and 
moral  and  political  philosophy  ;  3,  Ora- 
tions ;  4,  Letters.  It  was  his  peculiar 
merit  to  have  been  the  first  who  attempted 
to  teach  the  Greek  philosophy  in  the 
Latin  language.  The  multiplicity  and 
variety  of  his  philosophical  works,  of 
which  indeed  the  rhetorical  ones  form  but 
a  branch,  is  wonderful  when  we  consider 
how  busily  his  life  was  employed :  the 
subject,  however,  is  too  extensive  and  of 
too  little  general  interest  for  us  to  attempt 


to  analyze  their  contents.  As  a  speaker, 
Cicero  wants  the  conciseness  and  (irt?  of 
Demosthenes  ;  a  necessary  ccm-sequcnct- 
perhaps  of  his  having  to  deal  with  a 
language  far  inferior  to  that  of  Greece  in 
copiousness,  accuracy,  and  energy.  In 
elegance,  variety,  and,  above  all,  in  tlie 
skill  of  the  pleader,  the  power  of  makiiii; 
the  best  of  his  case  according  to  circum- 
stances, and  adapting  his  arguments  to  the 
audience  which  he  had  to  address,  it  woiijil 
be  hard  to  find  his  superior,  lli.s  letKsM 
are  most  valuable  helps  to  the  history  of 
his  times,  and  ii;ake  amends  for  the  ab- 
sence of  a  digested  history  from  his  pen, 
which  would  have  been  less  minute  and 
probably  less  veracious.  They  are  writ- 
ten for  the  most  part,  especially  those  to 
Aiticus,  with  great  freedom ;  and  exhibit 
his  real  opinions  with  little  reserve.  Many 
of  the  heaviest  charges  against  Cicero's 
integrity  as  a  public  man  are  based  upon 
his  correspondence  ;  and  it  is  to  be  re- 
membered, in  comparing  him  with  others, 
that  few  public  men  have  given  us  the  op- 
portunity of  subjecting  their  conduct  to  so 
severe  a  scrutiny.  To  his  Latin  style  in 
all  its  variety,  familiar,  didactic,  oratorical, 
too  much  praise  can  not  be  given.  He 
has  always  been  regarded  as  the  model 
of  Latin  prose  composition ;  and,  indeed, 
about  the  time  of  the  revival  of  letters  was 
regarded  with  an  almost  slavish  venera- 
tion :  one  school  of  Latinists  refused  ta 
use  even  a  word  or  phrase  which  had  pu 
the  sanction  of  his  authority. 


SWORD-FISH. 

HE  prolongtJl/  <»r.ry 
snout  of  <iii  » word- 
fish,  bearing  jonie  re- 
semb'tance  to  a  sword 
in  ita  form  and  em- 
ployment, has  in  all 
nations  procured  for 
the  fish  a  name  ex- 
pressive of  this  analogy  The  generic 
character  common  to  the  species  is,  that 
the  head  with  the  upper  jaw  terminates  in 
a  sword-shaped  snout,  that  the  mouth  is 
without  teeth,  that  the  gill-membrane  has 


8.  As  a  speaker, 
leness  anil  (irn  ot' 
sary  conseciufiice 
to  (leal  will)  a 
thnt  of  Greece  in 

and  eiierjjy.  In 
above   all,  in  tlic 

power  of  iniikin!,' 
ording;  to  cirt'uni- 
s  ari;unients  to  the 
o  address,  it  woiilij 
•rior.  llis  letKirs 
3  to  the  history  of 
nends  for  the  ab- 
tory  from  his  pi^i, 
n  less  minute  and 
.  They  are  writ- 
jspecially  those  to 
dom;  and  exhibit 
tie  reserve.  Many 
3  against  Cicero's 
n  are  based  npon 
id  it  is  to  be  re- 
g  him  with  others, 
e  given  us  the  op- 
heir  conduct  to  so 

his  Latin  style  in 
lidactic,  oratorical, 
ot  be  given.  He 
ded  as  the  modid 
tion ;  and,  indeed, 
nval  of  letters  was 
St  slavish  venera- 
atinists  refused  ta 
ase  which  had  pi\ 
ority. 


'ISH. 

I  prolong'i't'  <»<".ry 
•ut  of  Oi  <  '-word- 
I,  bearing  .^onie  re- 
nhiance  to  a  sword 
Its  form  and  em- 
yment,  has  in  all 
ions  procured  for 
fish  a  name  ex- 
gy  The  generic 
e  species  is,  that 
*  jaw  terminates  in 
that  the  mouth  is 
giil-membrane  has 


in 


m 


m 


842 


THE  NUMBER  SEVEN. 


eijjht  rays,  and  that  the  body  is  roundish 
and  wiihout  scales.  The  two  principal 
operies  arc — the  common  sword-fish,  and 
the  broad-finned  sword-fish.  The  com- 
mon sword-fish  {xiphias  glmlius)  is  con- 
sidered as  properly  a  native  of  the  Medi- 
terranean, though  it  sometimes  strays  into 
the  Atlantic,  and  has  been  found  along  the 
coast  of  B'urope  as  far  as  the  IJaltic,  and 
along  that  of  Africa  as  far  as  the  cape  of 
Good  Hope.  It  has  a  long  and  round 
body,  largest  near  the  head,  and  gradually 
tapering  toward  the  tail.  The  head  is 
rather  fiat,  and  the  mouth  wide,  both  jaws 
ending  in  a  point,  but  the  upper  extending 
to  a  much  greater  length  than  the  lower. 
This  pro|()nf,od  part  is  that  which  is 
uuu'ily  called  the  sword  :  it  is  of  a  bony 
substance  between  three  and  four  inches 
wide  at  the  base,  according  to  the  propor- 
tions of  the  individual  to  which  it  belongs, 
and  tapering  to  a  sharp  point.  It  is  cover- 
ed by  a  strong  ^^pidermis  or  scarf  skin, 
rough  to  the  touch  like  sand  paper.  A 
deeply-impressed  line  or  furrow  runsdown 
the  middle  of  the  upper  part,  and  three 
similar  furrows  on  the  lower  surface.  It 
has  only  one  fin  on  the  back,  which  runs 
along  the  whole  length  of  it.  It  is  very 
high  at  the  commencement,  and  sinking 
suddenly,  becomes  very  shallow,  and  is 
continued  to  within  a  short  distance  of 
the  tail,  terminating  in  an  elevated  point. 
The  tail  is  large  and  crescent-shaped, 
and  on  each  side  of  the  body,  immedi- 
ately before  it,  is  a  strong  finny  ap- 
pendage. The  general  color  of  the  fish 
is  brown,  accompanied  by  a  deep  steel- 
blue  cast  on  the  head  and  upper  parts, 
and  inclining  to  silvery  white  on  the  sides 
and  abdomen.  It  sometimes  grows  to  a 
very  large  size,  and  as  much  as  twenty 
feet  in  length. 

The  sword-fish  is  very  active  in  its 
movements  and  voracious  in  its  appetite. 
Il  feeds  on  the  smaller  kinds  of  fish,  which 
it  kills  by  piercing  them  with  its  sword. 
It  is  said  to  be  in  particular  a  very  great 
enemy  to  the  tunny,  which  is  described 
by  Bclon  to  be  as  much  alarmed  by  its 
appearance  as  a  sheep  is  at  the  sight  of  a 
wolf. 

This  fish  is  highly  esteemed  as  an  arti- 
cle of  food  by  the  Sicilians,  who  buy  it  up 
eagerly  at  any  price  at  the  commence- 


ment of  the  season,  which  lasts  from  May 
to  August.  They  cut  it  into  pieces,  and 
salt  it  for  future  use.  This  procnss  was 
in  ancient  times  particularly  performed  ut 
the  town  of  Thuri  in  the  bay  of  Tareniuin, 
whence  the  fish  was  called  tomux  Ihiiriii- 
nus.  A  description  of  the  ancient  m;in- 
ner  of  taking  this  fish  has  been  left  ua  by 
Strabo,  from  which  it  appears  that  the  pro- 
cess was  the  same  as  that  now  in  use. 
A  man  mounts  upon  a  clifi' that  over)iani;s 
the  sua :  and  as  soon  as  he  discovers  ilie 
fish,  gives  notice  to  a  boat  in  atteiulance 
of  the  course  it  has  taken.  A  man  in  the 
boat  then  mounts  the  mast,  and  on  seeing 
the  sword-fish  directt  the  rowers  toward 
It.  As  soon  as  they  think  themselves 
within  reach,  the  man  on  thu  mast  de- 
scends, and  taking  in  his  hand  a  harpoon, 
to  which  a  curd  is  attached,  strikes  it  into 
the  fish,  sometimes  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance. After  being  wearied  with  its  agi- 
tations and  attempts  to  escape,  as  well  as 
exhausted  by  its  wound,  the  fish  is  seized 
and  drawn  into  the  boat.  The  operation 
has  considerable  resemblance  to  the  whale 
fishery  on  a  small  scale.  The  superstitious 
Sicilian  fishermen  have  an  unintelligible 
chant,  which  they  regard  as  a  most  essen- 
tial part  of  their  apparatus.  Brydone  thinks 
it  is  Greek :  but  be  that  as  it  may,  the 
fishermen  are  convinced  of  its  efficacy  as 
a  charm,  its  operation  being  to  attract  and 
detain  the  fish  near  the  boat.  There  are 
certainly  some  Italian  words  in  it,  al- 
though it  is  said  that  the  men  believe  that 
the  fish  would  dive  into  the  water  and  be 
seen  no  more  if  it  happened  to  hear  a  word 
of  Italian. 


THE  NUMBER  SEVEN. 

EVEN,  so  often  men- 
tioned in  the  sacred 
writings,  has  always 
had  a  kind  of  emphasis 
annexed  to  it.  It  is 
by  some  called  the 
number  of  perfection, 
being  composed  of  the 
first  two  perfect  num- 
bers, equal  and  unequal,  three  and  four — 
(for  the  number  two  consisting  of  repeated 


!i  lasts  from  May 
into  pieces,  and 
'liis  pn)ce8s  was 
riy  performed  at 
jay  of  Tarcntiim, 
ed  tomus  fhitriu- 
le  ancicr)t  rnan. 
I  been  left  lis  by 
iars  that  the  pro- 
thai  now  in  use. 
fV  lliat  overhiiniis 
he  discovers  tlic 
at  in  attenihince 
I.  A  man  in  tbe 
it,  and  on  seeing 
3  row(!rs  toward 
hinii  ibemsi'lves 
on  the  mast  de- 
hand  a  harpoon, 
ed,  strikes  it  into 
considerable  dis- 
ried  with  its  agi- 
icape,  as  well  as 
the  fish  is  seized 
Tlio  operation 
mce  to  the  whale 
The  superstitious 
an  unintelligible 
as  a  most  essen- 
Brydone  thinks 
It  as  it  may,  the 
of  its  efficacy  as 
ing  to  attract  and 
)oat.  There  are 
words  in  it,  al- 
men  believe  that 
he  water  and  be 
ed  to  hear  a  word 


SEVEN. 

N,  80  often  men- 
1  in  the  sacred 
igs,  has  always 
kind  of  emphasis 
:ed  to  it.  It  is 
ome  called  the 
er  of  perfection, 

composed  of  the 
;wo  perfect  num- 

three  and  four — 
listing  of  repeated 


THE  NUMnER  SEVEN. 


843 


unity,  which  is  no  number,  is  not  perfect). 
In  six  days  creation  was  perfected— the 
7th  was  ctmsecrated  to  rest ;  if  Cain  be 
avenged  7  fold,  truly  Lamech  70  and  7 
fold:  Noah  had  7  days  warning  of  the 
flood,  and   was  commanded   to  take  the 
fowls  of  the  air  into  the  ark  by  7*8  and 
the  clean   beasts    by   sevens;    the    ark 
touched  the  ground  on  the  7ih  month,  and 
in  7  days  a  dove  was  sent,  and  again  in  7 
days  after.     Abraham  pleaded  7  times  for 
Sodom ;  he  gave  7  ewe-lambs  to  Abime- 
lech  for  a  well  of  water.     Jacob  served  7 
years  for  Rachel,  and  also  another  7  years. 
Joseph  mourned  7  days  for  Jacob.     Laban 
pursued  after  Jacob  7  days  journey.     The 
7  years  of  plenty,  and  the  7  years  of  fam- 
ine, were  foretold  in  Pharoah's  dream  by 
the  7  fat  and  the  7  lean  beasts,  and  the  7 
ears  of  full    and   the  7  ears  of  blasted 
corn.     The  children  of  Israel  were  to  eat 
unleavened  bread  7  days.     The  young  of 
animals  were  to  remain  with  the  dam  7 
days,  and  at  the  close  of  the  7th  to  be  ta- 
ken away.     By  the  old  law,  man  was  com- 
manded to  forgive  his  offending  brother  7 
times  ;   but  the  meekness  of  the  Savior 
extended  this  forbearance  to  70  times  7. 
On  the  7th  day  of  the  7ih  month,  a  holy 
observance  was  commanded  to  the  chil- 
dren of   Israel,   who   fasted   7  days   in 
tents.     Every  7ih  year  was  directed  to  be 
a  year  of  rest  for  all  things,  and  at  the 
end  of  7  limes  7  years  commenced  the  Ju- 
bilee ;  they  were  to  observe  a  feast  7  days 
after  they  had  gathered  in  their  corn  and 
wine ;  7  days  they  were  to  keep  a  solemn 
feast,  as  they  had  been  blessed  in  the  work 
of  their  hands.     Every  7  vears  the  land 
lay  fallow.     Every  7  y-     ■■    Aere  was  a 
general  release  from  aL   f/ebts,  and   all 
bondsmen  were  set  free.     From  this  law 
may  have  sprung  the  custom  of  binding 
young  men  to  7  years'  apprenticeship,  and 
of  punishing  offenders  with  7  years,  twice 
7,  or  three  times  7  years  imprisonment. 
Every  7th  year  the  law  was  directed  to  be 
read  to  the  people  ;  if  they  were  obedient 
their  enemies  should  flee  before  them  7 
years ;  if  disobedient  their  enemies  should 
chase  them  7  ways.     In  the  destruction 
of  Jericho,  7  priests  bore  7  trumpets  7 
days,  an  the  7th  day  they  surrounded  the 
walls  7  times,  and  after  the  7th  time  the 
walls  fell.    Hannah,  the  mother  of  Sam- 


uel, in  her  thanks,  says,  that  the  barren 
hath  brought  forth  77,  as   some  Jewish 
writers  say  that  his  name  answers  to  the 
value  of  the  letters  in  the  Hebrew  word 
which  signify  7.     7  of  Saul's  sons  were 
hanged  to  stay  a  famine.     Jesse    had   7 
sons,  the  youngest  of  whom  ascondeil  the 
throne  of  Israel.     The  number  of  animals 
in  sundry  of  their  obligations  was  liiniied 
to  7.     Solomon  was  7  years  building  tlio 
temple,   at   the   dedication  of  which    he 
feasted  7  days.     In  the  tobernaclo  were  7 
lamps.     The  golden  candlesticks  had  7 
branches  ;  7  days  were  appointed  for  an 
atonement  on  the  altar ;  and  the  priest's  sun 
was  appointed  to   wear  his  father's  .gar- 
ment 7  days.     Naaman  was  commanded 
to  wash  7  times  in  Jordan  to  cure  his  lep- 
rosy.    Gehazi  was  ordered  to  look  toward 
the  sea  7  times,  and  at  the  7th  time  he  saw 
the  wished-for  cloud.     The  Shunamite's 
child  sneezed  7  limes  before  life  was  fully 
restored.     In  the  7ih  year  of  his  reign, 
King  Ahazuerus  feasted  7  days,  and  on 
the  7lh  directed  his  7  chamberlains  to  find 
a  queen,  who  was  allowed  7  maidens  to 
attend  her.     Job's  friends  sat  with  him  7 
days  apd  7  nights,  and  offered  7  bullocks 
and  7  rams  as  an  atonement  for  their  wick- 
edness.    David  prayed  that  the  wicked 
night  be  rewarded  7  fold  in  t'leir  doonri. 
Solomon  says  that  the  fool  is  wiser  in  his 
own  conceit  than  7  men  that  can  render  a 
reason,  and  that  when  the  wicked  speak- 
elh  fair,  there  are  7  abominations  in  his 
heart.     Nebuchadnezzer   was  7  years  a 
beast,  and  at  the  end  of  7  years  his  king- 
dom was  restored  ;  and  the  fiery  furnace 
was  heated  7  times  hotter  to  receive  Shad- 
rack,  Mesheck,  and  Abednego. 

The  Scriptures  are  illustrated  by  7  res- 
urrections, viz. :  The  widow's  son  by  Eli- 
jah, the  Shunamite's  son  by  Elisha,  the 
soldier  when  ho  touched  the  bones  of  Eli- 
sha, the  daughter  of  the  ruler  of  the  syn- 
agogue, the  son  of  the  widow  of  Nain, 
Lazarus,  and  the  Savior. 

Enoch  who  was  translated,  was  the  7th 
from  Adam,  anr';  Jesus  Christ,  the  77th  in 
a  direct  line.  The  Savior  spoke  7  times 
from  the  cross,  on  which  he  remained  7 
hours.  Ho  appeared  7  times  afterward. 
In  7  times  7  days  he  sent  the  gift  of  the 
Holy  Spirit.  In  the  Lord's  prayer  are  7 
petitions  contained  in  7  times  7  words. 


h     f*: 


=11 


54 


844 


MENTAL  DISCIPLINE-SORROW  FOR  THE  DEAD. 


In  thn  Apocnlypn*?  wo  read  of  7  cliurch- 
p«,  7  randlcsticks,  7  spirits,  7  stnrn,  7 
triiniprts,  7  pliiguos,  7  ihundors,  7  vials, 
and  7  anj»(!l.i  to  pour  ihem  out  upou  the 
7-head()d  nionater,  Antichrist. 


MENTAL  DISCIPLINE. 

Therk  aro  many  who  spend  a  life  of 
mental  eflTort,  who  nevenhelfss  fail  in  al- 
tainitifT  to  a  disciplined  mind.     This,  how- 
ever, is  highly  important,  it  is  to  the  stu- 
dent what  skill  is  to  the  mechanic.     One 
may  read  all  his  days,  and  accumulate  the 
richest    and    most    valuable    products    of 
mind,  hut  unless  ho  possess  the  capacity 
of  renderiuf^  thom  available,  they  will  bo 
utterly  worthless  !     By  the  term,  "  mental 
discipline,"  the  student  understands  that 
condition  of  the  mental  and  moral  facul- 
ties, which  will  at  all  times  enable  one  to 
concentrate  his  attention,  and  fix  his  men- 
tal grasp  upon  any  given  subject  without 
pain,  almost  without  effort,  and  to  accom- 
plish his  plan — whatever  it  may  be,  with 
perfect  and  complete  success.     There  is 
a  mental  habitude  which  enables  the  mind 
to  adjust  itself  to  its  subject  with  the  most 
gratifying  ease — all  is  regularity,  system, 
precision,  life.     The  productions  of  such 
minds  appeal  directly  to  the  heart — the 
soul,  in  its  clearest  light  and  development, 
breathes  and  burns  in  every  line,  and  we 
bow  down  and  admire  them  as  we  do  the 
astonishing  productions  of  master  genius- 
es, or  the  imposing  grandeur  and  awful 
sublimity  of  Stromboli,  with  its  lamps  of 
eternal  fire .     The  "  myriad-minded"  Shak- 
spere — he    whom    the    world    worships, 
whose  lyre  speaks  to  ihe  heart — harsh  and 
discordant  though  it  sometimes  is,  stands 
forth  is  one  of  the  most  successful  exam- 
ples of  mental  discipline  which  it  has  ev- 
er been  the  fortune  of  the  world  to  wit- 
ness.    His   was   the  power  to  create — 
from  nothingness  he  evoked  a  world,  a 
universe  of  beauty — he  "  could  enter  upon 
any  s  ate,  assume  any  character,  feel  the 
throbbings  of  every  heart,  and  the  aspira- 
tions  of  every  soul."     Nature   was   his 
study  — his  aima-mater.     He  was  cramped 
by  no   rules — in  the   pure   and  pellucid 
fountain  of  his  mighty  spirit,  nature  was 


mirrored  in  nil  the  winninj;  and  majestic 
loveliness  of  her  own  imnmcniiite  self. 
"  He  set  the  diamond  of  his  mind  in  pure 
gold,"  With  him  nature  supplied  the 
rules  of  art ;  the  intuitive  perception  n( 
his  mind,  rendered  the  dicta  of  the  srhooln 
superfluous  ;  and,  at  the  high  altar  of  hif 
own  bright  thoughts,  he  eia..  ra'ed  thnsn 
majestic  conceplioi  s  wliich,  while  his  i:in- 
giiuge  fulls  familiarly  up.tn  the  ear,  will  b(\ 
the  ndmirati(>ii  and  wonder  of  the  world. 


SOIUIOW  FOR  TIIK  DEAD. 

Thk  sorrow  for  the  dead  is  the  only  sor- 
row from  which  we  refuse  to  be  divorced 
Every  other  wound  we  seek  to  heal;  ev- 
ery other  affliction  to  forget ;  but  this 
wound  we  consider  it  a  duly  to  keep  (ipeii ; 
this  affliction  we  cherish  and  brood  over 
in  solitude.  Where  is  the  mother,  who 
would  willingly  forget  the  infant  that  per- 
ished like  a  blossom  from  her  arms,  though 
every  recollection  is  a  pang  ?  Where 
is  the  child  that  would  willingly  forget  the 
most  tender  of  parents,  though  to  remem- 
ber but  to  lament  ?  Who,  even  in  the 
hour  of  agony,  would  forget  the  friend 
over  whom  he  mourns  ?  Who,  even  when 
the  tomb  is  closing  upon  the  remains  of 
her  he  most  loved  ;  when  he  feels  his 
heart,  as  it  were,  crushed  in  the  closing 
of  its  portal,  would  accept  of  consolation 
that  musi,  be  bought  by  forgetfulness  ?  No ; 
the  love  which  survives  the  tomb  is  one 
of  the  noblest  attributes  of  the  soul.  If 
it  has  its  woes,  it  has  likewise  its  delights  ; 
and  when  the  overwhelming  burst  of  gritf 
is  calmed  into  the  gentle  tear  of  recollec- 
tion ;  when  the  sudden  anguish,  and  the 
convulsive  agony  over  the  present  ruins 
of  all  that  we  most  loved,  is  softened 
away  into  pensive  meditation  on  all  that 
it  was  in  the  days  of  its  loveliness,  who 
would  root  out  such  a  sorrow  from  the  heart? 
Though  it  may  sometimes  throw  a  passing 
cloud  over  the  bright  hour  of  gayeiy,  or 
spread  a  deeper  sadness  over  the  hour  of 
gloom,  who  would  exchange  it  for  the  song 
of  pleasure  or  the  burst  of  revelry  ?  No ; 
there  is  a  voice  from  the  tomb  sweeter  than 
song — a  remembrance  of  the  dead  to  which 
we  turn,  even  from  the  charms  of  the  living. 


I 


BMUnwrttttmtmm 


AD. 


inninjj  nnd  mnjentic 
irii    iinnwK-iiliito  hd\(. 

of  his  mind  in  \,uxe 
inliirH  supplied  ilie 
tuilivo  porcftptiiiri  of 
o  ilictiv  of  thn  schools 
iho  hiyh  nitnr  of  hii" 

ho  fin.,  rii'nd  those 
which,  while  his  hm- 
up. in  tho  «'nr,  will  ho 
Diiiler  of  tho  world. 


THE  DKAD. 

dead  is  the  otdy  sor- 
'efiisn  ti»  be  divorced 
ye  seek  to  hesil  j  ev- 
to  forget ;  but  this 
a  duty  to  keep  open  ; 
rish  and  brood  over 
is  the  mother,  who 
t  the  infant  that  per- 
•om  her  arms,  though 
s  a  pang  ?  Where 
d  willingly  forget  the 
ts,  tliough  to  reiuom- 

Who,  even  in  the 
Id  forget  the  friend 
I?  Who, even  when 
upon  the  remains  of 

when  ho  feels  his 
ished  in  the  closing 
ccept  of  consolation 
•forgetfulness?  No; 
ivea  the  tomb  is  one 
ites  of  the  soul.  If 
likewise  its  delights ; 
lelming  burst  of  grii ' 
ntle  tear  of  recollec- 
den  anguish,  and  the 
er  the  present  ruins 
t  loved,  is  softened 
editation  on  all  that 
)f  its  loveliness,  who 
lorrow  from  tho  heart? 
;imes  throw  a  passing 
t  hour  of  gayety,  or 
ess  over  the  hour  of 
change  il  for  the  song 
rst  of  revelry?  No; 
he  tomb  sweeter  than 
eof  the  dead  to  which 
3  charms  of  the  living. 


Oriental  Women  oii  Camela. 


TRAVELLING  IN  THE  EAST. 

ERHAPS  the  highest 
excitement  that  life  of- 
fers to  the  Mussulman, 
is    tho    pilgrimage    to 
Mecca :     the    lowliest 
condition,  the  most  ad 
vanced    age,    or    im- 
measurable distance — 
is  no  bar  to  its  per- 
formance.    From   the  interior  of  Africa 
and  Hindostan,  the  shores,  isles,  and  des- 
erts of  the  east,  an  annual  myriad  advan- 
ces to  the  tomb  of  the  prophet.     The  de- 
parture of  a  caravan  in  the  freshness  of 
its  strength  and  zeal,  ere  disease  and  mis- 
ery have  done  their  work,  is  a  singular 
and  splendid  spectacle  ;  the  sacred  while 
canvel,  gorgeously  arrayed  and  attended, 
the  guards,  the  banners,  the  hosts,  of  va- 
rious nations,  complexions,  and  languages, 
all  pressing  on  with  a  lightness  of  heart, 
a  freedom  of  step,  a  face  full  of  the  se- 
date fanaticism  of  their  faith.     The  more 
humble  and  numerous  portion  of  the  pil- 
grims are  the  most  devoted  ;  to  worship 
at  the  shrine,  to  wash  away  their  sins,  and 
earn  a  hadji's  honor,  is  their  strong  and 
guiding  hope — the  prospect  of  traffic  and 


g!»in  also  animates  tlio  merchants,  who,  as 
well  as  the  nobler  pilgrims,  are  provided 
with  servants,  coinl'orts,  and  even  luxuries. 
Hut  tliis  pilgrimage  is  of  admirable  una  in 
teaching  men  their  utter  helplessness,  the 
vanity  of  earthly  distinctions,  "  the  rich 
and  the  poor  meet  together ;"  they  weep 
ill  secret ;  *'  the  servant  is  as  his  master." 
T'.F  hour  is  sure  to  arrive,  when  the  car- 
avan, feehle  and  wasted,  the  courage  lost, 
the  enthusiasm  a  dream — is  seen  stealing 
over  the  desert,  as  if  the  angel  of  death 
sadly  called  them  :  whin  the  poorer  pil- 
grim, from  his  burning  bed  of  sand,  looks 
on  the  great  and  the  luxurious,  breathing 
faintly  also,  and  ihe  harem  of  the  one,  and 
the  collage  of  the  other,  Hit  before  the 
failing  eye.     Perhaps  the  night  brings  the 
breeze  or  cloud,  and  they  struggle  on  their 
way,  till  the  water,  fountain,  or  stream,  is 
near ;  and  its  low  sound  is  caught  by  ev- 
ery ear  with  an  acuteness  that  misery  on- 
ly can  give.     Again   all  distinctions  are 
forgotten,  of  sex,  rank,  and  circumstance  ; 
the  prince  and  the  peasant  kneel  side  by 
side,   or   prostrate,  like    Gideon's    troop, 
drink  insatiably,  blessing  the  prophet  and 
each  other.     The  writer  was  once  pres- 
ent at  a  scene  of  this  kind,  in  a  party, 
where  one  of  the  domestics,  in  his  sutler- 


ing,  poured  reproaches  on  his  master  ;  the 
rest  were  silent  and  dejected  ;  they  had 
walked  from  sunrise  till  noon  over  a  soil 
utterly  parched,  and  in  an  intolerable  heat, 
no  cloud  in  the  sky,  no  moisture  on  the 
earth  ;  the  hills  of  white  sand  on  the  left 
seemed  to  glare  on  us  like  spectres  :  at 
last  we  reached  a  rapid  and  shallow  stream, 
on  whose  opposite  bank  was  a  stone  tow- 
er, where  a  few  soldiers  kept  their  lonely 
look-out  against  the  Arabs.  Too  impa- 
tient to  drink  in  the  usual  way,  the  party 
thrdW  themselves  on  the  shore,  and  plung- 
ing their  faces  in  the  wave,  drank  long 
and  insatiably. 

The  track  of  the  great  caravan,  during 
an  unfortunate  season,  is  at  intervals 
strewed  with  victims  ;  the  first  an  i  old 
and  the  sickly ;  wasted  by  the  coio  <:.-.  well 
as  the  fiery  blasts,  the  bodies  rest  on  the 
sands,  without  corruption,  such  is  the  ex- 
cessive purity  of  the  air ;  to  those  who 
have  friends  and  property,  a  miserable 
honor  is  shown. 

"  Just  before  we  reached  the  wells  in 
this  desert,"  says  an  Arabian  traveller, 
"we  passed  by  the  tomb  of  a  distinguished 
person,  who  died  on  this  spot.  His  com- 
panions having  enclosed  the  naked  corpse 
within  low  walls  of  loose  stones,  had  cov- 
ered it  over  with  a  large  block.  The  dry- 
ness of  the  air  had  preserved  the  corpse 
in  tha  most  perfect  state.  Ijooking  at  it 
through  the  interstices  of  the  stones  which 
enveloped  it,  it  appeared  to  me  a  more  per- 
fect mummy  than  any  I  had  seen  in  Egypt. 
The  mouth  was  wide  open,  and  our  guide 
related  that  the  man  had  died  for  want 
of  water,  though  so  near  the  wells." 

It  is  possible,  by  fortunate  arrangements, 
to  visit  the  tomb  of  Mecca  without  serious 
calamity,  save  some  inroads  on  the  health 
and  beauty  of  the  ladies,  who  actually 
went  in  this  caravan,  with  an  enterprise, 
and  perhaps  i<»lieious  zeal,  not  very  usu- 
al among  oriental  women.  Rarely,  in- 
deed, do  the  latter  venture  their  round 
forms  and  exquisitely  clear  and  colorless 
complexions,  to  the  simoom's  deadly 
sweep ;  to  go  forth  from  the  harem,  into 
which  the  light  falls  through  richly  stained 
glass — to  be  by  night  the  inmate  of  a  tent 
during  weeks  and  months,  and  the  prey  of 
the  sun  and  wind  by  day  ;  can  the  thick- 
est veils,  the  most  skilful  precautions,  pre- 


vent mischief  to  the  eyes,  the  cheeks,  the 
hair ;  the  limbs  will  grow  attenuated,  and 
the  spirits,  unused  to  such  stern  excite- 
ment, languid  and  broken. 

The  conductor  of  this  smill  caravan,  to 
whon  the  ladies  belonged,  was  a  noble 
Turk,  a  native  of  Constantinople,  whence 
he  had  proceeded  through  the  rich  provin- 
ces of  Asia  Minor  to  Damascus,  thenco 
by  slow  journeys  through  the  deserts  to 
ti'ie  Red  sea,  and  there  embarked  for  Jid- 
da, which  is  six  days'  journey  from  Mec- 
They  were  now  on  their  return,  their 


ca 

consciences  pacified,  their  imaginations 
bewildered,  their  memories  stored.  The 
trials  of  the  way  o'erpast,  they  were  resting 
among  the  ruins  of  Antioch,  musing,  per- 
haps, on  the  tales  of  peril  and  change,  to 
tull  to  the  calm  and  luxurious  circles  of 
Constantinople — for  which  they  were  in 
a  short  time  to  sail. 

The  Turkish  nobleman  and  two  of  his 
friends  were  seated  on  a  rich  carpet,  each 
smoking  the  hookah,  and  sipping  colTee  ; 
the  baggage  scattered  on  the  ground,  the 
horses  and  camels    graz'.r.g,  some   tents 
open;  groups  of  pilgrims  ^c.e  conversing, 
or  sauntering  about  the  shores.     The  tenis^ 
of   the    women,   closely  curtained,   were 
pitched  in  the  rear,  no  less  than  six  being 
occupied  by  the  harem  and  its  numerous 
attendants.     The    ini^jates  had   travelled 
across  the  desert  in  houdas,  a  covered  or 
open  divan,  placed  on  the  back  of  the  cam- 
el, and  either  rudely  or  luxuriously  fur- 
nished.    The  writer  met,  one  day,  in  the 
deserts  east  of  the  Red  sea,  a  Turkish 
gentleman  of  Cairo,  reluming,  quite  alone, 
from  Mecca  ;  he  was  seated  in  a  houda, 
his  solitary  camel,  seen  from  afar,  the  ri- 
der reclining  as  on  a  sofa,  musing  indo- 
lently, had  a  droll  appearance  in  so  deso- 
late a  scene  ;  the  little  clouds  of  smoke 
that  rose  at  intervals  from  his  pipe  into 
the  pure  air,  told  of  his  progress  accu- 
rately ;   it  was  by  no  means  unlike  the 
slow  movement  of  a  small  steam-carriage 
over  the  sands,  save  that  no  sound  came 
forth  ;  the  Arab  guide,  walking  at  the  head 
of  the  camel,  was  as  silent  as  his  master ; 
even   his  melancholy  song  was  hushed. 
But  the  Ottoman  ladies,  who  had  walked 
nine  times  round  the  adored  tomb,  kissed 
the  black  and  miraculous  stone  of  the  Ca- 
aba, and  drank  of  the  well  Zemzem— will 


4^1 


=n 


t 


TRAVELLING  IN  THE  EAST. 


849 


■z:=rz==ii 


be  marked  and  envied  beings  for  the  rest 
of  their  Uvea  ;  in  the  divans,  the  baths, 
the  promenades  of  the  city— the  words  of 
the  fair  hadjes  will  bo  received  as  oracles, 
and  companies  will  hang  as  greedily  upon 
them,  and  even  more  so,  than  their  lords 
on  those  of  the  Arab  story-tellers,  for  they 
will  have  the  charm  of  truth.  No  gain- 
saying or  skepticism  can  be  feared  from 
other  ladies,  who  have  never  strayed  from 
the  banks  of  the  Bosphorus,  or  heard 
more  awful  sounds  than  the  murmur  of  us 
waves,  or  their  own  fountains. 

The  Mahometans,  from  the  tomb  of 
their  prophet— halting  on  the  ruins  of  An- 
tioch,  presented  a  mournful  comment  on 
the  decline  of  the  power  and  glory  of  this 
world,  as  well  as  on  that  of  the  pure  and 
earliest  church  of  God.  The  two  great- 
est of  the  apostles  preached,  Ignatius 
taught,  and  offered  himself  as  a  martyr  in 
Antioch;  and  great  was  the  prosperity 
and  tho  joy,  during  many  ages,  of  Us 
Christian  people. 

And  now— the   lofty  minarets  of  the 
mosques    were    seen    above    the   broken 
walls  of  tho  ancient  city ;  there  are  some 
remains  of  a  church,  said  to  be  that  of 
Chrysostom  ;   there   are  tombs  also,  be- 
neath the  shade  of  the  trees,  but  they  do 
not  contain  the  ashes  of  the  early  Chris- 
tians ,  the  stono  shaft  carved,  and  turban, 
show  them  to  bo  tho  sepulchres  of  the 
Turks.     The   valley  of  the   Orontes   is 
very  partially  cultivated,  save  in  the  im- 
mediate vicinity  of  the  river ;  the  range 
of  Mount  Amanus,  the  Amana  of  scrip- 
ture, rises  boldly  beyond  ;  far  to  the  right, 
at  a  few  hour^  distance,  is  the  path  in  this 
mountain,  through  which  Darius  marched 
his  mighty  army  from  the  plains  of  Assyr- 
ia to  the  coasts  of  Cilicia,  a  few  days  be- 
fore the  battle  of  Issus. 

To  the  course  of  the  Orontos  new  in- 
terest is  now  imparled  by  the  enterprise 
of  Colonel  Chesney,  who  begins  his  over- 
land communication  with  India  at  Suade- 
ah,  where  this  ancient  river  falls  into  the 
sea.  From  this  first  footstep  on  the  lone- 
ly shore,  covered  with  the  ruins  of  Seleu- 
cia,  what  a  career  of  industry,  intelligence, 
and  prosperity,  may  be  expected  to  arise  ! 
Steam  navigation  and  railroads  will  tra- 
verse the  silent  plains  and  the  famous  but 
forsaken  rivers ;  not  Cleopatra  in  her  bark 


of  purple  and  gold  on  the  Cydnus,  excited 
more  surprise  than   will  follow  the   first 
steamboat  on  the  Orontes — the  herald  to 
the  admiring  people  of  a  new  era  in  their 
condition,  in   knowledge,  in    comfort,  in 
faith !     The  general  diffusion  of  instruc- 
tion among  a  people,  from  whom  it  has 
been  so  long  and  so  uUerly  withheld,  will 
be  the  gradual  but  certain  result  of  the 
rapid  facilities  of  intercourse  with  Eng- 
land and   America;    tho    great  valley  of 
the  Orontes,  from  the  vicinity  of  Damas- 
cus to  that  of  Aleppo,  is  full  of  modern  as 
well  as  ancient  interest ;  there  are  sever- 
al large  and  wealthy  towns,  where  manu- 
factures might  be  introduced,  and  a  regu- 
lar  commercial  intercourse  established ; 
the  cultivation  of  some  districts  is  excel- 
lent, and  most  are  capable  of  it ;  but  tho 
people  are  a  prey  to  indolence  and  apathy ; 
they  want  a  new  stimulus.     And  this  stim- 
ulus will  be  felt   when  new  sources  of 
trade,  of  enjoyment,  of  energy,  shall  be 
opened  to  them.     The  improvements  and 
changes    introduced    by   the    conqueror, 
Ibrahim  Pacha,  may  benefit  his  coffers, 
not  his  subjects.     Railroads  and  steam- 
carriages  will  be  the  greatest  blessings  to 
these  rich   and  beautiful   countries  ;   on 
their  rapid  wheels  devolve  greater  changes 
than  on  the  march  of  armies.     From  Su- 
adeah  to  the  Euphrates,  and  down  its  wa- 
ters to  the  Persian  gulf,  will  no  longer  bo 
the  painful  and  interminable  journey  that 
most  undertake   from  necessity,  few  for 
pleasure  ;  in  a  few  years,  the  traveller,  in- 
stead of  creeping  on  a  camel  at  three  miles 
an  hour,  wasted  by  sun  and  wind,  may  find 
himself  rolling  along  the  plains  of  Baby- 
lon   with  the   speed  of    thought,   while 
mounds,  towers,  and  tumuli,  vanish   by, 
like  things  seen  in  a  dream  ;  the  man  of 
science,  who  lingers  among  the  dim  nuns, 
the  merchant  who  tarries  to  buy  and  sell, 
may  no  longer  dread  the  plundering  Kurd 
or  Bedouin,  when  his  country's  flag  heaves 
in  sight  far  over  the  plain,  on  that  an- 
cient river  Euphrates,  as  daringly  as  when 
•<  Her  inarch  was  on  the  mountain  wave, 
Her  home  wb«  on  the  deep." 
The  commercial  caravans,  it  is  evident, 
afford  the  great  means  of  interchanging 
commodities    between    countries    vvhich 
would  otherwise  be  cutoff  from  nearly  all 
commercial  intercourse.     The  caii^vans  of 


f 


=1 


■•»'«' 


HI 


1*kS 


r:i*J*iK 


^Jl' 


Egypt  bring  to  Cairo  ostrich  feathers, 
gum,  gold-dust,  and  ivory,  from  Abyssinia 
and  the  countries  beyond  it ;  while  those 
of  Arabia  exchange  the  spices,  coffee, 
perfumes,  and  muslin  of  Hindostan.  By 
means  of  caravans,  an  interchange  of  com- 
modities is  kept  up  between  China  and 
central  Asia;  and  at  the  fair  of  Nijnei 
Novgorod,  tea,  brought  originally  to  Ki- 
achta  by  caravans  which  perform  a  land 
journey  of  seventy  or  ninety  days,  fs  dis- 
tributed throughout  the  Russian  empire. 

When  deserts  are  to  be  crossed,  the  on- 
ly possible  means  of  transit  is  by  land  ; 
but  the  extension  of  this  mode  of  trans- 
port to  the  capital  of  the  Russian  empire, 
indicates  truly  the  childhood  of  Russian 
civilization.     But  Asia  and  Africa  are  the 
indigencus  countries  of  camels  and  cara- 
vans, which  are  the  means  of  advancing 
and  promoting  the  business,  and  even  the 
higher  interests  of  life.     Without  com- 
merce the   inhabitants  of  many  parts  of 
Asia  and  Africa  would  be  condemned  to 
a  Slate  of  existence  deprived  of  almost 
every  enjoyment ;  but  the  camel,  which 
has  been  most  bountifully  bestowed  upon 
these  arid  regions,  has  facilitated  men's 
intercourse  with  one  another,  though  the 
state  of  these  countries  has  rendered  it 
necessary  for  merchants  and  traders  to 
consort    with   each  other  in  largo  com- 
panies for  mutual  protection,  just  as  in 
time  of  war  fleets  of  merchantmen  proceed 
under  convoy.    The  caravans  which  travel 
from  the  coasts  of  Egypt,  Tripoli,  Tunis, 
Algiers,  and  Morocco,  to  Timbuctoo,  the 
great  mart  of  central  Africa,  are  repre- 
sented as  being  eighteen  weeks  in  pro- 
ceeding from  the  border  of  the  desert. 
They  meet  caravans  from  places  in  the 
interior  which  have  never  been  reached 
by  Europeans.     The  goods  displayed  in 
the  markets  of  Thibet,  and  those  which 
come  from  the  remotest  recesses  of  Africa, 
are  thus  exchanged.     The  African  cara- 
vans, it  is  said,  carry  coal  through  the 
desert. 

In  the  year  1254,  the  caravan  of  the 
mother  of  Moslem  b'lUah,  the  last  of  the 
Abbasides,  was  composed  of  120,000 
camels  ;  but  the  Syrian  caravan,  which 
is  now  the  largest,  did  not  number  more 
than  15,000  camels  in  1814,  according  to 
Burckhardt. 


THE   PAMPAS  OF  BUENOS  AIRES. 

LL  that  tract  o 
country  south  of 
the  Parana  river, 
and  oflatitude  33 
south,  extending 
west  of  the  An- 
^!^m    ^l^jMt\)iS£^  '^^^»  g*>ss  by  the 
j^TJ^fy"  i  7|pWy'^\  name  of  the  Pam- 
^'  ^   r^  pas,  and  is  a  level 

country,  formed  apparently  by  the  wash- 
ings of  the  great   tributaries  of  the   La 
Plata,  without  a  stone,  or  rock,  or  a  hill, 
more  than  a  gentle  elevation  of  a  few  feet, 
so  level   that  a  carriage  can  go  over  the 
fields    in   any    direction,   and   without   a 
single  tree  or  bush.     It  is  one  immense 
meadow,  covered    with   luxuriant    grass, 
mingled  in  the  spring  time,  with  a  thou- 
sand varieties  of  beautiful  flowers.     The 
winter's  night  is  rarely  so  cold  as  to  form 
ice  of  the  thickness  of  glass,  and  snow  is 
never  seen.     The  thermometer  is  never 
below  thirty,  or  above  ninety.     This  plain 
is  but  partly  settled.     A  line  drawn  north 
and  south,  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
west   of    Buenos    Ayres,    and   from   the 
Parana  river,  to  three  hundred  miles  south 
of  that  city,  embraces  the  portion  of  the 
country  under  civilized  rule.     Over  the 
rest  rove  the  Pampa  Indians,  who  go  as 
far  south  as  Patagonia,  in  summer,  and 
who  come  north  in  winter.     Clothed  gen- 
erally   in   nkins,    eating   horseflesh,    and 
robbing  and  murdering  wherever  oppor- 
tunity offers,  they  are  the  nearest  kin  to 
brutes,  of  any  race  of  Indians  that  exist 
on  the  American  continent.     The  settled 
part  is  divided  into  estates,  generally  con- 
taining two  to  five  square  leagues  of  land. 
A  league  contains  5,700  acres,  on  which 
the  principal   business  is  raising  cattle, 
sheep,  and  horses.     Each  land-owner  has 
a  peculiar  brand,  which  is  registered  at 
the  office  in  the  city,  and  all  animals  with 
that  brand  are  his  property.     The  owners 
drive  together  all  the  animals  once  a  year, 
and  brand  the  young ;  and  when  they  are 
sold,  they  are  branded  again,  or  counter- 
marked,  and  then  marked  with  the  mark 
of  the  new  owner.    The  animals  are  driven 
up  to  pens,  generally  near  the  centre  of 
the  estate,  every  night,  and  they  soon  get 
into  the  habit  of  eating  away  from  their 


852 


THE  PAMPAS  OP  BUENOS  AYRE8. 


I 


sleeping  ground  until  noon,  and  then  turn- 
ing their  steps  toward  home.     One  square 
league  will  support  ten  thousand  animals, 
although  it  is  rare  that  so  many  are  put 
within  th;' I  space.     The  calculations  early 
last  year,  were,  that  in  the  state  of  Buenos 
Ayres  there  were  5,000,000  cattle,  4,000,- 
000  sheep,  and  1,000,000  horses.     Cattle 
are  worth  about  three  and  a  half  silver 
dollars  each,  when  selected  for  market. 
The  owner  sells  a  drove.     All  the  animals 
are  driven  together,  and  all  the  neighbors 
are  invited  to  the  frolic  of  separating  cattle 
for  market.     A  most  exciting  frolic  it  is, 
for  the  cattle  are  not  tame,  and  it  is  not 
very  safe  to  approach  them,  except  on 
horseback.     About  twenty  tame  working 
cattle  are  stationed  about  half  a  mile  from 
the  herd.     The  purchaser  points  out  an 
animal  to  be  taken  out,  and  three  horse- 
men dash  in  among  them ;   the   animal 
runs,  and  the  horsemen  manage  to  get  on 
each  side  of,  and  behind  him.     A  race 
begins ;  the    riders,   shouting  like   mad- 
men, so  manage  as  to  bring  the  animal  to 
the  spot  where  the  tame  oxen  are  quietly 
grazing,  when,  reining  in  their  horses,  he 
darts  ahead,  and  finding  he  is  no  longer 
pursued,  stops,  evidently  astonished  at  the 
operation.     In  this  way,  twenty  or  thirty 
men  will  select  a  large  number  in  a  day. 
Sometimes  a  "  novillo"  or  steer  will  give 
them  a  chase  of  three  or  four  miles  before 
they  can  bring  him  to  the  right  spot.    The 
drove   selected,  the  head   driver  gets  a 
certificate  from  the  justice  of  peace  that 
he  has  examined  the  marks,  and  that  the 
cattle  are  sold  by  the  true  owners,  with 
which  he  starts  for  town,  sometimes  150  or 
200  miles,  travelling  very  slowly,  and  sleep- 
ing on  the  grass  near  them.     Groat  care 
must  be  taken  that  they  do  not  mix  with 
herds  as  they  pass  along,  as  there  are  no 
fences  or  ditches  to  separate  one's  land 
from  his  neighbor's. 

Arriving  at  the  outskirts  of  the  city  of 
Buenos  Ayres,  they  pass  to  the  great 
salting  establishments,  where  they  are 
driven  into  a  pen.  A  lasso  or  noose  is 
thrown  over  the  horns,  and  by  a  windlass 
the  animal  is  drawn  up  to  a  post,  where 
a  man  stands,  and  with  a  sharp-pointed 
knife  pierces  the  spine,  back  of  the  horns 
— the  animal  drops  upon  a  rail  truck,  and 
is  drawn  off  tu  the  skinning  ground,  where 


the  hide  is  taken  off,  the  beef  cut  from 
the  bones  and  hung  up  to  drain,  preparato- 
ry to  salting,  and  the  tallow  all  taken  out, 
all  within  five  minutes.     The  hides  arc 
salted  and  shipped,  principally  to  Eng- 
land J  the  beef  is  salted  and  then  dried, 
and  shipped  in  bulk  to  Brazil  and  Cuba  : 
the  bones,  horns,  and  hoofs,  are  shipped  to 
Europe ;  and  the  hair  from  the  tails,  for 
mattresses,  and  the  sinews  of  the  legs,  for 
glue,  are  exported  to  the  United  Slates. 
About  600,000  cattle  are  annually  killed 
for  the  beef,  which  is  cured  for  export, 
and  about  200,000  are  killed  and  the  beef 
either  steamed  out  for  the  fat,  or  thrown 
away.     The  export  of  hides  from  Buenos 
Ayres  is   1,200,000  per  annum.     Those 
for  the  United  States  are  the  lighter  kinds, 
that  come  from  the  interior  states  of  the 
Argentine    confederation.      The    richest 
cattle>owneTS  are  Nicholas  Anchorena  and 
his  brother  Thomas,  who  sell  70,000  each 
year,  and  have  about  300,000,  and  50,000 
horses.     There  are  several  who  own  over 
100,000,  and  the  country  remaining  tran- 
quil  and   in   peace,   the   number    would 
rapidly  increase.     The  other  states  of  the 
confederation  are  not  so  settled,  but  have 
about  3,500,000  cattle  ;   and  the  republic 
of  Uruguay  and  the  southern  part  of  Brazil 
(Rio  Grande)  have  5,000,000  more,  ma- 
king in  the  country  near  the  La  Plata, 
13,500,000.      The    export   of    hides   to 
Europe  and  the  United  States  is  about 
2,500,000  annually. 

Sheep  have  been  much  neglected  until 
within  fifteen  years  past.  Formerly  they 
were  considered  as  worth  but  a  few  cents 
each,  and  the  story  of  their  being  used  to 
bum  brick  with,  in  former  times,  is  true. 
The  common  wool  is  now  worth,  when 
washed,  about  six  cents  the  pound.  With- 
in fifteen  years  many  persons  have  turned 
their  attention  to  importing  fine  sheep, 
and  crossing  them  with  the  sheep  of  the 
Pampis.  Over  ten  thousand  full  blood 
merino  sheep  have  been  brought  to  the 
country,  from  Germany  and  the  United 
States.  The  pure  blood  sheep  born  in  the 
country,  and  taken  care  of,  deteriorate  very 
little  in  the  fineness  of  the  wool,  and  some 
of  the  sheep  that  are  crossed  three  quar- 
ters, or  seven  eighths  full  blood,  produce 
very  fine  wool.  The  largest  sheep  estate 
is  that  of  Mr.  Sheridan,  an  Irish  gentle- 


nMMtBIWOP  - 


THE  PAMPAS  OF  BUENOS  AYRE3. 


853 


the  beef  cut  from 
o  drain,  preparato- 
Uow  all  taken  out, 
.  The  hiJes  arc 
incipally  to  Eu^- 
id  and  then  dried, 
Brazil  and  Cuba : 
lofs,  are  shipped  to 
from  the  tails,  for 
W8  of  the  logs,  for 
ho  United  States. 
re  annually  killed 
cured  for  export, 
killed  and  the  beef 
the  fat,  or  thrown 
bides  from  Buenos 
jr  annum.     Those 

0  the  lighter  kinds, 
erior  states  of  tho 
)n.  The  richest 
das  Anchorena  and 
10  sell  70,000  each 
)0,000,  and  50,000 
eral  who  own  over 
ry  remaining  tran- 
le  number   would 

other  states  of  tho 
>  settled,  but  have 
,  and  the  republic 
them  part  of  Brazil 
)00,000  more,  ma- 
lear  the  La  Plata, 
[port  of  hides  to 
id  States  is  about 

ich  neglected  until 
it.  Formerly  they 
rth  but  a  few  cents 
their  being  used  to 
mer  times,  is  true, 
now  worth,  when 

1  the  pound.  With- 
ersons  have  turned 
>orting  fine  sheep, 
b  the  sheep  of  the 
bousand  full  blood 
en  brought  to  the 
ty  and  the  United 
}d  sheep  born  in  the 
I  of,  deteriorate  very 
the  wool,  and  some 
crossed  three  quar- 
full  blood,  produce 
argest  sheep  estate 
n,  an  Irish  gentle- 


man where  there  will  be  one  hundred  |  Buenos  Ayres  the  past  season  20,000,000 
and  'fifty  thousand  sheared  this  year,  all  pounds  of  wool,  of  which  two  thirds  went 
of  them  from  one  half  to  full  blood  merino,  to  the  United  Stiiles.  This  was  not  all 
This  estate  is  about  fifty  miles  south  of  the  product  of  that  state,  as  part  ol  it  caino 
Buenos    Ayres,    contains    seven    league    from  Cordova,  Entre  Rios,  und  the  rcpub- 


square  of  land,  and  is  called,  "  Estancia 
de  los  Saiones,"  or  "  Estate  ol   the    Sax- 
onies"—it  being  devoted  entirely  to  the 
raiding  of  sheep,  which  are  divided  gen- 
erally into  flocks  of  3,000  to  5,000  each. 
A  man  or  boy  on  horseback,  always  ac- 
companies them.     They  require  but  little 
caro,  beyond  letting  them  out  of  the  pen, 
iiud  driving  them  back,  every  day  in  the 
year.     The    soil  of  the   Pampas    is  im- 
pregnated with  saltpetre,  and  the  water  is 
brackish.     To  this  is  attributed  the  ab- 
sence of  foot  rot  and  other  diseases  anumg 
.sheep.     The  shearing  season  commences 
the  middle  of  October,  the  shearing  being 
mostly  done  by  women.     Some  of  them 
will  shear  fifteen,  and  even  twenty  sheep 
in  a  day.     The  level  nature  of  the  country 
and  the  absence  of  running  water,  make  it 
•nipossible  to  wash  the  wool  on  the  sheep's 
back.     It  is  rolled  up  as  sheared,  and  with 
considerable  dirt,  put  into  carts,   which 
take  it  to  town,  where  it  is  valued  and 
shipped.     The  greatest  drawback  to  the 
producing  of  wool  on  the  Pampas,  is  the 
small  burr  which  adheres  to  the  wool.     It 
is  the  seed  of  a  species  of  clover,  of  which 


lie  of  Uruguay. 

Horses  of  the  Pampas  are  a  small  race, 
originally   from    Spain.     They  are   most 
excellent    saddle-horses,   and   have  great 
bottom,  but  are  not  of  sufficient  weight  for 
carts  or  carriages.     They  have  increased 
to  such  an  extent,  as  to  be  of  lillle  value 
except  for  the  hide.     Horses  are  the  prin- 
cipal munition  of  war,  and  all  are  subject 
to  be  taken  by  the  government.     An  army 
marches  with  three  horses  lor  each  soldier, 
'  and  the  Argentine  government  have  a  re- 
'  serve  of  90,000.     All  battles  on  the  Pam- 
pas are  decided  by  the  cavalry  and  light 
artillery,  which  is  equal  to  any  in   the 
world  ;  anc'  the  success  of  the  Argentines 
in  all  their  wars,  may  be  ascribed  to  this 
cause. 

Every  estate  has  one  hundred  horses 
and  mares  to  every  one  thousand  cattle, 
and  in  some  parts  the  proportion  is  larger. 
Formerly,  government  allowed  horses  to 
be  killed  and  the  carcasses  steamed,  by 
which  process,  at  times,  fifty  pounds  of  oil 
is  extracted,  which  is  shipped  to  the  United 
States,  and  there  sold  as  neat's  foot  oil. 
Fearing  that  the  stock  of  horses  would 


is  ineseeu  Ol  u  Buecieaui  i/iifvoi,  ui   "...V,.. o        ...  ,  ui  •.    1  1 

the  sheep  are  vefy  fond,  and  in  some  parts  i  decrease,  this  has  been  prohibited    and 
of  the  country  there  is  so  much  of  it,  as  |  horses  are  of  little  value  ;  a  flock  of  theiii, 

.  '      '.-...  .  >  11      ..,;.U    .„„.<>«    nr,A    /.nits     nnt     hfiincr     worth 


to  render  the  wool  of  little  value.  A  small 
shrub  that  grows  two  or  three  feet  high, 
produces  a  burr  as  large  as  a  marble, 
which  is  easily  taken  out.  The  manes 
and  tails  of  horses  feeding  among  this,  are 
frequently  an  enormojs  mass  of  burr  of 
many  pounds  weight.  The  common  wool 
of  the  country  is  generally  washed  after 
shearing,  it  being  of  little  importance  to 
keep  the  fleeces  entire.  The  wool  wash- 
ed at  Buenos  Ayres  has  a  harsh,  crispy 
feeling,  arising  from  the  water.  The 
Southdown  sheep  are  hardiest,  and  in- 
crease the  fastest.  Don  Faustino  Xeme- 
ncs  has  60,000,  on  his  estate,  twenty 
miles  from  the  city,  but  generally  the 
proprietors   have   crossed  with   Saxony. 


with  mares  and  colts,  not  being  worth 
more  than  seventy-five  cents  each.  Tamed 
and  broken  for  the  saddle,  they  are  worth 
three  to  five  dollars.  Fancy  ones  bring 
fancy  prices,  and  occasionally  a  horse 
will  soil  as  high  as  one  hundred  dollars, 
but  it  is  very  rare.  Like  the  cattle,  they 
are  all  branded,  which  gives  strangers  a 
very  disagreeable  impression  at  first. 

Wheat  and  corn  are  now  raised,  sufli- 
cient  for  the  consumption  of  the  country, 
and  at  times  they  are  exported.  The  far- 
mers keep  the  cattle  from  their  fields  by 
boys  on  horseback,  driving  them  away — 
as  fences  and  ditches  are  rare.  There 
are  immense  quantities  of  thistles,  which 
in  spring  shoot  up  to  six  or  eight  feet 


proprietors    uave    ciuoacu    mni    ^^.^'^..j .    .-  -f—o  ---.-     T*^      .  ,,  i    Ti    „    „_„ 

The  wool  from  Cordova,  one  of  the  interior  The  sun  dnes  the  stalks,  and  they  are 
states  of  the  confederation,  is  free  from  !  used  for  fires  m  the  country.  Many  of 
burr,  and  a  much  cleaner  kind  than  the  .  the  estates  have  squares  of  peach-trees, 
Pampas  wool.     There  was  exported  from  1  which  are  cut  down  every   four  years. 


m 


f 


i 


854 


HOME.— THE  FAIR  OF  REYKIAIUK. 


Peachwood  is  almost  the  only  firewood 
of  the  city,  except  what  is  brought  from 
the  north  side  of  the  river  and  Brazil ; 
and  the  trees  planted  on  the  islands  of  the 
Parana  river  by  the  Jesuits,  have  now 
spread  over  its  thousand  islands,  and  the 
towns  on  its  banks  are  supplied  with  fruit 
and  firewood  from  them.  The  fruit  is  a 
variety  of  cling-stones,  not  very  large,  but 
of  good  flavor.  The  soil  is  so  rich  that 
potatoes  require  foreign  seed.  The  third 
crop  is  so  watery  as  to  be  unfit  for  eating. 
Beans,  peas,  and  most  vegetables,  are 
raised  in  great  abundance,  particularly 
tomatoes. 

The  Pampas  abound  in  game  in  almost 
incredible  quantities,  and  animals  with 
valuable  skins;  hares, and  armadilloes,  that 
are  considered  a  great  luxury  for  eating ; 
the  biscatchia,  a  species  of  the  prairie- 
dog  ;  the  nutvia,  a  species  of  muskrat,  the 
fur  being  a  substitute  for  beaver,  and  of 
whose  skins  500,000  are  annually  export- 
ed ;  ostriches,  and  every  species  of  crane ; 
the  scarlet  ibis,  flamingoes,  and  spoonbills, 
which  are  sometimes  seen  in  thousands  ; 
curlew,  plover,  and  snipe,  of  various  class- 
es, and  in  great  abundance.  The  oflicers 
of  our  navy  would  frequently  bag  fifty 
brace  in  a  day's  shooting.  Two  kinds  of 
partridges  and  pheasants,  double  the  size 
of  ours  ;  swans  and  wild  geese,  in  such 
quantities  as  in  winter  to  literally  make 
parts  of  the  lakes  look  white.  Thirty- 
two  different  and  distinct  kinds  of  wild 
duck  have  been  found  on  the  Pampas. 
Some  of  them  have  been  pronounced  equal 
to  canvass-backs.  The  rivers  abound  in 
fish  to  an  incredible  extent.  About  twen- 
ty varieties,  and  all  very  good,  are  to  be 
found  in  the  market.  A  climate  with  but 
few  changes,  and  of  delightful  tempera- 
ture. It  only  requires  peace,  to  convert 
these  Pampas  into  a  flourishing  agricul- 
tural country.  Millions  can  be  sustained 
where  now  only  thousands  exist. 


place  of  their  birth,  it  is  naturally  con- 
nected with  their  first  experience  of  life, 
and  light,  and  health ;  a  mother's  fond- 
ness  and  a  father's  care  ;  the  affection  of 
relatives,  the  sports  of  boyhood  ;  the  oc- 
cupations of  riper  youth  ;  the  first  dawn- 
ings  of  hope,  and  aspirations  after  happi- 
ness ;  with  the  season  when  life,  and 
futurity,  and  all  things  seemed  fresh  and 
beautiful,  ere  the  disappointments  of  ma- 
turer  years  had  chilled  the  scene  of  our 
birth  and  early  life,  still  it  has  much  to 
endear  it  to  our  hearts ;  it  is  linked  in- 
separably with  all  our  pleasures  and  pur- 
suits ;  the  thought  of  home  gives  us 
strength  to  labor,  and  fortitude  to  endure, 
thither  do  we  look  for  comfort,  there  do 
we  take  refuge  from  every  external  evil ; 
there  are  gathered  together  those  who  are 
more  precious  to  us  than  ourselves  ;  those 
who  are  not  less  beloved  because  they  are 
the  friends  more  of  sympathy  and  choice 
than  of  natural  consanguinity;  in  ten 
thousand  ways  are  our  feelings,  our 
thoughts,  our  actions,  identified  with  home; 
to  it  we  are  bound  by  ties  which  increase 
in  number  and  in  strength  with  increasing 
yoars. 


HOME. 

Attachment  to  the  place  of  his  abode, 
whether  an  innate  principle  of  the  human 
mind  or  merely  the  result  of  association, 
is  a  feeling  universally  observable  in  man. 
In  the  minds  of  those  whose  home  is  the 


THE  FAIR  OF  REYKIARIK. 

wo  things  have  re- 
markably distinguish- 
ed Iceland — the  as- 
pect and  nature  of  the 
island,  and  the  char- 
acter of  its  inhabi- 
tants. In  no  quarter 
of  the  globe  do  we 
find  crowded  within  the  same  extent  of 
surface  such  a  number  of  ignivomous 
mountains,  so  many  boiling  springs,  or 
such  immense  tracts  of  lava,  as  here  ar- 
rest the  attention  of  the  traveller.  The 
general  aspect  of  the  country  is  the  mosi 
rugged  and  dreary  imaginable.  On  every 
side  appear  marks  of  confusion  and  de- 
vastation, or  the  tremendous  sources  ol 
these  evils  in  the  yawning  craters  of  huge 
and  menacing  volcanoes.  Nor  is  the 
mind  of  a  spectator  relieved  from  the  dis- 
agreeable emotions  arising  from  reflection 


L 


wmmm 


Mia 


things  have  re- 
(ably  (listinguisli- 
Iceland — the  as- 
and  nature  of  the 
id,  and  the  char- 
r  of  its  inhabi- 
I.  In  no  quarter 
be  globe  do  we 
I  same  extent  of 

of  ignivomous 
iling  springs,  or 
lava,  as  here  ar- 

traveller.  The 
untry  is  the  most 
lable.  On  every 
•nfusion  and  de- 
idous  sources  oi 
g  craters  of  huge 
s.  Nor  is  the 
ved  from  the  dis- 
ig  from  reflection 


f 


856 


==n 


THE  FAIR  OF  REYKIAKIK. 


t 


•Tl' 


?i« 


on  the  subterraneous  fires  which  are  ra- 
ging beneath  him,  by  a  temporary  survey 
of  the  huge  mountains  of  perpetual  ice  by 
wiiich  he  is  surrounded.  These  very 
niHSHes,  which  naturally  exclude  the  most 
distant  idea  of  heat,  are  frequently  seen 
to  emit  smoke  and  flames,  and  pour  down 
upon  the  plains  immense  floods  of  boiling 
mud  and  water,  or  red-hot  torrents  of  de- 
vouring lava.  Yet  this  rugged  and  dan- 
gerous island,  so  far  from  being  uninhabit- 
ed, or  inhabited  only  by  a  people  in  the 
lowest  state  of  intellectual  and  physical 
improvement,  has  been  long  famous  for  its 
literature  and  its  state  of  comparative  civili- 
zation. It  had  a  representative  form  of 
government,  and  its  inhabitants  were  an 
enlightened  people,  when  Europe  was  but 
advancing  from  darkness.  And  though  it 
is  now  thrown  into  the  shade,  because 
Kiirope  has  gone  forward,  while  Iceland 
has  become  a  dependency,  lost  its  repre- 
sentative government,  and  been  afflicted 
with  evils,  arising  from  furious  volcanic 
eruptions,  earthquakes,  disease,  &c. ;  still 
the  Icelanders  are  an  educated  people,  to 
a  degree  which  is  eiamordinary  when 
contrasted  with  their  siiuaiion.  Dr.  Hen- 
derson created  much  interest  in  Britain 
by  the  proofs  which  he  afforded  of  the  in- 
telligence of  the  Icelanders.  The  follow- 
ing is  an  instance  :  "  As  I  rode  along,  I 
was  entertained  by  the  interesting  con- 
versation of  a  peasant,  who  was  travelling 
to  Keykiarik  in  order  to  dispose  of  his 
country  produce.  The  knowledge  which 
he  discovered  of  the  geography  and  poli- 
tics of  Britain  quite  astonished  me.  He 
gave  me  a  long  detail  of  the  events  that 
transpired  during  the  usurpation  of  Crom- 
well, and  proposed  several  questions  rel- 
ative to  the  Thames,  Tay,  Forth,  &c. 
His  acquaintance  with  these  things  ho 
had  chiefly  derived  from  Danish  books  ; 
and  having  lately  fallen  in  with  a  work  in 
German,  he  began  to  learn  that  language, 
in  order  to  make  himself  n^aster  of  its  con- 
tents." 

Reykiarik,  to  which  this  peasant  was 
travelling  to  dispose  of  his  produce,  is  the 
capital  of  Iceland,  and  the  only  place  ap- 
proaching to  our  idea  of  a  town  in  the 
island.  Speaking  of  its  cathedral,  Mr. 
Harrow  says :  "  Under  the  roof  of  the 
church  is  the  public  library,  said  to  con- 


tain about  6,000  volumes,  to  which  ih<. 
inhabitants  have  free  access,  being  allinv- 
ed,  under  certain  restrictions,  to  Imve 
books  at  iheir  own  houses  ;  aiul  I  was  ;ih- 
sured  that  the  residents  were  generiiliy 
very  fond  of  reading.  The  books  vnn- 
sisled  mostly  of  general  and  ecrlesiasiical 
history,  in  the  northern  languages — Ger- 
man, Swedish,  Danish,  and  Norwegian  ; 
such  is  related  to  Iceland,  their  sagis 
and  their  eddas  ;  and  it  contained  also  a 
few  English  books,  generally  the  wriiiiiL's 
of  our  best  poets,  and  also  a  collection  <if 
the  Greek  ami  Latin  classics,  besidt'.s 
some  manuscripts,  chiefly  theological,  the 
production  of  the  cleigy  of  the  island. 
The  Icelanders  were  once  deserv((lly 
famed  for  their  literary  productions  ;  and 
it  is  pleasing  to  And  that  they  still  keep 
alive  the  spirit  of  research  and  that  litera- 
ry pursuit  for  which  their  ancestors  were 
disting,uished." 

Reykiarik  lies  on  the  western  side  of 
Iceland.  The  southwest  corner  of  the 
island  projects  considerably  into  the  sea, 
forming  the  southern  side  or  boutulary  of 
a  large  bay,  called  by  Dr.  Henderson  and 
others  Faxo  Fiord. 

A  stranger  who  first  approaches  the 
shore  on  which  Reykiarik  stands,  and  has 
not  prepared  himself  by  reading  for  what 
he  may  expect,  beyond  the  simple  fact 
that  it  is  the  capital  of  Iceland,  can  not 
possibly  behold  what  he  sees  of  it — and 
he  sees  at  least  the  better  half  of  the  whole 
from  the  anchorage — without  experiencing 
a  strong  feeling  of  disappointment.  He 
perceives  only  a  long  row  of  houses,  or 
rather  the  upper  parts  of  houses,  running 
parallel  to  and  close  behind  a  rising  beach 
of  black  shingle,  their  red  or  brown  roofs 
being  the  most  conspicuous,  and  the  tops 
of  the  doors  only,  and  perhaps  about  half 
of  a  row  of  windows,  peeping  above  the 
said  beach,  but  he  sees  enough  of  them 
to  satisfy  himself  that  they  are  of  a  low, 
mean  character,  and  only  of  one  story  in 
height.  On  each  extremity  of  this  line 
of  houses  he  will  observe  a  rising  emi- 
nence, scarcely  deserving  the  name  of  a 
hill,  on  which  he  will  perceive  a  number 
of  sod  or  turf  huts  raised  a  little,  and  but 
a  little,  above  the  level  of  the  ground  ; 
their  roofs,  and  generally  their  sides  too, 
verdant  enough;  and  well  clothed   with 


los,  to  wliicli  ilic 
cess,  bi'iiiK  iillow- 
irictiori!*,  to  Imvc 
^9  ;  iiiid  I  was  ns- 
8   were   jjf'iii'riilly 

The  bodks  con- 
and  ccrlosiasiiciil 

InngiiMUfs — (tiT- 

and  Norwi')iiiiii  , 
Iniid,  their  .siii>  is 
i  contained  alxo  a 
orally  the  wriliiij.s 
Uo  a  collec'tioM  nl' 

classics,  besides 
Iv  theoh)gical,  the 
;y  of   the   island. 

once  deservi  dly 
productions ;  and 
at  thoy  still  kee|) 
v\i  and  that  litera- 
dr  ancestors  were 

e  western  side  of 
St  corner  of  the 
ably  into  the  sea, 
!e  or  boundary  of 
ir.  Henderson  and 

t  approaches  the 
ik  stands,  and  has 
•  reading  for  what 
I  the  simple  fact 
Iceland,  can  not 
3  sees  of  it — and 
•half  of  the  whole 
hout  experiencing 
ippointment.  He 
ow  of  houses,  or 
f  houses,  running 
ind  a  rising  beach 
}d  or  brown  roofs 
ous,  and  the  tops 
erhaps  about  half 
eeping  above  the 
i  enough  of  them 
hey  are  of  a  low, 
y  of  one  story  in 
imit/  of  this  line 
!rve  a  rising  emi- 
ng  the  name  of  a 
erceive  a  number 
d  a  little,  and  but 
I  of  the  ground ; 
ly  their  sides  too, 
'ell  clothed  with 


POWER  OF  KINDNESS. 


857 


„,,8s— the  alwdcs   chiefly  of  fishermen, 
laborers  in   the   merchants'  employ,  and 
idlers,  of  which  iheie  were  not  a  few  at 
this  time  sauntering  about  the  town.  .  .  . 
In  addition  to  the  row  of  houses  seen  from  j 
the  harbt)r,  another  row  made  its  appear- 
ance behind  it— perhaps  I  ought  to  say 
two   impevCect    rows,  forming   a   sort  ol 
street,  rmmii.g  «t  right  angles  w»li  the 
loriiier,  near  its  western  extremity.     This 
8liect  or  space  between  the  houses  was 
encuinbeied  with  the  same  kind  of  rocks 
starling  cut  of  the  soil  that  we  observed 
in  the  plain.     In  this  portion  of  the  town 
18  the  residence  of  the   Landfogued,  or 
treasurer  ;  and  near  the  farthest  extremity  , 
is  a  sort  of  lavern  or  society-house,  where 
the    Danish    and    other  mercantile   resi- 
dents  assemble,  forming  a  kind  of  club, 
where  they  play  billiards  and  other  games, 
and  have  dinners,  balls,  and  other  amuse- 
ments occasionally. 

The  houses  on  the  sea-line  are  generally 
those  of  the   merchants,  who  are  chiefly 
Danes  ;  they  are  built,  as  in  Norway,  of 
wood,  and  covered  with  shingles  or  planks, 
and  to  each  is  attached  a  storehouse  for 
their   dilVcrent    articles   of    merchandise. 
The  only  sunie-iiuilt  house  is  that  of  the 
governor,  situated  at  the  eastern  extremity 
of  llie  line,  and  this  building  was  formerly 
the  workhouse— not  for  the  maintenance 
of  the  indigent  poor,  but  made  use  of  rather 
as  the  house  of  correction.     The  episcopal . 
residence  is  near  to  the  coast,  considerably  i 
to  the  eastward  of  that  of  the  governor-- 
a  very  comfortable  house,  built  of  brick, 
and  white- washed.     There  is  a  hot-spnng 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Reykiank,  which 
sends  up  a  continual  column  of  steam,  and  1 
which  may  have  given  name  to  the  capi- 
tal—the smoking  village. 

The  grand  annual  event  of  Reykiarik 
is  the  fair,  which  brings  together  the 
peasantry  from  all  parts  of  the  country. 
After  the  long  winter,  there  is  a  bustle  of 
preparation  among  the  Icelanders.  The 
melting  of  the  snow  from  the  ground  allows 
the  hor^ses  to  get  a  little  grass,  on  which 
they  thrive  well,  and  rapidly  recover  from 
the  lean  and  miserable  condition  into  which 
their  scanty  winter  fare  had  thrown  them. 
The  lleeces  are  taken  from  the  sheep  ;  the 
roads  are  passable,  if  roads  they  can  be 
called,  where  not  a  wheel-carnage  of  any 


kind  can   be  used ;    and   the  peasantry, 
having  nothing  particular  to  occupy  them 
till  the  liny  harvest  sets  in,  prepare,  in  the 
month  of  June,  for  the  fair  of  Heykiarik. 
They  bring  down  in  lioxes  or  liitle  cliesls, 
or   skin-i)ags,   as    it    may    happen,  slung 
across  their  horses'  backs,  wool  and  wool- 
len  manufactured  goods,  such    as   doth, 
knitted  stockings,  and  mittens,  butter,  close 
'  pressed  and  packed   in   barrels,  skins  ol 
cattle,  calves,  sheep  and  lambs,  and  inlhiw. 
I      The  peasantry  encamp  in  the  nei),;hbor- 
'  hood  of  Ueykiarik  during   the    fair,  and 
'  the  short  period  of  its  duration  is  one  of 
'  great  bustle  and  activity.     It  affords  the 
only  opportunity  of  seeing  the  populalwn 
'  of  Iceland.     During  the  rest  of  the  suin- 
'  mcr  Ueykiarik  is  tolerable,  and  alTords  a 
'  little  society  ;  but  after  the  merchants  de- 
part, and  the  winter  sets  in,  it  is  one  of 
the  dreariest  places  on  the  globe. 


POWER  OF  KINDNESS. 

O  man  hath  measur- 
ed it;  for  it  is  bound- 
less ;  no  man  hath 
seen  its  death,  for  it 
is  eternal.  In  all 
ages  of  the  world,  in 
every  clime,  among 
every  kind,  it  hath 
shone  out — a  bright 
and  beautiful  star,  a  beaming  glory ! 

See  Joseph  in  the  hands  of  his  wicked 
brethren.     For   a   few   pieces   of  paltry 
silver,  they  sold  him  into  Egypt.     Provi- 
dence in  kindness  broke  the  bands  which 
held  him  in  slavery,  and  made  him  a  ruler 
there.     Famine  spread  over  the  land  tier 
dapk  mantle,  and  the  cruel   brethren  of 
Joseph  hungered.     They  went  to  Egypt 
for  corn.     How  now  acted  Joseph?    More 
than  once  ho  filled  their  sacks   and  re- 
turned  them  their  money,  and  then  made 
himself    known.     "I    am   Joseph,   your 
brother,   whom   you   sold    Mto   Egypt. 
Here  was  kindness,  forgiveness.     And  it 
crushed   to  death  the  spirit  of  jealousy 
that  had  once  made  him  a  slave.     He  had 

^To"oTat'  the  case  of  Saul  and  David. 


-'V- 


r 


IT 


J 


WHITE  OR  BARN  OWL. 


1f< 


l)ut(  mi\  bls«ting  jealousy  fiM««4  tho  heart 
of  Siitiil,  and  he  "  nought  »o  take  iM  young 
man's  life  "  With  hellish  hate,  N  imnteA 
him,  evil)  to  the  dens  and  caves  of  the 
earth.  Bull  'vid  conquered  his  enemy ; 
oven  tho  proud  sniril  of  hawtjhty  Saul  he 
humbled.  And  now !  No»  with  sword 
and  spears,  not  with  hars^t  nd  coarse 
contumely,  for  these  did  never  touch  tho 
lieart  with  gentle  influence.  No,  but  with 
a  weapon  as  simple  as  the  shepherd's 
sling,  yet  sure  as  the  arrow  of  death. 
'Twas  kindness !  This  killed  rankling 
hatred,  and  left  Saul  to  like.  And  when 
it  had  done  its  work,  Saul  said  to  David  : 
'♦  Thou  art  more  righteous  than  I,  for  thou 
hast  rewarded  me  good,  whereas  I  re- 
warded thee  evil."  Was  not  here  a  vic- 
tory— more  glorious,  more  godlike  than  a 
Wellington  ever  knew  ? 

Come  further  down  in  the  world's  histo- 
ry, and  tell  me,  what  word  of  all  those 
spoken  by  the  "  meek  and  lowly  Jesus," 
— "  the  Prince  of  peace,"  the  "  Savior  of 
the  world,"  was  best  calculated  to  soften 
and  subdue  tho  hard  hearts  of  his  perse- 
cutors ?  Are  we  not  pointed  to  the  cross 
on  Calvary  ?  Are  we  not  asked  to  listen 
to  the  soft  sweet  tones  of  that  voice  ? — 
"  Father,  forgive  them  !"  O,  here  was 
kindness ! 

Was  not  the  kindness  exhibited  by  the 
martyr  Stephen,  when  he  cried  aloud, 
"  Lord,  lay  not  this  sin  to  their  charge," 
a  holy  triumph  over  his  persecutors  ? 

Look  over  our  extended  country  at  the 
present  day.  What  has  changed  those 
miserable  hovels  of  other  days,  where 
misery  and  wretchedness  had  dwelt,  into 
the  neat  and  beautiful  abodes  of  plenty 
and  peace  ?  What  has  kindled  anew  the 
flame  of  love  and  affection,  in  hearts  long 
estranged  and  freezing  with  coldness? 
What  has  made  happy  the  hoinus  of  thou- 
sands of  wives  and  tens  of  thousands  of 
children  ?  What,  in  short,  has  been  the 
great  propellant  of  tho  temperance  ref- 
ormation, which  has  carried  joy  and 
gladness  all  over  our  land  ?  What,  but 
kindness  ? 

P  'xder,  have  you   an   enemy,  whom 

•  J   won''.'   make  a  friend — a  neighbor, 

n    ■>  r      .8  repentance — a  fallen  brother, 

-M-:m  _  ou  would  ,'   'rro  to  sobriety  and 

virti  ?  :  forget  not  iue  power  of  kindness  ! 


WHITE  OR  BARN  OWL. 

^  HE  ujost  common  ob- 
\>  server  can  noi  fail  to 
remurJ:  that  there  is 
a  very  considerable 
nflTniity  between  the 
falcon  and  owl  gc!ius 
of  birds.  Owls  may 
intleed  bn  rejiarded  as 
a  sort  of  nocturnal  hawks  ;  ditrcriiig  from 
them,  much  in  the  same  way  that  the  iiioih 
differs  from  the  butterfly.  Orniihologistn 
enumerate  eighty  species  of  owls  ;  but 
they  admit  that  the  nutnbor  accurately 
known  is  less  numerous  ;  the  same  bird, 
under  a  changed  aspect,  having  in  nine 
instances  been  set  down  as  a  distinct  spe- 
cies. The  following  may  be  stated  as  the 
characteristics  in  which  they  all  agree. 
The  bill  is  crooked,  as  in  the  falcons,  but 
is  not  usually  furnished  with  a  cere  ;  the 
nostrils  are  oblong,  and  covered  with  brist- 
ly feathers  ;  the  h-rnd  is  large,  and  so  are 
the  eyes  and  the  openings  of  the  ears ;  the 
tongue  is  divided  ;  the  toes  are  placed 
three  before  and  one  behind,  the  exterior 
toe  capable  of  being  occasionally  bent 
backward  ;  the  exterior  edgt  of  one  or 
more  of  the  greater  quills  is  serrated  in 
most  of  the  species.  There  are  a  *ew 
species  which  can  see  in  the  daytime,  and 
are  in  the  habit  of  then  taking  their  prey  ; 
but  owls  are  generally  nocturnal  birds, 
most  of  them  seeking  their  prey  by  night, 
or  rather  in  the  twilight,  at  which  time,  or 
in  the  gray  of  the  morning,  they  appear 
to  distinguish  objects  best.  There  is  no 
evidence  that  they  can  see  when  the  night 
is  very  dark  ;  the  time,  therefore,  allowed 
them  to  hunt  for  prey  is  very  limited,  ex- 
cept on  Ti'onlijht  or  other  favorable 
nights,  wi.v.i  t<(i3y  viay  be  observed  to 
seek  thefv:  ,iny  ft).::  night  to  i);oiiiing. 
Limited  '  ,i'~  ■  'i.-:  /f  providing  for  their 
wants  usually  is,  they  enjoy  advantages 
which  enable  them  to  receive  an  adequate 
provision  in  a  comparatively  short  time. 

The  beautiful  species  represented  in 
our  engraving  is  tho  common  white  or 
barn  owl,  called  by  some  naturalists  strix 
flammea,  and  by  others  aluco  fiammea. 

The  downy  soflness  and  remarkable  el- 
egance of  the  plumage  of  this  owl  are  en- 
titled to  more  admiration  than  they  seem 


AHN  OWL. 

E  most  common  ob- 
rvcr  can  noi  fRil  to 
narJi  that  theru  is 
very  considerable 
liiily  bnweon  the 
con  niid  t)w|  jjctuis 
birds.  (Jwis  may 
lend  bo  rejjarded  as 
ks  ;  diirerin)r  IVom 
1  way  that  the  moth 
ly.  Ornithologist'. 
:ic8  of  owU  ;  buL 
aumbor  nccuraiel  ■ 
js  i  the  same  bird, 
ct,  )iavin(r  in  iiwno 
n  as  a  distinct  spe- 
nay  be  stated  as  the 
ch  they  all  agree, 
in  the  falcons,  bnt 
1  with  a  core  ;  the 
covered  with  l)rist. 
s  large,  and  so  are 
)g8  of  the  ears ;  the 
9  toes  are  placed 
lehind,  the  exterior 
occasionally  bent 
)r  edgti  of  one  or 
lills  is  serrated  in 
There  are 
in  the  daytime,  and 
taking  their  prey  ; 
y  nocturnal  birds, 
;heir  prey  by  night, 
t,  at  which  time,  or 
rning,  they  appear 
best.  There  is  no 
see  when  the  night 
therefore,  allowed 
is  very  limited,  ex- 
r  other  favorable 
y  be  obs'^rved  to 
night  to  •i:0uiing. 
providing  for  their 
enjoy  advantages 
sceivo  an  adequate 
ivcly  short  time, 
cs  represented  in 
common  white  or 
no  naturalists  strix 
aluco  flammea. 
and  remarkable  el- 
of  this  owl  are  en- 
»n  than  they  seem 


k 


860 


THE  EYE. 


i 


to  have  obtained.  Superstition  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  commonness  of  the  bird  on 
fhe  other,  soem  to  have  prevented  the 
beauty  of  the  white  owl  from  being  duly 
appreciated.  We  shall  not  minutely  de- 
scribe the  appearance  of  so  common  a 
bird,  but  may  observe  that  the  plumage  is 
generally  of  a  reddish-yellow  color  with 
gray  variegations,  having  black  and  white 
spirts  down  the  shafts  of  the  feathers,  and 
the  breast  and  belly  white,  sometimes  yel- 
lowish, and  occasionally  marked  by  a  few 
blackish  or  dusky  spots.  The  bill  is 
straight  to  near  the  tip,  instead  of  being 
arched  from  base  to  point  as  in  the  other 
species.  The  large  eyes,  the  irides  of 
which  vary  from  nearly  black  to  yellow, 
are  surrounded  by  a  large  circle  of  soft 
white  feathers ;  but  the  ruff  is  edged  by 
a  rufous  or  chestnut  verge  intermixed  with 
white.  The  legs  are  feathered  to  the  toes, 
which  are  covered  with  fine  hair. 

This  species,  with  dome  variation  from 
climate,  is  very  extensively  diffused  over 
the  world.  It  is  well  known  in  different 
parts  of  Asia,  and  in  both  North  and  South 
America. 

The  white  owls  chiefly  live  upon  mice, 
which  they  swallow  whole  ;  but  they  will 
often  destroy  yoimg  birds.  Mr.  White, 
the  author  of  the  "  Natural  History  of  Sel- 
borne,"  mentions  a  pair,  which  infested  a 
dove-house,  and  made  graat  havoc  among 
the  young  pigeons.  This  owl  breeds  in 
hollow  trees,  near  farm-houses,  and  fre- 
quently in  barns,  or  under  the  eaves  of 
a  church  or  other  old  building.  It  does 
not  make  any  regular  nest,  but  lays  three 
or  four  eggs  upon  some  woolly  or  downy 
substance  placed  in  a  very  slovenly  man- 
ner. It  should  be  observed  that'  these 
birds  remain  in  barns,  hay-lofts,  and  oth- 
er out-houses,  during  the  greater  part  of 
the  year,  but  take  to  the  eaves  of  church- 
es, holes  in  lofty  buildings,  and  the  hol- 
lows of  trees,  in  the  breeding  season. 
They  are  almost  exclusively  found  in  in- 
habited districts,  and  their  utility  in  clear- 
ing l)arns  of  mice  renders  their  presence 
welcome  to  the  farmer. 

White  owls  are  said  to  scream  horribly 
as  they  fly  along;  from  this  sr reaming 
probably  arose  the  imaginary  species  of 
screech  owl,  which  the  superstitious  think 
attends  the  windows  of  dying  persons. 


THE  EYE. 

E  have,  in  another 
place,  incidentally 
remarked,  that  the 
eye  indicates  the  ho- 
lier emotions.  In 
all  stages  of  society, 
and  in  every  clime, 
the  posture  and  ex- 
pression of  rever- 
ence have  been  the  same.  The  works  of 
the  great  masters,  who  have  represented 
the  more  sublime  passions  of  men,  may  be 
adduced  as  evidences  :  by  the  upturned 
direction  of  the  eyes,  and  a  correspondence 
of  feature  and  attitude,  they  addr»!ss  us  in 
language  intelligible  to  all  mankind.  The 
humble  posture  and  raised  eyes  are  natu- 
ral, whether  in  the  darkened  chamber  or 
under  the  open  vault  of  heaven. 

On  first  consideration,  it  seems  merely 
consistent,  that  when  pious  thoughts  pre- 
vail, man  should  turn  his  eyes  from  things 
earthly  to  the  purer  objects  above.  But 
there  is  a  reason  for  this,  which  is  every 
way  worthy  of  attention.  When  subject 
to  particular  influences,  the  natural  posi- 
tion of  the  eyeballs  is  to  be  directed  up- 
ward. In  sleep,  languor  and  depression, 
or  when  affected  with  strong  emotions, 
the  eyes  naturally  and  insensibly  roil  up- 
ward. The  action  is  not  a  voluntary 
one  ;  it  is  irresistible.  Hence,  in  rev- 
ofence,  in  devotion,  in  agony  of  mind,  in 
all  sentiments  of  pity,  in  bodily  pain  with 
fear  of  death,  the  eyes  assume  that  posi- 
tion. 

Let  us  explain  by  what  muscles  the 
eyes  are  so  revolved.  There  are  two  sets 
of  muscles  which  govern  the  motions  of 
the  eyeball.  Four  straight  muscles,  at- 
tached at  cardinal  points,  by  combining 
their  action,  move  it  in  every  direction 
required  for  vision,  and  these  muscles  are 
subject  to  the  will.  When  the  straight 
muacles,  from  weariness  or  exhaustion, 
cease  to  guide  the  eye,  two  other  muscles 
operate  to  roll  it  upward  under  the  eye- 
lid :  these  are  the  oblique  muscles.  Ac- 
cordingly, in  sleep,  in  fainting,  in  ap- 
proaching death,  when  the  four  voluntary 
muscles  resign  their  action,  and  insensi- 
bility creeps  over  the  retina,  the  oblique 
muscles  prevail,  and  the  pupil  is  revoli'cd. 


MMMHiNMH 


MM 


EYE. 

E  have,  in  another 
place,  incidentally 
remarked,  that  the 
eye  indicates  the  ho- 
lier emotions.  In 
all  stages  of  society, 
and  in  every  clime, 
the  posture  and  ex- 
pression of  rever- 
me.  The  works  of 
10  have  represented 
ions  of  men,  may  be 
i :  by  the  upturned 
nd  a  correspondence 
,  they  address  us  in 

all  mankind.  The 
aised  eyes  are  natu- 
rkened  chamber  or 
)f  heaven. 
m,  it  seems  merely 
pious  thoughts  pre- 
his  eyes  from  things 
)bjects  above.  But 
Ijis,  which  is  every 
on.  When  subject 
s,  the  natural  posi- 

to  be  directed  up- 
uor  and  depression, 
h  strong  emotions, 
1  insensibly  roll  up- 
is  not  a  voluntary 
3.  Hence,  in  rev- 
I  agony  of  mind,  in 
in  bodily  pain  with 
s  assume  that  posi- 

what  muscles  the 

There  are  two  sets 
vern  the  motions  of 
traight  muscles,  at- 
»ints,  by   combining 

in  every  direction 
d  these  muscles  arc 
When  the  straight 
less  or  exhaustion, 
,  two  other  muscles 
?ard  under  the  eyo- 
ique  muscles.  Ac- 
in  fainting,  in  ap- 
1  the  four  voluntary 
action,  and  insensi- 

retina,  the  oblique 
le  pupil  is  revolt-cd. 


THE  LAGO  MAGGIORE. 


801 


so  ns  to  expose  only  the  white  of  the  eye.  | 
li  is  so  far  consolatory  to  reflect,  that  the  j 
;i|)|)brent  agony  indicated  by  this  direction 
of  ilie  eyes,  in  fainting  or  the  approach  of 
death,  is  the  effect  of  encroaching  insen- 
j^iliility — of  objects  impressed  on  the  nerve 
ol'  vision  being  no  longer  perceived. 

We  thus  see  that  when  wrapt  in  devo- 
tional feelings,  and  when  outward  im- 
jiressioiis  are  unheeded,  the  eyes  are 
raised,  by  an  action  neither  taught  nor  ac- 
quired. It  is  by  this  instinctive  motion 
we  aie  led  to  bow  with  humility — to  look 
upward  in  prayer,  and  to  regard  the  visible 
heavens  as  the  seat  of  God. 

"  I'raycr  is  tlie  upward  glaneing  of  the  eye, 
Wlion  none  but  God  is  uear." 

Mthough  the  savage  does  not  always 
ilisiiiigiiish  God  from  the  heavens  above 
liim,  this  direction  of  the  eye  would  ap- 
pear to  be  the  source  of  the  universal  be- 
lief that  the  Supreme  Being  has  his  throne 
ahove.  The  idolatrous  negro  in  praying 
for  rice  and  yams,  or  that  he  may  be  ac- 
tive and  swift,  lifts  up  his  eyes  to  the 
canopy  of  the  sky.  So,  in  intercourse 
with  God,  although  we  are  taught  that  our 
globe  is  ever  revolving,  though  religion 
inculcates  that  the  Almighty  is  every- 
where, yet,  under  the  influence  of  this 
pcLsition  of  the  eye,  which  is  no  doubt 
designed  for  a  purpose— we  seek  him  on 
high.  "  I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the 
hills  whence  cou.Mh  my  help." 

See,  then,  how  this  property  of  our 
bodily  frame  has  influenced  our  opinions 
and  belief;  our  conceptions  of  the  Deity, 
our  religious  observances,  and  daily  habits. 


THE  LAGC  MAGGIORE. 

AGO  Maggiore  is 
the  largest  of  all 
of  those  beautiful 
lakes  that  lie  at  the 
foot  of  the  Alps, 
on  the  Italian  side. 
It  is  about  forty- 
five  English  miles 
long,  but  its  breadth 
is  small  in  com- 
parison to  its  length,  varying  from  two  to 
five  miles,  while  in  the  lower  part  of  its 


course,  below   the  towns  of  Arnna   and 
Sesto,   it  becomes  so  narrow  as  to  look 
rather  like  a  stately  river  than  a  lake.     Its 
greatest  breadth  is  at  liaveuo,  where,  turn- 
ing the  promontory  of  Intra  and   Paianza, 
it  forms  a  deep  bold  bay.     The  distance 
from  Bavano  on  the  western  side  to  Lave- 
no,  on    the    eastern  shore,  is  not   much 
short  of  seven  miles,  and  at  either  of  these 
points  it  presents  a  magniticent  sheet  of 
water,  and  the  most  picturesque  combina- 
tion of  islands,  hills,  and  mountains.     It 
is  fortunate  that  these  two  pleasant  towns, 
which  are  built  on  the  very  margin  of  the 
lake,  and   present  the  finest  vi-jws  of  it, 
lie  immediately  on  the  high  road  of  travel- 
lers.    In  going  southward  from  Switzer- 
land, and  crossing  the  Alps  by  the  grand 
Siniplon  road,  the  tourist   descends  sud- 
denly on  Duomo  d'Ossola,  at  the  very  fool 
of  the  Alps,  and  a  few  hours  afterward  ho 
reaches  the  posting  town  of  Baveno,  where 
the  first  burst  of  the  scene;  is  like  enchant- 
ment.    In  coming  northward  from  Milan, 
by  Varese,  with  its  little  miniature  lake, 
that  lies  sleeping  among  vineyards,  a  fini; 
posting  road   leads  to  I.aveno,  where   it 
stops,    and    thence,    after    admiring    the 
reverse  of  the  beautiful  picture  as  seen 
from  the  opposite  shore,  he  can  embark, 
cross  the  lake  to  the  islands  and  Baveno, 
and  then  continue  his  route  by  the  Siin- 
plon.     Year  after  year  hundreds  of  travel- 
lers make  their  first  acquaintance  with  the 
Lago  Maggiore  atone  of  these  two  points. 
The  views  from  the  windows  and  ter- 
races of  the  inn  at  Baveno,  which  com- 
mands the  whole  of  the  inlet  or  bay  we 
have  mentioned,  and  in  which  the  Bor- 
romean  islands  are  grouped,  are  eminently 
beautiful ;  but  to  obtain  the  true  point  of 
sight,  if  he  does  not  intend  to  cross  over 
to  Laveno,  the  tourist  should  take  a  boat 
and  row  a  little  beyond  the  islands  to  the 
middle  of  the  lake.     There  the  bosom  of 
the  lake,  the  gentle  shores,  and  the  green 
hills   dotted    with    towns,    villages,    and 
country-seats,  and  the  granite  mountains 
of  Baveno  and  Montorfano  disclose  them- 
selves  with   the  happiest  effect;  on  one 
side  (to  the  S(mth)  the  mountains  decline 
into  bosomy  hills,  which  are  gradually  lost 
in  the  rich  and  boundless  plain  of  Lom- 
bardy,   while   on   the  other  hand  (to  the 
north)  the  eternal-looking  Alps,  with  their 


J 


^^-rw 


mmmm 


-^''. 


a* 


g^lB^lpc 


:,;il^ 


BEFORE  AND  AFTER  DINNER. 


803 


coronets  of  dazzling  snow,  tower  over  lake, 
hills,  and  mountains,  and  dash  sublimity 
into  a  picture  which  otherwise  would  only 
be  remarkable  for  its  smiling,  placid  love- 
liness. From  the  particular  point  we 
speak  of  the  whole  panorama  is  almos', 
matchless.  The  small  fairy-like  islands, 
brought  under  the  lee  of  your  boat,  the 
white  sails  glancing  across  the  bay,  and 
the  romantic  little  town  and  pleasant  inn 
of  Baveno,  are  there  all  beautiful  accesso- 
ries to  the  picture,  and  are  seen  nowhere 
else  to  such  advantage. 

The  capital  attraction  to  most  travellers 
in  the  Isola  Bella,  or  Beautiful  island,  one 
of  the  Borromean  group  near  to  Baveno. 
We  think  this  particular  island,  which  is 
thoroughly  artificial,  rather  curious  than 
picturesque  or  beautiful ;  but  it  tells  well 
at  a  distance  with  its  lofty  palace,  its  ter- 
races, and  formal  groves  and  gardens,  and 
contrasts  in  a  striking  manner  with  the 
simplicity   or  wild   nature   of  the   other 
islands,  while  it  calls  for  that  tribute  al- 
ways due  to  the  art  and  industry  of  man 
when  they  have  overcome  great  natural 
(iilficultics.     he  hole  Borromce,  as  they 
are  called,  after  the  name  of  the  noble 
Lombard  family  to  which  they  have  be- 
longed for  several  centuries,  are  four  in 
number— the  Isola  di  San  Giovanni,  or, 
as  it  is    frequently   called,    the    Isolino 
(small  island),  the  Isola  Madre  (mother 
island),  which  stands  in  the  midst  of  the 
group,  the  Isola  Bella,  and  the  Isola  Su- 
periore,  which  is  oftener  called  L'Isola 
de'  Pescatori.or  Fishermen's  island.    This 
last  island,  with  its  humble  homesteads 
and  church  spire,  always  struck  us  as  be- 
ing the  preuiest  of  the  group,  and  it  is  the 
one  represented  in  our  engraving,  which 
is  taken  from  an  original  drawing,  where- 
in the  artist  set  down  without  change  or 
composition  a   scene   he   saw  from   the 
pleasant  inn  at  Baveno. 

In  the  midst  of  this  island  stands  the 
I  palace  of  the  Borromeo  family.  Though 
certainly  no  model  of  architecture,  it  has 
an  air  of  elegance  and  even  grandeur.  It 
perhaps  even  improves  in  the  interior, 
where,  mixed  up  with  much  magnificence, 
there  are  several  truly  delightful  apart- 
ments that  offer  that  union  of  comfort  and 
elegance  which  is  always  so  dear  to  a 
traveller. 


BEFORE  AND  AFTER  DINNER, 

HE  various  propensi- 
ty ties  and  dispositions 
^  of  different  individu- 
als, have  often  been 
dissected  and  descri- 
bed    by    metaphysi- 
cians and  moralists ; 
but,  so  far  as  we  know, 
few  have  undertaken  to  descant  on  the 
fact,  that  every  individual  presents  many, 
and  sometimes  opposite  characteristics  at 
different  periods  of  the  same  day.     Some 
men,  though  amiable  enough  in  the  main, 
are  remarked  to  be  peculiarly  tetchy  on 
rising  in  the  morning  ;  others,  when  they 
feel  sleepy  at  night ;  but  there  is  no  period 
when  one  is  so  likely  to  make  one's  self 
disagreeable  as  just  before  dinner.     "  No 
person,"  says  a  learned  writer  on  diges- 
tion, "  will  deny  that  hunger  is  a  painful 
sensation,  whatever  may  bo  his  opinion 
of  appetite."      When,   therefore,  a  man 
feels  hungry  (which  he  generally  does  a 
little  while  before  dinner),  he  is  in  pain  ; 
I  and  when  a  man  is  in  pain,  he  can  not  be 
'  cvpected  to  feel  comfortable  within,  or  to 
j  make  himself  agreeable  to  others.     On  the 
contrary,  the  moment  his  sensations  glide 
;  from  appetite  to  hunger,  the  outworks  of 
'  philosophy  give  way  ;  the  enemy  saps  the 
■  very  foundations  of  his  character.     When, 
i  therefore,  you  want  to  see  a  sanguine  man 
despond,  a  cheerful  one  sad,  a  forbearing 
man  impatient,  or  a  benevolent  one  un- 
charitable,  watch  him  while  being  kept 
wailing  for  his  dinner.     The  best  of  tem- 
pers will  not,  at  such  a  moment,  require 
much   provocation   to   get   ruflled.      My 
friend  RoUan  offers  an  apt  example  of  these 
frailties.     For  about  twenty-three  hours 
and  three  quarters  out  of  every  twenty-four, 
a  better  friend,  a  kinder  husband,  or  more 
indulgent  father,  does  not  exist ;  but  make 
your  introduction  to  him  during  the  fifteen 
minutes  before  dinner,  and  you  will  con- 
clude him  to  be  the  reverse.     His  wife's 
smiles  are  unheeded,  his  children's  prattle 
forbidden,  his  friend's  remarks  unanswer- 
ed.    And  wo  unto  the  household  should 
the  cook  prove  unpunctual ! 

This  is  the  dark  side  of  the  case.    Most 

people  are  well-disposed  after  dinner.     In 

i  proportion  as  pain  is  great,  so  are  the 


■Hi 


4^ 

"i 


p-it 


* 


864 


BEFORE  AND  AFTER  DINNER. 


pleasures  of  alleviation ;  and,  when  the 
cravings  of  appetite  are  siitislipd,  not  only  . 
do  the  good  qualities  of  mankind  regain  ^ 
thoir  ascendency,  but  their  bad  ones  hide  | 
their  diminished  heads.  The  Chinese  ] 
believe  that  the  intellect  and  affections 
reside  in  the  stomach  ;  and  really  when 
ono  considers  the  entire  moral  revolution 
which  occurs  immediately  after  dinner, 
the  notion  loses  half  its  absurdity.  The 
change  which  takes  place  is  so  complete, 
that  to  describe  people  who  have  dined,  it 
is  only  necessary  to  invert  every  charac- 
teristic of  those  who  have  not :  then  the 
despondent  are  filled  with  hopes ;  the 
irritable  appear  patient ;  the  melancholy 
are  gay  ;  the  miser  becomes  philanthropic, 
and  the  misanthrope  good  company.  Mis- 
fortune is  never  so  stoically  received  as 
when  it  makes  its  appearance  after  dinner. 
One  day  news  came  to  Rollan  that  he  had 
lost  several  thousand  pounds  ;  luckily,  it 
arrived  while  he  was  enjoying  his  dessert, 
and  he  heard  it  without  a  sigh.  It  is, 
however,  terrible  to  contemplate  the  effect 
the  black  intelligence  would  have  had 
upon  him  if  communicated  during  his 
anteprandial  susceptibility ;  for  on  that 
very  day  he  had  previously  shown  the 
most  intense  mortification  because  dinner 
was  not  announced  till  very  nearly  four 
minutes  and  a  half  after  the  fixed  time  ! 

Besides  the  in  ward  characteristics  which 
separate  men  who  have  and  men  who  have 
not  dined  into  two  distinct  classes,  there 
are  outward  and  visible  signs  by  which 
they  are  readily  separated  and  recognised. 

r/tc  man  who  has  not  dined  may  bo 
known  as  he  walks  homeward  by  the  im- 
patience expressed  in  his  gait  and  aspect, 
and  the  fidgetiness  he  manifests  if  you 
should  stop  him  to  have  a  little  conversa- 
tion. Wo  to  you  if  such  a  conversation 
refers  to  any  afTairs  of  your  own,  in  which 
you  wish  to  interest  him  for  the  sake  of 
his  assistance  or  advice.  He  can  not  even 
be  civil  on  such  topics.  Should  your  ob- 
servations refer  only  to  the  chit-chat  of 
the  day,  the  case  is  little  better.  He 
takes  decidedly  different  views  as  to  the 
merits  of  Roland's  grand  assault  last 
Saturday,  and  can  not  at  all  agree  in  opin- 
ion with  you  that  the  wind  is  promising  to 
change  from  the  east.  With  regard  to  the 
state  of  the  country,  he  is  clear  and  un- 


hesitating :  all  is  going  wrong,  and  stiirvn- 
tion  is  staring  the  country  in  the  fici'. 
This,  howev<T,  does  not  mnko  him  a  wliii 
more  tolerant  of  the  beggar  who  now  comes 
up  as  if  to  illustrate  his  argiim(!ni.  Iln 
silences  the  whine  of  the  petitioner  in  an 
instant  by  a  threat  of  the  police. 

Arriving  at  his  door,  he  armonnces  him- 
self with  a  sharpness  of  ring  which  startles 
the  powers  of  the  kitchen  into  a  fearful 
animation.  Mary,  as  she  opens  the  door, 
answers  the  question,  "  is  dinner  ready  ?" 
with  an  affirmative  at  all  hazards,  and 
then  plunges  down  stairs  to  implore  Mrs, 
Cook  to  make  her  fib  a  truth.  Stalking 
abstractedly  into  his  dressing-room,  he 
fails  to  find,  first  the  boot-jack,  then  the 
soap,  and  it  is  well  he  does  not  summon 
half  the  household  to  show  both,  to  his 
confusion,  in  their  usual  places.  The 
slightest  tumult  among  the  children  three 
floors  up  now  annoys  him.  His  wife,  to 
fill  up  the  time  till  dinner  appears,  asks 
his  opinion  of  some  new  purchase,  which 
was  made  because  she  knew  he  would 
like  it ;  but,  to  her  extreme  mortification, 
he  wonders  how  she  could  choose  such 
an  "ugly  thing."  As  the  minute  hand 
of  the  time-piece  approaches  the  figure 
twelve,  he  commences  an  anticipatory  lec- 
ture on  the  advantages  of  punctuality,  which 
increases  in  earnestness  at  every  second 
after  the  clock  has  struck,  and  is  gradually 
rising  to  the  severity  of  reprimand,  when 
— happy  moment — enter  the  soup !  Now 
commences  an  entire  change  in  his  ex- 
ternal aspect,  and  in  about  twenty  minutes 
he  becomes 

The  man  who  has  dined.  Behold  him 
now,  seated  in  his  lounging  chair.  His 
countenance  is  overspread  with  a  smile  of 
satisfaction.  The  harsh  and  grating  tones 
of  his  voice  are  mellowed  to  softness  ; 
and  instead  of  addressing  his  wife  in  hulf- 
onappish  laconics  he  converses  in  the  most 
soothing  terms  of  affection  and  endear- 
ment. On  being  enticed  to  lake  a  second 
glance  at  the  new  dress,  he  thinks  it  is 
not  so  ugly  after  all :  indeed,  of  one  thing 
he  is  quite  certain — though  he  does  not 
pretend  to  be  a  judge — but  the  colors  will 
become  her  complexion  admirably.  This 
is  the  moment  generally  seized  upon  by 
ladies  of  tact  to  put  in  practice  that  pretty 
process  of  guUing  their  own  way  called 


•aMiMMMaSa 


BEFOUE  AND  AFTER  DINNER. 


865 


ig  wrong,  and  stiirvi-  i 
country  in  the  Hicr. 
nol  iniikf!  liiin  a  whit 
ggar  who  now  cotnps 

his  argumont.  Iln 
r  the  petitioner  in  an 
the  police, 
r,  he  announces  him- 
of  ring  which  stiirtlcs 
itchen  into  a  fearful 
>  she  opens  the  door, 
,  "  Is  dinner  ready  ?" 
at  all  hazards,  and 
airs  to  implore  Mrs. 
b  a  truth.  Stalking 
I  dressing-room,  he 
I  boot-jack,  then  the 
he  does  not  summon 
to  show  both,  to  his 
usual  places.  The 
ig  the  children  three 
3  him.  His  wife,  to 
dinner  appears,  asks 
lew  purchase,  whicli 
she  knew  he  would 
ixtreme  mortification, 
)  could  choose  such 
As  the  minute  hand 
jproaches  the  figure 
IS  an  anticipatory  fec- 
I  of  punctuality,  which 
ess  at  every  second 
ruck,  and  is  gradually 

of  reprimand,  when 
Iter  the  soup  !  Now 
e  change  in  his  ex- 
about  twenty  minutes 

dined.  Behold  him 
ounging  chair.  His 
pread  with  a  smile  of 
irsh  and  grating  tones 
jllowed  to  softness  ; 
sing  his  wife  in  half- 
converses  in  the  most 
flection  and  emlear- 
iced  to  lake  a  second 
ress,  he  thiidcs  it  is 

indeed,  of  one  thing 
-though  he  does  not 
! — but  the  colors  will 
on  admirably.  This 
:ally  seized  upon  by 
n  practice  that  pretty 
leir  own  way  called 


«'  coaxing."     At  such  moments  new  bon- 1 
nets  are  promised,  and    checks    written 
for  milliners'  bills.     Evening  parties  are  j 
arranged,  "regardless  of  expense,"  and 
lessons  from  lirsUrate  music-masters  con- 
templated   for    elder  daughters.      This, 
bringing  the  rest  of  the  junior  branches  in 
mind,  leads  to  the  ringing  of  the  nursery 
bell,  and  though  the  children  may  happen 
to  gel  up  a  race  along  the  stairs  to  see 
who  can  gel  into  the  parlor  first,  and  there- 
by create  a  most  deafening  clatter,  the 
well-dined  father  blesses  their  merry  little 
hearts,  and  is  delighted  that  they  are  in 
such  excellent  spirits.     Should  a  friend 
drop  in,  instead  of  being  wished  almost 
anywhere  else,  he  is  pressed  to  remain  ; 
and  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  conversation 
shows  that  the  host's  opinions  concerning 
the  weather  and  the  state  of  the  country 
have  undergone   a   change.     It   is    after 
dinner  thai  our  country  is  pronounced  the 
greatest,  best,  and  happiest  nation  in  the 
world.     The  distress  of  the  country  fades 
gradually    from    the    view:    it    dwindles 
down  to  a  few  interesting  cases  of  opera- 
tive manufacturers  thrown  temporarily  out 
of  employ,  or  of  distressed  agriculturists 
in  picturesque  cottages  being  kindly  re- 
lieved  by  sentimental   ladies  or  philan- 
thropic country  gentlemen.     Then  is  the 
lime  that  subscriptions  to  public  charities 
are  paid  up,  and  coal  and  blanket  societies 
planned    for   the   ensuing   winter.      Nor 
does  this  sort  of  hopeful  patriotism  solely 
occupy  the  imagination  of  the  man  who 
has  dined.     His  own  affairs  present  them- 
selves to  him  in  brighter  colors  than  at 
any  other  time.     He  builds  castjes  in  the 
air,  congratulates  himself  on  the  improved 
aspect  of  his  affairs,  and  very  likely  asks 
his  wife,  in  the  event  of  their  ever  keeping 
a  carriage,  what  color  she  would  like  the 
horses  to  be  ?     He  appeals  to  his  friend 
as  to  the  best  mode  of  investing  spare 
capita; ;  and  asks  him  if  it  be  true  that  a 
certain  estate  in  the  neighborhood  is  in 
the  market,  dropping  at  the  same  time  a 
hint  that,  if  it  should  come  to  the  hammer, 
he  shall  attend  the  sale.     In  short,  after 
dinner  everything  seems  colored  with  a 
pleasing  pink,  which,  speaking  more  strict- 
ly, is  merely  the  moral  medium  through 
which  we  see  the  objects  of  our  thoughts. 
These,  then,  are  the  almost  opposite  ef- 


fects often  betrayed  by  the  same  man  be- 
fore and  after  dinner.     Lot  us,  however, 
return  to  the  subject  in  a  larger — more 
general — point  of  view.     Man's  tiioughts 
and  sentiments  being  swayed  in  a  great 
degree  by  his  sensations,  the  former  will 
generally  be  hopeful  or  despondent  as  his 
sensations  are  pleasing  or  painful ;    and 
who  will  deny  that  these  are  more  pleasing 
when  his  appetite  is  satiated  than  when 
it  is  craving?     There  are  exceptions  to 
this  rule  no  doubt ;  for  we  have  heard  of 
gourmands  who  hunger  and  thirst  after  an 
appetite  in  order  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of 
satisfying  it,  and  whose  despondency  only 
commences  when  they  find  they  can  not 
eat  any  more.     But  these  are  happily  fev/, 
because   unnatural    exceptions.      Nature 
tells  us   when  to  eat   by  exhausting  our 
forces,  and  by  making  it  a  pain  to  dis- 
obey, and  a  pleasure  to  obey  her  dictates. 
Snappishness  before,  suavity  after  dinner, 
certainly   form    the    general   rule.     This 
becomes  a  very  important  maxim  in  suitors 
and  favor  seekers.     How  many  an  indi- 
vidual has  marred  his  fortune  by  asking 
the  favor  that  would  have  made  it,  before, 
instead  of  after  his  patron's  dinner  !     So 
fully  convinced  is  an  extravagant  young 
Howard  friend  of  ours  of  the  necessity  of 
timing  his  applications  to  the  "  the  gover- 
nor" for  more  cash,  that   he    invariably 
sends  his  letters  by  the  daij  mail,  that  ihey 
may  catch  the  old  gentleman  napping  just 
after  dinner.     The  managers  of  charitable 
societies  invariably  make  their  collections 
after  the  hearts  of  the  subscribers  have 
been  opened  by  a  first-rate  tavern  feast. 
"  The  trade,"  par  excellence,  disarms  the 
business-like  caution  of  the  booksellers  at 
their  annual  auctions  by  a  like  expedient, 
and  never  think  of  putting  fip  a  single  lot 
till  after  the  removal  of  the  cloth.     In 
short,  a  thousand  similar  instances  might 
be  adduced  to  show  that  the  tide  of  for- 
tune and  liberality  flows  highest  after  din- 
ner.    How  different  is  it  during  the  hour 
before  !     Then  it  is  that  quarrels  are  be- 
gun, and  law  pleas  commenced  ;  then  it 
is  that  cross  fathers  cut  off  erring  sons 
with  a  shilling,  and  wives  and  husbands 
talk  of  deeds  of  separation  ;    at  this  in- 
auspicious period  editors  become  super- 
particular,  and  reject  the  lucubrations  of 
doubtful  contributors  ;  and  critics  get  so 


P 


"**«il 


w 


8GG 


COLOGNE. 


m 


'!- 


*l«!i 


uncommonly  vigilant,  that  scarcely  any- 
thing in  a  book  will  please  them.  Read- 
er, when  you  have  a  favor  to  ask,  a  bar- 
gain to  make,  a  contribution  to  send  to  a 
magazine,  or  a  book  to  forward  to  a  critic, 
be  careful,  if  you  can  possibly  help  it,  not 
to  address  yourself  to  an  empty  stomach. 


COLOGNE. 

OLOGNE,calIedbythe 
Germans  Coin,  is  situa- 
I  ted  in  a  district  of  the 
'  same  name,  which  is  one 
of  the  two  divisions  of 
the  Prussian  province 
of  Jiilich-Cleve-Bcrg,  so 
>  called  from  its  contain- 
.  ing  the  three  old  duchies 
of  Jiilich  or  Juliers,C!eve, 
and  Berg.  Cologne  is  the  capital  of  the 
whole  province,  and  stands  on  the  left  or 
west  bank  of  the  Rhine,  forming  a  kind  of 
semicircle.  The  city  is  fortified,  and  with 
its  numerous  spires  and  large  buildings 
makes  a  good  show  from  the  opposite  side 
of  the  river.  It  is  about  one  hundred  and 
seven  miles  east  by  north  from  Brussels. 
Cologne  was  an  old  Roman  station  often 
mentioned  in  Tacitus,  and  took  its  name 
of  Colonia  Claudia  Agrippinensis,or  "  the 
colony  of  Claudius  and  Agrippina."  The 
Roman  word  "  colonia,"  colony,  has  been 
corrupted  by  the  French  into  Cologne,  and 
by  the  Germans  into  Coin. 

Under  the  Germanic  empire,  Cologne 
was  a  free  imperial  city,  and  had  both  a 
seat  and  voice  as  well  in  the  diets  or  as- 
semblies of  Westphalia  as  in  those  of  the 
empire.  At  this  time  the  elector  of  Co- 
logne occasionally  resided  here,  as  well 
as  the  chapter  of  the  archbishop  of  Cologne 
and  a  nuncio  of  the  pope.  Urban  VII. 
established  a  university  here  in  1388,  to 
which  succeeding  popes  granted  pr-,- 
ileges.  It  is  still  the  seat  of  a  catholic 
archbishopric,  but  the  university  as  such 
no  longer  exists. 

Cologne  can  not  on  the  whole  be  called 
a  handsome  city,  its  streets  being  crooked, 
narrow,  and  dirty  ;  but  it  has  a  great  num- 
ber of  public  buildings,  and  among  them 
thirty-three  churches  and  chapels.     The 


population  in  1830  was  65,145.  The 
cathedral  is  a  noble  building,  400  feet 
long  and  180  wide,  which,  owing  to  its 
magnitude,  is  a  conspicuous  object  from  a 
distance,  overtopping  every  other  edifice 
in  the  city.  The  body  of  the  cathedral 
is  supported  by  100  pillars.  Two  high 
towers  were  designed  for  this  building, 
one  of  which  is  raised  to  only  about  hall 
the  height  intended,  and  the  other  is  hardly 
begun.  Were  the  cathedral  completed,  it 
is  generally  allowed  it  would  be  one  of  the 
finest  gothic  buildings  in  Europe.  Behind 
the  high  altar  is  the  chapel  of  the  thr<;e 
holy  kings,  or  three  wis'^  men,  as  they 
are  sometimes  called,  made  of  marbl>)  ; 
the  shrine  which  contains  the  bodies* is 
remarkable  for  the  curious  and  elaborate 
ornaments  with  which  it  is  decorated. 
The  names  of  the  three  wise  men,  ac- 
cording to  some  accounts,  are  Caspar, 
Melchior,  and  Balthasar,  whoso  bones,  as 
the  story  goes,  were  first  taken  to  Con- 
stantinople by  the  emperor  Constantino's 
mother ;  thence  they  were  transferred  to 
Milan ;  and  finally  obtained  a  sumptuous 
mausoleum  in  Cologne.  What  the  pre- 
cise merits  of  Caspar,  Melchior,  and 
Balthasar,  were,  we  have  not  been  able 
to  make  out  satisfactorily.  The  parish 
church  of  St.  Peter  contains  the  crucifix- 
ion of  the  apostle,  one  of  Rubens's  finest 
pictures,  which  he  gave  as  a  present  to 
the  church  in  which  he  received  the  rite 
of  baptism.  This  distinguished  painter 
was  a  native  of  Cologne.  The  picture 
travelled  to  Paris  during  the  time  when 
the  French  were  so  busy  in  appropriating 
to  themselves  all  the  valuable  works  ol 
this  kind  which  they  could  lay  their  hands 
on  :  after  the  downfall  of  Bonaparte  it  re- 
turned home. 

In  the  church  of  St.  Ursula  we  see  the 
tomb  of  this  holy  Virgin,  and,  as  the  legend 
would  have  us  believe,  the  bones  of  her 
11,000  virgin  companions  and  martyrs: 
the  church  does  in  fact  contain  an  im- 
mense number  of  bones,  and  in  a  certain 
chamber,  some  accounts  say,  there  are,  or 
were,  several  thousand  skulls,  arranged  in 
good  order  and  adorned  with  garlands  and 
coronets.  The  fact  of  the  bones  being 
there  seems  undoubted,  the  proof  of  their 
belonging  to  the  holy  virgins  does  not 
seem  quite  so  clear. 


^'.t*-,-**'  '■.'^f-fprnlh^'iv 


was    65,145.     The 

building,  400  feel 

whicli,  owing  to  its 

icuous  object  from  a 

every  other  edifice 
)dy  of  the  cathedral 

pillars.  Two  high 
d  for  this  building, 
il  to  only  about  halt 
id  the  other  is  hardly 
thedral  completed,  it 

I  would  be  one  of  the 
in  Europe.  Behind 
chapel  of  the  thnje 

wis"  men,  as  they 
1,  made  of  marbln  ; 
ntains  the  bodies*  is 
irious  and  elaborate 
ch  it  is  decorated, 
hree  wise  men,  ac- 
L'ounts,  are  Caspar, 
sar,  whoso  bones,  as 

first  taken  to  Con- 
nperor  Constantine's 

were  transferred  to 
•tained  a  sumptuous 
le.  What  the  pre- 
war, Melchior,  and 
have  not  been  able 
torily.  The  parish 
ontains  the  crucifix- 
e  of  Rubens's  finest 
;ave  as  a  present  to 
iie  received  the  rile 
istinguished  painter 
ogne.  The  picture 
ring  the  time  when 
usy  in  appropriating 
3  valuable  works  of 
could  lay  their  hands 

II  of  Bonaparte  il  re- 


•■  -'Hi 

■■'■.I 


mk', 


Besides  these  there  are  many  other 
hundsoino  churches  in  Cologne,  one  of 
which,  the  church  of  St.  Martin,  is  repre- 
sented in  our  engraving.  This  view  is 
given,  not  so  much  for  the  beauty  of  the 
church,  as  to  exhibit  the  general  style  of 
architecture  in  this  old  city. 

The  townhouse  has  a  fine  portal  formed 
by  a  double  row  of  marble  pillars.  The 
old  Jesuits'  college,  an  extensive  building, 
now  contains  a  gymnasium  or  high  school, 
with  a  library,  a  seminary  for  priests,  and 
a  valuable  collection  of  old  German  paint- 
ings. 

The  situation  of  Cologne  makes  it  a 
place  of  considerable  trade,  particularly 
with  the  German  town  of  Frankfort-on- 
the-Main  and  Holland.  In  1822,  4,415 
vessels  of  various  sizes  arrived  at  the 
town,  and  2,832  left  it.  The  manufactures 
of  Cologne  are  considerable  ;  twenty-five 
tobacco  manufactories,  cotton,  silk,  and 
woollen  wares,  earthenware,  soap,  candles, 
&c.  ;  and  Cologne  water,  or  Eau  de  Co- 
logne, as  it  is  commonly  called,  which  is 
said  to  be  made  at  twenty-four  different 
establishments.  The  virtues  of  this  water 
must  be  well  known  to  all  our  readers  ; 
but  if  they  have  still  any  doubts  on  the 
subject,  it  is  only  necessary  to  read  the 
printed  French  advertisement,  which  gen- 
erally accompanies  the  bottle,  and  it  is  im- 
possible to  dispute  the  virtues  of  the  com- 
modity which  the  manufacturers  extol  so 
highly.  A  great  deal  of  brandy  is  made 
at  Cologne,  The  book  manufactory  of  the 
town  employs  eighteen  establishments  and 
forty-two  presses. 

The  public  library  of  60,000  volumes, 
the  botanic  garden,  the  school  for  the  deaf 
and  dumb,  the  various  collections  and 
cabinets,  the  hospitals,  &c.,  are  such  ap- 
pendages as  we  usually  find  in  an  old 
continental  town.  There  is  a  bridge  of 
boats  over  the  river,  which  at  Cologne  is 
about  1,250  paces  wide,  connecting  the 
city  with  the  opposite  town  of  Deutz. 


Literature. — The  study  of  literature 
nourishes  youth,  entertains  old  age — adorns 
prosperity,  solaces  adversity — is  delight- 
ful at  home,  unobtrusive  abroad — deserts 
us  not  by  day  nor  by  night,  in  journeying 
nor  in  retirement. 


GEOLOGY. 

OROANIC     REMAINS. TRANSITION     ROCKS, 

COAL  FORMATIONS. 

N  the  primary  rocks  few 
indications  of  organized 
beings  occur,  all  traces 
of  these  having  been  in 
general  destroyed  by  the 
changes  these  beds  have 
undergone.     When  we 
consider  that  they  were 
originally  the  bottom  of 
the  ocean,  that  there  they  were  covered 
by  a  vast  mass  of  similar  deposites.  that 
then  they  were  invaded  by  intense  heat, 
reducing  them  almost  to  a  fluid  state,  and 
that  finally  they  have  been  elevated  into 
the  loftiest  mountains  on  the  globe  ;    we 
may  rather  wonder  that  any  remains  of 
animals  should  be  found  in  them,  than  that 
these  should   be  so  few   and    imperfect. 
With  the  transition  beds  a  new  state  of 
things  begins.     Organic  remains  appear, 
sometimes  in  considerable  abundance,  and 
continue  in  an  uninterrupted  series  down 
to  the  most  recent  formations.     The  first 
person  who  is  recorded  to  have  observed 
these  organic  remains  in  rocks  is  Xeno- 
phanes  of  Colophon,  an  old  Greek  phi- 
losopher, who,  finding  impressionsof  fishes 
in  the  limestone  quarries  near  Syracuse, 
drew    the  natural   conclusion   that   these 
rocks  were  pn  luctions  of  the  sea,  which 
must  once  have  covered  the  place  where 
they  were  found.     Herodotus,  the  father 
of  profane   history,  made  the  same  re- 
mark in  reference  to  Egypt,  where  shells 
often  occur  far  from  the  present  limits  of 
the  Mediterranean.     For  many  ages,  no 
further  progress  was  made  in  a  knowledge 
of  these   bodies,  or  their  true  scientific 
value,  and  even  in  the  end  of  last  century, 
Voltaire,  in  order  to  discredit  the  support 
they  were  supposed  to  give  to  the  history 
of  the  Mosaic  deluge,  ventured  to  afiirm 
that  those  found  in  the  Alps  had   been 
brought  thither  by  accident.     The  learned 
observations  of  Cuvier  on  the  fossils  found 
in  the  quarries  near  Paris,  and  the  dis- 
covery of  William  Smith,  that  particular 
strata  were  characterized  by  certain  fos- 
sils, and  could  be  known  from  these  in 
distant  places,  first  showed  the  importance 


mmi^!f!fs0--: 


LOGY. 

-rnANSITIOV     ROCKS. 
1RMATI0N8. 

the  primary  rocks  few 
iicatioris  of  ortranizod 
inga  occur,  all  traces 
these  having  been  in 
neral  destroyed  by  the 
anges  these  beds  have 
dergone.  When  we 
Dsider  that  they  were 
ginally  the  bottom  of 
I  they  were  covered 
milar  depoaites.  that 
led  by  intense  heat, 
t  to  a  fluid  state,  and 
e  been  elevated  into 
8  on  the  globe  ;  we 
that  any  remains  of 
ind  in  them,  than  that 
few  and  imperfect, 
beds  a  new  state  of 
mic  remains  appear, 
rable  abundance,  and 
rrupled  series  down 
rmations.  The  first 
ed  to  have  observed 
i  in  rocks  is  Xeno- 
an  old  Greek  phi- 
impressions  of  fishes 
rries  near  Syracuse, 
inclusion  that  these 
tis  of  the  sea,  which 
red  the  place  where 
[erodotus,  the  father 
made  the  same  re- 
Egypt,  where  shells 
the  present  limits  of 
For  many  ages,  no 
made  in  a  knowledge 
their  true  scientific 
}  end  of  last  century, 
liscredit  the  support 
0  give  to  the  history 
),  ventured  to  affirm 
the  Alps  had  been 
ident.  The  learned 
'  on  the  fossils  found 
Paris,  and  the  dis- 
iiith,  that  particular 
ized  by  certain  fos- 
lown  from  these  in 
jwed  the  importance 


UKDLOUY. 


Btiy 


(.rililH  sludy,  and  llic  new  lij>lil  it  was  fit- 

l,.il  ID  cuht  on  Ki'oloKy- 

Organic  reinuins  occur  in  various  states. 
Soiiit!  are  wholly  converted  iiiln  stone,  be- 
in^r  tlmso  properly   namml    petrifactions ;  ^ 
others  art)  little  changed   from  their  con- ; 
(lition  when  forming  part  of  u  living  i)ody. 
.Shells  and  bones  arc  the  best  preserved 
and  the  least  altered.     Plants   aie   often 
completely  carbonized,  when  they  appear 
like  a  dark-colored  engraving  on  the  stone 
ill  which  they  are  enclosed.     Many  varie- 
ties of  fossil  wood  are  converted  into  flint, 
others  into  carbonate  of  lime,  others  into 
iron  ore,  and  in  some  the  process  is  only 
half  completed,  part  being  changed,  part 
retaining   its    original    character.      Even 
where  the  whole  has  become  solid  stone, 
it  is  singular  to  find  the  texture  of  the 
wood  preserved,  the  most  minute  vessels 
and  fibresof  the  plant  being  visible  in  thin 
slices  when  magnified.     In  this  manner, 
the  cla.ss  of  plants  to  which  these  fossil 
treesbelonged  has  been  determined,  though 
none  of  the  most  marked  parts,  the  fruit, 
or  (lower,  or  leaves,  remained.     The  varie- 
ty, both  of  plants  r.nd  animals,  which  have 
ilius  been  perserved  is  very  remarkable, 
and  proves  that  all  the  great  classes  of 
lioih  kingdoms  had  their  ropresentutives 
even  in  these  early  periods.     It  is  also 
important   to  observe,  that  some  genera 
have  continued  to  exist  during  the  whole 
series  of  geological  revolutions,  thus  pro- 
ving the  unity  of  the  system  of  the  globe 
throughout  the  whole  of  these  changes. 

The  transition  rocks  are    the   earliest 
fossiliferous  beds  known,  and  on  this  ac- 
count are  by  some  authors  named  protozoic, 
a  word  indicating  that  in  them  living  be- 
ings first  appear.     The  lower  part  of  the 
formation  consists  of  a  great  mass  of  ar- 
gillaceous rocks,  the  finer  varieties  being 
clayslaies,  while  the  coarser  are  named 
grey  wacke.     In  Europe,  Asia,  and  Amer- 
ica,' rucks  of  this  formation,  with  charac- 
teristic fossils,  have  been  found.     These 
fossils    are   most  abundant    in  the  lime- 
stones,   and    are    principally    shells    and 
corals.     Some  of  the  earliest  beds,  how- 
ever,   are    impressed    with    the    form    of 
worms,  which  have  left  their  slimy  track, 
as  it   were,  engraven  on  the  solid  rock, 
and  thus,  notwithstanding  their   soft  and 
fragile  texture,  produced  an  imperishable 


record  of  llieir  existence.     Ain)ther   re- 
markable class  of  lossil.-i  in  these  ancient 
beds  is  the  trilobites,  so  named  iVoiii  tiitir 
body  bciuK  often,  as  it  were,  divided  into 
three  lobes.     There   is  no  living  repre- 
sentative known  of  this  class  of  animals, 
which  seem  then  to  have  been  very  numer- 
ous in  many  genera  and  species.     They 
are,  however,  thought  to  have  belonged 
to  the  Crustacea,  or  those  animals  covered 
with  a  shelly  crust  like  our  present  crabs 
and  shrimps.     It  is  also  curious,  that  in 
some  species  the  eyes,  those  most  delicate 
of  all  organs,  have  been  preserved,  con- 
verted into  calcareous  spar,  and  exhibit  a 
structure  closely  corresponding  to  those 
of  some  living  animals.     The  remains  of 
plants  are  far  from  numerous  in  this  forma- 
tion, but  this  is  no  proof  that  they  did  not 
then  exist,  as  these   beds  seem  to  have 
been  deposited  in  the  deep  ocean  at  a 
great  distance  from  the  shore. 

A  very  common   igneous  rock  in  this 
formation  is  felspar  porphyry.     It  is  fre- 
quently of  a  red  color,  and  consists  of  a 
compact  njass  of  felspar  in  which  small 
distinct  crystals  of  the  same  mineral  ap- 
pear   imbedded.      This   rock   sometimes 
forms   whole   hills,  but   more   frequently 
bods  or  veins  intersecting  the  strata.     It 
seems  to  represent  the  granite  of  former 
rocks,  and  in  some  cases  can  not  be  dis- 
tinguished from  it.     This  porphyry  has 
been  much  valued    for   ornamental    pur- 
poses, some  of  the  finest  antique    vases 
being  cut  out  of  it,  and  it  is  still  manu- 
factured  into  similar  articles,  especially 
at  Elfdal  in  Sweden.     The  mines  wrought 
in  many  transition  districts  are,  not  im- 
probably, connected  with  the  same  igneous 
agent.     The  lead  ore  here  contains  a  small 
proportion  of  silver,  though  not  enough  to 
pay  for  its  extraction,  and  small  fragments 
of  gold  are  often  found  in  the  neighbor- 
ing  rivulets.     In    the    Hartz    mountains, 
many  mines  of  silver  are  wrought  ■•'  'his 
formation,  and   iron-ore  is  found    in  im- 
mense  beds.     Even   in  the   Alta'   moun- 
tains, in  Asia,  it  retains  this  character,  the 
richest  silver  mines  being  found  in  a  red 
porphyry  in  clayslate. 

In   Scotland,    this    group   of  rocks   is 

separated   by  a  very   distinct   line    from 

those  that  follow.     They  not  only  differ 

i  in  mineral  character  and  appearance,  but 


J 


870 


GEOLOGY. 


must  also  have  been  divided  by  a  confii  .- 
erable  interval  of  lime.     All  beds  deposited 
from  water  must  originally  have  been  near- 
ly horizontal.     But  this  is  no  longer  the 
position  of  these  transition  strata.     They 
have   been  turned  up   on  edge  and  ap- 
piirently  crushed  together,  bent  or  folded 
over  in  the  most  singular  manner.     And 
this  has  happened  previous  to  the  forma- 
tion of  the  next  or  secondary  rocks,  which 
rest  on    them   almost  in  a  horizontal  or 
slightly  inclined    position.     The  import 
ance  of  this   fact  was  first  obst-rved  by 
Dr.  Hutton,  who  saw  in  it  a  proof  that  no 
period  in  the   world's  history  had   been 
exempt  from  change,  and  that  the  rocks 
forming  the  earth's  crust  did  not  compose 
one  continuous  series,  but  had  been  liable 
to    interruptions.     The   secondary  rocks 
have  been  divided  into  various  systems, 
principally  from  the  fossils  found  in  the 
different  beds.     Each  group  of  plants  and 
animals  is  supposed   to   have  continued 
during  a  certain  period,  when  some  change 
in  the    condition  of  the    earth's   surface 
caused  many  of  the  species  or»genera  to 
perish,  whose  place  being  filled  up  by  the 
creation  of  others,  a  new  world  of  anima- 
ted beings  was  the  result.     Each  group 
of  organic  beings,  therefore,  characterizes 
the  beds  which  were  formed  during  the 
period  when  it  existed,  and  is  only  found 
in  these.     Though   many   exceptions  to 
this  occur  in   fossils  continuing  to  exist 
through  several  systems  of  beds,  still  it  is 
found  to  be  generally  applicable,  and  the 
secondary  deposites,  both  of  the  eastern 
and  the  western  continent,  are  classed  on 
this  principle.     For  the  sake  of  clearness, 
we  subjoin  the  table  of  English  formations, 
as  given  by  Mr.  Murchison,  only  reversing 
the  order,  the  lowest  beds  beinef  placed 
first  on  the  list,  in  conforming  .  ■  the  ar- 
rangement we  shall  follow  in  describing 
them : — 

Devonian  or  old  red  sandstone. 

CarlK)niferous  or  coal  formation. 

Permian  or  magnesian  limestone. 

Mew  red  sandstone  or  trias. 

Oolitic  or  Jurassic  system. 

VVealden  (fresh  water). 

Cretaceous  or  chalk  formation. 
The  first  of  the  above  formations  is  the 
old  red  sandstone,  which  has  been  named 
the  Devonian  system,  from  being  found  in 


great  abundance  in  the  county  of  Devon. 
Its  most  characteristic  beds  are  vast  mas- 
ses of  red  sandstone,  with  others  of  coarse 
conglomerate,  composed  of  rounded  blocks, 
often  of  the  primary  rocks.     These  are  of 
all  sizes,  from  several  feet  or  even  yards 
in  diameter  down  to  the  fine  sand  in  whicli 
the  whole  are  enclosed,  and  show,  by  their 
form,  that  they  must  have  been  long  rolled 
about  in  the  waters  of  the  ocean.     Some 
beds  of  the  sandstone  are  gray  colored, 
while  others  are  of  a  marly  or  clayey  na- 
ture.    Beds  of  coarse  limestone  or  corn- 
stone    are    also   mixed    with    it.      These 
rocks  are  evidently  formed  from  the  de- 
struction of  other  previously  existing  rocks, 
and  from  their  extent,  and  the  size  of  the 
fragments,   imply   a  njriod  of  great  and 
very  violent  convn'sion.     It  was,  there- 
fore, hardly  to  be  expected  that  any  re- 
mains of  plants  or  a.iimals  should  iiave 
been   preserved   in    ihem,  and   till    very 
lately  this  was  supposed  to  be  the  case. 
Now,  however,  fishes  are  found  to  have 
lived  then,  in  great  numbers,  and  the  re- 
mains of  more  than  fifty  species  have  been 
observed  in  rocks  of  this  age  in  Scotland. 
The.io  iishes  are  all  different  from  those 
that  .  V  ,v  inhabit  the  ocean,  and  have  pos- 
sesseii  very  singular  forms.     One  of  them, 
found  in  the  red  sandstone  of  Forfarshire, 
has  its  head  covered  with  a  kind  of  buck- 
ler, and  has  been   hence  named  the   ce- 
phalaspis.     Another,  of  which  the  most 
perfect   specimen    was   obtained    from  a 
quarry  near   the   Tay,   is    covered    with 
beautiful  polished  and  channelled  scales, 
and  has  been  named  the  holoptychius.    A 
third    genus,  with    many   species,  is  the 
pterichthys,  which  appears  as  if  furnisiiud 
with  wings.    So  unlike  are  these  creatures 
to  any  now  existing,  that  it  was  at  first 
doubtful  to   what   class  of  animals  they 
should   be   referred.     The   question    has 
been  principally  decided  by  the  researches 
of  Agassiz,  a  Swiss  naturalist,  which  have 
added  many  hundred  species  to  the  fossil 
fishes  formeiiy   known.     In    the   United 
States,  fossil  fishes  have  been  found  in 
the  sandstone  formation  of  Coimecticut ; 
and    the    secondary    and   tertiary    strata 
which   border   the   seacoast    from    New 
Jersey  southward,  often  furnish  the  teeth 
and   scattered   vertebrte  of  sharks,   with 
other  marine  remains.     Fossil  fishes  have 


B  county  of  Ppvon. 

l)oil8  aro  vast  mas- 
viih  others  of  coarse? 
sdofromitlful  blocks, 
(cks.  These  rire  of 
feet  or  even  yards 
3  fine  sand  in  which 
I,  and  show,  by  tlieir 
ave  been  long  rolled 

the  ocean.  Some 
I  are  gray  colored, 
marly  or  clayey  na- 

limestone  or  corn- 
1  with  it.  The.se 
irmed  from  the  de- 
)U8ly  existing  rocks, 
and  the  size  of  the 
jriod  of  great  and 
in.  It  was,  therc- 
Bcted  that  any  ro- 
imals  should  nave 
lem,  and  till  very 
ed  to  be  the  case. 

are  found  to  have 
imbers,  and  the  ro- 
y  species  have  been 
lis  age  in  Scotland, 
ifferent  from  those 
:ean,  and  have  pos- 
rms.  One  of  them, 
!one  of  Forfarshire, 
ith  a  kind  of  buck- 
ice  named  the  ce- 
if  which  the  most 
I  obtained  from  a 
is    covered    with 

channelled  scales, 
e  holoptychius.  A 
ny  species,  is  the 
;ars  as  if  furnisiied 
are  these  creatures 
hat  it  was  at  first 
3  of  animals  they 
The  question  has 
i  by  the  researches 
uralist,  which  havw 
pecies  to  the  fossil 
I.  In  the  United 
ive  been  found  in 
n  of  Connecticut ; 
nd  tertiary  strata 
icoast  from  New 
1  furnish  the  teeth 
e  of  sharks,  with 
Fossil  fishes  have 


OROLOOY. 


>71 


recently  boon  found  in  the  Virginia  coal- 
bii.sin  near  Richmond,  in  rocks  of  the  sand- 
gio,;fl  fiirmation,  two  hundred  feet  below  , 
the  surface.  | 

The  lowest  bed*  of  the  carboniferous 
system    aro   those   named    the   mountain 
li'mt'stiine.     The  most  distint^ui.shed  rock 
of  this   class   is  a  dark  gray  or  blackish 
limesiono,  which  contains    many  fossils, 
(•specially  oncrinites,  a  variety  of  radiated 
aiUMiiils.     'J'he  parts  of  these  which  remain  : 
lire  priiu'ipnily  a  long  jointed  stall;  with  a  l 
iiollow  centre,  often  dt'scril)C(l  as  the  back- 
lione  of  a  fi.>.h,  which  it  much  reseinblcs. 
This   stalk  bore   a  crown,  consisting  of 
many  pieces,  and   dividing  into  several 
liraiiches,  somewhat  resembline  a  flower 
or  (ipoii  lily.      In  other  beds,  the  remains 
(if  fisiirs  and  of  numerous  plants  appear. 
In  some  parts  of  England,  this  formation, 
which   is  mixed  with  beds  of  slate-clay 
and    sandstone,    ccmtains    rich    mines   of 
lead,  and  along  with  this  metal,  in  Derby- 
sliiro,  also  ores  of  copper,  zinc,  iron,  and 
manganese.     In  the  north  of  England  it 
contains  many  beds  of  coal.     Like  other 
liinostone   rocks,  caverns   are   frequently 
lorined  in  it  of  great  extent.  Peak's  Hole, 
in  Derbyshire,  beiufr  upward  of  two  thou- 
sand feet  long,  and  in  one  place  a  hundred 
and  twenty  high. 

Above  this  is  the  true  coal  formation,  in 
some    respects  the  most    interesting  and 
important  of  all.     It  consists  of  innumer- : 
al/le  beds,  mostly  of  sandstone  mixed  with  j 
slate-clay  or   shale.      The    sandstone   is  | 
generally  white  or  gray,  but  sometimes  j 
light  red  ;  tho  shale  is  black   or  brown,  i 
and  often  very  bituminous,  when  it  burns  \ 
like  coal.     The  most  important  beds  are, 
however,  those  of  coal,  though  they  seldom 
form  a  tenth  part  in  thickness  of  the  whole 
deposite.     That  this  substance  is  of  ve- 
getable origin  seems  now  placed  beyond 
dispute,  both  the  remains  of  plants  found 
in  it  and  by  the   woody  fibrous  texture 
seen  by  the  microscope  in  many  parts  of 
it  when  cut   into  thin  slices.      Several 
theories  have  been  formed  regarding  the 
manner   in  which   the   vegetable   matter 
has  been  converted  into  coal.     Some  think 
that  vast  masses  of  trees  and  other  plants 
have  been  carried  down  into  gulfs  or  bays 
by  rivers,   as  is  now  happening  in   the 
Mississippi   and   other    large    American 


streams,  where,  having  sunk  to  the  bottom 
and  been  covered  by  sand  and  nnid,  ihev 
underwent  a  kind  of  fermentaiion,  which 
was  so  modified  by  the  immense  pressure 
as  to  convert  the  wcxxly  matter  into  coal. 
Others  regard  this  mineral  as  principally 
produced  from    mariin!    plants,  similar  to 
those  which  occur  in   immense  banks  in 
somi;    parts  of  the  oican.     Otimrs   aiiain 
think  that  it  has  been  formed  from  forests 
growing  nearly  on  the  level  of  the   sea, 
which  have  first  been  chanijed  into  marsh- 
es or  mosses,  and  then  sulimeraed  lielow 
the  water,  and  covered  with  beds  of  clay 
and  sand.     It  is  not  improbalile  that  coal 
may  have  beeti  formed  in  all  of  lhes<^  ways, 
either  separately  or  combined.     A  strong 
I  argument  in   favor  of  the  lust  view  is  fiir- 
'  nished  by  the  trunks  of  trees,  which  haui 
'  evidently  urowii  ui)oii  the  dry  land,  lt»und 
!  in   this    formation.      At    (iranton    (piarry, 
'  near  Edinburgh,  a  tree  of  this  kind  is  now 
1  exposed,   nearly   sixty    feet   long,  and  in 
some  parts  five  feet  in  diameter.     Similar 


trees  are  seen  in  Craigleilh  quarry,  of 
smaller  dimensions,  the  wood  of  which 
shows  a  great  resemblance  to  that  of  tlie 
auracaria  or  New  Holland  pine.  These 
trees  might  have  been  floated  to  the  spot 
where  they  are  now  discovered,  but  oiher.s 
have  been  seen  standing  erect,  and  ap- 
parently with  their  roots  extending  into 
the  rock.  Three  trees,  in  this  position, 
were  seen  in  the  banks  of  the  Es>k,  near 
Penicuik,  and  several  others  have  been 
observed  in  the  vicinity  of  Glasgow. 
These  facts  seem  to  show  that  these  trees 
remain  in  the  places  where  they  grow, 
though  it  is  dilficult  to  conceive  of  a  large 
tract  of  ground,' of  many  hundred  square 
I  miles,  alternately  sunk  below  and  raised 
{  above  the  level  of  the  ocean. 

Many  other  varieties  of  fossil  plants 
occur  in  this  formation  The  most  beau- 
!  tiful  are  some  species  allied  to  recent 
;  ferns,  from  which  a  few  can  hardly  be 
distinguished.  About  a  half  of  all  the 
plants"  found  in  the  coal  strata  belong  to 
this  class,  and  many  of  them,  with  thick 
stems  from  fifteen  to  twenty  feet  or  more 
long,  probably  to  species  o."  tree-ferns,  like 
those  now  growing  in  tropical  regions. 
Another  class  are  the  calamites,  which 
seem  to  have  resembled  the  mare's  tail  or 
equisetae  of  the  present  day,  though  far 


J 


872 


OEOLOOY. 


:i., 
«««l 


surpassing  tlieni  in  size.     They  have  a 
jointed   und   furrowed  stem,  some  inched 
in  dinmrtor,  and  occasionally  several  yards 
UmfT,  which   is  often  covered  ns  it  were 
with  a  hark  of  coal,  while   the  inside  is 
chiinKc-d  into  sandstone.     The  lepidoden- 
dra,  wliose  surface  appears  as  if  covered 
hy  scales,  are  another  class  of  fjiantrepre- 
senlntives  of  diminutive  plants  of  the  |)res- 
ent  (lay,  the  small  club  moss  of  our  heaths. 
Almost  all  the  large  stems  in  the  coal  for- 
mation were  at  one  time  described  as  be- 
lon^ing  to  palms,  but  plants  truly  of  this 
nature  are   now   found   to   be   very  rare. 
Still  the  character  and  size  of  the  plants 
now   niitiitiotied    prove   that    the   state   of 
vog(!t!ition   then   has   been  very  different 
from  what  it  now  is  in   Europe,  though 
not  unlike  that  described  by  some  recent 
triivellera  in  the  temperate  parts  of  South 
America.     It    is   therefore   probable    that 
the  fliinate  of  our  own  and  the  surrounding 
countries   was  at  that  time   considerably 
warmer  than  we  now  experience  it,  though 
the  proof  of  this  is  less  satisfactory  than 
many  have  imagined.     Animal  remains  are 
not  numerous,  and  are  principally  shells  or 
fishes  of  extinct  species.     It  is  remarkable 
that  many  of  the  shells,  which  are  usually 
compacted   into  thick  beds,  belong  to  the 
genus   unio,  which  lives  in  fresh  water, 
while  others  are  no  less  distinctly  natives 
of  the  sea. 

The  coal  formation  is  very  widely  ex- 
tended in  the  northern  parts  of  Europe 
and  the  United  States.  In  the  former  it 
is  most  abundant  in  Britain  and  in  Bel- 
gium, becoming  rarer  in  France  and  all 
the  southern  countries.  In  Britain  it  is 
estimated  as  covering  a  twentieth  of  the 
surface,  whereas  in  France  the  proportion 
is  only  a  tv/o-hundredth  part.  In  the  Uni- 
ted Siraes,  it  is  found  in  vast  abundance, 
covering  the  whole  valley  of  the  Ohio  and 
the  country  west  of  the  Mississippi,  in 
immense  basins,  surpassing  the  whole 
island  of  Great  Britain  in  extent.  Jn 
these  dopo.site8  several  of  the  fossils  are 
the  same  with  those  found  in  Europe.  In 
South  America,  it  appears  even  on  moun- 
tains eight  or  ten  thousand  feet  above  the 
sea.  It  has  also  been  discovered  in  Hin- 
dostan,  China,  and  New  Holland,  though  | 
the  identity  in  age  of  formations,  so  wide- ' 
ly  separated,  seems  problematical.  | 


Coal  consists  of  carbon,  with  varioun 
proportions   of    hydrogen,    nitrogen,    mid 
oxygen, mixed  with  earihy  matter,     'riicrf 
are  several  varieties  of  it,  diMiinuuiMlu-d 
both   in   componition  and  in  a[)pciir!inr(«. 
Common  coni  breaks  into  ciibiial  or  NJutv 
fragments,  and  has  a  resinous  lustre,    Pit(;}| 
coal  is  more  compact  and  shining,  while 
the  channel  or  parrot  coal,  frotn  which  gas 
is  usually  made,  is  of  a  duller  nspect  niid 
grayish-black  color.     Anthraritu  or  blind 
coal  burns  without  (lame,  and  Heems  to  he 
some  of  the  former  varieties  deprived  of 
their  bitumen  by  heat.     It  is  occasinii.nlly 
found  in  this  country  near  igneous  rocks, 
and  in  great  abundance  in  PcnnNylv.inia. 
The  coal  is  dug  by  mines,  sometimes  of 
great  depth  and  extent,  especially  in  the 
district  round   Newcastle.     In   these  the 
workmen   are  exposed    to   much    danger 
from  the  roof  of  the  pits  falling  upon  them, 
and  especially  from  choke-damp  and  foul 
air,  as  they   are   named    by  the   miners. 
The  former  is  the  carbonic  acid  gas,  which 
being  heavier  tha.i  common  air,  accumu- 
lates in  the  lower  parts  of  the   pit,   and 
soon  extinguishes  the  lights  and  destroys 
life  in  those  involved  in  it.     The  foul  air 
or  light  carburetted  hydrogen  is  identical 
with  marsh  gas,  and  is   exceedingly  in- 
flammable when  mixed  in  certain  propor- 
tions with  oxygen.     It  then  catches  tire 
on  the  approach  of  a  flame,  and  explodes 
almost  like  gunpowder,  destroying  all  the 
walls  and  partitions  in  the  pit,  burning  the 
unfortunate   miners,  and   blowing  every- 
thing in  the  shafts  into  the  air.     Some- 
times above  a  hundred  people  have  perish- 
ed in  a  moment  by  one  of  these  explo- 
sions.    It  was  such  a  catastrophe  which 
gave  rise  to  the  experiments  of  Sir  Hum- 
phry Davy,  which  ended  in  the  discovery 
of  the  safety-lamp,  one  of  the  many  gifts 
of  science  to  man,  and  the  means  of  saving 
many  valuable  lives.     These  dangerous 
gases  do  not  occur  in  all  pits,  but  often 
burst  out  from  cavities  in  the  coal,  al- 
together   unexpectedly,   and    unless    the 
miners  are  on  their  guard,  cause  their  in- 
stant destruction. 

It  is  a  remarkable  circumstance  that 
beds  of  iron-ore  are  mixed  up  with  the 
coal,  and  the  two  are  often  so  close  to- 
gether that  both  can  be  wrought  at  once. 
In  the  Scottish  coal-field,  these  bands  of 


m. 


THE  POLAR  BRAR. 


873 


n,  with  vurioiii 

nitro^pti,    1111(1 

niiilUtr.     'riiiTf 

t,  iliMiiniriiislii'il 

in  nppciiriiTK'c. 
ciibic'iil  or  shitv 
UHJiiMtr*!.    Piuii 

shiiiini;,  wliilt- 

frotii  ivhirli  >;iis 
iIIkt  .'ixpccl  iiiifl 
irnciifi  or  lilinil 
ind  HPorim  to  ho 
168  deprived  of 

is  occasioiinlly 

igneous  rocks, 

1  PennMV'lv.inia. 

I,  sometimes  of 

pecially  in  the 

In  those  the 

much  danger 
ling  upon  them, 
damp  and  foul 
)y  the  miners, 
acid  gas,  which 
)n  air,  accumu- 
f  the  pit,  and 
8  and  destroys 
The  foul  air 
;en  is  identical 
xceedingly  in- 
certain  propor- 
m  catches  tire 
I,  and  explodes 
troying  all  the 
lit,  burning  the 
)lowing  every- 
le  air.  Some- 
le  have  perish- 
if  these  explo- 
strophe  which 
8  of  Sir  Hum- 
1  the  discovery 
the  many  gifts 
leans  of  saving 
ese  dangerous 
pits,  but  often 

the  coal,  sl- 
id unless  the 
cause  their  in* 

umstance  that 
1  up  with  the 
n  so  close  to- 
ought  at  once, 
hese  bands  of 


iron-ore  ar^^  vtT)  iiumrrou^,  in  r>  .i<m, 

nciir   GiaH«<>w,    more    than    sixiy    being 
known.     This  iirriingemenl  gives  double 
viiliui  liiiili    l<»   '1'"  '-■"al  i'"l   'f""i   "'"1  ''* 
undoiilitfilly  nil  important  element  in  the 
niiiuuliiriiiiin!;  prosperity  of  ihiit  country 
Linie.«i.oiie,  ^^  Inch  if  needed  as  a  flux  to 
null  the  iron-ore,  is'  also  at  hniul,  in  the 
I'orMiution  on  which  this  immediately  rests. 
This  union  of  the«e  important  minerals  is 
so  essential  to  the  iniereslH  of  man,  that 
anything  more  adapted   to  promote   them 
can  sciircely  be  conceived.     Yet  no  mere- 
ly natural  reason  can  be  assigned  for  it; 
there  is  no  physical  cause  that  can   pro- 
duce it ;  for  aught  we  perceive,  the  iron 
ore  might  as  well  have  been  placed  in  the 
midst  of  the  primary  mountains,  far  from 
the  coal  by  which  it  was  to  be  reduced. 
Is  it  unreasonable,  therefore,  to  believe 
tliat  the  wants  of  iniin  were  foreseen  and 
provided  for  ages  before  he  had  any  place 
on  the  earth  ?     Is  it  not  rather  our  duty 
to  search   out   these    indications  of  our 
Creator's  cure,  and   to  adore  him  for  his 
goodness  to  the  sons  of  men  ? 


THE  POLAR  BEAR. 


N   those  desolate  fields 
of  ice  which  lock  up  the 
polar  seas  during  a  great 
part   of   the   year,   the 
White  Boar  (the  Ursus 
Marilimus  of  Linnseu-*) 
finds  an  abode  congenial 
to    his    hardy    nature. 
Prowling  over  the  frozen 
wastes,  he  satiates  his  hunger  on  the  ma- 
rine animals,  such  as  seals,  who  break 
ihriiugh  the  ice  to  breathe  the  open  air  ; 
or  he  plunges  into  the  sea  in  pursuit  of  his 
prey.     Possessing  an  astonishingly  acute 
scent,    great  activity   and  strength,   and 
equal  cunning,  he    contrives   to   support 
existence  in   regions   where  it  might  be  , 
thought  that   so  large  a  quadruped  must  '. 
necessarily    perish.     Ever    watchful,    ho 
ascends  the  hills  of  ice,  called  hummocks, 
to  cxierid   his   range  of  observation  ov-r  | 
the  wide  plain  where  ;    solitary  seal  ii.ay  ; 
perhaps  be  resting  ;  or  to  snuft'  the  tainted  i 


nir,  by  whicli  he  knows  lliil  hiu\)i>  retnains 
of  a  whale,  or  a  walrus  (sia  hiirsi^),  .le- 
serted  liy  the  fishermen  of  llunipi',  or  the 
native  I')N(|uimaux,  will  ailiinl  liiui  an  ample 
feast.      He   doubtless   often    siilferM    lonij 
and  extreme  hungcsr  ;   for  the  seal,  which 
forms  his  cliief  subsisii'iice,  is  as  vigihiiil 
us  the  bear  ;  and  he   is  often  tMrricd  out 
to  sea  upon   some  small    island  of   ice, 
where  he  may  remain  for  days  withmit 
the   possibility   of  procurinji   food.     The 
polar   bear  has  been  seen  (loaiing  in  this 
I  way   ut  a  disiauce  of  two  hundred  miles 
from   any    land.     Swimming  excellently, 
he,  however,  often  travels  from  one  island 
of  ice    to  unother;  or  visits   tiie  shore, 
where    he   commits    fearful  ravages.     In 
Iceland,  where  these  destructive  animals 
sometimes   land,  the  inhabitants  immedi- 
ately collect   together  to    destroy    them. 
Near  the  east  coast  of  ({reeidand,  accord- 
ing lo  Captain  Scoresby,  in  his  account 
of  the  Arctic  regions,  they  have  been  seen 
r)n  the  ice  in  such  quantities,   that   they 
were   compared  to  flocks  of  sheep  on  a 
common. 

The  animal  is  ordinarily  from  4  to  .') 
feet  high,  and  from  7  to  8  feet  long,  weigh- 
ing from  GOO  lbs.  to  half  a  ii.u.  Hareniz, 
an  early  voyager  in  these  regions,  killed 
two  enormous  white  bears  in  15i)G,  the 
skin  of  one  of  which  measured  12  feet, 
and  that  of  the  other  13  feet.  The  polar 
bear  generally  retreats  from  man  j  I' it  when 
attacked  he  is  a  formidable  enemy. 

The  sagacity  of  the  polar  bear  is  well 
known  to  the  whale-fishers.  They  find 
the  greatest  diflicidty  in  entrapping  him, 
although  he  fearlessly  approaches  their 
vessels.  The  following  instances  of  this 
sagacity  are  very  curious  :  — 

"  A  sea!  lying  on  the  middle  of  a  large 
piece  of  ice,  with  a  hole  just  before  it, 
was  marked  out  by  a  bear  for  its  prey, 
and  secured  by  the  artifice  of  diving  under 
the  ice,  and  making  its  way  to  the  hole  by 
which  the  seal  was  prepared  to  retreat. 
The  seal,  however,  observed  i!s  approach, 
and  plunged  into  the  water  ;  but  tlie  bear 
instyntiy  sprung  upon  it,  and  appeared,  in 
about  a  minute  afterward,  with  tlie  seal  in 
its  nioulh. 

"  The  captain  of  one  of  the  whalers 
being  anxious  to  procure  a  bear,  without 
wounding    the    skin,    made    trial    of    the 


M 


r 


THE  POLAR  BEAIU 


875 


^^fttj'^i;'; 


p- 


v^ 


'V 


m 


stratagem  of  laying  the  noose  of  a  rope  in 
the  snow,  and  placing  a  piece  of  kreng 
within  it.     A  bear,  ranging  the  neighbor- 
ing ice,  was  soon  enticed  to  the  spot,  by 
the  smell  of  burning  meat.     He  perceived 
the  bait,  approached,  and  seized  it  in  his 
mouth :  but  his  foot,  at  the  same  moment, 
by  a  jerk  of  the  rope,  being  entangled  in 
ihe  noose,  he  pushed  it  off  with  the  ad- 
joining paw,  and  deliberately  retired.    Af- 
ter having  eaten  the  piece  he  carried  away 
with  him,  he  returned.     The  noose,  with 
another  piece  of  kreng,  being  then  re- 
placed, he   pushed    the   rope  aside,  and 
again  walked   triumphantly  off  with  the 
kreng.     A  third  time  the  noose  was  laid  ; 
but,  excited  to  caution  by  the  evident  ob- 
servation of  the  bear,  the  sailors  buried  the 
rope  beneath  the  snow,  and  laid  the  bait 
in  a  deep  hole  dug  in  the  centre.     The 
bear  once  more  approached,  and  the  sailors 
were  assured  of  their  success.     But  Bruin, 
more  sagacious  than  they  expected,  after 
snuffing  about  the   place  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, scraped  the  snow  away  with  his 
paw,  threw  the  rope  aside,  and  again  es- 
caped unhurt  with  his  prize." 

The  female  polar  bear  is  as  fierce  in  her 
hostility  as  the  male  ;  but  nothing  can  ex- 
ceed the  affection  which  she  feels  for  her 
young.  The  difficulty  of  procuring  food 
for  them,  and  the  hardships  to  which  they 
are  exposed,  no  doubt  call  forth  this  quali- 
ty. Some  of  the  instances  upon  record 
are  as  singular  as  they  are  affecting. 
The  following  is  related  in  one  of  the  polar 
voyages : — 

"  Early  in  the  morning,  the  man  at  the 
mast-head  gave  notice  that  three  bears 
were  making  their  way  very  fast  over  the 
ice,  and  directing  their  course  toward  the 
ship.  They  had  probably  been  invited  by 
the  blubber  of  a  seahorse,  which  the  men 
had  set  on  fire,  and  which  was  burning  on 
the  ice  at  the  time  of  their  approach. 
They  proved  to  be  a  she-bear  and  her  two 
cubs  ;  but  the  cubs  were  nearly  as  large 
as  the  dam.  They  ran  eagerly  to  the  fire, 
and  drew  out  from  the  flames  part  of  the 
flesh  of  the  seahorse,  which  remained  un- 
consumed,  and  ate  it  voraciously.  The 
crew  from  the  ship  threw  great  pieces  of 
the  flesh,  which  they  had  still  left,  upon 
the  ice,  which  the  old  bear  carried  away 
singly,  laid  every  piece  before  her  cubs, 


and  dividing  them,  gave  each  a  share, 
reserving  but  a  small  portion  to  herself. 
As  she  was  carrying  away  the  last  piece, 
they  levelled  their  muskets  at  the  cubs, 
and  shot  them  both  dead  ;  and  in  her  re- 
treat, they  wounded  the  dam,  but  not  mor- 
tally. 

"It  would  have   drawn  tears  of  pity 
from   any  but   unfeeling  minds,  to  have 
marked  the  affectionate  concern  manifested 
by  this  poor  beast,  in  the  last  moments  of 
her    expiring   young.     Though  she   was 
sorely  wounded,  and  could  but  just  crawl 
to  the  place  where  they  lay,  she  carried 
the  lump  of  flesh  she  had  fetched  away, 
as  she  had  done  the  others  before,  tore  it 
in  pieces,  and  laid  it  down  before  them  ; 
and  when  she  saw  they  refused  to  eat, 
she  laid  her  paws  first  upon  one,  and  then 
upon  the  other,  and  endeavored  to  raise 
them  up.     All  this  while  it  was  piteous 
to  hear  her  moan.     When  she  found  she 
could  not  stir  them,  she  went  off,  and 
when  at  some  distance,  looked  back  and 
moaned ;  and  that  not  availing  to  entice 
them  away,  she  returned,  and  smelling 
around  them,  began  to  lick  their  wounds. 
She  went  off  a  second  time,  as  before, 
and  having  crawled  a  few  paces,  looked 
again  behind  her,  and  for  some  time  stood 
moaning.     But  still  her  cubs  not  rising  to 
follow  her,  she  returned  to  them  again, 
and  with  signs  of  inexpressible  fondness, 
went  round  first  one  and  then  the  other, 
pawing  them,  and  moaning.     Finding  at 
last  that  they  were  cold  and  lifeless,  she 
raised   her  head   toward   the   ship,   and 
growled  her  resentment  at  the  murderers, 
which   they  returned   with   a  volley  of 
musket-balls.     She  fell  between  her  cubs, 
and  didd  licking  their  wounds." 


VIRTUE. 


Guard  well  your  heart.  Shut  up  ev- 
ery crevice  by  wholesome  thoughts,  and 
the  evil  atmosphere  by  which  thou  art 
surrounded  will  never  enter.  He  who 
would  tempt  thee  for  one  moment  to  turn 
aside  from  the  path  of  truth,  must  receive 
no  favors  from  thy  hands.  Slumber  not 
when  evil  associates  are  pressing  to  thy 
side.  To  be  virtuous  is  to  be  respected  ; 
to  be  respected  is  to  be  happy;  to  be  hap- 
py is  to  be  good. 


56 


",p»;!i#iM??' 


876 


THB  WIFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 


THE  WIFE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 

HE  faithful  and  de- 
voted wife  of  Gen- 
eral Lafayette  was  a 
daughter  of  the  illus- 
trious house  of  Noa- 
illes.  She  was  mar- 
ried at  the  early  age  of 
seventeen, and  scarce- 
ly had  the  honey-moon  glided  happily 
away  when  her  youthful  husband  left  her 
side  to  fight  for  American  Independence. 
During  his  absence,  Madame  Lafayette 
ruled  her  household  and  numerous  estates 
with  wisdom  and  prudence  far*  beyond  her 
years.  At  length  the  husband,  whom  she 
loved  so  dearly,  and  of  whom  she  was  so 
justly  fond,  returned  covered  with  glory  to 
lay  his  laurels  at  her  feet.  Some  few 
happy  days  were  spent  together,  and  then 
the  storm  cloud  of  the  French  revolution 
broke  over  their  heads.  Her  husband 
was  soon  driven  to  exile,  but  it  was  thought 
that  Madame  Lafayette,  living  quietly  and 
in  great  retirement  on  her  estate  in  Au- 
vergne,  ran  no  danger.  But  her  love  of 
liberty,  her  high  rank,  her  talents,  made 
her  an  object  of  suspicion.  She  was  ar- 
rested on  the  10th  of  August,  and  soon 
after  sent  to  Paris.  Her  mother,  grand- 
mother, and  sister-in-law,  all  perished  on 
the  same  scaffold.  Madame  de  Lafayette 
herself  was  in  daily  expectation  of  death 
She  made  her  will,  and  waited  calmly  .ind 
resolutely  for  the  summons  to  the  guillo- 
tine. The  revolution  of  the  9th  Thermidor 
preceded  by  five  days  that  appointed  for 
her  execution.  As  soon  as  she  was  lib- 
crated  she  sent  her  only  son,  then  in  his 
childhood,  to  ihc  care  of  General  Wash- 
inyton,  after  whom  he  had  been  named ; 
and  then  hastened  with  her  two  daughters 
to  find  her  unfortunate  husband — then 
languishing  in  an  Austrian  prison.  She 
reached  Vienna  by  means  of  an  American 
passport,  obtained  an  audience  of  the 
emperor,  and  solicited  eiilier  the  release 
of  her  husband,  or  permission  to  share  his 
captivity. 

"  As  to  the  release  of  General  Lafa- 
yette," replied  the  eniporor,  "  it  is  a  very 
complicated  piece  of  business ;  on  that 
point,  my  luiuds  are  tied." 

Madame;   Lafayette  joyfully   embraced 


the  other  alternative — iha  of  sharing  her 
husband's  gloomy  prison.  Sixteen  mnntiis 
close  imprisonment  in  France,  the  loss  of 
her  kindred,  her  continual  anxiety  respect- 
ing her  husband,  had  combined  to  Mfl'iTt 
her  health — which  declined  so  rapidly  in 
her  damp  prison  at  Olnuitz.  that  sorimis 
apprehensions  were  entertained  for  ln-r 
life.  Feeling  the  importance  of  her  life 
to  her  family,  and  at  their  earnest  solicitn- 
tion,  she  wrote  to  the  emperor  to  request 
his  permission  to  spend  a  week  in  Vieima 
for  change  of  air,  and  for  the  |>urpose  of 
consulting  a  physician.  Her  letter  re- 
mained two  months  unanswered,  and  tlien 
came  an  imperial  mandate,  forbiililing  her 
ever  to  appear  in  Vienna,  but  offering  her 
freedom — on  condition  that  she  would 
never  seek  to  return  to  her  husband's 
prison.  Madame  de  LafAyelto's  imMt; 
and  touching  answerto  this  inhuman  pros- 
titution, fortunately  for  posterity,  remains 
on  record.     It  was  as  follows  : — 

"I  owed  it  to  my  family  and  my  friiMuls, 
to  make  some  efforts  for  the  prcsfrv.itioM 
of  my  life ;  but  they  know  me  too  well  to 
suppose,  for  an  instant,  that  I  would  ac- 
cept it  at  such  a  price.  I  can  not  forget 
that  when  we  were  on  the  r,.iint  of  per- 
ishing, my  husband,  by  his  physical  am! 
mental  sufferings  in  Austria,  and  I,  by  tlie 
tyranny  of  Robespierre,  in  France,  was 
not  allowed  to  receive  any  communi- 
cation from  him,  f.or  to  inform  him  in  re- 
turn that  his  wife  and  children  were  siill 
in  existence  ;  and  I  will  never,  of  my  own 
free  will,  expose  myself  to  the  agony  of 
separation  from  him  again.  However 
unsuitable  this  residence  may  be  to  my 
daughter,  and  however  unfavorable  to  my 
health,  wc  will  gladly  avail  ourselves  of 
his  imperial  majesty's  goodness  in  allow- 
ing us  to  remain  here,  and  will  never 
troulile  him  with  any  more  petitions. " 

From  that  time  Madame  de  Lafayette 
made  no  further  efforts,  but  bore  her  suf- 
ferings firmly  ami  patiently,  until  iln!  vic- 
tories of  the  French  republic,  and  especial- 
ly those  of  General  Honaparte,  chanued 
the  aspect  of  the  affairs.  General  La- 
fayette was  restored  to  freedom,  and  with 
his  devoted  wife,  reiurned  to  his  native 
country,  and  fixed  his  residence  at  La 
Grange — the  maternal  inheritance  of  his 
wife — an    estate    situated    about    twelve  ^ 


^i- 


0 — tha  of  tilinriiirr  her 
rison.  Sixteen  niniiths 
t  in  France,  the  loss  of 
ntinunl  anxiety  respect- 
lad  coinbineil  to  iiflcct 
declined  so  rajjidly  in 
Jt  Olmutz.  that  sorimis 
re  entertained  for  lier 
importance  of  h(?r  life 
,t  their  earnest  solicit;i- 
the  emperor  to  request 
|)end  a  week  in  Vienna 
and  for  the  purpose  of 
sician.  Her  letter  re- 
8  unanswered,  and  tlien 
nandate,  forbidding  her 
Vienna,  but  offering  her 
lition  that  she  would 
turn    to    her   husband's 

de  I^afAyelte's  ntilili; 
er  to  tliis  inhuman  pros- 
'  for  posterity,  remains 
I  as  follows  : — 
y  family  and  my  friends, 
ris  for  the  preserv:itioii 
iy  know  me  too  well  to 
stant,  that  I  would  ac- 
price.  I  can  not  forget 
e  on  the  ri,)int  of  per- 
d,  by  his  physical  and 
n  Austria,  and  I,  by  the 
pierre,  in  Frane(\  was 
•eceive  any  communi- 
or  to  inform  him  in  rc- 
and  children  were  still 
I  will  never,  of  my  own 
nyself  to  the  agony  of 
bim  again.  However 
sidence  may  be  to  my 
^ever  unfavorable  to  my 
ladly  avail  ourselves  of 
ty's  goodness  in  allow- 
i  here,  and  will  never 
iny  more  petitions." 
I  Madame  de  l.afayette 
Torts,  but  bore  her  suf- 

patienlly,  until  the  vic- 
h  republic,  and  especial- 
ral    Honaparte,  charmed 

affairs.  General  La- 
sd  to  freedom,  and  with 

returned  to  his  native 
d  his  residence  at  l-a 
irnnl  inheritance  of  his 
silu.ited    aliout    twelve 


INTOLKRANCK. 


877 


leagues  from  Paris.  Here  Madame  de 
Lafayette  spent  the  remainder  of  her  short  | 
life  in  the  bosom  of  her  family.  But  the 
poisoned  arrow  of  grief  and  anxiety  had 
drank  her  life  blood,  and  after  many  linger- 
ing months  of  suffering,  this  affectionate 
mother  and  heroic  wife  closed  her  pure 
and  exemplary  life  on  the  24th  of  Decem- 
l)er,  1806.  Posterity  has  covered  the  name 
of  General  Lafayette  with  glory,  but  surely 
the  patient  endurance,  the  self-sacrificing 
devoiionof  his  noble  wife,  deserve  an  equal 
meed  of  praise. 


INTOLERANCE. 

GREAT  deal  is 
said  and  written, 
and  declaimed  at 
the  present  day, 
about  the  intoler- 
ance of  which  the 
last  age  has  been 
proved   guilty  in 
two  or  three  no- 
table instances.     Tirades  have  been  writ- 
ten by  the  score,  against  the  suspension 
of  witches,  and  the  persecution  of  the  bap- 
tists and  quakers,  and  our  fathers  have 
lieen  branded  as  the  most  intolerant  self- 
conceited  bigots  that  ever  set  up  their  own 
doctrines  and  opinions,  to  the  exclusion  of 
every  other.     With  all  these  conspicuous 
and  barbarous   examples  before  us,  and 
barbarous  we  admit  them  to  be — we  still 
liesitato  not  to  affirm  that  there  is  quite  as 
much  intolerance  in  the  world,  and  among 
ourselves  even,  at  the  present  moment,  as 
ever  existed  in  any  former  period  of  the 
world's  history.     This  may  seem  a  bold 
assertion  to  those  who  look  only  at  the 
mask  and  superficies  of  society  ;  but  he 
who  has  sounded  the  depths  and  shoals 
of  human  nature,  will  find,  if  we  mistake 
not,  this  error  the  deepest  fixed,  and  the 
last  to  be  eradicated,  of  all  which  lurk  and 
thrive  in    that  sea  of  depravity — proud, 
selfish,  wealth-seeking,  error-loving  man. 
True,  the  ordeal  and  the  stake  no  longer 
exist  as  its   prime  ministers  ;  these  be- 
longed to  an   age  and   custom    that   has 
l)asscd  away  ;  yet  the  principle  remains 


as  strongly  predominant  as  when  those 
symbols  figured  and  blazed  on  every  com- 
mon. Mankind,  ever  the  slave  of  custom, 
obeys  implicitly  the  changing  forms  of 
society,  and  models  his  practice  according 
to  the  age  in  which  he  lives. 

To  illustrate  more  particularly  the  force 
of  these   remarks — how  many  are  there, 
who  denounce  imheard, every  new  seitjuce, 
or  doctrine,  or  theory,  for  the  sole  reasmi 
that  they  conflict  with  their  accustomed 
views  and  prejudices.     IIow  many  who 
are  not  even  capable  of  understanding  the 
claims  of  a  system,  much  less  of  weighing 
them  by  the  principles  of  sound  reason, 
scout  at  once  the  profoundest  tlu^ories  as 
visionary  and  absurd,  and  libel  their  ad- 
vocates with  the  foulest  cpitliets  of  derision 
and  reproach.     One  woulil  suppose  that 
such  persons  were  possessed  of  extraordi- 
nary   insight   and    powers  of  reasoning  ; 
that  they  could  penetrate,  and  were  famil- 
iar with  the  remotest  laws  of  nature  and 
mind  ;  yet  come  to  inquire  into  the  causes 
of  their  far-sighted  wisdom,  and  plenty  of 
gall,  and  tirade,  and  declamation,  yon  shall 
see  showered  on  all  sides,  but  not  one 
word  of  reason.     What  one  man  out  of 
five  hundred  who  takes  a  side  in  politics, 
and    rants  and  declaims  so  vehemently, 
understands  thoroughly  one  fundamental 
principle  of  government  or  political  econ- 
omy ? 

Is  this  the  age  of  toleration  ?  Show  lis 
one  liberal,  honest-minded  man,  who  is  not 
the  slave  of  opinion  or  prejudice,  and  who 
weighs  every  subject  by  the  impartial  dic- 
tates of  enlightened  reason,  and  you  have 
found  a  jewel  which  the  world,  alas,  too 
seldom  contains. 

Intolerance  is  only  unjust,  but  foolish 
and  impolitic.  It  more  than  any  other,  is 
a  zeal  which  defeats  its  own  ends.  Every 
speculative  system,  like  the  shield  of  olden 
fable,  has  its  golden,  as  well  as  its  dark 
side.  No  error  even,  that  boasts  of  many 
advocates,  but  has  some  "  show"  of  truth  ; 
and  the  surest,  indeed  the  only  way  "f 
convincing  an  opponent,  is  by  meeting  itini 
on  his  own  grounds,  by  showing  him  that 
you  have  seen  the  disputed  subject,  in  the 
same  point  of  view  as  himself,  and  are 
capable  of  appreciating  the  good  as  well 
as  the  evil  of  his  system.  Alwve  all,  con- 
vince by  "  reason."     For  no  other  pur- 


878 


MOHAMMEDAN  DEVOTIONS. 


pose  was  this  best  and  holiest  faculty 
bestowed  upon  man,  but  to  sift  error  and 
discover  the  true  and  the  right ;  and  he 
who  neglects  or  refuses  to  employ  this 
high  attribute,  has  already  sold  his  birth- 
right, and  is  no  longer  worthy  of  the  name 
of  man. 


MOHAMMEDAN  DEVOTIONS. 

OUNTAINS,thebest 
of  which  are  such  as 
that  represented  incur 
engraving,  are   com- 
mon in  Mohammedan 
towns  ;  and,   besides 
the   ordinary  use   of 
assuaging  the  thirst  of 
the  passers-by,  they, 
with     an     adjoining 
platform,  and  with  an  erect  stone  to  indi- 
cate the  way  the  worshipper  should  turn 
his  face,  constitute  so  many  oratories  for 
the  use  of  those  whom  the  call  to  prayer 
surprises  at  a  distance  from  the  mosque, 
or  who  prefer  to  perform  their  devotions 
in  the  open  air.     It  is  obligatory  on  all 
Mohammedans  to  pray  five  times  a  day  ; 
but  it  is  only  on  the  Friday  that  they  are 
expected  to  attend  at  the  mosque  for  the 
purpose  :  and  in  general,  when  a  Moslem 
hears  the  call  to  prayers,  or  knows  that 
the  hour  is  arrived,  he  will  perform  his 
devotions  at  any  convenient  place  near 
that  where  he  happens  to  be  at  the  time, 
after  he  has  executed  the  required  ablu- 
tions.  These  consist  in  washing  the  hands 
three  times  successively,  as  well  as  the 
face,  the  arms,  the  head,  the  neck,  and  the 
feel ;  and  also  the  inside  of  the  mouth,  of 
the  ears,  and  of  the  nostrils.     It  is  for  the 
purpose  of  these  ablutions  that  fountains 
are  so  abundantly  provided.     In  places 
where  no  water  is  to  be  had  the  ablution 
may  be  made  with  the  earth  or  sand.    This 
practice  is  followed  by  persons  travelling 
in  the  deserts  ;  and  with  regard  to  persons 
at  sea,  who  have  no  such  substitutes,  and 
can  not  afford   fresh    water,  they   affect 
their  ablutions  by  rubbing  themselves  with 
their  hands  alone,  aftei  having  placed  them 
on  a  stone.     Sea-water  is  couaidercd  im- 


pure, and  entirely  unfit  for  the  purposes 
of  ablution.  These  washings  are  general- 
ly performed  in  a  very  slight  way.  In 
consequence  of  its  being  necessary  to  wash 
the  arm  up  to  the  elbow,  the  Moslems  have 
the  sleeves  of  their  dress  with  buttons  from 
the  elbow  to  the  wrist.  The  Turks  and 
Arabs  generally  wear  their  sleeves  loose 
and  unbuttoned,  to  save  the  trouble  of  fre- 
quent nubuttoning  and  buttoning  again  ; 
but  the  Persians,  who  are  much  less  ob- 
servant of  what  their  religion  in  this  re- 
spect requires,  are  seldom  seen  hut  with 
their  sleeves  buttoned  up.  Indeed,  every- 
thing that  their  forms  of  worship  demand, 
in  regard  to  prayers  and  ablutions,  is  sel- 
dom performed  by  any  Moslems  except 
those  of  the  higher  and  middle  classes, 
and  in  all  cases  the  morning,  noon,  and 
evening  periods  of  prayer  are  the  moat  at- 
tended to,  while  the  intermediate  ones  are 
comparatively  neglected. 

Although  Christians  are  not  generally 
allowed  to  enter  the  mosques,  the  cere- 
monies of  prayer  are  so  much  performed 
in  the  streets  and  open  places  of  towns, 
that  the  most  unobservant  stranger  soon 
becomes  thoroughly  acquainted  with  all 
the  proceedings. 

There  are  no  bells  in  Mohammedan 
countries  ;  but,  at  the  appointed  hours,  an 
officer  of  the  mosque,  called  the  muezzin, 
mounts  upon  the  n  marets  and  calls  the 
faithful  to  prayers,  or  rather  notifies  that 
the  proper  time  has  arrived.  For  this 
office  the  persons  endowed  with  the  most 
sonorous  voices  are  chosen  in  preference, 
and  the  distance  at  which  they  can  be 
heard  is  such  as  to  become  a  subject  of 
surprise  to  Europeans.  This  notice  is 
not  delivered  from  every  mosque,  but  only 
from  such  as  are  sufficient  to  afford  an 
equal  distribution  of  the  sound  over  the 
city.  The  call  consists  of  a  declaration 
of  the  Mohammedan  profession  of  faith  : 
"  There  is  no  other  god  but  God,  and  Mo- 
hammed is  the  propnet  of  God  !"  with 
many  repetitions  ;  then  follows  the  invita- 
tion to  prayers,  to  which,  in  the  morning, 
is  added  the  assurance  that  "  prayer  is 
better  that  sleep  ;"  and  the  whole  con- 
clud*.  ;  with  the  declaration  that  God  is 
most  great,  and  most  high,  and  that  there 
is  no  other  God  but  him. 

When  the  call  is  heard,  the  devout  who 


unfit  for  the  pnrposes 
I  vvashinj,'s  arc  goncral- 

very  slight  way.  In 
eing  necessary  to  wash 
bow,  the  Moslems  have 
Iress  with  buttons  from 
rist.  The  Turks  and 
ar  their  sleeves  loose 
save  the  trouble  of  frc- 
and  buttoning  again  ; 
vho  are  much  less  nb- 
eir  religion  in  this  re- 
peldom  seen  but  with 
ed  up.  Indeed,  every- 
ns  of  worship  demand, 
s  and  ablutions,  is  sel- 

any  Moslems  except 
!r  and  middle  classes, 
he  morning,  noon,  and 
prayer  are  the  most  at- 
3  intermediate  ones  arc 
ected. 

ans  are  not  generally 
h«  mosques,  the  cere- 
ire  so  much  performed 
open  places  of  towns, 
bservant  stranger  soon 
y  acquainted  with  all 

jells  in  Mohammedan 
he  appointed  hours,  an 
|ue,  called  the  muezzin, 
minarets  and  calls  the 
,  or  rather  notifies  that 
las  arrived.  For  this 
sndowed  with  the  most 
e  chosen  in  preference, 
at  which  they  can  be 
0  become  a  subject  of 
)eans.  This  notice  is 
every  mosque,  but  only 
sufficient  to  afTord  an 
of  the  sound  over  the 
insists  of  a  declaration 
Ian  profession  of  faith  : 
r  god  but  God,  and  Mo- 
ropnet  of  God  !"  with 
then  follows  the  invita- 
which,  in  the  morning, 
ranee  that  "prayer  is 
"  and  the  whole  con- 
eclaration  that  God  is 
)8t  high,  and  that  there 
It  him. 
3  heard,  the  devout  who 


hnppcii  to  be  aV:roa(3  hasten  to  the  fotintiiiiis 
and  the  streams  to  perform  their  ablutions; 
when  this  is  done,  if  there  arc  many  pres- 
ei  I,  one  of  the  rnmber  assumes  the  othce 
of  an  imatim,  or  leader,  and,  placing  him- 
self before  them,  with  his  face  toward 
Mecca,  the  rest  follow  him  in  his  words 
and  postures. 


THE  LOVE  OF  NATURE. 

"  Strange,  there  shonJd  be  foniid 
Who,  BelfimprJ»one<l  in  their  prowl  saloons, 
Hcnouiicc  the  odors  of  the  open  field 
For  tlie  nnscciiteJ  ticiions  of  the  loom — 
Who,  BatisHed  with  only  pencilled  Hcencs, 
Prefer  to  the  perfonnanco  of  a  God 
Th'  inferior  wonders  of  an  artirt's  hand } 
Lovely,  indeed,  the  nvmic  works  of  art. 

But  nature's  worka  far  lovelier 

The  air  salubrious  of  her  lofty  hills. 
The  cheering  fragrance  of  her  dewy  vales. 
And  music  of  her  woods — ^no  works  of  mao 
May  rival  theaoj  these  all  bespeak  a  power 
Peculiar,  and  exclusively  her  own. 
Beneath  the  open  sky  she  spreads  the  feast: 
'Tis  free  to  all — 'tis  every  day  renewed  ; 
Who  ncorns  it,  starves  deservedly  at  home." 

CowriR. 

HE  poet,  we  think, 
has  set  this  matter  in 
its  true  light.  Art 
may  do  much,  but  na- 
ture has  done  vastly 
more.  The  artist, in- 
deed, may  bring  beau- 
ties together  which 
exist  separately  in  nature,  and,  in  this 
sense,  may  be  said  to  excel  nature  ;  but 
the  great  and  fundamental  distinctions 
still  remain  between  the  works  of  man 
and  those  of  God.  There  is  surely  some- 
thing factitious  and  radically  wrong  in  the 
taste  which  can  admire  the  mimic  and 
disregard  the  real  landscape— just  as  there 
is  in  the  sympathy  which  weeps  over  dis- 
tress in  romance,  and  turns  with  loathing 
from  it  in  real  life.  The  poor  man  who 
has  formed  n  taste  for  nature  need  scarcely 
repine  that  he  wants  a  palace  ov  a  picture- 
gallery.  He  has  both,  and  of  God's  own 
making  ;  and  if  he  be  a  Christian,  he  is  a 
coproprietor  with  God.  The  roof  of  royal- 
ty will  not  bear  to  be  named  with  the 
vaulted  sky  ;  and  thi'  sights  of  a  palace 
are  poor  compared  with  those  seen  in  the 


heavens.  That  faslc  innst  be  morbi;i  Hnd 
grovelling  indeed  which  can  prefer  the 
f()rmcr  to  the  latter,  the  less*  to  the  grf  ater, 
the  mean  to  the  magnificent,  and,  at  best,  f; 
the  imperfect  and  miniature  copy  to  the  I 
great  and  glorio'JS  original.  <| 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  so  little  is  done  '1 
to  form  the  taste  we  speak  of,  artd  that  || 
cases  of  sincere  and  devout  attachment  to  |i 
the  beauties  and  wonders  of  the  external 
world  are  so  rarely  to  be  met  witli,  nut 
only  among  the  unlearned,  but  among  the 
wealthier  and  educated  classes.     We  do 
not  speak  of  pretensions,   for  these  are 
numerous,  but  it  is  easy  to  see  that  they 
are  only  pretensions,  and  made  to  serve  a 
purpose.     The  real  lovers  of  nature  are 
relatively  few. 

We  know  there  are  constitutional  dif- 
ferences, which  will  produce  diflTerences 
here  as  elsewhere ;  but  these  might,  in 
general,  be  made  to  be  differences  more 
of  degree  than  of  kind.  The  parent  and 
teacher  might  do  much  to  mend  the  mat- 
ter. We  do  not  mean  that  they  should 
make  it  a  stated  and  formal  part  of  instruc- 
tion ;  for  the  moment  that  many  children 
perceive  this,  they  conceive  an  aversion 
to  what  they  look  upon  as  a  task.  Let 
them  have  opportunities  of  becoming  ac- 
quainted with  what  is  great  atid  beautiful 
in  creation,  and,  if  possible,  let  their  first 
impressions  be  pleasant.  Encourage  them 
to  describe  what  they  have  seen,  and  ex- 
plain what  they  do  not  understand.  Let 
books  fall  in  their  way,  to  sharpen  their 
relish  and  extend  their  knowledge  of  nat- 
ural objects.  The  taste  thus  formed  is 
likely  to  continue,  and  to  furiiish  a  con- 
stant source  of  enjoyment  through  life. 
How  many,  for  want  of  this  training,  are 
miserable,  when  left  alone  with  nature ! 
Her  mountains  are  nothing  to  them  but 
heaps  of  unshapely  earth ;  and  they  see 
nothing  in  streams  but  water  in  motion  ; 
and  hear  nothisig  in  the  winds  but  con- 
fused and  unmeaning  sounds ;  and  the 
trees  are  only  so  high  and  of  a  certain 
color ;  and  the  clouds  are  only  intercepters 
of  the  sun's  rays  ;  and  the  sky  is  blue,  or 
red,  or  green,  but  nothing  more.  They 
are  delighted  to  be  relieved  from  their 
dull  companion,  and  hail  the  approach  of 
a  shepherd's  dog,  or  the  sound  of  his 
I  master's    voice    in   the    distance,    as    a 


1 


THE  LOVE  OB  NATURE. 


881 


itc  iiinst  be  morliid  »ri!l  ' 
which   can   prefer  the 
,  the  less*  Jo  the  greater,  i 
ignjficent,  and,  at  hest, 
miiiiiiture  topy  to  the 
original. 

ted  that  90  little  ia  Jonu 
we  speak  of,  and  that 
d  devout  attachment  to 
onders  of  the  external 
ly  to  be  met  with,  not 
learned,  bnt  amonj;  the 
:ated  classes.  We  do 
ensions,  for  these  an; 
3  easy  to  see  that  they 
IS,  and  made  to  ser>'e  a 
>1  lovers  of  nature  are 

are  constitutional  dif- 
ill  produce  diflferonces 
I ;  but  these  might,  in 
to  be  diflferences  more 
kind.  The  parent  and 
much  to  mend  the  mat- 
mean  that  they  should 
d  formal  part  of  instruc- 
ent  that  many  children 
'  conceive  an  aversion 
;  upon  as  a  task.  I>et 
unities  of  becoming  ac- 
t  is  great  and  beautifnl 

possible,  let  their  first 
jsant.  Encourage  them 
hey  have  seen,  and  ex- 
0  not  understand.  Let 
r  way,  to  sharpen  their 
their  knowledge  of  nat- 
e  taste  thus  formed  is 
,  and  to  furnish  a  con- 
injoyment  through  life, 
ant  of  this  training,  are 
left  alone  with  nature ! 
•e  nothing  to  them  but 
y  earth  ;  and  they  see 
3  but  water  in  motion ; 

in  the  winds  but  con- 
ming  sounds ;    and   the 

high  and  of  a  certain 
ids  are  only  intercepters 

and  the  sky  is  blue,  or 
t  nothing  more.  They 
be  relieved  from  their 
nd  hail  the  approach  of 
;,  or  the  sound  of  his 
a   the    distance,    as    a 


sweeter  sound  than  any  that  nature  has 
to  give. 

\Ve  rather  think  that  the  love  we  speak 
of  is  never  strong  or  lasting  unless  it  be 
roniracted  in  early  life.  The  associations 
of  childhood  are  the  strongest  of  any,  and 
usually  go  with  us  to  the  grave.     Hence 


are  matters  of  total  indiffertince.  The 
Christianity  of  Newton  was  not  hurt  but 
heightened  by'  his  frequent  and  ranu'St 
readings  of  the  wonders  of  the  visible  uni- 
verse. David  looked  up  into  the  heavens, 
felt  his  own  insignificance,  and  wondered 
ail  the  more  that  God  shoidd  mind  man 


the  all-prevailing  love  of  the  place  of  our  \  at  all.  Whatever  teaches  us  our  own  lit- 
nativilv  Perhaps  few  men  had  a  finer  |  tleness  and  rebukes  the  spirit  of  pride 
on  of  what  was  amiable  in  man- '  within  us,  brings  us  a  step  nearer  God. 
beautiful  in  art  than  Charles  j  We  do  not  wish  to  lay  undue  stress  upon 
Lamb  ;  and  yet,  exquisite  as  was  his  sen-  ;  this  point,  and  we  are  aware  that  cases  of 
sibility  here,  he  does  not  appear  to  have  \  an  opposite  kind  might  be  urged  ;  but  what 


percepli 
ners  and 


been  capable  of  enjoying  himself  in  the 

society  of  lakes  and  mountains.     Byron, 

on  the  contrary,  could  say,  and  no  doubt 

truly  :•  — 

"  There  is  a  plocRuro  in  llic  patliless  woods , 
Tliere  U  a  rupture  on  tlie  lonely  sliore  ; 
Tliere  i«  society,  whore  none  intrudes, 
By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar." 


we  do  assert  is,  that,  other  things  being 
morally  equal,  there  is  greater  probability 
of  the  admirer  of  nature  being  brought  to 
think  of  God,  than  there  is  of  the  person 
who  sees  neither  beauty  nor  grandeur  in 
the  works  of  creation. 

Besides  all,  it  is  a  kind  of  slight  which 
we  cast  upon  nature — as  Johnson  or  Ad- 
But  Byron,  independently  of  the  sterner !  dison  somewhere  expresses  it— when  we 
structure  of  his  mind,  had  the  advantage  ;  do  not  look  at  the  spectacles  which  she 
of  Lamb  in  his  early  training  and  habits. !  is  constantly  varying  and  exhibiting  to  us. 
He  had  conversed  with  nature  in  her  mo-  \  Has  the  scene  been  formed  and  the  cur- 
ments  of  repose  ;  his  fancy  had  mingled  tain  drawn  for  nothing  ?  or  is  the  eye  or 
in  the  ennobling  stir  of  the  elements— had  ^  ear  unfitted  to  enjoy  it  ?  We  think  it 
drunk  deep  from  the  fountains  of  the  hills,  scarcely  less  a  pleasure  than  a  duty  to 
and  imbibed  the  spirit  of  the  solitary  glens;:  cultivate  this  taste  in  ourselves  and  our 
he  had  put  a  tongue  into  the  mysterious    children.     We  hardly  know  the  enjoyment 


winds  as  they  passed,  and  had  gathered 
the  leaves  of  the  forest,  as  the  leaves  of 
the  great  sybil  of  nature.  He  retained 
this  love  of  nature  to  the  last,  and  it  seems 
often  to  have  been  his  only  solace  and  en- 
joyment. 

The  love  of  nature  prepares  the  way 
for  the  love  and  appreciation  of  the  fine 
arts.  This  is  an  additional  advantage. 
The  discipline  which  the  mind  has  under- 
gone in  contemplating  the  various  aspects 
and  relations  of  nature,  predispose  it  to 
enjoy  and  to  judge  of  what  is  excellent  in 
certain  departments  of  the  imitative  arts. 
It  brings  along  with  it  a  train  of  thoughts, 
and  feelings,  and  associations,  which 
readily  attach  themselves  to  what  is  great 
or  beautiful,  not  only  in  painting  but  in 
poetry,  and  in  all  the  higher  developments 
of  the  human  mind. 

Its  effects  are  not  only  mental,  but  moral 
also.  Other  things  being  equal,  we  think 
the  man  who  loves  the  works  of  God  is 
more  likely  to  »hiiik  of  and  to  love  God 
himself  than  the  man  to  whom  these  works 


we  would  not  sooner  part  with  than  this. 
It  is  not  merely  that  the  senses  are  grati- 
fied, but  the  feelings  are  refined  and  the 
heart  improved  by  it.  The  effect  of  a 
moonlight  scene  on  the  mind  which  is  ill 
at  ease,  is  well  known.  The  imagination, 
too,  is  necessarily  exercised  and  strengthen- 
ed by  the  unceasing  analogies  which  are 
constantly  offering  themselves  between 
what  is  spiritual  and  what  is  material. 
But  whoever  may  despise  or  forget  these 
things,  it  is  least  of  all  the  part  of  the 
Christian  to  do  so.  The  volume  of  na- 
ture is  as  truly  the  work  of  God  as  that 
of  providence  or  revelation.  The  great 
Teacher  habitually  illustrated  the  one  *^y 
the  other  ;  he  stereotyped  his  doctrines  in 
the  flowers,  and  trees,  and  hills. 

It  may  be  added,  that  the  lover  of  na- 
ture has  a  better  chance  of  enjoying  a 
sound  mind  in  a  sound  body.  This  is  no 
mean  consideration. 

The  most  ardent  admirer  of  nature  need 
be  in  no  fear  of  exhausting  her  stores,  or 
draining  out   her   vast   resources.     The 


J_ 


jiiiimiiiiiiJMimiilliiai  ^ 


882 


AUGUST. 


changes  of  weather,  the  rising  and  setting 
sun,  the  play  of  the  clouds,  the  revolution 
of  the  seasons,  the  alternations  of  heat  and 
cold,  and  night  and  day,  and  drought  and 
moisture,  and  the  unceasing  diversity  of 
light  and  shade  to  which  theso  give  rise, 
preclude  the  possibility  of  entailing  a  sense 
of  sameness  or  insipidity  on  the  oldest  or 
most  diligent  observer.  As  if  lo  guard 
against  this  result,  the  surface  of  the  earth 
itself  is  thrown  into  the  most  varied 
forms. 

Independently,  however,  of  the  actual 
differences  and  dissimilarity  in  scenery, 
and  apart  from  the  variety  of  individual 
form  and  of  combination  which  are  met  in 
the  same  kinds  of  it,  whether  of  the  calm- 
ly beautiful  or  sternly  sublime,  there  is  a 
constant  vicissitude  and  change  passing 
over  the  prospect  which  we  daily  see, 
that  goes  far  to  prevent  that  fttMng  of 
monotony  which  we  mi^ht  otherv/ise  ex- 
perience. The  warm  rich  hce?  of  the 
,80uth  and  the  cold  harsh  tints  of  the  north 
'alternately  rest  upon  it.  It  smiles  and 
frowns,  is  gay  or  serious  ;  and  the  gayety 
or  pensiveness  of  to  day  is  not  the  liveli- 
ness or  sedateness  of  to  morrow — capri- 
cious at  one  time  as  a  Cleopatra,  and  stead- 
fast as  a  Penelope  at  another ;  and  yet 
that  constancy  or  versatility  is  never  ex- 
actly alike,  but  different  in  detail  and  in 
general  effect.  The  unskilful  eye  may 
see  no  difference,  but  the  initiated  does. 
The  experienced  shepherd  ean  discrimi- 
nate between  the  faces  of  his  sheep ;  the 
musician  feels  the  slightest  flaw  in  tone, 
or  time,  or  in  general  balancing  and  ex- 
pression ;  and  the  accomplished  artist  at 
once  detects  what  is  false  in  color  or  faulty 
in  form. 

We  can  not  but  think,  in  whatever  light 
wo  consider  the  subject  we  have  touched 
upon — that  there  are  many  and  strong 
reasons  for  dismissing  the  neglect  with 
which  we  generally  treat  it — whether  we 
look  to  the  place  which  we  occupy  in 
creation,  or  to  the  relations  which  we 
sustain  to  the  Creator,  or  to  the  kindness 
he  has  shown  in  making  "  all  nature 
beauty  to  the  eye  and  music  to  the  ear" — 
or  whether  we  regard  the  pleasurable 
emotions,  refinement  of  mind,  and  health  ' 
of  body,  which  we  derive  from  a  frequent  I 
and  earnest  intercourse  with  the  boauiy  j 


and  grandeur  of  the  external  universe.  At 
any  rate  we  feel  well  assured  that  the 
Christian  is  not  justifiable  in  neglecting 
to  cultivate  an  acquaintance  with  the 
"  manifold  works  of  God,"  for  "  in  wisdom 
he  has  made  them  all,  and  his  tender 
mercies  are  over  all  his  works  ;"  and  they 
serve  at  once  to  illustrate  his  attributes, 
his  providence,  and  his  grace. 


AUGUST. 

UGUST,  80  call- 
cd  in  compliment 
to  the  celebrated 
lioman  emperor 
Augustus;  and  by 
the  Anglo-Sax- 
ons, Arn-Munat, 
intimating  that 
this  was  a  month 
for  filling  the  barns  with  the  products  of 
the  land.  Am  is  the  Saxon  word  for 
harvest. 

In  the  beginning  of  this  month  the 
weather  is  still  hot,  and  usually  calm  and 
fair.  What  remained  to  be  perfected  by 
the  powerful  influence  of  the  sun,  is  daily 
advancing  to  maturity.  The  farmer  now 
sees  the  principal  object  of  his  culture, 
and  the  chief  source  of  his  riches,  waiting 
only  for  the  hand  of  the  gatherer.  Of  the 
several  kinds  of  grain,  rye  and  oats  are 
usually  the  first  ripened  ;  but  this  varies, 
according  to  the  time  of  sowing,  and  some 
of  every  species  may  be  seen  fit  for  cut- 
ting at  the  same  time. 

Every  fair  day  is  now  of  great  import- 
ance ;  since,  when  the  grain  is  once  ripe, 
it  is  liable  to  continual  damage  while 
standing,  either  from  the  shedding  of  the 
seeds,  from  the  depredations  of  birds,  or 
from  storms.  The  utmost  diligence  is 
therefore  used  by  the  careftii  husbandman 
to  get  it  in,  and  laborers  are  hired  I'rom 
all  quarters  to  hasten  and  complete  th') 
work. 

The  pleasing  harvest  scene  is  beheld 
in  its  perfection  only  in  the  open-field 
countries,  where  the  sight  can  take  in  at 
once  an  uninterrupted  extent  of  land 
waving   with   grain,  and  a  multitude  of 


mm 


1 


)  external  universe.  At 
well  nssureJ  that  tlio 
ustifiable  in  noglectinjj 
icquaintance  witli  tlio 
)f  God,"  for  "  in  wisdom 
in  all,  and  his  tender 
11  his  works  ;"  and  they 
illustrate  his  attributes, 
d  his  grace. 


JGUST. 

UGUST,  80  call, 
od  in  compliment 
to  the  celebrated 
Roman  eiriperor 
Augustus;  and  by 
the  Anglo-Sax- 
ons, Arn-Monat, 
intimating  thot 
this  was  a  month 
lis  with  the  products  of 
I   the  Saxon  word   for 

ng  of  thi&  month  the 
t,  and  usually  calm  and 
aed  to  be  perfected  by 
nee  of  the  sun,  is  daily 
rity.     The  farmer  now 

object  of  his  culture, 
:eof  his  riches,  waiting 
f  the  gatherer.  Of  the 
rain,  rye  and  oats  are 
Dened  ;  but  this  varies, 
ne  of  sowing,  and  some 
lay  be  seen  tit  for  cut- 
me. 
3  now  of  great  import- 

the  grain  is  once  ripe, 
ntinual  damage  while 
)m  the  shedding  of  the 
predations  of  birds,  or 
3  utmost  diligence  is 
he  careAil  husbandman 
aborors  are  hired  from 
iten  and  complete  th'i 

Jrvest  scene  is  beheld 
)nly  in  the  open-tield 
e  sight  can  take  in  at 
ipted  extent  of  land 
1,  and  a  multitude  of 


I 


FIRMNESS  OP  CHARACTEH. 


883 


i  people  engaged  in  the  various  parts  of  the 
'  labor  It  is  a  prospect  equally  delightful 
to  the  cyo  and  the  heart,  and  which  ought 
to  inspire  every  sentiment  of  benevolence 
to  our  fellow-creatures,  and  gratitude  to 
our  Creator. 

In  a  late  season,  or  where  favorable 
opportunities  of  getting  in  the  harvest 
have   been    neglected,  the  grain  on  the 


deed — teems  with  examples  to  show  what 
wonders  may  bo  accomplished  by  resolute 
perseverance  and  patient  toil. 

It  is  related  of  Tamerlane,  the  celebra- 
ted warrior,  the  terror  of  whoso  arms 
spread  through  all  the  eastern  nations,  an>l 
whom  victory  attended  at  almost  ev(?ry 
step,  that  he  once  learned,  from  an  insect, 
a  lesson  of  perseverance,  which   had  a 


ground  often  suffers  greatly  from  heavy  striking  effect  on  his  future  character  and 
storms  of  wind  and  rain.  It  is  beaten  to  success.  When  closely  pursued  by  his 
the  earth,  the  seeds  are  shed,  or  rotted  by  enemies— as  a  contemporary  tells  the  a.iec- 
the  moisture;  or,  if  the  weather  continues  ;  dote— he  took  refuge  in  smno  old  ruins, 
warm,  the  grain  grows,  that  is,  the  seeds  |  where,  loft  to  h|s  solitary  musings,  he 
begin  to  germinate   and  put  '  '*       " ' 


Grain  in  this  state  is  sweet 
it  soon    spoils    on   keeping ; 


out  shoots, 
and  moist 


espied  an  ant  tugging  and  striving  to  carry 
away  a  single  grain  of   corn.     His  un- 


and   bread  j  availing  efforts  were  repeated  sixty-nine 


made  from  it  is  clammy  and  unwholesome. 

The  rural  festival  of  harvest-home  is  an 
extremely  natural  one,  and  has  beer,  ob- 
served in  almost  all  ages  and  countries. 
What  can  more  gladden  the  heart  than  to 
see  the  long-expected  products  of  the 
year,  which  have  been  the  cause  of  so 
much  care  and  anxiety,  now  safely  housed, 
and  beyond  the  reach  of  injury  1 

The;  poor  laborer,  too,  who  has  toiled  in 
securing  another's  wealth,  justly  expects 
to  partake  of  the  happiness.  The  jovial 
harvest  supper  cheers  his  heart,  and  pre- 
pares him  to  begin  without  murmuring  the 
labors  of  another  year. 


FIRMNESS  OF  CHARACTER. 

HERE  is  no  trait  in 
>Jjy  the  human  character 
so  potential  for  weal 
or  wo,  as  firmness  of 
purpose.  It  is  won- 
derful to  see  what 
miracles  a  resolute 
and  unyielding  spirit 
will  achieve.  Before  its  irresistible  ener- 
gy the  most  formidable  obstacles  become 
as  cobweb  barriers  in  its  path.  Difficul- 
ties, the  terror  of  which  causes  the  pam- 
pered sons  of  ease  and  luxu»y  to  shrink 
back  with  dismay,  provoke  from  the  man 
of  lofty  determination  only  a  smile.  The 
whole  history  of  our  race — all  nature,  in- 


times,  and  at  each  several  time,  so  soon 
as  he  reached  a  certain  point  of  projection, 
he  fell  back  with  his  burden,  unal)le  to 
surmount  it.  Dut  the  seventieth  time  he 
bore  away  his  spoil  in  triumph,  and  left 
the  wondering  hero  reanimated  and  ex- 
ulting in  the  hope  of  future  victory. 

How  pregnant  the  lessun  this  incident 
conveys  !  How  many  thousand  instances 
there  are  in  which  inglorious  defeat  ends 
the  career  of  the  timid  and  desponding, 
when  the  same  tenacity  of  purpose,  the 
same  unflinching  perseverance,  would 
crown  it  with  triumphant  success. 

Resolution  is  almost  omnipotent.    Sheri- 
dan was  at  first  timid,  and  obliged  to  sit 
down  in   the   midst  of  a  speech.     Con- 
vinced of,  and  mortified  at,  the  cause  of 
his  failure,  he  said  one  day  to  a  friend, 
"  It  is  in  me,  and  shall  come  out."     From 
that  moment  he  rose  and  shone,  and  tri- 
umphed in   a  consummate    eloquence. — 
Here  was  true  and  moral  courage.     And 
it  was  well  observed  by  a  heathen  moral- 
ist, that  it  is  not  because  that  things  are 
difficult  that  we  dare  not  undertake  them. 
Be  then  bold  in  spirit.     Indulge  no  doubts, 
for  doubts  are  traitors.     In  the  practical 
pursuit  of  our  high  aim,  let  us  never  lose 
sight  of  it  in  the  slightest  instance  ;  for  it 
is  more  by  a  disregard  of  small   things, 
than  by  open  and  flagrant  offences,  that 
men  come  short  of  excellence.     There  is 
always  a  right  and  a  wrong  ;  and  if  you 
ever  doubt,   be   sure  you   take   not   the 
wrong.     Observe  this  rule,  and  every  ex- 
perience will  be  to  you  a  means  of  ad- 
vancement. 


884 


FlUENUSHIP. 


FRIENDSHIP. 


OW  dear  a  gem 

/5T5"' V* 'iM*V    is  fricndsbip.    It 
( JrKtkJ'f^El^t.    sweetens  the  bit- 
ter cup,    and    it 
smooths  the  tlior- 
ny  path  of  life. 
•rff'^ayi  ^kSMWii^^  How  pleasing  the 
V  '  ^j^  3^"'^'        *»^  idea,  how  anima- 
ting the  thought, 
that  we  have  friends.     How  much  to  be 
prized  is  a  true  friend  in  whom  we  may 
Jilwnys  confide. 

Milt  some  ni»y  ask,  who  are  my  friends, 
and  how  may  I  know  them?  Let  me 
ask,  how  did  the  man,  that  fell  ainonj; 
thioves,  know  which  was  his  friend  ?  You 
would  readily  answer,  the  Samaritan,  be- 
cause he  allowed  mercy. 

A  true  I'ritMid,  whose  heart  is  draw;,  out 
in  synijialliy  for  those  around,  who  is  ready 
to  s()eiik  a  word  of  consolation  to  the  af- 
flicted, and  whose  hand  is  ready  to  ad- 
minister relief  without  expecting  recom- 
pense, is  to  be  prized  above  the  sparkling 
gems  of  earth.  < 

Hut  a  false  friend  is  more  to  be  dreaded 
than  an  avowed  enemv  ;  for  we  know  the 
design  of  an  enemy  is  to  injure,  but  a  false 
friend  is  like  a  serpent  coiled  in  the  grass, 
lying  in  umbush  for  its  prey,  and  its  un- 
happy victim  is  ensnared  before  he  is 
aware  that  danger  is  near.  Some  will  be 
our  friends  while  prosperity  blooms  along 
our  pathway  ;  then  all  goes  on  pleasantly 
and  harmoniously ;  but  when  adversity, 
with  its  chilly  blast,  sweeps  away  the 
flowers  of  prosperity,  and  naught  but  the 
leafless  stuck,  the  recollection  of  the  past, 
remains,  then  wo  look  around  for  our 
friends.  Alas !  they  are  gone — yes,  gone 
when  we  most  needed  them. 

Hut,  to  obtain  true  friends,  we  have  a 
part  to  act ;  we  must  show  ourselves 
friendly  to  our  acquaintances  and  friends, 
and  those  with  whom  we  associate.  Most 
of  us  are  strangers,  from  diflferent  parts  of 
the  country,  in  a  city  of  strangers  ;  and 
the  majority  of  us  are  of  the  unfortunate 
class.  Jkiglit  was  our  childhood's  future, 
for  then  prosj)erity  and  happiness  encircled 
our  families,  but  misfortune  overtakes  us, 
our  worldly  prospects  are  blighted ;  then 


we  feel  that  exertion  is  to  be  made  on  our 
part,  and  thither  we  resort  to  this. 

Many  of  us  have  had  our  family  circles 
broken  by  the  impartial  hand  of  denth. 
We  have  seen  a  kind  father,  an  indulsient 
iTiother,  or  both,  consiijned  to  tlm  silent 
grave.  Many  of  us  have  received  the  un- 
welcome tidings  of  the  death  of  parents 
and  friends.  Unwelcome  to  tis  indeed. 
It  is  while  perusing  the  pages  of  the  fatal 
letter  which  bore  the  message,  that  our 
hearts  aie  ready  to  burst  with  grief.  Pain- 
ful thought!  that  we  had  not  the  privilege 
of  standing  by  their  couch  of  pain,  nnd 
administering  to  their  varied  wants,  or  of 
hearing  their  farewell  advice,  nor  of  see- 
ing the  last  flicker  of  the  lamp  of  life  as 
it  was  gently  extinguished  by  the  liand  of 
death.  Then  how  alleviating  to  the  af- 
flicted soul  it  is,  to  have  a  friend  that  will 
sympathize  with  us  in  our  deep  aillietion, 
and  with  kind  and  consoling  words  pour 
in  the  oil  and  wine  into  the  bruised  heart. 
Again,  if  anything  transpires,  to  add  hap- 
piness to  the  contented  mind,  how  brightly 
that  spark  will  kindle  when  shared  with  a 
true  and  faithful  friend. 

"  Our  joy»,  when  cxtendoil,  will  always  inrrense, 
Our  griefs  whun  divided,  are  husliod  into  puacu.'' 

Under  considerations  like  these  ought 
we  not  to  show  ourselves  friendly  to  all  1 
If  we  meet  with  a  stranger,  treat  that 
stranger  kindly,  for  we  know  not  what 
secret  sorrow  is  his.  Wo  little  know 
what  painful  emotions  are  throbbing  in 
his  bosom.  A  mild  word,  or  friendly 
look,  or  some  little  act  of  kindness,  may 
be  the  means  of  alleviating  much  heart- 
felt sorrow. 


Usefulness. — It  must  be  a  great  satis- 
faction, at  the  close  of  life,  to  bo  able  to 
look  back  on  the  years  which  are  passed, 
and  to  feel  that  you  have  lived,  not  for 
yourselves  alone,  but  that  you  have  been 
useful  to  others.  You  may  be  assured, 
also,  that  the  same  feeling  is  a  source  of 
comfort  and  happiness  at  any  period  of 
life.  There  is  nothing  in  this  world  so 
good  as  usefulness.  It  binds  your  fellow- 
creatures  to  you,  and  you  to  them  ;  it  tends 
to  the  improvement  of  your  own  character, 
and  it  gives  you  zeal  or  importance  in 
society — much  beyond  what  any  artificial 
station  can  bestow. 


n  is  to  bo  inndo  on  our 
'.  resort  to  this. 

hud  (iiir  family  rirchis 
)artiai  hand  of  death, 
lid  father,  un  ii)diil>!ei)t 
Dnsifjnod  to  thu  silciu 
I  have  received  the  un- 
f  the  death  of  parents 
relcoine  tu  ii8  inileed. 
T  the  pages  of  tlio  fatal 
the  message,  that  our 
bursit  witli  grief.  Pain- 
e  had  not  the  privihigo 
sir  couch  of  pain,  nnd 
leir  varied  wants,  or  of 
ell  advice,  nor  of  see- 
of  the  lamp  of  life  as 
guished  by  the  liand  of 
'  alleviating  to  the  af- 

have  a  friend  that  will 
I  in  our  deep  ailliction, 

consoling  words  pour 

1  into  the  bruised  heart. 

transpires,  to  add  liap- 

iited  mind,  how  brightly 

tile  when  shared  with  a 

end. 

jnded,  will  always  inrrennc, 
itled,  aro  liuslied  into  peace." 

itions  like  these  ought 
rsclves  friendly  to  all  ? 
a  stranger,  treat  that 
jr  we  know  not  what 
his.  Wo  little  know 
tions  arc  throbbing  in 
lild  word,  or  friendly 
3  act  of  kindness,  may 
dleviating  much  heart- 


It  must  be  a  great  satis- 
e  of  life,  to  bo  able  to 
ears  which  are  passed, 
ou  have  lived,  not  for 
3Ut  that  you  have  been 

You  may  be  assured, 
3  feeling  is  a  source  of 
iness  ut  any  period  of 
othing  in  this  world  so 
.  It  binds  your  fellow- 
nd  you  to  them  ;  it  tends 
t  of  your  own  character, 

zeal  or  importance  in 
^ond  what  any  artificial 


0J.1VKR  CROMWELL. 


885 


Oliver  CromweU.-Frora  a  picture  by  Walker,  in  the  British  MuBeum. 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


proportion 
vestigation 


N  the  3d  Septem- 
ber, 1658,  died  one 
of  the  most  remark- 
able men  any  coun- 
try has  produced — 
Cromwell,   whose 
character  seems  to 
baffle  almost  in  the 
in  which  it  stimulates  our  in- 
vesuguuo...  Howasbornon  the25th  April, 
1599,  at  Huntingdon,  England,  of  highly 
respectable  parents,  and  by  his  mothers 
side,  it  is  said,  he  was  remotely  coniiected 
with  the  monarch  over  whose  destinies  he 
was  to  exercise  so  great  an  influence.    Ho 
was  considered  an  "  obstinate"  boy,  and 
both  at  school  and  college  submitted  un- 
willingly  to  educational   discipline.      In 
1616,  he   became  a  member  of  Sidney 
college,  Cambridge,  whence  he  was  re- 
moved, at  the  death  of  his  father,  shortly 
after,  and  entered  at  Lincoln's  Inn  for  the 


study  of  the  law.    He  now  gave  way  to 
the  dissipations  which   surrounded  him, 
and  among  his  other  evil  propensities  at 
that  time  was  gambling.     This  life  lasted 
two  or  three  years  ;   at  the  end  of  that 
period,  finding  he  had  diminished  his  for- 
tune, alienated  his  friends,  and,  above  all, 
disgusted  himself,  he  made  a  sudden  and 
lasting  reformation.     He  now   married. 
Tho  object  of  his  choice  was  Elizabeth 
Bourchier,  daughter  of  Sir  James  Bour- 
chier,  to  whom  he  was  united  on  the  22d 
August,  1620,  and  the  match  appears  to 
have  been  a  happy  one.     His  attachment 
to  the  puritans  now  began  to  show  itself : 
some  of  the  most  unfortunate  appear  to 
have  found  an  asylum  in  his  house.     A 
strong  proof  of  the  reality  of  his  religious 
conviction,  as  well  as  of  his  high  moral 
principle,  as  given  in  the  circumstance  of 
his  returning  several  sums  of  money,  in 
one  instance  as  much  as  120Z.,  which  he 
had   formerly  won  by  gambling,  to  the 
losers. 


\ 


886 


OLIVER  CnOMWELL. 


Ill  1028  his  political  career  organ  in  his 
return  for  the  borough  of  IIiintin({clon,  at 
the  period  v/hcn  Charles  I.,  by  his  arbitra- 
ry and  tyrannical  conduct,  was  raising  up 
the  8tor:n  which  finally  overwhelmed  him. 
In  1035  Cromwell  had  a  farm  at  St.  Ives; 
but,  either  from  the  failure  of  the  specu- 
lation, or  from  the  extent  of  his  hospitality, 
he  now  suffered  from  pecuniary  embar- 
rassments, lie  was  relieved  at  the  death 
of  his  uncle,  Sir  Thomes  Stuart,  by  a  be- 
(juest  of  property  to  the  volue  of  500/.  a 
year  in  the  isle  of  Ely.  A  remarkable 
incident  now  occurred.  Disgusted  with 
the  aspect  of  affairs,  religious  and  political, 
in  this  country,  and  hopeless  of  any  speedy 
chantje  for  the  better,  ho  resolved  to  go  to 
America.  He  and  Hampden,  afterward 
one  of  the  greatest  of  his  coadjutors,  were, 
it  is  said,  actually  embarked,  when  the 
vessel  was  detained,  with  seven  others, 
bound  also  to  America,  by  an  order  of 
council.  This  little  circumstance  seems 
to  stamp  the  depth  of  Cromwell's  piety. 
The  example  and  society  of  the  "  pilgrim 
fathers"  could  have  little  to  attract  so 
thorough  a  hypocrite  as  Cromwell's  ene- 
mies have  represented  him  to  have  been, 
^e  now  became  an  active  local  man  of 
business,  and  gradually  gathered  round 
him  a  large  body  of  friends  and  adherents, 
while  with  the  people  generally  he  became 
very  popular.  He  first  distinguished  him- 
self in  personal  opposition  to  his  sovereign 
in  the  matter  of  draining  the  fens  of  the 
Bedford  Level.  The  earl  of  Bedford  and 
other  gentlemen  "  advent  urers"  had  ob- 
tained a  power  to  drain  that  immense  dis- 
trict, reserving  to  themselves  95,000  acre.'s 
as  their  reward  for  the  accomplishment  ol 
the  task.  When  the  work  was  near'y 
completed,  ail.  uitage  was  taken  by  Charles 
of  some  complaints  against  the  "  adventu- 
rers," by  persons  who  thought  themselves 
aggrieved,  to  direct  his  own  officers  to 
examine  the  drainage,  with  the  intention 
of  depriving  the  rightful  owners  of  their 
property,  if  ho  could  but  manage  to  fix 
some  blame  upon  them.  That  the  nefari- 
ous character  of  the  proceeding  might  not 
be  mistaken,  the  king,  in  his  instructions, 
prejudged  the  case,  and  the  officers  re- 
ported as  he  desired.  Cromwell  was 
roused  at  this  proceeding,  md  acted  with 
such  vigor  and  address  iu  the  matter,  that 


the  whole  county  was  filled  with  indignn. 
tion  at  the  king's  conduct.  The  popular 
title  of  lord  of  the  Fens  wns  long  upplicil 
to  Cromwell,  and,  as  a  mark  of  public  up. 
probation,  he  was  elected  member  lor 
Cambridge  at  the  next  parliament,  in  lOfO. 
A  royalist  contemporary,  Sir  Philip 
Warwick,  thus  describes  liis  appearaiict; 
in  the  house  at  this  period  :  "  I  came  one 
morning  into  the  house  well  clad,  and 
perceived  a  gentleman  speaking,  wlinin  1 
knew  not,  very  ordinarily  apparelled  ;  for 
it  was  a  plain  cloth  suit,  which  seemed  to 
have  been  made  by  an  ill  country  tailor ; 
bis  linen  was  plain  and  not  very  clean  ; 
and  I  remember  a  spot  or  two  of  blood 
upon  his  little  band,  which  was  not  much 
larger  than  his  collar  ;  his  hat  was  with- 
out a  hat-band  ;  his  stature  was  of  a  good 
size  ;  his  sword  stuck  close  to  his  side  ; 
his  countenance  swollen  and  reddish  ;  his 
voice  sharp  and  untunable  ;  and  his  elo- 
quence full  of  fervor."  His  mind  seetns 
by  this  time  to  have  undergon  -  a  marked 
change.  The  applause  he  had  received 
in  the  affair  of  the  Fens,  the  conscious- 
ness (perhaps  for  the  first  time)  of  the 
powers  therein  apparent,  and  lastly,  the 
siimul.iiiiig  nature  of  the  events  then  going 
on  all  around  him,  doubtless  quickened  the 
hitherto  dormant  ambition,  and  impelled  it 
to  seek  a  wider  scope  for  its  exercise. 
"  Henceforth  was  he  a  compound  of  such 
virtues  and  vices,  of  qualities  so  various 
and  so  opposed,  that  a  mind  and  powers 
exactly  similar  to  his  own  were  alone  per- 
haps capable  of  literally  developing  his 
career.  Religious  to  the  last  iti  his  private 
and  domestic  conduct,  he  accustomed  him- 
self to  the  practice  of  a  greater  or  less  de- 
gree of  dissimulation  throughout  his  public 
life.  Enthusiastic  to  a  high  degree  in  the 
cause  he  had  espoused,  he  yet  calculated 
consequences  one  by  one  as  they  occurred 
with  almost  unfailing  exactness.  So  sim- 
ple were  his  language  and  manners,  that 
he  appears  incapable  of  disguising  a  pur- 
pose that  had  arisen  in  his  mind ;  yet 
by  penetration  and  address  the  most  ex- 
quisite did  he,  at  the  same  time,  so  read 
the  hearts  and  so  accommodate  himself  to 
the  humors  of  all  with  whom  he  associated, 
as  at  once  to  make  them  his  firm  friends, 
and  footstools  to  his  future  elevation  over 
them.     His  existence  became  a  perpetual 


as  fillod  with  in(1i),'nti. 
;ondiict.  The  popular 
Puna  wns  long  upplifil 
s  a  mark  of  piihlic  up- 

elected  member  lor 
xt  parlianieni,  in  KilO. 
3mporary,  Sir  I'liilip 
cribes  liis  appeariiiici; 

period  :  "  I  came  one 
house  well  clad,  atiil 
nnn  speaking,  whom  I 
narily  apparelled  ;  fur 

suit,  which  seemed  to 
r  an  ill  country  tailor ; 
n  and  not  very  clean  ; 

spot  or  two  of  blood 
,  which  was  not  miiih 
ir  ;  his  hat  was  with- 

slaturo  was  of  a  j;ood 
uck  close  to  his  side  ; 
ollon  and  reddish  ;  his 
tunable  ;  and  his  clo- 
or."  His  mind  seems 
3  undergoii  '  a  marked 
ause  he  liad  received 

Fens,  the  conscious- 
the  first  time)  of  the 
)arent,  and  lastly,  the 
f  the  events  then  going 
oubtless  (juickened  the 
ibition,  and  impelled  it 
cope  for  its  exercise, 
e  a  compound  of  such 
if  qualities  ao  various 
t  a  mind  and  powers 
8  own  were  alone  per- 
terally  developing  his 

0  the  last  in  his  |)rivate 
ct,  he  accustomed  him- 
jf  a  greater  or  less  de- 
n  throughout  his  public 
to  a  high  degree  in  the 
sed,  he  yet  calculated 
y  one  as  they  occurred 
g  exactness.  So  sim- 
ige  and  manners,  that 
e  of  disguising  a  pur- 
en  in  his  mind ;  yet 
address  the  most  cx- 
le  same  time,  so  read 
:commodate  himself  to 
h  whom  he  associated, 
them  his  firm  friends, 

1  future  elevation  over 
ce  became  a  perpetual 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


887 


harlequinade ;  his  expressions  shifting 
from  tlio  spiritual  to  the  coarsely  jocular  ; 
his  coi\duct  from  the  pliant  to  the  ovor- 
benring— from  the  submissive  to  the  most 
viheinont  contradictions  and  the  boldest 
opposition.  He  could  enter  with  an  equal 
zest  into  the  occupations  of  preaching, 
lighting,  and  reigning;  was  equally  at 
home  in  the  prayer-meeting,  the  camp, 
and  the  palace.  Meanwhile,  in  every 
tliango  of  time  and  circumstance,  religion, 
far  from  contracting,  enlarged  her  hold 
upon  his  feelings,  but  gradually  deserting 
his  judgment,  the  success  that  attended  all 
his  undertakings  taught  his  enthusiasm  so 
greatly  to  extend  it  in  idea,  that  finally 
his  every  action  appeared  to  him  directed 
by  a  heavenly  guidance,  and  his  very 
crimes  the  oflspring  of  a  decreed  neces- 
sity, or  instruments  to  execute  upon  earth 
God's  righteous  vengeance." 

In  1641,  the  parliament  remonstrated 
boldly  with  the  king  on  his  unconstitution- 
al aild  oppressive  acts,  and  Cromwell, 
with  Pym,  Hampden,  and  other  democrat- 
ic leaders,  warmly  supported  it.  \Vhen 
it  became  apparent  to  all  parlies  that  the 
sword  alone  could  decide  the  dilTcrences 
between  (ho  king  and  the  people,  Crom- 
well raised  a  troop  of  horse  in  his  own 
county,  and,  on  the  actual  breaking  out  of 
the  civil  war,  acted  •  ith  such  vigor  and 
address  as  t  11  royalist  a;ove- 

ments  in  i'         eighboring  counties,  and 
keep  ill  cm  from  the  first  devoted  to  the 
parliament.     Not  the  least  extraordinary 
trait  iu  Cromwell's  character  was  his  mili- 
tary f^enius.     Without  experienci ,  or  hav- 
ing luid  anything  like  a  military  education, 
ciinmencing  the  study  at  a  period  of  life 
when  most  other  commanders  have  achiev- 
ed   their   reputation,   and    although    fre- 
quently placed  in  the  most  desperate  situ- 
lions,  he  was  never  beaten.     At  Marston 
Moor,  Stamford,  and  Newbury,  ho   suc- 
cessively overthrew  the  king's  forces,  and 
at  last  obtained  so  signal  a  reputation,  that 
the   parliament   excepted    him   from    its 
"  faelf-denying  ordinance,"  passed  to  pre- 
vent members  of  the  house  of  commons 
from  holding  any  command  in  'ho  army. 
At  the  battle  of  Naseby,  in  1645,  Crom- 
well commanded  the  right  wing,  and  was 
the  chief  agent  in  the  obtaining  that  signal 
victory.     Thanks  were  voted  to  him  in 


the  following  year,  and  a  pension  settled 
up>n  him  to  the  ami'int  of  2,500/.  a  year. 
Tho  great  events   which    followed    in 
rapid  sequence    are    well   known.     The 
king  in  despair  throw  himself  iqion  the 
Scottish  army,  which  had  entered   Kng- 
land  in  pursuance  of  the  "  solemn  league 
and  covenant"  made  between  the  parlia- 
monts  of  the  two  countries.     By  the  Scots 
be  was  delivered  up  to  the  parliamentary 
commissioners.     Cromwell  and  his  parly, 
the  independents,  were  now  in  great  dan- 
ger  from   the   presbyterians,   who   com- 
manded a  majority  in  the  house  of  com- 
mons, and  who, flushed  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  their  slrength,  endeavored,  with 
that  intolerance  of  spirit  which  was  their 
great  distinguishing  characteristic  as  op- 
posed to  the   independents,  to  crush  all 
other  sects,  and  in  particular  to  disband 
that  very  army  to  which  they  owed  all 
their  successes,  in  order  to  form  a  new 
one  more  in  accordance  with  their  own 
tenets.     The  soldiery  resisted,  and  thus 
was  begun  the  struggle  which  in  a  measure 
compelled  Cromwell  to  take  many  of  those 
arbitrary  steps  for  which  his  ambition  has 
had  the  discredit.     One  Come*   Joyce,  at 
the  head  of  a  party  of  horse,  obtained  pos- 
session for  the  army  of  the  person  of  the 
king,  and  Cromwell   that  very  day   left 
London  to  avoid  br^ng  seized  by  the  pres- 
byterians and  sent    >  the  Tower.     He  was 
received  with  shouts  by  the  soldiery,  and 
a  solemn  engagement  was   entered   into 
not  to  disband  or  divide  without  redress 
of  grievanrcs,  security  against  oppression 
to  the  whole  freeborn  people  of  England, 
and   the    dismissal  of  the    presbyterians 
trom  the  government.     Negotiations  were 
now  commenced  by  all  parties  with  the 
king,  whde  at  the  same  time  the  army 
marched  toward  London,  meeting  in  their 
way  a  large  minority  of  the  parliament, 
CKisisting  of  course  of  independents,  while 
many  of  the  presbyterians  fled  on  its  an- 
proach.     There  seems  no  cause  to  uouDt 
tie  sincerity  of  Cromwell  in  his  endeavors 
to  replace  Charles  on  the  throne,  though 
on  a  more  equitable   foundation;   while 
the  bad  faith  of  the  king  is  certain,  and 
ultimately  caused  the  treaty  to  be  brought 
to  a  sudden  conclusion.      Charles  now 
made  his  escape,  but  was  again  detained 
in  the  isle  of  Wight.     The  repubhcans  of 


=ril 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


the  army,  who  formed  by  far  the  most 
numerous  part  of  it,  seem  to  have  been 
dissatisfied  with  Cromwell  for  not  pro- 
ceeding faster  and  more  boldly  in  that 
course,  which,  when  he  did  pursue  it, 
brought  down  every  kind  of  opprobrium 
on  his  name.  They  now  gave  him  plainly 
to  understand  that  he  must  join  them  or 
be  sacrificed.  He  did  join  them,  though 
not  till  he  had  completely  put  down  the 
more  violent  and  ultra  of  the  party,  and 
from  that  time  all  thought  of  the  restoration 
of  the  king  appears  to  have  been  given  up. 
The  presbylerian  majority  was  made  a 
minority  by  the  very  simple  though  not 
very  constitutional  application  of  Colonel 
"  Pride's  purge,"  that  officer  being  station- 
ed at  the  door  of  the  house  of  commons 
to  arrest  a  great  number  of  the  principal 
presbyterians  as  they  entered.  It  was  the 
remainder  of  this  parliament  that  deter- 
mined upon  the  trial  of  the  king,  and 
caused  their  determination  to  be  carried 
into  effect,  which  resulted  in  his  execution 
before  Whitehall.  During  the  sittings 
which  took  place  in  Westminster  hall, 
Cromwell  attended  regularly  every  day. 
When  the  sentence  was  known,  many  ap- 
plications were  made  to  him  to  interfere 
and  stay  the  execution.  To  Colonel  Crom- 
well, his  cousin,  who  thus  applied,  he  said, 
«'  Go  to  rest,  and  expect  no  answer  to  car- 
ry to  the  prince,  for  the  council  of  affairs 
have  been  seeking  God,  as  I  also  have 
done,  and  it  is  resolved  by  them  all  that 
the  king  must  die." 

Cromwell  was  now  employed  in  Ire- 
land, which  had  rebelled,  and  he  reduced 
it  to  submission  in  an  almost  incredibly 
short  space  of  time,  but  not  without  the 
commiaal  of  cruelties  upon  the  unhappy 
natives,  a  crime  from  which  he  was  re- 
markable free  in  all  his  other  campaigns. 
The  next  very  important  incident  was  the 
battle  of  Dunbar,  in  1650,  where  he  de- 
feated the  Scots,  who  had  taken  up  the 
cause  of  Charles  II.,  and  were  about  to 
invade  England.  In  this  engagement 
Cromwell's  military  genius  shone  out  most 
brilliantly.  He  defeated  an  army  of  27,- 
000  men  with  only  12,000,  and  that  too 
under  the  greatest  disadvantages  of  posi- 
tion. Thfs  battle  furnishes  two  instances 
of  his  religious  enthusiasm  amounting  al- 
most to  sublimiiv.     The  Scots  were  on 


the  hills,  Cromwell  on  the  plain  at  their 
feet :  the  latter,  seeing  no  hope  of  draw- 
ing them  from  their  position,  sent  round, 
during  the  night  preceding  the  battle,  a 
detachment  to  the  enemy's  rear,  to  attack 
them  in  a  weak  part.     While  this  manrcu 
vre  was  in  progress  of  execution,  Crom- 
well beheld,  at  daybreak,  most  unexpect- 
edly, the  Scots  descending  to  attack  him. 
He  at  once  c  ied  out,  "  God  is  delivering 
them  into  our  hands !     They  are  coining 
down  upon  us  !"     Again,  in  the  thick  of 
the  fight,  he  beheld  the  sun  just  beginning 
to  appear,  and  immediately  his  voice  was 
heard  grandly  pealing  out,  while  his  arm 
was   seen  directed   toward   the    glorious 
luminary,  "  Now  let  our  God  arise,  and 
his  enemies  shall  be  scattered  !"     Charles 
II.  having  in   the  interim   marched  into 
England,  Cromwell  hastily  followed,  over- 
took, and  totally  defeated  him  at  Worces- 
ter.    He  now  received  additional  honors 
and  pensions.     On  the  20ih  April,  1653, 
the    struggle   between   the   independents 
and   the    presbyterians   was   again    sum- 
marily decided  in  favor  of  the  former,  for 
the  time,  by  the  famous  dissolution  of  the 
long  parliament.      This  parliament   first 
met  on  the  3d  November,  1640,  in  the 
reign  of  Charles  I.,  and  was  the  longest, 
with  one  exception,  of  any  on  record.    Af- 
ter Cromwell  had  entered  the  house,  he 
addressed  himself  to  St.  John  the  chief 
justice,  telling  him  that  "  he  was  come  to 
do  that  which  grieved  him  to  the  very 
soul,  and  that  he  had  earnestly,  with  tears, 
prayed  to  God  against  it,  nay,  that  he  had 
rather  be  torn  in  pieces  than  do  it,  but 
that  there  was  a  necessity  hud  upon  him 
therein,  in  honor  to  the  glory  of  God  and 
the  good  of  the  nation."     This  was  spoken 
so  as  not  to  be  generally  heard.     Imme- 
diately after  he  called   to  Major-General 
Harrison,  who  was  on  the  other  side  of 
the  house,  to  come  to  him,  and  to  him  he 
declared  that  "  he  judged  the  parliament 
ripe  for  a  dissolution,  and  this  to  be  the 
time  of  doing  it."     Harrison  requested  him 
to  consider  seriously  before  attempting  a 
thing  so  great  and  dangerous.     "  You  say 
well,"  he  replied,  and  sat  still  for  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  longer,  till,  the  debate 
having  closed,  the  question  was  about  to 
be  put.     He  then  said  again  to  Harrison, 
"  This  is  the  time  I  must  do  it,"  and  sud- 


ill  on  the  plain  at  tl)('ir 
eeing  no  liope  of  draw- 
uir  position,  sent  rouTid, 

preceding  tho  battlo,  a 

enemy's  rear,  to  attack 
irt.  While  this  nianccu 
;ss  of  execution,  Croin- 
lybreak,  most  iinnxpect- 
escending  to  attaciv  him. 
out,  "  God  is  delivering  | 
ids !     They  are  coming 

Again,  in  the  thick  of 
id  the  sun  just  beginning 
mediately  his  voice  was 
aling  out,  while  his  arm 
id   toward   the    glorious 

let  our  God  arise,  and 
be  scattered !"  Charles 
i  interim  marched  into 
rll  hastily  followed,  over- 
lefeated  him  at  Worces- 
;eived  additional  honors 
)n  the  20lh  April,  1653, 
ween  the  independents 
jrians  was  again  sum- 
I  favor  of  the  former,  for 
amous  dissolution  of  the 
This  parliament  first 
Vovember,  IGIO,  in  the 
I.,  and  was  the  longest, 
in,  of  any  on  record.    Af- 

I  entered  the  house,  he 
If  to  St.  John  the  cliief 

II  that  "  he  was  come  to 
;rieved  him  to  the  very 
had  earnestly,  with  tears, 
ainst  it,  nay,  that  he  had 
1  pieces  than  do  it,  but 
necessity  laid  upon  him 
to  the  glory  of  God  and 
tion."  This  was  spoken 
jenerally  heard.  Imme- 
:alled  to  Major-General 
as  on  the  other  side  of 
le  to  him,  and  to  him  he 
e  judged  the  parliament 
ition,  and  this  to  be  the 

Harrison  requested  him 
isly  before  attempting  a 
\  dangerous.  "  You  say 
,  and  sat  still  for  about  a 
ir  longer,  till,  the  debate 
e  question  was  about  to 
I  said  again  to  Harrison, 
e  I  must  do  it,"  and  sud- 


890 


OLrVEE  CROMWELL. 


denly  starling  up,  first  addressed  some 
violent  reproaches  to  the  speaker,  alleging 
that  the  parliament  had  cheated  the  coun- 
try, and  displayed  only  the  grossest  venal- 
ity ;  and  then,  stamping  with  his  foot,  he, 
in  a  furious  manner,  desired  the  speaker 
to  leave  the  chair,  and  called  out  to  the 
house,  according  to  Bate,  "  For  shame  ! 
get  you  gone  !  give  place  to  honester  men, 
and  those  that  will  more  faithfully  dis- 
charge their  trust."  Ludlow  says,  ho  told 
them  that  the  Lord  had  done  with  them, 
and  had  chosen  other  instruments  for  the 
carrying  on  his  work  that  were  more 
worthy. 

Although  several  of  the  members  rose, 
one  only  had  the  boldness  to  speak,  in 
spite  of  his  commands  that  they  should 
remain  silent.     This   member,  who  has 
been  thought  to  be  Sir  Peter  Wentworth, 
inveighed  in  bitter  terms  against  the  atro- 
city of  the  proceeding.     He  had  not,  how- 
ever, uttered  more  than  a   sentence  or 
two,  when  Cromwell,  stepping  into  the 
middle  of  the  house,  cut  him  short,  by  ex- 
claiming "  Come  !  come  !  quick,  put  an 
end  to  your  sitting ;  call  them  in  !  call 
them  in !"    Two  files  of  musketeers  now 
marched  into  the  house.    On  this,  Sir 
Harry  Vane  called  out  from  his  place, 
"  This  is  not  honest ;  yea,  it  is  against 
morality  and  common  honesty." — "  Oh ! 
Sir  Harry  Vane  !  Sir  Harry  Vane  !"  an- 
swered Cromwell,  "  the  Lord  deliver  me 
from   Sir  Harry  Vane!"      He   followed 
these  words  by  a  string  of  im(^ctives  ad- 
dressed to  other  individual  members.    The 
whole  was  now  a  scene  of  confusion  and 
uproar.     This  is  the  moment  which  West 
has  chosen.    The  speaker  is  still  in  his 
chair,  in  vain  endeavoring  to  calm  tho 
disorder.     The   clerks   also  retain  their 
places  at  the  table  ;   but  in  front  of  that 
stands  the  dictator,  pointing  with  emphatic 
contempt  to  the  mace,  the  venerated  sym- 
bol of  the  dignity  of  the  assembly,  and 
calling  to  one  of  the  soldiers,  who  is  obey- 
ing his  orders,  "  Take  away  that  fool's 
bauble."     Of  the  rest  of  the  troops,  some 
are  at  his  back,  and  others  are  seen  with 
their  raised  halberds  mixed  with  the  mem- 
bers in  every  part  of  the  house,  and  en- 
deavoring to  f  .event  the  attempts  of  several 
of  them  to  speak.   The  person  on  the  left  in 
our  engraving,  who  is  seen  stretching  forth 


his  hands  in  an  attitude  of  such  vehement 
enthusiasm,  and  who  has  evidently  ar- 
rested Cromwell's  eye  as  he  is  issuing 
his  command  for  the  removal  of  the  mace, 
may  be  supposed  to  be  Wentworth  or 
Vane  protesting  against  that  last  excess 
of  indignity  and  outrage.  The  speaker, 
having  declined  to  leave  his  chair  until 
he  was  forced,  was  handed  down  from  it 
by  Hanison.  All  the  other  members  then 
retired,  Cromwell  remaining  till  the  last 
had  left  the  house.  He  then  ordered  the 
doors  to  be  locked,  and  w,'>''ed  away. 

A  new  parliament  was  summoned,  in 
the  persons  of  139  members,  to  whom 
Cromwell's  writs  were  directly  addressed, 
and  who  were  upon  the  whole  men  of 
good  family  or  of  military  distinction, 
though  mixed  with  some  inferior  person- 
ages ;  among  them  one  whose  name  was 
given  to  the  parliament  in  derision.  Bare- 
bone.  On  the  16lh  December,  1G53,  he 
assumed  the  title  of  lord  high  protector 
of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland.  It  is 
well  known  that  he  wished  to  have  been 
king,  but  a  considerable  portion  of  his 
most  faithful  adherents  in  tho  army  were 
opposed  to  that  desire  ;  accordingly,  when 
he  was  formally  invited  to  assume  the 
crown,  he  declined.  Like  his  unhappy 
predecessor,  Cromwell  dissolved  parlia- 
ment after  parliament,  but  certainly  nut, 
like  him,  with  the  evident  intention  of 
creating  a  despotic  authority. 

From  the  time  that  Cromwell's  influence 
directed  the  foreign  relations  of  the  coun- 
trj',  it  is  astonishing  to  see  tho  respect  and 
fear  the  very  name  of  England  inspired. 
The  Dutch,  with  their  famous  admiral 
Van  Tromp,  were  signally  defeated,  and 
stripped  of  their  pretensions  to  the  sover- 
eignty of  the  seas  ;  Jamaica,  was  annexed 
to  its  dominions;  the  Spaniards  were  com- 
pelled to  sue  for  peace  after  some  severe 
defeats  in  the  low  countries  ;  and  every- 
where English  alliance  and  English  friend- 
ship were  courted,  and  not  unfrequently  in 
the  most  servile  manner.  The  last  days 
of  Cromwell  appear  io  have  been  much 
embittered  by  the  dread  of  assassination, 
which  the  chivalric  royalists,  as  they  de- 
lighted to  consider  themselves,  did  not 
hesitate  openly  to  recommend.  He  wore 
armor  under  his  dress  ;  never  stirred  with- 
out  his  guards  ;  he  bocame  morose  and 


tude  of  such  vehement 
'ho  has    evidently  ar- 

eye  as  he  is  issuing 
e  removal  of  the  mace, 

to  be  Wentworth  or 
jainst  that  last  excess 
utrage.     The  speaker, 

leave  his  chair  until 

I  handed  down  from  it 

the  other  members  then 

remaining  till  the  last 

He  then  ordered  the 

and  w,'>''ed  away, 
mt  was  summoned,  in 
9  members,  to  whom 
rexe  directly  addressed, 
on  the  whole  men  of 
f  military   distinction, 

some  inferior  person- 
1  one  whoso  name  was 
nent  in  derision,  Bare- 
th  December,  1653,  he 
of  lord  high  protector 
nd,  and  Ireland.  It  is 
e  wished  to  have  been 
derable  portion  of  his 
:ents  in  the  army  were 
ire  ;  accordingly,  when 
invited  to  assume  the 
d.  Like  his  unhappy 
iwell  dissolved  parlia- 
nent,  but  certainly  nut, 
e  evident  intention  of 
;  authority. 

lat  Cromwell's  influence 
(1  relations  of  the  coun- 
g  to  sec  the  respect  and 
I  of  England  inspired. 

their  famous   admiral 

signally  defeated,  and 
retensions  to  the  sover- 
,  Jamaica,  was  aimexed 
he  Spaniards  were  com- 
leace  after  some  severe 

countries ;  and  every- 
ince  and  Englishfriend- 

and  not  unfrequently  in 
nanner.  The  last  days 
lar  io  have  been  much 
dread  of  assassination, 
c  royalists,  as  they  de- 
er themselves,  did  not 
recommend.  He  wore 
ess  ;  never  stirred  with- 
lie  became  morose  and 


CAUSE  OF  THE  AMERICAN  REVOLUTION.-THE  EEIN-DEEB. 


891  I 


melancholy.     The   death  of  his  favorite  | 
daughter.  Lady  Claypole,  whom  he  loved 
with  the  deepest  and  tenderest  affection, 
gave  the  finishing  stroke  to  his  unhappi- 
ness.     It  is  by  no  means  an  improbable 
supposition  that  the  days  of  the  stern  am- 
bitious protector  of  England  were  shorten- 
ed by  that  romantic  and  not  uncommonly 
disbelieved  malady,  a  broken  heart.     He 
died  on  the  anniversary  of  his  two  battles 
of  Dunbar  and  Worcester,  in  the  sixtieth 
year  of  his  age.     He  was  buried  with  the 
greatest  pomp  and  magnificence  ;  but  the 
miserable  spite  of  Charles  II.  could  not 
allow  his  remains  to  rest  in  peace ;  they 
were  taken  up  at  the  restoration,  hung  upon 
the  gallows  at  Tyburn,  and  then  flung  into 
a  hole  at  its  foot. 


CAUSE  OF  THE  AMERICAN 
REVOLUTION. 


HEN  President  Ad- 
ams  was  minister  at 
th3   court  of  Saint 
James,  he  often  f" 
his  friend  and  coui 
tryman,     Benjamin 
West,  the  late  pres- 
ident of  the  royal 
academy.  Mr.  West 
always  retained  a  strong  and  unyielding 
affection  for  his  native  land.     Mr.  West 
one  day  asked  Mr.  Adams  if  he  should 
like  to  take  a  walk  with  him,  and  see  the 
cause  of  the  American  revolution.    The 
minister  having  known  something  of  this 
matter,  smiled  at  the  proposal,  but  told  him 
that  he  should  be  glad  to  see  the  cause  of 
that  revolution,  and  to  take  a  walk  with 
his  friend   West   anywhere.     The   next 
morning  he  called  according  to  agreement, 
and  took  Mr.  Adams  into  Hyde  park,  to  a 
spot  near  the  Serpentine  river,  where  he 
gave  him  the  following  narrative  :  "  The 
king  came  to  the  throne  surrounded  by 
flattering  courtiers,  one  of  whose  frequent 
topics  it  was,  to  declaim  against  the  mean- 
ness of  his  palace,  which  was  wholly  un- 
worthy of  a  monarch  of  such  a  country 
as  England.    They  said  there  was  not  a 


sovereign  in  Europe  who  was  lodged  so 
poorly— that  his   sorry,  dingy  old   brick 
palace  of  St.  James  looked  like  a  stable, 
and  that  he  ought  to  build  a  palace  suita- 
ble to  his  kingdom.     The  king  was  fond 
of  architecture,  and  would  therefore  listen 
to  suggestions  which  were  in  fact  all  true. 
This  spot  you  see  bare  was  selected  for 
the  site,  between  this  and  this  point,  which 
was  marked  out.     The  king  applied  to 
his  ministers  on  the  subject;  they  inquired 
what  sum  would  be  wanted  by  his  majes- 
ty, who  said  that  he  would  begin  with  a 
million.     They  stated  the  expenses  of  the 
war,  and  the  poverty  of  the  treasury,  but 
his  majesty's  wishes  should  be  taken  into 
full  consideration. 

"  Sometime  afterward  the  king  was  in- 
formed that  the  wants  of  the  treasury  wore 
too  urgent  to  admit  of  a  supply  from  their 
present  means,  but  that  a  revenue  might 
be  raised  in  America,  to  supply  all  the 
king's  wishes.  This  suggestion  was  fol- 
lowed up,  and  the  king  was  in  this  way 
first  led  to  consider,  and  then  to  consent 
to  the  scheme  for  taxing  the  colonics ." 


THE  REIN-DEER. 

HE  rein-deer,  an  ani- 
mal of  the  most  im- 
portant service  in  the 
districts  of  which  it 
is  native,  is  found  no- 
where but  within  the 
polar  regions.  Sev- 
eral attempts  have 
been  made  to  introduce  it  into  more  tem- 
perate climates,  but  they  all  failed. 

From  the  earliest  times  the  rem  deer 
appears  to  have  been  domesticated  by  .he 
Laplanders  ;  and  that  dreary  region  owes 
to  this  animal  whatever  it  possesses  of 
civilization,  and  whatever  comforts  tend 
to  render  it  supportable  to  the  inhabitants. 
The  Laplanders  are  divided  into  two 
very  distinct  classes  ;  one  who  are  settled 
in  their  habits,  living  on  or  near  the  coast, 
and  supporting  themselves  by  fishing; 
the  other  inhabiting  the  mountains,  and 
wandering  through  the  summer  and  winter 
with  no  shelter  but  their  tents,  and  no 


J 


67 


MPM 


892 


THE  EEIN-DEER. 


provision  but  their  rein-deer.  These  valu- 
able animals,  however,  are  subjoct  to  a 
visitation  in  the  summer  which  compels 
their  owners  to  repair  to  the  coast,  fre- 
quently an  arduous  journey,  in  order  to 
mitigate  their  sufferings  and  preserve  their 

lives. 

It  is  well  known,  from  the  account  of 
I  those  travellers  who  have  visited  Lapland 
during  the  summer  months,  that  the  interior 
parts  of  it,  particularly  its  boundless  forests, 
are  so  infested  by  various  species  of  gnats 
and  other  insects,  that  no  animal  can  es- 
cape their  incessant  persecutions.     Largo 
fires  are  kindled,  in  the  smoke  of  which 
the  settle  hold  their  heads,  to  escape  the 
attack  of  their  enemies  ;  and  even  the  na- 
tives themselves  are  compelled  to  smear 
their  faces  with  tar,  as  the  only  certain 
protection  against  their  stings.     No  crea- 
ture, however,  suffers  more  than  the  rein- 
deer   from    the   larger    species    (oeslrus 
tarandi),  as  it  not  only  torments  it  inces- 
santly by  its  sting,  but  even  deposites  its 
egg  in  the  wound  it  makes  in  its  hide. 
The  poor  animal  is  thus  tormented  to  such 
a  degree,  mat  the  Laplander,  if  he  were 
to  remain  in  the  forests  during  the  months 
of  June,  July,  and  August,  would  run  the 
risk  of  losing  the  greater  part  of  his  herd, 
either  by  actual  sickness,  or  from  the  deer 
fleeing  of  their  own  accord  to  mountainous 
situations  to  escape  the  gad-fly.     From 
these  causes  the  Laplander  is  driven  from 
tho  forests  to  the  mountains  that  overhang 
the  Norway  and  Lapland  coasts,  the  ele- 
vated situations  of  which,  and  the  cool 
breezes  from  the  ocean,  are  unfavorable 
to  the  existence  of  these  troublesome  in- 
sects, which,  though  found  on  the  coast, 
are  in  far  less  considerable  numbers  there, 
and  do  not  quit  the  valleys  ;  so  that  tho 
deer,  by   ascending   the   highlands,   can 

avoid  them.  ,  i    ■   ! 

Early  in  September  the  herds  and  their  i 
owners  leave  the  coast,  in  order  to  reach 
their  winter  quarters  before  the  fall  of  the 
snows.  With  the  approach  of  winter,  the 
coat  of  the  rein-deer  begins  to  thicken,  and 
like  that  of  most  other  polar  quadrupeds  to 
assume  a  lighter  color.  It  is,  however, 
when  the  winter  is  fairly  set  in  that  the 
peculiar  value  of  the  rein-deer  is  felt  by 
the  Laplanders.  Without  him,  commu- 
nication would  be  almost  utterly  suspend- 


ed. Harnessed  to  a  sledge,  the  rein-doer 
will  draw  about  300  lbs  ;  but  the  Lap- 
landers generally  limit  the  burden  to 
240  lbs.  The  trot  of  the  rein-deer  is  about 
ton  miles  an  hour  ;  and  the  animal's  pow- 
er of  endurance  is  such,  that  journeys  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  in  nineteen 
hours  are  not  uncommon.  There  is  a 
portrait  of  a  roin-deor  in  tho  palace  of 
Drotningholm  (Sweden),  which  is  repre- 
sented, upon  an  occasion  of  emergency, 
to  have  drawn  an  ofcicer  with  important 
despatches  the  incredible  distance  of  eight 
hundred  English  miles  in  forty-eight  hour3. 
This  event  is  stated  to  haye  happened  in 
1099,  and  the  tradition  adds,  that  the  deer 
dropped  down  lifeless  upon  his  arrival. 

During  the  winter,  the  food  of  the  rein- 
deer is  the  lichen  or  mosa,  which  they 
display  wonderful  quickness  of  omell  in 
discovering  beneath  the  snow.  In  the 
summer  they  pasture  upon  all  grsen  herb- 
age, and  browse  upon  the  shrubs  which 
they  find  in  their  march.  They  also,  it  is 
now  well  ascertained,  eat  with  avidity  the 
lemming  or  mountain  rat,  affording  one  of 
the  few  instances  of  a  ruminating  animal 
being  in  the  slightest  dsgree  carnivorous. 
Of  course,  in  a  country  where  their 
services  are  so  indispensable,  rein-deer 
constitute  the  principal  wealth  of  the  in- 
habitants. The  number  of  deer  belong- 
ing to  a  herd  is  from  three  hundred  to 
five  hundred  ;  with  these  a  Laplander  can 
do  well,  and  live  in  tolerable  comfort. 

Von  Buch,  a  celebrated  traveller,  has 
well  described  the  evening  milking-time, 
of  which  a  representation  is  given  in  our 
engraving  :  "  It  is  a  new  and  a  pleasing 
spectacle,  to  see  in  the  evening  the  herd 
assembled  round  the  gamme  (encamp- 
ment) to  be  niilked.  On  all  the  hills 
around,  everything  is  in  an  instant  full  of 
life  and  motion.  The  busy  dogs  are  every- 
where barking,  and  bringing  the  mass 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  the  rein-deer  bound 
and  rim,  stand  still,  and  bound  again,  in 
an  indescribable  variety  of  movements. 
We  never  hear  the  foot  on  tho  earth,  and 
nothing  but  the  incessant  crackling  of  his 
knee-joints,  as  if  produced  by  a  repetition 
of  electric  shocks— a  singular  noise  ;  and 
from  the  number  of  rein-deer,  by  whom  it 
is  at  once  produced,  it  is  heard  at  a  great 
distance.     When  all  the  herd,  consisting 


"^ 


0  a  sledge,  the  rein-doer 
300  lbs  ;  but  the  Lap- 
r    limit    the    burden    to 

1  of  the  rein-deer  is  about 
;  and  the  animal's  pow- 

s  such,  that  journeys  of 
1  fifty  miles  in  nineteen 
[icommon.  There  is  a 
i-deor  in  tho  palace  of 
weden),  which  is  repre- 

occasion  of  emergency, 
n  ofScer  with  important 
credible  distance  of  eight 
miles  in  forty-eight  hour?, 
ited  to  have  happened  in 
dition  adtls,  that  the  deer 
eless  upon  his  arrival, 
liter,  the  fooJ  of  the  rein- 
en  or  mosa,  which  they 
111  quickness  of  cmcil  in 
jath  the  snow.  In  the 
iture  upon  all  grsen  herb- 

upon  the  shrubs   which 

march.  They  also,  it  is 
lined,  eat  with  avidity  tho 
ntain  rat,  affording  one  of 
8  of  a  ruminating  animal 
htest  degree  carnivorous. 
1   a  country  where   their 

indispensable,  rein-deer 
rincipal  wealth  of  the  in- 

number  of  deer  belong- 
is  from  three  hundred  to 
ith  these  a  Laplander  can 
5  in  tolerable  comfort. 

celebrated  traveller,  has 
the  evening  milking-time, 
esentaiion  is  given  in  our 

is  a  new  and  a  pleasing 
5  in  the  evening  the  herd 
id  the  gamme  (encamp- 
lilked.  On  all  the;  hills 
ing  is  in  an  instant  full  of 

The  busy  dogs  are  every- 
,  and  bringing  the  mass 
er,  and  the  rein-deer  bound 
slill,  and  bound  again,  in 
le  variety  of  movements, 
the  foot  on  the  earth,  and 
incessant  crackling  of  his 
if  produced  by  a  repetition 
ks — a  singular  noise  ;  and 
ir  of  rein-deer,  by  whom  it 
iccd,  it  is  heard  at  a  great 
m  all  the  herd,  consisting 


wma 


fi<i 


rr^'jl*-U"^5f^ 


J'L 


fe,' 


fe-js-:. 


m 


^^^■ 


'^'i^' 


'---■^  ■■.,#■ 


894 


HONOR  AND  TRUTH.-CUllIOUS  FACTS  ABOUT  THK  SPIDER. 


of  three  or  four  hundred,  at  last  reach  the 
gamme,  they  stand  still,  or  repose  them- 
selves,  or  frisk  about  in  confidence,  play 
with  their  antlers  against  each  other,  or 
in  groups  surround  a  patch  of  moss  u»iw- 
sing." 


HONOR  AND  TRUTH. 


™  HERE  is  no  prouder 
j^vy  title  to  the  respect  of 


our  fellow-creatures 
than  the  being  what 
is  known  as — "  a  man 
of  his  word."  As 
there  is  nothing  so 
^  mean  as  treachery,  so 

there  is  nothing  more  noble  than  truth. 
Never  break  a  promise  once  given.     On 
no  occasion  sloop  to  a  falsehood.     It  is 
sometimes  thought  a  mark  of  sharp  intel- 
lect in  trade  to  overreach  a  customer,  but 
the  morality  which  sanctions  such  an  act 
is  low,  knavish,  and  contemptible.     Dis- 
simulation is  rarely  to  bo  excused :  the 
meaner  vice  of  simulation  never.     If  you 
can  not  reveal  the  truth,  stoop  not  to  coun- 
terfeit a  lie.     It  is  alike  dishonorable  to 
utter  a  falsehood  or  to  act  one.     Many 
persons  affect  to  think  that  there  can  be 
no  lying  unless  in  words,  and  accordingly 
take   gi        pains  to   deceive   others  by 
looks,  ;     's,   and   deeds.     But  there  is 
somethii.    base  as  well  as  wrong  in  such 
conduct.     We  would  rather  a  man  would 
lie  to  us  openly,  than  cheat  and  beguile  us 
by   such   contemptii  le  stratagems.     The 
essence  of  falsehood  is  deceit,  and  he  who 
deceives  a  neighbor,  yet  avoids  putting 
the  lie  in  words,  is  quite  as  criminal  and 
far  meaner  than  the  bold,  frank,  bad  man, 
who    openly   violates   truth,    instead  of 
skulking  into  corners  to  outrage  her  in 
sccrcti 

In  the  present  day,  alas !  there  is  too 
little  regard  for  truth.  The  good  old- 
,  fashioned  morality  of  our  sires,  which  re- 
'  garded  falsehood  as  the  most  detestable 
of  acts,  has  come  to  be  looked  on  as  an 
obsolete  affair,  very  appropriate  for  the 
days  of  our  grandfathers,  but  not  at  all 
fitted  for  their  active,  enterprising,  and 
quick-witted  descendants.     "  You  did  him 


finely,"  says  the  dealer  to  his  clerk,  when 
the  latter  has  succeeded  in  getting  off  a 
lot  of  goods  at  the  highest  prices.     "  A 
sharp  youngster  that,"  says  the  merchant, 
in  hearing  of  the  lad,  who  has,  in  imitaiion 
of  his  elders,  just  overreached  a  customer. 
"  That's  a  keen  fellow  :    nobody  will  get 
ahead  of  him,"  wo  hear  continually  ap- 
plied to  individuals  noted  for  sharp  deal- 
ing.     Is  there  any  wonder  that  when  de- 
ception is  thus  encouraged,  the  morals  of 
trade  should  be  loose,  or  a  disregard  of 
truth  infect  even  private  life  ?     No  man 
can  long  maintain  two    characters — one 
for  the  counting  house  and  one  for  the 

parlor. 

"  He  who  will  habitually  tell  falsehoods 
is  not  to  be  trusted,"  said  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
and  few  men  understood   human   nature 
better,  or    scorned    base   actions   more. 
Parents  should  remember  this.     The  child 
who  learns  to  lie  will  not  be  long  in  learn- 
ing to  do  worse.     The  youth  who  dis- 
regards truth,  though  he  may  grow  up  to 
be  apparently  a  man  of  rectitude  and  hon- 
or, has  a  character  rotten  at  the  core,  and 
will  be  tempted  into  many  a  mean  and  dis- 
creditable action,  thinking  that  a  few  false 
words  will  conceal  his  guilt.     Oh !  suffer 
any  error  in  a  child  rather  than  an  indif- 
ference  to   truth.      Teach  him   never— 
either  by  word,  look,  or  action— to  degrade 
himself  to  falsehood.     Learn  him  to  loathe 
a  lie.     Instruct  him  that  every  noble  na- 
ture, that  every  man  of  honor  scorns  and 
detests  untruth,  whether  in  public  or  pri- 
vate life,  as  something  inexpressible  base. 


CURIOUS  FACTS  ABOUT  THE  SPIDER. 

E  have  many  ex- 
amples in  the  anato- 
my of  animals,  of  a 
compensation  in  the 
structure  of  one  or- 
gan for  the  defects 
of  another.  The 
ponderous  weight  of 
the  elephant's  heatl 
rendered  it  necessary  that  his  neck  should 
be  80  short,  that  it  is  impossible  for  him, 


1 


^ 


niK  spiDKa. 

ealer  to  his  clerk,  when 
cceded  in  gelling  off  a. 
le  highest  prices.     "  A 
hat,"  says  the  merchant, 
ad,  who  has,  in  imitation 
overreached  a  customer. 
;llow :    nobody  will  gel 
ve  hear  continually  ap- 
is noted  for  sharp  deal- 
y  wonder  that  when  de- 
ncouraged,  the  morals  of 
loose,  or  a  disregard  of 
I  private  life  ?     No  man 
in  two    characters — one 
house  and  one  for  thb 

habitually  tell  falsehoods 
d,"  said  Sir  Waller  Scott, 
iderstood  human  nature 
ed  base  actions  more, 
member  this.     The  child 

will  not  be  long  in  learn- 
).  The  youth  who  dis- 
lugh  he  may  grow  up  to 
nan  of  rectitude  and  hon- 
or rotten  at  the  core,  and 
nto  many  a  mean  and  dis- 

thinking  that  a  few  false 
;al  his  guilt.  Oh  !  suffer 
hild  rather  than  an  indif- 
1.  Teach  him  never — 
ook,  or  action — to  degrade 
ood.     Learn  him  to  loathe 

him  that  every  noble  na- 
man  of  honor  scorns  and 
whether  in  public  or  pri- 
ething  inexpressible  base. 


fS  ABOUT  THE  SPIDER. 

E   have   many  ex- 
amples in  the  anato- 
my of  animals,  of  a 
compensation  in  the 
structure  of  one  or- 
gan for  the  defects 
^        of    another.       The 
ponderous  weight  of 
the  elephant's  head 
essary  that  his  neck  should 
It  it  is  impossible  for  him, 


OtEANERS  OF  THE  PONTINE  MARSHES. 


895 


with  it,  to  reach  the  ground,  and  even 
llioiifh  he  might  have  fed  upon  shrubs  and 
trees*  yet  ho  would  not  have  been  able  to 
drink,  had  not  this  inconvenience  been 
remedied  by  the  length  and  flexible  na- 
ture of  the  proboscis.  The  weakness  of 
the  legs  and  feet  in  the  bat,  is  compensa- 
ted by  the  strength  of  its  hook  ;  and  the 
want  of  web  feet  in  the  crane,  which  has 
to  seek  ils  food  in  the  water,  by  a  long 
leg,  that  enables  it  to  wade,  and  a  long 
bill,  by  which  it  can  grope. 

A  scarcely  less  wonderful  instance  of 
this  compensation  is  to  bo  found  in  the 
spider— an  insect,  which  however  much 
we  are  wont  to  despise,  yet  claims  our 
serious  altenlion  as  exhibiting  in  ils  struc- 
ture and  habits,  evident  marks  of  benevo- 
lent wisdom.  It  will,  perhaps,  be  well 
known  to  our  readers,  that  flies  constiiuie 
the  principal  food  of  this  insect ;  they  may 
not,  however,  be  acquainted  with  the  re- 
markable fact,  that  it  is  furnished  with  no 
wings  to  pursue  its  prey.  To  supply  this 
deficiency,  it  is  provided  with  an  ap- 
paratus, by  which  it  is  able  to  weave  webs 
for  the  entangling  of  its  prey,  and  to  fabri- 
csle  hlUe  cells  for  its  own  habitations. 

A  careful  examiner  of  a  spider,  will 
perceive  little  toats  or  spinners  in  its  body, 
in  which  are  numerous  small  tubes,  from 
each  of  these  is  drawn  a  slender  thread, 
and  all  of  these  uniting  together,  a  strong 
compound  thread  issues  from  each  spin- 
ner. The  claws  with  which  the  creature 
arranges  these  threads,  are  not  less  deli- 
cate in  construction  than  the  threads  them 
selves,  and  answer  several  important  pur- 
poses in  the  economy  of  the  animal. 

One  species  of  spider  has  an  apparatus 
not  unlike  a  carding  machine,  by  which  it 
forms  the  adhesive  parts  of  the  snare. 
The  texture  of  the  threads  varies,  accord- 
ing to  the  purpose  they  are  meant  to  serve 
—those  designed  for  the  web  being  much 
more  fragile  than  those  intended  to  shelter 
the  eggs  of  the  female  insect  from  cold,  or 
from  the  attacks  of  its  enemies. 

The  manner  in  which  the  garden  spider 
fabricates  the  web  from  these  threads,  is 
exceedingly  curious,  and  well  worthy  of 
notice,  lis  first  act  is  to  form  a  circular 
outline,  which  it  effects  by  fastening  ils  I 
threads  on  every  leaf,  for  a  considerable 
distance  around.    This  accomplished,  itl 


next  draws  a  cross  thrcail  from  some  con- 
venient point  in  it,  to  the  opposite  side, 
and  taking  the  middle  of  this,  as  a  centre, 
it  draws  out  various  lines  to  tho  circum- 
ference, resembling  the  spokes  of  a  wheel. 
With  the  same  centre,  it  spins   several 
circles,  fastening  ils  threads  to  ihe  spokes, 
and   having  thus  finished   its   work  and 
tested  ils  security,  it  returns  to  its  own 
retreat,  generally  a  cell  in  tho  centre  of 
the  web,  to  wait  till  a  vibration  of  the 
strings  anno'  nces  the  approach  of  prey. 
How  wondetiul  the  contrivance  by  which 
God  has  thus  enabled  this  little  creature 
to  provide  for  the  supply  of  its  wants ! 
Man    would   have  thought   it  impossible 
that    an    insect    thus    requiring   smaller 
creatures  for  ils  support,  and  yet  posses- 
sing no  means  of  following  them  in  their 
flight,  could  have  continued  in  existence  ; 
but  tho  goodness  and  tho  wisdom  of  God 
have  abundantly  provided  for  this  emer- 
gency. 

It  surely  then  can  not  become  us  to 
despise  or  wantonly  to  destroy  an  animal 
on  which  he  has  bestowed  so  much  of  his 
gracious  care.  Is  it  not  rather  our  duty 
to  learn  some  of  those  lessons  it  is  so  ^vell 
calculated  to  teach  of  the  power,  wisdom, 
and  benevolence  of  the  great  Creator  ? 
We  may  be  assured  that  the  more  we 
contemplate  him  in  his  works,  the  more 
will  our  admiration  be  excited,  our  humili- 
ty deepened,  our  gratitude  strengthened, 
and  our  love  inflamed. 


GLEANERS  OF  THE  PONTINE 
MARSHES. 

HE  wliolc  of  the 
Campagne,  or  plain 
of  Rome,  from  the 
Tiber  to  the  nintin- 
tains  on  the  frontier  of 
the  Neapolitan  king- 
dom, is  marshy,  and 
during  the  summer 
months  most  unhealthy  ;  but  the  southern 
part  of  this  tract,  called,  par  excellence, 
the  "Paludi"  (or  the  marshes)  is  more 
particularly  distinguished  for  its  insalubrity 
From  Torre  Tro  Ponii  to  Tersaxina,  e 


J 


890 


OLEANEKS  OV  TliK  TONTINE  MAU3HES. 


^311''' 


distaiicf"  of  ixvpnty-five  miles,  iho  land   is  ' 
low  iiiiii  fl;il,  iind   in  soino  pnrln.  both  in-  j 
hiiid  ill  the  loot  of  the  inoinilninH  niiil  np'ir 
the   soaslK.rp,   covPied   with    water.       In 
breadth  from  th<'  soa-lino  :olbc  Api'iinincs, 
the  district  varies  from  ten  to  twelve  miles, 
and  on  this  wide  expanse  tlierc  is  seart-t'ly 
a  hillock,  scarcely  a  tree.     It  is  traversed 
by  a  noble  road,  as  straight  as  an  arrow  ; 
the  liigh-road  from  Rome  to  Naples,  run- 
ning in  part  over  tho  celubraKMl  Via  Ap- 
pia,  which  was  laid  down  in  tho  time  of 
the  Roman  republic,  about  three  centuries 
Ix'fore  the   Christian  era.     In  travelling 
along  this  road,  tho  eye  ranges  over  a  rich 
expanse  of  pasture  and  cor'    lands,  the 
cultivated    part,  however,  bearing   but  a 
small  proportion  to  tho  pasturage.     Not  a 
hedge,  not  a  fence  of  any  kind,  occurs  for 
marry  miles,  the  limits  of  the  vast  farms 
being  merely  marked  by  termini,  or  stinies 
sunk  in  tho  ground.     Scarcely  a  human 
habitation  is  to  be  seen,  except  at  very 
wide  intervals  a  large  gloomy  casah,  look- 
ing more  like  a  fortress  than  a  peaceful 
farm-house. 

Smiling  under  a  clear  blue  sky,  and  lit 
up  by  a  glorious  summer  sun,  this  great 
flat,  though  monotonous,  is  for  a  while 
pleasant  to  look  upon.     Green  and  smooth, 
it  is  not  unlike  many  parts  of  Cambridge- 
shire, or  the  more  open  parts  of  the  fens 
of  Lincolnshire  ;  but  the  same  causes— 
an  insufficient  drainage,  ani  the  vicinity 
of  stagnant  waters,  which  in  England  pro- 
duce ague,  here,  in  a  hotter  climate,  gen- 
erate malaria  fevers  of  the  worst  descrip- 
tion.   Hence,  beyond  a  few  families  whose 
chief  occupation  is  taking  caru  of  herds  of 
buffaloes  and  wild   cattle  that  range  the 
waste,  there  is  no  fixed  population  in  the 
Pontine  marshes.     About  tho  end  of  Octo- 
bcr,  when   the    great   heats  of  summer, 
wliich  render  tho  plain  unhealthy,   have 
ceased,  the  poor  and  laborious  peasants  of 
the    Apennines    come    down    from    their 
mountains  in  bands  and  perform  the  no- 
i  cessary  labtirs.     Some  few  stay  till  May, 
'  but  in  general  they  return  as  siiun  as  they 
have  finished  their  ploughing  and  sowing. 
At  harvest-time,  which  occurs  about  the 
middle  of  June,  they  descend  again  to  the 
low  country,  and  our  engraving  represents 
the  arrival  «)f  a  family  party  wiih  all  its 
baggage  and  appurtenances      Tho  engra- 


ving is  from  the  design  of  a  German  arti**!, 
Robert,  who  has   gi»en   the   scerie   with 
admirable   Iru'h   and  nature.     It   is  com- 
mon for  a  family  to  move  with  ;ill  lis  mem- 
bers,   from  the  hoary  grandfather  to   tlic    . 
infant  in  arms,  and  to  carry  all  their  siin-  ;1 
pie  hou9eli(dd  goods  and  moveable  proper-    | 
ly  with   them.     The   senior  of  tho   party 
acts  as  "caporale,"orhead  man,  arranges 
tho  job  with  the  factor  or  farmer,  and  re- 
ceives   tho    wages   of  his    children    ind 
grandchildren.      When    they    reach    the 
scene  of  their  operalitms  they  unload  iheir 
car,  and  sometimes  set  up  a  rude  so-t  of 
tent  to  snado  them   at   their  meals,  and 
protect   them    from    the    dews    at   night. 
This  care,  however,  is  not  always  'nken, 
and  many  of  them  oat  and  sleep  without 
any  shelter,  spreading  their  blankets  on 
the  bare  ground.     They  sometimes  make 
temporary  huts  of  bulrushes  and  canes, 
which  grow  to  a  prodigious  height  in  the 
more  marshy  parts  of  the  plains.     Where 
the  soil  is  very  damp,  we  have  sometimes 
seen  these  huts  set  u|wn  poles  at  tho  beittht 
of  six  or  eight  feet  from  tho  ground.    'I'he 
occupants,  wh(»  only  use  thoin  for  sleep- 
ing, climb  up  and  enter  by  an  nperinre, 
which  is  rather  a  hole  than  a  dw)r-way  :  \ 
a  structure  of  this  kind  hwks  like  a  gi- 
gantic bee-hive,  or  an  Indian  wigwam  set 
upon  stilts. 

In   the   daytime,  while   the   meu   an.l 
women  are  all  at  work,  tho  children,  where 
there  are  any,  are  carried  to  tho  field, and  set 
down  on  the  ground  near  the  reapers,  fur 
wolves  arc  not  unfreqncnt  visiters  in  these 
marshes.     The  peculiar  way  of  swa-ldlioi;  • 
infants,  which  is  coininon  in  all  the  south 
of  the    Peninsula,   has  not    escaped  our 
artist's  attention.     The  little  creidures  are 
bound  and  wrapped  round  and  round,  un- 
til, in  tlieir  lower  estreiniiieH,  ihey  ltw»k 
like    Egyptian   mummies.     Thoujjh   this 
practice,' by  which  tlw  legs  are  confined 
iind  allmvJd  no  play,  !«hould  not  seem  a 
1  very  juilicious  one,  the  peasants,  and  the 
!  la/zaroni  of  Naples,  among   wluun  it  i.i 
e(|ually  prevalent,  arc,  g<!iierally  speaking. 
i  a  remarkably  fine-legged  generation.   The  \ 
spare  fiMxl  and  the  hard  I**'*  led  by  tbuse  ' 
■  poor  mountaineers,  have  Ir*  i  de»cribe<i  in 
1  accounts  of  the  managemei.  of  »he  great 
'  farms  oftho  Maremnta.    Aiih  ugh,  puning 
,  the  best  face  on  a  bad  bu.Hiiie»»  vhey  arnvo 


:8. 


sign  of  a  Gorman  aTfi«t, 
gi»t!ii   the   sceno   wiili 
11(1  naturft.     li  is  roin- 
>  move  witli  all  its  iiipiii- 
lary  uramlfalluT  to   tlic 
1  to  carry  all  ihcir  »iin- 
[U  and  moveablf  pr()|Hr- 
hc   senior  of  tho   parly 
,"  or  head  man,  arrniiL'cs 
actor  or  farmer,  and  rc- 
s   of  his    children    iml 
When    they    roach    the 
rations  they  unh>ad  tlioir 
)9  set  up  a  rude  ao-f  of 
urn   al    ttieir  inoali,  and 
m    tho    dews    at   )ii!»ht.  | 
rer,  is  not  always  'aken,  j 
n  oat  and  sleep  without  { 
ading  their  blankds  on 
They  sometimes  make 
»f  bulrushes  and  canes, 
prodijjious  height  in  the 
Is  of  the  plains.     Whore  ' 
amp,  we  have  sometimes 
l  u|w>n  poles  at  iho  heiuht 
Bt  from  tho  yronnd.    'I'ho 
)idy  use  thorn  for  sleep- 
id  enter  by  an  aperture, 
I  hole  than  a  door-way :  j 
is  kind  looks  like  a  ^'\^  j 
or  an  Indian  wiywam  »«;i 

no,  while   the   men   an:l 
work,  tho  children,  whsre 
carried  lo  the  field,  and  set 
und  near  the  reapers,  fur 
nfroqncnt  visiters  in  those 
[wculiar  way  of  swaddlinu-i 
I  coiniiwn  in  all  the  south  i 
la,   has  not    oscajied  our  j 
,     The  little  creatures  are 
ped  round  and  round,  un-  | 
cr  extremities,  ihi-y  hwik 
tnumniics.     Thoujjh   thi* 
ich  Um)  le««  nro  conlinod 

play,  should  not  siein  a 
no,  iho  peasants,  and  the 
iples,  among  whom  it  i» 
It,  are,  generally  spoaktnij. 
e-legged  jjeneration.  The 
the  hard  li'"*  led  by  these 
er»,huvob-#  i  de^cnbeti  in 

managenu'i.  of  the  gn-at 
remma.  Ahh  ugh,  puttinjj 
a  bad  businesa  vhcy  arrive 


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i»fc«geW9i.,>|i)l.iiill(i.i.ll*i|liii*»»»*** '*'''"''"'''' 


!■■    ,  itt    m  ■■111  ■H^^laiiiii  ii'ii'rfPTftW"  - 
|gS*L™5EJ ,IS4!MIBi*RjP!lH!Bn*''i«r'a»   - 


1*1,, 


898 


BRPTEMDER. 


piping  and  dancing,  it  is  seldom  that  they 
can  return  in  the  same  merry  mood,  the 
malaria  fever  being  pretty  sure  to  seize 
one  half  of  them  more  or  less  violently. 
As  soon  as  the  corn  is  rut,  the   reapers 
make    ail    the   haste   they  can   from   the 
pestilential  flat,  which,  by  the  month  of 
July,  becomes  so  dangerous  that  few  or 
none  will  venture  to  remain  in  the  fields 
by  night.     The  livid  aspect  of  those  few 
families  that  are  bound  to  the  spot  is  in- 
deed a  shocking  proof  of  its  un  wholesome- 
ness.     We    remember   few    things   more 
pathetic  than  the  reply  that  one  of  these 
walking  spectres  madi     -a  traveller  who 
was  struck  with  the  abundant  sources  of 
disease,  and  the  sickly  appearance  of  the 
people.      "  How  do  you  manage  to  live 
here  ?"  {Come  si  vive  qui),  said  the  stran- 
ger.    (Signor,  si  muore),  "  Sir,  we  die." 
Some  of  these  parties  of  reapers  have  ma- 
ny miles  to  travel  before  they  reach  their 
homes  on  the  healthy  mountains.     They 
walk  along  in  troops,  the  healthy  support- 
ing the  sickly ;  for  it  is  only  a  few  of  the 
better  sort  that  can  command  the  luxury 
of  riding  in  a  buffalo-car.     These  vehicles 
are  of  the  most  primitive  or  rudest  descrip- 
tion :  one  solid  piece  of  wood,  roughly 
hewed,    forms   axle-tree   and    axles,   and 
upon  this  the  wheels  revolve  with  a  fear- 
ful noise  of  which  our  word  "  creaking" 
conveys   no   idea :    they  scream,  shriek, 
and  groan.     We  have  often  heard  them  at 
more  than  a  mile's  distance.     The  beasts 
that  draw   them  are  the  most  sulky  and 
savage   of  all   domesticated    quadrupeds, 
and  are  sometimes  known  to  throw  down 
their  driver  and  press  him  to  death.     The 
strength  of  this  species  of  buffalo,  which 
attains  its  highest  perfection  in  the  low 
marshy  lands  of  the  Roman  and  Neapoli- 
tan   states,    is,  however,  prodigious.     A 
pair  of  them  will  draw  an  immense  car 
heavily   laden  over   the   roughest   roads, 
and  across  the  bed  of  a  river,  if  necessary, 
with  the  water  over  their  shoulders.     On 
such  occasions    they    keep    their   snouts 
erect,  and  above  the  water,  blowing  like 
hippopotami.     In  many  parts  of  the  coun- 
try, where  there  are  no  bridges  to  cross 
the  numerous  mountain  streams,  ail  com- 
munication would  be  interrupted  at  certain 
seasons  of  the  year,  if  it  were  not  for  the 
strength  and  aquatic  habits  of  these  animals. 


SEPTEMBER. 

HIS,  though  now  the 
ninth  month  of  the 
year,  was  formerly  the 
seventh  as  its  name 
imports,  boingderived 
from  the  two  Latin 
jIT^i  jlMr ^^  vtoTiia  Srptem  nnd  Im- 
V  ~  '^'   I  -^  Jer.   The  Saxons  call- 

ed it  Gorst-monat,  or  barley-month. 

This  i^,  in  general,  a  very  agreeable 
month  ;  ho  distinguishing  softness  and 
serenity  if  autumn,  with  its  deep  blut> 
skies,  prevailing  through  great  part  of  it 
The  days  are  now  very  sensibly  shorten- 
ed ;  and  the  mornings  and  eveninjis  are 
chilly  and  damp,  though  the  warmth  is  still 
considerable  in  the  middle  of  the  day. 
This  variation  of  temperature  is  one  cause 
why  autumn  is  an  unhealthy  time,  espe- 
cially in  warmer  climates  and  moist  situa- 
tions. Those,  who  are  obliged  to  be 
abroad  «arly  or  late  in  this  season,  should 
be  guarded  by  warm  clothing  against  the 
cold  fogs. 

Toward  the  end  of  this  month,  the 
chimney  or  common  swallow  entirely  dis- 
appears. There  are  various  opinions  con- 
cerning the  manner  in  which  these  birds 
dispose  of  themselves  during  the  winter  ; 
some  imagining  that  they  all  fly  away  to 
distant  southern  regions,  where  insect  food 
is  at  all  times  to  be  met  with  ;  others,  that 
they  retire  to  holes  and  caverns,  or  even 
sink  to  the  bottom  of  ponds  and  rivers, 
where  they  pass  the  winter  months  in  a 
torpid,  and  apparently  lifeless  state.  Tlial 
many  of  them  migrate  to  other  countries, 
seems  sufficiently  proved.  The  swilt,  the 
swallow,  and  one  of  our  martins,  have 
been  seen  at  Siena  Leone  and  the  island 
of  St.  Thomas,  in  the  months  of  January 
and  February  :  they  have  been  traced  in 
their  course  across  Spain  and  Portugal ; 
but  some,  probably,  always  stay  behind, 
which  are  the  younger  broods,  or  smaller 
kinds,  that  are  incapable  of  so  long  a  flight, 
and  p'jrish.  For  some  time  before  their 
departure,  they  begin  to  collect  in  flocks, 
settling  on  trees,  basking  on  the  roofs  of 
buildings,  or  gathering  round  towers  and 
steeples,  whence  they  take  short  excur- 
sions, as  if  to  try  their  powers  of  flight. 
Not  only  the  swallow  tribe,  but  many 


-;.«^^»i^^^p?S«SJ^S^«^3»»fF«SK-- 


;  ■-^^«5BB|^^rtVi.«JJJ9Wri»«'tr«'' 


.# 


~J 


TEMBER. 

i^  HIS,  though  now  the 
r\  ninth  month  of  the 
i  year,  was  formerly  the 
seventh  as  its  name 
imports,  boingderived 
from  the  two  I^aiin 
:^  words  Sfptem  and  Im- 
her.  The  Saxons  call- 
I,  or  barley-month. 
<neral,  a  very  agreeable 
inguishing  softness  and 
mn,  with  its  deep  blni> 
through  great  part  of  i; 
w  very  sensibly  shorten- 
rnings  and  evenings  are 
though  the  warmth  is  still 
the  middle  of  the  day. 
temperature  is  one  cause 
n  unhealthy  time,  espe- 
climates  and  moist  situa- 
who  are  obliged  to  be 
ate  in  this  season,  should 
arm  clothing  against  the 


end  of  this  month,  the 
non  swallow  entirely  dis- 
are  various  opinions  con- 
ler  in  which  these  birds 
jelves  during  the  winter  ; 
that  they  all  fly  away  to 
regions,  where  insect  food 
be  met  with  ;  others,  that 
les  and  caverns,  or  oven 
om  of  ponds  and  rivers, 
the  winter  months  in  a 
ently  lifeless  state.  Thai 
ligrale  to  other  countries, 
y  proved.  The  swill,  the 
le  of  our  martins,  have 
rta  Leone  and  the  island 
in  the  months  of  January 
they  have  been  traced  in 
Dss  Spain  and  Portugal ; 
bly,  always  stay  behind, 
junger  broods,  or  smaller 
capable  of  so  long  a  flight, 
>r  some  time  before  th*  ir 
jegin  to  collect  in  floclv^, 
J,  basking  on  the  roofs  of 
hering  round  towers  and 
e  tht;y  take  short  excur- 
yr  their  powers  of  flight, 
swallow  tribe,  but  many 


OAK-BARK  PEELKRfl. 


899 


other  small  birds  which  feed  on  insects, 
disttijpear  on  the  approach  of  cold  weather, 
when  the  insects  themselves  arc  no  longer 
to  be  met  with. 

Those  sweet  and  mellow-toned  song- 
sters, the  wood-lark,  thrush,  and  black- 
bird, now  begin  their  autumnal  music  : 
but  it  is  not  the  full  joyous  note  of  spring : 
frequently  the  song  proceeds  from  the 
young  birds  of  the  year  imitating  the 
parental  note,  and  influenced  by  the  state 
of  the  temperature 


the  wood  in  a  few  years  causes  the  bark 
to  assume  a  rough  appearance,  the  con- 
tinued growth  rending  it  in  a  perpendicu- 
lar direction,  as  may  generally  be  seen  in 
all  aged  trees.  In  the  birch-tree,  owing 
to  the  peculiarity  of  the  bark,  strips  of  it 
are  continually  peeling  ofT,  being  n  >  longer 
adapted  for  their  intended  purposes. 

Corks  are  formed  from  the  dead  bark  of 
the  cork-tree,  which  is  taken  off  at  certain 
seasons  of  the  year,  being  separuled  with- 
out difficulty   from  the   portions  of  more 


•rwo'o'JT.T.-pocie,  of  Iriy-binl.  .roU.ce,,.  gro«.h.     The  vigor  of  .  .-e.  i. 


season  for  the  death's-hen  ^  moth  :  "  This 
creature,"  says  Mr.  Knapj,,  "  was  former- 
ly considered  as  one  of  our  rarest  insects, 
uiid  doubtful  if  truly  indigenous;  but  for 
the  last  twenty  years,  from  the  profuse 
cultivation  of  the  potato,  is  become  not 
v.iry  uncommon  in  divers  places.  The 
markings  n  its  back  represent  to  fertile 
imaginations,  the  head  of  a  perfect  skele- 
ton, with  the  limb-bones  crossed  beneath. 

The  most  useful  fruit  this  country  af- 
fords, the  apple,  successively  ripens,  ac- 
cording to  its  difl*erenl  kinds,  from  July  to 
September  or  October  ;  but  the  principal 
harvest  of  them  is  about  the  close  of  this 
month.  They  are  now  gathered  for  cider 
making,  which  in  some  c  untries  is  a 
busy  and  important  employment. 


OAK-BARK  PEELERS. 


ARK  is  the  outward 
coveringof  plants  and 
trees,  one  of  its  func- 
tions being  to  pri)tect 
the    inner    structure 
from  the  effect  of  sud- 
den changes  of  tem- 
perature.      On    this 
account,  the  bark  of 
the  pine-trees  which 
are  found  in  the  most  inclement  regions 
of  North  America  is  often  from  a  foot  to 
fifteen  inches  in  thickness.     Another  of 
its  uses  is  to  convey  to  the  roots  those 
juices  which  are  elaborated  in  the  foliage. 
In  a  young  plant  the  bark  is  covered  with 
a  smooth  thin  skin  ;  but  the  expansion  of 


every  eight  or  ten  years  after  it  is  fifteen 
years  old  ;  some  which  have  regularly 
submitted  to  this  operation  living  for  150 
years. 

A  description  of  oak  growing  in  the 
United    States    produces    the    quercitron 
bark,  which  forms  so  important  an  article 
as  a  yellow  dye.     The  medicinal  value 
of  the  Peruvian  bark  has  been  known  about 
two  centuries,   but  it  was  not  until   fifiy 
years  after  its  introdiidion  in  Europe  that 
its  qualities  were  duly  appreciated      The 
original  cinchona  of  Peru,  which  is  of  a 
pale   color,  i«   becoming  f-arce.     When 
dry  it  is  scarcely  odorous,  but  becomes  so 
when    used    as    an    infusion.      The    two 
other  descriptions  are  the  red  bark  and 
the  yellow  bark.     The  fruit  is  less  bitter 
than  that  of  the  cinchona,  but  its  astringent 
qualities    are    greater.      The    nearer  the 
second  approarhes  the  color  of  an  orange 
the  better  is  its  quality  :  it  is  comparative- 
ly worthless  when  it  assumes  a  hue  be- 
tween red  and  yellow.     It  is  bitter  to  the 
taste,  but  its  properties  are  not  astringent. 
The  bark  of  a  tree  always  contains  a 
greater  proportion   of  the  principle  of  a 
plant    than  any  other  organ.      Oak-bark 
possesses  a  chymical  property  which  is 
used  in  converting  hides  into  leather.    The 
astringent  quality   which  effects    this    is 
called   tannin.     Heath,    gall-nuts,    birch- 
tree  bark,  myrtle   leaves,   leaves  of  wild 
laurel,  and  willow-bark,  have  been  used  as 
substitutes  for  oak-bark,  and  even  oak  saw- 

Before  being  used  in  tanning,  the  bark 
is  ground  into  coarse  particles,  and  a  layer 
is  put  upon  each  skin  in  the  tan-pit.  With- 
out bark  or  tannin  the  skins  woiiM  dissolve 
into  glue,  but  the  astringency  which  it  pos- 


MHNM 


tmmnatttm 


J 


ANIMAL   LANOUAOK. 


„,.H.r^  occa«ion«  a  proi-es*    cxnclly  iha 
r,,vrrM',  ami  lorms   llit)  i.ui»Bluuce  cnllud 

Ifutlmr.  .  .         . 

'I'liH  endTnviiig  acciimpanyntu  tlim  arii- 
cle  rt-pt.'sents  ii  piiriv  of  worn,  ii  <'iinau.;,l 
i„  peplini!  th.i  l)iiik  iVcin  an  <.i.k.tr«o.  1  lim 
on'riition  is  p.Trorine.l  in  il."  l'.llowin« 
„,„ t:  (imiinl)tro(  \vi.im>i.  rall-'d  "biirk- 
iTs' iint  caili  luiiiisliiMl  Willi  li^lll  st"'ft- 
luin.lle.l  iniill.-l«  ihm.I.m)!' hard  wood,  al-out 

,.i"lii   or  iiiiio  i"'-!"'''  '•'"«-  ''''*""  "'"^'""', 
stuinre   al    llie    luc.',   and   llio   other   end 
sharpened    liko    a    wed^e,   in    order    the 
„„.ro   fiiHily    to  mako  an  in.ision   in  the 
hark,  which  is  done  all   alon«  tl..-  side  ot 
il.o  tree  which  hnp|)en«  to  be  upporn.oHt, 
i„   „   8irainht   lino;    and  as   two  barkers 
n,  i.erally  work  lo-  in      it  is  proper  ihal 
while  one  is  en  ployed  .n  makmK  an  in- 
cision with  th«.  n.:il.-t.  th     other,  being 
furnished  with  :  p..    itd  in.->  uinent  called 
the  "barking-bii.  "    -utb  ll<.    bark  across 
the  tree  in  lenplh     ^f  ''r'.a  two  feet  ^^K 
inches  to  three  let*,  and  then,  by  forcing 
a  shovel-shaped  instrument  called  a  "p"!- 
in.r.iron"  between  the  bark  t.n  i  (he  wood, 
ea"sily  separates  the  former,  and  pe^Js  ^ 
from  lh«  timber  in  entire  pieces.      1  he 
iariier  branches  are  afterward  stripped  in 
a  similar  manner.     This  business  being 
chiclly  do.io  in  the  early  spring   season, 
the  vast  trunks  are  left  in  the  situations  in 
which  they  first  fell  till  the  gathering  ol 
the  crops  in  autumn  permits  their  remova  . 
During  this  time  they  get  blanched  to  al- 
most perfect  whiteness,  an-l  in  the  midst 
of  the  summer  verdure  have  a  very  singu- 
lar but  picturesque  appearance. 

The  bark,  when  peeled,  is  carefully 
dried  for  two  or  three  weeks,  and  then 
piled  in  stacks  of  about  eight  feet  square 
by  fifteen  feet  in  height,  and  sold  to  the 
tanner. 


ANIMAL  LANOUAOK. 


Generosity.— There  is  a  great  dis- 
titiciion  to  be  made  between  generosity  ot 
manner  an  1  generosity  of  heart.  A  good 
man,  wi  a  the  noblest  sentiments  and 
feelings,  is  sometimes  disguised  by  a 
certain  coldness  and  formality  of  manner  ; 
while  a  libertine,  whose  life  is  spent  m 
the  grntification  of  self,  imposes  on  llie 
multitude,  by  the  bravery  and  frankness 
of  his  air,  for  a  most  generous-hearted 
fellow. 


ANClIAf'.F-       as 
fur  as  the  eonii-ni- 
nicalion    of  ide;  s 
l^     by   certain    miults 
'\  of  contiict,  I  y  ges- 
■y     I 'ire,  or  by  soinuU, 
can   bo    called   by 
that  name — seems 
to  bo  possessed  in 
common    by   all    living    creatures       'i'he 
first  or  simplest  form  in  whicu  this  t aciiliy 
is   manifested   amimg  animals,  is  'hat  ot 
,,,„„t,ci— a  species  of  intercommi  .i.  :iuon 
beautifully  illustrated  by  the  lu.hitt  o(  r^^a 
insectsas'the  ..nt.     If  you  siatterlha  r  '.iO., 
of  an  ant's  nest  in  your  apartment,  you 
will  bo  furnished   with  a   proof  of  their 
language.     The  ants  will  take»a  thousand 
different  paths,    each  going  by  itsell,  to 
increase   the    chance  of  discovery  ;  they 
will  meet  and  cross  each  other  in  all  di- 
rections,   and   perhaps  will    wander  long 
before  they  can  lind  a  spot  convenient  lor 
iheir  reunion.     No  sooner  does  any  one 
discover  a  little  chink  in  the  lloor,  thn.ugh 
which  it  can  pass  below,  than  it  returns  to 
its  companions,  and,  by  means  of  certain 
motions  of  its  antenna!,  makes  some  ol 
them  comprehend  what  route  they  are  to 
pursue  to  find  it,  sometimes  even  accom- 
panying them  to  ihe  spot :  these,  in  their 
turn,  become  the  guides  of  others,  till  all 
know   which  way   to  direct  their   steps. 
The  mode  of  communication  employed  by 
bees,  beetles,  and  other  insects,  is  much 
of  the  same  nature,  being  almost  entirely 
confined  to  contact,  and  rarely  or  ever 
partaking  of  gesticulation,  which  may  bo 
considered  as  the  next  form  of  language 
in  the  ascending  scale. 

In  expressing  their  wants,  fee'ings,  atul 
passions,  almost  all  the  higher  annuals 
make  use  of  gesticulalion.  The  dog 
speaks  with  his  eye  and  ear  as  signiheanl- 
ly  as  he  does  by  his  voice  :  the  wagi-ing 
of  his  tail  is  quite  as  expressive  as  the 
shake  of  a  human  hand  :  and  no  panto- 
mime could  better  illustrate  conscious  er- 
ror, shame,  or  disgrace,  than  his  hanging 
ears,  downcast  look,  and  tail  depressed, 
as  he  slinks  away  under  rebuke.  1  he 
dog,indeed,is  an  admirable  physiognomist, 


9 


r»rf*r*W!«#wiNlli*lf« 


*>*.•..■' 


902 


ANIMAL  LANGUAGE. 


whether  actively  or  passively  considered. 
If  you  can  read  craving,  fear,  or  anger,  in 
his  countenance,  so  he  will  kindness  or 
surliness  in  yours,  just  as  readily  as  he 
can  interpret  the  physiognomy  of  one  of 
his    own    species.      Observe    that    huge 
mastiff  gnawing  a  bone  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street,  and  see  how  the  Newfound- 
land that  is  coming  up  on  this  side  deports 
himself.     First  he  stands  stock-still :  not 
a  muscle  of  his  frame  is  moved  :  the  mas- 
tiff lakes  no  notice  of  him.     Next,  he  ad- 
vances a  few  steps,  looks  intently,  wags 
his  tail  once  or  twice :  still  not  a  glance 
from  the  mastiff,  which  is  evidently  stri- 
ving not  to  observe  him.     On  the  New- 
foundland goes,  with  an  indifferent  amble, 
keeping  as  closely  to  this  side  as  he  can, 
and  thinks  no  more  of  the  mastiff.     Had 
the  latter,  however,  lifted  his  head  from 
the  bone,  had  he  exchanged  one  glance  of 
recognition,  had  he  brushed  his  tail  even 
once  along  the  pavement,  the  Newfound- 
land would  have  gone  gambolling  up  to 
him,  even  though  the  two  might  have  had 
a  tussle  about  tho  bone  in  the  long-run. 
Here,  then,  is  an  example  of  strict  physi- 
ognomy or  pantomime,  quite  as  well  un- 
derstood  between  animals   as   the    most 
ardently-expressed  sounds.     Again,  mark 
that  couple  of  terriers,  bound  on  a  secret 
rabbiting   excursion   to   yonder  hill-side. 
Two  minutes  ago,  that  shaggy  native  of 
Skye  was  dozing  on  his  haunches,  as  little 
dreaming  of  a  rabbit-hunt  as  of  a  journey 
to  the  antipodes.     But  his  little  pepper- 
and-mnstard  friend  awoke  him  from  his 
revery,  and    nricking  up  his    ears,  gam- 
bolled significantly  around  him.     Next  he 
scampered  onwar '  for  a  dozen  of  yards 
or  so,  looked  anxiously  back,  again  scam- 
pered forward,  looked  bsrk,  whined,  and 
returned.     Then  he  set  out,  scenting  the 
ground  as  if  he  had  made  some  important 
discovery,  slopped  suddenly,  made  a  short 
detour,  tracking  some  imaginary  scent  as 
eagerly  as  if  a  treasure  of  venison  lay  be- 
neath his  nose.     This  at  length  rouses 
his  friend  of  Skye,  and  away  they  trot  as 
slyly  to  the  hill  as  any  couple  of  poach- 
ers.    Now  our  pepper-and-mustard  hero 
is  beating  the   whine-bushes,   while  his 
comr.t  J  stands  outside  the  cover,  ready 
to  pounce  on  the  first  rabbit  that  makes  iis 
appearance.     Not  a  whine,  not  a  yelp  is 


heard — the  whole  is  conducted  by  signs 
as  significant  and  as  well  understood  as 
the  most  ingenious  system  of  marine 
signalizing. 

Independent  of  the  humble  kind  of  ex- 
pression which  gesticulation  implies,  many 
of  the  higher  animals  are  possessed  of 
vocal  language,  by  which  they  can  give 
the  most  intelligible  utterance  to  iheir 
feelings  of  delight,  pain,  fear,  alarm, 
recognition,  rffection,  and  the  like.  Nor 
does  this  language  differ  in  aught  but 
degree  from  that  which  we  ourselves  en- 
joy. Our  organs  may  be  capable  of  a 
greater  variety  of  tones  and  modulations  : 
and  yet  in  some  cases  this  is  more  than 
questionable  :  all  that  can  be  said  is,  that 
the  human  organization  is  capable  of  more 
perfect  articulation,  and  this  articulation 
is  a  thing  of  art,  imitation,  and  experience, 
depending  upon  the  higher  degree  of  in- 
telligence with  which  the  Creator  has 
endowed  us.  The  brute  creation  express 
their  feelings  and  passions  by  certain 
sounds,  which  are  intelligible,  not  only  to 
those  of  their  own  species,  but  in  a  great 
degree  to  all  other  animals.  Man,  in  his 
natural  state,  does  little  or  nothing  more. 
It  is  civilization — the  memory  of  many 
experiences,  aided  by  his  higher  mental 
qualities — which  gives  him  his  spoken 
language  ;  each  new  object  receiving  a 
name  founded  on  association  with  pre- 
viously-known objects,  and  each  concep- 
tion recfiiving  expression  by  association 
with  ideas  formerly  entertained.  Nothing 
of  this  kind  takes  place  among  animals  : 
their  limited  endowments  do  not  permit 
of  il,  as  the  range  of  their  existence  does 
not  require  it.  Their  language  may  be 
considered  as  stationary  in  a  natural  slate, 
though  capable  of  some  curious  modifica- 
tions under  human  training,  or  even  un- 
der certain  peculiar  changes  of  natural 
condition.  It  is  to  this  range  of  animal 
expression  that  we  would  now  direct  at- 
tention. 

Take  that  barn-yard  cock,  for  example, 
which  five  minutes  ago  was  crowing  de- 
fiance from  the  lop  of  the  paling  to  his 
rival  over  the  way,  and  hear  him  now 
crowing  a  very  different  note  of  delight 
and  affection  to  his  assembled  dames.  In 
a  few  minutes  you  may  hear  his  peculiar 
"  cluck,  cluck,"  over  some  tid-uit  he  has 


e  is  conducted  by  signs 
d  as  well  understood  as 
ious   system    of    marine 

f  the  humble  kind  of  ex- 
esticulation  implies,  many 
mimals  are  possessed  of 
by  which  they  can  give 
gible  utterance  to  their 
ight,  pain,  fear,  alarm, 
;tion,  and  the  like.  Nor 
age  differ  in   aught   but 

which  we  ourselves  en- 
is  may  be  capable  of  a 
f  tones  and  modulations  : 
i  cases  this  is  more  than 
I  that  can  be  said  is,  that 
ization  is  capable  of  more 
ion,  and  this  articulation 
imitation,  and  experience, 

the  higher  degree  of  in- 

which  the  Creator  has 
he  brute  creation  express 
md  passions  by  certain 
re  intelligible,  not  only  to 
vn  species,  but  in  a  great 
er  animals.  Man,  in  his 
38  little  or  nothing  more. 
1 — the  memory  of  many 
ed  by  his  higher  mental 
I   gives   him    his  spoken 

new  object  receiving  a 
on  association  with  pre- 
bjects,  and  each  concep- 
sxpression  by  association 
rly  entertained.  Nothing 
lOS  place  among  animals  : 
idowments  do  not  permit 
»e  of  their  existence  does 

Their  language  may  be 
ationary  in  a  natural  state, 
[)f  some  curious  modifica- 
nan  training,  or  even  un- 
uliar  changes  of  natural 
s  to  this  range  of  animal 

we  would  now  direct  at- 

n-yard  cock,  for  example, 
ites  ago  was  crowing  de- 
top  of  the  paling  to  his 
way,  and  hear  him  now 
different  note  of  delight 
his  assembled  dames.  In 
ou  may  hear  his  peculiar 
over  some  tid-uit  he  has 


ANIMAL  LANQUAOE. 


903 


discovered  to  which  he  wishes  to  direct 
their  attention  ;  his  long  suppressed  gut- 
tural cry  of  alarm,  if  the  mastiff  happens 
to  be  prowling  in  the  neighborhood  ;   or 
his  soft  blurr  of  courtship,  when  wooing 
the  affections  of  some  particular  female. 
All  of  these  notes,  even  to  the  minutest 
modulation,  are  known  to  the  tenants  of 
the  barn-yard,  which  invariably  interpret 
them  in   the  sense  they  were  intended. 
Or  take  the  barn-yard  hen,  and  observe 
the  language  by  which  she  communicates 
with  her  young.     By  one  note  she  collects 
and  entices  them  under  her  wing,  by  an- 
other calls  them  to  partake  of  some  insect 
or  grain  she  has  discovered,  by  a  third 
warns  them  of  danger,  should  any  bird  of 
prey  be  sailing  above,  by  a  fourth  calls 
them  away  to  another  place,  or  leads  them 
honiC,  should  they  have  strayed  to  a  dis- 
tance.    Nor  are  these  various  calls  known 
instinctively,  as  is  generally  believed,  by 
the  young  brood.     We  have  watched  the 
habits  of  the  barn-fowl  with  the  closest 
scrutiny,  and  arc  convinced  that  a  knowl- 
edge of  tho  mother's  notes  is,  to  the  young, 
a  process  of  acquirement :   in  the  same 
manner  as  a  human  child   quickly,  but 
nevertheless  by  degrees,  learns  to  com- 
prehend tones  of  affection,  doting,  chidmg, 
and  the  like.     The  knowledge  of  the  low- 
er aminals  is  in  almost  every  instance  ac- 
quired ;  a  process  necessarily  more  rapid 
m  them  than  ir  man,  as  they  much  sooner 
reach  the  limit  of  their  growth  and  per- 
fection.    Animal  language  is  most  perfect 
and  varied  among  such  animals  as  are 
gregarious  in  their  habits.     Let  the  most 
ignorant  of  natural   history  attend  for  a 
few  days  to  the  habits  of  a  flock  of  birds, 
a  herd  of  oxen,  horses,  deer,  elephants, 
or  the  like,  and  he  will  find  that  they  make 
use  of  a  variety  of  sounds  often  totally 
different  from  each  other.     Friendly  rec- 
ognition, hatred,  fear,  mirth,  satisfaction, 
the  discovery  of  food,  hunger,  and  so  on, 
are  expressed  each  by  a  peculiar  note, 
which  is  distinctly  and  instantly  compre- 
hended  by   the   whole   flock.      And   as 
among  men,  when  simple  sounds  are  in- 
sufficient, 80  among  animals  gesticulation 
is  made  use  of  to  assist  the  comprehen- 
sion and  deepen  the  inipression. 

If  then,  animals  are  really  in  possession 
of  a  vocal  language,  it  may  be  asked,  is 


that  language  capable  of  any  modification, 
improvement,  or  deterioration  ;  and  have 
we  any  evidence  to   that  effect  ?     That 
animal  languagi'  admits  of  extensive  modi- 
fication, he  have  ample  proof  in  the  histo- 
ry of  cage  and  singing-birds.     The  natural 
note  of  the   canary   is   clear,  loud,   and 
rather  harsh ;    by    careful   training,    and 
breeding  from  approved  specimens,  that 
note  can  be  rendered  clear,  lull,  and  mel- 
low, as  that  of  the  finest  instrument.     We 
have  further  proof  of  such  modification,  in 
the  fact  of  a  young  canary  being  made  to 
im.-  4e  the  notes  of  the  linnet  or  the  gold- 
finch, just  as  either  of  these  may  be  taught 
the  song  of  the  canary.      The  starling 
and  blackbird  maybe  trained  to  forsake 
their  wood-notes  wild,  and  to  imitate  the 
human  whistle  to  perfection  in  many  of 
our  national  melodies.     Nay,  the  parrot, 
starling,  raven,  and  even  the  canary,  may 
bo  taught  to  articulate  certain  words  and 
phrases  with  more  precision  and  emphasis 
than  the  tyroes  of  the  elocutionist.     Nor  is 
artificial  training  always  necessary  to  ac- 
complish such  modification  ;  for  we  have 
the  gay  and  lively  mocking  bird  producing, 
of  his  own  free-will,  almost  every  modula- 
tion, from  the  clear  mellow  tones  of  the 
wood-thrush,  to  the  savage  scream  of  the 
bald  eagle.      While    thus    exerting  him- 
self, a  person  destitute  of  sight  v     jld  sup- 
pose that  the  whole  feathered  tribe  had 
assembled  together  on  a  trial  of  skill,  each 
striving  to  produce  his  utmost  effect,  so 
perfect   are   his   imitations.      He    many 
times  deceives  the  sportsman,  and  sends 
him  in  search  of  birds  that  perhaps  are 
not  within  miles  of  him,  but  whose  notes 
he  exactly  imitates  ;  even  birds  themselves 
are  frequently  imposed  on  by  this  admira- 
ble mimic,  and  are  decoyed  by  the  fancied 
call  of  their  mates,  or  drive  with  precipi- 
tation into  the  depth  of  thickets  at  the 
scream  of  what  they  suppose  to  be  the 
sparrow-hawk.     The  mocking  bird  loses 
little  of  the  power  and  energy  of  his  song 
by    confinement.      In    his    domesticated 
state,  when  he  commences  his  career  of 
song,  it  is  impossible  to  stand  by  uninter- 
ested.    He  whistles  for  the  dog— Ca;sar 
starts  up,  wags  his  tail,  and  runs  to  meet 
his  master ;  he  squeaks  out  like  a  chicken 
—and  the  hen  hurries  about  with  hanging 
wings  and  bristling  feathers,  chucking  to 


J 


HiWKHlWJUB'  "I  1'  ■5*^^^'' 


904 


ANIMAL  LANGUAGE. 


protect  her  injured  brood.  The  barking 
of  the  dog,  the  mewing  of  the  cat,  the 
cjeaking  of  a  passing  wheelbarrow,  follow 
with  great  truth  and  rapidity.  He  repeats 
the  tune  taught  him  by  his  master,  though 
of  considerable  length,  fully  and  faithfully. 
He  runs  over  the  quivering  of  the  canary, 
and  the  clear  whistlings  of  the  Virginian 
nightingale  or  redbird,  with  such  superior 
execution  and  effect,  that  the  mortified 
songsters  feel  their  own  inferiority,  and 
become  altogether  silent,  while  he  seems 
to  triumph  in  their  defeat  by  redoubling 
his  exertions. 

As  there  is  thus  an  evident  capability 
of  modification,  so  there  must,  to  a  certain 
degree,  be  improvement  or  deterioration, 
as  surrounding  circumstances  are  favor- 
able or  unfavorable  to  the  development  of 
the  vocal  power.    A  young  canary  brought 
up  in  the  same  room  with  a  goldfinch  and 
linnet,  if  he  does  not  slavishly  adopt  the 
notes  of  either,  will  often  be  found  to  add 
them   to  his  own  natural   music.      The 
natural  voice  of  the  dog,  so  far  as  that  can 
be  ascertained  from  wild   species  of  the 
family,  is  more  a  yelp  and  snarl  than  a 
bark ;  and  yet  what  is  more  full  and  sonor- 
ous than  the  voice  of  the  Newfoundland 
or  mastiff"?     The  wild  horse— depending 
so  much  as  it  does  upon  the  society  of  its 
kind — acquires  the  nicest  modulations  of 
neighing,  so  as  to  express  pleasure,  fear, 
recognition,  the  discovery  of  pasture,  and 
so  forth ;  while  the  labored  hack  has  scarce- 
ly, if  at  all  the  command  of  its  vocal  organs. 
The  voice  of  animals  is  jusl  as  evidently 
strengthened  and  increased  in  variety  of 
tone  by  practice,  as  is  that  of  the  human 
sinffer  and  orator,  and  thus  becomes  capa- 
ble^ expressing  a  wider  range  of  ideas. 
Indeed  it  is  certain  that,  if  animals  are 
placed  in  situations  where  the  use  of  their 
language  is  not  required,  they  will  in  a 
short  time  lose  the  faculty  of  speech  al- 
together.     Thus,  on  the  coral  island   of 
Juan  de  Neva,  where  the  dogs  have  been 
left  from  time  to  time,  and  where,  finding 
abundance  of  food,  they  have  multiplied 
prodigiously,  it  is  assorted  that  the  breed 
have  entirely  lost  the  faculty  of  barking. 
Wt!  knew  an  instance  of  a  young  canary, 
just  bursting  into  song,  which  was  render- 
ed permanently  dumb  by  being  shut  up  in 
a  darkened  chamber,  and  by  occasionally 


having  a  cloth  thrown  over  its  cage,  ilmt 
its  notes    might  not   disturb  an    invaliil. 
This  treatment  was  continued  for  several 
months;  and  so  eflfectually  did  it  dtsimy 
the  clear,  brilliant  notes  of  the  youn^-  «r, 
that  he  was  never  afterward  known  to 
utter   a   note   beyond    a   simple  "  iwcei, 
tweet"  of  alarm.     As  the  human  speedi 
is  affected  by  disease  and  old  age,  so  like- 
wise is  that  of  the  lower  animals.     Tlie 
husky,  paralytic  voice  of  the  old  shepherd- 
dog,  is  a  very  different  thing  from  the  full- 
toned  bark  of  his  athletic  years  ;  formerly, 
its  modulations  could  give  expressions  to 
joy,  fear,  anger,  reproach,  and  the  like  ; 
now,  its  monotony  is  destitute  of  all  mean- 
ing.    We    were  once  in  po.ssession  of  a 
starling,  which  we  had  taught  to  utter  a 
number  of  phrases,  and  to  whistle  in  per- 
fection  a   couple   of   Scottish    melodies. 
After  a  severe  moulting  attack,  not  only 
was  his  power  of  voice  destroyed,  but  his 
memory  apparently  so  much  affected,  that 
phrases    and    melodies    were    ever   after 
jumbled  incoherently  together  ;  much  like 
the  chattering  of  an  old  man  in  his  dotage, 
or  like  those  individuals  who,  after  severe 
fevers,  forget  some  of  the  languages  they 
have  acquired,  or  make  themselves  intel- 
ligible through  a  new  jargon  of  English, 
French,  and  Latin  phrases. 

But  it  may  be  asked — if  the  lower  ani- 
mals thus  make  use  of  a  vocal  language, 
are  those  to  whom  it  is  addressed  at  ail 
times  capable  of  interpreting  its  meaning? 
The  well-known  habits  of  gregarious  ani- 
mals, in  our  opinion,  ought  to  answer  this 
question.     Every  individual,  in  a  herd  of 
wild  horses  or  deer,  most  perfectly  un- 
derstands every  gesture  and  sound  of  the 
watch  or  leader,  which  is  stationed  for 
the  general  safety.     Nor  is  such  under- 
standing altogether  instinctive,  but  a  pro- 
cess of  training  and  tuition  quite  analogous 
to  what  lakes  place  in  our  own  case.    Fur- 
ther, the  speech,  if  we  may  so  call  it,  of 
one  animal  is  not  only  understood  by  the 
animals  of  its  class,  but  in  a  great  measure 
by  the  other  animals  that  are  in  the  habit 
of  frequenting  the  same  localities.     Thus 
the  chaffinch,  which  discovers  the  spar- 
row-hawk sailing  above,  instantly  utters  a 
note  of  alarm — a  note  known  not  only  to 
the  other  chaffinches,  but  understood  and 
acted  upon  by  all  others  of  the  feathered 


1^^ 


THE  HALLS  OF  TUB  M0NTEZUMA8. 


iTown  over  its  cage,  ili.it 
not   (listurh   an    invalid, 
/as  continued  for  sevcriil 
effectually  did  it  dcrsimy 
it  notes  of  the  youn-    -r, 
ver  afterward  known  to 
iyond    a    simple   "  iwcei, 
As  the  human  speeih 
lease  and  old  age,  so  like- 
he  lower  animals.     Tho 
voice  of  the  old  shepherd- 
fferent  thing  from  the  full- 
1  athletic  years  ;  formerly, 
:ould  give  expressions  to 
reproach,  and  the  like  ; 
ny  is  destitute  of  all  mean- 
once  in  possession  of  a 
we  had  taught  to  utter  a 
ies,  and  to  whistle  in  per- 
lo   of   Scottish    melodies,  i 
moulting  attack,  not  only  i 
)f  voice  destroyed,  hut  his 
itly  so  much  affected,  that 
lelodies    were   ever   after  j 
ently  together  ;  much  like  | 
f  an  old  man  in  his  dotage, 
lividuals  who,  after  severe 
ime  of  the  languages  they 
sr  make  themselves  intel- 
a  new  jargon  of  English, 
itin  phrases. 

3  asked — if  the  lower  ani- 
use  of  a  vocal  language, 
lom  it  is  addressed  at  all 
F  interpreting  its  meaning  ? 
n  habits  of  gregarious  ani-  j 
inion,  ought  to  answer  this 
ry  individual,  in  a  herd  of 
deer,  most  perfectly  un- 
r  gesture  and  sound  of  the 
er,  which   is  stationed  for 
fety.     Nor  is  such  under- 
ithcr  instinctive,  but  a  pro- 
and  tuition  quite  analogous 
lace  in  our  own  case.    Fur- 
:h,  if  we  may  so  call  it,  of 
lot  only  understood  by  the 
lass,  but  in  a  great  measure 
limals  that  are  in  the  habit 
the  same  localities.     Thus 
which  discovers  the  spar- 
ing above,  instantly  utters  a 
—a  note  known  not  only  to 
inches,  but  understood  and 
all  others  of  the  feathered 


race  within  hearing.     The  suspen  ion  of 
every  song,  the  rustling  into  »!»«  '^'^^e 
beneath,  the  sly  cowering  into  the  first 
recess,  or  the  clamor  of  impotent  rage, 
abundantly  attests   how  well    they   have 
interpreted  the  original  note  of  alarm.    But 
if  all  other  evidence  were  wanting  of  the 
rapacity  of  the  lower  animals  to  interpre 
other  voices  than  theii  own,  the  fact  that 
many  of  them   learn  to  interpret  human 
words,  and  to  distinguish  human  voices 
would  be  sufficient  attestation.      1  hus  tlie  . 
voung  horse  taken  from  the  hills,  learns 
in  a  few  months  to  discriminate  the  words 
spoken  to  him  by  his  driver;  and  so  do 
the  ox,  the  dog,  and  other  domesticated 
animals.     This   comprehension   of  vocal 
sounds  evidently  implies  a  sense  of  lan- 
uage-a  sense  that,  on  their  par    also 
the  expression  of  certain  sounds  will  meet 
with  a  certain  interpretation. 

Such  is  the  language  of  the  lower  ani- 
mals :  lim-.d,  no  doubt,  when  compared 
with  that  of  the  human  race  ;  yet  all-sul- 
ficient  for  their  wants,  and  only  inferior 
because  not  combit.ed  with  that  higher  m- 
t,lligence  wlucli,  after  all,  forms  the  true 
,listi^,clion  between  ntan  a.id  his  lellows 
of  the  animal  creation. 


THE  HALLS  OF  THE  MONTEZUMAS. 

ONTEZUMA 
11.,    ascended 
the      Mexican 
throne    A.    D 
1502,    at    the 
age  of  twenty- 
three,     before 
Mexico       had 
been  discover- 
ed  by  Europeans.     He  died  30th  June 
1520,  in  the  forty-second  year  oi  his  age, 
of  wounds  inflicted  by  the  fP*"^!*^  '^'^-i 
coverers  whom  he  had  invited  o  h.s  royal 
palace.     Historians  agree  in  admiring  his 
character.  .  ,     „„,«„t 

On  ascending  the  tl^™"«' ""V '^""  f "' 
with  tin  spacious  residence  of  his  latlier, 
he  erected  another,  much  more  magni- 
ficent, fronting  on  the  place  mayor  ot  the 
present   city  of  Mexico.     So   vast   was 


this  great  structure,  that,  as  one  of  the 
historians  informs  u€.  the  space  covered 
by  its  terraced  roof    might   have  aff^ord- 
ed  ample  room  for  thirty  knights  to  run 
their  courses  in  a  regular  tourney.     His 
father's  palace,  although  not  so  high,  was 
I  80  extensive  that   the  visiters   were  too 
much  fatigued  in  wandering  through  the 
apartments,  ever  to  see  the  whole  of  it. 
The  palaces  were  built  of  red  stone,  orna- 
mented with  marble,  the  arms  of  Monte- 
zuma's family  (an  eagle  bearing  a  tiger  in 
his  talons)  being  sculptured  over  the  inair 
entrance.     Crystal  fountains,  fed  by  great 
reservoirs  on  the  neighboring  iil.s,  played 
in  the  vast  halls  and  gardens,  ai  d  supplied 
water  to  hundreds  of  marble  ba!hs  in  the 
interior  of  the  palaces.     Crowds  of  nobles 
and  tributary  chieftains  were  continually 
saunteritig  through  the  halls,  or  loitering 
away  their  hours   in  attendance   on    the 
court.     Rich  carvings  in  wood  adorned 
the  ceilings,  beautiful   mats  of  palm  leal 
'  covered  the  floors.     The  walk-  were  hung 
with  cotton  richly  stained,  t.e  skins  o 
wild   animals,  or   gorgeous   draperies  ol 
fea      --work  wrought  in  imitation  ol  birds, 
in     ;-     aiid  flowers,  in  glowing  radiance 
of  c.'''..rs.     Clouds  of  incense  from  golden 
censors  diff'used  intoxicating  odors  through 
splendids    apartments    occupied    by    the 
nine  hundred  and  eighty  wives   and  five 
thousand  slaves  of  Montezuma. 

He  encouraged  science  and  learning,  and 
'  public  schools  were  established  through- 
out the  greater  part  of  his  empire.      1  he 
city  of  Mexico  in  his  day,  numbered  twice 
as  many  inhabitants  us  at  present  and  one 
thousand   men    were    daily  employed  in 
watering  and  sweeping  its  streets,  keep- 
ing iheni  so  clean  that  a  man  could  traverse 
the  city  with  little  danger  of  soihng  his 
feel   and   his    hands.      A  careful   police 
guarded   the    city.      Extensive    arsenals 
uranaries,  warehouses,  an  aviary  for  the 
most  beautiful  birds,  menageries,  houses 
for  reptiles  and  serpents,  a  col  ection  ot 
human  monsters,  fish-ponds,  butlt  ot  mar- 
ble, and  museums  and  pub  ic  libraries  all 
on  the  most  extensive  scale,  added    heir 
attractions  to  the  great  city  of  the  Aztecs, 
i  Gorgeous  temples-i«  which  human  vic- 
il'were  sacrificed,  and  their  Wood  baked 
in  bread,  or  their  bodies  dressed  for  food 
to  be  devoured  by  the  people  at  religious 


906 


THE  PARKS  OF  ENGLAND. 


festivals — reared  their  pyramidal  altars 
far  above  the  highest  edifices.  Thou- 
sands of  their  brother  men  were  thus  sac- 
rificed annually.  The  temple  of  Maxtili, 
their  war-god,  was  so  constructed  that  its 
great  alarm-gong,  sounding  to  battle, 
roused  the  valley  for  three  leagues  around, 
and  called  three  hundred  thousand  armed 
Aztecs  to  the  aid  and  service  of  their 
monarch.  So  va.jt  was  the  collection  of 
birds  of  prey,  in  a  building  devoted  to 
them,  that  500  turkeys,  the  cheapest  meal 
in  Mexico,  were  allowed  for  their  daily 
consumption.  Such  were  the  "  halls  of 
the  Montezumas !"  The  summer  resi- 
dence of  the  monarch,  on  the  hill  of  Cha- 
poltepec,  overlooking  the  city,  was  sur- 
rounded by  gardens  of  several  miles  in 
extent,  and  here  wore  preserved  until  the 
middle  of  the  last  century,  two  statues  of 
the  emperor  and  his  father.  The  great 
cypress  trees,  under  which  the  Aztec 
sovereign  and  his  associates  once  held 
their  moonlight  revels,  still  shade  the 
royal  gardens.  Some  of  them,  fifty  feet 
in  ci  vumference,  are  several  thousand 
years  old,  but  are  yet  as  green  as  in  the 
days  of  Montezuma,  whose  ashes,  or  those 
ot  his  ancestors,  render  sacred,  in  the 
eye  of  the  native  Mexicans,  the  hill  of 
Chapoltepec.  Natural  decay  and  a  wa- 
ning population  now  mark  the  seat  of  pow- 
er of  the  groat  Montezumas. 


THE  PARKS  OP  ENGLAND. 

HE  parks  abound  with 
trees  of  extraordinary 
age  and  size.  They 
are  not  like  the  trees 
of  our  original  forests, 
growing  up  to  a  great 
height,  and  on  account 
of  the  crowded  state 
of  the  neighborhood  throwing  out  but  few 
lateral  branches ;  what  they  want  in 
height  they  gain  in  breadth,  and  if  we  may 
be  excused  for  a  hard  word,  in  umbrageous- 
noss.  We  measured  one  in  Lord  Bogot's 
celebrated  park  in  Staffordshire,  and  going 
round  the  outside  of  the  branches,  keep- 


ing within  droopings  of  the  circuit,  was  a 
hundred  yards.  The  circumference  of 
some  of  the  celebrated  Oiiks  in  the  park 
of  the  duke  of  Portland  which  we  measur- 
ed together,  which  ho  did  us  the  kind- 
ness to  accompany  us  through  his  grounds, 
seemed  worthy  of  record.  The  Utile 
porter  oak  measured  27  feet  in  circum- 
ference, the  i^reat  porter  oak  29  feet  in 
circumference,  the  seven  sisters  33  feet 
in  circumference.  The  great  porter  oak 
was  of  a  very  large  diameter  50  feet  above 
the  ground,  and  an  opening  in  the  trunk 
of  green  dale  oak  was  at  one  time  large 
enough  for  the  passage  of  a  small  carriiigu 
through  it ;  by  advancing  years  the  open 
space  has  become  contracted.  Theae,  in- 
deed, are  noble  trees,  though  it  must  be 
confessed  that  they  were  thrown  quite 
into  the  shade  of  the  magnificent  Ken- 
tucky button  wood  or  sycamore,  of  whose 
trunk  we  saw  a  complete  section  at  Der- 
by, measuring  25  feet  in  diameter,  and 
75  feet  in  circumference.  This  was 
brought  from  the  United  States,  and  in- 
deed well  might  be  denominated  the 
mammoth  of  the  forest. 

In  these  ancient  parks,  oaks  and  beech- 
es are  the  predominant  trees,  with  occa- 
sional chestnuts  and  ashes.  In  very  many 
cases  we  saw  the  beauty  and  force  of  that 
first  line  in  the  pastoral  of  Virgil,  where 
he  addressed  Tityrus  as  "  playing  his  lute 
under  the  spreading  shade  of  the  beech- 
trees."  These  trees  are  looked  upon  with 
great  veneration  ;  in  many  cases  they  are 
numbered ;  in  some  a  label  is  affixed  to 
them,  giving  their  age  ;  sometimes  a  stone 
monument  is  erected,  saying  when  or  by 
whom  this  forest  or  this  clump  was  plant- 
ed ;  and  commonly  some  family  record  is 
kept  of  them  as  a  part  of  the  family  histo- 
ry. We  respect  this  trait  in  the  character 
of  the  English,  and  we  sympathize  with 
them  in  the  veneration  for  old  trees.  They 
are  the  growth  often  of  centuries,  and  the 
monument  of  years  gone  by. 

We  can  not  enter  into  the  enthusiasm  of 
an  excellent  friend,  who  used  to  say  that 
the  cutting  down  of  an  old  tree  ought  to 
be  made  a  capital  offence  at  law  ;  and  we 
would  always  advise  that  an  old  tree, 
•tanding  in  a  conspicuous  station  either 
for  use  or  ornament  should  be  at  leart 
once  more  wintered  and  summered  before 


>»l 


circuit,  was  a 
lumference  of 
8  in  the  park 
h  we  measur- 
us  the  kind- 
\i  his  grounds, 

The  little 
5t  in  circum- 
ik  29  feet  in 
isters  33  feet 
sat  porter  oak 
50  fnet  above 
in  the  trunk 
)ne  time  large 
small  carriage 
■ears  the  open 
I.  These,  in- 
jh  it  must  be 
thrown  quite 
nificent  Ken- 
)re,  of  whose 
ection  at  Der- 
diameter,  and 

This  was 
tates,  and  in- 
ominated    the 

ks  and  beech- 
a,  with  occa- 

In  very  many 
d  force  of  that 

Virgil,  where 
aying  his  lute 

of  the  beech- 
ked  upon  with 
3ases  they  are 
is  affixed  to 
etimes  a  stone 
J  when  or  by 
mp  was  plant- 
mily  record  is 
5  family  histo- 
i  the  character 
mpathize  with 
1  trees.  They 
:uries,  and  tho 

enthusiasm  of 

ed  to  say  that 

tree  ought  to 

law ;  nnd  we 

an   old   tree, 

station  either 

d  be  at  leapt 

nmered  before 


03 

r 


pr 

o 
B 


i|!||||l|||'i'S 

"  l|!f4ii,ii 

ii.iii    ::^ 


58 


l^v     l^'^'f^ 


908 


THE  VEGETABLE  KINGDOM. 


the      nifciice  of  death,  which  may  be  pas8- 
e:l  upon  it,  is  carried  into  execution. 

The  trees  in  the  park  of  the  palace  of 
Hampton  court  are  many  of  them,  the 
horse  chest.iut  and  the  lime,  of  great  emi- 
nent beauty  ;  several  straight  lines  of  them 
forming,  for  a  short  clear  bright  day,  at 
the  season  of  their  flower?f»g,  we  passed 
through  this  magtviiicent  av^inue  with  in- 
expressible dekght.     We  pissed  through 
them  again  lato  in  the  autvmn,  when  tiie 
frost  had  marred  their  beauty,  and  autum- 
nal  gales  hcid  stripped  off  theii  i.  aves ;  but  j 
they  were  still  venerable  in   ai '  simpltv 
majesty  of  their  gigantic  and  spreading 
arms.     We  could  not  help  reflecting  with 
grateful  emotion  on  i^  at  beneficeiil  power, 
which  nWi)  presemiv  breathe  upon  these 
appar*: '('  lifeless  suifues,  and  clothe  them 
withth.   •rUue"  \g  foliage  of  spring,  and 
the  rich  .lal  ipi  u 'kJ  glori.  i  of  summer. 
So  bo  it  w!  0  tr»"  i<.  v'ho  ^la*'*;  got  far  into 
the  autumn,  oi  i'and  shivoring  in  the  win-" 
tor  of  life. 

Tbi  ci'.en!  of  these  parks  in  many  cases 
filled  me  with  surprise.     They  embraced 
hundreds,  in  some  instances  thousands  of 
acres,  and  you  enter  them  by  gates,  where 
>i  porter's  lodge  is  always  to  be  found.    Af- 
ter entering  the  park  gates,  we  have  rode 
sometimes  several  miles  before  reaching 
the  house.     They  are  generally  devoted 
to  pasturage  of  sheep,  and  cattle,  or  deer. 
In  the  park  at  Chatsworth,  the  herd  of 
deer  are  kept  at  no  inconsiderable  ex- 
pense, requiring   abundant   pasturage  in 
summer,  and  hay  and  grain  in  winter.     An 
English  pasture  is  seldom  or  never  plough- 
ed.   Many  of  them  have  been  in  grass 
bevond  the  memory  of  any  one  living. 
The  turf  becomes  close  and  hard  ;  and  the 
feeding  of  sheep  and  cattle  undoubtedly 
enriches   the  land  especially  under  the 
rirciul  management  of  one  eminent  farm- 
er--ar-d  many  more  doubtless,  are  like 
him— on   whose   pasturage   grounds   the 
mrnnres  of  the  cattle  are  daily  and  evenly 
8pr*;iid. 

In  speaking  of  the  parks  in  the  country, 
we  ought  not  to  pass  in  silence  the  magnif- 
icent parks  of  London,  as  truly  magnificent 
they  must  be  called,  including  St.  James' 
park,  Green  pi'  ,  Kensington  gardens, 
Hyde  park,  ani  »U'^ent's  park. 

Kensington  gt ' '  :ns,  exclusive  of  private 


gardens,  within  its  enclosure  contains  227 
acres,  Hyde  park,  380  acres,  Green  park, 
connected  with  St.  James'  park,  87  acres  ; 
terraces  connected  with  Regent's  park, 
80  acres — m&king  a  grand  total  of  1,202 
acres.  To  thfti-.  shoiiid  be  atklsd  Uiu 
large,  elegant,  .raJ  'ighly  er.ibelliHlied 
public  squares  iis  varki's  parts  of  Lomlovi, 
nnd  even  in  thev(io*t  cun-dfd  f;ir'.8  of  t^ie 
old  city,  which  in  all  piobability,  e>c(;;J 
1 ,000  acres. 

These  liiagnificer.t  parks,  it  must  be 
rjjnembered,  ire  in  the  midst  of  a  populous 
tosvn,  including  up.vard  of  2,000,000  of 
inliabitants,  are  now  open  to  the  public 
fot  oxer. ;  je,beal(h,andamus£imeiit.  They 
aio  at  tl^  8fti<.e  time,  to  a  d^'gree,  shocked 
with  shf  flp  ni;d  cows. 

It  is  imj^ossible  iv<  o\er-estimato  the 
value  to  beaUh  of  theso  open  spaces,  and 
the  amount  of  recreation  and  rational  en- 
joyment they  afford  to  this  vast  popula- 
tion. 

Windsor  tipreat  park  contains  3,500 
Hcres,  and  the  little  park  300  acres. 


THE  VEGETABLE  KINGDOM. 

T  is  now  midsummer 
— the  bright  sun  shines 
throughout  the  long  day, 
diffusing  light  and  heat 
over  the  face  cf  nature 
— the  earth  is  in  its  full 
luxuriance  ;  and  in  the 
words  of  Milton,  "it 
were  an  injury  and  sul- 
lenness  against  nature  not  to  go  forth  and 
taste  her  beauties,  and  mingle  in  her  re- 
joicings with  heaven  and  earth." 

What  a  change  a  few  months  has  brought 
about !  Lately,  the  earth  was  bound  up  ^ 
in  the  severe  frosts  of  winter — not  a  leaf  'j.i 
or  a  gay  blossom  was  to  be  seen — all  was 
apparent  barrenness  and  desolation.  And 
so  was  the  earth  before  it  was  first  clothed 
with  tht  gre-m  herb — a  bare,  rocky,  and 
barren  masr.  Vegetables  are  as  it  were 
the  clothinr,  '  "  •>  earth  ;  flowers,  shrubs, 
and  trees,  i  unaments.  There  is  a  soft- 
ness ill  '.  appropriateness  in  the  subdued 
tingii  0?  ,v;,o<.-n,  whicii  is  with  very  few 


!  contains  227 
1,  Green  park, 
ark,  87  acres  ; 
Irgcnt's  park, 
total  of  1,202 
)e  'Kk'sd  .'it! 
t  embelli«lif';l 
rt8i-->i'  Loiuloij. 
ed  f;irt8  of  I'se 
jbiluy,  eycc;..] 

J,  it  must  be 
tof  a  populous 
r  2,000,000  of 
to  the  public 
sement.  They 
U'gree,  siocked 

ir-estimato  the 
3n  spaces,  and 
id  rational  en- 
is  vast  popula- 

:ontain3  3,500 
30  acres. 


KINGDOM. 

)w  midsummer 
ight  sun  shines 
)ut  the  long  day, 
[  light  and  heat 
!  face  cf  nature 
rth  is  in  its  full 
ce  ;  and  in  the 
)f  Milton,  "it 
injury  and  sui- 
te go  forth  and 
lingle  in  her  re- 
earth." 

nths  has  brought 
was  bound  up 
Iter — nol  a  leaf^ 
e  seen — all  was 
esolation.  And 
Aras  first  clothed 
bare,  rocky,  and 
3  are  as  it  were 
flowers,  shrubs, 
There  is  a  soft- 
in  the  subdued 
;  with  very  few 


I 


•J  10 


THE  VEOETABLE  KINGDOM. 


excnplions  tbo  prevailing  livery  of  the 
earih— something  which  is  pleasing  and 
refreshing  for  the  eye  to  look  upon,  with- 
out being  too  glaring  or  dazzling. 

Vegetables,  though  they  do  not  possess 
ihe  structure  and  sensation.^  of  living  ani- 
mals, have  yet  a  ki.nd  of  life  of  which 
mere  matter  is  altogether  dostilulo,  Thoy 
form  a  link,  and  a  most  important  one,  bc- 
tween  mineral  substances,  such  as  rocks 
and  stones,  and  animated  beings.  Ihit 
tliough  they  are  thus  endowed  with  a  kind 
of  vitality,  yet,  as  to  actual  composition, 
lliey  are,  like  all  animals,  not  excepting 
man  himself,  literally  formed  out  of  the 
"  dust  of  the  earth." 

A  few  simple  substances,  such  as  car- 
bon, sulphur,  phosphorus,  potash,  soda, 
lime,  magnesia,  combined  with  three  gase- 
ous bodies,  oxygen,  nitrogen,  and  hydro- 
gen, make  up  the  whole  of  the  matter  of 
which  plants  are  composed.     Now,  ex- 
actly the  same  substances  combine  to  form 
the  flesh  and  bones  of  animals;    but  as 
animals  can  not  extract  and  combine  these 
substances  directly  from  tho  air,  water, 
and  soil,  they  have  to  depend  either  di- 
rectly or  indirectly  on  vegetables  for  their 
nourishment.     No  animal,  even  the  sim- 
plest or  most  minute  or  insignificant,  can 
live  on  inorganic  matter.     A  groat  pro- 
portion of  quadrupeds  derive    their  sole 
support  from  grasses  and  green  herbs,  and 
many  kinds  of  birds  from  grain  and  seeds ; 
these  become  the  prey  of  carnivorous  ani- 
mals, and  aflbrd  them  their  sole  means  of 
subsistence.     Fishes  prey  upon  flies  and 
insects,  which  either  directly  or  indirectly 
derive  thei:  subsistence  from  the  vegetable 
kingdom  ;  and  man,  as  well  as  some  other 
animals,   lives   indiscriminately    both  on 
animal  and  vegetable  matter.     We  thus 
find  'hat  vegetables  perform  a  most  im- 
portant ofiice  in  creation.     By  their  pecu- 
liar structure  and  functions,  and  under  the 
laws  of  vital  action,  they  assimilate  air, 
water,  and  earthy  salts,  and  form  out  of 
them  tho   matters  called   gluten,  starch, 
sugar,  and  oils,  which  become  the  food  ol 
animals. 

It  is  to  the  operations  of  vegetables, 
too.  that  we  owe  a  considerable  proportion 
of  the  Boil  which  covers  the  earth.  If 
we  examine  the  rocks  and  stones  around 
us,  wc  shall  find  their  surfaces  covered 


with  circular  patches  of  gray  and  yHlow- 
ish  lichens.     These  are  simple  plants,  the 
minute    seeds  of  which,  wafted   by   the 
winds,  fall  on  tho  rocks,  and  adhere  to 
them  by  means  of  a  glutinous  matter  on 
tho   lower  sides  of  the  seed.     Ailrariing 
moisture   from   tho   air,  they   germinate, 
increase,   and    then    moulder  to   deeay. 
Their  remains,  mingling  with  the  motdder- 
ing  rocks  beneath,  in  time  accimuilale  a 
certain  depth  of  soil,  which  still  goes  on 
increasing,  till  at  last  it  becomes  a  deep 
bed  fit  for  receiving  and  nourishing  other 
species   of   plants    that   may    be    driven 
toward  it  by  tho  agency  of  tho  winds,  of 
birds,  or  other  means  which  nature  em- 
ploys for  the  diffusion  of  vegetables.     In 
this  manner  have  our  deepest  and  most 
fertile  soils  derived  their  origin.     We  find 
also  vast  accumulations  of  decayed  plants 
making  up  peat  mosses — and  vegetables 
of  a  still  more  remote  growth  treasured  up 
in  the  bowels  of  the  earth  in  the  form  of 
that  most  valuable  mineral,  coal. 

In  common  language,  we  speak  of  plants 
as  living,  as  growing  or  increasing,  and 
as  fading  and  dying.  Now,  this  is  strictly 
correct.  A.  plant  is  an  organized  struc- 
ture, having  numerous  minute  cells  and 
porous  tubes  through  which  a  sap  or  juice 
flows,  and  by  which  all  the  functions  are 
performed,  tending  to  increase,  preserve, 
or  multiply  the  species.  It  is  possessed 
of  what  has  been  called  irritability,  which 
in  many  respects  resembles  some  of  tho 
motions  of  animals,  as  is  exemplified  in 
the  shrinking  oi  ;he  sensitive  plant  when 
touched  by  the  hand,  the  movements  of 
the  leaves  of  plants  toward  the  light,  and 
tho  twining  of  their  tendrils  round  oth«;r 
neighboring  substances  for  support.  But 
plants  have  not  sensation.  Tiiey  do  not 
feel  like  animals,  nor  exhibit  any  traces 
of  consciousness.  In  short,  they  possess 
only  that  lowest  form  of  vitality  .vliich  has 
been  called  organic  life. 

Plants  vary  greatly  in  their  structure, 
but  the  generality  have'  roots,  stems, 
branches,  leaves,  blossoms,  and  recepta- 
cles for  the  maturation  of  tho  seeds.  Per- 
vading the  roots  and  stem,  there  are  a 
series  of  minute  hollow  tubes  and  spiral 
vessels  through  which  the  sap  passes  up- 
ward from  the  earth,  -rnd,  mounting  to  the 
leaves,  there  combines  with  the  gases  of 


fray  nnd  yrllow- 
iin|)l«!  pinnis,  the 

wafU'il  by  ilif 
,  nnJ  a-HuTo  to 
linous  matter  on 
pi<<l.  Ailraciint; 
they  gcrminati-, 
iildur  to  (Ifi-ay. 
kith  tlie»  iHoiililer- 
iR  accuniiiiiiic  a 
ch  still  gopH  on 
becomes  a  deep 
nouriHhing  otlier 
may  be  ilrtven 
of  tho  winds,  of 
Inch  nature  om- 

vegetables.     In 
Bopest  nnd  most  ; 
origin.     We  find  , 
>f  decayed  plants  ■ 
—and  vegetables 
wth  treasured  up 
th  in  the  form  of 
il,  coal. 

ve  speak  of  plants 
r  increasinjj,  ;ind 
jw,  this  is  strictly 

organized  si  rue- 
minute  cells  and 
ich  a  sap  or  juice 
the  functions  are 
icrease,  preserve, 
It  is  possessed 
irritability,  which 
ibles  some  of  the 
is  exemp!i(iiHl  in 
isitive  plant  when 
he  movements  of 
'ard  the  light,  and 
idrils  round  otli<;r 
for  support.  But 
n.  They  do  not 
xhibit  any  traces 
hort,  they  possess 
vitality  .vhich  has 


in  their  structure, 
ive'  roots,  stems, 
oms,  and  recepta- 
f  the  seeds.  Per- 
3tem,  there  are  a 
r  tubes  and  spiral 
the  sap  passes  up- 
d,  mounting  to  the 
with  the  gases  of 


TUB  VEOETABLB  KINGDOM. 


911 


the  aimojipherc,  ami  thu»  becomes  fin- 
verted  into  n  nniritious  jiiicc,  which  again 
(leseeiids,  and  in  dimrihuted  throughout 
I  very  part  of  the  plant  for  its  growth  and 
nourishment.     The  outer  hark  of  the  plant 


consume  the  oxygen  of  tho  atmosphere, 
and  give  out  carbonic  acid,  so  that  in  pro- 
cess of  lime  the  air  we  breathe  woidil  be- 
come vitiated,  were  its  oxyijen  not  con- 
tinually renewed  by  the  operations  of  the 


of  a  thin  membrane,  somewhat    vegetable  kingdnm.     Here  then  we  per- 


likc  the  skin  of  animals,  and  serves  a 
similar  purpose,  to  protect  the  parts  be- 
neath  from  the  air  and  frinn  external  in- 
jury ;  serving  al-^o  fur  the  exhalation  and 
absorption  of  nxiitture  through  its  numer-  ' 


ceive  another  providential  adju-iimeni ; 
not  only  do  plants  contribute  fond  for 
animals,  but  they  arc  also  the  great  re- 
generators of  tho  atmosphere,  the  purity 
of  which  is  equally  subservient  to  animal 


o'lS  pores.     Immediately  under  tlie  skin    existence. 

is  a  soft  pnlpv  structure,  consisting  of  in-  1  Mot  there  remains  another  feature  of 
numerable  eell.s.  and  which  is  of  a  green  !  plants  to  bo  noticed— the  Howers  or  blos- 
color  in  alim)st  all  vegetables.  Of  this  :  soms,  those  variously  tinted  portions  which 
kind  of  structure,  mo,  the  leaves  of  j.lants  add  such  beauty  and  splendor  to  the  face 
are  composed.  Tnder  this  cellular  sub-  <'f  nature.  Wo  can  not  in  the  summer 
stance,  we  lind  in  woodv  plants  the  true  '  seas.ni  turn  our  eyes  in  any  direction, 
bark  or  Wcr,  composed  of  numerous  fibres  i  where  we  do  not  (hid  the  trees,  hedges, 
running  in  a  longitudinal  directi<m,  and  !  and  fields,  loaded  with  gorgeous  oriiaincnts, 
having  tho  appearance,  when  sliglnly  j  fr»»m  which  proceeds  alMi  a  mingled  odor 
macerated,  of  a  fine  net-work.  In  this  !  of  delightful  sweets.  Even  the  meanest 
portion  of  the  bark  the  peculiar  virtues  of  |  weed  beneath  our  feet  shows  its  lilt  e 
planu  principally  are  found ;  such  as  I  white  star,  or  yellow,  red,  or  variously 
gums,  resins,  essential  oils,  as  cinnamon,  '  spotted  gem  of  blossom.  Nature  is  not 
peppermim,  turpentine,  and  the  astringent  only  bountiful  in  bestowing  the  useful  and 
tannin  of  tho  oak.  The  wood  is  found  ;  necessary,  but  profuse  in  pouring  forth 
immediatciv  under  this,  circle  within  cir-  |  beauties  to  please  and  gratily  the  senses, 
cle,  extending  to  the  pith,  which  is  situa-  '  Nature,  however,  is  not  profuse  in  vaul- 
ted in  the  centre.  The  outer  circle  of  \  each  of  those  brilliant  cups  and  curiously 
wood  next  the  bark  is  softer  and  juicier    tinted  fibrils  has  its  decided  use  :  and  all 


than  those  in  the  centre,  being  the  newest  ; 
and  as  a  circle  is  formed  each  year,  the 
number  in  a  transverse  section,  near  the 
root,  will  commonly  denote  the  age  of  the 
tree,  at  least  all  those  trees  of  temperate 
regions.     Throughout  the    woody   fibres, 
but  especially  liie  outer  circles,  there  are 
numerous  tulies  and  cells,  generally  six- 
sided,  through  which  sap  and  air  freely 
flow.     The  leaves  of  plants  are  most  im- 
portant appendages,  and  may  be  compared 
to  the  lungs  of  animals.     Plants  will  not 
live  if  deprived  of  their  leaves,  or  if  they 
have  not  Iree  access  to  the  sun  and  air. 
During  the  day,  and  in  sunshine,  the  leaves 
of  plants  continually  absorb  tho  carbonic 
acid  and  nitrogen  gases  of  the  atmosphere, 
which  enter  into  union  with  their  juices, 
while  oxygen  gas  is  as  constantly  exhaled. 
In   the    darkness   of  night   this   process 
ceases,  and  a  portion  of  the  carbonic  acid 
of  their  juices  is  thrown  off.     Now,  this 
daily  action  of  plants  is  just  reverse  of  the 
breathing  jirocess  of  animals — the  latter 


the  parts  coinbino  to  carry  out  the  great  ; 
conservative  plans  of  creation.     Like  ani- 
mals, plants  are  possessed  of  organs  ne- 
cessary to  accomplish  the  purpose  of  na- 
ture— the    reproduction  and  continuation 
of  the  s|)ecies.     From   remote  aniicpiity, 
the  importance  of  the  organs  of  the  (lower 
in   perfecting  the  seed   was  known  ;  and 
although   Liiinffius  did   not  wholly  make 
this  discovery,  yet  it  is  to  him  we  owe  iis 
complete  elucidation  about  the  year  1730. 
If  we  take  a  common  wild  rose,  wo  may 
readily  perceive  the  several  parts  of  this 
Btruclure.     The  green    bulb   attached   to 
the  flower  stein  is   the  ovary,  where  the 
seeds  are  matured.     Above  this  is  a  green 
cup  or  calyx,  notched  into  segments,  and 
which  serves  to  support  the  parts  of  the 
flower  above.     The  flesh-colored  leaves 
form  the  corolla,  an  undivided  body  in  some 
plants,  but  in  this,  as  in  many  others,  divi- 
ded  into  numerous  petals;   this  corolla, 
which  is  generally  the  showiest  part  of 
all  flowers,  serves  as  a  protection  and  de- 


■••*.  \tmmt,%. 


•frfJi-' 


t*ti 


ni 


r- 


912 


THE  VEGETABLE  KINGDOM. 


fpnce  of  thf!  parts  within.  These  consist 
o(  the  pistil  or  fcmal'-  (lower  in  the  centre, 
and  of  the  stamm  ~ot  nrrale  flowers  runijeil 
around  the  circuinfcrencp.  The  stamens 
carry  on  their  to;  -  an  obloni»  loosely  at- 
Inched  hody.  •vhi'^i.  i^  th**  anther,  con- 
taining the  ;.■  /'^n  or  fudi.i/ing  dusk,  which 
in  due  time  bursts  and  scatters  its  con- 
tents on  I'm  /iX'Mflof  the  pistil.  In  sorne 
plants,  the  blossom  contains  only  the  pis- 
tils or  fei'ile  flowers,  while  the  stamens 
grow  on  other  plants,  or  on  separate  twigs 
of  the  same  plant.  In  such  in*)'  . 
the  pollen  is  borne  along  by  i".  ^  agency 
of  the  wind,  or  of  the  bee  or  other  insects, 
roiiniing  from  flower  to  flower  in  search 
ol  food. 

Such  is  a  rapid  glance  of  the  arrange- 
ments of  nature  in  oven  the  lowliest  plants. 
From  the  simple  moss  or  lichen  up  to  the 
tall  cedar  or  the  splendid  magnolia,  there 
are  of  course   many   diversities   of  this 
structure — but  all  are  on  one  uniform  plan, 
and  every  plant  produces  its  "  seed  after 
its  kinJ  .*'     What  a  field  here  for  the  exer- 
cise of  the  attention,  and  for  exciting  pleas- 
ing am]  wonderful  thoughts  of  that  Being 
"  who  in  wisdom  has  contrived  the  whole !" 
When   the   celebrated    traveller,    Mungo 
Park,  found  himself  alone  in  the  barren 
wilds  ol  Africa,  robbed,  maltreated,  and 
then  deserted  by  cruel  and  savage  ro'    en, 
he  sat  for  some  tune  gazing  nrour.     him 
with  amazement  and  terror  at  his  utter 
abandonii  ont.     "  Whichever  way  I  turn- 
ed," he  touchingly  rela'^s,  "  nothing  ap- 
peared but  danger  and  difficulty.     I  saw 
myself  in  a  v".st  wildcniess,  and  f    s  hun- 
dred miles  fr-      any  F   ropean  S'       ment. 
At  this  momei.t,  painful  as  n  v  i,  Uoctions 
were,  the  extraordinary  beau     of  a  small 
moss  in  fructificr.tiof\  inresisiihly  caught 
my  eye.     Can  .mi  Being,  thought  !,  vvho  j 
planted,  watered,  u.id  brought  to  perfection 
in  this  obscure  part  of  the  world  a  thing 
which  appears  of  so  small   impo'ti.,cti, 
look  with  unconcern  upon  th  -  situaU'in  of 
creatures  formed  after  his        n  »>"  -4^  ''• 
Surely  not !     Reflections  lik      s»e     wtli 
uot  allow  me  to  despair.         'tar        up, 
and,  disregarding  both  hunger  and  fatigue, 
travelled  forward,  assured  that  relief  was 
at  hand — and  I  was  not  disappointed." 

It  was  an  old  opinion,  and  one  which 
is  not  quite  eradicated  even  at  this  day. 


ihat  the  earth,  when  dug  up  in  any  pisre. 
will  spontaneously  produce  plants  without 
seed.      Nothing,    however,   can    be  men- 
fallacious.     It  is  true,  the  whole  face  ol 
nature  t(  -ms    >vilh   seeds  of   plants  that 
r  mie  floating  on  the  air,  and   are   borne 
about  and  scattered  by  birds  and  animals 
and  other  means  ;  but  in  situations  where 
no  transmission  of  this  kind  can  o     ur, 
experiment  has  proved  that  there  will  he 
no  vegetation,  and  that  ever)'  plant  must 
proceed  from  some  seed  orgrnf'.or  nwt  of* 
.  'Tent  plant.     Malpighi  procured  a  quanti- 
ty of  enr'h  dug  from  a  great  depth,  and 
enclosed  it  in  a  glass  vessel,  whose  month 
was  covered  over  with  several  fold.-*  of 
silk,  so  as  to  admit  air  and  water,  but  to 
exclude  all  such  seeds    as   might  come 
from  without ;   the    result  was,   that  no 
plant  grew  from  ^His  earth.     Mr.  Keith 
performed  asiroilai  t'Xi)orin)eiii.     On  15th 
April,  1811,  he  procured   a  quantity  of 
black  clay  taken  from  the  depth  of  100 
feet,  and  exposed  it  to  the  action  of  the 
air  and  weather.     It  was  placed  upon  a 
slate  in  one  of  the  quarters  of  his  ganJen. 
On  the   15lh  of  May,  he  placed  upon  an- 
other slate  a  similar  r.t.antity  of  earth  tak<i 
from  the  depth  ol  15U  leet,  under  a  hand- 
glass, which  was  only  removeil  to  give 
the   earth  an   occasional   w>    nng.     No 
symptoms  of  v*  ^etation  appc  in  either 

the  one  or  the  other  till  the  -id  o,  Septem- 
ber following,  whan  sever;,  plants  were 
founu  ,  -nging  front  the  surface  of  the 
exposed  clay,  and  one  also  from  the  sur- 
f;;ce  of  the  insulated  clay.  The  former 
proved  to  be  plants  of  the  common  grourid- 
se  which  was  t'fion  coming  up  froin  seed 
over  all  the  garden,  and  hr« "e  easily  a. 
coimted  for;  the  latter  w.  a  plant  < 
ranunculus  sceleratus,  the  si  ed  of  winch, 
he  E  vs,  was  undoubtedly  brought  to  the 
clay  along  with  the  water  it  was  watered 
with,  which  was  procured  rom  a  neigh- 
boring pond,  around  the  »  les  of  whic' 
me  plant  grew  ir«  j»rofu»ioii. 

The  various  met  .ods  whi  j  nature  em- 
ploys to  di  orse  the  diflTere.t  varieties  of 
seeds  over  he  earth  are  '  v  wonder!  iil. 
Many  plan  when  tlie  seed  is  fullv  ripe, 
discharge  it .  n  the  seed-cover  or  piriatrp 
with  a  jerk  or  elu-tic  spring.  The  com- 
mon oat  is  thrown  out  in  this  way ;  and 
the  loud  crackling  of  the  pods  of  the  br^     (i 


■ 

L 


p  ill  nny  plane. 
9  plants  without 
,  cnii  l>e  morfl 
9  whole  f(»c6  of 

of  plants  that 

anil  lire   borne 
rds  anil  animals 
lituations  where 
iind  can  o     iir, 
U  there  will  hr 
fery  plant  ntust 
grnff.or  root  of  a 
roc\»reil  a  quariti- 
jreat  depth,  and 
lol,  whose  month 
sereral   folds  of 
id  water,  b»t  to 
as   might   come 
It  was,    that   no 
iTth.     Mr.  Keith 
iment.     Onl5lh 
d   a  quantity  of 
»e  depth  of  100 
ihe  action  of  the 
s  placed  upoi»  a 
r»  of  his  garden. 

placed  upon  un- 
lity  of  earth  iak< . 
it,  under  a  hand 
removed   to  give 
I   w>    nng.     No 
pp(  in  cither 

he  3d  uj  Septem- 
erai  plants  were 
le  surlace  of  the 
.iso  from  the  siir- 
ay.     The  former 

common  ground- 
ling up  from  seed 

hence  easily  ai 
wa  a  plant  ot 
le  81  od  of  which, 
y  brought  to  the 
Br  it  was  watered 
»d  i'rom  a  iieigh- 
I  e<'s»e8  of  whic' 
ion. 

whi  h  nature  em- 
lereitt  varieties  of 
J  t'i.lv  wondorlid. 
seed  is  fullv  ripe, 
d-coveror;^.Wmrjf> 
prinij.  The  corn- 
in  this  way ;   and 

pods  of  tiio  bri     n 


rUEBINQ  OLIVES. 


913 


in  a  dry  sunshiny  day,  which  .*  caused 
by  their  bursting  and  scattering  about  the 
contained  seeds,  must  have  been  frequent- 
ly noticed.  The  cones  of  fir-trees  remain 
on  the  tree  till  the  summer  succeeding 
that  ot  which  they  grow  ;  when  the  hot 
weather  commences,  the  scales  of  which 
they  aro  composed  burst  open,  and  the 
seeds  are  scattered  to  a  considerable  dis- 
tance. Then,  there  arc  the  downy  ap- 
pendages which  buoy  up  the  smaller  seeds, 
as  the  thistle  and  dandelion,  carrying  them 
through  the  air  to  great  distances — the 
currents  of  rivers,  floating  down  seeds  horn 
one  district  to  another — and  even  the  tides 
and  currents  of  the  ocean,  which  boar 
along  the  germs  of  vegetation  from  separate 
regions  of  the  globe.  Birds,  too,  by  feed- 
ing on  particular  seeds,  carry  them  to 
great  distances,  where  b<  ing  often  voided 
entire,  they  vegetate.  is  is  particular- 

ly the  case  with  stone  iruits,  as  cherries 
and  plums. 

The  seed  of  a  plant,  as  the  common 
bean,  consists  of  the  outer  skin  or  cover- 
ing, within  which  is  contained  a  starchy 
substance  divi-  'd  into  two  halves,  called 
cotyledons.     At  ihe  place  where  these  two 
join,  just  opposite  to  the  o  iter  eye  or  black 
spot  of  the  bean,  is  situaiud  the  germ  or 
rudiment  of  the  future  plant.     When  the 
bean  is  put  into  the  earth  and  subjected 
for  a  few  days  to  heat,  moisture,  and  air, 
it  begins  to  germinate.     The  starch  of  the 
coty    don  is  converted  into  sugar,  and  af- 
ford    I  nntritious  juice  for  the  sustenance 
1   '   y  gt.  .1,  till  this  latter  is  old  enough 
I  to        h  out  roots  into  the  soil  and  provide 
I  for  itsi  If.     The  cotyledons  thus  resemble 
the  white  and  yolk  of  a  bird's  egg,  or  the 
milk  supplied  by  a  mammiferous  animal. 
The  springing  germ  consists  of  two  parts 
— the  rootlet,  w'         invariably  takes  a 
downward  course  in     the  earth,  and  the 
leaf-bud,  which  as  w   iriably  aspires  up- 
ward.    This  is  an        arable  provision  in 
nature  ;  for  ia  wha    ver  position  a  seed 
may  fall  into   the  soil,  leaf  always 

reaches  the  surface,  and     us  is  preserved, 
and  vegetates;    whf^eas,  isad    it  not  re 
cei''"1  this  fixed  dtu  imination,  it  might 
ha  .  remained  in  the  soil  and  rotted. 

Some  seeds  b  ve  only  one  colys  on, 
as  the  common  o,  vhile  the  germint  »g 
buds  or  sporules  f     ihe  infe    ir  class-       f 


vegetables  can  not  bo  said  to  possess  a  true 
cotyledon  at  all. 

IJesidos   propagation   by  seeds,  many 
plants  may  be  raised  from  slips  or  cuttings, 
roots,  and  buds,  taken  from  a  parent  plant 
and  placed  in  the  soil.     The  reproductive 
power  of  most  plants  is  goncnUly  very 
great.     Some,  it  is  true,  produce  only  one, 
two,  or  three  seeds,  but  others  again  an 
inconceivable  number,     h     ingle  >  apsule 
of  tobacco  often  contains  a  Uiousa,  I  se-  Is. 
The  head  of  the  white  poppy  has  prod     ed 
eight  thousand ;  and  the  capsule  of  the 
vanilla  from  ten  to  fifteen  thousand.     A 
plant  of  elecampane  will  produce  altogether 
three  thousand  seed* ;  and  a  plant  of  the 
great  cat's  tail  ton  thousand;  while  a  single 
stalk  of  sploenwort  produces  a  million. 


GATHERING  OLIVES. 

_  HE  method  of  gn'^ier- 
Wying  the  olive  vari>  m  in  I 
difTerent  parts  of  the 
Peninsula.  ■  The  most 
general  way  in  Portu- 
gal, however,  is  to 
beat  them  down  with 
^  long  poles,  and  after- 

ward collect  them  in  sacks,  or  baskets. 
Both  the  oil  and  the  fruit  aro  inferior  by 
this  method,  as  the  fall  bruises  the  prod- 
uce  too  much.  The  Spaniards  gather 
them  a",  by  hand,  and  though  the  process 
is  more  laborious  and  more  expensive, 
ample  compensation  is  made  in  the  supe- 
riority of  these  olives  over  those  beaten 
down  by  poles.  When  intended  for  food 
they  are  prepared  in  two  ways  :  one  is 
simp'y  t  cut  them  and  soak  them  in  salt 
and  water,  adf^  n  '  a  few  herbs  to  give  a 
flavor;  the  is  first  to  dry  them  in 

the  sun,  xvbsi ;»y  they  become  black,  and 
afterward  to  put  them  in  jars,  with  oil, 
salt,  pepper,  or  other  spices,  adding  also 
a  few  herbs.  When  eaten  by  the  natives, 
ihey  are  invariably  flavored  with  oil  and 
a  little  vinegar.  With  us,  olives  e  used 
inly  at  the  tables  of  the  weaU'u)-  as  a 
luxury—disagreeable  enough  to  those  who 
are  unaccustomed  to  their  flavor ;  but  in 
the  countries  of  their   growth  they  ar. 


•..,ti; 


^l^^^R 


PLEA8UIIK  AFTEa  PAIN. 


915 


esufiilittl  ailiclcs  of  food.  The  shnpherJ 
tnkcs  nothing  with  him  to  the  field  but  a 
lilllo  bread,  a  lli  k  of  wine,  and  a  horn  of 
olivpH  ;  ilid  cum  ticro,  or  carman,  onrrie» 
with  him  only  his  wineskin,  his  loaf,  and 
olives  ;  and  iho  laborer  in  the  field,  and 
the  peasant  in  his  cottaKO,  often  have 
nothinii  morn  till  nightfuU :  indeed  bread 
and  olives  (orm  an  extremely  nutritive  and 
rel'reshin!{  diet. 

Tlu!  olive-tree  is  extremely  picturesque 
and  grotesque  in  its  form  ;  the  trunk  some- 1 
times  con.sisiinK  of  a  huge  mass  of  decay- 1 
ed  wood,  Willi  young  and  gracefulbranch- 
es  springing  from  the  top  and  sides ;  at 
other  times  a  large  and  bushy  tree  may 
bo  seen  supported  upon  two  or  more  small 
fragments  of  the   same   apparently   dead 
wood,  while  the  remainder  of  the  trunk  is 
completely  hollowed  out.    The  wood  burns 
readily  when  green,  and  the  leaves  emit 
a  strong  sparkling  flame,  and  apparently 
contain  much  oil.     The  ground  between 
the  olive-trees  is  not  lost,  being  frequently 
sown  with  grain,  and  sometimes,  though 
rarely,    planted    with    vines.     The    deep 
color  of  the  foliage  of  this  most  useful  tree 
gives  a  solemn  cnaracter  to  the  landscape, 
and  subdues  the  usual  vivid  brilliancy  of 
color— the  effect  of  the  clearness  of  the 
atmosphere  and  the  heat  of  the  climate. 
Green,  such  as  adorns  our  own  meadows, 
is  a  color  never  seen  in  a  Portuguese  land- 
scajM) :  the  scanty  herbage,  which  springs 
up  spontaneously,  is  burned  by  the  sun 
into  a  bright  straw  color ;  and  the  soil, 
through  tiio  great  heat,  becomes  almost 
white.     On  the  sides  of  the  hills,  how- 
ever, the  beautiful  pale  purple  flower  of 
the  wild  thyme,  and  the  delicate  gray  of 
its  leaf,  co'ntrast  prettily  with   the   sur 
rounding  glare  ;  and  it  is  only  the  olive 
with  its  deep  hues  and   the  low  bushy 
vine!<  which  can  claim  the  nan  ■  of  green. 
The   cultivation  of  the  orange  and   the 
lemon  is  confined  chiefly  to  the  neighbor- 
,hood  of  largo  cities,  very  few  groves  of 
these  fruits  being  met  with  in  the  open 
country. 

The  manner  of  rear!  ti^  the  vine  is  some- 
what peculiar  in  the  P*  linsula.  While  in 
Italy,  and  in  some  parts  of  France,  the 
vine  gracefully  curls  around  the  poles 
placed  in  the  earth  for  their  support,  and 
the  rich  fruit  hangs  in  large  bunches  from 


every  branch  ;  in  the  Peninsula,  the  vine 
is  cut  down  almost  to  the  ground,  and  in 
winter   bus    much   the    appeariinco  of  a 
withered   and   blackened    stump.       With 
spring,  however,  the  branches  shoot  out 
in  every  direction  till  they  attain  the  size 
of  a  currant-bush,  which,  indeed,    they 
very  much  resemble.     Only  a  few  of  these 
branches  are  suffered  to  remain,  and  those 
which  are  left  are  cut  at  the  end  to  prevent 
them  running  into  useless  wood  :  the  vine 
thus  trimmed  produces   from  eight  to  a 
dozen  bunches ;  but  these  are  of  a  sujierior 
flavor,  and  make  the  best  wines.     When 
the  grapes  are  gathered,  which  is  done 
with  great  care,  and  mostly  by   women, 
the  inferior  bunches  are  surt'ered  to  remain 
for  a  day  to  two,  when  they  also  are  gathor- 
ed,  and  manufactured  into  a  wine  of  lower 
quality,  or  hung  up  to  dry  for  winter  con- 
sumption. 


I  i 


PLEASURE  AFTER  PAIN. 

E     greatly    admire 
the  .sentiment  which 
the  poet  Dryden  ex- 
presses   in    one   of 
his  most  celebrated 
odts,    "  Sweet     is 
pleasure  after  pain." 
We  have  often  ex- 
perienced its  truth, 
and  are  quite  in  love  with  the  paradox, 
that  our  miseries  both  multiply  and  height- 
en  our   enjoyments.     The    Creator,    un- 
doubtedly, "could  have  preve.ned  the  en- 
trance of  evil,  both  physical  and  moral, 
into  our  world.     We  can  easily  imagine  a 
condition  of  things  from  which  pain,  in  all 
its  shapes,   should  have  been  excluded. 
We  can  fan^y  a  state  fair  and  smiling,  as 
we  believe  Eden  to  have  been— its  beauty 
without  one  marring  speck,  its  happiness 
without  a  single  particle  of  alloy.     We 
can  realize,  in  thought  at  least,  that  golden 
age  about  which  the  poets  have  sung  so 
sweetly,  and  on  which  the  mind  loves  to 
linger.     But  in  such  a  scene  there  must 
have   been  wanting   one   very   exquisite 
kind   of   pleasure— "  the    pleasure    after 
pain  ;"  the  inhabitants  of  such  a  world 


i-l-A' 


*'♦!<♦  >W.,5i 


UPWpPv"  • 


I 

I 

i 


[ 


91G 


JLEASUKE  AFTER  PAIN. 


must  have  been  deprived  of  a  species  of 
joy  as  high  in  its  tone,  perhaps,  as  any 
we  taste.     There  might,  in  such  a  system 
of  things,  have  been  much  worthy  of  its 
author,  and  reflective  of  his  glory.     The 
powers  of  nature  might  have  produced  as 
astonishing  resuUs  as  they  do  at  present, 
and  have  been  balanced  with  as  exquisite 
skill.     The  stars  might  have  shone  in  a 
firmament  as  deep  and   blue  as  that  in 
whose  bosom  they  now  burn.   The  planets 
might   have   woven   their   mystic   dance 
round  a  sua  as  vast  and  lustrous  as  that 
they  circle  now.     The  clouds  might  have 
been  clothed  in  as  rich  a  purple.     The 
flowers  might  have  yielded  as  delicious  a 
perfume.      The    mountains    might   have 
reared  their  heads  as  majestically  on  high, 
the  brooks  prattled  as  merrily,  and  the 
rivers  rolled  as  grandly  to  the  sea.     The 
seasons  might  have  performed  their  wonted 
rounds  ;  the  shower  and  the  sunshine  com- 
bined their  fructifying  energies,  and  trees 
and  herbs  clothed  the  face  of  the  earth. 
There  might  also  have  been  creatures  to 
partike  of  what  was  thus  liberally  provi- 
ded ;  and  earth,  and  air,  and  water,  have 
teemed  with  sentient  existences.     There 
might,   too,  have   been — the  crown  and 
ornament  of  the  whole — a  being  gifted 
with  reason  and  aflPection,  capable  of  ad- 
miring the  beauty  such  a  system  would 
present,   and    tracing   the   wisdom  from 
which  it  sprang ;  qualified  not  only  to  en- 
joy the  good,  but  to  love  and  adore  the 
Giver.     This  in  truth — the  absence  of  evil 
supposed — is  but  our  notion  of  ptimeral 
paradise.      In   such   a   world,   however, 
there  would,  as  we  have  said,  have  been 
wanting  tbut  very  exquisite  kind  of  de- 
light derived  from  the  remembrance  of 
pain  !     The  power  of  contrast  cornea  to 
oar  aid  in  the  creation  of  this  joy ;  con- 
trast, indeed,  is  the  principal  element  of 
the  happiness  we  are  speaking  of.     The 
classical  reader  will  promptly  recall  the 
use  which  the  hero  of  the  iGneid  made 
of  the   "  pleasure  after  pain"  principle, 
v/hen  La  was  beset  with  hardships  and 
dangers.     He  revived  his  own  spirit,  and 
he  cheered   the  drooping  spirits  of  his 
companions,  by  adverting  to  the  future, 
and   intimating   the  probability,  that  the 
time  might  come  when  the  recollection  of 
what  they  were  then  er'uring  would  prove 


a  source  of  enjoyment.  "  Perhaps,"  ex- 
claimed the  son  of  the  venerable  Anchises, 
"  it  will  one  day  yield  us  delight  to  re- 
member these  sufil'erings." 

We  detect  in  the  kingdom  of  nature 
emblems  of  the  principle  in  question  ;  as, 
indeed,  all  great  and  lovely  principles  have 
their  adumbrations  in  nature.  Earth,  with 
its  grand  and  beautiful  scenes,  was  educed 
from  an  unshapely  mass,  "  without  form 
and  void."  The  gold  which  glitters  most 
lustrously  is  that  which  the  fire  has  tor- 
tured into  purity.  There  is  no  calm  so 
tranquil  as  that  which  succeeds  the  hurri- 
cane ;  no  sunshine  so  bright  and  gladden- 
ing as  that  which  breaks  on  the  earth 
through  an  April  shower.  Were  it  not 
for  the  power  of  variety  and  contrast,  what 
joy  should  we  have  from  the  most  delicious 
of  the  seasons  T  Do  not  the  bleakness 
and  dreariness  of  winter  lend  a  charm  to 
the  beauties  of  the  spring  and  the  glories 
of  summer  ?  And  do  we  not  detect  in 
these,  and  numerous  other  instances,  the 
operation  and  the  typo  of  the  sentiment 
we  profess  so  warmly  to  admire — "  sweet 
is  pleasure  after  pain"  1 

The  power  of  the  law  of  contrast  is 
indeed  remarkable.  We  know,  for  exam- 
ple, that  a  sweet  and  lovely  scene  never 
looks  so  attractive  as  when  placed  side 
by  side  with  one  which  is  rugged  and 
grand  ;  that  never  does  a  cottage  home, 
with  its  blooming  garden  and  patch  of 
verdure  around  it,  seem  so  lv»witching  an 
object  as  when  situated  at  the  base  of 
some  towering  Alpine  summit.  Beauty 
reposing  on  the  lap  of  grandeur,  is  an 
i^^a  with  which  every  enthusiastic  ad- 
tr.irer  of  fine  scenery  is  familiar.  Painters 
know  this  principle  well,  and  in  eelecting 
subjects  for  their  sketches,  they  are  fond 
of  such  a  combination  of  the  beautiful  and 
sublime  as  that  in  question.  Again,  in 
delineating  character,  poets  and  novelists 
avail  themselves  of  this  same  law  to 
heighten  the  effect  of  their  descriptions. 
We  have  placed  side  by  side  the  gentle 
and  the  stern,  the  timid  and  the  brave,  the 
intriguing  and  the  open,  i\e  selfish  and 
the  generous  :  opposite  qual  icd,  in  short, 
are  placed  in  vivid  contra^,  with  one 
another,  so  that,  just  as  the  cottage  home 
we  have  supposed  looks  all  the  more 
char:iiing  that  it  reposes  at  the  foot  of  the 


Perhapss,"  ex- 
able  Anchises, 
delight  to  re- 

3om  of  nature 
I  question 
principles  have 
.     Earth,  with 
es,  was  educed 
'  without  form 
h  glitters  most 
le  fire  has  tor- 
is  no  calm  so 
eeds  the  hurri- 
it  and  gladden- 
on  the   earth 
Were  it  not 
contrast,  what 
I  most  delicious 
the  bleakness 
!nd  a  charm  to 
ind  the  glories 
not  detect  in 
instances,  the 
the  sentiment 
Imire — "  sweet 

of  contrast  is 
now,  for  exam- 
[y  scene  never 
en  placed  side 
ia  rugged  and 
cottage  home, 
and  patch  of 
lv>witcbing  an 
at  the  base  of 
mmit.  Beauty 
randeur,  is  an 
nthusiastic  ad- 
iliar.  Painters 
md  in  eelecting 
,  they  are  fond 
le  beautiful  and 
on.  Again,  in 
s  and  novelists 
same  law  to 
lir  descriptions, 
side  the  gentle 
id  the  brave,  the 
ihe  selfish  and 
lal  'ieti,  in  short, 
tra& .  with  one 
le  cottage  home 
i  all  the  more 
t  the  foot  of  the 


gloomy  Alpine  precipice,  the  attributes  of 
virtue  wear  all  the  more  enticing  aspect 
when  seen  in  immediate  contrast  with 
those  of  vice. 

Now,  it   is  this  law  that  comes  into 
operation  when  the  remembrance  of  former 
sorrows  and  hardships  comes  to  heighten 
present  joys.     Wc  look  back  on  the  past. 
We  remember  its  struggles.     We  think  of 
the  difficulties  and  dangers  we   had  to 
contend   with,  and   which,   happily,   we 
have  now  surmounted.     We  contrast  our 
present  with  our  past  condition— the  bright 
with  the  gloom— and  the  contrast  is  de- 
lighlful.     Indeed,  our  joy  is  comparatively 
a  lame  thing  apart  from  this  retrospect. 
The  recollection  of  pain  lends  a  peculiar 
zest  to  pleasure.     Health  is  relished  far 
more  keenly  by  those  who  have  just  re- 
covered, than  by  those  who  have  never 
lost  it.     The  rest  of  the  laboring  man  is 
sweetened  by  the  remembrance   of  his 
toils.     The  shore  is  made  a  thousandfold 
dearer  to  the  mariner  when  he  recalls  the 
rude  buffetings  of  the  ocean.     There  is 
much  of  the  human  heart  in  the  lines,  we 
know  not  whose  they  are : — 

"  I  envy  not  the  dame,  whoso  lord 
Was  never  forced  to  roani> 
Bhe  never  knew  the  boundless  joy 
Of  soch  a  welcome  home  I" 

They  who  never  knew  the  agony  of  one 
of  those  partings,  which  Byron  says  "press 
the  life  from  out  young  hearts,"  can  never 
know  the  re  J  joy  of  meeting  again.  Every 
moment    of  anxious   expectation — every 
tear  rushing  to  the  eye — every  sob  burst- 
ing frop'  the  bosom — is  silently  laying  up 
an  accession  to  the  ecstacy  of  the  hour 
when  those  sobs  shall  all  be  stilled,  and 
those  tears  kissed  away.     They,  if  in  this 
vale  of  tears  there  be  any  such,  whose 
attachment  is  never  put  to  such  a  test, 
and   whose  hearts  are  never  visited  by 
such  a  pang,  can  not  realize  a  happiness 
worthy  of  being  named  with  that  which 
has  come  bright  from  the  furnace  of  anxi- 
ety and  anguish.     To  be  relieved  from  a 
state  of  racking  suspense — to  vanquish  a 
difilculty  we  dared  not  hope  we  should 
over  be  able  to  overcome — to  be  rescued 
from  the  pressure  of  want,  or   relieved 
from  acuie  bodilv  lain — to  be  reeonciled 
to  one  dearly  loved  and   with  whom   we 
had  quarrelled — these,  and  such  as  these, 


whenever  experienced,  bring  illustrations 
of  the  truth  of  the  maxim  we  have  been 
considering :    "  sweet   is    pleasure    alter 
pain."     And,  in  connexion  with   higher 
motives  to  submission  when  we  are  suf- 
fering, this  may  help  to  console  and  en- 
courage us,  that  to  'ook  back  on  past  trials 
will  one  day  be  the  means  of  heightening 
our  joys.     This  thought,  too,  should  go 
far  to  reconcile  us  to  our  present  condition, 
and  induce  us  to  seek  with  ardor  that 
purer  and   nobler  state   after  which  we 
aspire.     It  can  not,  indeed,  be  doubted 
that  the  recollection  of  the  past  will  be 
one  main  element  in  future  blessedness. 
The  toils  and  trials  of  our  pilgrimaj^e  will 
help  to  deepen  our  i^cslasy  when  we  have 
reached  that  abode  where  there  is  no  pain. 


THE  CITY  OF  YORK. 

N    the   Roman   times, 
York  may   be  said   to 
have   been,  more  than 
London,  the  capital  of 
England.     The  Roman 
emperors  who  visited  the 
countrj'  for  the  most  part 
took  up  their  residence 
at  York.     Here  the  em- 
peror Severus  died  in  the  year  211,  after 
having  made  York  his  headquarters  dur- 
ing the  three   or   four   preceding   years 
which  he  spent  in  the  island.     Three  re- 
markable mounts,  a  little  west  from  the 
city,  still  bear  the  name  of  the  hills  of 
Severus:   and  many  other  remains  that 
have  been  discovered  in  later  ages  attest 
the  Roman  domination.     After  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  Saxon  heptarchy,  York 
became   the   capital  of  the   kingdom  of 
Nor'humbeiJand.     Although,   on   the  ar- 
rival of  the  Normans,  this  district,  like  the 
rest  of  the  kingdom,  quietly  submitted  in 
the  first  instance  to  the  invaders,  it  was 
the  scene  on  which,  soon  afterward,  a 
struggle  was  made  by  a  powerful  confed- 
erac'y  of  Saxon  iords  and  their  retainers 
to  regain  their  independence.     This  in- 
surrection, however,  was  soon  crushed  by 
the  activity  and  energy  of  the  conqueror, 
who,  laying  siege  to  York,  starved  it  into 


^!1 


mi. 


*i- 


I 


I 


i 


'lil 


m 


m 


o 
>l 

5 

Cm 

o 


THE  CITY  OF  VORK 


919 


a  surrender  in  six  months,  and  then,  after 
his  usual  fashion,  erected  a  fortress  in  the 
close  neighborhood  of  the  town,  to  keep 
it  for  the  future  in  awe.  This  was  the 
origin  of  the  present  castle,  situated  at  the 
souiiiorn  extieniity  of  the  city,  in  the  angle 
formed  by  the  conlluance  of  the  two  rivers. 
At  a  liulii  distance  is  a  ruin  called  Clifford's 
Tov.er,  wliich  was  the  keep  of  the  old 
castle,  and  look  its  name  from  the  ClifTords, 
wiiorii  William  appointed  the  first  governors 
of  that  stronghold.  In  early  times  parlia- 
nionis  were  frequently  held  at  York  ;  and 
in  1299,  Edward  I.,  even  removed  the 
courts  of  law  from  London  to  this  city, 
where  they  continued  to  sit  for  seVen 
years. 

The  city  of  York  stands  in  the  midst 
of  au  extensive  plain,  the  largest  certainly 
in  Great  Britain,  if  not,  as  has  been  some- 
times asserted,  in  Europe.  Viewed  from 
the  immediate  neighborhood,  the  peculiari- 
ty whicli  most  strikes  the  eye  is  the  an- 
cient wall  by  which  it  is  encompassed — 
supposed  to  have  been  built  by  Edward 
I.,  about  1280,  on  the  line  of  the  old  Ro- 
man fortification.  This  wall,  which  had 
fallen  greatly  into  decay,  never  having 
recovered  from  the  damage  it  sustained 
when  the  city  was  besieged  by  Sir  Thomas 
Fairfax  and  General  Lesley,  in  1644,  has 
been  lately  repaired,  and  a  walk  is  now 
formed  along  the  top  of  part  of  it,  which 
is  a  favorite  resort  of  the  inhabitants. 

Seen  from  a  greater  distance,  York 
presents  a  crowd  of  pointed  spires  shoot- 
ina  up  from  the  midst  of  the  houses,  the 
indications  of  those  numerous  parish 
churches  of  which  it  still  retains  twenty- 
three  out  of  forty-two  vhich  it  forr^erly 
possessed.  Far  above  all  these,  however, 
rise  the  enormous  bulk  and  lofty  towers 
of  the  Minster,  which  stands  in  the  north 
part  of  the  city,  and  to  the  east  of  the 
river.  In  the  opposite  quarter  is  the 
castle,  a  large  building, 'erected  about  the 
beginning  of  .he  last  century,  on  the  site 
of  the  Conqueror's  Fortr^sS;  and  serving 
£s  a  prison  for  criminals  and  debtors. 
Besides  the  county  prison  are  the  county 
hall,  the  courts  of  Assize,  and  other  public 
buildings. 

The  entire  circuit  of  the  walls  of  York 
is  about  three  mileo  and  three  quarters, 
being  somewhat  less  than  that  of  the  vuils 


of  th'5  city  of  London.  The  space  within, 
however,  is  much  less  densely  occupied 
by  strtets  and  houses  than  it  is  in  London. 

In  a  description  of  York,  its  ancie\it 
gates  ought  not  to  be  forgotten.  They  are 
four  in  number,  namely,  Micklegate  bar  to 
the  southwest,  over  the  entry  from  Lon- 
don ;  Walmgate  bar  to  the  southeast. 
Monk  bar  to  the  northeast,  and  Bootham 
bar  to  the  northwest,  facing  the  great  road 
from  Scotland.  All  these  structures  are 
at  least  as  old  as  the  thirteenth  century  ; 
and  the  inner  arch  of  the  Micklegate  bar, 
which  is  a  portion  of  a  circle,  has  been 
supposed  to  be  of  the  Roman  times. 

The  chief  glory  of  this  city,  however, 
is  the  noble  cathedral,  of  York  Minster. 
The  term  Minster,  is  a  corruption  of  the 
Latin  Monastcrium,  a  house  tenanted  by 
monks,  or  what  we  still  call  a  monastery. 
Minster,  however,  is  now  generally  used 
to  designate  a  cathedral  church,  ;o  which 
it  was  iio  doubt  originally  applied  with  a 
reference  to  the  retinue  of  religious  per- 
sons forming  the  chapter  of  each  of  these 
establishments,  and  giving  it  the  appear- 
ance of  a  monastic  community. 

Among  buildings  in  what  is  called  the 
Gothic  style,  York  Minster  has  generally 
been  regarded  as  without  a  rival  in  I'^ng- 
land,  or  perhaps  in  Europe.  The  estab- 
lishment of  the  p"^sent  see  of  York  dates 
from  a  considerably  more  recent  era. 
Augustine,  the  apostle  of  the  English, 
a»  ived  in  the  isle  of  Thanet,  which  form- 
ed part  of  the  kingdom  of  Kent,  in  the 
year  597.  He  was  soon  after  consecrated 
archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  according 
to  the  generally-received  account,  died  in 
605.  Kent,  however,  was  as  yet,  and 
for  some  time  after,  the  only  portion  of 
the  island  into  wliich  the  light  of  the 
gospel  had  penetrated.  Pope  Gregory, 
indeed,  by  whom  Augustine  and  his  com- 
panions had  been  deputed,  had  command- 
ed tha*.  an  archbishop  should  be  esialjlish- 
ed  at  York,  to  exercise  the  same  jurisdic- 
tion over  the  northern  parts  of  the  country 
as  Augustine  was  authorized  to  exercise 
over  the  south.  But  it  was  not  till  the 
year  624  that  any  attempt  even  seems  to 
have  been  made  to  introduce  Christin.iiity 
into  the  northern  district. 

This  magnificent  pile  was  in  part  erect- 
ed   by    several   successive   archbishops. 


f: 


li 


THE  CITY  OP  YOEK. 


The  whole  was  probably  finished,  and 
ihe  Minster  brought  to  the  state  in  which 
we  now  see  it,  about  1410  or  1412. 

It  is  perhaps  the  most  perfect  example 
to  be  anywhere  found  of  t' c  history  and 
progress  of  the  Gothic  style  during  the 
period  of  rot  much  leai  than  two  centu- 
ries, which  its  construction  occupied.    In 
this  place  we  can  only  remark  generally, 
that  a  continued  and  regular  improvement 
in   grace  and   lightness   of  form,  and  a 
more  and  more  lavish  profusion  of  minute  , 
and  elaborate  ornament,  will  be  found  to 
form   the   leading  characteristics  of  that 
progress  in  England,  during  the  whole  of 
the  period  in  question. 

York  Minster,  is  built  in  the  form  of  a 
cross,  the  longer  bar,  forming  the  choir 
and  nave  of  the  church,  lying,  as  usual, 
east  and  west,  and  the  shorter,  called  the 
transept,  north  and  south.    Over  the  centre 
of  the  building,  supported  on  four  massive 
pillars,  rises  a  grand  tower  to  the  height 
of  213  feet  from  the  floor.     This  is  said 
to  be  only  a  portion  of  the  altitude  original- 
ly designed  by  the  architect,  who  intended 
to  surmount  this  stone  erection  by  a  steeple 
of  wood  covered  with  lead,  had  he  not  been 
deterred  by  a  fear  lest  the  foundation  should 
prove  insufficient  to  sustain  so  great  a 
weight.     Over  the  west  end  of  the  builu- 
ine  are  two  other  towers  or  steeples  rising 
to  the  height  of  196  feet.     The  whole 
length  of  the  building  from  east  to  west  is 
524i  feet,  and  that  of  the  transept,  from 
north  to  south,  222.     The  length  of  the 
choir  is  157J^  feet,  and  its  breadth  46*; 
in  addition  to  which  the  east  end  of  the 
choiv  contains  a  chapel  behind  the  altar 
dedicated  to  vhe  Virgin,  making  an  entire 
len«rth  of  222  feet.     The  length  of  the 
nave  is  261  feet ;  its  breadth  (including 
the  aisles),  109  ;  and  its  height,  99. 

York  Minster  has  not  the  advantage  of 
standing  upon  a  height ;  yet  its  enormous 
mass  makes  it  a  conspicuous  object  from 
a  great  distance,  and  nothing  can  be 
grander  <r  -e  imposing  than  the  aspect 
which  i's  ;oi  >  buttresses  and  gray  towers 
preserit  a  t\cy  are  seen  rising  over  the 
surrovirrii'fi  liouses  of  the  city,  which  look 
like  Ihw  structures  of  a  more  pigmy  genera- 
tion beneath  the  gigantic  and  venerable 
pile.  For  the  present  the  gtandeur  of  the 
Minster  mjst  be  sought  for  principally  m 


its   interior.     The   efTect   of  the   whole 
prolonged  and  lofty  extent,  as  seen  on  en- 
tering from  the  great  west  door,  is  perhai)3 
as  sublime  as  any  ever  produced  by  archi- 
tecture.    Under  favorable  circumstances, 
such  as  the  rioh  illumination  of  a  sotting 
sun,  the  impressions  of  awe,  and  venera- 
tion, and  we  may  add,  delight,  produced 
upon  the  mind  by  the  grandeur  and  beauty 
of  this  wonderful   building,  are  perhaps 
superior  in  intensity  to  the  efl'ects  of  any 
other  work  of  man's  hands.     We  doubt 
whether  the  finest  Grecian  temple  could 
ever  so  touch  the  hidden  springs  of  en- 
thusiasm  in   our  nature.     The  choir   is 
divided  from  the  nave  by  a  stone  screen  ; 
but  this  ornamental  partition  is  so  low  as 
not  to  intercept  the  view  of  the  portion  of 
the  roof  beyond,  nor  "  the  dim  religious 
light"   streaming    from    the    magnificent 
"  storied  window"  that  fills  the  cast  end 
of  the  building.     The  screen  and  the  great 
east  window  are  two  of  the  proudest  orna- 
ments of  the  cathedral.     The  former  is 
a  work  in  the  very  richest  style  of  orna- 
mental carving;  and  fortunately  it  is  in 
almost  perfect  preservation.     It  is  divided 
into  compartments  by  fifteen  inches,  which 
contain  the  statues  of  the  English  kings 
from  the  conqueror  to  Henry  VI.  inclusive. 
The  great  east  window  is  of  the  vast  di- 
mensions of  75  feet  in  height  by  32  in 
breadth.     It  is  formed  of  above  200  com- 
partments of  painted  glass.     The  fabrica- 
tion of  this  noble  specimen  of  art  was 
begun   in    1405,   by   John  Thornton,  of 
Coventrv,  whose  agreement  was  to  oom- 
plcte  it  in  three  years,  during  which  time 
he  was  to  have  a  salary  of  four  shillings 
a  week,  with  100  shillings  additional  per 
annum,  and   10?.,  more  on  finishing  tlie 
work,  if  it  should  be  done  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  his  employers. 

Attached  to  the  northern  transept  of  the 
cathedral  is  the  Chapter  house,  an  oc- 
tagonal building,  with  a  conical  roof,  the 
interior  of  which  consists  of ^  one  apart- 
ment of  great  magnificence,  it  is  63  feet 
in  diameter  and  67  feet  10  inches  in 
height,  the  arched  roof  being  supported 
without  pillars.  Around  are  arranged  the 
stalls,  forty-four  in  number,  formed  of  ttie 
finest  marble,  and  having  their  canopies 
sustained  by  slender  columns.  A  win- 
dow  occupies  each  of  the    eight  sides, 


*.     "l^uOlcH, 


-#• 


S&  .%  ■ 


-"  Vi^, 


THE  WOULD. 


923 


except  that  in  which  is  the  entry  from  the 
transept. 

York  Minster  contains  a  good  many 
tombs,  some  of  them  of  considerable 
beauty  ;  but  these  we  can  not  here  at- 
tempt to  describe.  Among  the  curiosities 
preserved  in  the  vestry  we  can  notice 
only  the  ancient  chair,  said  to  have  been 
used  at  the  coronation  of  some  of  the 
Saxon  kings,  and  on  which  the  arch- 
bishop is  still  on  certain  occasions  ac- 
customed to  seat  himself;  and  the  famous 
horn  of  Ulphus,  one  of  the  most  curious 
relics  of  Saxon  antiquity  which  have  been 
preserved  to  our  times. 

York  Minster  was  very  nearly  destroy- 
ed in   1829,  by  the  act  of  an  insane  indi- 
vidual, Jonathan  Martin,  who,  having  con- 
cealed himself  in  the  choir  after  service 
the  preceding  evening,  contrived  to  kindle 
a  fire  in  that  part  of  the  building,  which 
was  not  discovered  till  seven  o'clock  in 
the  morning.     By  this  time  the  wood-work  | 
of  the  choir  was  everywhere  in  a  blaze  ; 
but  by  great  exertions,  and  especially  by 
sawing  through  the  beams  of  the  roof, 
and  allowing  it  to  fall  upon  the  flames 
below,  the   conflagration   was  in   a   few 
hours  subdued.     The  damage  done  con- 
sisted i    ti  <3  entire  destruction  of  the  stalls 
of  the  cncr  -.c  i  of  the  222  feet  of  roof 
by  which  tu  x  part  of  the  buildiig  was 
covered.     The  organ  over  t'     screen  was 
also  destroyed,  but  the  screen  itself  es- 
caped  uninjured.     A  public  stb:,ciip'.  in 
was  immediately  comme-fceH,  for  ilie  re^ , 
pair  of  a  loss  which  was  juf  ly  ^  insideref^  ■ 
a  national  one,  and  the  sum  •.!  ^"'O^Of'^ 
I  was  collected  within  two  mor.rt:       T.ie 
'  task  of  eff"ecting  the  restoration  was  com- 
mitted to  Mr.  Smirke  ;  and  the  work  was 
admirably  completed  in  the  spring  of  1832. 
The  scrupulous  care  with  which  the  resto- 
ration of  York  Minster  has  been  accom- 
plished, so  as  to  preserve  every  detail  of 
the  building,  is  highly  creditable  to  the 
architect  and  his  employers.     The  roof 
has  been  executed  in  teak,  and  the  carved 
work  of  tae  choir  in  oak.     With  the  ex- 
ception that  the  choir  looks  cleaner  and 
freshen   than   formerly,  a    person    unac- 
quainted with  its  destruction   would   be 
unable   to   perceive   any   change.      The 
organ,  in  York  Minster,  was  one  of  the 
finest  in  Europe. 


THE  WORLD. 

^  HE  complete  revoUi- 
^  lion  in  the  condiiionof 
'^  the  world,  during  the 
pastcentury,  which  its 
commercial    transac- 
tions   indicate,     has 
been  efl'ected  by  the 
v^  \  inventions  of  genius, 

and  not  by  the  operations  of  arms.     The 
agents,  by  whose  instrumentality  this  re- 
sult has  been  accomplished,  have  in  the 
main,  sprung  up  where  they    were  little 
expected  to  arise.     The  United    States, 
scarcely  free  from  the  evils  consequent 
upon  a  long  and  bloody  struggle  for  their 
independence,began  to  manifest  that  depth 
of  research  and  enterprise  of  action,  which 
elevated  their  ancestry  to  the  empire  of 
Europe.     In  rapid  succession,  men  came 
into  notice  then,  who  were  resolved  to  im- 
prove upon  the  inventions  of  the    past. 
Applyin"  to  the  most  useful  purposes  the 
quadrant"  which  their  countryman,  God- 
frey   had  years  before    conytructed,  and 
availing  themselves  of  the  advamages  con- 
sequent upon  a  knowledge  of  the  nature 
and  application  of  electricity,  which  had 
been  fully  established  by  tho  incomparable 
Franklin,  they  went  on  to  erect  a  vast 
system  of  practical  science,  upon  which 
schemes  of  the  most  extensive  benefit  to 
the  human  race  have  been  perfected.    Ful- 
ton, in  the  latter  part  of  last  century,  con- 
ceived the  bold  idea  of  propelling  vessels 
by  steam-power,  against  the  most  rapid 
currents,  which  although  tried  before  in 
England,  had  proved  a  failure.     Confident 
of  eventual  success,  this  fearless  philoso- 
pher, notwithstanding  he  was  pronounced 
a  visionary  in  Europe  and  America,  en- 
tered upon  a  train  of  experiments,  which 
finally  placed   commerce  upon  the  basis 
which  it  now  occupies. 

Learning,  it  is  true,  received  a  tempo- 
rary shock  from  the  revolutionary  move- 
ments which  characterized  the  culy  por- 
tion of  the  present  century.  In  England, 
Scotland,  the  United  States,  and  France, 
its  progress,  however,  has  been  in  advance 
of  previous  ages.  England  and  Scotland 
substantiate  the  position,  by  ths  attain- 
ments of  Herschel,  Lardner,  Browster 
and  Arrott,  in  astronomy,  optics,  and  math 


59 


«((;■." 


•If'' 


:*%. 


"nr 


r ' 


*» 


924 


THE  WORLD. 


emalhics;  of  Whewell,  Mills,  M'Cauley, 
DiinonJ,    Brougham,    Wakely,    and    De 
Lolme,  in  eiliics  and  politics  ;  of  Cooper 
and    Carpenter,    in   physics;    of   Byron, 
Rogers,    Moore,    Campbell,    Scott,    arid 
Montgomery,  in    poetry;  of  Dickens  in 
descriptive    composition  ;    of    Sheridan, 
Bulvver,  and  Jerrold,  in  dramatic  works  ; 
and  of  Macready  in  tragic  performances. 
The  United    States   demonstrates   the 
same  truth,  in  being  able  to  enumerate 
among  her  citizens  the  names  of  Davies, 
Bowditch,  Adrian,  and  Giimmere,  as  math- 
ematicians ;  of  Franklin,  Godfrey,  Rush, 
Fulton,  Hare,  Day,  and  Silliman,  m  natu- 
ral philosophy  ;  of  Jay,  Story,  Marshall, 
and  Kent, as  jurists;  of  Wayland,  Vothake, 
Channing,  Upham,  Sparks,  Jarvis,  Wil- 
son, and  Potter,  as    political    and  moral 
writers  ;  of  Dwight,  Barlow,  Longfellow, 
Bryant,  Willis,  Whittier,  and  Halleck,  as 
poets  ;  of  Forrest,  Murdock,  Scott,  Booth, 
and  Charlotte  Cushman,  in  the  drama  ;  of 
Payne,  Conrad,  Stone,  and  Bird,  as  tragic 
composers ;  of  Irving,  Cooper,  and  Neal, 
as   novelists;   of    Bancroft,    Miner,   and 
Prescott,  as  historians  ;  and  of  West,  Al- 
ston, and  Sully,  as  artists. 

France  also  attests  the  same  fact,  by 
the  researches  of  Esquiroll,  Arago,  and 
Guizot,  in  the  natural  sciences  ;  and  by 
the  works  of  Thiers,  Dumas,  Sue,  Bernard, 
Fevel,  and  Scribe,  in  polite  and  elegant 
literature. 

The  greatest  impulse  has  been  given  to 
the  advance  of  the  arts  and  the  improve- 
ment of  the  age,  by  the  liberal  and  foster- 
ing course  of  policy  pursued  by  Louis 
Philippe  in  relation  to  inventions,  and  in 
the  cases  of  learned  men  ;  such  a  course, 
in  fact,  as  must  to  all  ages  rank  that  mon- 
arch among  tlie  greatest  patrons  of  science 
that  Europe  has  ever  produced. 

Germany  still  maintains  the  elevated 
position  as  a  scientific  nation,  which  she 
has  held  for  ages,  and  by  tae  works  o 
Von  Savigny  and  Gans,  Raumer  and 
Rotteck,  Grabbe  and  Brentano,  Heine 
and  Pichler,  MuUerand  Wurm,  has  great- 
ly contributed  to  the  common  stock  of  the 
republic  of  letters ;  while  Italy  and  the 
northern  powers,  though  politically  check- 
ed and  severed  by  the  interposition  of  her 
Austrian  and  Prussian  influences,  cultivate 
a  literature  in  common  with  her,  in  all  Us 


departments.  Though  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  among  all  these  nations  there 
is  a  greater  desire  to  imitate  the  English 
standards  than  to  elevate  their  own,  which 
has  the  sanction  of  the  past  in  its  recom- 
mendation. The  long  and  devastating 
civil  wars  which  have  raged  throughout 
the  peninsula  of  Europe,  have  produced 
their  necessarily-retarding  indnences  upon 
the  cause  of  science,  the  progress  and 
improvement  of  which  this  plane  had  been 
previously  hailed  with  great  delight  by  its 
friends  and  patrons  throughout  Christen- 
dom. 

The   present   century   has   been,    and 
still  continutes  to  be,  remarkably  prolific 
in  the  means  for  the  diffusion  of  useful 
knowledge.     Institutions  adapted  to  this 
end,  have  sprung  up,  both  in  Europe  and 
America.     Of  this  description  are  the  as- 
sociations  for   the    founding  of  libraries 
designed  to  circulate  among  the   masses 
of  society  ;  the  publication  of  magazines 
upon  a  principle  of  cheapness,  wliich  en- 
sures the  possession  of  them  by  the  hum- 
blest members  of  society  ;  the  dissemina- 
tion of  religious  knowledge   among  the 
savage  and  pagan  portions  of  our  race,  and 
for  the  establishment  of  those  noiseless 
agents  for  good — the  sabbath  schools — 
which  are  now  pervading  every  part  of 
the    world.      In    the    prolestant    United 
States    of    America,    the    most    efficient 
means  have  been  taken  in  this  great  work, 
by'  the   endowment,  at   public    expense, 
of  colleges   and  seminaries   of  learning, 
as  well  as  by  the  adoption  of  the  certain 
means  of  information,  in  the  <  r 'ition  of 
public  schools,  in  most  of  the  states,  sup- 
ported by  a  direct  tax  upon  the  citizens, 
and  an  annual   legislative  uppropriation. 
Some  portions  of  the  British  possessions 
in  North  America  have  followed  this  no- 
ble example  ;  and  to  a  mind  which  has 
contemplated    th«   incrcKsing    thirst    for 
knowledge,   and    for   years    marked   the 
course  of  the  catholic  republics  of  South 
America,  as  evinced  by  the  large  number 
of  students,  which  flock  thence    to  the 
colleges  of  the  United  States,  the  convic- 
tion that  they  will  eventually  adopt  the 
same  '     at   and  certain   means  of  per- 
petuating their  freedom,  contain  nothing 
novel  or  at  variance  with  the  process  of 
fair  reasoning. 


F>-''s««a!Q3t:i€4^€^»««^»4^SMKK^t(3%!fea99ti 


uWWmiii  I]  ir<»JM«trfitowMmiiw.jijritg 


If  must  be  con- 
lese  nations  there 
litate  th«  Enttlish 
)  tlu'ir  own,  wliich 
past  in  its  rccom- 
and  devastatin;^ 
raged  throu};ho\it 
(o,  have  produced 
n{Tiriniit>nces  upon 
the  progress  and 
his  plaee  had  been 
great  delight  by  its 
oughout  Christon- 


y  has  been,  and 
•emarkably  prolilic 
diffusion  of  useful 
ns  adapted  to  this 
oth  in  Europe  and 
cri|)tion  are  the  as- 
indiiig  of  libraries 
among  the  masses 
lation  of  magazines 
eapness,  wliich  en- 
f  them  by  the  hum- 
\\y  ;  the  dissemina- 
w ledge  among  the 
ions  of  our  race,  and 
of  those   noiseless 

sabbath  schools — 
iding  every  part  of 

prolestant  United 
the  most  efficient 
nin  this  great  work, 
at  public  expense, 
naries  of  learning, 
piion  of  the  certain 
,  in  the  cr -ation  of 
3t  of  the  states,  sup- 
s  upon  the  citizens, 
lative  appropriation. 

British  possessions 
vc  followed  this  no- 

a  mind  which  has 
icreiising    thirst    for 

years  marked  the 
:  republics  of  South 
by  the  large  number 
flock  thence  to  the 
id  States,  the  convic- 
Bventually  adopt  the 
•tain  means  of  per- 
lom,  contain  nothing 

with  the  process  of 


OCTOUER. 


925 


OCTOBER. 


OTOBEH,  so  na- 
med from  the  two 
liMtin   words,   oclo 
and  («(/;^T,  although 
it  is  now  the  tt-nth 
month  in  our  calen- 
dar, was   inrmerly 
the  niifhth   in  the 
cal-^ndar  of  Ronuilus  :  by  our  Saxon  an- 
cestors called  Wi/n-7iioit(ii,m  wine  month. 
Tiie  great  business  of  nature   with  re- 
.spect    to    the   vegetable   creation  at   this 
.seasim,  is  dissemination.      Plants    having 
gone   through    the   progressive    stages  of 
springing,  flowering,  and  seeding,  have  at 
li-ngtii  brought  to  mat\irity  the  rudiments 
of  a  I'uiure  progeny,  wliich  are  now  to  be 
committed  to  the  fostering  bosom  of  the 
earth.     This  being  done,  the  parent  vege- 
table, if  of  the   herbaceous   kind,   either 
totally  dies,  or  perishes  as  far  as  it  rose 
above  ground  ;  if  a  tree  or  shrub,  it  loses 
all  its  tender  parts  which  the  spring  and 
summer  had  put  forth.      Seeds  are  scat- 
tered  by  the  hand  of  nature  in  various 
manners.     The  winds,  which  at  this  time 
arise,  disperse  far  and  wide  many  seeds 
v.hich  are  curiously  furnished  with  feath- 
ers or  wings    for  this   purpose.     Hence 
plants  with  such  seeds   are,  of  all,  the 
most  universally  to  be  met  with  ;  as  dan- 
delion, groundsel,  ragwort,  and   thistles. 
Other  seeds  by  the  means  of  hooks,  lay 
hold   of  passing   animals,  and    are   thus 
carried  to  distant  places.     The  common 
burs   are    examples  of  this   contrivance. 
Many  are  contained  in  berries,  which  be- 
ing ealen  by  birds,  the  seeds  are  discharg- 
ed again  uninjured,  and  grow  where  they 
happen  to  fall.     Thus  carefully  has  nature 
provided  for  the  distribution  and  propaga- 
tion of  plants. 

The  gloom  of  the  falling  year  is  in  soine 
measure  enlivened,  during  this  month  es- 
pecially, by  the  variety  of  colors,  some 
lively  and  beautiful,  put  on  by  the  fading 
leaves  of  trees  and  shrubs. 

It  is  just  at  this  point  of  time,  when 
the  trees  and  shrubs  exhibit  such  a  varie- 
ty of  tints,  that  landscape  painters  are 
particularly  fond  of  exercising  their  art. 

To  these  temporary  colors  are  added 
the  more  durable  ones  of  ripened  berries, 


a  vaiietyof  which  now  enricliour fields  and 
pastures.  Anionu  these  are  pariiciilarly 
distinguished  the  hip,  the  fruit  nf  the  wild 
rose  ;  the  haw,  of  the  bawihorn  ;  the 
blackberry,  of  the  bramble  ;  ami  the  l)er- 
ries  of  the  alder,  Indly,  and  woody  night- 
shade, and  of  the  spindle-tree,  the  last  of 
a  most  beautiful  color.  These  are  a  prov- 
idential supply  for  the  birds  during  the 
wimer  season  ;  and  it  is  said  thai  tiny  are 
most  |)lenlifiil  when  the  ensuing  winter  is 
to  be  most  severe. 

The  common  martin,  whoso  nest,  hunn 
under  the  eaves  of  our  houses,  afl'ords  so 
agr»?eable  a   spectacle   of   parental    fond- 
ness and  assiduity,  usually  disappears  in 
October.      As    this,    though    one    of   the 
smallest  of  the    swallow-kind,  slays   the 
latest,    its   emigration  to  distant  climates 
is   less   probable  than  that  of  the  others. 
The  sand-martin,  which  breeds  in  holes 
in   the  sandy   banks  of  rivers,  and  about 
clifl's  and  quarries,  most  probably  passes 
the  winter  in  a  torpid  Mate  in  those  holes. 
The  weather  about  this  time  is  some- 
times extremely  misty,  sviih  aperfect  calm. 
The  ground  is  covered  with  spider's  webs 
innumerable,  crossing  the  path,  and  ex- 
pended from  one  shrub  to  another.     It  is 
a  frequent  appearance  in  this  season,  and 
a  certain  indication  of  a  tine  and  warm  day. 
Mr.  While  gives  the  following  account 
of  them,  in  his  history  of  Selborne:    "The 
remark  that  I  shall  make  on  these  cobweb- 
like appearances,  called  gossamer,  is,  that 
strange   and   superstitious  as  the  notions 
about  them  were  formerly,  nobody  in  these 
days  doubts  but  they  are  the  real  produc- 
tion of  small  spiders,  which  swarm  in  the 
fields  in  fine  weather  in  autumn,  and  have 
a  power  of  shooting  out  webs  from  their 
tails,  so  as  to  render  themselves  buoyant 
and  lighter  than  air.     Every  day  in  fine 
weather,  in  autumn  chiefly,  do  1  see  those 
spiders  shooting  out  their  webs  and  mount- 
ing  aloft;    they    will   go   oil"  from    your 
fin'ger,  if  vou  will  take   them   Into  your 
hand." 

These  webs  are  often  formed  into  long 
white  filaments,  and  may  be  set'ii  tlouting 
in  the  air ;  to  this  appearance  Shakspere 
alludes  •-- 

"  A  lover  may  bestriito  tlie  t;ossaiiiiT  _ 

'Iliat  idled  in  tlio  \vaiiti»i  sin er  lur, 

And  yet  not  lull,  so  lib'lit  ia  vai.ily." 


■Wr 


-,'"- 

■  1       1  ■  ■ 

•i 

ill 

1 

8 

till 

4^ 

^! 

-n.p! 

'"•>»«<  t 

iH0l 

^r*^< 

MK 

0mt 

"^<^^ 


' '  I  inil- 


i 


926 


THE  NEWFOUNDLA.^.)  DOO. 


THE  NEWFOUNDLAND  DOG. 


ji^  HIS   powerful,  intol 
r^yligeiit,  and  docile  ani 
mal,  which  in  its  un 
mixed    state    is    cer 
tainly  the  noblest  ofi 
the  canine  tribe,  is  a  | 
native  of  the  country 
^  the  name  of  which  it 

bears,  and  may  be  considered  as  a  distinct 
race.  Its  introduction  into  this  country 
is  of  comparatively  recent  d  t..  ;  and  the 
fine  animal  kn-.wn  to  us  by  I'nc  name  o 
Newfoundland  dog  is  only  half-brt  d,  and 
of  size  inferior  to  the  dog  in  us  native 
state,  when  it  measures  about  six  feet  and 
a  half  from  the  nose  to  the  extremity  of 
the  tail,  the  length  of  which  is  two  feet. 
In  its  own  country  it  only  barks  when 
greatly  irritated,  uid  then  with  a  mani- 
festly painful  effort,  producing  a  sound 
which  is  described  as  particularly  harsh. 
Its  exemption  from  hydrophobia  in  New- 
foundland  appears  to   be  well   auihenti- 

The  dog  is  employed  by  the  settlers  as 
a  be  ■  -.  of  burthen  in  drawing  wood  from 
the  ■:!>*.*  vi.^r  to  the  coast.     Three  or  lour 
of  (Ijr  r,  vuked  to  a  sledgo  will  draw  two 
or  tivf'Jd"  hundred  weight  of  wood  with 
^'-.yj.x   !",;cilitv  for  several  miles.     In  this 
servirv  , hey  are  said  to  be  so  sagacious 
and  willing  as  to  need  no  driver  or  guide  ; 
but,  having  delivered  their  burden,  return 
without  delay  to  the  woods  in  the  expecta- 
tion of  receiving  some  food  in  recompense 
for  their  labor.     From  the  activity  of  his 
di3position,the  Newfoundland  dog  delights 
in  being  employed ;  and  the  pride  ol  be- 
ing  useful   makes  him   take    uncomnrion 
pleasure  in  carrying  in  his  mouth  for  miles 
baskets  and  other   articles,  of  which,  as 
well  from  that  satisfaction  as  from  the 
fidelity  of  his  character,  it  would  be  dan- 
gerous for  a  stranger  to  dispute  possession 
with  him.     In  many  respects  he  may  be 
considered  as  a  valuable  substitute  for  the 
mastiff  as  a  house-dog. 

The  Newfoundland  dog  is  easily  satis- 
fied in  his  food.  He  is  fond  of  fish, 
whether  fresh  or  dried  ;  and  salt  meat  or 
fish  is  more  acceptable  to  hui  thati  to 
most  other  animals,  as  well  as  boiled 
potatoes   and   cabbage.      When  hungry, 


however,  ho  has  not  vory  strong  scruplr^ 
about  appro|)riaiiiig  such  tlesh  or  fish  as 
tails  in  hi^  vay,  or  even  of  destroying 
poultry  or  iieei  For  ibf  blood  of  ili« 
Ittiier  anim  .,   h(  much  appetii.-,  and 

sucks  it  from  thu  m.^l  v  ithoul  leeding 
on  the  cfircass. 

It  in  well  known  that  th.    Newfound- 
land dog   '  ui   «wiin  very  ii'^t,  dive  wiih 
ease,  and  bring  thin  ^s  up  from  the  bottom 
of  the  water.     Other  <<  gs  can  swim,  but 
not  so  willingly,  or  so  well.     This  suijc 
rioritv   he  (iwes   to  the  8lru<  ture  of  the 
foot,  which  is  s    ni-webbed   between  the 
toes  ;  thus  presemin).'  w  extended  surface 
lo  press  away  the  water  from  liohind,  and 
th,  n  collapsing  when  it  is  dra«u  forward, 
previous    to    making   the    siruke.      This 
property,  joined    lo  m    'h  courage,  and  a 
generous  disposition,  i    :ibies  this  dog  to 
render   those    important    st-rvices         the 
preservation  of  endangered  iife,  ('    .  hich 
such  numerous    instances      'e    recorded, 
and  of   which  our  engraviuij    affords  an 
illustration. 

A  Newfoundland  dog.  k  pt  at  the  ferry- 
house  at  Worcester,  was  rumo,.s  for  hav- 
ing, at  different  periods,  saved  three  per- 
sons from  drowning  ;  and  so  fond  was  he 
of  the  water,  that  he  seemt  1  to  consider 
any  disinclination  for  it  in  other  dogs  as 
an  insult  on  the  species.     If  a  dog  was 
left  on  the  bank  by  its  master,  and,  m  the 
idea  that  it  vould  be  obliged  to  follow  the 
boat  across  the  river,  which  is  but  narrow, 
stood  yelping  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps, 
unwilling  to  take  the   water,  the   New- 
foundland veteran  would  go  down  to  him, 
and  with  a  satirical  growl,  as  if  m  mock- 
ery, take  him  by  the  back  of  the  neck  and 
throw  him  into  the  stream. 

A  native  of  Germany,  fond  of  travelling, 
was  pursuing  his  course  through  Holland, 
accompanied  by  a  large  Newfoundland 
dog.  Walking  one  evening  on  a  high 
bank,  which  formed  one  side  of  a  dike,  or 
canal,  so  common  in  that  country,  his  foot 
slipped,  and  he  was  precipitated  into  the 
water,  and,  being  unable  to  swim,  he  soon 
became  senseless.  When  he  recovered 
his  recollection,  he  found  himself  in  a 
cottage  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  dike  to 
that  from  which  he  had  fallen,  surrounded 
by  peasants,  who  had  been  using  the  means 
so  generally  practised  in  that  country  for 


J 


HMHMI 


1 


ry  strong  scruplp'^ 
■h  flesh  or  fish  as 
,011  of  (lesiroyiiig 
•  thn  bioDil  i>r  the 
luch  appetilf,  ami 
u  V  ithout  feeding 


at  th 


Newfouncl- 
ury  ,  i-ii,  dive  wi  h 
up  from  the  b(»iioin 
■  -.gs  can  swim,  but 
well.     This  supe- 
e  BlrvKture  of  the 
hbed   between  the 
i!i  extended  siirf;n:< 
ir  from  behind,  and 
t  is  drawn  forward, 
the    8tri)ko.      This 
ich  courage,  and  a 
..lables  this  <l'>g  to 
nt    stTvices         the 
lered     fe,  lich 

ices       '       I  corded, 
igravi.        tfords  an 


fl 


^  ■' 


*:j«.- 


fcf»        -»  vryi' 


■  II  liiiindi' 


928 


HEUOKB. 


rpatorinjr  nnlmiuion.  The  arcoiint  given 
liy  ilio  pea.Mimis  w;is,  tluit  tmo  <>f  lliPin  tp- 
tiirniii;.'  h<imo  frmn  his  labor,  ohscrvj'd.  at 
a  ciinsi(l«Tal)le  distance,  a  larue  ilou  in  the 
waipr  8wimniiii|i,'  mid  dragging,  luid  somo- 
tiinrn  pushing,  Honicthing  vvhirh  h«i  sonm- 
.m!  ti)  liav»i  great  difTu  tdty  in  Hupporling, 
hilt  which  ho  at  length  auccet-ded  in  gt-t- 
ting  into  a  Binnll  creolt  on  the  opposite 
side  to  that  on  which  the  men  were. 

When  the  animal  had  pulled  what  he 
hud  hitherto  supported,  as  far  out  of  ihe 
water  as    he  was  able,  the  peasant  dis- 
covered that  it  was  the  body  of  a  man. 
'  The  dog,  having  shaken  himself,  began 
industriously  to  lick  the  hands  and  face 
of  his  master,  while  the  rustic  hastened 
across  ;  and,  having  obtained  assistance, 
the  body  was  conveyed  to  a  neighboring 
hcmse,  where  the  usual  means  of  resuscita- 
tion soon  restored  him  to  sense  and  recol- 
lection.    Two  very  considerable  bruises, 
with  the  marks  of  teeiii,  appeared,  one  on 
his  shoulder,  the  other  on  the  niipo  of  the 
neck  ;  whence  it  was  presumed  that  the 
faithful  animal  first  seized  his  master  by 
the  shoulder,  and  swam  with  him  in  this 
manner  for  some  time  ;   but  that  his  sa- 
gacity had  prompted  him  to  let  go  his  hold, 
and  shift  his  grasp  to  the  neck,  by  which 
he  had  been  enabled  to  support  the  heud 
out  of  the   water.     It  was   in  the  latter 
position  that  the  peasant  observed  the  dog 
making  his  way  along  the  dike,  which  it 
appeared  he  had  done  for  a  distance  of 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile.     It  is  there- 
fore  probable   that   this  gentleman  owed 
his  life  as  much  to  the  sagacity  as  to  the 
fidelity  of  his  dog. 


HEROES. 


AKING  the  du- 
ration of  the 
fame  or  notori- 
ety of  heroes 
a  distinguishing 
characteristic  of 
the  tribe,  we 
shall  find  this 
description  of  ; 
persons  exhibiting  a  very  remarkable  sort ', 


of  variety.  Descending  from  ihowe  L'i- 
I'ni'lic  forms  wliicli  hold  ihe  world  in  awe, 
we  sbiill  lind  them  "  growing  hiikiII  by  ile- 
grees  and  beaniU'iilly  less."  'i'lien-  is  ilie 
hero  of  all  time,  the  hent  of  a  pariieuhir 
period  or  epoch,  the  hero  of  .•\  twelve- 
monih,  the  hero  of  a  week,  of  a  day,  of  an 
hour,  nay,  there  is,  for  we  have  often  seen 
him,  the  hero  of  n  minute.  Hii  is  short- 
lived fame  indeed,  but  enough  to  satinfy 
some  ambitions.  We  have  known  the 
hero  of  a  minute  very  proud  of  liis  brief 
notoriety,  although  ho  had  hardly  time  to 
taste  tht  intoxicating  beverage  before  its 
towering  effervescence,  its  deceitful  froth, 
had  vanished,  leaving  behind  only  a  little 
va|)id  moisture. 

The  hero  of  all  time  is  generally  a  great 
warrior — a  mighty  manslayer— one  who 
has  laid  countries  waste,  and  filled  many 
lands  with  the  lamentations  of  widows  and 
fatherless  children — a  sort  of  personage 
for  whom  the  world  entertains  an  extra- 
ordinary reverence  and  respect. 

The  hero  of  a  particular  period  or  epoch 
is  generally  a  statesman  of  an  amount  of 
talent  or  force  of  character  suflficient  to 
keep  the  world  talking  oi'  him  while  he 
lives,  but  not  enough  to  keep  him  in  its 
remembrance  after  ho  is  dead. 

The  hero  of  a  twelvemonth  is,  for  the 
most  part,  a  political  one — a  gentleman 
who  has  taken  the  popular  side  of  some 
rather  toughish  popular  question,  and  has 
advocated  it  with  vigor — a  bustling,  loud 
speaking,  energetic  fellow,  with  a  capital 
front,  whom  nothing  can  daunt,  who  tri- 
umphs in  victory,  but  who  is  never  abash- 
ed by  defeat. 

The  hero  of  a  week  is  also  a  political 
one.  He  is  a  gentleman  who  has  said 
some  .strong  things  on  some  agitating  topic 
of  the  day,  but  who  is  never  heard  of  again. 
He  came  suddenly  into  the  world's  pres- 
ence, and  as  suddenly  made  his  exit.  No- 
body can  tell  where  he  goes  to,  but  the 
darkness  in  which  he  is  enshrouded  is  so 
intense,  that  he  seems  to  have  sunk,  as  it 
were,  into  a  sea  of  pitch  or  tar,  thick, 
dense,  impenetrable. 

The  remaining  classes  ot'  hero'i*  .n^ 
men  of  local  notorieiy.  The  field  oi  ih.  ir 
fame  is  small ;  but  they  themselves  do  not 
look  a  bit  smaller  on  that  account.  T'.-o 
eyes  with  which  they  contemplate  their 


.-J 


MMM 


amm 


tmMi 


from  i!ii>Hn  i<i- 
ho  \v(irl(l  ill  nwt', 
■iiig  ftmall  Jiv  ili'- 
."  'I'li.Tc  is  t!i(. 
[»  of  n  p;iriiciil;ir 
•w  of  a  twelvc- 
k.  of  a  (Ifiy,  of  ail 
i  liavo  often  st'cn 
3.  Mil  is  short- 
enough  to  siilisry 
have  ki)(»wi>  th») 
roiul  of  his  hrief 
1(1  hardly  time  to 
vcm^o  hpfore  its 
Its  decpitfiil  froth, 
ihind  only  a  little 

generally  a  groat 
siayfir — one  who 
,  and  filled  many 
ns  of  widows  and 
ort  of  per8ona<,'e 
ertaiiis  an  extra- 
respect. 

ir  period  or  epoch 
1  of  an  amount  of 
icter  sufficient  to 

of  him  while  he 
)  keep  him  in  its 

dead, 
imonth  is,  for  the 
•ne — a  )_'onllenian 
liar  side  of  some 
question,  and  has 
— a  bustling,  loud 
ow,  with  a  capital 
■u  daunt,  who  Iri- 
lio  is  never  abash- 

is  also  a  political 
lan  who  has  said 
nine  agitaiinf;  topic 
ver  heard  of  again, 
the  world's  pre^- 
lade  his  exit.  No- 
5  goes  to,  but  the 
s  enshrouded  is  so 
to  have  sunk,  as  it 
itch  or  tar,  thick, 


ses  of  hero'i*  .■.►)  j 
The  field  oi  ih.  ir    1 
y  themselves  do  not 
hat  account.     Tlse 
contemplate  their 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


// 


7, 


III 


1.0 


I.I 


2.0 


■  50 

vx 

Itt 


l-LO 


1.8 


L25  iil.4   11.6 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.f.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


4^ 


iMSiaitaiUIAifct.^ 


<:. 


Us 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Instltut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


:\ 


\ 


6^ 


•il.^ 


J. 


ADAM'S  PEAK,  IN  THE  ISLAND  OF  CEYLON. 


929 


own  greatness  have  a  magnifying  power 
which    gives  them  a  very  pleasant   and 
comfonabhi  view  of  iheir  own  importance. 
The  hero  of  a  day  and  the  hero  of  an 
hour  being  much  alike  in  their  leading 
characteristics,  we  do  not  think  it  neces- 
sary to  treat  them  separately.     They  arc 
gen-.iemen  who,  to  the  astonishment  of  all 
who  knew  them,  and  to  the  no  small  as- 
tonishment of  themselves    have  made  a 
pithy  speech  at  a  public  meeting.     They 
have  knocked  the  arguments  of  the  oppo- 
sing party  to  shivers,  and  shown  clearly 
how  supremely  ridiculous  their  ideas  on 
the  subject  were.     The  speech  is  quite  a 
hit,  and  creates  a  prodigious  sensation  at 
the  moment.     On  the  breaking  up  of  the 
assembly  the  successful  orator  is  pointed 
out,  and  on  every  side  we  hear,  in  low 
whispers,  "  There  he  is !    there  he  is  !-- 
that's  him  !   that's  him  !"     The  succeed- 
ing night,  however,  alas  !    sleeps  all  this 
reputation  away ;  and  by  the  morning  both 
speech  and  speaker  have  beer,  all  but  utter- 
ly forgotten.  . 

Then  there  is  the  hero  of  a  minute,  the 
most   amusing  of  the    whole   fi'e.     We 
might  adduce  many  specimens  of  tho  class 
to  which  he  belongs  :  one  may  be  quite 
suflicient  to  convey  a  pretty  correct  idea 
of  him.     You  have  no  idea,  gentle  reader, 
who  he  can  possibly  be— what  sort  of  feat 
it  is  that  gives  birth  to  a  fame  so  evanescent 
_so   very  short-lived.     Have  you   ever 
been  to  a  very  crowded  meeting  in  a  very 
hot  day,  perhaps  in  July  or  August,  when 
everything  is  glowing,  melting,  burning, 
perspiring— when  you  might  broil  steaks 
on  the  slates  of  your  own  or  any  other 
house— when  vegetation  is  burnt  up,  every 
blade  of  grass  looking  like  a  brass  wire- 
when  running  streams  become  weak  and 
sickly,  their  lively  brawling  subsiding  into 
a  feeble  and   scarcely  audible  trickle- 
when  every  tongue  is  parched,  and  every 
living  thing  tortured  by  an  unendurable 
ihirst :  have  you,  dear  reader,  ever  been 
to    such  a  meeting  under  such  circum- 
stancps  ?     The  heat  of  the  place  is  sti- 
fling,  the  crushing  and  squeezing  dreadful 
_a  feeling  of  sulTocation  oppresses  the 
whole  assembly ;  you  think  of  the  black- 
hole  of  Calcutta,  of  the  horrors  of  which 
you  never  had  half  so  lively  an  idea  be- 
fore      All  of  a  sudden  you  hear  some  one 


call  out  in  a  loud,  determined  lone—"  Let 
down  the  windows!"     You  look    in   the 
direction  of  the  voice,  and  perceive  a  liiilc 
stout  man,  with  a  very  red  faee,  the  per- 
spiration streaming  down  his  cheeks,  and 
his  eyes  starting  from  their  soc^kets,  who 
has  contrived  to  raise  himself  by  some 
means  or  other  above  the  level  of  the  as- 
semblage, and  is  making  desperate  efforts 
to  reach  one  of  the  windows.     All  eyes 
are  fixed  upon  him,  and  an  expression  of 
approbation   of    the    daring   little    man's 
temerity  is  on  every  countenance.     That 
daringlittle  man— he  who  shouted,  "Down 
with  the  windows!"  and  who   afterward 
seemed  to  stand  aghast  at  his  own  courage 
I  — is  the  hero  of  a  minute ! 


ADAM'S  PEAK,  IN  THE  ISLAND  OF 
CEYLON. 


VERY  amusing 
collection  might 
be  made  of  the 
wonderful  and 
fabulous  accounts 
of  this  i.iountain, 
given  at  difTerent 
ages  of  the  world, 
by  pagan,  Chris- 
tian, mussulman,  and  Hindoo  travellers  ; 
but  it  will  be  more  instructive  to  our  read- 
ers to  give  them  an  accurate  description 
of  the  spot.  . 

The  peak  has  always  been  considered 
as  a  holy  mount,  a  pilgrimage  to  which 
was  highly  meritorious  and  biMeficial.  It 
is  sharp  like  a  sugar-loaf,  and  on  the  top 
a  flat  stone  with  the  print  of  a  foot  like  a 
man's  on  it,  but  far  bigger,  being  about 
two  feet  long.  The  people  of  this  land 
count  it  meritorious  to  go  and  worship  this 
impression;  and  generally  about  their 
new  year,  which  is  in  March,  they,  men, 
women,  and  children,  go  up  this  vast  and 
high  mountain  to  worship. 

Its  narrow  apex,  which  is  only  twenty- 
three  paces  long  by  eighteen  broad,  is 
surrounded  by  a  wall,  in  which  there  are 
two  distinct  openings  to  adinit  p.lgnms 
corresponding  to  the  two  tracks  by  wjmh 
alone  the  mountain  can  be  ascended.     1  he 


ij-i"*'** 


p  4>rf 


''■**%.  M 


*'f$. 


■1^' 


I 


,^6-= 


ALPHABETICAL  WRITING. 


931 


elevation  of  this  apex  is  6,800  feet  above  ] 
the  level  of  lUe  ara  ;  the  granitic  peak  or 
cone  restinc  upon  a  very  high  mountain  be- 
lonsinc  to  the  chain  which  forms  the  ram- 
part of  the  upper  country.     Nearly  rn  the 
centre  of  the  enclosed  area  is  a   large 
rock,  one  side  of  which  is  shelving,  and 
can   bo  easily   ascended.     On  t  le  top  of 
this   mass,   there   stands   a  small   square 
wooden  shed,  fastened  to  the  rock,  as  also 
to  the  outer   walls,  by  means  of  heavy 
chains.     This    security   is    necessary  to 
prevent  the  euitice  being  hurled  from  its 
narrow  base  by  the  violence  of  the  winds. 
The  roof  atid  posts  of  this  little  budding, 
which  is  used  to  cover  the  Sri  Fadf,  or 
holv  foot-mark,  was  adorned  with  flowers 
and"  artificial  figures  made  of  party-colored 
cloth.     The    impression   in  the   rock    is 
found  to  have  b^en  formed  in  part  by  the 
chisel,  and  in  part  by  elevating  Us  outer 
border  with  hard  mortar  :  all  the  elevations 
which  mark  the  spaces  between   the  toes 
of  the  foot  have  been  made  of  limo  and 
sand.     The  impression,  which  is  hve  feet 
and  a  half  long,  two  feet  and  a  half  broad,  . 
and  from   one  and  a  half  to  two  inches  i 
deep,  is  encircled  by  a  border  of  gilded 
copper  in  which  are  set  a  few  valueless 
gems.     According  to  the  books  res]-  >cting 
Buddhoo,  it  appears  that  he  stepped  from 
the  top  of  the  peak  to  the  kingdom  ol 
Siam.     The  Buddhists  profess  to  believe 
that  the  impression  is  a  mark  made  by  the 
last  foot  of  Buddhoo  which  lelt  Ceylon. 
We  believe  it  was  the  Arabs,  who  traded 
here  in  very  early  ages,  that  first  changed 
the  hero  of  the  tale,  and   gave  the  foot- 
mark to  Adam,  our  first  father. 


ALPHABETICAL  WRITING. 


L 


T  is  evident  that  the  first 
and  most  obvious  mode 
by  which  thought  can 
be  expressed  and  con- 
veyed to  the  eye,  is  by 
the  representation  of  ac- 
tual objects.  Hence 
the  species  of  writing 
which  the  learned  have 
termed  ideographic,  that  is,  in  which  knowl- 


edge is  conveyed,  first,  by  repnsentations 
of   the  objects  of  thought;  secondly,  by 
symbols.     The  origin  of  designing  is  co- 
eval with  that  of  mankind  ;  and  men  ear- 
ly availed  themselves  of  this  art  to  make 
their  thoughts  visible.     To  make  it  be  un- 
derstood, for  example,  that  one  man  killed 
another,  they  drew  the  figure  of  a  dead 
man  stretched  on  the  ground,  and  of  anoth- 
'  er   standing   by  him   upriuht,   with   some 
;  deadly  weapon  in  his  hand.     To  let  it  be 
'  known  that  some  one  had  arrived  by  sea, 
*  they  drew  the  figure  of  a  man  disembarking 
■  from  a  ship,  and  so  on.     This  kind  of  wri- 
tin■^  if  we  may  so  employ  the  word,  was 
very  earlvused  in  Egypt,  and  most  proba- 
bly, also.'in  most  of  the  ancient  nations.^ 

In  Greek,  the  word  graphcin  signifies 
indiU'erenlly  either   to  write  or  to  paint. 
In   Mexico,  when  the    Spaniards  landed, 
i  the  inhabitants   conveyed   intelligence  of 
i  the  event  to  Montezuma  by  sending  him 
a  large   ch)th,  on    which    they   carefully 
painted  what  they  had  seen.     It  is  uniie- 
cessary  to  i'v..  t'on  the  difliculty  and   in- 
convenience   (-1    this  method  of    writing  ; 
and  to  lessen  these,  recourse  was  had  to 
the  symbolic  or  emblematic  variety  of  id- 
eographic writing.     In  this  method  abbre- 
viations or  characteristic  parts  w.-re  intro- 
duced instead  of  the  cniirc  object.     'I'hus, 
the   ancient   Egyitians  «re  said   to  have 
I  represented  a  siege  "  scali.g-ladder  ; 

a  battle,  by  two  ham.      x  d    g  a  buckler 
and  a  bow,  &c.     Abstract  .oeas  wore,  al- 
so, reprt^sented  bv  symbols,  or  sensible  ob- 
Ijecis,  suppiised  to  have  a  certain  analogy 
,10  them  :  as,  ingratitude  by  a  viper,  provi- 
dence by  an  eye,  the  head  of  a  hawk,  &c. 
From  ideographic  was  derived  syllabic 
writing.    It  must  have  been  early  remarked 
that  the  sounds  formed  by  the  voice  m 
speaking  are  articulate  and  well-defined  : 
and  the  idea  occurred  of  endeavoring  to 
represent  such  sounds  by  appropriate  signs. 
Thus  the  word  republic,  in  th-  writing  ot 
which  we  use  eight  letters,  would  be  writ- 
ten with  three  syllabic  cliaracters.     J  lie 
President  de  Goguet  suspects  that  origin- 
ally all  the  Asiatic  nations,  known  to  the 
ancients  under  the  names  of  Syrians  and 
Assyrians,  used  the  syllabic  mode  ol  wri- 
ting.    We  may,  he  thinks,  discern  the  ves- 
lioes  of  this  in  an  ancient  tradition,  which 
ascribes  the  invention  of  writing  to  the 


( ■  ii»ii« 


932 


ALPHABETICAL  \V11ITING. 


Syrians  ;  but  acknowledges  that  the  PhcB- 
„icians  impr..v.d,  made  it  more  simple, 
an.l  hrought  the  characters  to  perfection. 
lUit  this  mode  of  writing,  though  a  vast 
inmrovement  on  .vhat  is  purely  uleograph- 
ic,  is  still  very  imperfect  and  cumbersome 
The  vast  number  of  characters  required 
in  It  overburdens  the  memory,  and  occa- 
sions the  greatest  confusion.      1  he  exisW 
n.r  hnsiuage  of  the   Chinese,  which  is 
panly  ideographic  and  par.  y  «yH-bic  is 
L  example  of  this.     In  it  there  are  a  cer- 
tain number  of  elementary  signs  or  keys 
(uvo   hundred   and   fourteen)    which   are 
stricilv  hieroglyphic  or  symbolical ;  that 
is.  they  are   abridged  representations  o 
vilihle  objects.     From  these  two  hundred 
and  fourteen  elements  all  the  characters  of 
the  language  (80,000  it  is  said)  are  formed 
bv  varying  and  combining  their  figures; 
every    compound   character    representing 
one  or  mole  syllables  having  a  distinct 

"'•fhe  defects  incident  to  ideographic  and 
syllabic  writing  being  thus  obvious,  inge- 
nious individuals  would  early  endeavor  to 
find  out  some  simple  and  precise  me  hod 
of  commu.acaling  their   ideas.     And   at 
le„.'ih  the  method  of  alphabetic  writing, 
the'I'reatestof  all  inventions  made  by  man 
and%vhich  has  been  the  great  instrument 
of  his  civilization,  was  introduced  and  per- 
fected.    In  this  method  syllab.es  are  de- 
composed into  their  elemen  s  :  and  the  few 
simple  sounds  emitted  by  the  voice  being 
represented  each  by  its  appropriate  mark 
or  letter,  syllables  and  words  are  formed 
Ty  their  cLbina.ion  ;  the  latter  serving 

not  only  to  describe  external  .ibjec  s,  bu 
"o  dep.c^t  the  workings  of  the  mind,  and 
every  shade  and  variety  of  thought. 

Before  entering  into  the  much-disputed 

question  respecting  the  origin  of  this  mode 

3f  writing,  it  is  necessary  to  indicate  he 

new  light^thrown  upon  the  subject  by  the 

recent  discoveries  of  Dr.  Young,  and  more 

especially  of  M.  ChampoUion,  as  to  the 

phonetic  writing  of  the  Egyptians.     We 

K  already  seen  that  the  hieroglyph.cal 

characters  of  that  people  denoted,  m  the 

fi  St    place,   objects    either   of    sense   or 

thought;  that  is,  they  were  ideographic^ 

But,  according  to  the  new   theory    they 

cane    in    the'course  of  time  to  denote 

sounds;   and   those   not  syllabic   mere- 


ly    but   alphabetical.      For  example,  the 
Egyptian  word  Ahom  signified  an  eaule  ; 
therefore,    stood   .'or   the    letter    A,  with 
which  that  word  begins.— B  was  repre- 
sented by  a  censer  (Berbe).     U    some- 
times by  a  mouth  (Ro),  sometimes  by  a 
tear  (Rim6).     According  to  the  views  of 
these  recent  discoverers,  a  great  propor- 
tion of  the  inscriptions  on  Egyptian  monu- 
ments and  papyri  are  partly  ideographic, 
partly  alphabetical  ;  i.  e.  some  cli^.racters 
represent  objects  or  ideas  ;  and  these  are 
intermingled  with   others   which  merely 
stand    for  letters.     Dr.  Young,  who  l.rst 
conceived  the  notion  of  the  plumetic  al- 
phabet, imagined  that  it  was  only  employ- 
ed  when  foreign  words  or  names  (as  those 
'  of   Greek  kings),  were  introduced.     M. 
ChampoUion  carried  the  discovery  lurlher, 
and  applied  it  to  the  deciphering  of  words 
and  names  in  the  language  of  the  c..untry. 
The  name  of  the   ancient  king   Sabaco, 
among  others,  being  found  by  this  mode 
of  interpretation,  would  appear  to  show 
that  the  phonetic  writing  was  used  as  early 
as  700  years  B.  C.     It  is  not  withm  our 
present  province  to  discuss  the  question, 
upon  what  ground  of  probability  this  theory 
rests.    But  if  a  complete  phonetic  alphabet 
should   be  discovered,  in  the  language  ot 
that  country  in  which  the  earliest  germs 
of  knowledge  and    civilization    seem    to 
have  been  developed,  it  is  prol)ab  e  that 
we  shall  have  made  a  considerabl«  step 
toward  tracing  the  origin  of  pure  alpha- 
betical writing  in  other  languages.     As  it 
is    although  various  atf  mpts  have  been 
m'ade  to  show  the  symbolical  origin  of  the 
letters  in  the  most  ancient  alphabets,  it 
can  not  be  said  that  any  very  f  "sfactory 
result  has  been  obtained      And   from  the 
total  want  of  all  recorded  knovyledge  con- 
cerning the  invention  of  alphabetical  wri- 
ting, and  the  difBculty  of  accounting  for  it 
on  any  known  principle  of  mental  associa- 
tion,  the  hypothesis  of  divine  revelatiori 
has  obtained  considerable  currency  ;  but 
it  need  hardly  be  observed,  how  ill  such 
a  doctrine  agrees  with  all  ^^o^'^YZ 
by  analogy  of  the  dealings  of  Providence 

with  man. 


It  is  a  common  fault  never  to  be  satis- 
fied with  our  fortune,  nor  dissatisfied  with  , 
our  understanding. 


•r  oxainplo,  t^e 
iiified  an  oaale  ; 
letter    A,    with 
— B  wah  repre- 
rbe).     U    soine- 
somotimiis  'jy  a^ 
to  the  views  of 
a  great  propor- 
Eyyptiaii  nionu- 
rtly  ideographic, 
some  cliaraciers 
J ;  and  these  are 
s   which  merely 
foung,  who  I'lrst 
the  pliiineiic  al- 
K'iLS  only  employ- 
r  names  (as  tliose 
introdnced.     M. 
discovery  further, 
iphering  of  words 
ge  of  the  country, 
jnt  king   Sabaco, 
nd  by  this  mode 
appear  to  show 
was  used  as  early 
is  not  within  our 
:uss  the  question, 
Sability  this  theory 
phonetic  alphabet 
.n  the  language  of 
ho  earliest  germs 
ilization    sceir    to 
t  is  proljable  that 
considerable  step 
lin  of  pure  alpha- 
languages.     As  it 
;tompts  have  been 
lulical  origin  of  the 
icient  alphabets,  it 
y  very  satisfactory 
d.     And   from  the 
,ed  knowledge  con- 
)f  alphabetical  wri- 
of  accounting  for  it 
e  of  mental  associa- 
if  divine  revelation 
oible  currency;  but 
jrved,  how  ill  such 
,  all  that  we  know 
lings  of  Providence 


U  never  to  be  satis- 
nor  dissatisfied  with 


ROTTERDAM. 


933 


ROTTERDAM. 


OTTERD.VM  is  a 
seaport  town,  situa- 
ted on  the  north  bank 
of  the  Meuse,  which 
is  there  about  a  mile 
in  width  ;  it  is  abtmt 
twenty  miles  from  its 
mouth;  twelve  miles 
from  the  Hague,  and 
thirty-six  from  Amsterdam.     The  breadth 
of  the  town  is  traversed  by  the  Rolte  or 
lloter,  a  small  river  which  here  falls  into 
the  Meuse,  and  gives  its  name  'o  the  city. 
About   the  year   1270,  the  town  was 
walled,  and  received  the  title  and  pnvi- 
leges  of  a  city.     The  growth  of  the  town 
to  that  importance  which  it  ultimately  at- 
tained was  very  gradual,  but  took  place 
principally  during  the  period  in  which  the 
united  provinces  were  under  the  yoke  ol 
Spain.     The  other  facts  of  its  history  are 
soon  related.     Twenty-seven  years  after 
the  date   we  have  mentioned,  the  town 
was  taken  by  the  Flemings  ;  and,  in  1418, 
by  Waidegrave,  lord  of  Brederode.      The 
town    was    taken   possession   of  by    the 
French  in  January,  1794  ;  and  it  suffered 
much  in  the  general  decline  of  the  Dutch 
commerce  during  the  long  period  of  war 
which  terminated  in  1815.     If  we  add  to 
this  that  the  town  sustained  much  damage 
in  February,  1825,  in  consequence  of  an 
extraordinary  rise  of  the  waters  of  the 
Meuse,  we  have  exhausted  the  leading 
facts  in  the  history  of  Kolterdam 


Rotterdam    is    built    in  the    form   of   a 
trianulf,  the  largest  side  of  wliirli  rxt-uus 
lor  about  a  mile  and  a  half  along  llie  ri«iii 
bank  of  the  Meuse,  which  hero  rescm  M.- 
an  arm  of  the  sea.     The  town,  as  .livul.i! 
by  its  numerous  canals  into  in>ul;ir  spots 
connected    by    draw-bridges,    necessarily 
resembles    Amsterdam.       Here    also    i.ie 
canals  are  generally  bordered   with  trees, 
a  circumstance   which  gives  lo  the  sea- 
ports   of    Holland    a    vernal    appearance 
which  is  almost  peculiar  to  them.     Tbe 
town  is  not  fortified,  but  it  is  surrounded 
by  a  moat,  and  entered  by  six  gates,  two 
of   which    are   toward   the    water.     'I'lio 
streets  of  the  town  are  in  general,  siraiglit, 
and  long,  but  narrow.     Sevei  l  oi   tlum 
are  so  very  similar,  that   a  stranger  has 
much  difficulty  in  recognising  any  distinc- 
tion.    The  foot  pavement  usually  consists 
of  a' line  of  bricks.     The  long  and  stately 
row  of  houses  facing  the  Meuse.and  called, 
from  its  row  of  trees,  the  "  Boomt.jes,"  is 
the  finest  part  of  the  town,  whether  we 
regard  its  buildings  or  the  pleasant  pros- 
pect over  the  Meuse.     Next  to  the  Booint- 
jes,  the  quay  of  the  Haring  Vleit  is  the 
most  pleasant  place  in  the  city.     Many 
of  the  houses  are  built  of  free-stone,  which, 
not  being  the  produce  of  the  country,  must 
have  been  brought  to  the  spot  at  a  great 
expense.     The  celebrated  Bayle  once  re- 
sided on  this  quay— and  the  spot  on  which 
his  house  stood  is  still   pointed    out   to 
strangers.     The  suburbs  of  Rotterdam  are 
very  pleasant,  and  afford  a  very  favorable 
specimen  of  the  Dutch  taste  in  rural  scene- 
ry.    The  gardens,  upon  a  level  with  the 


of  the  safest  and  most  commodious  har- 
bors in  Europe;  and  the  waters  are  so 
deep,  that  the  largest  vessels  can  come 
and  take  in  or  discharge  their  cargoes  at 
the   warehouses  of  the  merchants  in  the 
midst  of  the  town,  by  means  of  the  nu- 
merous canals  by  which,  even  more  than 
Amsterdam  or  any  other  Dutch  city,  it  is 
intersected.     It  is  owing  to  this  lacility 
that  the  number  of  vessels  which  enter  and 
'  clear  out  yearly  at  Rotterdam  has  generally 
eoualled,  and  often  exceeded,  the  number 
at  Amsterdam,  notwithstanding  the  greater 
wealth  and  population  of  the  latter  port. 


a  mathematician  ;  but  still  their  neatness 
and  luxuriance  leave  a  pleasing  impression 
on  the  mind.     Most  of  the  principal  mer- 
chants of  the  town  have  their  country-seats 
in  the  suburbs.     Upon  most  of  the  gates 
and  houses  there  is  a  motto  indicative  ol 
the  peace  of  mind  of  the  owner,  or  the 
character  of  the  place  ;  such  as  the  fol- 
lowing :  "  Peace  is  iny  garden," — "  Hope 
and  repose,"—"  Almost  out  of  w^^n,"— 
"  Look   upon  those    beneath   you,    (this 
was  inscribed  upon  a  large  house  that 
commanded  some  little  cottages),  "  Very 
well   content,"   &c.     These    inscriptions 
,  are  seldom  used  but  by  opulent  tradesmen  ; 


*M 


'*^^fM  I 


iM 


'"t"*-- 


HISTORY. 


935 


smons  th*"  WjibeT  cU«s*s  they  art  «o«i- 
siuK>r*d  to  be  a  U«U'  unvtuml  wiih  rul- 
csritv,  (hough  ihey  sonwumos  indulge  lu 

them. 

rh<'  houses  of  RottervlAm  arc  raihor 
convcnien*.  than  elegant,  the  jvfculi«r  »tyl<« 
ot'   Outoh  architecture  being  num'  than 
u»uar.v  prevalent  there.     They  ar*  ot  the 
height  o\  tour.  live,  or  six  »tor\e#,  and.  in 
s.Mue  »}u:irterti,  the  IrvMit  wall*  prv^ject  as 
thev  ascend,   so   as  to  place   the  higher 
part  of  the   building  several  feet  beyond 
the  perpendicular.     In  many  of  the  houses 
the  srxnmd-fliKir  is  m>t  inhabited.bui  serves, 
with  Its  gate  and  archtnl  passage,  merelv 
as  an  entrance  to  the  warehouses  behind. 
In  their  interior  arrangements  and  furni- 
ture, the  houses  of  Ro^te^^lam,  and  of  many 
iMher    Dutch  towns,  possess  a  degree  ot 
convenience,  lightness,  and  comlort.  which 
'  is  not  olien  realiied  on  the  continent,  and 
1  i«.  perhaiw,  exceeded  only  in  this  country 
Altogether,  no  scene  can  at  tirsl  be  more 
novel  or   interesting  to   a   stranger  than 
lh.it  which  Kottervlam  presents  ;   masts  ot 
shii>s  enlivened  bv  gav  :,ireamers.  beauti- 
'  ful  staielv  trees  and  lofty  leaning  houses 
;  appear  mingle*.!,  and  at  one  view  he  sees 
i  before  hmrthe  characteristic  teatures  ot 
;  the  countTj-,  the  city,  and  the  sea. 


HISTORY. 


^^1?^HEREVF.R  litera 

r '^^    *y     lure  has  had  an  influ 
Lv~     ff^     ...  .k..  „,io.t. 


ence  on  the  minds 
of  men,  history  has 
been    one    of    the 
sources  frv)m  which 
they     have      taken 
ihe     iTWst    copious 
draughts,    and     by 
which   thev  have  become   so  eminently 
useful.     Were  we  to  take  a  retrosiHXtive 
Tiew  of  the  ditTtrent  literar),-  characters 
that   have  tl*Hirished  frv>m  the  i>er»ixl  ot 
Honwr  to  the  present,  we  should  find  that 
to  gain  an  extensive  knowledge  of  historv 
has  been  one  of  their  chief  pursuits,  and 
upon  the  utility  of  this  department  of  litera- 
ture, thev  have  freviueutly  dilated.     AU 


claasea  of  «>cietr,  the  rieh  and  the  p»h>t, 
the  noble  and  ignoble,  the  learned   and 
unlearned,   peruse   its   varied    (vages.    ajw 
preciate   us    benelits.   and  justly  rank   it  jj 
among  the  U'net^cial  studies  to  be  pursuetl    j 
bv  the  true  seeker  of  knowKslge. 
"  All  experience  pr\»ves  the  necessity  (*(  , 
having   at   least   s.-ne   acquaintance    with 
historv,  for  without  it  a  man  can  not  mingle 
\n  the  company  of  the  learned,  or  discuss    ■ 
with   any   degree   o\   justness,  even    the 
common    topics  of  the   day.     T;'   .-ri-y-, 
historv  is  an  imeresting  t.ask  ;  and  he  wh.> 
makes    a    diligent   search    into   the    past  ,, 
knows  this  to  b<'  a  truth  worthy  o(  apprv>- 
ballon.     The  student,  afker  p^Mu'enng  over 
Latin  and  Greek,  and  leanung  the  science 
of  mathematics  all  the  day  long,  lind*  eii- 
jovment  and  rest  to  his  mind  in  r\>ading 
over  m  the  night  watches,  the  scenes  o( 
former  times.     The  philosopher  w  ith  eager 
attention,  scans  every  |>age.     On  the  one 
hand,  he  discovers  the  weakness  and  de- 
praviiv  of  the   human   heart,  and.  on   the 
oilier,  man's  true   intellectual   character ;  ( 
he  is  also  taught  ihvvse  precepta  and  doc- 
trines   which   sup}H>rt   his    opinions    and 
contribute  to  his  advancement.     The  ora- 
tor seeks  time  to  view  the  amaiing  reve- 
lations of  history.      There  he  nunMs  with 
!  examples  worthy  of  imitation  ami  admira- 
'  lion  ;  their  lives',  actions,  and  prxnluctions, 
he  examines   with   unwearied   diligence, 
for,  bv  this  means,  he  forms  a  just  esii- 
j  mate  of  an  orator,  and  pt^rceives  what  he 
must  do  to  gain  an  erer-enduncg  reputa- 
'  lion  among  men.     The  legis'     v  reviews 
.    the  historic  page  with  pleasur:.a    iaterest; 
-    it  shows  him  in  what  manner  th^'  gwvern- 
ments  and  laws  of  ditTerent  countries  have 
acted  u|wn  human  society,  and  under  what 
cirvumstances  thrones  have  been  demol- 
ished,  and  kingdoms  desol.atetl.     It  ex- 
plains those  means  bv  which  nations  en- 
joying the  rich  blessings  of  atlluence  and 
pixwperitv,  have  suddenly  been  hurled  into 
ruin.     It"  assist.s   hun   in    devising   laws 
which   will  have  a  tendency  to  moralixe 
the  communitv  and  advance  it  in  {nnver 
and  intelligence.     The  milit.ary  chiettain 
takes  delight  in   surveying  the  manners 
and  discipline  of  those  renowned  warriors 
who  grace  the  annals  of  the  past.     It   is 
bv  them  he  judges   his   own  rules   and 
rcelhods,  and  bv  comparing  them  he  culls 


•*''^;t*dt 


/.is 


'Tiiiim 


r 


936 


THE  HEART. 


tlioso  which  would  bo  tho  most  suitnble  to 
his  (l.>Hi(Tiis.  The  poet,  with  watohfiil  eye 
mill  anxious  heart,  searches  the  history  of 
l)ntilps,  grand  achievements,  exploits  of 
renuliihle  heroes,  and  the  writings  and 
p.rm.niil  qualities  of  distinguished  bards. 
The  secret  operations  of  nature  are  thus 
opt'iily  revealed,  and  subjects  of  careful 
niedit  ilion  are  amply  aftbrded  him.  Thus 
we  might  go  on  to  show  the  usefulness  ot 
history  to  the  sculptor,  and  all  professions 
and  gradations  in  human  life  ;  but  thus 
much  is  suflicient. 

"  History,"  as  a  modern  writer  correctly 
remarks,  "is  calculated  to  enlighten  the 
judgment  upon  those  subjects  which  have 
a  direct  bearing,  no.  only  upon  individual 
utility  and  comfort,  but  also  on  the  wel- 
fare of  community  at  large. 

"  It  leads  to  a  knowledge  of  man  in  his 
social  relations,  and  speaks  with  a  warn- 
ing voice  to  the  oppressor,  and  infuses 
coTisolaiion  and  courage  into  the  oppress- 
ed.    Upon  the  high  principle  of  religious 
motives,  virtue  has  been  roused  to  exer- 
tion, or  has  been  strengthened  to  the  en- 
durance of  remediless  wrong  by  a  belief 
in  a  future  state."     It  directs  man  to  the 
accurate  principles  on  which  to  establish 
society,    and   instructs  hiin  to  avoid  the 
gross  opinions  which  have  been  advanced 
lor  the  sole    purpose  of  corrupting  and 
demoralizing  the  human  race,  and  places 
him  in  the  virtuous  path  that  will  guide  to 
fortune,  power  and  fame.     It  exhibits  the 
secret  springs  of  all  human  governments, 
and  evinces  tho  proper,  firm  foundation  on 
which  to  erect  a  governmental  fabric  that 
will  endure  the  raging  scourges  of  time. 
It  teaches  the  instability  of  human  great- 
ness, the  changes  that  have  controlled  the 
happiness  of  man.     Men  have  been  raised 
to  importance,  and   to  be  the  riders  of, 
niiuhty  nations,  and  in  tho  midst  of  all  the  j 
honors  issuing  from  such  a  source  have 
suddenly  sank  into  oblivion  and  utter  for- 
getfulness.     It   discloses   the  many   fas- 
cinating habiliments  which  vice  has  as- 
sumed, and  by  means  of  which  the  world 
has  been  deluged  with  crime,  and  covered 
with  total  darkness.     It  speaks  in  soul- 
thrilling  accents  to  shun  all  the  temptations 
and  blandishments  of  sin,  and  direct  the 
mind  to  the  contemplation  of  a  nobler  and 
more  enchanting  theme,  the  Deity— the 


rcwarder  of  good,  and  tho  punisher  of 
evil.  (Miris  utility,  the  beacon  light  of 
modern  bisl.iry.is  fast  illumining  the  patli- 
way  of  man,  and  guiding  immortal  miml 
to  "the  acme  of  glory  and  i)erfoction  to 
which  its  Creator  has  destined  it. 


THE  HEART. 

HE  heart  has  an  ap- 
propriate sensibiliiy, 
'^'  hy  which  it  is  held 
united  in  the  closest 
connexion  and  sym- 
pathy with  the  other 
vital  organs  ;  so  that 
it  participates  in  all 
the  changes  of  the  general  system  of  the 

bodv.  ,      .     ,  II 

But  connected  with  the  heart,  and  tle- 
nendiiic  on  its  peculiar  and  extensive  ap- 
paratus is  what   demands  our  attention  ; 
and  this  is  the  organ  of  breathing  :  a  part 
known    obviously    as   the    iimtrument   of 
speech,  but  which  proves  to  be  more.     1  He 
or-an  of  breathing,  in  its  association  with 
the  heart,  is  the  instrument  of  expression, 
and  is  tho  part  of  the  frame,  by  the  action 
of  which  the  emotions  are  developed  «rul 
made  visible  to  us.     Certain  strong  feel- 
ings of  the  mind  produce  a  disturbed  con- 
dition of  the  heart ;  and  through  that  cor- 
poreal induence,  directly  from  the  heart, 
indirectly  from  the  mind,  the   extensive 
apparatus  constituting  the  organ  of  breath- 
ing is  put  in  motion,  and  gives  us  tho  out- 
ward  signs   which    we  call   expression. 
The  man  was  wrong  who  found  fault  with 
nature   for  not  placing  a  window  before 
the  heart,  in  order  to  render  visible  human 
thoughts    and    intentions.      There  is,  in 
trutli^  provision  made  in  the  countenance 
and  outward  bearing  for  such  discoveries. 
One,  ignorant  of  the  grounds  on  which 
these  opinions  are  founded, has  said,  ''Ev- 
ery strong  emotion  is  directed  toward  the 
heart :  the  heart  experiences  various  kinds 
of  sensation,  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  over 
which  it  has  no  control ;  and  thence  the 
agitated  spirits  are  diffused  over  the  body. 
The    fact   is   certainly   so,  although  the 
[language  be  figurative.     How  are  these 
I  spirits  diffused,  and  what  are  their  effects  ? 


i 

i 


THE  HEART. 


0137 


;he  piinisher  of 
Hiiicon  li,i»lit  of 
miiiiiii,'  tlie  piiili- 
iiiiiniirlal  luim) 
ml  jH'rfeclion  ti» 
itinud  it. 


IT. 

lipart  has  an  ap- 
rinlo  seiisiliili'V, 
vhieh  it  i«  li«'l(l 
ill  in  the  closest 
lexion  ami  syin- 
y  with  tho  oilwr 
orsjans  ;  -so  ilnt 
irlicipates  in  all 
ral  system  of  the 

le  heart,  and  tle- 
inil  extensive  ap- 
ils  onr  attention  ; 
breathing  :  a  part 
le  iirstrument  of 
to  be  more.  The 
i  association  with 
ent  of  expression, 
ime,  by  the  action 
ire  developed  «nd 
■rtain  strong  feel- 
e  a  disturbed  con- 
l  through  that  cor- 
y  from  the  heart, 
lid,  the  extensive 
le  organ  of  breath- 
1  gives  us  the  out- 
!  call  expression. 
10  found  fault  with 

a  window  before 
nder  visible  human 
18.  There  is,  in 
n  the  countenance 
r  such  discoveries. 

grounds  on  which 
ded,ha8  said,  "Ev-  j 
lirected  toward  the 
ences  various  kinds 
nr  unpleasant,  over 
il ;  and  thence  the 
ised  over  the  body." 
y  so,  although  the 
3.  How  are  these 
lat  are  their  effects  1 


„„  „„■  .  x,.mlo.l  ,..«...  or  ,»p  nu  m   ^     .,  '.U  ,  f  1,„  lip I  ' ■".' 

i,„,  .„M  »i »"  «-i)- » I";'""'  f ,"'"  ' «  I "  ,  '  ;, ,  f  L  r,r.  '-..r  «l,y  i.  ll.,.  W.oA 

llu.s.,\,r,:.ns    moving   in   «ympathy    vn.  ^^ ^^^ f,,,^  Ihe  d.r.-ct  inlUu.nco 

tlH.  n.uu!..hc  same  uniformity  .s  produced  ^;'   ""\      -i^;  ,„,.      However  strange  il 

a.nnng    men.    in    their    internal    leelings.  »    '''^  J,  JV^,, •,„,,,,,,,,  ..,,s,  it    i.s  to 

emotions,  or   passions,  as  there  exi    s  m  "^^y    »>  '^    "^  „„j  „„  ,^,,  ,„ended 

,he,r  ideas  ^^[ '^^^^^^^^^ZJS^^:        t nnil;  of  bre^U.ing.  that   we   arc  to 
uni  orm  operations  of  the  organs  oi  s(  use  ,>(r,.cts 

Let  us' place  examples  b^'^re  "^  and  ,  trace  thes.^.l^^^^^^^^^^^  ^.^^^^ 

tl.,n  trv    Jhelher  the  received  ."^"^'""^  i  .    ^;^,  ^"^a  ^  By  a  strong  elVort 

of  tbe  passions  will  furnish  us  >^-'l\»"  f^^"  i  J, ,    ^w    'd  tokens  may  be  restrained,  at 

1,„,U:,„  .,,•  ,he   phenomeiia   or  whether     ^';'  °"  ^^  ^"ij^j  „,  „,,  J,,,,,,,   ,,..,ring  of 

Ive  must  go  deeper,  and  seek  the  assistance    |j^-;'J'   ^;'«;\  ^^,,„^  ^^^  ....rering  can 

ofaiiaioiny.  .  .u„,„  i  rp^irain  the  natural  fulness^  of  his  features. 

In  tho  expression  of  the  passions,  '^'^'^  "/'."/Tj ';°,",  f,i   ^olor  of  his  cheek,  the 

is    a    e..mp'und    inllnence    in    "P^^""".  °J,,  ,^  J,    ^t'  rre^.^^  and   clearness 

Let    us    euM.e.nplate    the    "PP''":^"';^^?^   "^     'X™^^^    voile?     The  villain   may 

.error.     VVe  can  -^^y.  ™^  ^^J^,,:    ^^Z  his  voice,  and  mask  his  purpose 

„,an   stamls    vyith   e>  es   '"'' '    -^    "^'^  ,   .    .^m,  n  ,i,t  and  libertine  words,  or  carry  an 

the  ..l.jeet  of  his  leurs,   he  eyebrovvs  ele      vui   .  „  comempt  of  all  suiter 

we  u„ly    perceive  .he  i„te,,l  »pplic»uon    murderer,  .-   ,. „^„  j,,„, ,,,.,  ^„  ,^.k , 
iif  Ills  iiiiii.l  u>  llie  I'bjecl  uf  iM  oppreuen-       y„,aj „„„„„,.    VCI.)-  look  joo  |,.loI" 
''"'''-■'n,;^  *lel""nrL'.Ue,Trere        Bu,  .he].,,  feeling,  of  ni.i.kiiid  Jciianil 

ing  alone  to   escape,  which    betray  how 
much  he  feels,  and  how  much  he  restrains. 


his  breathing  is  short  and  rapid,  l!  3io  is 
a  iiasi.in.'  and  convulsive  motion  ot  his 
lips  a  tremor  on  his  hollow  cheek,  a 
gulping  and  catching  of  his  throat ;  and 
why  does  his  heart  knock  at  his  ribs,  while 
yet'  tli«rc  IS  no  force  of  circulation ?— tor 
his  lilLs  and  cheeks  are  ashy  pale. 

So  in  grief,  if  we  attend  to  the  same 
clas^  of  phenomena,  we  shall  be  able  to 
draw  an  exa:i  picture.  Let  us  imagine 
to  o.as.hes  the  overwhelming  inlhience 


The  Sabbath.— The  people  of  nearly 
all  nations  have  a  special  regard  for  one 
day  i„  each  week.  Christians  observe 
Sundav;  the  Greeks,  Monday;  the  1  er- 
sians,  "Tuesday  ;  the  Assyrians,  Ueil.ies- 
tlay;     the     Egyptians,    Thurs.lay:     tne 


L 


to  oiasehe,  the  overwhelm,  g  .  uen^  «ay  ,  '^iJ^^  J  tl^  Jews,  Saturday. 
of  urnf  on  women.  The  object  in  her  ,  ,  ,J  "^^^  .^  >  .  ^,,3  ^^^^^  ;,  ,  ,,a.baih 
mind  has  absorbed  all  the  powers  of  the  ,  ^  I"     «;/;y  ^       ,„j   j^   ,vould   be    well 

'""  J;:vual:  •   ;;:ey  ^  n::r:dess  and  |  good  on  the  sabbath-day." 


Ira 

s 

limlib 


■r'*"»^ 


^  •.V4 


■f't^k 


i'iiitff 


THE  LYNX.-TUR  APPKAIIANCE8  OF  DE8IQN  IN  THE  UNIVRllSB. 


THE   LYNX. 


K  UK    lynxps   form    a 
J^ small  section  in  tho 
very  extensive  genus 
fclis,  or  cat  tribe  of 
animals,     in     which 
they   are   principally 
dislinguished  by  the 
^  .  length  of  the  fur,  the 

shortness  of  the  tail,  and  by  the  brush- 
es of  hair  with  which  their  cars  are  fur- 

The  lynx  is  about  the  size  of  a  mod- 
erately large  dog,  measuring  about  two 
feet  and  a  half  from  the  head  to  the  com- 
mencement of  the  tail,  which  is  about  six 
inches  long,  the  eyes,  which  are  prover- 
bially piercing,  are  of  a  pale  yellow  color. 
The  long  and  soft  fur  is   generally  of  a 
bright  red  color,  marked  on  the  back  and 
limbs  with  blackish-brown  spots  ;  three 
lines  of  black  spots  on  the  cheeks  join  a 
large  black  oblique  band  on  each  side  of 
the  neck  under  the  ear  :  the  fur  of  these 
parts  is  longer  than  elsewhere  and  torms 
a  kind  of  laternal  beard.     The  forehead 
and  top  of  the  head  are  dotted  with  black  ; 
and  on  the  top  of  the  neck  there  are  four 
lines  of  the  same  color,  the  middlemost  ol 
which  is  broken  and  interrupted.     Ihe 
dark  spots  form  two  oblique  bands  on  the 
shoulders,  and  transverse  bands  on  the 

fore-legs.  , 

The  lynx  was  formerly  spread  over  the 
Old  World.     It  was  common  in  France, 
and  has  only  disappeared  from  Germany 
at  a  comparatively  recent  period.     It  is 
still  found  in  the  north  of  Europe,  and 
e»en  in  Portugal  and  Spain.     It  is  vory 
common  in  the  forests  of  northern  Asia, 
and  in  the  Caucasus.      That  which  in- 
I  habits  the  more  southern  parts  of  Asia, 
and  is  found  in  Africa,  is  a  rather  distinct 
variety  called  caracal,  a  contraction  of  the 
Turkish  name  kara,  black,  and  kulach,ew. 
It  is  chielly  distinguished  by  its  uniform 
vinous  rrd  color,  by  its  ears,  which  are 
black  both  without  and  within,  and  by  a 
longer  tail  than  any  other  lynx  possesses. 
America  is  known  to  have  two,  or  perhaps 
three  varieties  of  the  lynx.     The  first  is 
that  which,   after   Bufl.n,  is   called    the 
Canada  lynx.     lis  color  is  gray,  its  tail  is 
longer  than  that  of  the  comaion  lynx,  and 


the  hairs  on  tho  cars  are  shorter.  Some 
individuals  have  the  fur  so  thick  and  long, 
especiiilly  on  tho  paws,  that  ih.-y  have  a 
very  ditferent  appearance  from  the  t.uro- 
pean  lynx;  the  identity  of  which  with 
this  species  is  asserted  by  some  naturalists 


111 


and  disputed  by  others.     !l  is  lound 
great   abundance    in   the    districts    n.-oui 
Hudson's  bay,  when.e  from  7,000  to  9.000 
skins  are  yearly  exported.     It  is  a  timid 
creature,  and  makes  but  slight  resistance 
when  brought  to  bay  by  the  hunter ;  for 
thouRh,  like  the  cat,  it  spits  and  erects  the 
hair  on  its  back,  it  is  easily  destroyed 
with  a  slender  slick.     The  other  variety 
(filix  rufa)  which  is  found  in  tho  United 
States,  is  smaller  than  the  one  just  men- 
tioned.    It  has  the  form  and  distribution 
of  spots  of  the  European  variety  ;  but  the 
ground  color  is  gray  ;  its  spots  are  more 
numerous,  deeper  on  the  back,  and  paler 
on  the  sides  and  limbs. 

The  howl  of  the  common  lynx  has  a 
considerable  resemblance  to  that  of  the 
wolf.  When  assailed,  it  is  by  no  means 
passive.  When  attacked  by  a  dog,  it  lies 
down  on  its  back,  and  strikes  so  desperate- 
ly with  its  claws,  that  it  frequently  com- 
pels the  assailant  to  withdraw. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  DESIGN  IN 
THE  UNlVE?iSE. 

S  every  part  of 
the  universe  with 
which  we  are  ac- 
quainted exhibits 
evident  marks  of 
design,  we   must 
of  necessity  in- 
fer, that  it  gprung 
from  a  Wise  &v.d 
Intelligent  Cause.     The  inference  is  ob- 
vious and  undeniable.     It  is,  indeed,  prm- 
cipally  upon  this  argument,  that  our  belie 
in  the  existence  of  God  is  founded  ;  and 
as  it  has  been  often  place* in  a  false  light 
by  atheists  and  skeptics,  we  shall  endeavor 
to  vindicate  its  justness  from  tho  objections 
of  some  able,  and  chiefly  of  some  late 

"^^Srorder  to  speak  distinctly  upon  this 


I 


IVEllSB 


B  shorter.     Some 
80  thick  and  lung, 
that  tht-y  liavo  a 
:e  from  the  Kviro- 
^f  of  whii'li  with 
»y  some  naturalists 
I.     It  iH  found  in 
le   districts    al/out 
roin  7,000  to  9,000 
3d.     It  is  a  timid 
I  slight  resistance 
ly  the  hunter ;  for 
pits  and  erects  the 
I  easily   destroyed 
The  other  variety 
ound  in  the  United 
the  one  just  men- 
m  and  distribution 
m  variety  ;  but  the 
its  spots  are  more 
he  back,  and  paler 
I. 

!ommon  lynx  has  a 
ince  to  that  of  the 
,  it  is  by  no  means 
led  by  a  dog,  it  lies 
strikes  so  desperate- 
t  it  frequently  com- 
dthdraw. 


S  OF  DESIGN  IN 
IVE?iSE. 

S  every  part  of 
the  universe  with 
which  we  are  ac- 
quainted exhibits 
^      evident  marks  of 
J     design,  we  must 
|V  of  necessity  in- 
^fer,  that  it  sprung 
from  a  Wise  i,t.t 
The  inference  is  ob- 
.     It  is,  indeed,  prin- 
ument,  that  our  belief 
3od  is  founded  ;  and 
place* in  a  false  light 
ics,  wc  shall  endeavor 
iss  from  the  objections 
chiefly  of  some  late 


k  distinctly  upon  this 


940 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  DESIGN  IN  THE  UNIVERSE. 


■li 


subject,  it  is  necessary  to  have  a  precise 
and  accurate  notion  of  what  is  meant  by 
design,  because  some  persons  seem  not 
to  have  given  sufficient  attention  to  this 
matter,  and  have  involved  themselves  in 

perplexity.  ,  i-  .•     .1., 

In  common  life  we  understand  distinctly 
what  is  meant  by  design.     We  say  that  a 
man  acts  with  design  and  foresight,  when 
his  actions  tend  to  bring  about  some  end, 
and  vere  performed  by  him  with  this  view 
If  a  man  propose  to  make  a  clock,  and 
adjusts  wheels  and  weights  to  one  another, 
80  that  a  motion  is  produced  by  means  ot 
which  the  hours  are  pointed  out,  we  say 
that  he  acts  with  design,  and  we  say  that 
the   piece   of  work  which   is   produced 
manifests   contrivance.     Whenever   any- 
thing is  properly  adapted  for  producmg  an 
end,  or  answering  a  purpose,  we  say  it  is 
done  with  design.     It  is  in  this  sense  that 
the  word  design  has  been  employed  m 
stating  this  argument.     It  has  been  shown, 
that  important  ends  are  served  by  means 
of  the  bodies  of  which  the  material  world 
consists,  and  that   their   revolutions  are 
directed  to  the  accomplishment  of  ce  tain 
valuable  purposes.  It  has  also  been  shown, 
that  the  fabric  and  limbs  of  the  human 
body,  and  the  faculties  of  the  human  mind, 
are  well  fitted  for  those  offices  which  they 
pe-form.     In  all  these  things  there  are  un- 
deniable marks  of  wisdom  and  intention. 

When  there  appears  design  or  contri- 
vance  in  anything,  the  question  naturally 
occurs,  from  what  did  it  proceed?  and 
the  obvious  answer  is,  that  it  proceeded 
from  a  designing   cause.     In   this   case 
there  is   no   occasion   for   any  chtin  ol 
reasoning.    The  judgment  is  formed  in- 
tuitively,  and  without   any   intermediate 
step.      That  every  effect   must  have  a 
cause,  is  an  axiom  manifest  to  every  per- 
son ;  and  it  seems  to  be  equally  evident, 
that  every  effect  that  exhibits  marks  ol 
design,  must  have  proceeded  from  a  de- 
signing cause.     Whatever  is  well  adapted 
for  answering  an  end,  must   have  been 
adapted  by  its  author  and  contriver  to  an- 
swer thai  purpose.     No  judgments  we  can 
form  appear  to  be  more  self-evident  than 
these  ;  and  accordingly  t^iey  seem  to  have 
been  formed  by  the  whole  of  mankind, 
with  respect  to  every  subject  to  which 
they  are  applicable. 


It  may  then  be  laid  down   as  a  first 
principle,  founded  on  the  constitution  of 
our  minds,  and  standing  in   need  of  no 
proof  whatever.  "  that  design,  wherever  11 
is  observed,  naturally,  and  therelore  ne- 
cessarily, suggests  to  us  the  notion  of  a 
cause."     The  one  conception    is  always 
connected  with  the  other.     We  apply  this 
principle  in  all  the  common  affairs  of  life. 
If  we  behold  a  ship  well  built,  completely 
rigged,  and   properly  accommodated    lor  ^ 
containing  a  car?o  of  goods,  or  for  lodging 
a  number  of  passengers    during   a  long 
voyage,  we  never  hesitate  in  pronouncing, 
that  it  must  have  been  the  workmanship 
of  a  skilful  carpenter.     If  we  look  at  a 
palace  adorned  with  all  the  elegant  orna- 
ments of  architecture,  and  conveniently 
disposed  for  the  accommodation  of  its  in- 
habitants, and  for  exhibiting  to  spectators 
their  splendor  and  magnificence,  we  can  not 
entertain  the  slightest  doubt  of  its  having 
been  contrived  by  an  architect,  and  execu- 
ted by  the  hands  of  artists,  adequate  to  such 
a  noble    piece  of  workmanship.     If  we 
were  going  through  a  desert,  and  saw  a 
wretched   hovel  erected,  though  we  ob- 
served no  vestige  of  living  creatures  near 
it,  we  would  immediately  ascribe  it  to  in- 
telligent  beings,   and   conclude,    without 
further  reflection,'  that  man  had  once  been 
there.     Aristippus,  the  philosopher,  was 
shipwrecked    upon   an    island;    and    he, 
along  with  his  fellow-sufferers,  were  wa  k- 
'  ing  on  the  shore,  deploring  their  miserable 
fate,  and  not  doubting  but  they  would  soon 
be  attacked  and  destroyed  by  barbarians, 
or  torn  to  pieces  by  wild  beasts.     While 
they  were  in  this  situation,  the  philosopher 
made  a   discovery   which   dispelled   his 
own  fears  ;  and  by  means  of  which  he  was 
enabled  to  rouse  the  drooping  spirits  ol  his 
companions.     He  perceived  certain  math- 
ematical figures  scratched  upon  the  sand 
of  the  seashore.      The  judgment    which 
he  formed  was  certain,  and  it  was  imme- 
diate.    "  Let  us  take  courage,  my  friends, 
said  he,  "for  I   discern  the  vestiges  of 
civilized  men."     He  never  imagined  that 
regular  figures,  adapted  to  the  demonstra- 
tion of  abstract  truths,  could  have  been 
accidentally  formed  by  the  foot  of  a  sea- 
fowl  ;  nor  even  that  they  could  have  been 
drawn  by  the  hand  of  savages.     In  these 
suppositions  there  would   have  been  no 


tu 


[VERSE. 

I  laid  down   as  a   first 

on  tho  constitution  of 
landing  in    need  of  no 
hat  design,  wherever  it 
ally,  and  therefore  ne- 
j  to  us  the  notion  of  a 
1  conception    is  always 
5  other.     We  apply  this 
)  common  affairs  of  life, 
ip  well  built,  completely 
erly  accommodated    for 
)  of  goods,  or  for  lodging 
sengers    during  a  long 
hesitate  in  pronouncing, 
!  been  the  workmanship 
inter.     If  we  look  at  a 
ith  all  the  elegant  orna- 
cture,   and  conveniently 
jccommodation  of  its  in- 
•  exhibiting  to  spectators 

magnificence,  we  can  not 
titest  doubt  of  its  having 
r  an  architect,  and  execu- 
»f  artists,  adequate  to  such 
f  workmanship.  If  we 
igh  a  desert,  and  saw  a 

erected,  though  we  ob- 
5  of  living  creatures  near 
[jediafely  ascribe  it  to  in- 
and  conclude,  without 
,« that  man  had  once  been 
us,  the  philosopher,  was 
on  an  island ;  and  he, 
llow-sufferers,  were  walk- 
,  deploring  their  miserable 
bting  but  they  would  soon 

destroyed  by  barbarians, 
(  by  wild  beasts.  While 
3  situation,  the  philosopher 
ery   which   dispelled   his 

by  means  of  which  he  was 

the  drooping  spirits  of  his 
ie  perceived  certain  math- 
i  scratched  upon  the  sand 
!.  The  judgment  which 
certain,  and  it  was  imme- 
j  take  courage,  my  friends," 
I  discern  the  vestiges  of 
He  never  imagined  that 

adapted  to  the  demonstra- 
;t  truths,  could  have  been 
rmed  by  the  foot  of  a  sea- 
i  that  they  could  have  been 
land  of  savages.  In  these 
lere  would   have  been  no 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  DESIGN  IN  THE  UNl\riRSE. 


941 


probability.      He  instantaneously  judged 
thai  they  must  have  been  constructed  by 
mei.   who  had  made  progress  in  knowl- 
edge and  mental  improvement ;  and  who, 
of%onsequence,    must   have  attained   to 
gentle  and  polished  manners.     If  we  hear 
•i  tune  well  played,  we  never  imagine  that 
the  sound  is  produced  without  the  efforts 
of  a  musician  ;  and  if  we  read  an  excellent 
poem,  we  arc  immediately  convinced  that 
it  is  the  work  of  a  good  poet.     We  never 
imagine   that  letters  accidentally  thrown 
down,  could  form  themselves  into  an  Iliad 
or  an   Eneid.     We  do  not  even  imagine 
that  a  person  of  small  abilities  could  have 
arranged   words,  or  contrived   incidents, 
so  as  to  have  formed  works  of  such  dis- 
tinguished merit.     We  are  naturally  led 
to  assign  a  cause  adequate  to  the  effect, 
and  to  ascribe  poems  of  such  beauty  and 
grandeur  to  minds  of  a  superior  order.     In 
our  connexions   with   men,  in  the  same 
manner,  we  observe  their  words  and  their 
actions.     We   consider   these  as    effects 
proceeding  from  an  interna!  cause.     We 
judge  of  the  cau-'o  from  the  effects  which 
we  observe ;    and  we  conclude,  that    he 
who  acts  and  speaks  with  prudence  and 
discernment,  must  possess  facuhies  cor- 
responding to  his  behavior. 

All  these  judgments  proceed  from  our 
constitution.  We  are  so  made  that  we 
naturally  form  them,  just  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  we  pronounce  snow  to  be  white  ; 
or  as  we  infer  the  existence  of  a  substance 
from  discerning  its  qualities.  The  whole 
of  mankind  form  similar  judgments,  and 
they  do  it  intuitively.  They  use  no  argu- 
ment on  such  subjects,  and  they  can  use 
none.  They  employ  no  intermediate  steps, 
as  in  a  cl^ain  of  reasoning  ;  and  do  not  ar- 
rive at  their  conclusion  by  adjusting  prem- 
ises to  one  another. 

If  we  judge  in  this  manner  in  the  ordi- 
nary transactions  of  life,  i*  is  surely  to  be 
expected  that  we  should  judge  in  the  same 
manner  with  respect  to  the  design  and 
contrivance  discernible  in  the  fabric  of  the 
universe.  If  a  mathematical  figure  be 
scratched  upon  the  sand,  we  instantaneous- 
ly ascribe  it  to  a  designingf  cause,  and  ac- 
knowledge that  he  who  formed  it  was 
a  man  acquainted  with  certain  abstract 
truths.  If  we  observe  a  building  or  an 
elegant  contrivance,  we  ascribe  them  to 


an  arsist.     If  we  see  well-directed  con- 
duct, we  conclude  that  he  who  performed 
it  is  a  prudent  agent.     Can  we  then  be- 
hold the  regularity  and  order  of  the  uni- 
verse, the  subservirncy  of  every  part  to 
the  rest,  the  exr«illent  adjustment  of  means 
to  ends,  and  the  invariable  succession  of 
revolutions,  without  pronouncing  immedi- 
ately that  there  must  be  an  intelligent  cause 
that  produced  them  ?     It  is  impossible  to 
behold  tho  planetary  system,  to  consider 
how  nicely  its  parts  are  fitted  to  one  an- 
other, how  regularly  its  motions  are  di- 
rected, and  how  beneficial  every  part  of  it 
is  to  living  creatures,  without  declaring 
that  it  is  the  workmanship  of  a  wise  be- 
ing.    The  bodies  of  animals  are  infinitely 
b       r  constructed,  and  are  also  much  more 
c^.  plex,  than  the  best  machine  of  human 
contrivance  ;  and  if  no  person  ever  thought 
a  watch  was  formed  without  intention,  can 
any  person   imagine   that  animal   bodies 
were  produced  without  an  artist  ? 

If  we  take  into  consideration  the  pro- 
vision that  is  made  for  the  support  of  ani- 
mal   life,  the  instinct  with    which  every 
creature  is  furnished,  its  appetites  and  its 
passions  adapted  to  its  manner  of  life,  we 
observe  still  more    and   more   reason  fci 
drawing  the  same  conclusion.     The  facul- 
ties which  man  possesses,  the  powers  of 
understanding  and  of  action,  and  his  ca- 
pacity  for   discerning    what   is    fair   and 
beautiful,  and  of  prosecuting  what  is  hon- 
orable and  proper,  must  obtain  from  every 
candid  mind  an  acknowledgment  that  this 
lord  of  the  lower  world  must  have  been 
formed  by  the  hand  of  wonderful  intelli- 
gence.    "  He  that  planted  the  ear,  shall 
he  not  hear?     He  that  formed  the  eye, 
shall  he  not  see  ?     He  that  teachelh  man 
knowledge,  shall    he  not   know  ?"     The 
judgment  in   this  case  is  as  natural  'and 
necessary  as  in  any  other  whatever.     It 
flows  from  a  principle  in  our  constitution, 
and  it  has  been  formed  in  all  ages. 

These  judgments  which  we  form  con- 
cerning causes,  from  observing  their  ef- 
fects, must  be  founded  upon  an  original 
principle  in  our  constitution.  They  are 
universal,  and  yet  nobody  assigns  a  reason 
for  them.  They  are  evidently  not  con- 
clusions from  reasoning.  It  is  impossiblo 
to  point  out  any  intermediate  steps  by 
which  they  are  proved,  and  nobody  hiis 


1  'F^; 


J 


1:^0  ■ 


942 


THE  APPEARANCES  OP  DESIGN  IN  THE  UNIVERSE. 


attempted  it.     No  man  can  give  any  argu- 1 
ment  by  which  it  can  be  shown,  that  a 
mathematical  figure  must  be  the  work  of 
an  intelligent  being,  and  could  not  be  the 
work  of  a  fowl  or  of  a  quadruped.     Wo 
judge  indeed  in  this  manner,  but  we  can 
assign   no  reason  for  our  judgment,  any 
more  than  we  can  assign  any  reason  why 
we  judge  that  two  and  two  make  four. 
Neither  did  we  learn  to  judge  in  this  man- 
ner by  experience.     From  experience  we 
can  acquire  knowledge  only  concerning  , 
contingent  truth  or  matters  of  fact,  which  i 
may  be,  or  may  not  be.  without  any  ab- ! 
surdity.     We  can  never  learn  from  expe- : 
rience  any  knowledge  concerning  neces- 
sary truths  which  must  be,  and  which  it' 
involves  an  absurdity  to  suppose  not  to  be. 
We  may  learn  from  experience  that  bodies 
gravitate.    This  is  not  a  necessary  truth  ; 
ft  is  only  contingent,  and  depends  on  the 
will  of  the  Creator ;  and  if  he  had  pleased, 
bodies  might  had  opposite  properties,  or 
might  not  have  existed.     But  we  can  not 
learn  from  experience  that  the  whole  is 
equal  to  all  its  parts.     This  is  a  necessary 
truth,  and  necessarily  flows  from  the  no- 
tions we  have  of  a  whole  and  of  its  parts. 
It  must  be  true  ;  and  it  is  impossible,  and 
involves   absurdity,  to   think   otherwise. 
Now,  our  judgments  concerning  the  con-  ■ 
nexion  of  effects  and  causes,  are  judgments  ' 
concerning  necessary  truths.     We  do  not 
iudge  that  the  connexion  may  take  place, 
but  that  it  must  take  place.     These  judg- 
ments, therefore,  are  of  such  a  nature,  as 
experience  can  not  suggest. 

Some  persons,  unwilling  to  admit  that 
the  world  sprung  from  a  designing  cause, 
have   pretended  that   everything   sprung 
from  chance,  or  from  absolute   necessity. 
That  the  world  arose  from  accident,  was 
strongly  urged  by  the  ancient  Epicureans; 
and  that  it  sprung  from  necessity,  or  ab- 
solute  and  undirected  fate,  has  been  in- 
sisted upon  by  some  speculative  atheists 
and  skeptics,  both  in  ancient  and  modern 
times.    It  is,  however,  to  bo  remarked, 
that  these  are  only  forms  of  expression, 
without  any  clear  and  distinct  meaning. 
Chance  and  absolute  necessity  are  words 
expressing  certain  abstract  notions ;  and 
neither  the  notions,  nor  the  terras  that 
denote  them,  can  possibly  be  the  causes 
of  anything  whatever.    They  are  not  ac- 


tive beings,  capable  of  accomplishing  any 
end.     In  common  language  we  attribute 
many   things  to  chance.      If  a  die   bo 
thrown,  we  say  it  depends  upon  chance 
what  side  may  turn  up ;  and,  if  we  draw 
a  prize  in  a  lottery,  we  ascribe  our  suc- 
cess to  chance.     We   do  not,  however, 
mean  that  these  effects  were  produced  by 
no  cause,  but  only  that  we  are  ignorant 
of  the  cause  that  produced  them.      There 
are  mechanical  causes,  which  determine 
what  side  of  a  die  will  cast  up,  as  certain- 
ly as  anything  else  ;   and  if  we  could  ad- 
just perfectly    the  degree  of  force   with 
which  it  is  thrown,  and  particular  direc- 
tion, together  with  the  nature  of  the  sur- 
face  on  which    it   passes,  we  could  tell 
precisely  what  side  would  appear.     This, 
however,  wo  can  not  do ;  and  because  the 
event   depends   on  circumstances   which 
we  can  not  foresee,  we  ascribe  it  to  a 
cause  of  which  we  are  ignorant ;  and  to 
such  uncertain  and  undetermined  causes, 
we  give  the  name  of  chance  ;  not  meaning 
that  there  is  no  cause,  but  that  we  can  not 
ascertain  it. 

Again,  when  all  things  are  ascribed  to 
necessity,  if  those  who  use  the  term  have 
any  meaning  at  all,  they  can  not  mean 
that   they  sprung   from  no  cause  ;    they 
must  only  mean  that  the  cause,  whatever 
it  was,  acted  necessarily,  and  not  from 
choice.      They  must   conceive   the   first 
cause  to  have  been  actuated  by  some  in- 
voluntary force,  as  a  machine  is  moved 
by  weights  and  springs,  so  that  the  effect 
must  necessarily  be  produced;  and  can 
not  mean  that  there  was  no  cause.     If  we 
I  ascribe,  then,  everything  to  chance,  we 
I  do  not  exclude  a  cause  ;  we  only  say  we 
'  do  not  know  what  that  cause  is.     If  we 
ascribe  everything  to  necessity,  we  also 
admit  a  cause,  though  a  different  one  from 
what  is  admitted  by  those  who  acknovvl- 
edge  design.     The  only  question  then  is, 
whether  the  cause  admitted  to  be  a  design- 
ing cause  or  not  1 

That  the  universe  must  have  proceeded 
from  a  designing  cause,  and  could  not  possi- 
bly have  proceeded  from  a  cause  without 
design  and  intelligence,  by  whatever  name 
it  may  be  denominated,  whether  it  be  call- 
ed chance,  or  necessity,  or  fate,  is  exceed- 
ingly obvious.  Nothing  beautiful,  regular, 
and  orderly,  ever  proceeded,  or  can  pro- 


■-■m«i*iw.ft-J'itfWtwwW 


3E. 

accomplishing  any 
;uage  we  attribute 
ce.  If  a  die  be 
ends  upon  chance 
;  and,  if  we  draw 
re  ascribe  our  suc- 

do  not,  however, 

were  produced  by 
It  we  sre  ignorant 
uced  them.     There  I 
3,  which  determine 

cast  up,  as  cerlain- 
md  if  we  could  ad- 
gree  of  force  with 
lid  particular  direc- 
3  nature  of  the  sur- 
sscs,  we  could  tell 
ould  appear.  This, 
lo ;  and  because  the 
ircumstances  which 

we  ascribe  it  to  a 
re  ignorant ;  and  to 
ndetermined  causes, 
hance  ;  not  meaning 
,  but  that  we  can  not 

lings  are  ascribed  to 
w  use  the  term  have 
they  can  not  mean 
um  no  cause ;   they 
the  cause,  whatever 
sarily,  and  not  from 
t   conceive   the   first 
ictuated  by  some  in- 
a  machine  is  moved 
igs,  so  that  the  effect 
I  produced  ;  and  can 
was  no  cause.    If  we 
thing  to  chance,  we 
ise ;  we  only  say  we 
that  cause  is.     If  we 
to  necessity,  we  also 
[h  a  different  one  from 
y  those  who  acknowl- 
only  question  then  is, 
dmitted  to  be  a  design- 

9  must  have  proceeded 
ise,  and  could  not  possi- 
from  a  cause  without 
nee,  by  whatever  name 
ited,  whether  it  be  call- 
isity,  or  fate,  is  exceed- 
thing  beautiful,  regular, 
proceeded,  or  can  pro- 


THE  APPEARA       -IS  OF  DESIGN  IN  THE  UNIVERSE. 


943 


ceed,  from  an  undelsigning  cause.     Sup- 
pose matter  to  have  existed  originally  of 
itself,  and  to  have  been  endued  with  mo- 
tion from  eternity ;  and  suppose  that  mo- 
tion to  have  been  continued  withoutdiminu- 
tion  ;  there  is  no  doubt  but  these  materials, 
continually  agitated,  would,  in  the  course 
of  millions  of  ages,  have  assumed  various 
forms ;  but  there  is  no  probability  that  ever 
these  forms  would  have  been  regular,  and 
much  less  that  there  should  bo  regularity 
in  all  their  revolutions,  mutual  connexions, 
and  dependencies.     Did  ever  chance  form 
a  machine  so  regular  as  a  watch  ?     Throw 
the  different  wheels,  and  springs,  and  pin- 
ions, of  which  a  watch  is  composed,  into 
one  vessel,  and  keep  the  whole  in  motion 
for  ages,  and  after  all,  neither  the  whole, 
nor  any  part  of  them,  will  ever  be  properly 
placed  and  adjusted.     Take   a  case  that 
has  often  been  put  in  handling  this  argu- 
ment.    Suppose  a  triangular  prism,  with 
thret-  unequal  sides,  and  a  scabbard  per- 
fectly adapted  to  it,  to  be  both  set  in  mo- 
tion through  empty  space ;  grant  both  of 
them  the  power  of  altering  their  motions, 
and  of  flying  up  and  down  in  every  possi- 
ble direction,  it  is  infinity  to  one  that  they 
will   never   meet.      Supposing   they  did 
meet,  it  is  still  infinity  to  one  that  they  do 
not  meet  in  that  one  particular  direction 
in  which  the  prism  will  enter  its  scabbard. 
If  chance,  then,  can  not  effectuate  those 
simple  adjustments,  to  which  the  design 
of  a  child  is  equal,  how  can  it  be  imagined 
that  it  should  adjust  the  innumerable  parts 
and  revolutions  in  the  universe  *     There 
is  not  the  slightest  shadow  of  probability 
to  justify  such  a  supposition.    Even  though 
chance  should  sometimes  have  stumbled 
upon  a  regular  form,  after  a  variety  of 
trials— in  the  way  that  Epicurus  imagined 
men,  and  animals,  and  vegetables,  to  have 
been  fashioned— these  forms  would  again 
have  been  immediately  destroyed,  in  the 
same  manner  that  the  monstrous  appear- 
ances that  had  existed  before  them,  in  in- 
finite multitudes,  were  destroyed,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  motion  and  changes  cf 
situation    which,   upon   that   supposition, 
are  always  going  on  among  the  particles 
of  matter.     If  chance  never  could  arrange 
unorganized  matter  into   those   beautiftil 
and  regular  forms  with  which  we  see  it 
invested,  could  it,  or  necessity,  or  any 


blind  cause,  by  whatever  name  it  may  be 
called,  ever  produce  a  being  endued  with 
life,  sensation,  intelligence,  and  the  power 
of  voluntary  action  ?     Can  that  which  has 
itself  no  design  or  understanding,  produce 
a  wise  and  intelligent  mind  ?     The  sup- 
position  is  absurd.     It  is   supposing  an 
effect  to  be  produced  by  an  inadequate 
cause  ;  which  is  precisely  the  same  thing 
as  to  suppose  it  produced  by  no  cause  at 
all.     It  is  strange  that  such  an  opinion 
should  have  ever  been  embraced  by  phi- 
losophers, the  folly  of  which  is  manifest 
even  to  a  child.     An  infant,  if  its  bells  on 
its  rattle  be  taken   away,  never  dreams 
that  they  were  taken  away  by  nobody,  but 
j  immediately  judges  that    they   were  rc- 
'  moved  by  some  person  or  other.     Even 
I  a  dog,  if  a  stone  be  thrown  at  him,  never 
imagines  that  the  pain  he  feels  arose  with- 
out a  cause.     He  either  flies  from    the 
place,  that  he  may  be  exposed  to  no  fur- 
ther sufferings,  or  he  turns  with  resent- 
ment to  defend  himself.     If  an  inhabitant 
of  Terra  del  Fuego,  or  Lapland,  who  had 
never  seen  an  army,  nor  knew  the  use  of 
firearms,  were  brought  to  see  a  regiment 
reviewed,  would  he  imagine  that  all  their 
orderly  motions  and  evolutions  were  the 
effects  of  blind  chance  1     Would  he  not 
immediately  perceive  that  they  arose  from 
design  and  premeditation  ?     The  motions 
of  a  single  human  body  are  much  more 
regular,  and  more  various,  than  those  of  a 
large  body  of  soldiers  upon  a  field-day. 
Why  then  imagine  that  these  motions  are 
carried  on  without  design  ?     What  then 
shall  we  say  of  the  regularity  observable 
in  the  whole  human  race,  in  inferior  ani- 
mals, in  plants,  in  unorganized  matter,  and 
through  the  whole  extent  of  the  universe? 
Or,  what  shall  we  say  of  the  intelligence 
of  that  man,  who  seriously  believes  that 
the  whole  is  produced  without  a  design- 
ing cause  1 


Life  a  Journey.— Consider  heaven  as 
your  home  ;  yourself  as  on  a  journey  to  it ; 
the  affliction  you  meet  with  as  a  course 
of  discipline  to  prepare  you  for  it ;  and 
the  treasures  you  may  possess  as  given 
to  defray  your  expenses  on  the  way,  and 
to  enable  you  to  do  something  for  those 
who  do  not  enjoy  your  blessings. 


■•^tl! 


I 


044 


THK  UNU. 


TllK  r.NU. 


11 K    >r"«  nppi'nn  ii« 
if  \i  wiTO  u  iom|<i>»iinl  ! 
of  (li(<  horsf,  ox,  anil 

»»!»>»■  •'"'  ''  piirtiili''"  "• 
ihi.  i-liariuiiTs  of  iiU 
lliiro,     mtil    '«"     •'"■ 

no.-k,  iHvlv.  ntul  mil.  ..ro  thoso  of  ,x  wHl- 
fo„uoa  smuU  horso ;  ih.>  forinor  is  InrmsluMl 
«.i.l,uiu.mo..u..lll.ol.iil  isl.M.Kan.llW- 
i.m  Tho  lin>l>»  nro  sloiultT,  vigorous, 
xvril-knii.  nn.l  ro^-mhlo  il.oso  ol  u  «t«il. 
xvhilr  ih.'  Uoa.l  lui.l  horns  roiniiul  us  o  Iho 
l.utValo.     T\w  .>Vos  i>v.<  liuvonivu,  «•»'!  ''X- 


pr.-ssivo    »>r    Kroul   l.ro.-iiy  . 
which  .iTo  ronuno.i  to  both  soxrs.  d..s.l> 
r.-s.MHhlo  those  of  th.-  si>v!.^.<  n»p.'  bufl.lo, 
,.vc.<pl  thai  thovaro  smallor ;    lh.;y  amo 
f,„n>  a  Imsal  mass  of  horn,  oxpan.lmj;    iko 
H  holinoi  ov.>r  ih.^  forohoail,  \v1i.mum«  ih.'v 
HW...'P  (lownxvanl  holwo.'U  tho  .-yos.  aiul 
,  thon  s.xhlonlv  turn  upwar.l,  au.l  souiowl>"» 
ouixvara.  fMtaiuK  ii>  «  »»>n'p  pon.i.      I  hoir 
siiuaiion  IS  «ltou«>thcr  mi.-h  as  to  ovorshn.l- 
ow  tho  ovos.  proamiuK  an  asprcl  ol  mis- 
picion  nml  vin.liotivon.-ss.      lh.>  .hallron 
is  furnishtul  with  a  mauo-liU.'  tul\  ol  brisi- 
Iv  hairs  ;  ami  iho  chin  an.l  throat  aro  cov- 
or.ul  vvilh  hairs  of  a  «imilar  iharaoirr.  a  - 
HO  forminK  a  .haK«y  hoara,  xvh.lo  a  lull 
,„«,,«  lloxvs  aoxvn  from  iho  n..a.-r-siao  of 
ll»o  uoik, ami  from bolxxron  tho  fovo-hna.s  ; 
that   ah.n«   tho   i.pp.>r  riago  ol    tho  nook 
l„-i„«    th.ok   ana   upright.      Iho   homl    is 
hoavv  ;  ana  tho  mn/.«lo  is  oxpana.Hl  into 
tt  tluok  musonlar  valv.-.  or  llap,  whioh  shuts 
aoxvn  liko  a  Inl.  so  as  looloso  tho  aporturo 
of  tho  nostrils,  xvhioh  aro  thus  oapablo  ot 
h,Mnn  opoiioa  or  olo8«a  at  will.     Tho  larh- 
rv««»l    «i"»»    ioiisi.sls    of  a    small   ghxul 
h'oloxv    tho   angle  of  ouoh  oyo,  ana  con- 
coah-a  in  a  tuft  of  long  hair,  hy  winch  it 
is  ouiiroly  snrnnHuU<a. 

Tho  gnu  is  a  nativo  of  tho  wihl  kar- 
roos of  South  Africa,  aiul  tho  hilly  ai«- 
tricts,  wh»>r«  it  roams  «omciimo»  Hingly, 


imtives  mnl  tho  colonists.     Tlicy  arc.  hoxv- 
ovor,    <xtromolv  wihl,  aiul  not  to  l»o  ap- 
proa  '-oa  xviiliotit  aillUuity.     On  tho  lirsi 
alarm,  away  fcours  tho  troop,  not  in  a  In- 
mnltuous  mass,  hut  in  smj;lo  (ilo,  following; 
a  l*mlor  ;  ana  as  thoy  aro  soon   vv.ilopinij 
in tlio aistanco ovor  tho  plain, thoy  so  nnuh  j 
rosomhlo  zohras,  or  »pmg«as- -tenants  ol  I 
llio  same  wiMs— that  xvorc  it  not  lor  tho 
aUVcronco  of  color,  they  might   easily  '"■ 
mistaken  for  thoso  animals.     The  t;,Mi.-ral 
eoh)r  of   tho   gnu   is   aeop   unilur  t.roxvn, 
ranging  upon  black  ;  tlio  tail  ami  mano  aro 
Kray,    llie    latter,    inaee.l.    nearly    white. 
Their  speea,  as  might  bo  expectea  Iroin 
Iho  vigor  ana  compactness  of  ilioir  boay 
„jj,  „.,.,  e*.    ana    limbs,    is    very    groat.     When    first 
liio    horns,    alarinoa,  however,  tliey  ao  not  oxert  it.  but 


but  mostly  ill  largo  liera=».  which  migrat. 
nccoraing  to  lh«  season.     The  oxtoni  ol 
ilsrang.tintluuntorior  regions  is  not  known. 
As  far,  howovor.  as  irav  oilers  have  pone 
trattul,  horas  have  boon  mot  ami  chasoa  ; 


plunge  about.  Ilmuing  out  ihoir  heels.  Init 
ting  at  various  obp'cis,  ana  exhibiting 
omolions  of  v.oleni  fnry.  It  is  seia..m 
that  thoy  venture  n|>«m  an  attack  unless 
hara  pnmsoa,  or  woumloa.  when  they  ao- 
fonil  thomsolvos  with  aosperation :  ilrop- 
piiig  on  thoir  knoos,  thoy  aart  forwara  up- 
on tlioir  rash  enemy  witli  exiraor-linaiy 
force  ami  impotuosiiy.  ana  niiloss  ho  bo 
cool  ami  preparotl,  h«  can  not  escape  his 

i  fa  to. 

That  tho  gnu  is  soinolimcs  seen  single 
appears   from   tho   account  of   Sparrmaii. 
xvho   observes.   "  On  tlio  '2  lih  I   was  in- 
aucoa  to  stay  longer  a  little  longer  on  this 
spot,  by  tho  hopes  of  shooting  a  gnu  winch 
had  boon  soon  ranging  by  itself  about  this 
part  of  tho  country.     T(>nu  is  the  llot- 
lonlot  name  for  a  •ingular  animal  winch. 
xviih  rospoct  lo  its  form,  is  between  tho 
horso  uiul  tho  ox.     Tho  siao  of  it  is  about 
that  of  a  common  gaUoxvay,  the  length  t»l 
it  being  somoxvhal  al>iml  live  feci,  and  iho 
height  of  U  ratlier  more  than  four.      The 
j{iui  then   waiuh'ring   in  ihese  parts  was 
probably  an  oM  buck,  which  Au\  not  care 
to  keep  company  any  long<>r  with  iht<  henl 
to   which  it  belongea.  t»r  haa  boon  acci- 
aeiitally  soparatoa  from  it.     As  tins  ihat 
xvaa  soon  here  kept  upon  tho  open  plains, 
ami  wo  conia  imt  steal  upon  it  bv  creeping 
lowfvas  it  from  among  the  buslies,  I  en- 
aoavoroa  to  o\  ortako  it  on  horseback ;  ami, 
imleoa.  lit  lirst  I  got  almost  within  gun- 
shot of  tho  animal,  when   it  ahowoa  lis 
viciou*  aisposition  in  making  various  cur- 


rsS  «';;-■■:'.  ';wu;:;u,  .:;■...«  i  ;ou::;..;.w.»...  «..■».■■» -j^  ■■■■■■-' -^;^_| 


liajEtwii^^i'"  "*"■"" — ''" ' ^-f^^— ^^f*!^'**' 


I.  'rin\v  :irf,lnMV. 
itiiil  not  lo  •»«'  "P- 
iiltv.     «>n  'Ix'  •"•''*• 

iriiop,  not  in  :»  Hi- 
mslr  I'll"'.  r<>ll«i\vin}j 
iiro  «<'«'ii    giiHopiMi? 
pli>in,tlu\v  Ht>  nnuh 
imn«i»!<- -tiMiaitts  of 
«fri>  it  not  lor  tlio 
n'V  minlii   I'UNily  I-- 
mU.     'I'll-  ui'iuTiil 
ilcrp   uinlxrliritwK. 
».-  tail  !»iul  i»i>m'  !»ri' 
i>i<il.    tifiuly    wliito. 
I  l)«>  cxpofinl  iVom 
liiosM  ol'  tlii'ir  liiiily 
jjroiit.     WIh'II    lirni 
V  do  not  «'X«<rt  il,  btil 
out  llunr  lu'i'ls,  hul- 
»Ms,   nit'l    I'slul'iiinR 
I'nry.     li    >!*   sililoin 
im  i»«  iitlHik  tnilcss 
ulnl,  whon  llioy  ilo- 
I  ilespvrsuion :  tlrop- 
hoy  ilart  lorwunl  iip- 

w'iih  oxiivtor.liiciiy 
y,  Mu\  \\\\\vs»  li«  1)1' 
I  can  itol  osi'rtpo  his 

•motiiMOs  soou  «inj{l«> 
H'ouiii  ol'    Spiunniui, 

th©  -Jlili  I  was  m- 
a  liillo  longtr  on  this 
shooting;  ii  «»»  wliiih 
ig  by  iiHoir  alioul  iliis 

'I'C'hm  is  llt«'  ll"i- 
jgulnr  ai»iu»itl  whioli, 
loriu,  is  lu'twoi-n  llio 
riio  sia<>  of  It  IS  almiil 
illoWHv.  tlio  l.'ni>il>  «»r 
Ixiul  livi>  iVoi,  anil  i)n> 
noio  iliiin  lour.      Tit*" 
H   in  lltoso   palls  was 
K,  wltiili  iliil  not  caro 
y  lonm-r  wiihlho  licnl 
i>il,  or  l»a»l  Iwon  lu-ii- 
rom  it.     As  tliis  thai 
upon  iho  opon  plains, 
«<ul  upon  il  l>v  »'ri>opii»>{ 
nig  tho  l>«is^t<'s,  I  on- 
}  It  on  hoTschack ;  nn«l, 
ol  uhnosl  within  (jnn- 
,  whi-n   il   sltowt'il  iis 
in  making  various  our- 
mging  out  h«>hiiul  with 


946 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  MYSTERY. 


one  or  both  legs,  and  butting  against  the 
mole.bill«  with  its  horns  ;  but  immediate  y 
upon  ihis,  it  fled  with  considerable  velocity 
in  a  direct  line  over  the  plain  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  discern  it,  and  I  can  not  help 
thinking  that  this  was  one  that  was  become 
furious,  as  the  other  gnus  I  have  chased  ^ 
since,  would  frequently  stop  to  look  back  : 
at  their  pursuers,  as   soon   as  they  had 
gained  ground  of  them  in  any  considera- 
ble degree.     What  contributed  not  a  little 
to  this  gnu's  having  escaped  me.  was  that 
,he  ground  was  rocky  ;  and  that  an  ardent 
desire  for  dissecting  this  animal  induced 
me  to  push  my  horse  on  too  fast  at  first,  so 
that  in  a  little  time  it  was  quite  out  of 
breath,  and  all  over  in  a  tremor."     liuleed 
so  excessively  was  the  horse  fatigued,  tha 
Sparrman  could  not  even  chase  a  jacka 
that  was  feasting  on  an  elk-antelope  sho 
the  day  before.     At  a  subsequent  period 
he  met  with  large  herds  of  gnus,  and  was 
more  successful.     Mr.  Pringle  observed 
the  gnu  among  the  hills  at  Bavian  s  river: 
he  informs  us  that  its  flesh  in  all  its  qual- 
ities,  has  much  resemblance  to  beef.     He 
also  asserts,  that,  like  the  buffalo  and  ox, 
this  animal  is  enraged  by  the  sight  of  scar- 
let     "  It  was  one  of  our  amusements  to 
hoist  a  red  handkerchief  on  a  pole,  and 
observe  them   caper  about,  lashing  their 
flanks  with  their  long  tails,  and  tearing  up 
the  ground  with  their  hoofs,  as  if  they 
were  violently  excited  and  ready  to  run 
down  upon  us ;  and  then  all  at  once,  as 
we  were  ready  to  fire  upon  them,  to  nee 
them  bound  away,  and  again  go  prancing 
round  us  at  a  safer  distance."     This  aver- 
sion to  scarlet  we  have  ourselves  noticed 
in  individuals  in  captivity,  and  on  one  oc- 
casion, much  enraged  a  gnu  by  suddenly 
displaying  the  scarlet  lining  of  a  cloak. 

The    gnu  when  taken  young  may  be 
tamed  without  much  difficulty.     Sparrman 
caught  a  calf,  and  as  he  says,  "  had  like- 1 
wise  previously  seen  and  examined  anoth- ! 
er  tame  one  of  the  same  size  which  wa» 
intended  as  a  present  for  the  governor :  it 
was  feared,  however,  that  this  as  well  as 
the  young  hartebeests  which  they  were  en- 
deavoring to  bring  up  tame,  would  be  sub- 
iect  to  a  kind  of  furor  or  madness.       W  hy 
so  we  are  not  informed.     Mr.  Pnngle  as- 
sures us  that  the  gnu  taken  young  will  be- 
come as  domesticated  as  the  cattle  of  the 

I . ■ 


farm,  with  which  it  associates,  harmlessly 
Eoing  to  and  returning  from  pasture  ;  it 
appears,  however,  that  few  farmers  like  to 
domesticate  it,  as  it  is  liable  to  a  cutane- 
ous eruption  which  it  communicates  to  the 
cattle,  and  which  is  invariably  fatal,  in 
confinement  the  gnu  often  becomes  fero- 
cious, and  is  not  to  be  approached  without 
caution  ;  the  females  are  less  dangerous 
than  the  males,  and  more  easily  manage- 
able. 


THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  MYSTERY. 

HE  phosphorescence 
of  the  marshes,  the 
ignis  fatuus,  Will-o'- 
thc-Wisp,  Jack-o'-the- 
Lantern,  or  Friar 
Rush,  and  the  Corpse 
Candles,  are  mere  lu- 
.^  minous     exhalations, 

strained  into  the  marvellous  by  the  vulgar, 
and  thus  set  down  as  heralds  of  immortality. 
The  parhelia,  or  mock  suns,  are  pro- 
duced by  the  reflection  of  the  sun  s  light 
on  a  frozen  cloud. 

The  corona,  or  halo  around  the  sun, 
moon,  and  stars,  is  easily  illustrated  by  the 
zone,  formed  by  placing,  during  a  frost,  a 
lighted  candle  in  a  cloud  of  steam  or  va- 
por     The  Aurora  Borealis  is  arctic  dec- 
tricitu,  and  is  beautifully  imitated  by  the 
passage  of  an  electric  flash  through  an  ex- 
Lusted  glass  cylinder.     The  rainbow  is 
a  combination  of  natural  priss^ts,  breaking 
the  light  into  colors  ;  and  it  may  be  seen 
in  the  cloud,  or  in  the  spray  of  the  ocean, 
in  the  cascade  of  Niagara,  or  indeed,  m 
any  foaming  spray  on  which  the  mendian 
sun-beams  fall,  or  even  in  the  dewy  -rass, 
lying,  as  it  were,  on  the  ground. 
i      The  ••  Spectre  of  the   Brocken,    is  a 
mere  shadow  of  the  spectator,  or  a  gi- 
gantic scale.     The  phantom,  the  "  Schat- 
ferrmann,"  according  to  vulgar  tradition, 
haunts  the  lofty  range  of  the  Hartz  moun- 
tains, in  Hanover.     It  is  usually  observed 
when  the  sun's  rays  are  thrown  horizontal  y 
on  their  fleecy  clouds,  or  vapor,  of  highly 
reflective  power,  assuming  the  shape  ol  a 
tfigantic  shade  on  the  cloud. 
I      When  Franklin  set  his  bells  a-nngmg 


ociates,  harmlessly 
I  from  pasture  ;  il 
few  farmers  like  to 
liable  to  a  cutane- 
ommunicatos  to  the 
ivariably  fatal.  In 
ften  becomes  fero- 
iipproathcd  without 
are  less  diingerous 
lore  easily  manage- 


■  OF  MYSTERY. 

[E  phosphorescence 
f  the  marshes,  the 
inis  fatuus,  Will-o'- 
^ic-Wisp.Jack-o'-the- 
jantern,  or  Friar 
lush,  and  the  Corpse 
^iuulles,  are  mere  lu- 
iiinous  exhalations, 
rellons  by  the  vulgar, 
oralds of  immortality, 
mock  suns,  are  pro- 
ion  of  the  sun's  light 


alo  around  the  sun, 
sily  illustrated  by  the 
:ing,  during  a  frost,  a 
cloud  of  steam  or  va- 
iorealis  is  arctic  eke- 
ifully  imitated  by  the 
3  flash  through  an  ex- 
er.     The  rainbow  is 
uralprissus,  breaking 
;  and  it  may  be  seen 
le  spray  of  the  ocean, 
liagara,  or  indeed,  in 
tn  which  the  meridian 
fen  in  the  dewy  ^rass, 
I  the  ground, 
f  the  Brocken,"  is  a 
le  spectator,  or  a  gi- 
phantom,  the  "  Schat- 
ig  to  vulgar  tradition, 
ge  of  the  Hartz  moun- 
It  is  usually  observed 
are  thrown  horizontally 
ds,  or  vapor,  of  highly 
isuming  the  shape  of  a 
he  cloud, 
set  his  bells  a-ringing 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  MYSTERY. 


947 


bv  drawing  down  the  electric  fluid  from 
the    thunder-cloud,  and  when  Columbus 
told  to  the  hour  the  sun's  eclipse,  can  we 
wonder  that  the  Indians  listened  as  to  one 
endued  with  preternatural  knowledge  or 
that  the  other  might  be  thought  superhu- 
man ?     And  when  the  king  of  Siam  was 
assured    that   water    could    be  congealed 
into  ice,  on    which   the   sounding   skate 
could  glide,  can  we  wonder  that  he  smiled 
in  absolute  disbelief  of  such  a  change,  and 
called  the  tale  a  lie  ?     Thus,  when  the 
peasants  of  Cardigan,  who  were  not  versed 
in    Poniine    architecture,    looked    on  the 
bridge  which  the  monks  had  thrown  across 
the  torrent  of  the  Monach,  they  could  not 
believe  it  a  work  of  human,  but  of  .n/rrna 
hands,  and  called  it  the  "  Devil's  Bridge 

The   records   of  antiquity   teem    with 
tales  of  fatal  prognostics  to  heroes,  kings, 
and  emperors,  whose  deaths,  indeed   sel- 
dom take  place  without  a  prophecy,    trom 
Aristotle,  we  learn  that  the  death  of  Alex- 
ander was  foretold  in  a  dream  of  bude- 
mius,  and  that  of  Cffisar  by  h.s  wife,  Cal- 
phurnia.     The  emperor  Manus  dreamed 
that  he  saw  Attila's  bow  broken,  and  the 
Hun  king  died  on  the  same  night ;  and 
Sylla  died  on  the  night  succeeding  that  on 
which  he  dreamed  of  such  a  fate.    Valerius 
Maximus,   records    the    death   of    Oaius 
Grffichus  immediately  after  a  dream  ot  U, 
by   his   mother.     Caracalla    foretold  his 
assassination  in  a  dream.     Cyrus  breamed 
of  the  exact  moment  in  which  he  died. 
The  death  of  Socrates  was  foretold  to 
him  by  a  lady.     The  essence  of  the  dream 
is  usually  a  want  of  balance  between  the 
representative  faculty  and  the  judgment } 
being  produced,  directly  or  indirectly,  by 
the  excitement  of  a  chain  of  ideas,  rational 
or  probable  in  parts,  but  rendered  in  dil- 
ferent  degrees  extravagant,  or  illusive,  by 
imperfect   association.     Thus,  the   ideas 
of  a  dream  may  be  considered  a  species 
of  delirium  ;  for  the  figures  and  situations 
of  both  are  often  of  the  most  heterogeneous 
description,  and  both   are  ever  illusive, 
being  believed  to  be  realities,  and  not  be- 
ing  subject  to  the  control  of  our  intellect. 
Yet,  if  the  most  absurd  dream  be  atiaU/sed, 
its  constituent  parts  may  consist  either  ol 
ideas,  in  themselves  not  irrational,  or  ol 
sensctions  or  incidents,  which  have  been 
individually  felt  or  witnessed. 


Napoleon,  when  ho  was  marching  upon 
Acre  had  a  Nile  boat  which  some  of  his 
troops  destroyed;  the  boat's  name  was 
U Italic,  and  from  this  he  said,  "  Italy  is 
lost  to  France."     And  so  it  was. 

During  the  siege  of  Jerusalem,  for  seven 
days,  a  man  paraded  round  the  walls  ex- 
claiming, with  a  solemn  voice,  "  Wo  to 
Jerusalem !"  and  on  the  seventh  day  he 
added  :  "  Wo  to  Jerusalem  and  mysilj  ! 
when  at  the  moment  of  this  anathema,  a 
missile  from  the  enemy  destroyed  Inin. 

When  dark  events  were  overclouding 
Poland,  to  Sorvenski,  the  warrior,  a  con- 
vert to  magnetism,  it  was  imparted  in  a 
vision  that  Warsaw  should  be  deluged  in 
blood,  and  that  he  should  fall  in  battle. 
In  two  years  these  forebodings  were  lul- 

filled.  .     ,        ,.      ,         ,. 

Oliver  Cromwell   had  reclined  on  his 
couch,  and  extreme  fatigue   forbade    the 
coming  on  of  sleep.     On  a  sudden  his 
curtains  opened,  and    a  gigantic   female 
form  imparled  to  him  that   ne  should  be 
the  greatest  man  in  England.      The  puri- 
tanical faith   and   ambition  of   Cromwel    , 
might  have  raised  during  the  distracted 
state  of  the  kingdom,  something  even  be- 
yond this ;    and  who  may  decide  if  the 
spectre   had   whispered    "thou    shalt   be 
king  hereafter,"  that  the  protector  would 
have  refused  the  crown,  as  on  the  feast 
of  Lupercal,  it  had  been  refused  by  Ctcsar. 
An  officer  in  the  duke  of  Marlborough  s 
army   named    Prondergast,  meniioncJ  to 
many  of  his  friends  that  he  should  die  on 
a  particular  day.     Upon  that  day  a  battle 
took  place  with  the  French,  and  after  it 
was  over,  and  Prondergast  was  still  alive, 
his  brother  officers,  while  they  were  yet 
in  the  field,  jestingly  asked  him  where 
was    his    prophecy    now.       Prondergast 
gravely  replied,  "  I  shall  die  yet,  noiwith- 
ftandiJg  what  you  see."     Soon  afterward 
there  came  a  shot  from  a  French  battery, 
to  which  the  orders  for  a  cessation  of  arms 
had  not  yet  reached,  and  he  was  killed 
upon  the  spot.  .  , 

But  can  these  shallow  stories  be  cited 
as  prophecies  ?  The  links  in  the  chain  of 
causation  are  evident,  and  the  veriest 
skeptic  can  not  doubt  their  sequence, 
where  there  was  so  strong  a  probability^ 
It  is  merely  by  reflecting  on  the  past  and 
judging  the  future  by  analogy.     Natural 


|<(r" 


948 


MOUHNINO  WOMEN  OF  THE  EAST. 


events  of  human  actions  have  laws  o 
govern  ihem.and  there  is  seWom  forcsigh 
tithoulthe  reflection  on  these  laws.  Lord 
Mansfield,  when  asked  how  ^he  French 
revolution  would  end,  replied,  It  is  an 
event  without  a  precedent,  and,  theretore, 
without  a  prophecy."     ,      ,   _,  .     „ 

"In    1811,"  writes  Lord  Byron,  in  a 
letter  to  Mr.  Murray,  "  my  old  school  and 
former   fellow-poet,  the   Irish  secretary, 
told  me  he  saw  me  in  St.  James  street. 
I  was  then  in  Turkey.     A  day  or  two 
afterward,  he  pointed  out  to  his  brother  a 
person  across  the  way,  and  said,     I  here 
is  ihe  man  I  took  for  Byron.'     His  brother 
answered,  '  Why  it  is  Byron,  and  no  one 
else  '     I   was  at  this  time  seen  to  write 
my  name  in  the  palace  book.     I  was  then 
ill    of  a  malaria  fever.     If  I   had  died, 
here  would  have  been  a  ghost  story. 

A  farmer  of  Teviotdale,  riding  home  in 
the  gloom  of  the  evening,  saw,  on  the  wal 
of  a  cemetery,  a  pale  form,  throwing  about 
her  arms,  and  moving  and  chattering  lo 
the    moon.     With  not  a  little   terror,  he 
spurred  his  horse,  but  as  he  passed  the 
phantom  it  dropped  from  its  perch,  and, 
like  Tarn  O'Shanter's  Nannie,  it  fixed  it- 
self  on  the  croup  of  his  saddle,  and  clasped 
him  lightly  round  the  waist  with  arms  ot 
icv  coldness.     He  arrived  at  honie,  and 
with  a  thrill  of  horror  exclaimed,  "  lake 
aff  Ihe  ghaist !"  and  was  carried  shivering 
to  bed.     And  what  was  the  phantonri  T     A 
maniac  widow,  on  her  distracted  pilgrim- 
age to  the  grave  of  her  husband,  for  whom 
she  had  mistaken  the  ill-fated  farmer. 

The  president  of  a  literary  club  at  Fly- 
mouth  being  very  ill  during  its  session, 
the  chair,  out  of  respect,  was  left  vacant. 
While  they  were  silting,  his  apparition, 
in  a  white  dress,  glided  in  and  took  formal 
possession  of  the  chair.     His  face   was 
pale  and  cadaverous  ;  he  bowed  in  silence 
to  the  company ;  carried  his  empty  glass 
to  his  lips,  and  solemnly  retired.     They 
went  to  his  house,  and  learned  that  he 
had  just  expired !     The  strange  event  was 
kept  a  profound  secret,  until  the  nurse 
confessed  on    her  death   bed   that    she 
had  fallen  asleep,  that  the  patient  had 
stolen  out,  and,  having  the  pass-key  of  the 
garden,  had  returned  to  his  bed  by  a  short 
path  before  the  deputation,  and  had  diea 
a  few  seconds  after. 


MOURNING  WOMEN  OF  THE  EAST. 


EW  oriental  customs 
appear  so  strange  to 
the  traveller,  as  the 
rites  and  ceremonies 
performed  in  eastern 
countries  on  the   de- 
cease  of  a  Moslem. 
On  thr  jccasion  of  a 
deaU.  in  the  cast,  the 
women  of  the  family,  the  mother,  wives, 
sisters,  &c.,  break  (Mc  into  the  most  vio- 
lent lamentations,  crying  out,  "  O,  my  mas- 
ter '  O,  camel  of  the  house !  0,  my  mis- 
fortune !"  &c.,  in  which  they  are  often  i 
joined  by  the  females  of  the  neighborhood, 
who  come  to  the  house  of  mourning  and 
unite  with  the  inmates  in  their  wailings. 
But  that  their  grief  may  bo  expressed  with 
all  the   exaggeration  possible,  there   are 
certain  individuals  who  make  it  their  busi- 
ness to  weep  and  lament  for  the  dead,  and 
who  ofier  their  services  on  all  such  occa- 
sions, "  for  a  consideration  ;"  depending 
on    such   exertions   for  their  livelihood. 
That  is  to  say,  in  all  Moslem  cities  there 
are  women  who  may  be  hired  to  attend  on 
the  corpse,  and  to  aid  the  mourners  in  be- 
wailing the  death  of  their  friend,  which 
they  do  with  the  most  violent  gesticula- 
tions, weeping,  shrieking,  rending  their 
clothes,  and  by  other  means  intimating  an 
intensity  of  sorrow  (which  it  is  almost 
needless  to  say  they  can  not  feel)  tor  the 
loss  their  employers  have  sustained.     1  he 
practice  of  hiring  public  mourning  women 
on  such  occasions  appears  to  bo  of  great 

antiquity.  .       ,      .i.      u 

The  root  of  this  rather  singular  though 
very  prevalent  custom  seems  lo  be,  that 
the  Eastern  nations  require  manifestations 
of  strong  feeling  to  be  marked,  palpable, 
and  exaggerated.     Hence  their  emotions, 
particularly  those  of  grief,  have  a  most 
violent  and  loud  expression  ;  and,  still  un- 
satisfied,  and  apprehensive  that  their  own 
spontaneous    manifestations    of    sorrow, 
when  a  death  occurred,  were  inadequate 
to  the  occasion,  and  rendered  insufficient 
honor  to  the  dead,  they  thought  of  employ- 
ing practised  women  to  add  their  eff^ective 
and  manifest  tributes  of  apparent  grief. 
iThus  mourning  became  an  art,  which  de- 


N  OF  THE  EAST. 


EW  oriental  customs 
ippear  so  strange  to 
ihe  traveller,  as  the 
rites  and  ceremonies 
performed  in  eastern 
countries  on  the  de- 
cease of  a  Moslem. 
On  thr  jecasion  of  a 
deati.  in  the  oast,  the 
y,  ihe  mother,  wives, 
yt,(  into  the  most  vio- 
ying  out,  "  O,  my  mas- 
e  house  !  0,  my  mis- 
which  they  are  often 
8  of  the  neighborhood, 
Duse  of  mourning  and 
ates  in  their  wailings. 
may  bo  expressed  with 
m  possible,  there   are 
who  make  it  their  busi- 
iment  for  the  dead,  and 
irices  on  all  such  occa- 
lideration  ;"  depending 
I   for  their   livelihood, 
ill  Moslem  cities  there 
ly  be  hired  to  attend  on 
aid  the  mourners  in  be- 
of  their  friend,  which 
most  violent  gesticula- 
irieking,  rending  their 
ler  means  intimating  an 
w  (which  it  is  almost 
By  can  not  feel)  for^  the 
rs  have  sustained.     The 
public  mourning  women 
»  appears  to  be  of  great 

s  rather  singular  though 
istom  seems  to  be,  that 
is  require  manifestations 
to  be  marked,  palpable. 
Hence  their  emotions, 
»  of  grief,  have  a  most 
(xpression  ;  and,  still  un- 
rehensive  that  their  own 
nifestations    of    sorrow, 
jcurred,  vvere  inadequate 
ind  rendered  insufficient 
I,  they  thought  of  employ- 
men  to  add  their  eflfective 
bmes  of  apparent  grief, 
became  an  art,  which  de- 


950 


COURTESY 


volved  on  women  of  ■hrill  voices,  copious 
of  tears,  and  skilful  in  lamenting  anil  prais- 
ing the  dead  in  mournful  songs  and  eulo- 
gies.    When  a  person  in  a  family  died,  it 
was  customary  for  the  female  relatives  to 
seat  themselves  upon  the  ground  in  a  sep- 
arate apartment,  in  a  circle,  in  the  centre 
of  which  sat  the  wife,  daughter,  or  other 
nearest  relative,  and  thus,  assisted  by  the 
mourning  women,  conducted   their   loud 
and  piercing  lamentations.     At  intervals, 
the  mourning  women  took  the  leading  part, 
on  a  signal  from  the  chief  mor.rner ;  and 
then  the  real  mourners  remained  compara- 
tively silent,  but  attested  their  grief  by 
sobs,  by  beating  their  faces,  tearing  their 
hair,  and  sometimes  wounding  their  per- 
sons with  their  nails,  joining  also  aloud  in 
the  lamenting  chorus  of  the  hired  mourn- 
ers.    The  family  of  the  deceased  general- 
ly send  for  two  or  more  Neddabehs  (or 
public  wailing  women) ;  but  some  persons 
disapprove  of  this  custom,  and  many,  to 
avoid  unnecessary  expense,  do  not  conform 
to  it.     Each  neddabeh  brings  with  her  a 
tar  (or  tambourine),  which  is  without  the 
tinkling  plates  of  metal  that  are  attached 
to  the  hoops  of  the  common  tdr.     The 
nedddbehs  beating  their  tars,  exclaim  sev- 
eral times,  "  Alas  for  him  !"  and  praise  his 
turban,  his  handsome  person,  «fcc.;   and 
the  female  relations,  domestics,  and  friends 
of  the  deceased  (with  their  tresses  dishev- 
elled, and  sometimes  with  rent  clothes), 
beating  their  own  faces,  cry  in  like  man- 
ner, "  Alas  for  him  !"     This  wailing  is 
generally  continued  at  least  an  hour.     It 
is  of  course  resumed  at  intervals.     The 
details  vary  in  different  parts  of  the  east, 
and  in  some  places  the  musicians  form  a 
separate  body,  as  they  did  among  the  He- 
br6W8 

"  The  custom  of  employing  hired  mourn 
ers  was  also  in  use  among  the  Greeks  and 
Romans,  who  probably  borrowed  it  from 
the  east.  Some  of  the  Roman  usages 
may  contribute  to  illustrate  those  of  scrip- 
ture. When  a  person  expired  whom  his 
relatives  or  friends  wished  to  hotior  by  ev- 
ery  external  testimony  of  grief,  some 
mourners  were  called,  who  were  stationed 
at  the  door,  and  who,  being  instructed  in 
the  leading  circumstances  of  the  life  of  the 
deceased,  composed  and  chanted  eulogies 
having  some  reference  to  these  circumstan- 


ces, but  in  which  flattery  was  by  no  monnM 
spared.     Then,  when  the  time  arrival  lor 
the  body  to  be  carried  to  the  funeral  pile, 
a  choir  of  hired  mourners  attended,  who 
by  their  bare   breasts,  which   they  often 
smote,  their   dishevelled    hair,  and   thi^ir 
mournful  chants  and  profuse  tears,  moved, 
or  sought  to  move,  the  minds  of  the  spec- 
tators  in   favor  of  the  deceased,  and    to 
compassion  for  his  bereaved  friends,  whose 
respect  for  his  memory  their  own  presence 
indeed  indicated.     These  women  were  un- 
der the  directirn  of  one  who  bore  the  title 
prxfica,  who  regulated  the  time  and  tone 
of  their  lamentations.     They  were  attired 
in  the  black  robe  of  mourning  and  (..Mic- 
tion,   called    by  the    Romans  pulla.       It 
should  be  observed  that,  as  intimated  by 
the  prophet  Jeremiah,  a  principal  object 
of  the  displays  of  the  hired  mourners  was 
to  rouse  the  sorrow  of  the  bereaved  rela- 
tives, maintaining  the  excitement  of  adlic- 
tion  by  enumerating  the  virtues  and  qual- 
ities of  the  deceased,  as  well  as,  by  the 
same  means,  to  excite  the  sympathising 
lamentations  of  those  not  immediately  in- 
terested in  the  event. 

The  scene  represented  in  the  engraving 
is  a  Turkish  cemetery,  to  which  the  imme- 
diate female  relatives  pay  daily  visits  to 
the  grave  for  some  days  after  the  inter- 
ment ;  but  in  cases  of  unavoidable  absence 
their  places  are  also  supplied  here  by  the 
hired  mourning  women. 


COURTESY. 

E  do  not  hesitate  to 
claim  for  courtesy, 
as  Doctor  Johnson 
did  for  cleanliness, 
a  place  among  the 
virtues.  It  is  a  vir- 
tue, and  one  which 
greatly  promotes  the 
comfort  and  happi- 
ness of  mankind.  It  is  the  sugar  in  the 
cup  of  life— the  sweetener  of  domestic 
and  social  existence.  The  very  name  of 
this  grace  is  so  associated  with  the  stiff, 
frigid,  and  in  some  instances,  ludicrous 
forms  of  etiquette,  that  we  are  apt  to  over- 


jjiuiiHiwwm ■iiiiiii*i'wi 


Bry  was  by  no  moans 
the  time  arrivuil  lor 
I  to  the  funeral  pile, 
irnera  atlendpcl,  who  j 
i,  which   they  often 
lied    hair,  and   their 
profuse  tears,  moved, 
B  minds  of  the  spec- 
ie deceased,  and    to 
•eaved  friends,  whose 
y  their  own  presence 
fiese  women  were  un- 
me  who  bore  the  title 
d  the  time  and  tone 
They  were  attired 
mourning  and  i.-T'.ic- 
Romans  puUa.      It 
that,  as  intimated  by 
h,  a  principal  object 
B  hired  mourners  was 
)f  the  bereaved  rela- 
B  excitement  of  afTlic- 
the  virtues  and  quaU 
sd,  as  well  as,  by  the 
lite  the  sympathising 
e  not  immediately  in- 

jnted  in  the  engraving 
y,  to  which  the  imme- 
ss  pay  daily  visits  to 

days  after  the  inter- 
f  unavoidable  absence 

supplied  here  by  the 
len. 


ITESY. 

KE  do  not  hesitate  to 
claim   for  courtesy, 
as  Doctor  Johnson 
did  for  cleanliness, 
a  place  among  the 
V   virtues.     It  is  a  vir- 
tue, and  one  which 
greatly  promotes  the 
comfort  and  happi- 
It  is  the  sugar  in  the 
iweetener  of  domestic 
e.     The  very  name  of 
ssociated  with  the  stiff, 
le  instances,  ludicrous 
that  we  are  apt  to  over- 


C0URTE8Y. 


951 


look  its  worth,  and  have  inadequate  ideas 
of  its  importance.  These  forms,  unless 
they  bo  all  the  more  extravagant,  are  by 
no  means  to  be  neglected ;  but  it  should 
not  be  forgotten  that  they  are  often  punc- 
tiliously observed  by  persons  who  do  not 
know  what  real  politeness  is— in  whose 
minds  the  sentiments  that  create  true  cour- 
tesy have  no  place. 

To  be  courteous  in  the  best  sense,  we 
must  have  an  humble  estimate  of  ourselves 
and   our  attainments.     Excjssivo   vanity 
and  true  politeness  will  not  be  found  to- 
gether.    When  you  meet  with  a  person 
who  is  on  the  very  best  terms  wiih  him- 
self, and  has  a  most  extravagant  idea  of 
his  own  importance,  you  need  not  expe_ct 
to   receive    very  courteous  or  respectful 
treatment  from  him.     It  can  scarcely  have 
escaped  the  notice  of  the  least  observing, 
that  the  artificial  manners  current  in  soci- 
ety are  constructed   in  deference  to  the 
sentiment  of  humility.     "The   tendency 
of  pride,"  says  one  of  the  greatest  and 
best  of  men,  "  to  produce  strife   and  ha- 
tred, is  sufTicieiitly  apparent  from  the  pains 
men  have  been  at  to  construct  a  system  of 
politeness,  which  is  nothing  more  than  a 
sort  of  mimic  humility,  in  which  the  sent 
timents  of  an  offensive  self-estimation  are 
so  far  dis-guised  and  suppressed  as  to  make 
them  compatible  with  the  spirit  of  society  ; 
such  a  mode  of  behavior  as  would  natural- 
ly result  from  an  attention  to  the  apostolic 
Miiuntv.ion, '  Let  nothing  be  done  through 
strife  or  vain  glory  ;  but  in  lowliness  of 
mind  let   each   esteem  other  better  than 
themselves.'"     And  if  even   the   hollow 
forms  of  this  virtue  be  so  important  that 
we  can  not  dispense  with  them,  how  inuch 
more  valuable  must  the  reality  be  ;  if  the 
painting  be  both  useful  and  pleasing,  how 
excellent  and  charming  the  original !     Hu- 
mility, then,  it  should  be  kept  »"  mi"<^>  " 
essential  to  genuine  courtesy.     The  really 
humble  individual  will  not  usurp  a  place  to 
which  he  has  no  claim.     He  will  be  con- 
tent  with  his  own  share,  or  rather  less,  in 
conversation.     Even  when   conscious  of 
being  in  the  right,  he  will  not  express  his 
convictions  in  that  rude  and   boisterous 
tone,  which  creates  disgust  both  at  the 
speaker  and  what  he  says  ;  he  will  not 
stale  his  views  as  if  they  were  so  many 
self-evident  axioms,  reminding  wise  and 


sensible  listeners  of  the  taunt  of  a  vener^ 
able  scripture  worthy,  "  No  doubt  but  ye 
are  the  people,  and  wisdom  shall  die  with 
you."  He  will  beware  of  exalting  him- 
self above  others  ;  of  hinting  even  indi- 
rectly their  inferiority  to  him.  He  will 
not  lake  the  faults  and  misfortunes  of  oth- 
ers as  incense  to  his  own  vanity — a  prac- 
tice which,  though  common,  is  mean  and 
despicable.  It  i*  easy  lo  see  how  an  hum- 
ble opinion  of  one's  self  will  thus  promote 
genuine  |x)liiene8s. 

Affeclionateness   is  another  of  its  es- 
sential  prerequisites.     To  be   pleasingly  ] 
well-bred,  we  must  have  a  regard  for  those 
with  whom  we  mingle  ;  for  its  absence  no 
artificial  deference  will  compensate.     The 
great  desire  of  every  person  when  he  goes 
into  society,  sh(»uld   be  to   contribute   as 
largely  as  possible  lo  the  general  fund  of 
happiness— to  impart  as  well  as  receive 
pleasure.    Good  will  toward  all  with  whom 
we  feel  it  right  to  associate,  must  shine 
through  the   countenance,  flow  from   the 
tongue,  be  conveyed  in  the  cordial  grasp 
of  the  hand:    and  in   a  thousand   ways, 
easier  felt  than  described,  be  made  appa- 
rent.   Why  should  we  blush  to  confess  that 
we  have  a  kindlv  feeling  toward  our  fel- 
low-creatures ?  '  Why  seek  to  hide    the 
sympathies  that  are  so  honorable  to  us  ? 
Why  not  circulate  as  widely  as  we  can, 
those  feelings  of  brotherhood  which  are 
of  such  advantage  to  our  race?     There 
are  some,  indeed,  who  have  so  degraded 
themselves  that  they  may  be  thought  hard- 
ly entitled  to  affection.     But  even  when 
called  to  mix  with  such  persons,  we  should 
remember  that  kindness  has  a  killing  pow- 
er, and  that  the  best  way  to  make  a  man 
respect  himself,  is  to  show  that  others  still 
would  fain  respect  hiin,  would  he  but  act 
so  as  to  enable  them  to  do  so.     Affeclion- 
ateness is  indispensable  to  that  kind  of 
politeness  which  a  man  with  a  heart  rel- 
ishes.    There  is  no  mistaking  cold  artifi- 
cial manners  for  the  genuine  courtesy  of 
the  heart.     Persons  with  the  gloomy  and 
scowling  look— the  harsh,  querulous,  and 
domineering  tone— on  whose  brows  you 
can  trace  the  clouds  of  the  quarrel  that 
was  just  hushed  up  as  you  crossed  their 
threshold,  never  can  be  courteous  m  the 
best  sense  of  that  term.     There  is  no  good 
society,  no  circle  worth  spending  an  hour 


COURTR8V. 


,n.  where  Live  i«  not  i  guest.  Her  pres- 
««o  :^  indispt-nHable  lo  iho  "feast  of 
rwMon  and  »1ie  flow  of  sovu   ' 

A  scrupulous  and  delicali-  i.  ;,'nr«l  to  Ih*" 
(irtlmu-  T  oth«r«,  is  also  an  c»«.Mtial  iti- 
grediem  ii.  '>ie  character  of  a  weU-brf.i 
person.     Tl.-^  most  guarded,  indeed,  may 


im,  ••  Do  unto  others  as  you  would  hnvo 
others  do  iinio  you  "^ 

A  prying  ''""'  inil«ii»itive  disposition,  fno, 

is  ineoinpalilile  with  true  politiMiPss.     Iin- 

iuTtinenl    curiosity  is    one    of  the    chiel 

Hies  of  social  intercourse,     ll  is  easy  to 

sec  how  it  becomes  so.     You  put  a  ([uei 


person,      ii.-^  iii"»'  ^"'V"''"'r'7"',,;V,rn  I  tic.n  regoeclinn  eiriumstances  wliidi  you 


edlv,  violate  the  fir-it  law  of  correct 
manners,  which  is  to  tn:.ko  all  around  us 
feel  as  easy  and  cheerful  as  possible 
There  arc  some  persons  so  sensitive  ami 
touchy  on  almost  every  topic,  whose  sen- 
sitiveness, too,  arises  from  their  overween- 
inir  sclf-c(mceit,  that  (»ne  can  scarcely  be         . 


which  common  sense  might  tell  you  iho 
party  you  inierri.){iite  is  not  willing  to  dis- 
close. The  luiier  must  either  eipiivociiie, 
or  directly  fi.lsifv ,  or.  much  to  the  annoy- 
nnce  of  his  own  feelings,  slate  dislinclly 
ihat  the  question  is  one  you  have  no  right 
to  put,  and  which,  therefore,  he  does  not 
So  that  if  to  preserve 
as  well  as 


m^e  them  offence  ;  while  there  are  tnose  ,   "'  "'l"     ^  VV '■   "•'i,,  ^.e  object  of  good 
Uo  have  so  little  regard  H.r  . he_  feelings     » --  -,tr  P  u^plv  it.  tlio  sociafcir- 


of  others,  that  we  almost  feel  it  a  duty, 
when  an  opportunity  occurs,  to  lend  them 
a  pretty  hard  blow  in  return.     We  quite 
noree  with  'he  sentiment  of  one  of  the 
jrreatesl   of  moralists-"  They  who   can 
not  take  a  jest,  ought  not  to  make  one. 
These  exceptions  apart,  however,  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  wantonly  tampering  with 
the  feelings  of  those  with  whom  we  min- 
gle, which  is  one  of  the  grossest  outrages 
upon  good  breeding.     If  il'e  gentle  Cow- 
per  was  right  when  he  said  that  he  would 
,,ot  enter  upon  the  list  of  his  friends,  the 
man  who  wouhl  heedlessly  set  foot  upon 
a  worm,  what  are  we  to  say  of  those  who 
intentionally  would  crush  or  wound  that 
sensitive,  and  sprightly,  and  loving  thing. 


manne.s,  every  Paul  Pry  in  the  socia  cir 
de  must  be  a  very  ofTensive  person  indeed. 
We  should  keep  a  "  sharp  look  out"  on 
those  whose  conversation  is  chiefly  in  the 
ijuesiion  form. 

True  courtesy  has  other  elements  on 
which    we    do   not    enlarge    at    present. 
There  is,  for  example,  purity  of  conversa- 
tion—that  purity  which  teaches  us  to  shun  | 
not  merely  open  obscenity,  but  which  is  ' 
often    as    dangerous— covert   insinuation. 
Then  there  is  the  propriety  of  feeling  as 
much  at  ease  as  may  be  consistent  with 
due    respect    to   others.     "  Ease,"    Lord 
Chesterfield  says,  "  is  the  standard  of  po- 
liteness."    We  must  be  courteous  to  those 
beneath  our  own  roof,  would  we  practise 


High.,  r'''?r"x?t  rXX'    T.C     n  oo.^^^^^^^^^^^^^        "■  '"'■  -""" 

fitted '  V  ^i<  "   .n  'incw..teous  aud  unfeeling  |  time  a  gentleman.     ^ 
allusina  i*.      i'J      J  it.  to  stir  a  _8igh,  or 


kindle  .<iM>'  And  every  :  .n  1^  awaro 
when  si.ch  alii,  ions  in  his  o«  u  case  would 
be  felt  cruel,  and  ho  should  not  forget  to 
act  toward  his  neighbor  on  the  golden  max- 


The  moment  of  parting  is  the  first  mo- 
ment that  we  feel  how  dear  we  are  to  each 
other.  The  reserves  of  the  heart  are  bro- 
ken, and  the  moved  spirit  speaks  as  it  feels. 


1  at 


you  would  hnvc 

rsilive  {1i8posilini\,t(!ii. 
1  true  poliU'iirss.  Iir»- 
itt  ono  of  the  cliiff 
rcour^*!!  It  in  ««»>■  H) 
so.  You  put  a  i\uvH- 
•uinstniices  wliicli  you 
iw  anyiliiuj;  iilxiui,  nu<\ 
i«tn  uii({lit  tell  you  tlu) 
ic  i;*  uot  willinn  to  tlis- 
iiUNi  ciilier  ciiuivocatt', 
)r,  niuih  to  the  ainioy- 
j'liiigs,  slate  Jisiiuiily 
oue  you  have  no  nul" 
tliereforp,  lio  does  not 
So  that  if  to  pn-servH 
I,  to  impart  as  well  as 
,  be  tilt!  ohj.ct  of  j,'ood 
ul  Pry  in  the  social  cir- 
jfTfusiv*"  person  indecil. 
1  "  sharp  look  out"  ou 
rsalion  is  chiefly  in  the 

has  other  elements  on 
t  enlarge  at  present, 
iple,  purity  of  conver.sa- 
^rhich  teaches  us  to  shun 
Dbscenity,  but  which  is 
us — covert   insinuation. 

propriety  of  feeling  as 
may  be  consistent  with 
others.     "  Ease,"    Lord 

•'  is  the  standard  of  po- 
ust  be  courteous  to  those 
roof,  would  we  practise 

grace  in  society.  We 
that  politeness  is  a  grace 
>r.  Some  may  affect  to 
rs  the  less  for  their  sense, 

vi!'„e  That  man  has 
a  mcnt  ''aiiu  ..lis  to  the 
y  iv'.j's  *»■  '  dares  to 
itiw.i  ^.  ihe  established 
of  society  ;  and  even  the 
ed  in  mind  will  be  all  the 
30  accomplished  in  man- 
1  vulgar  error  that  a  man 
a  genius  and  at  the  same 


of  parting  is  the  first  mo- 
il how  dear  we  are  to  each 
erves  of  the  heart  are  bro-  I 
,-ed  spirit  speaks  as  it  feels. 


REAL  QHKATNE88.-THE  BUIOHT  flIOK  OP  HtmAN.TY. 


UM  ORKATNESS. 


ti 


E  who  possess** 
the  divine  powei  i 
of  the  «oul,  is  a 


hesTs  the  itiont  heavy  burden,  cheerfully, 
who  is  calmest  in  storms  and  moni  fearless 
under  in"iaco  and  ftowii*.  whoso  reliance 
on  truth,  on  virtue,  on  V.oA,  is  most  unfal. 
f  .»..  .n.,i    I.  a    terinff— and  im  thii   a  sreatness  which  is 

Sr^lace'  when,  iXly   .  abound  in  .onspicuou.  Nations  t 
it  may 


THE  BRIGHT  SIDE  OF  HUM.\MTY. 

TiiF.nE    are    good    men    everywhere. 
There  are  men  who  are  good  lor  goo.l- 
I'n     •  "    


You  may 
^j^.:i^,   /^^^r"^     clothe  him  vi^ith 
,p^f^W^  rf^^^^K  rags,   chain  him 
'  :.^  to  slavish    tasks 

-but  he  iM  still  great.  You  may  shut 
him  out  of  your  houses,  but  God  opens  to 
hitM  heavenly   mansions.     Ho   makes  no    ^  "y  |^'j^;      -j.     „hscurity."in  retirement, 

show   indeed  i"  «»>«  ^tfe*^'*  "^  "^  t'tiJf  I  breath  ^^^ 

city,  but  a  clear  thought,  a  pi.re  affecU^n     »«";";",     ,^„„^„  ,„  the  world,  and  | 

a  resolute  act  of  a  virtuous  life,  will  have    »;e;' /^^^^.^'y,  ,,„  ,,„„,,„,  ,herc  are  good 
a  dignity  of  quite  another  kind  and  fa     ne  cr  '^^^^  ,„.i  le.up- 

hi.h'er,  \han   -cumulation  of  ^-^J^^  \ZZU    ^Lx  ..ll'the  ^everitV   of  earthly 
granite,   of  plaster  and  stucco,  however,  ,  ^^j^,,^^,  j,^.^^ 

Cunningly  put  together  or  thouj^h  J.  etc   -  '^■^,;.^-  ^,,  ^       ,he  dark;    nids  that 

i„g  far  beyond  our  ^ght.— Nor  is  this  aiL  J    j  jj„  ^  u,,,,,   ,i    we   must 

Ue.l  greatness  has  nothing  to  do  with  a  1  surround 


man's  sphere.  It  does  not  he  in  the 
ma^M.itude  of  his  hwn  outward  agency,  in 
the'exteot  of  the  effects  which  il  produces. 
Perliaps  the  greatest  men  in  our  city,  at 
this  moment,  are  buried  in  obscurity. 
Grandeur  of  character  is  wholly  in  tho 
f(,«:e  of  thought,  moral  principle  andjove, 
and   Ih  "" 


Biirruuii'i     nii-i-..       --- 

admit  the  sad  truth,  that  many  are  wrong, 
and  persist  in  being  wrong;  H^'.  •"'">' 
are  false  to  every  holy  trust,  and  uthless 
toward  every  holy  affection  ;  ih  many 
are  coldly  selfish,  and  meanly  s  Msual; 
yes,  cold  and  dead  to  everything  hat  is 
not  wrapped  up  in  their  own  little  •  irthly^ 

'•  .1.-1, 1. r     ii>roiini>il     up     in 

so  : 
)  bo- 


..moral  principle  and  love      ^  ^    '''^  ^^  Jarkly   wrapped 
„  may  be  found   in  the    "'-"^'esH  Jt«re«  .  o    m  ^  y.^^^ 

ceudition  of  life.     A  man  brought  up  to    the  veu  ^^y^   n  ^^^  ^,^,.^^j 

an  oi^scure  trade,  and  hemmed  in  ^X  ^^e  |  his^»»  ^^     ^^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^   hg^,,,    „n,d 

th"  throng  of  the  false  and  the  fait!  .ess. 
There  are  warm  and  generous  he  irts, 
which  the  cold  atmosphere  of  surrouv.  mg 
selfishness  never  chills  ;  and  eyes  un    ^ed 

sorr    -vs 


an  oiiscure  irauti,  miu  ..v.  . , 

wants  of  a   growing  family,  may  in  this  heve 

narrow  sphere,  perceive  more  clearly,  dis-  the 

criminate    more    keenly,    seize     on    the 

ri-'ht   means   more  decisively,  and   have 

more  presence  of  mind  in  difficulty,  than  1  sem,uu«=.^^^^^^^^^^  ^,  .^^^ 

another  who  has  accumulated  vast  «''^^«  '"  ^J'^ 'Jifh  sympathy  for  th,-  so 

of  knowledge  by  laborious  study,  and  h«  T^s      Yes!  there  Ire  good  men      ul 

has  more  of  intellectual  greatness      M^O^   of  nher  .  ^^^^  ^^^^  ^     ^^^^^        ^^ 

a  man  who  has  gone  but  a  few  m>l<^« «[«'"    Zrr^^nA  giveth  his  angels  charge  to  k.    p 
home,  understands  human  "=^^"^«  ^""^H  2'.%^  nowhere  in  the   holy  roc    d 

__.: „„,1  ..f«wTVicphnrartfir  more     lueiii  »     ""^        ,  •    .,„    ^^    airn?    -■ 


detects  motives,  and  weighs  character  more 
sagaciously,  than  another  who  has  travel- 
ed over  the  known  world,  and  makes  a 
name  by  his  reporis  of  different  countries. 
It  is  tho  force  of  thought  which  measures 
intellectual,  and  so  it  i  the  force  of  prin- 
ciple that  measures  moral  greatness,  that 
highest  of  human  endowments,  that  bright- 
esT  manifesto  of  the  divinity.  The  greates^t 
w 


are  these  words  more  precious  or  strm 
than  rhose  in  which  it  is  written  that  G.  d 
loveth  the  righteous  ones.  Such  men  are 
there  Let  not  their  precious  virtues  I  ^ 
distrusted.  As  surely  and  as  evidenll, 
as  some   men   have  obeyed  the  calls  . 

ambition  and  pleasure,  «"  «'"^''  y  ^^  • . 
evidentlyhaveothermenobeyedh    vot. 


,f  the  divinity.    The  greatest    «  'ae^y^^v.  ^ ._ .  .^^^^^  ^^  ^^^ 

man  IS  he  who  chooses  the  nght  with  ;  of;;'^^^^^;^^  of  God,  than  to  enjoy 
invincible  resolution,  who  resists  the  sore     ^;^™  f^^  a  season.-     Why, 

temptations  from  within  and  without,  whu   the  pleasure 


•te 


every  meek  man  suffers  in  conflict  keener 
far  than  the  contest  for  honor  and  applause. 
And  there  are  such  men,  who,  amid  in- 
jury and  insult,  and  misconstruction,  and 
the  pointed  finger,  and  the  scornful  hp  of 
pride,  stand   tirm  in   their   integrity  and 
allegiance  to  a  loftier  principle,  and  still 
their  throbbing  hearts  in  prayer,  and  hush 
them  to  the  gentle  motion  of  kindness  and 
pity      Such  witnesses  there  are  even  in 
ihis  bad  world  :  signs  that  a  redeeming 
work  is  goingforward  amid  its  derelictions; 
proofs  that  it  is  not  a  world  forsaken  of 
heaven  ;  pledges  that  it  will  not  be  for- 
saken  ;  tokens  that  cheer  and  touch  ev- 
ery  good  and  thoughtful  mind,  beyond  all 
I  other  power  of  earth  to  penetrate  and  en- 
kindle  it. 


DEATH  OF  GENERAL  WOLFE. 

N  1759  It  was  resolved 
by  the  British  govern- 
ment to  make  a  vigorous 
and   effectual  effort   to 
conquer    Canada   from 
the  French.     Three  ex- 
peditions were  prepared 
which  were  all  ultimate- 
ly  to   unite.      General 
Amherst  was  to  march  from  New  York, 
seize  the  forts  of  Ticonderoga  and  Crown 
point,  and  sailing  along  Lake  Champlain, 
and  down  the  Richelieu  into  the  St.  Law- 
rence,  join  General  Wolfe,  who  by  that 
time  would  have  arrived  before  Quebec 
with  a  fleet  and  army.    The  third  expedi- 
tion was  to  take  Fort  Niagara ;  afterward, 
sailing  across  Lake  Ontario  and  down  the 
Cataraqui,  take   Montreal;   and   then,  i» 
necessary,  co-operate  with  Amherst  and 
Wolfe.     The  plan  was  a  bold  one,  but  li- 
able to  many  interruptions  which  could 
not  be  foreseen,  or   at  least  prevented. 
Each  armament   succeeded,  in   spite  ot 
many  difficulties,  in  accomplishing  its  sep- 
arate objects ;  and  as  Wolfe  was  success- 
ful  without  the  co-operation  of  the  others, 
v.e  may  confine  our  attention  to  him  alone. 
The  fleet  containing  Wolfe  and  his  ar- 
my arrived  at  the  island  of  Orleans  with- 


out obstruction.     Montcalm,  the   French 
commander-in-chief,  a  bravo  officer,  imme- 
diately encamped  with  a  numerous  army, 
composed  of  regular  troops,  militia,  and 
Indians,  along  the    shore,  down   to   the 
banks  of  the  Montmorenci,  a  river  which 
liierally/a//s  into  the  St.  Lawrence  about 
seven  miles  below  Quebec.     He  rightly 
judged  that  Wolfe  would  try  to  land  below, 
not  above  the  city.     Meantime  fiie-ships 
were  sent  floating  down  the  river,  and 
nothing  could  have  saved  the  English  fleet 
and  transports,  if  the  sailors,  with   daring 
'  courage,  had  not  boarded  the  burning  ves- 
sels, and  towing  them  on  shore,  left  them 
to  blaze  away  to  the  water's  edge.     The 
attempt  was  made  twice,  and  each  time 
failed  in  the  same  manner.     Wolfe  land- 
ed, and  tried  to  cross  the  Montmorenci 
above  the  falls,  in  the  face  of  the  French 
array,  but  was  driven  back  with  a  losp  of 
500  men  and  many  brave  officers. 

The  defeat  mortified  the  young  hero  so 
severely  as  to  bring  on  a  fever,  but  though 
he  was  greatly  reduced  by  his  illness,  his 
anxiety  to  retrieve  his  reverse  doubtless 
strung  his  mind  to  that  pitch  of  determi- 
nation which  enabled  him  to  accomplish 
bis  object.     The  English  took  possession 
of  Point  Levi,  opposite  Quebec  ;  and  the 
fleet  sailed  past  the  city  without  damage. 
Montcalm  deemed  himself  perfectly  se- 
cure above  the  city,  never  imagining  that 
Wolfe  would  effect  %  landing.     He  ihere- 
'  fore  only  placed  a  numerous  line  of  sen- 
tinels along  the  summit  of  the  steep  and 
rocky  banks.     Time  was  now  becoming 
precious  to  Wolfe ;  it  was  the  beginning 
of  the  month  of  September,  and  a  Cana- 
dian winter  was  not  for  distant.     After 
anxious  searching,  he  selected  a  little  in- 
dentation of  the  bank,  rather  more  than  a 
mile  above  the  city,  still  called  Wolfe's 
cave.     Here   he   proposed   to    land    the 
troops  in  silence  and  secrecy  during  the 
night,  and  making  them  clamber  up  a  nar- 
row path,  that  at  present,  though  well- 
beaten,  is  difficult  of  ascent  in  broad  day- 
light, to  form  them  in  order  of  battle  on 
the  table-land  above,  called  the  plains  of 
Abraham.     On  the  13th  of  September,  an 
hour  after  midnight,  the  first  division  of  the 
troops  landed,  one  of  the  first  being  Wolle 
himself.    "I  scarcely  think,"  he   whis- 
pered to  an  officer  near  him,  "  that  there 


It 
1 


mtmrn 


Montcalm,  the    r'rench 
lief,  a  bravo  officer,  imme- 
d  with  a  numerous  army, 
gular  troops,  militia,  and 
the   shore,  down   to   the 
)ntmorenci,  a  river  which 
,0  the  St.  Lawrence  about 
low  Quebec.     He  rightly 
fe  would  try  to  land  below, 
ity.     Meantime  fire-ships 
ling  down   the  river,  and 
ive  saved  the  English  fleet 
if  the  sailors,  with  daring 
t  boarded  the  burning  ves- 
g  them  on  shore,  left  them 

0  the  water's  edge.  The 
lade  twice,  and  each  time 
me  manner.  Wolfe  land- 
,0  cross  the  Montmorenci 

in  the  face  of  the  French 
driven  back  with  a  loss  of 
lany  brave  officers, 
nortitied  the  young  hero  so 
bring  on  a  fever,  but  though 

reduced  by  his  illness,  his 
rieve  his  reverse  doubtless 
id  to  that  pitch  of  deicrmi- 
enabled  him  to  accomplish 
he  English  took  possession 

opposite  Quebec  ;  and  the 
it  the  city  without  damage, 
imed  himself  perfectly  se- 
!  city,  never  imagining  that 
jfTect  %  landing.     He  ihere- 
ed  a  numerous  line  of  sen- 
ae  summit  of  the  steep  and 
Time  was  now  becoming 
olfe;  it  was  the  beginning 
of  September,  and  a  Cana- 
(vas  not  far  distant.     After 
hing,  he  selected  a  little  in- 
he  bank,  rather  niore  than  a 
lie  city,  still  called  Wolfe's 

he  proposed  to  land  the 
nee  and  secrecy  during  ihe 
iking  them  clamber  up  a  nar- 
at  at  present,  though  well- 
Scult  of  ascent  in  broad  day- 

1  them  in  order  of  battle  on 
I  above,  called  the  plains  of 
)n  the  13lh  of  September,  an 
dnighi,  the  first  division  of  the 
1,  one  of  the  first  being  Wolfe 
[  scarcely  think,"  he  whis- 
)fficer  near  him,  "  that  there 


is  any  possibility  of  getting  up,  but  you 
must  do  your  endeavor."  The  Highland- 
ers and  light  infantry  scaled  the  path,  dis- 
lodged a  sergeant's  guard  at  the  top,  and 
the  news  was  carried  to  the  astonished 
Montcalm,  that  the  English  were  on  the 
plains  of  Abraham. 

He  brought  down  his  army,  and  the  bat- 
tle began  about  nine  in  the  morning. 
Shortly  after  its  commencement,  Wolfe 
was  shot  in  the  wrist  j  he  wrapped  hand- 
kerchief round  it,  and  continued  giving 
orders.  Advancing  at  the  head  of  the 
grenadiers,  with  their  bayonets  fixed, 
another  shot  entered  his  breast.  He 
leaned  upon  an  officer,  who  sat  down  for 
the  purpose,  and  death  was  stealing  over 
him.  A.  cry  of  "They  run,  they  run!" 
startled  him  :  "  Who  run  ?"  he  asked  with 
eagerness.  "  The  French."  "What!  do 
they  run  alre&dy  ? — then  I  die  happy." 
He  expired  almost  immediately  afterward. 

Montcalm  was  mortally  wounded  by  the 
only  gun  which  the  English  had  been  able 
to  drag  up  the  heights :  he  died  in  Que- 
bec next  day.  Quebec  capitulated  on  the 
17th  ;  and  the  English  fleet  left  the  river, 
a  strong  garrison  being  placed  in  the  city. 
During  the  winter  the  garrison  suffered 
severely  from  the  scurvy ;  and  in  the 
spring  of  1760,  the  French  came  down 
from  Montreal,  and  occupied  the  plains  of 
Abraham.  General  Murray  risked  an  en- 
gagement was  defeated,  and  driven  into 
Quebec  But  for  the  opportune  arrival  of 
an  English  fleet  in  the  river,  the  city 
might  have  been  reoccupied  by  its  origi- 
nal owners,  and  Wolfe's  victory  rendered 
what  battles  often  are — a  mere  waste  of 
human  life. 

All  Canada  surrendered  in  1760,  the 
inhabitants  quietly  taking  the  oath  of  al- 
legiance to  their  conquerors,  so  that  the 
province  was  not  devastated  by  a  prolonged 
resistance.  It  was  ceded  to  Britain '  in 
full  sovereignty  by  the  treaty  of  Paris,  in 
1763. 


To  detract  anything  from  another,  and 
for  one  man  to  multiply  his  own  conveni- 
encies  by  the  inconveniences  of  another, 
is  more  against  nature  than  death,  than 
poverty,  than  pain,  and  the  rest  of  exter- 
nal accidents. 


EMULATION. 

MULATION,  taken 
in  its  restricted  and 
exact  sense,  may  be 
defined  as  that  prin- 
ciple by  which  we 
are  incited  to  cope 
with  others  whose 
path  of  exertion  runs 
parallel  to  our  own. 
There  are  two  affections  of  the  mind  par- 
tially resembling  this,  from  both  of  which 
it  is  of  consequence  to  distinguish  it. 
Ambition  and  envy  are  certainly  to  be 
viewed  as  two  varieties  of  the  same  gen- 
eral tendency.  The  aim  of  the  former 
exceeds  that  of  emulation.  There  is  em- 
braced in  it,  as  a  co-element  with  the  de- 
sire of  distinction,  an  avidity  of  power. 
The  ambitious  man  will  not  be  satisfiet' 
with  quiescent  and  contemplative  supe- 
riority ;  his  ultimate  and  proper  object — 
an  object  the  losing  sight  of  which  would 
denude  him  of  the  quality  in  question — is 
the  vigorous  and  continued  assertion  of  his 
anticipated  ascendency.  The  aim  of  emu- 
latioij  is  praise,  that  of  ambition  is  power. 
A  mind  under  the  influence  of  the  one 
feeling  locks  beyond  the  contest  to  the 
otium  cum  dignitate,  the  blended  distinc- 
tion and  repose  in  which  it  is  expected  to 
issue  ;  a  mind  actuated  by  the  other  only 
contemplates  the  struggle  as  introductory 
to  the  toils  of  a  higher  sphere.  Of  the 
insignia  of  success,  those  of  emulation  are 
the  robe  and  the  crown,  those  of  ambition 
the  sword  and  the  sceptre. 

If  a  difference  is  thus  perceptible  be- 
tween two  emotions,  each  of  which,  though 
vicious  in  excess,  is  essentially  good  and 
praiseworthy,  that,  surely,  subsisting  be- 
tween either  and  a  third  essentially  evil 
and  reprehensible,  although  in  one  aspect 
resembling  the  others,  can  not  be  difficult 
of  detection.  To  dilate  on  the  distinction 
between  envy  and  ambition  is  foreign  to 
our  present  design.  Perhaps  the  latter  of 
these  dispositions  is  at  a  still  more  ap- 
preciable remove  from  the  former  than 
emulation  is,  the  purely  benevolent  feel- 
ings being  more  decidedly  implied  in  the 
right  exercise  of  power,  than  in  the  mere 
possession   of  superiority.     Our  present 


I 


ULATION. 


[^  MULATION,  taken 
6)  in  its  restricted  and 
exact  sense,  may  be 
defined  as  that  prin- 
L  ciple  by  which  we 
Tj  are  incited  to  cope 
1^  with  others  whose 
^  path  of  exertion  runs 
parallel  to  our  own. 
ections  of  the  mind  par- 
this,  from  both  of  which 
ence  to  distinguish  it. 
i^y  are  certainly  to  be 
ieties  of  the  same  gen- 
i'he  aim  of  the  former 
lulation.  There  is  em- 
:o-eIement  with  the  de- 
I,  an  avidity  of  power, 
an  will  not  be  satisfiec' 
id  contemplative  supe- 
ite  and  proper  object — 
g  sight  of  which  would 
quality  in  question — is 
>ntinued  assertion  of  his 
ency.  The  aim  of  emu- 
it  of  ambition  is  power. 
9  influence  of  the  one 
and  the  contest  to  the 
e,  the  blended  distinc- 
which  it  is  expected  to 
uated  by  the  other  only 
truggle  as  introductory 
ligher  sphere.  Of  the 
,  those  of  emulation  are 
rown,  those  of  ambition 
sceptre. 

is  thus  perceptible  be- 
B,each  of  which,  though 
is  essentially  good  and 
surely,  subsisting  be- 
i  third  essentially  evil 
although  in  one  aspect 
ers,  can  not  be  difficult 
dilate  on  the  distinction 
ambition  is  foreign  to 
Perhaps  the  latter  of 
is  at  a  still  more  ap- 
from  the  former  than 
)urely  benefolent  feel- 
cidedly  implied  in  the 
awer,  than  in  the  mere 
eriority.     Our  present 


plan,  however,  only  requires  us  to  dis- 
tinguish emulation  from  envy. 

The  line  of  demarcation  is  bold  and 
broad.  Envy,  we  have  said,  is  in  its  own 
nature  an  evil  affection  ;  emulation,  exist- 
ing in  proper  measure,  a  good.  The  one 
has  been  habitually  present  to  the  bosoms 
of  the  best  and  most  illustrious  of  the 
human  race,  and  we  have  strong  grounds 
for  concluding  that  it  is  common  with  ours 
to  superior  natures ;  the  other  is  the  char- 
acteristic of  the  vicious  and  depraved 
among  men,  and  if  harbored  by  an  angel 
would  transform  him  into  a  fiend.  Emula- 
tion springs  from  a  due  regard  to  our  own 
character  and  position,  a  wish  for  such 
advancement  in  any  pursuit  as  may  pro- 
cure for  us  the  approval  of  our  own  con- 
sciences, and  also  the  esteem  and  good 
offices  ol  our  fellows  ;  envy  is  a  state  of 
mind  usually  resuhing  from  culpable  in- 
feriority, in  which  the  depression  or  down- 
fall of  a  competitor  is  the  one  thing  con- 
templated and  desired.  "  A  man,"  says 
Lord  Bacon,  "  that  hath  no  virtue  in  him- 
self ever  envieth  virtue  in  oliiers,  for  men's 
minds  will  either  feed  upon  their  own  good 
or  upon  others'  evil ;  and  who  wantcth 
the  one  will  play  upon  the  other,  and 
whoso  is  out  of  hope  to  attain  another's 
virtue,  will  seek  to  come  at  even  hand  by 
depressing  another's  fortune."  The  one 
feeUng  is  a  just  and  proper  mode  of  self- 
love  ;  the  other  is  a  wicked  perversion 
of  that  law  of  our  being,  making  evil  its 
good,  turning  the  successes  of  other  men 
into  gall  and  bitterness  to  the  solitary 
malcontent,  and  their  misfortunes  into  the 
subject  of  his  gratulation.  The  one  is 
opposed  to  sloth  and  insensibility ;  the 
other  is  the  antithesis  of  benevolence. 
Emulation  employs  no  means  to  gain  its 
object  but  such  as  are  open  and  honorable  : 
envy  will  stoop  to  the  meanest  and  the 
guiltiest.  The  former  disposition  involves 
a  specific  regard  to  our  own  interests — a 
wish  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  a  well-earned 
preferment :  the  latter  would  often  pur- 
chase injury  to  another  by  incurring  injury 
to  self.  The  one  i«  virtuous  self-love, 
with  a  tendency  to  expand  to  philanthropy  ; 
the  other  is  vicious  self-love,  issuing, 
still  more  certainly,  in  the  darkest  ma- 
levolence. 

We  must  be  mindful,  however,  while 


asserting  these  distinctions,  that  there  are 
complex  mental  states  in  which  any  emo- 
tion may  co-exist  with  others  is  an  almost 
infinite  variety  of  shade  and  of  develop- 
ment. Indeed,  as  the  score  of  letters  that 
make  up  the  alphabet  may  be  grouped  into 
millions  of  different  words,  or  as  tlie  half- 
dozen  pieces  of  stained  glass  i^;  a  kaleido- 
scope form  endless  combinaUons  of  colors, 
so  the  human  mind,  though  endowed 
originally  with  few  separate  principles  of 
thought  or  of  action,  possesses,  boi  h  from 
the  agency  of  external  impulses  a;id  from 
the  reciprocal  influence  of  its  own  facul- 
ties, an  inconceivable  range  of  diversified 
consciousness.  It  is  seldom,  if  ever,  that 
any  of  our  powers  is  operating  singly. 
Several  are  generally  employed  in  the 
formation  of  an  idea  or  emotion,  which 
will  be  each  modified  by  the  respective 
prominence  of  these  while  educing  it. 
And  thus  it  frequently  happens,  that  in  a 
state  of  mind  which  the  decided  pre- 
ponderance of  better  views  and  motives 
may  entitle  to  be  regarded  as  the  state  of 
emulation,  there  is  traceable  a  slight  in- 
fusion of  malevolent  feeling,  the  presence 
of  which  in  larger  proportion  would  con- 
stitute the  emotion  envious.  Indeed  vir- 
tue, as  connected  with  this  part  of  our 
constitution,  seems  rather  to  consist  in  the 
immediate  repression  of  those  evil  affec- 
tions into  which,  in  particular,  disappoint- 
ed emulation  may  degenerate,  than  in  the 
attempt  to  escape  all  liability  to  their  in- 
cipient growth.  The  wise  purposes  of 
the  moral  government  of  God  may  render 
it  necessary  that  the  root  of  bitterness  re- 
main in  the  soil ;  our  duty  being  to  watch 
and  to  check  the  least  symptom  of  develop- 
ment. 

We  wish  to  notice  the  influence,  in  the 
first  instance,  of  natural  temperament,  and, 
in  the  second,  of  education,  in  modifying 
the  susceptibility  we  speak  of. 

In  natural  temperament  there  is  among 
mankind  an  extreme  diversity.  Some, 
endowed  with  acuteness  of  apprehension, 
and  a  peculiar  proneness  to  the  exercise 
of  the  affections,  act  with  ardor,  with  con- 
stancy, and  with  feeling.  Other  minJs 
there  are,  again,  of  dull,  phlegmatic  mould 
— nature's  Dutchmen — constitutionally  in- 
difiTerent  to  a  thousand  matters  that  would 
excite   the   emotions  and   determine  the 


%H 


^1' 


0 


■fv. 


958 


EMULATION. 


measures  of  the  more  susceptible  sort.     A 
third  class,  and   that  by   far  the  largest, 
seem  to  unite,  in  some  sort,  the  distinguish- 
ing attributes  of  both  the  others,  exhibiting 
toward  objects  apparently  alike  calculated 
in  themselves  to  engage  their  regard,  al- 
ternately the  most  lively  interest  and  the 
most  profound  indifference.     We  do  not 
contemplate  in  this  distribution  the  bent 
which  the  mind  may  acquire  from  causes 
extraneous  to  itself— the  influence  of  cir- 
cumstances in  repressing  certain  natural 
tendencies,    in    fostering   others,    and    in 
modifying  all.     Our  observations  are  di- 
rected exclusively  to  native  temperament, 
to  original,  innaie   susceptibilities.     And 
their  correctness*   with  this  restriction,  is 
quite  apparent.     We  may  continiiiiUy  re- 
mark in  children  the  fathers  of  the  men, 
the   difference   alleged   manifested    most 
unequivocally  long  before  circumstances 
have  room  to  optsrate  in  producing  it ;  or 
where  there  is  ao  mutual  adaptation  be- 
tween these  and  the  dispositions  that  are 
evolving.     Nay,  do  not  we  frequently  wit- 
ness the  development  of  pecular  disposi- 
tions in  spite  of  the  action  of  circumstan- 
ces directly  hostile,  the  former  changing 
not  changed  by  the  latter  ?     And  whether 
these  be  simply  neutral  or  positively  ad- 
verse, there  is  ne<5e3silated  in  both  cases 
the  supposition  o'  an  independent  cause,  in 
one  that  of  a  counter-cause  more   potent 
than  its  antagonist  within  the  mind  itself; 
in  other   words,  there  is  established   a 
natural  diversity  in  temperament.     This 
is   an  ultimate  fact   in   our   constitution. 
Now  the  fact  relates  to  the  existence  of 
an  agency  which  may  effect  the  principle 
of  emulation,  in  common  with  all  the  ac- 
tive powers,  in  two  modes ;  first,  in  the 
,    way  of  determining  its  force,  and,  second- 
ly, in  the  way  of  indicating  its  objects. 
If  the  temperament  of  an  individual  is 
quick  and   sensitive,  emulation   will   be 
vividly  present  to  his  mind,  and  will  form 
a  very  powerful  incentive  to  exertion ;  if 
that  temperament  be,  on  the   contrary, 
sluggish  and  inert,  this  emotion  will  be 
but  seldom  feh,  and,  when  felt,  but  feebly. 
Emulation,  agun,  may  be  largely  swayed 
by  teniperament  as  respects  the  choice  of 
its  objects.     When  the  animal  principles 
of  our  nature  are  predominant,  these  will 
produce  low  and  debasing  aims.     When 


the  individual  is  the  victim  of  inordinate 
vanity,  there  will  be  a  similar  perversion 
of  the  feeling  to  aims  that  are  puny  and 
ridiculous.  It  is  only  when  a  man,  in  the 
exercise  of  reason  and  conscience,  and 
informed  and  stimulated  by  an  influence 
from  above,  has  succeeded  in  correctin<; 
what  is  wrong,  and  in  confirming  what  is 
right  in  the  original  bent  of  his  mind  ;  in 
reclaiming  his  affections  from  unworthy 
objects,  and  in  fixing  them  on  such  as  are 
noble  and  '.iriuous— it  is  then  only  that 
this  excellent  faculty  is  seen  in  its  true 
aspect,  operating  in  its  proper  sphere,  and 
accomplishing  the  high  ends  for  which  it 
was  imparted.  , 

We  are  not,  however,  to  suppose  that  j 
temperament  only  diroit.s  the  capacity  of 
emulation  to  objects  «.v  murally  good  or  as 
morally  evil.     It  often  communicates  what 
we  may  style,  in  contradistinction,  an  in- 
nocent variety  of  aim.     One  man,  for  ex- 
ample, whose  love  of  knowledge  is  natu- 
rally ardent,  will  be  ambitious  to  distance 
his  competitors  in  the  walks  of  learning; 
another,  in  whom  the  desire  of  gain  is 
strong,  will  aspire  to  influence  in  the  mer- 
cantile community ;  while  a  third,  in  whom 
the  love  of  country  is  the  ruling  passion, 
will  aim  at  the  reputation  of  a  distinguish- 
ed   patriot.     Emulation,    which    niay    be 
called  an  adjective  emotion,  supposing  and 
dependent  on  the  concurrent  action  of  some 
other  of  the  emotions,  falls,  in  these  and 
the  like  instances,  into  the  channel  which 
original  temperament  has  dug  for  it,  and 
flows  in  that  beneficially.     The  sentiment, 
while   susceptible   of  vicious,  is  equally 
susceptible  of  virtuous  variety  of  direction. 
Bacon  writing  the  Novum  Organon,  Galileo 
scanning  the  stars,  Milton  musing  on  Par- 
adise Lost,  Newton  establishing  the  theory 
of  gravitation,  Harvey  ascertaining  the  cir- 
culation of  the  blood— are  all  most  illus- 
trious instances  of  the  truth  of  this  posi- 
tion. 

Emulation,  however,  may  be  materially 
modified  by  education — an  influence,  in- 
deed, decreasing  in  strength  iu  exact  pro- 
portion to  the  markedness  and  decision  of 
natural  temperament,  yet,  from  the  absence 
of  these  characteristics  in  the  mass  of 
minds,  more  extensively  potent  than  the 
other.  We  use  the  term  education  in  its 
I  widest  sense,  intending  by  it  not  the  bare 


ihe  victim  of  inordinate 
be  a  similar  perversion 
lims  that  are  puny  and 
only  when  a  man,  in  the  i 
n  and   conscience,  and 
nulated  by  an  influence  j 
jucceeded  in  correcting  , 
id  in  confirming  what  is  \ 
lal  bent  ol'  his  mind  ;  in 
(Teclions  from  unworthy 
ing  liiem  on  such  as  are 
IS — it  is  then  only  that 
;uliy  is  seen  in  its  true 
in  its  proper  sphere,  and 
e  higli  ends  for  which  it 

owevcr,  to  suppose  that 
!  direits  the  capacity  of 
els  (1.V  murally  good  or  as 
jften  communicates  what 

contradistinction,  an  in- 

aim.  One  man,  for  ex- 
m  of  knowledge  is  natu- 

be  ambitious  to  distance 
n  the  walks  of  learning  ; 
m  the  desire  of  gain  is 
e  to  influence  in  the  mer- 
y ;  while  a  third,  in  whom 
try  is  the  ruling  passion, 
sputation  of  a  distinguish- 
lulation,  which  may  be 
oe  emotion,  supposing  and  j 

concurrent  action  of  some 
otions,  falls,  in  these  and 
!8,  into  the  channel  which 
iment  has  dug  for  it,  and 
eficially.  The  sentiment, 
le  of  vicious,  is  equally 
rtuous  variety  of  direction,  i 
e  Novum  Organon,  Galileo 
rs,  Milton  musing  on  Par- 
ton  establishing  the  theory 
arvey  ascertaining  the  cir- 
blood — are  all  most  illus- 

of  the  truth  of  this  posi- 

owever,  may  be  materially 
ucation — an  influence,  in- 
g  in  ^.t^ength  in  exact  pro- 
larkedness  and  decision  of 
mont,  yet,  from  the  absence 
.cteristics  in  the  mass  of 
[tensively  potent  than  the 
i  the  term  education  in  its 
ntending  by  it  not  the  bare 


EMULATION. 


959 


apprehension  of  certain  branches  of  learn- 
ing, but  the  operation,  both  on  the  intellect 
and  on  the  character,  of  all  those  agencies 
by  which  the  human  beinft  is  surrounded 
between  the  periods  of  infancy  and  man- 
hood.    If  these  influences  be  on  the  side 
of  evil,  the  sentiment  of  emulation  will 
either  be  stifled  or  directed  habitually  to 
pursuits  that  are  vain,  vicious,  and  vile. 
If  they  be  good,  the  young  mind  will  be 
instructed  as  to  the  legitimate  objects  of 
the  emotion,  and  the  temper  in  which  ihey 
ought  to  be  prosecuted.     How  powerfully 
each  order  of  agenciet  acts  we  have  in- 
numerable proofs.     If,  to  take  an  illustra- 
tion from  a  well-known  passage  in  ancient 
history,  the  love  of  fame  co-operated  in 
the  mind  of  Brutus  with  the  love  of  coun- 
try, to  determine  him  on  the  sacrifice  of 
his  oflspring : — 

"  Vincet  amor  patriae,  lauduniqae  iramensa  cupido," 
how  must  the  principle  of  emulation  have 
been  warped  and  perverted  by  the  sublime- 
ly barbarous  notions  of  the  nation  and  the 
time  !     And  it  was  probably  the  false  light 
in  which  he  had  been  taught  to  contem- 
plate the  deed  of  his  progenitor,  that  led 
the  younger  Brutus  to  the  perpetration  of 
a  crime  almost  equally  repugnant  to  un- 
sophisticated nature,  the  assassination  of 
his  benefactor  and  his  friend.     To  take 
instances  of  a  class— the  prize-fighter  who 
vaunts  his  brutal  strength  and  brutal  sci- 
ence as  superior  to  those  of  his  brother 
boxers ;  the  miss  whose  desire  is  fulfilled 
if  she  can  flaunt  in  gayer  silks  than  the 
other  girls  of  the  neighborhood,  and  be 
seen  hanging  on  the  arm  of  a  more  buck- 
ish admirer — are  examples  from  each  of 
the  sexes  of  the  vast  influence  exerted  by 
early  training  in  lowering  the  sentiment 
of  emulation.     But  this  influence,  as  that 
of  temperament,  is  not  all  on  one  side. 
By  imbuing  the  heart  of  youth  with  the 
best  principles,  and  storing  iu  intellect 
with  the  choicest  knowledge  ;  by  placing 
constantly  before  it  the  noblest  models  of 
genius  and  virtue,  that  it  may  drink  in  their 
spirit,  and  look  itself  into  their  likeness ; 
by  surrounding  it  with  circumstances  cal- 
culated to  foster  its  aspirings  and  invigor- 
ate its  eflbrts  after  excellence,   and   re- 
moving such  as  clog  or  cramp  these — 
•'  B«pren  iu  noble  rage, 
"  And  freeze  the  genial  current  of  the  rwul," 


by   lenient   censure   of  its   defects,    and 
liberal  praise  of  i's  successes  ;    by  such 
means  as  these  we  shall  enlist  this  noble 
susceptibility  in  the  cause  of  goodness, 
and  give  it  a  direction  the  happiest  in  its  re- 
sults alike  to  the  individual  and  mankind. 
We   can  not  conclude  without  a  brief 
notice  of  the  evidence  deducible  from  this 
part  of  our  constitution  of  the  benevolence 
of  the  Deity.     This  quality  is  strikingly 
displayed,  first,  in  the  implanting  the  af- 
fection  we  have  been  considering,  and, 
secondly,  in  the  provision  for  its  diversified 
direction.     In  emulation  we  have  the  chief 
primary   incentive   to    the   acquisition  of 
knowledge.     The   wish    to   be   informed 
would  lose  much  of  its  vividness,  if  ignor- 
ance were  no  longer  regarded  as  shame- 
ful.    It  is  the  principle  we  have  been  con- 
sidering that  gives  the  original  impulse  to 
enter  on  the  paths  of  literature  and  science 
paths  that  at  first  are  thorny  and  repul- 
sive, and  that  only  appear  charming  as  we 
proceed.     Literature  and  science  have  in- 
deed inherent  attractions  amply  sulFicient 
to  detain  the  initiated,  but  emulation  it  is 
that  must  attract  to  them  the  novice.     It 
is  this  that  prevents  his  becoming  dis- 
heartened by  the  difliculties  with  which 
he  must  struggle  in  the  pursuit  of  knowl- 
edge ;  that  nerves  him  for  the  tedious  and 
diflicult  ascent  of 


■•  The  steep  where  fame'»  prood  temple  ■hines  afar." 

Divest  man  of  this  capacity,  and  the  fresh- 
ness and  buoyancy  of  his  being  are  gone 
with  it.     The  choicest  of  the  pleasures  of 
hope  and  of  taste,  being  those  dependent 
on   emulation,  are  annihilated.      Society 
stagnates,  learning  is  neglected,  and  life  be- 
comes a  dull,  because  an  objectless  routine. 
Nor  is  the  goodness  of  God  less  con- 
spicuous in  providing  for  this  faculty  such 
diversity  of  aim.     The  constitution  of  the 
world,  and  the  condition  of  man,  necessi- 
tated its  exercise  toward  a  variety  of  ob- 
jects.    The  all-wise  and  merciful  Creator 
has,  therefore,  seen  fit  to  implant  in  difler- 
ent  minds  certain  native  tendencies  and 
preferences,  by  virtue  of  which  they  are 
induced  to  enter  on  different  courses  ol 
useful   exertion.       By    this    arrangement 
there  is  secured  at  once  a  large  amount  of 
distinction  to  individuals,  and  an  increase 
of  general  advantage  to  society. 


f't 


960 


PERICLES. 


PERICLES. 


„  HE  birth  of  Pericles 
^  appears  to  liavo  taken 
place  a  little  later  than 
the   year  500  before 
Christ.     He  was  de- 
scended of  the  noblest 
blood  of  Athena,  but 
was  inferior  in  wealth 
to  many  among  his  contemporaries.     At 
an  early   age  he  showed  signs  of  great 
abilities.     His  education   was  conducted 
by  the  ablest  teachers  of  the  usual  ac- 
complishments ;  and,  in  addition,  he  ex- 
ercised and  sharpened  his  mental  powers 
by  diligent  and  eager  study  of  the  deepest 
speculations  of  the  Greek  philosophers. 
His  infancy  and  boyhood  witnessed  the 
stirring  events  of  the  Persian  war,  and  the 
rapid   growth  of  Athens  in  wealth  and 
dominion.     Such  events,  with  the  brilliant 
career  laid  open  to  his  distinguished  coun- 
trymen  and   predecessors,   Themistocles 
and  others,  were  highly  calculated  to  fan 
and  nourish  the  ambition  of  a  powerful 
mind;  and  even  in  youth  he   seems  to 
have  formed  his  character  and  carriage 
upon  the  model   becoming  a  statesman. 
He  early  attracted  notice,  not  only  by  his 
sweetness  of  voice,  fluency  of  language, 
and  dignified  beauty  of  person,  which  re- 
minded the  aged  of  the  usurper  Pisistratus, 
but  also  by  the  gravity  of  his  demeanor 
and  decorum  of  his  conduct.     From  his 
first  entrance  into  public  life,  he  devoted 
himself  with  unremitting   application  to 
business  ;  he  was  never  to  be  seen  out  of 
doors  but  on  the  way  between  his  house 
and  the  seat  of  council ;  he  declined  all 
invitations  to  the  entertainments  of  his  ac- 
quaintance, and  confined  himself  to  the 
society  of  a  very  seltct  circle  of  intimate 
friends.     He  bestowed  the  most  assiduous 
attention  on  the  preparation  of  his  speech- 
es ;  and  so  little  disguised  it,  that  he  used 
to  say  he  never  mounted  the  platform  with- 
out praying  that  no  inappropriate  word 
might  drop  from  his  lips.     The  impression 
thus  produced  was  heightened  by  the  calm 
majesty  of  his  air  and  carriage,  and  by 
the   philosophical   composure    which    he 
maintained  under  all  provocations.     And 
he  was  so  careful  to  avoid  the  effect  which 
familiarity  might  have  on  the  people,  that 


he  was  sparing  even  in  his  attendance  at 
the  assembly,  and,  reserving  his  own  ap- 
pearance for  great  occasions,  carried  miiiiy 
ol  his  measures  through  the  agency  of  his 
friends  and  partisans. 

After  the  disappearance  of  Aristides  nnd 
Themistocles,    Cimon  succeeded    to   tho 
direction    of  the  state,  and  was,  for  his 
personal  qualities,  as  well  as  for  his  birth 
and    wealth,  the  recognised  head  of  the 
aristocratic  party.     His  talents  as  a  gen- 
eral and  politician  were   approved    by  a 
series  of  brilliant  successes,  and  his  char- 
acter was  well  suited  to  acquire  and  retain 
popular  favor  ;  for  ho  was  affable,  of  easy 
access  and  convivial  habits,  and  both  by 
policy  and  temper  liberal  even  to  ostenla- 
tion.     His  fortune,  large  by  inheritance, 
was  largely  increased  by  the  spoils  of  the 
war ;    and    he  made  it  contribute  to   his 
power  by  seasonable  presents  to  the  poor, 
by  keeping  open  table  for  the  divi.sion  of 
citiiens  to  which  he  belonged,  by  throw- 
ing open  his  private  gardens  and  orchards 
to  the  public,  constructing  new  walks  for 
their  recreation,  and,  in  short,  by  every 
sort  of  popular  largess. 

Pericles  first  came  forward   in  public 
life,  B.C.  469.     Cimon's  frequent  absence 
in  military  commands  gave  to  the  young 
aspirant  a  great  advantage,  which  he  im- 
proved by  degrees,  and  before  long  be- 
came the  acknowledged  chief  of  a  power- 
ful party.     On  the  other  hand  Cimon  pos- 
sessed a  powerful  engine  in  his  immense 
wealth,  which  the  more  limited  means  of 
Pericles  could  not  rival.     To  obviate  this, 
Pericles  became  the  author  of  a  series  of 
measures,  bad,  as  it   appears  to   us,  in 
principle,  and  pernicious  in  their  ultimate 
results,  though  not  destitute  of  plausible 
grounds  on  which  they  might  seem  proper 
to  the  author,  and  on   which  they  have 
been   defended    by    favorable    historians. 
We  allude  to  those  by  which  the  revenue 
was  diverted  from  the  legitimate  objects 
of  all  revenue — the  payment  of  expenses 
of  government,  the  execution  of  works  of 
national   utility,  and,  under  moderate  re- 
strictions, national  luxury  and   grandeur, 
and  the  relief  of  temporary  and  accidental 
distress — to  provide  shows   and   amuse- 
ments, and  to  maintain  a  large  proportion 
of  the  poorer  class,  almost  in  idleness,  as 
pensioners  on  the  state.     It  was  probably 


HMHi 


n  in  his  altencl.iiico  iit 
reserving  his  own  ap- 
ccasions,  carried  many 
ough  the  agency  of  his 

IS. 

arance  of  Arisliiles  and 
ion  succeeded    to    th(5 
late,  and  was,  for  his 
as  well  as  for  his  birth 
ecognisod  head  of  the 
His  talents  as  a  gen- 
wero   approved   by  a 
uccesses,  and  his  char- 
jd  to  acquire  and  retain 
ho  was  affable,  of  easy 
ial  habits,  and  both  by 
liberal  even  to  09ten;a- 
,  large  by  inheritance, 
sed  by  the  spoils  of  the 
de  it  contribute  to   his 
lie  presents  to  the  poor, 
able  for  the  division  of 
he  belonged,  by  ihrow- 
le  gardens  and  orchards 
tructing  new  walks  for 
ind,  in  short,  by  every 
gess. 

anie  forward  in  public 
:)imon's  frequent  absence 
nds  gave  to  the  young 
Ivantage,  which  he  ini- 
ss,  and  before  long  be- 
ledged  chief  of  a  power- 
9  other  hand  Cimon  pos- 
1  engine  in  his  immense 
B  more  limited  means  of 
I  rival.     To  obviate  this, 
the  author  of  a  series  of 
IS  it  appears  to   us,  in 
miciout)  in  their  ultimate 
lot  destitute  of  plausible 
I  they  might  seem  proper 
id  on  which  they  have 
by   favorable   historians, 
se  by  which  the  revenue 
m  the  legitimate  objects 
the  payment  of  expenses 
he  execution  of  works  of 
and,  under  moderate  re- 
lal  luxury  and   grandeur, 
temporary  and  accidental 
vide  shows   and   amuse- 
laintain  a  large  proportion 
188,  almost  in  idleness,  as 
le  state.     It  was  probably 


P*>. 


m^m 


962 


PERICLES. 


-*.ai 


with  a  view  to  the  development  of  this 
policv,  and  to  his  own  security  in  so  doing, 
that  he   proposed  and  carried  a  law,  by 
which  the  powers  of  the  ancient  and  re- 
vered court  of  Areopagus,  a  body  essential- 
ly aristocratic   in   its   constitution,  were 
greatly  narrowed  :  among  other  things  the 
control  of  the  treasury  was  taken  away 
from  it,  and  vested  in  the  assembly  of  the 
people.     Events    which  overclouded    for 
a  time   the  favor   and  esteem    in   which 
Cimon  was  still  held,  enabled  the  demo- 
cratic party  to  procure  his  banishment  in 
461,  or,  as  some  place  it,  two  years  later. 
Wars    followed    with   the    Boeotians  and 
Spartans,  in  which  the  Athenians,  on  the 
whole,    succeeded    so  ill,  as  to  give  the 
friends  of  Ci.non  a  good  opportunity  of 
contrasting  his  glories  with  the  ill  success 
of  the  existing  administration  ;  and  within 
five  years  of  his  banishment  he  was  re- 
called, apparently  with  the  full  concurrence 
of  Pericles.     A  sort  of  coalition  between 
the  most  respectable  and  moderate  of  both 
parties  was  then  formed  ;  and  until  the 
death  of  Cimon,  B.  C.  449.  party  strife 
was  almost  at  an  end.     Cimon,  however, 
was  too  wise  and  temperate  to  satisfy  a 
large  section  of  his   followers ;    and  the  | 
attempts  of  the  aristocratical  party  to  gain 
the  ascendency  were  renewed,  after  his 
death,  under   the  guidance  of  one   Thu- 
cydides,  not  the  historian  of  that  name. 
He  was  an  able  man,  well  skilled  in  the 
art  of  managing  a  popular  assembly  ;    but 
he  was  striving  in  a  cause  seldom  success- 
ful—to retard  the  spirit  of  the  age.     The 
contest  was  ended  by  his  banishraient  in 
444  ;  and  from  that  time  till  death,  with 
a  short  interruption  or  two,  the  sway  of 
Pericles  over  the  minds  and  councils  of 
the  Athenians  became  little  less  than  ab- 
solute. ,    ,    J      -.u 
A  truce  for  thirty  years,  concluded  with 
Sparta  B.  C.  445,  left  him  at  liberty  to 
develop  his  domestic  policy.     This,  set- 
ting  aside  the  question  how  far,  in  framing 
that  policy,  he  was  actuated  by  personal 
motives,  was  directed,  first,  to  extend  and 
strengthen  the  Athenian  empire ;  secondly, 
to  raise  the  confidence  and  self-esteem  of 
the  Athenians  themselves  to  a  level  with 
the  lofty  position  which  they  occupied. 
At  this  time,  those  states  which  during 
the  Persian  war  had  entered  into  alliance 

=========== 


with  Athens  were  reduced  almost  into  the 
condition  of  subjects  ;  and  it  was  sought 
to  increase  the  power  of  the  leading  slate 
by  converting  her  assumed  authority  into 
a  still  more  absolute  and  recognised  do- 
minion.    Before  this  time  the  contribution, 
originally  levied  by  common  consent,  ap- 
plied to  common  purposes,  and  kept  in  a 
common  treasury  in  the  sacred  island  of 
Delos,  had  been  arbitrarily  increased,  and 
the  place  of  deposite  had  been  removed 
to  Athens.     The  next  step  was  to  deny 
all  responsibility  as  to  the  application  of 
it ;  and  to  maintain  the  right  of  the  Athe- 
nians, so  long  as  they  fulfilled  the  original 
object  of  its  imposition,  the  protection  of 
Greece  against   the    common    enemy,  to 
dispose   of  the   surplus   after   their   own 
desire.     The   means  thus   placed   at  his 
disposal  enabled  Pericles,  during  the  thirty 
years'  truce,  to  carry  still  further  that  ap- 
plication of  the   public    revenue,  toward 
satisfying   the  wants  and   furnishing  the 
amusements  of  the  people,  of  which  we 
have  before  spoken,  and  to  execute  those 
architectural  wonders,  which,  even  more 
than  his  military  successes  and  political 
honors,  have  illustrated  his  name  in  all 
succeeding  ages.     The   city  and    harbor 
of  Piraeus  had  been  fortified  by  Themisto- 
cles  ;  the  long  walls,  which  connected  the 
city  and  the  harbor,  had  been   built  by 
Cimon  on  a  scale  which  defied  such  means 
of  assault  as  the  military  science  of  the 
day    c'luld    bring    against    them.      Thus 
Athens,  secure  against  danger   by  land, 
and  sure  of  access  to  the  sea,  enjoyed  *« 
advantages  of  an  island.     It  was  now  that 
the   Acropolis    was    covered    with   those 
magnificent  and    lasting    edifices,  which 
even  to  this  day  would  scarce  have  shown 
the  injuries  of  lime,  if  man  had  spared 
them.     A  splendid  fortified  portal,  called 
the  Propylffia,  at  once  guarded  and  orna- 
mented the  sacred  precinct,  in  the  middle 
of  which,  among  other  buildings  of  lesser 
note,  rose   the   Parthenon,  or  temple  of 
Minerva,  constructed  of  the   purest  and 
most  brilliant  marble,  and  adorned  within 
and  without  by  the  richest  sculptures,  de- 
signed by  Phidias,  the  Homer  of  Grecian 
art.     The  splendid  porticoes  which  ran 
all  round  it  were  lined  with  the  friezes 
and  metopes  which  form  the  bulk  of  the 
Elgin  marbles  in  the  British  Museum; 


"fp^' 


FERICLE8. 


963 


Juced  almost  into  the 
1 ;  and  it  wns  sought 
r  of  the  leading  slate 
ssumed  authority  into 
)  and  Tocognised  do- 
I  time  the  contribution, 
common  consent,  ap- 
irposes,  and  kept  in  a 

the  sacred  island  of 
itrarily  increased,  and 
te  had  been  removed 
^\^  step  was  to  deny 

to  the  application  of 
the  right  of  the  Athe- 
ey  fulfilled  the  original 
tion,  the  protection  of 
5  common  enemy,  to 
rplus  after  their  own 
IS  thus  placed  at  his 
rides,  during  the  thirty 
ry  still  further  that  ap- 
ubiic  revenue,  toward 
Its  and   furnishing  the 

people,  of  which  we 
I,  and  to  execute  those 
ers,  which,  even  more 
successes  and  political 
trated  his  name  in  all 

The  city  and  harbor 
n  fortified  by  Themisto- 
Is,  which  connected  the 
)or,  had  been  built  by 
vhich  defied  such  means 
military  science  of  the  i 

against    them.      Thus 
gainst  danger   by  land, 
I  to  the  sea,  enjoyed  ifco 
aland.     It  was  now  that 
as   covered    with   those 
lasting    edifices,  which 
ould  scarce  have  shown 
me,   if  man  had  spared 
d  fortified  portal,  called 
once  guarded  and  orna- 
d  precinct,  in  the  middle 
other  buildings  of  lesser 
Parthenon,  or  temple  of 
icled  of  the   purest  and 
irbie,  and  adorned  within 
lie  richest  sculptures,  de- 
8,  the  Homer  of  Grecian 
did  porticoes  which  ran 
■e  lined  with  the  friezes 
lich  form  the  bulk  of  the 
in  the   British  Museum; 


and  the  pediments  at  cither  end  were  filled 
with  groups  of  statues,  which,  mutilated 
us  they  are,  are  acknowledged  to  be  second 
to  none  among  the  masterpieces  of  an- 
tiquity. They  were  richly  ornamented 
with  gold,  .nd  relieved,  a  practice  not 
familiar  to  modern  taste,  with  the  most 
brilliant  colors.  Within  was  the  statue 
of  the  goddess,  of  colossal  size,  and  of  the 
most  costly  materials,  ivory  profusely  orna- 
mented with  gold.  . 

While  Pericles   was  thus   laboring  to 
render  Athena  the  focus  of  attraction  to 
Greece,  his  own  house,  though  he   ab- 
stained  from  indiscriminate  visiting  and 
convivial  entertainments,  was   the  resort 
of  the  most  eminent  teachers  of  philosophy 
and    literature.     We  can   not  here   pass 
silently  over  his  connexion  with  the  ce  e- 
brated  Aspasia,  a  favorite  subject  of  allu- 
sion and  ridicule  with  the  scandal-mon- 
gers and  satirists  of  the  day.     She  was  a 
Milesian,  of  great  beauty  and  talent,  edu- 
cated far  above  the  usual  level  of  the  sex 
in  Greece,  with  the  view  of  making  a 
profitable  market  of  her  accomplishments. 
Her  condition  in  this  respect  is  noi  to  be 
judged    according   to   the    refinement   of 
modern  manners,  still  less  by  the  pure 
rules  of  Christian  morality.     The  fascina- 
tion of  her  person,  manners,  and  conversa- 
tion, won  for  her  the  enduring  love  of  Peri- 
cles, who  in  her  behalf  divorced  his  wife, 
and  placed  her  at  the  head  of  his  house- 
hold :  a  legal  marriage  he  was  unable  to 
contract  with  her.     She  was  his  constant 
companion,  the  partner  of  his  counsels, 
and  his  adviser;   she  engaged   in  equal 
terms  in  the  most  abstruse  discussions  ot 
the  philosophers  whom  Pericles  loved  to 
assemble  at  his  house  ;  and  her  reputation 
for  eloquence  was  such  that,  in  one  of  the 
dialogues  of  Plato,  Socrates  represents 
himself  as  her  pupil,  with  the  intimation 
that  she  "  had  made  many  good  o'taUits, 
and  Pericles  among  the  number."    Indeed 
her  influence  over  the  great  sUtesman  af- 
forded matter  for  continual  attacks  to  the 
comic  poets,  such  as  calling  them  »ne  -Ju- 
piter and  Juno,  the  Hercules  and  Omphale 
of  Athens.     It  also  gave  ground  occasion- 
ally  to  more  serious  charges  ;  for  men 
boldly  asserted,  that  to  gratify  her  personal 
animosities,  he  had  engaged  his  country 
in  the  wars  against  Samoa  aud  Megara. 


And  though  the  influence  of  Pericles  was 
too  deeply  rooted  for  his  enemies  to  ven- 
ture on  a  direct  attack,  it  is  clear  that  ihcy 
were  numerous  and   powerful,    from  the 
success  with  which  ihey  aimed  an  indirect 
blow  at  both  his  happiness  and  his  repu- 
tation, by  assailing  some  of  his  most  in- 
timate friends.     The  freedom  of  discus- 
sion and  speculative  turn  of  conversation 
encouraged  at  his  house,  where  many  of 
the  speakers  treated  the  received  religion 
of  Greece  with  very  light  respect,  furnish- 
ed ground  for  a  criminal  prosecution  against 
his   former  preceptor  and  most   intimate 
friend,  Anaxagoras,  the  issue  of  which  is 
not  altogether  clear :  it  appears  however 
that  the  philosopher  found  it  either  neces- 
sary or  expedient  to  retire  from  Athens 
for  the   remainder  of  his  life.     Aspasia 
was  involved  in  the  same  charge  of  im- 
piety, coupled  wiih  a  grosser  and   more 
degrading  accusation ;  and  owed  hor  de- 
liverance to  the  great  personal  exertions 
of   Pericles,  who  condescended   on   this 
occasion  to  u«e  even  tears  and  personal 
entreaties  to  work  upon  the  judges  in  her 
behalf.     These  prosecutions    took    place 
just  before  the  outbreak  of  the  Pelopon- 
nesiau  war:  the  storm  however  soon  blew 
over,  and  his  power  and  reputation  stood 
as  high  as  ever  during  the  remainder  of 
his  life,  with  the  exception  that  a  charge 
of  peculation  was  brought  against  him  ; 
but  the  historian  Thucydides,  a  contem- 
porary of  the  highest  veracity,   and   no 
friend  to  Pericles,  has  testified  to  his  in- 
tegrity in  the  strongest  terms.     The  ex- 
tent of  his  influence  is  most  remarkably 
shown  by  one  measure  which  he  persuaded 
the  Athenians  to  adopt.     This  was  no  less 
than  a  transfer  of  the  whole  population  of 
Attica  with   all   their   moveables  to  the 
space  included  within  the  walls  of  the 
city  and  its  ports,  abandoning  the  country, 
without  resistance,  to  the  invasion  of  the 
enemy.     His  grounds  for  this  were,  the 
inexpediency  of  risking  the  limited  body 
of  Athenian  citizens   in   pitched   battles 
against  the  Peloponnesian  armies,  which 
were  superior  both  in  number  and  reputa- 
tion, and  even  if  defeated,  might  be  re- 
cruited to  any  amount ;  and  on  the  other 
hand,  the  superiority  of  the  Athenians  at 
sea,  which  enabled  them  to  draw  inex- 
Ihaustible   supplies  of  all  things  needful 


904 


PERICLES. 


from  their  subjects  and  trading  connexions, 
and  the  strength  of  their  city,  which  defi- 
ed such  methods  of  assault  as  military 
skill  had  yet  invented.  These  advantages, 
and  their  abundant  revenue,  would  enable 
them  at  pleasure  to  protract  the  war;  while 
the  funds  of  llie  Peloponnesians,  who  de- 
rived little  profit  from  trade  and  colonies, 
were  not  likely  to  last  through  an  expen- 
sive struggle.  And  he  warned  them  not 
to  seek  new  conquests,  but  to  content 
themselves  with  defending  what  they  al- 
ready enjoyed. 

The  event  proved  the  justice  of  his 
views  in  all  respects.  The  first  invasion 
of  Aliicii  took  place  B.  C.  431.  Though 
the  people  had  reluctantly  assented  to  his 
policy,  and  removed  into  the  city,  yet  the 
spectacle  of  their  country  ravaged  by  an 
insuUing  enemy  tried  their  patience  se- 
verely, and  they  demanded  with  loud  and 
bitter  reproaches  to  be  led  into  the  action. 
Pericles  remained  unmoved,  and  would 
neither  lead  an  army  to  the  field  nor  sum- 
mon an  assembly  to  deliberate  on  the  sub- 
ject. Trees,  he  said,  when  cut  down 
might  shoot  up  again,  but  men  were  not 
so  easily  replaced.  But  he  provided  a 
vent  for  the  active  spirit  of  the  people,  by 
sending  various  expeditions  to  ravage  the 
seacoast  o''  (he  enemy's  country.  At  the 
close  of  the  campaign  the  usual  tribute  of 
funeral  honors  to  those  who  had  fallen  in 
battle  was  celebrated;  a  circumstance  here 
mentioned  because  Pericles  pronounced 
the  funeral  oration  on  this  occasion,  and 
in  the  want  of  any  genuine  specimen  of 
his  eloquence  the  speech  attributed  to  him 
by  Thucydides,  becomes  doubly  interest- 
ing as  being  very  possibly  a  pretty  faith- 
ful report  as  to  the  topics  which  Pericles 
employed  on  the  occasion,  and  an  imitation 
of  his  style. 

The  second  year  of  the  war  was  more 
calamitous.  In  the  course  of  it  the  cele- 
brated plague  of  Athens  broke  out.  The 
general  misery  produced  by  this  fearful 
visitation  emboldened  the  enemies  of  Peri- 
cles to  institute  a  prosecution,  in  conse- 
quence of  which  he  was  deprived  of  his 
military  command,  and  heavily  fined.  In 
the  following  year  he  recovered  both  his 
office  and  his  "scendency  over  the  people. 
But  in  the  summer  B.  C.  429,  be  was 
himself  carried  off  by  a  lingering  illness, 


having  alrearlv  lost  by  the  pestilence  his 
two  legitime  sons,  his  sister,  and  the 
most  valued  of  his  friends.  The  death  of 
his  younger  son,  a  very  promising  youih, 
appears  to  have  cut  him  to  the  heart.  He 
placed  the  funeral  garland  on  the  head  of 
the  corpse,  according  to  custom,  but  in 
doing  so — a  most  unusual  mark  of  emotion 
— he  burst  into  tears.  When  he  was 
near  his  end,  and  apparently  insensible, 
his  friends,  gathered  round  his  bed,  re- 
lieved theJr  sorrow  by  recalling  the  re- 
membrance ol  his  military  exploits,  and 
of  the  trophies  vhich  he  had  raised.  He 
interrupted  ihein,  and  observed  that  they 
had  omitted  the  most  glorious  praise  which 
he  could  claim.  "  Other  generals  iiad  been 
as  fortunate,  but  he  had  tiever  caused  an 
Athenian  to  put  on  mourning  :"  a  sin^'dar 
ground  of  satisfaction,  notwithstaudini,  the 
caution  (herein  alluded  to)  of  his  muiuy 
career,  if  he  had  been  conscious  of  having 
involved  liis  country  in  the  bloodiesi  war 
it  had  ever  waged.  His  death  was  a  loss 
which  Athens  could  not  repair.  Many 
were  eager  to  step  into  his  place  ;  but 
there  was  no  man  able  to  fill  it ;  and  the 
fragments  of  his  power  were  snatched  by 
unworthy  hands.  He  died  when  the  cau- 
tion on  which  he  valu.;*  himself  was  more 
than  over  needed  to  guard  Athens  from 
fatal  errors;  and  when  the  humanity  which 
breathes  through  his  dying  boast  might 
have  saved  her  from  her  deepest  disgrace. 


LENGTH  OF  DAYS. 

At  Berlin  and  London  the  longest  day 
has  sixteen  and  a  half  hours.  At  Stock- 
holm and  Upsal,  the  longest  has  eighteen 
and  a  half  hours,  and  the  shortest  five  and 
a  half.  At  Hamburg,  Dantzic,  and  Stettin, 
the  longest  day  has  seventeen  hours,  and 
the  shortest  seven.  At  St.  Petersburg 
and  Tobolsk,  the  longest  has  nineteen, 
and  the  shortest  five  hours.  At  Torneo, 
in  Finland,  the  longest  day  has  twenty- 
one  hours  and  a  half,  and  the  shortest  two 
and  a  half.  At  Waudorbus,  in  Norway, 
the  day  lasts  from  the  2l8t  of  May  to  the 
22d  of  July,  without  interruptior  ;  and  in 
Spitzbergen  the  longest  day  lasts  three 
month«'  and  a  half. 


I- 


the  pestilence  his 
[lis  sister,  and  the 
ids.  The  death  of 
Y  promising  youth, 
1  to  the  heart.  He 
land  on  tlio  head  of 
to  custom,  but  in 
lal  mark  o(  emotion 
.  When  he  was 
larently  insensible, 
round  his  bed,  re- 
y  recalliiii;  the  re- 
itary  exploits,  and 
le  had  raiNod.  He 
observed  that  they 
orious  pntise  which 
r  generals  had  been 
id  never  caused  an 
Liming  :"  a  hin^'dar 
lotwitlistaudiiiL,  the 
I  to)  of  his  niiiila'y 
conscious  of  having 
[1  the  bloodiest  war 
is  death  was  a  loss 
not  repair.  Many 
ito  his  place  ;  but 
to  fill  it ;  and  the 
r  were  snatched  by 
died  when  the  cau- 
'  himself  was  more 
juard  Athens  from 
he  humanity  which 
dying  boast  might 
r  deepest  disgrace. 


f  DAYS. 

Ion  the  longest  day 
hours.  At  Stock- 
ngest  has  eighteen 
lie  shortest  five  and 
)antzic,  and  Stettin, 
venteen  hours,  and 
At  St.  Petersburg 
;est  has  nineteen, 
lours.  At  Torneo, 
It  day  has  twenty- 
nd  the  shortest  two 
lorbus,  in  Norway, 
21st  of  May  to  the 
nterruptior  ;  and  in 
sst  day  lasts  three 


LORD  CHATHAM. 


9B5 


Portrait  of  WUlism  Pitt,  Lord  Chatham. 


LORD  CHATHAM. 

ILLIAMPITT, 

usually  distinguish- 
ed as  the  great  Lord 
Chatham,  was  born 
at  London  in  the  year 
1708,  and  was  the 
son  of  Robert  Pitt, 
Esq.,ofBoconnocin 
Cornwall.     He  was 
educated  first  at   Eton  and  afterward  at 
Trinity  college,  Oxford,  of  which  he  was 
entered  a  gentleman  commoner  in   l^^o. 
On  leaving  the  university  he  purchased  a 
cornetcy  in  the  Blues  ;  but  urged  probably 
by  the  desire  of  obtaining  a  more  suitable 
field  for  the  display  of  his  abilities  than  a 
military  life  afTorded,  in  1735  he  procured 
himself  to  be  returned  to  parliament  for 
the  family  borough  of  Old  Sarum.     Sir 
Robert  Walpole  was  then  at  the  bead  of 
affairs  ;  and  Pitt  immediately  joined  the 
opposition,   which   evenv.  "ly   compelled 


that  minister  to  retire  in  1742.     For  the 
part  which  he  thus  took,  he  was,  the  year 


after  he  entered  parliament,  deprived  by 
Walpole  of  his  commission,  but  was  com- 
pensated by  being  made  one  of  the  gentle- 
men of  the  bedchamber  to  the  prince  of 
Wales.     His  eloquence,  as  soon  as  he  be- 
gan to  take  a  part  in  the  debates,  raised 
him  to  distinction  and   importance  ;  and 
imperfectly  as  the  proceedings  of  the  house 
were  then  communicated  to  the  public,  his 
reputation  as  one  of  the   most  powurful 
speakers  of  the  day  seems  to  have  rapidly 
spread  itself  over  the  nation.     It  was  in 
1740,  ill   the  course  of  his  contest  with 
Walpolo's  administration,  that  on  a  motion 
relating  to  impressment,  he  made  his  fa- 
mous reply  to  Mr.  Horatio  Walpole,  the 
brother  of  the  minister,  vindicating  him- 
self from  the  double  chargo  of  youth  and 
theatrical  elocution.     Walpole's  adminis- 
tration  was  succeeded    by  that  of   Lord 
Carteret  (afterward  the  earl  of  Granville), 
but  this  change  did  not  introduce  Pitt  to 
office.     The  celebrated  Sarah,  dutchess  of 
Marlborough,  however,  left  him  in  1744 
a  legacy  of  JBl  0,000,  in  reward,  as  it  was 
expressed  in  the  will,  of  the  noble  disin- 


■'I'!* 


m 


'mi 


"Vh,! 


^1»» 


966 


LORD  CHATHAM. 


tcrosic.lness  with  which  he  had  maiiiiain- 
cd  iho  aulhority  of  the  laws,  and  prevented 
iho  ruin  of  his.  country.     The  followtnK 
year  he  resigned  his  post  in  the  household 
of  the   prince.     In  1746,  under  the  pre- 
miership of  the  duke  of  Newcastle,  Mr. 
I'itt  was  for  the  first  time  chosen  to  fill  « 
place  in  the  government,  being  appointed 
to  the  office  of  vice-treasurer  for  Ueland, 
from  which  he  was  transferred  the  same 
year  to  that  of  paymaster-general  of  the 
forces.     In  this  situation,  which  he  held 
for  nearly  nine  years,  he  displayed  his 
characteristic  activity,  energy,  and  decis- 
ion, and  the  most  high-minded  mtegrity 
and  contempt  for  many  of  the  customary 
profits  of  oifice.     In  1755,  however,  on  a 
disagreement    with   the    majority   of  his 
colleagues,  he  resigned  :  but,  in  little  more 
than  a  year  after,  the  force  of  public  opin- 
ion  compelled  his  recall ;  and  on  the  4th 
of   December,   1756,  he    was    appointed 
principal  secretary  of  state.     In  the  April 
following,  finding  his  views  still  thvvarted 
by  the  rest  of  the  cabinet,  he  again  re- 
tired ;  but  within  less  than  three  months 
the  king  was  obliged  to  yield  to  the  na- 
tional voice,  the  ministry  was  driven  from 
power,  and  a  new  one  was  formed  under 
the  auspices  of  Pitt,  who,  reinstated  in  his 
former  place  of  secretary  of  state,  now 
exercised  under  that  name  the  authority 
of  premier.     For  the  next  four  years  Pitt 
may  be  regarded  as  having  been  the  di- 
rector of  the   energies  of  England  ;  and 
they  are  four  of  the  most  glorious  years 
in  the   history  of  the  country.     Victory 
crowned  the  British  arms  wherever  they 
appeared,  whether  on  sea  or  on  land  ;  the 
French  were  beaten  at  almost  everv  point 
both  in  the  east  and  in  the  west ;  the  vast 
territory  of  Canada  was  wrested  from  them, 
almost  before  the  government  at  home  was 
aware  that  it  was    in  danger  ;  and  they 
were  eventually  stripped  of  nearly  all  their 
other  colonies  in  every  part  of  the  world. 
Along  with  these  successes  abroad,  tran- 
quillity and  contentment  at  home  no  les« 
remarkably  distinguished  the  supremacy 
of  this  able,  patriotic,  and  popular  minis- 
ter.    In  October,  1760,  George  II.  died, 
and   the   ascendency  of  new    principles 
which  the  new  reign  brought  along  with 
it,  before  long  compelled  Pitt  to  tender 
his  resignation  of  his  services.     His  ad- 


ministration terminated,  and  that  of  Lord 
Uute  commenced  in  October,  1761.     Al- 
though Pitt,  however,  had  found  it  neces- 
sary  to  retire    from  the  manngemi'iit  of 
affairs,  his  sovereign  was  so   sensible  of 
his  great  deserts,  that  a  barony  was  be- 
stowed  upon  his  lady,  and  a  pension  of 
three  thousand  a  year  granted  to  him  for 
their  conjoint  lives  and    for   that  of  his 
eldest  son.     After  this,  he   remained   out 
of  office  till  1766,  when,  after  the  failure 
of  the  Rockingham  administration,  it  wsis 
found  necessary  in  the  embarrassed  state 
of  public  affairs,  occasioned  by  the  first 
troubles   respecting  the  American   stamp 
act,  again  to  call  for  the  assistance  of  ttie 
man  who  was  generally  believed  best  able 
to  serve  the  country  ;  and  in  July  that 
year  he  was  intrusted  with  the  formation 
of  a  new   cabinet.     In  the   arrangement 
which  he   made  upon   this  occasion    he 
reserved   to  himself  along  with  the  pre- 
miership the  office  of  lord  privy-seal,  as 
better  suiting  than  one  of  more  active  du- 
ties, the  enfeebled  state  of  his  health,  now 
greatly  broken  down   by   attacks  of  tbo 
gout,  to  which  he  had  long  been  subject. 
He  also  went  to  the  upper  house  with  the 
title  of  earl  of  Chatham.     He  now  applied 
himself  with  his  best  endeavors  to  heal 
the  differences   with    America;   but    the 
opposition  of  his  colleagues  rendered  him 
unable  to  carry  into  effect  the  measures 
which  he  would  have  taken  for  this  pur- 
pose;  and,  in  December,  1768,  he  again 
resigned.     Lord  Chatham  lived  for  nearly 
ten  years  after  this  ;  and,  although  his  in- 
creasing infirmities  compelled  himto spend 
much  of  his  time  in  retirement  in  the  coun- 
try, he  frequently  presented  himself  in  his 
place  in  parliament,  when  important  dis- 
cussions  were  to  take  place,  and  never 
distinguished  himself  more  than  he  did, 
on  some  of  these  occasions,  by  his  eloquent 
atid  indignant  appeals  against  the  headlong 
course  of  misgovernmenl  in  which  minis- 
ters were  proceeding,  and  his  maintenance 
of  the  constitutional  rights  and  liberties  of 
his  couutrymen.     It  was  the  contest  with 
AmericR,  which  called  forth  from  Lord 
Chatham  the  most  brilliant  efforts  of  his 
latter  days,  and  perhaps  of  his  life.     He 
may  be  said  to  have  expired  in  resisting 
the  infatuated  measures  which,  in  provo- 
king this  war,  led  to  the  dismembermeri* 


=7\=sr 


«i 


OBOaOE  WABHINOTON. 


9«7 


I,  and  tliiil  of  Lord 
)ctobor,  1701.     Al- 
had  found  it  nccea- 
ho   manni^Pinrnt  of 
was  so   seniiiblo  of 
R  barony   was   he- 
r,  and  a  pension  of 
r  granted  to  liini  for 
nd    for   tbat  of  liis 
s,  he   rcmniniid   out 
en,  after  the  failure  ] 
Iminisiration,  it  was 
le  embarrnssod  stale 
asioned  by  the  first 
(le  American   stamp 
he  assistance  of  ttio 
lly  believed  best  able 
' ;  and  in  July  that 

I  with  the  formation 
In  the  arrangemt-nt 
n  this  occasion  ho 
along  with  the  prc- 
f  lord  privy-seal,  as 
le  of  more  active  du- 
itoof  his  health,  now 

II  by  attacks  of  the 
d  long  been  subject, 
upper  house  with  tlie 
im.  He  now  applied 
ist  endeavors  to  heal 
I  America ;  but  the 
leagues  rendered  him 

effect  the  measures 
te  taken  for  this  pur- 
mber,  1768,  he  again 
atham  lived  for  nearly 

and,  although  his  in- 
ompelled  him  to  spend 
etirement  in  the  couu- 
Bsented  himself  in  his 
,  when  important  dis- 
ake  place,  and  never 
(If  more  than  he  did, 
asions,  by  his  eloquent 
Is  against  the  headlong 
ment  in  which  minis- 
g,  and  his  maintenance 

rights  and  liberties  of 
t  was  the  contest  with 
illed  forth  from  Lord 
brilliant  efforts  of  his 
rhaps  of  his  life.  He 
re  expired  in  resisting 
lures  which,  in  provo- 
10  the  dismembermeti* 


„1„.„  a  m..l,on  on  ,1„.  ...l.)«;>  «■». '»  J>°  1  ^  „,  ,„„•„,„,„,  .  h,„  .„„„„l  „,  ,,„  „. 


\>  111*11     *1    iii«'»n»ii    "■■     • -•-     4 

.liscussed,  he  apprifd  for  the  lant  lime 
in  ihn  house  of  lords,  Uuning  on  the  arm 
of  his  son.  wiih  his  majestic  figure  wrapped 
in  fhinneU,  and  Iwh  ice  pale  iii  .<»'■'»• 
Afier  delivering  his  nentimonts  with  his 
accustomed  fervor,  he  sat  down.  On 
rising  again,  however,  a  short  time  after- 
ward, u,  reply  to  some  observations  which    ;;;';-".-,j;-„f, he  place  was  broken  by 

had  been  made  upon  h'^'"'''^"'"'  *^\^' Vthe    no.so    of  distant   thunder.     He  was 
haek  in  the  arms  of  the  duke  ol   (umber-    '»^^   '     *«  ;'     ''      ,,,    ,.„„„„,,   j,„,,i,i„„ 


tuated  by  some  urgent  nec<-ssity.  The  ri- 
der forsaking  n  good  road  for  a  by-path 
leading  thrinigh  the  woods,  indicated  a  de- 
sire to  avoid  the  gaze  of  other  travellers. 
He  had  not  left  the  house  where  he  in- 
quired the  direction  of  the  above-men- 
lioned  path,  more  than  two  hours,  before 


land   and    Lord   Temple,  who  sat   beside 
him,   speechless,   and  to   all  appearance, 
insensible.      Lord  Chatham  recovered  so 
far  as  to  bo  removed  to  his  couniry-houso 
at  Hayes,  where  he  lingered  till  the  12lh 
of  May,   when   he  expired,   entirely   ex- 
hiiust.d.  in  the  seventieth  year  of  his  age. 
The  characteristics  of  this  celebrated  min- 
ister  were  vigor,  decision,  a  mind  prophetic 
of  consequences,  and  an  eloquence  so  com- 
manding that  probably  nothing  quite  equal 
to  it  has  distinguished  any  oilier  speaker 
in  modern  times.     Judging  rather  by  the 
^fleets  which  it  is  recorded  to  have  pro- 
duced, than  by  any  pretended  reports  o 
particular  speeches,  it  must  have  cntamed 
an  extraordinary  share  of  the  vehemence 
and  power  by  which  Demosthenes,  'u  an- 
cient Greece,  "  wielded  at  will  that  fierce 
democracy." 


GENERAL  WASHINGTON. 


NE  pleasant  even- 
,    ing,  in  the  month 

^3EjiW^  ^" — a  man  was  ob- 
served entering  the 
borders  of  a  wood, 
near   the    Hudson 
river,  his   appear- 
ance that  of  a  person  above  the  common 
rank.     Tlie  inhabit.iiit8  of  a  country  vil- 
lage would  have  dignified  him  with  the  ti- 
tle of  'squire,  and  from  his  manner  pro- 
nounced him  proud  ;  but  those  more  ac- 
customed to  society,  would   inform   you 
there  was  something  like  a  military  air 
about  him.     His  horse  pantee  as  if  it  had 
been  hard  pushed  for  some  miles,  yet,  from 


soon  after  obliged  to  dismount,  travelling 
becoming  dangerous,  as  darkness  con- 
cealed surrouniling  objects,  except  when 
the  lightning's  Hash  afforded  him  a  ino- 
meiii:iry  view  of  his  situation.  A  peal 
loud.r  and  of  longer  duration  than  any  of 
the  preceding,  which  now  burst  over  his 
head,  seeming  as  if  it  would  rend  tho 
woods  asunder,  was  quickly  followed  by 
a  heavy  full  of  rain  which  penetrated  the 
clothing  of  the  stranger  ere  ho  could  ob- 
tain tlie  shelter  of  a  large  oak,  which 
stood  at  a  little  distance. 

Almost  exhausted  with  the  labors  of  the 
day,  he  was  al)out  making  such  disposi- 
tion of   the  saddle  and  his  own  coat,  as 
would  enable  him  to  pass  the  nighl   with 
i  what  comfort  circumstances  would  admit, 
j  when  he  espied  a  light  glimmering  through 
I  the  trees.     Animated  with  tho  hope  of  bet- 
ter lodgings,  he  determined   to   proceed. 
The  way,  which  was  somewhat  steep,  be- 
came  attended    with   more   obstacles  th». 
farther  he  advanced  ;   the  soil  being  com- 
posed of  clay,  which  the  rain  had  render- 
ed so  soft  that  his  feet  slipped  atevery  sti  p. 
By  the  utmost  perseverance,  this  difficulty 
was    finally  overcome  without  any  acci- 
dent, and  ho  had  the  pleasure  of  finding 
himself  in  front  of  a  decent  looking  farm- 
house.    The  watch  dog   began    barking, 
which  brought  the  owner  of  the  mansion 
to  the  door. 

"  Who  is  there  ?"  said  he. 
"  A  friend  who  has  lost  his  way,  and 
in  search  o(  a  place  of  shelter,"  was  the 

answer.  ,       „      i 

"  Come  in,  sir,"  added  the  speaker,    and 

whatever  my  house  will  afford,  you  shall 

have,  with  welcome." 

"  I  must  provide  for  the  weary  compan- 

io.i  of  my  journey,"  remarked  the  other. 
But  the  former  undertook  the  task,  and 


'Wk^: 


'***»« 


4-; 


after  conducting  the  new-comer  into  ajoo"! 
where  his  wife  was  seated,  he  led  the 
horse  to  a  well-stored  barn,  and  there  pro- 
vided for  him  most  bountifully.  On  re- 
joining the  traveller,  he  observed,  I  hat 
is  a  noble  animal  of  yours,  sir." 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  I  am  sor- 
ry that  1  was  obliged  to  misuse  him  so  as 
to  make  it  necessary  to  give  you  so  niuch 
trouble  with  the  care  of  him ;  but  1  have 
yet  to  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  both 

"  I  did  no  more  than  my  duty,  sir,"  said 
the  entertainer,  "and  therefore  am  enti- 
tled to  no  thanks.  But  Susan,"  added  he, 
turning  to  the  hostess  with  a  half-reproach- 
ful look,  "  why  have  you  not  given  the 
gentleman  something  to  eat?" 

Fear  had  prevented  the  good  woman 
from  exercising  her  well-known  benevo- 
lence ;  for  a  robbery  had  been  committed 
bv  a  lawless  band  of  depredators,  but  a 
few  weeks  before,  in  that  neighborhood, 


better  for  thinking  of  his  God,  than  all  his 
kind  inquiries  after  our  welfare.  I  wish 
our  Peter  had  been  home  from  the  army, 
if  it  was  only  to  hear  this  good  man  tiilk ; 
I  am  sure  Washington  himself  could  not 
say  more  for  this  country,  nor  give  e.  bet- 
ter h= story  of  the  hardships  endured  by 
our  bra /e  soldiers." 

"  Who  knows  now,"  inquired  the  wile, 
"  but  it  may  be  himself  after  all,  my  dear  ; 
for  they  do  say  he  travels  just  so,  all  alone, 
sometimes.     Hark  !  what's  that  ?" 

The  sound  of  a  voice  came  from  the 
chamber  of  their  guest,  who  was  now  en- 
iraged  in  his  private  religious  worship.  Al- 
fer  thanking  the  Creator  for  his  many  irier- 
cies,  and  asking  a  blessing  on  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  house,  he  continued,  "  And 
now,  Almighty  Father,  if  it  be  thy  holy 
will,  that  we  shall  obtain  a  place  and  a 
name  among  the  nations  of  the  earth, 
grant  that  we  may  be  enabled  to  show  our 
gratitude  for  thy  goodness,  by  our  endeav-- 


few  weeks  betore,  in  laa^  ""3!'""""':;:  1  ors  to  fear  and  obey  thee.     Bless  us  with 
ed  that  this  man  might  be  one  of  them 


At  her  husband's  remonstrance,  she  now 
readily  engaged  in  repairing  her  error,  by 
preparing  a  splendid  repast.  During  the 
meal  there  was  much  intereslin?  conversa- 
tion among  the  three.  As  soon  as  the 
worthy  countryman  perceived  that  his 
guest  had  satisfied  his  appetite,  he  info^ed 
him  that  it  was  now  the  hour  at  which  the 
family  usually  performed  their  devotions, 
inviting  him  at  the  same  time  to  be  pres- 
ent.    The  invitation  was  accepted  in  these 

words : —  , 

"  It  would  afford  me  the  greatest  pleasure 
to  commune  with  my  heavenly  Preserver, 
after  the  events  of  the  day ;  such  exercises 
prepare  us  for  the  repose  which  we  seek 

'"  The'host  now  reached  the  Bible  froin 
the  shelf,  and  after  reading  a  chapter  and 
singing,  concluded  the  whole*  with  a  fer- 
vent prayer;  then,  lighting  a  pme  knot, 
conducted  the  person  he  had  entertained 
to  his  chamber,  wished  him  a  good  nights 
rest,  and  retired  to  the  adjoining  apart- 
ment. ,    .  ,, ,,  „. 

"  John,"  whispered  the  woman,  that 
is  a  good  gentleman,  and  not  one  of  the 
highwaymen  as  I  supposed." 

"  Yes,  Susan,"  said  he,  "  I  like 


him 


and  let  our  victories  be  tempered  with  hu 
maniiy  Endow,  also,  our  enemies  with 
enlighte.ied  minds,  that  they  may  become 
sensible  of  their  injustice,  and  willing  to 
restore  liberty  and  peace.  Gran!  the  pc 
tition  of  thy  servant,  for  the  sake  of  him 
whom  thou  hast  called  thy  beloved  Son  ; 
nevertheless,  not  my  will,  but  thine  be 
done.     Amen." 

The  next  morning,  the  traveller,  decli- 
ning the  pressing  solicitation  to  breakfast  1 
with  his  host,  declared  it  was  necessary 
for  him  to  cross  the  river  immediately;  at 
the  same  time  offering  part  of  his  purse 
as  a  compensation  for  what  h#had  re- 
ceived, which  was  refused. 

"  Well,  sir,"  continued  he,  "  since  you 
will  not  permit  me  to  recompense  you  for 
your  trouble,  it  is  but  just  that  I  should  in- 
form you  on  whom  you  have  conferred  so 
many  obligations,  and  also  add  to  them  by 
requesting  your  assistance  in  crossing  the 
rivev.  I  had  been  out  yesterday,  endeav- 
oring to  obtain  some  information  respect- 
ing our  enemy,  and  being  alone,  ventured 
too  far  from  the  camp.  On  my  return,  I 
was  surprised  by  a  foraging  party,  and  c»n- 
ly  escaped  by  my  knowledge  of  the  roads, 
and  the  fleetness  of  my  horse.  My  name 
is  George  Washington." 


of  liis  God,  than  all  bis 
r  our  welfare.  I  wish 
n  home  from  the  army, 
lear  this  good  man  talk  ; 
\gton  himself  could  not 
country,  nor  give  a  bel- 
3  hardships  endured  by 

I." 

[low,"  inquired  the  wife, 

niself  after  ail,  my  dear  ; 

travels  just  so,  all  alone, 
k  !  what's  that  ?" 

a  voice  came  from  the 


guest 


who  was  now  en- 


te  religious  worship.    Af 
Jreator  for  his  many  mer- 
a  blessing  on  the  inbab- 
iise,  be  continued,  "  And 
father,  if  it  be  thy  holy 
all  obtain  a  place  and  a 
16   nations  of  the   earth, 
y  be  enabled  to  show  our 
goodness,  by  our  endeav- 
bey  thee.     Bless  us  with 
ouncils,  success  in  battle, 
ries  be  tempered  with  bu- 
V,  also,  our  enemies  with 
ds,  that  they  may  become 
r  injustice,  and  willing  to 
nd  peace.     Grant  the  pe> 
vani,  for  the  sake  of  him 
called  thy  beloved  Son  ; 
)t  my  will,  but  thine  be 

ming,  the  traveller,  decli- 
ng  solicitation  to  breakfast 
declared  it  was  necessary 
I  the  river  immediately ;  at 
offering  part  of  his  purse 
tion  for  what  hdlhad  re- 
was  refused. 

continued  he,  "  since  you 
me  to  recompense  j'ou  for 
is  but  just  that  I  should  in- 
hom  you  have  conferred  so 
ns,  and  also  add  to  them  by 
r  assistance  in  crossing  the 
;cen  out  yesterday,  endeav- 
some  information  respect- 
,  and  being  alone,  ventured 
le  camp.  On  my  return,  I 
by  a  foraging  party,  and  on- 
my  knowledge  of  the  roads, 
)ss  of  my  horse.  My  name 
shington." 


THE  BOA  C0N8TEICT0R. 


n 


Surprise  kept  the  listener  "lent /or  * 
moment;   then,  after  ""«"«='=?« «<^""y  "! 
Dealing  the  invitation  tc  partake  of  some 
Refreshment,  he  hastened  to  call  two  ne- 
groes,  with  whose  assistance  >«  P'^^^f 
fhe  horse  on  a  small  raft  of  tinriber  that 
was  lying  in  the  river,  near  the  door,  and 
Toon  conveyed  the  general  to  the  opposUe 
side  of  the  river  where  he  l«ft  b^'^P"" 
sue  his  way  to  the  camp,  wishing  hun  a 
safe  and  prosperous  journey.     On  h  s  re 
u  n  to  the  house,  he  found  that  while  he 
was  engaged  in  making  preparations  for 
Tonveying  the  horse  across  the  river,  his 
llustrous%i8iter  had  persuaded  his  wife 
to  accept  a  token  of  remenribrance,  which 
ihe  family  are  proud  of  exhibiting  to  ^h. 
dav      The  above  is  only  one  of  the  haz 
Js  encountered  by  this  truly  great  pa- 
triot,  for  the   purpose  of  transmitting  to 
nrteriiy  the   treasures   we   now   enjoy. 
C  us  acknowledge  the  benefits  received 
bv  our  endeavors  to  preserve  them  m  their 
purity  ;  and  by  keeping  in  remembrance 
The  great  Source  whence  these  blessings 
flosv    we  may  be  enabled  to  render  our 
SamU  worthy  of  being  enrolled  with  that 

of  the  Father  of  his  country. 


THE  BOA  CONSTRICTOR. 


HE  place  which  the 
boa  should  occupy  in 
a  regular  system  is 
not  well  determined, 
and  this  arises  from 
the  circumstance  that 
travellers  have  enter- 
,s^  ,         ed  much  into  the  his- 

tory and  habits  of  the  larger  species  of 
serpents  without  carefully  describing  the 
animals  themselves.     We  shall  be  con- 
tent  to  follow  Blumenbach  in  stating  that 
the  enormous  reptile  usually  called   the 
boa  constrictor  is  found  in  the  East  Indies 
and  in  Africa,  and  does  not  appear  to  diHer 
much  from  the  amaru  of  South  Amonca, 
which  was  worshipped  by  the  Amis  ot 
Peru      It  is  the  largest  of  serpents.     Its 
average  length  appears  to  be  about  thirty 
feet  but  it  sometimes  attains  to  forty,  filty, 
or  even  sixty  feet;  it  therefore  occupies 
the  relaiive  position  among  reptiles  which 


the  elephant  does  among  quadrupeds,  and 
the  whale  among  the  inhabitants  of  the 
sea.     In  the  venomous  species,  the  poison 
fangs  are   in  the  upper  jaw— somewhat 
larger  than  the  other  teeth,  projected  for- 
ward in  the  act  of  biting,  but  at  other  times 
disposod   along   the   roof  of  the  mouth. 
These  are  wanting  in  the  boa,  but  other- 
wise the  teeth  are  disposed  much  in  the 
same  manner  as  in  other  serpents— being 
long,  sharply  pointed,  and  inclined  back- 
ward  of  no  use  for  mastication,  but  evi- 
dently intended  cnly  for  the  purpose  of 
holding   the  prey.      The   genus   is   dis- 
tinguished by  having  a  hook  on  each  side 
the  vent ;  the  body  is  compressed,  inflated 
toward  the  middle  ;  the  tail  is  prehensile  ; 
the   scales   small,  particularly  upon   the 
back  of  the  head.     The  ground  color  of 
the  boa  constrictor  is  yellowish  gray,  with 
a  large  chestnut  colored  interrupted  chain, 
extending  down  the  back  from  the  head 
to  the  tip  of  the  tail,  and  jubtrigonal  spots 
down  the  sides.     The  name  "constrictor 
is  derived  from  the  terrible  muscular  pow- 
er by  which  it  crushes  to  death  the  un- 
fortunate animals  embraced    in  its  folds. 
It  is  true  that  most  serpents  possess,  in 
some  degree,  this  constrictive  power,  but 
it  is  not  commonly  used  by  the  smaller 
species  in  seizing  their  prey,  the  mouth 
and  teeth  alone  sufficing  for  the  purpose. 
Requiring  food  only  at  long  intervals, 
the  boa  constrictor,  like  most  other  ser- 
pents, spend  the  greater  part  of  its  life 
coiled  up  asleep,  or  in  a  state  of  stupor, 
in  which,  if  it  has  recently  been  gorged 
with  food,  it  may  be  overcome  with  little 
danger  or  difficulty,  although  to  attack  U 
in  an  active  state  would  be  madness.    But 
when   it  becomes   hungry,  the   gigantic 
reptile  assumes  an  activity  strikingly  in 
contrast  with  the  loggish  inertness  it  be- 
fore exhibited.     When  properly  m  wait 
for  prey,  it  usually  attaches  itself  to  the 
trunk  or  branches  o."  a  tree,  in  a  situation 
likely  to  be  visited  by  quadrupeds  for  the 
sake  of  pasture  or  water.     In  this  posture 
it  swings  about,  as  if  a  branch  or  pendent 
of  the  tree,  until  some  unhappy  animal 
approaches,  and  then,  suddenly  relinquish- 
ing its  position,  it  seizes  the  unsuspecting 
victim,  and  coils  its  body  spirally  around 
the  thi-oat  and  chest.     After  a  few  mef- 
fectual  cries  and  struggles,  the  poor  un- 


>'mifin^ 


.5 


fT'. 


"11 

i 


J§ 


GEMS  OF  THOUGHT. 


971 


n 


tangled  animal  is  suffocated  and  expires. 
It  is  to  be  remarked  that,  in  producing 
this  effect,  the  serpent  does  not  merely 
wreathe  itself  around  the  prey,  but  places 
fold  over  fold,  as  if  desirous  of  adding  as 
much  weight  as  possible  to  the  muscular 
effort;    these   folds    are    then    gradually 
tightened  with  such  immense  force  as  to 
crush  the  principal  bones,  and  thus  not 
only  to  destroy  the  animal,  but  to  bring 
its  carcase  into  a  state  the  most  easy  for 
its  being  swallowed.     This  having  been 
effected,  the  boa  addresses  himself  to  the 
task  of  swallowing  the  carcase.     Haying 
pushed  the  limbs  into  the  most  convenient 
position,  and  covered  the  surface  with  its 
glutinous   saliva,  the   serpent  takes   the 
muzzle  of  the  prey  into  its  mouth,  which 
is  capable  of  vast  expanion ;  and,  by  a 
succession  of   wonderful   muscular  con- 
tractions, the  rest  of  the  body  is  gradually 
drawn  in,  with  a  steady  and  regular  mo- 
tion.   As  the  mass  advances  in  the  gullet, 
the  parts  through  which  it  has  passed  re- 
sume their  former  dimensions,  though  us 
immediate  position  is  always  indicated  by 
an  external  protuberance.     Their  prey 
generally  consists  of  dogs,  goats,   deer, 
and  the  smaller  sorts  of  game.     Bishop 
Hober  considers  as  quite  untrue  the  stones 
of  their  attacking  such  animals  as  the 
buffalo  or  the  chetah ;  but  men  are  by  no 
means  exempt  from  their  attacks.     This 
is  shown  by  the  following  anecdote,  which 
the  engraving  illustrates :— 

The  captain  of  a  country  ship,  while 
passing  tho  Sunderbunds,  near  Calcutta, 
sent  a  boat  into  one  of  the  creeks  to  ob- 
tain some  fresh  fruits  which  are  cultivated 
by  the  few  miserable  inhabitants  of  this 
inhospitable  region.     Having  reached  the 
shore,  the  crew  moored  the  boat  under  a 
bank,  and  left  one  of  their  party  to  take 
care  of  her.     During  their  absence,  the 
lascar,  who  remained  in  charge  of  the 
boat,  overcome  by  heat,  lay  down  under 
the  seats  and  fell  asleep.     While  ho  was 
in  this  happy  state  of  unconsciousness,  an 
enormous  boa  constrictor  emerged   from 
the  jungle,  reached  the  boat,  had  already 
coiled  its  huge  body  round  the  sleeper, 
and  was  in  the  very  act  of  crushing  him 
to  death,  when  his  companions  fortunatelv 
returned  at  this  auspicious  moment ;  and, 
attacking  the  monster,  severed  a  portion 


62 


of  its  tail,  which  so  disabled  it  that  it  no 
longer  retained  the  power  of  doing  mis- 
chief. The  snake  was  then  easily  de- 
spatched, and  found  to  measure  sixty-two 
feet  and  some  inches  in  length. 


GEMS  OF  THOUGHT. 

ONVERSATION  is  the 
daughter  of  reasoning, 
the  mother  of  knowledge, 
the  breath  •f  the  soul, 
the  commerce  of  hearts, 
the  bond  of  friendship, 
and  the  nourishment  of 
content. 

Open  your  heart  to 
sympathy,  but  close  it  to  despondency. 
The  flower  which  opens  to  receive  the 
dew  shuts  against  rain. 

He  who  dreads  giving  light  to  the  peo- 
ple is  like  a  man  who  builds  a  house  with- 
out windows  for  fear  of  lightning. 

The  shortest  day  of  our  year  comes  in 
winter— fit  emblem  of  our  life,  at  once 
dark,  cold,  and  short. 

Men,  like  books,  have  at  each  end  a 
blank  loaf— childhood  and  old  age. 

Graves  are  but  the  prints  of  the  loot- 
steps  of  the  angel  of  eternal  life. 

Peace  is  the  evening  star  of  the  soul, 
as  virtue  is  its  sun,  and  the  two  are  never 

"oat  sorrows  are  like  thunder-clouds, 
which  seem  black  in  the  distance,  but 
grow  lighter  as  they  approach. 

Universal  love  is  like  a  glove  without 
fincers  which  fits  all  hands  alike  and  none 
closely ;  but  true  affection  is  like  a  glove 
with  fingers  which  fits  one  hand  only  and 
sits  close  to  that  one. 

Passion  is  a  keen  observer,  but  a  wretch- 
ed reasoner.  It  is  like  the  telescope  whose 
Held  is  clearer,  the  more  concentrated  it  is. 

Esteem  is  the  mother  of  love,  but  the 
daughter  is  often  older  than  the  mother. 

The  grafts  that  circumstances  make  in 
our  character,  we  are  apt  to  regard  as  its 

native  fruit.  ...  . 

Our  evil  genius,  like  the  junior  member 
of  a  deliberative  body,  always  gives  its 
views  first. 


'''&':. 


'%, 


972 


SCRIPTURAL  ALLUSIONS  TO  DEW 


A  gentle  heart  is  like  ripe  fruit  which 
bends  so  low  that  it  is  at  the  mercy  of  ev- 
ery one  who  chooses  to  pluck  it,  while  the 
harder  fruit  keeps  out  of  reach. 

To  seek  to  soothe  a  ruffian  by  reason, 
is  to  attempt  to  bind  a  buffalo  with  a  gar- 
land of  flowers. 

Wisdom  is  an  open  fountain,  whose 
waters  are  not  to  be  sealed  up,  but  kept 
ninning  for  the  benefit  of  all. 

Calumny  is  like  the  wasp  that  teazes 
and  against  which  you  must  not  attempt 
to  defend  yourself  unless  you  are  certain 
to  destroy  it ;  otherwise  it  returns  to  the 
charge  more  furious  than  ever. 

Little  minds  rejoice  over  the  errors  of 
men  of  genius,  as  the  owl  rejoices  at  an 

eclipse. 

Man  passes  his  life  in  reasoning  on  the 
past,  in  complaining  of  the  present,  and 
trembling  for  the  future. 

Pleasure  is  seldom  found  where  it  is 
sought.  Our  brightest  blazes  of  gladness 
are    commonly    kindled    by   unexpected 

sparks. 

Misery  requires  action — happiness,  re- 
pose. 

Fancy  rules  over  two  thirds  of  the  uni- 
verse—the past  and  the  future — while  Re- 
ality is  confined  to  the  present. 

Hope  is  like  a  bad  clock,  for  ever  stri- 
king the  hour  of  happiness,  whether  it 
has  come  or  not. 

Riches  are  not  easily  acquired,  and 
when  acquired,  are,  with  extreme  care, 
preserved ;  but  when  death  comes  they 
are  gone  !  Be  not,  therefore,  too  anxious 
for  wealth.  The  poisonous  tree  of  this 
v/orld  bears  two  fruits  of  exquisite  savor ; 
poetry,  sweet  as  nectar,  and  the  society 
of  the  good. 

As  a  stone  is  raised  with  great  labor  up 
a  mountain,  but  thrown  down  in  an  instant, 
thus  are  our  virtues  acquired  with  difficul- 
ty, our  vices  with  ease. 

The  vicious,  norwithstanding  the  sweet- 
ness of  their  words,  and  the  honey  of 
their  tongues,  have  a  whole  storehouse  of 
poison  within  their  hearts. 

There  is  no  union  between  the  thoughts, 
the  words,  and  actions  of  the  wicked  ; 
but  the  thoughts,  words,  and  actions  of 
the  good,  all  agree. 

The  truly  great  are  calm  in  danger, 
merciful  in  prosperity,  eloquent  in  the  as- 


sembly, courteous  in  war,  and  anxious  for 
fame. 

Danger  should  be  feared  when  distant, 
and  braved  when  present. 

Every  one  looking  downward  becomes 
impressed  with  his  own  greatness,  but 
looking  upward,  feels  his  own  littleness. 

As  a  mound  of  earth  raised  by  the  ants, 
or  the  sands  in  the  hour-glass,  so  religion, 
learning,  and  riches,  increase  only  by  de- 
grees. 

The  alloted  days  and  nights  of  human 
life,  like  a  current  down  the  sides  of  a 
mountain,  pass  away  not  to  return. 


SCRIPTURAL  ALLUSIONS  TO  DEW. 

OSTorallofthe 
grand  phenom- 
ena and  aspects 
of    nature    are 
menliont'd      in 
Scripture,    and 
so  applied  as  to 
teach  or   illus- 
trate some  im- 
portant lesson.     They  are  spoken  of  as 
declaring  the  glory  of  God  in  creation  , 
they  are  employed  to  represent  his  deal 
ings  with  the  children  of  men.     Th'  snow 
the  hail,  the  thunder,  and  the  storm,  are 
appealed  to  as  gradually  showing  forth  his 
power   and   terrible   majesty;    the    wind 
"  that  bloweth  where  it  listeth,"  the  early 
and  the  latter  rain,  and  the  gently  drop- 
ping dew,  are  used  as  appropriate  images 
of    the    blessings    continually   showered 
down  from  on  high,  and  especially  of  the 
influence  of  the  Holy  Spirit  upon  the  soul. 
The  Bible,  designed  to  be  an  intelligible 
record  of  divine  instruction,  abounds  in 
imagery  borrowed   from   material  nature, 
and  expressly  adapted  to  arrest  and  charm 
the  attention.     It  contains  many  beautiful 
allusions  to  the  phenomena  of  dew,  a  few 
of  which  we  propose  making  the  subject 
of  this  article. 

The  beneficial  effects  of  dew,  in  re- 
viving and  refreshii'-'  the  entire  landscape, 
have  already  been  adverted  to.  How  fre- 
quently do  we  observe  the  aspect  of  the 
fields  and  woods  improved  by  the  dews  of 


I  war,  and  anxious  for 

feared  when  distant, 
esent. 

g  downward  becomes 
;  own  greatness,  but 
Is  his  own  littleness, 
irth  raised  by  the  ants, 
hour-glass,  so  religion, 
,  increase  only  by  de- 

and  nights  of  human 
down  the  sides  of  a 
y  not  to  return. 


lUSIOTIS  TO  DEW. 

OST  or  all  of  the 
grand  phenom- 
ena and  aspects 
of    nature    are 
mentioned      in 
Scripture,    and 
so  applied  tsto 
teach  or    illus- 
trate some  im- 
Tiey  are  spoken  of  as 
y  of  God  in  creation  , 
to  represent  his  deal 
renofmen.     Th.  snow 
der,  and  the  storm,  are 
dually  showing  forth  his 
le   majesty;    ilie    wind 
ere  it  Jisteth,"  the  early 
n,  and  the  gently  drop- 
d  as  appropriate  images 
continually    showered 
h,  and  especially  of  the 
oly  Gpirit  upon  the  soul, 
ed  to  be  an  intelligible 
instruction,  abounds  iii 
1   from   material  nature, 
pted  to  arrest  and  charm 
contains  many  beautiful 
lenomena  of  dew,  a  few 
)ose  making  the  subject 

effects  of  dew,  in  re- 
lir-'  the  entire  landscape, 
1  adverted  to.  How  fre- 
sorve  the  aspect  of  the 
improved  by  the  dews  of 


8CH1PTUHAL  ALLUSIONS  TO  DEW. 


973 


a  single  night?     In  the  summer  season, 
especially,  when  the  solar  heat  is  most 
intense,  atid  when  the  luxuriant  vegetation 
requires  a  constant  and  copious  supply  of 
moisture,  an  abundant  formation  of  dew 
seasonably  refreshes  the  thirsty  herbs,  and 
saves  them  from  the  parching  drought.     In 
easteti  countries,  like  Judea,  where  the 
summer  is  fervid  and  long  contmued,  and 
the   evaporation   excessive,  dew  is  both 
more  needed,  and  formed  in  much  greater 
abundance,  than  in  our  more   temperate 
climate.     There  it  may  bo  said  to  inter- 
pose between  the  vegetable  world  and  the 
scorching  influence  -of  a  powerful  and  un- 
clouded sun— to  be  the  hope  and  joy  of 
the  husbandman,  the  tlieme  of  his  earnest 
prayer  and  heartfelt  gratitude.     Accord- 
ingly, the  sacred  writers  speak  of  it  as  the 
choicest  of  blessings    wherewith  a  land 
can  be  blessed ;  while  the  want  of  it  is 
with  them  almost  synonymous  withacurse. 
Moses,  blessing  the  land  of  Joseph,  classes 
the  dew  among  "  the  precious  things  of 
heaven;"  and  David,  in  his  lamentation 
over  Saul  and  Jonathan,  poetically  invo- 
king a  curse  upon  tho  place  where  they 
fell,  wishes  no  dew  to  descend,  tipon  the 
mountains  of  Gilboa.    The  Almighty  him- 
self, promising,  by  the  mouth  of  one  of 
his  prophets,  to  Wess  his  chosen  people, 
says,  "  I  will  be  »n  the  dew  unto  Israel ; 
he  shall  grow  ps  the  lily,  and  cast  forth 
his  roots  as  Leb-inon."     Here  the  refresh- 
ing and  fertilizing  effects  of  dew  beaati- 
fufly  represent  the  prosperity  of  the  nation 
which  God  Bpeciiflly  favors  and  protects. 
The  dew  is  also  employed,  by  the  prophet 
Micah,  to  illustrate  the  influence  of  God  s 
peonle  in  the  midst  of  an  evil  world,  where 
he  says,  that  "  the  remnant  of  Jacob  shall 
be  in  the  midst  of  many  people,  as  a  dew 
from  the  Lord."     What  emblem  more  ex- 
pressive of  that  spiritual  life,  in  some  of 
its   members,  which   preserves  a  people 
from  entire  corruption  and  decay  1 

Another  beautiful  application  of  the 
dew  in  Scripture,  is  its  being  made  to  rep- 
resent the  influence  of  heavenly  truth  on 
the  soul.  In  the  commencement  of  his 
sublime  song,  Moses  employs  these  ex- 
(luisito  expressions :  "  My  doctrine  shall 
drop  as  the  rain,  my  speech  shall  distil  as 
I  the  dew  ;  as  the  small  rain  upon  the  ten- 
der herb,  and  as  the  showers  upon  the 


grass."     Similar  passages  might  be  quoted 
from  the  sacred  writers,  wherein,  by  a  fe- 
licity of  comparison  that  all  must  at  once 
acknowledge,  the  word  and  ordinances  of 
God  are  likened  to  tho  dew  of  the  field. 
How  strikingly  the  reviving  effects  of  dew 
upon  the  parched  and  thirsty  vegetation  of 
the  sun-scorched  plain, -typify  the  moral 
and   spiritual   freshness   diffused    by  the 
word  preached  in  its  purity,  and  received 
with   faith  and   love.     As  the  dew  of  a 
night  will  sometimes  bring  back  beanty 
and    bloom   to   unnumbered    languishing 
plants  and  flowers,  and  spread  a  pleasant 
freshness  over  all  the  fields,  so  will  some 
rich  and  powerful  exposition  of  revealed 
truth,  or  some  ordinance,  dispensed  with 
genuine  fervor,  not   unfrequently  enliven 
and  refresh  a  whole  Christian  congrega- 
tion, or  even  sprc  ad  a  moral  verdure  over 
a  large  portion  of  the  visible  church.     If 
the  soul  be  stained  in  its  intercourse  with 
tho  world  ;  if,  like  the  grass  on  the  way- 
side  that  is  covered  with  dust,  it  contract 
imiTurity  with  tho  beaten  paths  of  life,  the 
word  of  God  falls  upon  it  with  a  refresh- 
ing influence,  like  the  dews  of  night  upon 
that  grass,  to  water  it,  and  to  wash  awf.y 
all   marks   of    contact  with   surrounding 
corruption.     If   it   be   scorched    by   the 
withering   sun    of  persecution,  and  pine 
for  spiritual  nourishment  and  support,  that 
same  word  bedews  it  with  tho  sweetest 
influences,  and    affords  it  sustenance,  in 
richness    and   salubrity  like   that  of  the 
heavenly  manna  itself. 

But  let  us  not  forget  that  the  word  of 
God  sheds  a  healing  influence  only  when 
it  is  rendered  effectual  by  the  Spirit  of  all 
truth.     The   Spirit  worketh  through  the 
instrumentality  of  the  word  ;  silently,  se- 
cretly,  and   powerfully  worketh;   falling 
gently,  operating  unseen,  and  diffusing  re- 
freshment around,  like  the  balmy  dews  of 
night.     Of  the  Spirit's  agency  the  dew  is, 
indeed,  the  finest  and  aptest  illustration. 
As  dew  to  the  parched  and  drooping  flow- 
er, so  is  the  Spirit  shed  upon  the  Chris- 
tian's soul ;  as  the  "dew  of  Hermon,"  or 
"  tire  dew  that  descends  upon  the   moun- 
tains of  Zion,"  spreading  freshness  and 
beauty   over   the    whole    surface    of    the 
ground,  so  is  th3  Spirit  poured  out  in  rich 
abundance  upon  the  church,  the  spiritual 
Zion,  in  times  of  reviving  and  refreshing 


mm 


9U 


THE  FOOD  OF  MAN.-GLA8Q0W. 


from  the  Lord.     As  we  spring  from  our 
couch,  therefore,  on   the   bright  summer 
morning,  and  walk  joyfully  lorth  into  xhe 
fragrant  fields,  to  breathe  the  inspiring  air, 
feast  our  eyes  upon  the   glowing  mixture 
of  colors  in  which  all  nature  is  arrayed, 
and  listen  to  the  sweet  and  various  music 
that  ascends  from  every  grove,  let  us  not 
fail  to  derive  a  high  spiritual  lesson  from 
the   dew  that  is  so  thickly  strown  upon 
the  grass  beneath  our  feet.     Distilled  m  1 
the  silent  night  by  the  reciprocal  influen- 
ces of  heaven  and  earth,  it  bathes  and  re- 
freshes   each   blade  and  flower  with  its 
stainless  moisture.     Let  us  regard  i    as 
the  chosen  image  of  God's  choicest  bles- 
sing, the  cleansing  and  sanctifying  influ- 
ence of  his  Spirit  npon  the  heart  of  roan. 


is  derived  from  Persia,  where  ii  still  grows 
in  a  native  state,  small,  bitter,  and  with 
poisonous  qualities.     Tobacco  is  a  native 
of  Mexico  and  South  America,  and  lately 
one  species  has  been  found  in  New  Hol- 
land.    Tobacco  was  first  introduced  inlo 
England  from  North   Carolina,  in  1586. 
by  Raleigh.     Asparagus  was  brought  from 
Asia  ;  cabbage  and  lettuce  from  Holland  ; 
horse-radi.sh  from  China  ;  rice  from  Ethi- 
i  opia  ;  beans  from  the  East  Indies ;  onions 
and  garlics  are  natives  of  various  places 
'  both  in  Asia  and  Africa.     The  sugar  cane 
is  a  native  of  China,  and  thence  is  derived 
the  art  of  making  sugar  from  it. 


THE  FOOD  OF  MAN. 


The  potato  is  a  native  of  South  America, 
and  is  still  found  wild  in  Chili,  Peru  and 
Monte  Video.     In   its  native   state   the 
roots  are  small  and  bitter.     The  first  men- 
tion of  it  by  European  writers  is  »"  15«8. 
It  is  now  spread  over  the  world.     Wheat 
and  rye  originated  in  Tartary  and  Sib^ia, 
where   they   are   still   indigenous.     The 
only  country  where  the  oat  is  found  wild 
is  in  Abyssinia,  and  thence  may  be  con- 
sidered a  native.     Maize  or  Indian  corn 
is  a  native  of  Mexico,  and  was  unknown 
in  Europe  until  after  the  discoveries  of 
Columbus.     The  bread-fruit  tree  is  a  na- 
tive of  South  Sea  islands,  particularly  Oia- 
heite.     Tea  is  found  a  native  nowhere  ex- 
cept in   China  and   Japan,  from  which 
country  the  world  is  supplied .    The  cocoa- 
nut  is  a  native  of  most  equinoctial  coun- 
tri->s,  and  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  trees, 
as  food,  clothing,  and  shelter,  are  aflforded 
by  it.     CofTts  :3  a  native  of  Arabia  Felix, 
but  is  now  spread  inlo  both  the  East  and 
West  Indios,     The  best  coflee  is  brought 
from  Mocha,   in   Arabia,  whence   about 
fourteen  millions  of  pounds  are  annually 
exported.     St.  Domingo  furnishes   from 
sixty  to  seventy  millions  of  pounds  yearly. 
All  the  varieties  of  the  apple  are  derived 
from  the  crab  apple  which  is  found  native 
in  most  parts  oi  the  world.     The  peach 


GLASGOAV. 

LASGOW,  is  the 
roost  populous  city 
in  Scotland,  and  oc- 
cupies a  highly  ad- 
vantageous     situa- 
tion on  the  banks 
of    the    Clyde,    in 
Lanarkshire,  a  few 
miles  from  the  place 
where  the  river  expands  into  an  estuary, 
42  miles  from  Edinburgh,  397  from  Lon- 
don, and  196  from  Dublin.     The  external 
appearanca  of  this  great  city  is  elegant 
and  impressive.     The  streets  are  regular 
in  arrangement,  and  substantially  built  ot 
smooth  stone.     The  public  buildings  are 
in  general  handsome,  and,  in  most  in- 
stances, disposed  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
be  seen  to  advantage.     The  more  ancient 
part  of  the  city  extends  along  the  line  o 
the  High  street,  between  the  cathedral 
and  the  river  ;  the  more  modern  and  ele- 
gant part  stretches  toward  the  northwest. 
On  the  left  bank  of  the  river,  and  connect- 
ed by  three  bridges,  is  situated  the  popu- 
lous barony  of  Gorbals,  bearing  the  same 
reference  to  Glasgow  which  Soulhwark 
bears   to   London.     Westward   from  the 
lowest  of  the  bridges,  both  sides  of  the 
river  are  formed  into  quays,  which,  owing 
to  recent   operations   for  deepening  the 
channel,  are  now  approached  by  vessels 
drawing   about    fourteen   or  fifteen   feet 
water.  The  quay  on  the  right  or  north  bank 


1,  where  ii  slill  grows 
all,  bitter,  and  with 
Tobacco  is  a  native 
America,  and  lately 
found  in  New  Hol- 
first  introduced  inio 
Carolina,  in  1586, 
^us  was  brought  from 
etluce  from  Holland  ; 
lina  ;  rice  from  Ethi- 
I  East  Indies ;  onions 
ires  of  various  places 
ica.     The  sugar  cane 
and  thence  is  derived 
gar  from  it. 


'iskKJ 


mm 


tn 


3G0W. 

LASGOW,  is  the 
rnosl  populous  city 
in  Scotland,  and  oc- 
cupies a  highly  ad- 
A  vantageous     situa- 
^tion  on  the  banks 
^  of    the   Clyde,    in 
'  A  Lanarkshire,  a  few 
miles  from  the  place 
spands  into  an  estuary, 
>burgh,  397  from  Lon- 
Dublin.     The  external 
)  great  city  is  elegant 
The  streets  are  regular 
id  substantially  built  of 
le  public  buildings  are 
)me,  and,  in  most  in- 
in  such  a  manner  as  to 
ige.     The  more  ancient 
Uends  along  the  line  of 
between   the  cathedral 
3  more  modern  and  ele- 
>s  toward  the  northwest, 
if  the  river,  and  connect- 
es,  is  situated  the  popu- 
jrbals,  bearing  the  same 
5gow  which  Soulhwark 
1.     Westward  from  the 
dges,  both  sides  of  the 
into  quays,  which,  owing 
ions   for  deepening  the 
f  approached  by  vessels 
fourteen   or   fifteen   feet 
on  the  right  or  north  bank 


m 


'\X 


H    > 


tr 


'4/t  \  mt\r 


^K'.] 


\Ui 


iVlK 


f*i»<, 


iik 


r::=:n 


978 


GLASGOW. 


is  ilonominated  tho  Broomielaw.      Tweniy 
years  ag<.  the  Broomielaw   was  a  Innile.J 
extent  of  quay,  ranging  along  the  northern 
side  of  the  Clvde,  from  the  Broomie  aw, 
or  Jamaica  street    bridge,  downward,  to 
which  only   vessels   of   a   comparaHvely 
small  amount  of  tonnage  came  up ;    and 
but  five  or  six  years  ago,  the  southern  side 
was  an  extent  of  green  sward,  on  which 
the  inhabitants  could  walk  or  sit,  contem- 
plating the  "  shipping"  on  the  opposite 
side.     But  now  the  river  is  rendered  wider 
and  deeper  at  the  Broomielaw  ;  the  north- 
ern quay  extends  an  imnoense  length  along 
the  bank  ;  and  on  the  southern  side,  where 
children  might  once  safely  gambol,  and 
school-boys  spent  their  Saturday  holydays 
in  rolling  about  among  the  grass,  is  now 
a  handsome  quay,  with  its  sheds  and  cranes 
and  pulleys,  and  a  stair,  facing  the  o,  J 
stair  on  the  northern  side,  imnwdiately 
under  the  bridge,  to  which  the  »  herring 
boats"  did  and  still  do  come ;  and  whence, 
in  earlier  and  simpler  days,  most  respect- 
able citiaens  might  be  seen  trudging  home- 
ward of  a  morning,  bearing  some  ch<)ice 
and  fre8h-k)oking,  and  hard-bargained-for 
herrings  dangling  from  a  string  by  the 
gills      The  old  and  massive  Broomielaw 
bridge  with  all  its  architectural  garnish- 
ing*, has  been  taken  down,  and  the  band- 
some  structure  represented  in  our  engra- 
ving erected  in  ite  place.     It  has  recently 
been   extended  to  3,a40  feet   in   length, 
while  that  OD  the  south  bank  is  1,260 

Glasgow  took  its  rise  as  a  dependency 
}  of  the  cathedral  of  the  bishops  (latteriy 
archbishops)  of  the  see  bearing  its  name. 
It  was  not,  however,  till  long  after  the  ret- 
ormatioo,  that  it  became  a  seat  of  con- 
siderable  population.     About  the  roiOdle 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  it  had  acquired 
a  considerable  share  of  the  import  colomal 
trade,  which  it  slill  retains;   but  during 
the  last  seventy  years,  it  has  chiefly  been 
distinguished  as  a  seat  of  roauutactures. 
The    weaving   of  lawns,   cambrics,    and 
similar  articles,  commenced  in  Glasgow 
in  1725.    The  advantages  enjoyed  by  the 
city  for  the  importation  of  cotton,  in  tune 
gave  a  great  impulse  to  that  species  of 
manufacture.     In  1 834,  out  of  1 34  cotton- 
factories  existing  in  Scotland,  100  belong- 
ed to  Glasgow,  and  the  importation  of  cot- 


1 


ton    into   that    port    amounted  to  95,703 
bales.     In  the  wearing  of  thm  miiteria!, 
upward  of  15,000  power-looms,  aiul  32,- 
000  hand-loom  weiivers,  wero  nt  the  same 
time  employiHl   by  tlie   mannracturers  ot 
Glasgow.      Of   calico-printing    establish- 
ments there  are  upward  offorty.     It  would 
be  vain  »o  attempt  an  exact  ennmcniiion 
of  the  less  prt)minent  features  of  the  bimi- 
ness  carried  on  in  Glasgow.     The  chtef 
articles  of  importation,  iMisides  cotton,  are 
sugar,  rum,  lea,  tobacco,  and  timber.     Hie 
chief  articles  manufactured  m  prepared, 
besides    cotton   goods,    are    sugar,    soap, 
glass,  iron,  ropes,  leather,  chymical  stulTs, 
Ind    machinery.      There    were    recently 
seven  native  banks,  and  several  branches 
of  other  banks.     Duritvg  a  year  extending 
from  a  certain  period  in  1839,  to;^  ce«ain 
peiiod  in  1840,  5,484  res-sels,  of  296  3tl<{ 
tonnag';,  arrived  at  tho  Glasgow  harbor ; 
the    customhouse   revenue  of   1839  was 
jBt68,97o,  and  the  harbor  duos  of  the 
twelvemonth    ending   August  31   of  that 
year  were  i35ft26.     It  is  worthy  of  re- 
mark, that  the  Clyde  was  th«  ftrst  river  in 
the   elder  hemisphere   on   which   steam 
navigatiwi    was   exeinpiifted.     A    sJeam- 
vessel  of  three-horse  power  was  set  afloat 
on  the  rirer  in  January,  1W2,  by  Mr.  Hen- 
ly  Bell  of  Helensburgh ;  and  th«re  were 
twenty  such  vessels  on  she  Clyde  bclore  ! 
one  had    disturbed    the   waters   of    the 
Thames.    In  1935,  there  were  siiiy -seven 
steam-vessels.of  6,691  aggiegale  towiagc, 
connected    with    Glasgow,    eighteen  of 
which  plied  to  Uverpo-.l,  BelSast,  Dublin, 
and  Londonderry.     Within  ilie  last  lew 
years,  the  city  has  become  a  great  centre 
of  the  iron  trade,  this  metal  being  produced 
io  the  neighborhood  to  an  annual  amount 
of  not  less  than  200,000  tcMis.     As  a  ne- 
cessary consequence  of  tl>e  commerce  and 
manufactures  which  tk>urish  iu  Glasgow, 
the  city  has  a  vast  retail  traae  in  all  the 
articles  of  luxury  and  neces-sity  which  are 
used  by  human  beings.     Bui  no  circum- 
stance connected  with  Glasgow  could  give 
so  impressive  an  idea  of  the  height  to 
which  business  has  been  carried  m  it,  as 
the  rapid  advance  and  present  great  amount 
of  its  population.     By  the  census  of  1791 , 
the  inhabitants  were  66,578  ;  and  by  the 
first  government  census  in  1801,  they  were 
:  77,385.     But  these  numbers  have  been 


J 


imoiintpil  to  95,70n 
njT  of  thin  miitorml, 
wer-looms,  ain!  32,- 
■rs,  wfir«  at  llie  snmo 
|)e   maniifadurers  of 
n-priiitii»g   cstaMiMh- 
rd  offorty.     It  would 
n  exact  enttfucniion 
features  of  »he  h\m- 
riasgow.     The  chief 
0,  l>esi(le»  cotton,  are 
CO,  and  timber.    Tlie 
bctured  or  prepared. 
Is,   are    su^ar,   soap, 
itber.  chymical  stu(7s, 
rhere    were   recently 
aT>d  several  branches 
riftf  a  year  extending 
1  in  1839,  to  a  certain 
4  Tessels,  of  296,303 
iiw  Glasgow  harbor ; 
eve»U6   of   J839   was 

harbor   dues  of  the 
g  August  3!   of  that 
It  is  worthy  of  le- 
s  VV33  tb«  first  river  in 
e»e   on    which   steam 
;eiJ>p*i(>ed.     A    sJeam- 
e  power  was  set  afloat 
My,  l»12,byMr.  Hmi- 
lurgh ;  and  there  were 
s  on  the  Clyde  before 
(1    tbe    waters   of    the 
,  there  were  sixty-seven 
,691  aggiegate  toniiago. 
Glasgow,    eighteen  of 
eipo.d,  Belfast,  l>«blin, 

Witbii*  tlw  last  few 

become  a  great  centre 
lis  metoi  being  produced 
►d  K)  aa  annual  at>u>unt 
00,000  iiMW.  As  a  ne- 
ice  o£  live  commerce  and 
3b  tloutisli  itt  Glasgow, 
I  letaik  Hade  in  all  the 
Hvd  Bccessity  which  are 
)eings.  B«*  i»  circum- 
with  Glasgow  could  give 

idea  of  the  height  to 
as  been  carried  in  it,  as 
ai>d  present  great  ammmt 

By  the  census  of  1791, 
ere  66,578  ;  and  by  the 
lenstts  in  1801,  they  were 
ese  numbers  have  been 


t 


973 


OLABQOW. 


increased  in  1811,  1821.  and  1831.  re- 
spectively  to  110,749,  147.043,  and  202,- 
426.  As  the  increase  is  about  7.000  per 
annum,  the  present  amount  (1841)  is  sup- 
posed to  be  fully  285,000-a  mass  of 
population  which,  at  the  time  of  the  union, 
could  not  have  been  dreamed  of  as  likely 
ever  to  exist  in  any  ScoUish  city. 

The  cathedral,  or  high  church,  is  situa- 
ted in  the  northern  outskirts  of  the  city, 
near  the  upper  extremity  of  the    High 
street.     The  bulk  of  the  existing  building 
was  constructed  at  the  close  of  th"  twelfth 
century,  in  place  of  another  which  had 
been  consecrated  in  1136,  but  was  de- 
stroyed by  fire.     It  consists  of  a  long  nave 
and  choir,  a  chapter-housp  projecting  from 
the  northeast  angle,  a  tower  and  spire  in 
the  centre,  and  a  crypt  extending  beneath 
the  choir  or  eastern  portion  of  the  build- 
ing     In  the  nave,  termed  the  outer  high 
kirk,  was  held  the  celebrated  general  as- 
sembly of  the  church,  November,  1638, 
by  which  episcopacy  was  abolished  and 
pure  presbytery  replaced--the  first  great 
movement  in  the  civil  war. 

The  elevated  ground,  near  the  east  end 
of  the  cathedral,  has  been  formed  into  an 
ornamental  place  of  sepulture,  under  the 
appellaiion   of    the    Necropolis.      Since 
1831,  the  society  of  merchants,  its  pro- 
prietors,  have  expended  the  sum  of  £6,000 
m  laying  out  about  twenty-four  acres  of 
cround  in  walks  and  shrubberies,  and  in 
connecting  the  spot  with  the  opposite  slope 
by  means  of  a  bridge  across  the  inter- 
niediato  rivulet.     The  taste  manifested  m 
the  whole  scheme  and  in  its  execution,  is 
extremely   creditable  to   the  city.      Ihe 
walks,  several  miles  in  extent,  command 
an  extensive  view  of  the  neighboring  coun- , 
try      They   are   skirted    by    numberiess 
sepulchral  plots  and  excavations,  where  1 
alrf.ady  affection  has  been  busy  in  erecting 
its  "  frail  memorials,"  all  of  which,  it  may 
be  mentioned,  are  fashioned  according  to 
certain  regulations,  with  a  view  to  general 

keeping  and  effect.  .  j  „„ 

The  college  buildings  are  situated  on 
the  east  side  of  the  High  street  about  half- 
way  between  the  cathedral  and  the  Iron- 
gato.  They  consist  in  a  sort  of  double 
court;  the  front  which  adjoins  to  the 
street  being  330  feet  in  length,  and  three 
stories  in  height.     The  whole  edifice  has 


a  dignified  and  venerable  appearance.     A 
large  piece  of  ground  behind  the  college 
is  formed  into  a  park  or  green,  interspersed 
with  trees  and  hedges,  and  always  kept  in 
grass,  to  be  used  by  the  students  as  a  place 
of  exercise  or  amusement.     In  the  college 
there  are  appointed  professors  or  teachers 
of  about  thirty  branches  of  science,  theolo- 
gy, and  polite  literature.     At  the  back  of 
the  interior  court  stands  the  modern  Gre- 
cian building  which  contains  the  Hunte- 
rian  Museum.     This  is  a  large  collection 
of  singular  natural  objects,  coins,  medals, 
rare  manuscripts,  paintings,  and  relics  of 
antiquity,  originally  formed  by  Dr.  William 
Hunter,  the  celebrated  anatomist,  and  be- 
queathed by   him   to  this  university,  at 
which  ho  received  his  education.     While 
the  college  confers  professional  education, 
popular  instruction   is   attainable,   under 
unusually    advantageous     circumstances, 
through  the  medium  of  the  Andorsoiiian 
institution,  an  extensive  school  of  science 
founded  at  the  close  of  the  last  century, 
and  connected  with  which  there  is  a  gen- 
eral museum,  containing  many  curious  ob- 
jects, and  constantly  open  to  the  public. 

The  most  attractive  modern  building  in 
Glasgow  is  the  royal  exchange  in  Queen 
street,  a  most  superb  structure,  erected  in 
1829,  as  a  point  of  assemblage  for  the 
merchants  in  the  western  part  of  the  city. 
The  principal  room  is  a  large  hall,  sup- 
ported by  a  double  row  of  columns,  and 
used  as  a  reading-room.     The  front  of  the 
exchange  consists  of  a  magnificent  portico, 
surmounted  by  a  cupola ;  and,  as  the  build- 
ing is  isolated,  the  other  sides  are  also 
of  decorative  architecture.     The  portico 
is  74  feet  in  width  and  27  deep  ;  and  the 
body  of  the  building  is  177  feet  by  71. 
I  The   principal  room  is   93  feet  by  62, 
and  36  high  in  the  centre.     Altogether, 
'  this  building,  supported  by  a  set  of  very 
elegant  domestic  structures  of  similarly 
august  proportions,  impresses  the  mind  of 
a  stranger  as  something  signally  worthy 
of  a  great  city.  „, 

Since  the  reform  act  of  1832,  Glasgow 
has  the  privilege  of  returning  two  mem- 
bers to  parliament.  The  places  of  wor- 
ship, charitable  institutions,  and  associa- 
tions of  various  kinds  for  public  objects, 
are  very  numerous.  A  laudable  zeal  for 
the  improvement  of  education  marks  the 


J 


rable  appearanco.     A 
1(1  behind  the  college 
or  groon,  interspersed 
as,  and  always  kept  in 
the  students  as  a  place 
iment.     In  the  college 
professors  or  teachers 
hes  of  science,  theolo- 
ture.     At  the  back  of 
ands  the  modern  Gro- 
i  contains  the  Hunte- 
18  is  a  large  collection 
objects,  coins,  medals, 
aintings,  and  relics  of 
formed  by  Dr.  William 
ited  anatomist,  and  be- 
lo  this  university,  at 
his  education.     While 
professional  education, 
is   attainable,   under 
geous     circumstances, 
im  of  the  Andersonian 
nsivo  school  of  science 
>se  of  the  last  century, 
1  which  there  is  a  gen- 
lining  many  curious  ob- 
ly  open  to  the  public, 
tive  modern  building  in 
yal  exchange  in  Queen 
Brb  structure,  erected  in 
of  assemblage  for  the 
western  part  of  the  city. 
om  is  a  large  hall,  sup- 
le  row  of  columns,  and 
•room.     The  front  of  the 
of  a  magnificent  portico, 
upola ;  and,  as  the  build- 
be  other  sides  are  also 
hitecture.     The  portico 
h  and  27  deep  ;  and  tlie 
ding  is  177  feet  by  71. 
oom  is   93  feet   by   62, 
the  centre.     Altogether, 
)ported  by  a  set  of  very 
;  structures  of  similarly 
IS,  impresses  the  mind  of 
mething  signally  worthy 

rm  act  of  1832,  Glasgow 
5  of  returning  two  mem- 
>nt.  The  places  of  wor- 
institutions,  and  associa- 
kinds  for  public  objects, 
us.  A  laudable  zeal  for 
X  of  education  marks  the 


980 


t;;;;^^^;^^!;;^^^^ 


riiv  •  and  a  normal  school,  or  seminary 
orM.e  cariuR  of  .eacher»-.hc  .r«l  m 
Z  em,.iro-l.as  been  creeled  under  the 

niisnices  of  a  nrivale  socioiy. 

""'ffo  moans' of  communication  mco... 

nexion  with  Gbsgow.  are  ^f^^^^^ 
character  of  the  city  as  one  of  the  grjaltsi 
empo  ia  of  cummerco  and  manufacture  m 
To  worhl.     Besides  a  river,  navigable  by 
lts:rsdrawi.,«nfteenfectofwa.^^^^^^^^ 
which  pives  the  moans  of  a  rc.i  ly  com 
municarion   with   the   western  shores  of 
SSn   with  Ireland,  and  with  America. 
Sn".'rth  and  Clyde  canal,  of  which  a 
b  anch  ccmes  to  Port  Uundas,  in  the,north- 
ern  suburb.,  serves  to  convey  goods  and 
na  sengers  to  the  eastern  shores  of  the 
LTand   while  canals  of  less  note  connect 
he  ciiy-ith  Paisley  and  Johnstone  in  one 

'di^ectiL.  and  with  the  g-t  ^J-fie^s  "f 
Monkland  in  the  other.  There  is  also  a 
ra  wav  which  traverses  the  same  grea 
"oaSd  by  Garnkirk  and  WUhaw  and 
conveys  paasengers  as  well  as  coal  and 
go^ds  Another  railway,  connec  ing  the 
^Uy  with  Kilmarnock.  Ayr  and  the  po 

of  Ardrossan,  was  opened  in  1840.  uur 
?nK  the  year  1841  a  third  railway,  pass- 
"!  by  Falkirk  and  Linlithgow  to  Edin- 
bu'^^gh! was  opened.  Others  are  projected. 
The  steam  communication  between  Glas- 
inesicai.  r»..V,l  n     nnrl    Other 


THE  CONSTANCY  OF  NATURE  AND 
FAITHFULNESS  OF  (iOD. 


The  steam  commuiin.'»""" 

iw  and  Liverpool.  Dublin,  and  other 
Ch  ports,  is  conducted  on  a  scale  which 
L  y  Je  culled  grand  The  vessels  are 
Lerb  in  magnitude,  decoration,  and  pow- 
er^ and  they  sail  frequently  and  rapidly. 
The  "team  intercou.se  between  Glasgow 
and  various  places  in  Scotland,  both  for 
passengers  La  objects  of  traffic,  is  also 

Sucted  on  a  g-at   -,^«-  \™J«   J:' 
places  touched  at  in  the  Clyde  and  t^  the 
Tuth  are  Greenock  Dunbarton.  Dunoon 
Rothesay,  Arran,   Gourock,   ^00"'*"^ 
Ayr.     Among  the  places  to  the  north  to 
t h  oh  vessels'  sail  regularly,  are  Inveraor. 
Campbelton,  Oban.  Stuffa,  and  lona  « 
Arisais.  Skye,  Stornoway,  and  Inverness, 
fn  ope^ning  up  markets  for  West.Highland 
produce,  and  introducing  loj;""f»  '"X 
lurn,  these  vessels  have  also  been  ofmirkr 
ed     ervice,  insomuch  that  the  value  of 
property  in  those  hitherto  seclud.  1  dis- 
S  has  experienced  a  considerable  rise. 
Th^country  around  Glasgow  abounds  ni 
busy  towns  and  villages. 


't- 


HE  constancy  of  na- 
.^turo  is  laiiul'i  by  uni- 
'^  versalexporitiiice.and 
even  strikes  ilm  popu- 
lar eye  as  the  most 
characteristic  of  those 
features    which  have 
X  been  impressed  upon 

her  It  may  need  the  aid  of  philosophy 
o  iearu  how  unvarying  nature  is  in  all 
Wr  processes-how  even  her  seeming 
anonEs  can  be  traced  to  a  law  that  is 
inSle-how  what  might  appear  at 
st^o  be  the  caprice,  of  her  wayward- 
„,„  in  fact  the  evolutions  of  a 
TcVn   m  baf'lr  changes--and  that 

Te  more  thoroughly  she  is  sifted  and  put 
to  the  test  by  the  interrogations  of  the 
curSs.  the  more  certainly  wiU  they  find 
tha  she  walks  by  a  rule  which  knows  no 
'abatement,  and  perseveres  -'J  "bed.  "^ 
fnnuteo  in  that  even  course  from  whicn 
SeeyS  of  strictest  scrutiny  has  never  yet 
detected  one  hair-brcadth  of  deviation.    It 
Ts  To  longer  doubted  by  men  of  science 
LreverTremaining  semblance  o  irregu- 
larity  in  the  universe  is  due,  not  to  the 
fickleness  of  nature,  but  to  the  ignorance 
Srman-that  her  most  hidden  movements 
are  conducted  with  a  uniformity  as  rigor- 
ous  as  fa"e-that  even  the  fitful  agitations 
Jth"  weather  have  their  law  and  their 
nrinciule-thai    the    intensity   of    every 
lEreeze  and  the  number  of  drops  in  every 
showei  and  the  formation  of  every  cloud, 
and  a  l  the  occurring  alterations  of  storm 
and  Junshine,  and  the  endless  shiftmgs  of 
'  Zperature,  knd  those  tremulous  varieties 
of  tL  air  which  our  instruments  have 
enaWed  is  to  discover,  but  have  not  ena- 
Wed  us  to  explain-that  still  they  follow 
each  other  by  a  method  of  succession, 
which!  thougJ  grea-dy  more  intricate  . 
yet  as  absolute  in  Use  f  as  the  order  ot 
Ihe  seasons,  or  the  mathematical  courses 

more  Te  are  acquainted  with  her  the  more 
Te  we  led  to  recognise  her  constancy  ; 
S  To  view  her  as  a  mighty  though  com- 


188  or  aoD. 


i'  OF  NATl'UK  AND 
NESS  OF  (;<)D. 

r  HE  constancy  of  na- 
^turo  is  iuiikI'I  liy  uni- 
'^  versalexpiiriuiicc.iind 
I     even  sirikus  llm  I'opu- 

lur  eye  as  tho  most 

characleristicuflhoso 
^^  features  which  have 
""  been  impressed  upon 
d  the  aid  of  philosophy 
varying  nature  is  in  all 
how  even  her  seeming 
I  traced  to  a  law  that  is 
what  might  appear  at 
aprices  of  hor  wayward- 
tct,  the  evolutions  of  a 
never  changes— and  that 
,hly  she  is  sifted  and  put 
the  interrogations  of  the 
e  certainly  will  they  find 
)y  a  rule  which  knows  no 
perseveres  with  obedient 
;  even  course  from  which 
eat  scrutiny  has  never  yet 
ir-brcadth  of  deviation.  It 
aubted  by  men  of  science 
lining  semblanco  of  irrogu- 
liverse  is  duo,  not  to  the 
iture,  but  to  the  ignorance 
er  most  hidden  movements 
with  a  uniformity  as  rigor- 
,at  even  the  fitful  agitations 
r  have  their  law  and  their 

the    intensity   of    every 
B  number  of  drops  in  everv 
le  formation  of  every  cloud, 
cuning  alterations  of  storm 
and  the  endless  shiftings  of 
nd  those  tremulous  varieties 
lich  our   instruments  have 
discover,  but  have  not  ena- 
dain— that  still  they  follow 
y  a  method  of  succession, 
h  Erea'dy  more  intricate,  is 
ite  in  itself  as  the  order  of 
jr  the  mathematical  courses 

This  is  the  impression  ot 

iphical  mind  with  regard  to 

is  strengthened  by  each  new 

It  is  made  to  science.     1  ne 
acquainted  with  her  the  more 

to  recognise  her  constancy  ; 
her  as  a  mighty  though  com- 


THB  CONSTANCY  OF  NATUllE  AND  FAITHKl/LNKSa  OK  OOD. 


081 


plicated  machine,  all   whoso   results  nro ' 
sure,  and  all  whoso  workings  aro  invaria- 
ble. ,      , 

IJut  there  is  enough  of  patent  and  palpa- 
ble regularity  in  nature,  to  give  also  to  the 
popular  mind  the  same  impression  of  her 
constancy.     There  is  a  gri.>»»  and  general 
experience  that  teaches  the  same  lesson, 
and  that  has  lodged  in  every  bosom  a  kind 
of  secure'  and  steadfast  confidence  in  the 
uniformity  of  her  processes.     The  very 
child  knows  and  proceeds  upon  it.     He 
is  aware  of  an  abiding  character  and  prop- 
erty in  the  elements  around  him— and  haB 
already  learned  as  much  of  the  fire,  and 
tho  witer,  and  the  food  that  he  eats,  and 
the  firu.  ground  that  he  treads  upon,  and 
even  of  tho  gravitation  by  which  he  must 
regulate  his  postures  and  his  movements, 
as  to  prove  that,  infant  though  he  be,  he 
is  fully  initiated  in  the  doctrine  that  nature 
has  her  laws  and  her  ordinances,  and  that 
she  continueth  therein.     And  the  proofs 
of  this   are  ever  multiplying   along  the 
journey  of  human  observation  :  insomuch, 
that  when  we  come  to  manhood,  we  read 
of  nature's   constancy  throughout   every 
department  of  the  visibla  world.     It  ineets 
us  wherever  we  turn  our  eyes.     Both  the 
day  and  the  night  bear  witness  to  it.     The 
silent  revolutions  of  the  firmament  give  U 
their   pure   testimony.     Even  those   ap- 
pearances in  the  heavens        v  hich  super- 
stition stood  aghast,  and   imagined  that 
nature  was  on  the  eve  of  giving  way,  are 
the  proudest  trophies  of  that  stability  which 
reigns  throughout  her  processes— of  that 
unswerving    consistency  wherewith    she 
prosecutes  all  U<;r  movements.     And  the 
lesson  that  i>  Jius  held  forth  to  us  from 
the  hea\  .ms  ai)Ove,  is  responded  to  by  the 
earth  b.  iow  ;  just  as  the  tides  of  ocean 
wail  the  footsteps  of  the  moon,  and,  by  an 
attendance  kept  up  without  change  or  in- 
terinisaion  for  thousands  of  years,  would 
seem  to  connect  the  regularity  of  earth 
with  the  regularity  of  heaven.     But,  apart 
from  these  greater  and  simjpler  energies, 
we  see  a  course  and  a  uniformity  every- 
where.    We  recognise  it  in  the  mysteries 
of  vegetation.     We  follow  it  through  the 
succesaive  stages  of  growth,  and  maturity, 
and  uecay,  both  in  plants  and  animals. 
We  discern  it  still  more  palpably  in  that , 
beautiful  circulation  of  the  element  of  wa- 1 


ter  as  it  rolls  its  way  by  many  thousand 
channels  to  tho  oceun— and,  from  liio  sur- 
face of  this  expanded  reservoir,  is  Jgain 
uplifted  to  tho  higher  regions  of  the  at- 
mosphera- and  is  there  dispersed  in  light 
end  fleecy  magazines  over  tho  four  quar- 
ters of  tho  globe— and  at  length  accom- 
plishes its  orbit,  by  falling  in  showers  on 
a  world  that  waits  to  be  refreshed  by  it. 
And  all  goes  to  impress  us  with  tho  regu- 
larity  of   nature,   which   in   fact   teems, 
throughout  all  its  varieties,  with  power, 
and  principle,  and  uniform  laws  of  opera- 
tion— and  is  viewed  by  us  as  a  vast  labora- 
tory, all  the  progressions  of  which  have  a 
rigid  and  unfailing  necessity  stamped  upon 

them. 

Now  this  contemplation  has  at  times 
served  to  foster  tho  atheism  of  philosophers. 
It  has  led  them  to  deify  nature,  and  to 


11      HUB     iOU     IIIOI..      ." J       ---  . 

make  her  immutability  stand  in  the  place 
of  God.     They  seem  impressed  with  the 
imagination  that  had  the  Supreme  Cause 
been  a  being  who  thinks,  and  wills,  and 
acts  as  man  does,  on  the  impulse  of  a  felt 
and  a  present  motive,  there  would  bo  more 
the  appearance  of  spontaneous  activity, 
and  less  of  mnta  and  unconscious  mechan- 
ism in  the  administrations  of  the  universe. 
I  It  is  the  verv  unchangeableness  of  nature, 
and  the   .;ea'dfastness  of  those  great  and 
mighti    processes   wherewith   '  <    living 
power  that  is  superior  to  nature,  and  is 
able  to  shift  or  to  control  her,  is  seen  to 
interfere- it  is  this  which  seems  io  have 
impressed  the  notion  of  some  blind  and 
eter   al  fatality  on  certain  men  of  loftiest 
but   deluded    genius.     And,  accordingly, 
in  France,  where  the  physical  sciences 
have  of  late  been  the  most  cultivated,  have 
there  also  been  the  most  daring  avowals 
of  atheism.     The  universe  has  been  al- 
firnied  to  be  an  everlasting  and  indestructi- 
ble effect ;  and  f'ouUhe  abiding  constancy 
that  is  seen  in  i>.ature  through  all  her  de- 
partments, have  they  inferred  that  thus  it 
has  always  b«en  and  that  thus  it  will 

I  ever  be.  .  •       .u      • 

But  this  atheistical  impression  that  is 
derived  from  the  constancy  of  nature  is 
not  peculiar  to  the  disciples  of  philosophy. 
It  is  the  familiar  and  the  practical  impres- 
sion of  everyday  life.  The  world  is  ap- 
prehended  to  move  on  steady  and  unvary- 
ing principles  of  its  own ;  and  these  sec 


ondary  causes  have  usurped,  in  man's  ea- 
timaiion,  the  throne  of  the  Divinity,  Na- 
ture, in  fact,  is  personified  into  God  :  and 
as  we  look  to  the  performance  of  a  machine 
without  thiniiing  of  its  maker,  so  the  very 
exactness  and  certainty  wherewith  the 
machinery  of  creation  performs  its  evolu- 
tions, has  thrown  a  disguise  over  the 
agency  of  the  Creator.  Should  God  in- 
terpose by  miracle,  or  interfere  by  some 
striking  manifestation  of  providence,  then 
man  is  awakened  to  the  recognition  of 
him.  But  he  loses  sight  of  the  Being  who 
sits  behind  these  visible  elements,  while 
he  regards  those  attributes  of  constancy 
and  power  which  appear  in  the  elements 
themselves.  They  see  no  demonstration 
of  a  God,  and  they  feel  no  need  of  Him, 
while  such  unchanging  and  such  unfailing 
energy  continues  to  operate  in  the  visible 
world  around  them ;  and  we  need  not  go 
to  the  schools  of  ratiocination  in  quest  of 
this  infidelity,  but  may  detect  it  in  the 
bosoms  of  simple  and  unlettered  men,  who, 
unknown  to  themselves,  make  a  god  of 
nature,  and  just  because  of  nature's  con- 
stancy ;  having  no  faith  in  the  unseen 
Spirit  who  originated  all  and  upholds  all, 
and  that  because  all  things  continue  as 
they  were  from  the  beginning  of  the  crea- 
tion. 

Such  has  been  the  perverse  effect  of 
nature's  constancy  of  the  alienated  mind 
of  man  :  but  let  us  now  attend  to  the  true 
interpretation  of  it.  God  has,  in  the  first 
instance,  put  into  our  minds  a  disposition 
to  count  on  the  uniformity  of  nature,  inso- 
much that  we  universally  look  for  a  recur- 
rence of  the  same  event  in  the  same  cir- 
cumstances. This  is  not  merely  the  be- 
lief of  experience,  but  the  belief  of  instinct. 
It  is  antecedent  to  all  the  findings  of  ob- 
servation, and  may  be  exemplified  in  the 
earliest  stages  of  childhood.  The  infant 
who  makes  a  noise  on  the  table  with  his 
hand  for  the  first  time,  anticipates  a  repe- 
tition of  the  noise  from  a  repetition  of 
the  stroke,  with  as  much  confidence  as 
he  who  has  witnessed  for  years  together 
the  unvariablencss  wherewith  these  two 
terms  of  the  succession  have  followed 
each  other.  Or,  in  other  words,  God,  b) 
putting  this  faith  into  every  human  crea- 
ture, and  making  it  a  necessary  part  of  his 
mental  constitution,  has  taught  him  at  all 


times  to  expect  the  like  result  in  the  like 
circumstances.  He  has  thus  virtually  tolJ 
him  what  is  to  happen,  and  what  he  has 
to  look  for  in  everj'  given  condition — and 
by  its  so  happening  accordingly,  he  just 
makes  good  the  veracity  of  his  own  dec- 
laration. The  man  who  leads  us  to  ex- 
pect that  which  he  fails  to  accomplish, 
we  would  hold  to  be  a  deceiver.  God 
has  so  framed  the  machinery  of  his  per- 
ceptions, as  that  we  are  led  irresistibly  to 
expect  that  everywhere  events  will  follow 
each  other  in  the  very  train  in  which  we 
have  ever  been  accustomed  to  observe 
them — and  when  God  so  sustains  the  uni- 
formity of  nature,  that  in  every  instance 
it  is  rigidly  so,  ho  is  just  manifesting  the 
faithfulness  of  his  character.  Were  it 
otherwise,  he  would  be  practising  a  mock- 
ery on  the  expectation  which  he  himself 
had  inspired.  God  may  be  said  to  have 
promised  to  every  human  being  that  na- 
ture will  be  constant — if  not  by  the 
whisper  of.an  inward  voice  to  every  heart, 
at  least  by  the  force  of  an  uncontrollable 
bias  which  he  has  impressed  on  every 
constitution.  So  that,  when  we  behold 
nature  keeping  by  its  constancy,  we  be- 
hold the  God  of  nature  keeping  by  his 
faithfulness — and  the  system  of  visible 
things,  with  its  general  laws,  and  its  suc- 
cessions which  are  invariable,  instead  ol 
an  opaque  materialism  to  intercept  from 
the  view  of  mortals  the  face  of  the  divini- 
ty, becomes  the  mirror  which  reflects  upon 
them  the  truth  that  is  unchangeable,  the 
ordination  thai  never  fails. 

Conceive  that  it  had  been  otherwise — 
first,  that  man  had  no  faith  of  the  con- 
stancy of  nature — then  how  could  all  his 
experience  have  profited  him  ?  How  could 
he  have  applied  the  recollections  of  his 
past  to  the  guidance  of  his  future  history  ? 
And  what  would  have  been  left  to  signalize 
the  wisdom  of  mankind  above  that  of  veri- 
est infancy  ?  Or  suppose  that  he  had  the 
implicit  faith  in  nature's  constancy,  but 
that  nature  was  wanting  in  the  fulfilment 
of  it — that  at  every  moment  his  intuitive 
reliance  on  this  constancy  was  met  by 
some  caprice  or  waywardness  of  nature, 
which  thwarted  him  in  all  his  undertakings 
—that  instead  of  holding  true  to  her  an- 
nouncements, she  held  the  children  of 
men  in  most  distressful  uncertainty  by  the 


OF  GOD. 

ke  result  in  the  like 
las  thus  virtual  ly  told 
n,  and  what  he  has 
iven  condition — and 
iccordingly,  he  just 
;ity  of  his  own  dec- 
fho  leads  us  to  ex- 
'ails  to  accomplish, 
e  a  deceiver.  God 
ichinery  of  his  per- 
,re  led  irresistibly  to 
re  events  will  follow 
Y  train  in  which  we 
Listomed  to  observe 
so  sustains  the  uni- 
t  in  every  instance 
just  manifesting  the 
jharacter.  Were  it 
B  practising  a  mock- 
n  which  he  himself 
nay  be  said  to  have 
man  being  that  na- 
nt — if  not  by  the 
voice  to  every  heart, 
of  an  uncontrollable 
mpressed  on  every 
t,  when  we  behold 
1  constancy,  we  be- 
uro  keeping  by  his 
I  system  of  visible 
\\  laws,  and  its  suc- 
nvariable,  instead  ol 
n  to  intercept  from 
le  face  of  the  divini- 
•  which  reflects  upon 
s  unchangeable,  the 
fails. 

d  been  otherwise — 
10  faith  of  the  con- 
in  how  could  all  his 
edhim?  How  could 
recollections  of  his 
f  his  future  history  ? 
been  left  to  signalize 
d  above  that  of  veri- 
pose  that  he  had  the 
ire's  constancy,  but 
ting  in  the  fulfilment 
noment  his  intuitive 
stancy  was  met  by 
wardneHS  of  nature, 
1  all  his  undertakings 
ling  true  to  her  an- 
sid  the  children  of 
al  uncertainty  by  the 


EATIONAL  RELIGION.— MEXICO. 


983 


freaks  and  the  falsities  in  which  she  ever 
indulged  herself — and  that  every  design 
of  human  foresight  was  thus  liable  to  be 
broken  up,  by  ever  and  anon  the  putting 
forth  of  some  new  fluctuation.  Tell  us, 
in  this  wild  misrule  of  elements  t:hanging 
their  properties,  and  events  ever  flitting 
from  one  method  of  succession  to  another, 
if  man  could  subsist  for  a  single  day,  when 
al!  the  accomplishments  without  were  thus 
at  war  with  all  the  hopes  and  calculations 
within.  In  such  a  chaos  and  conflict  as 
this,  would  not  the  foundations  of  human 
wisdom  be  utterly  subverted  ?  Would  not 
man,  with  his  powerful  and  perpetual  ten- 
dency to  proceed  on  the  constancy  of  na- 
ture, be  tempted  at  all  times,  and  by  the 
very  constitution  of  his  being,  to  proceed 
upon  a  falsehood  ?  It  were  the  way,  in 
fact,  to  turn  the  administration  of  nature 
into  a  system  of  deceit.  The  lessons  of 
to-day  would  be  falsified  by  the  events  of 
to-morrow.  He  were  indeed  the  father 
of  lies  who  could  be  the  author  of  such  a 
regimen  as  this — and  well  may  we  rejoice 
in  the  strict  order  of  the  goodly  universe 
which  we  inhabit,  and  regard  it  as  a  noble 
attestation  to  the  wisdom  and  beneficence 
of  its  great  Architect. 


RATIONAL  RELIGION. 

What  is  true  and  rational  religion  ?  In 
answering  this  important  question,  we  shall 
come  to  the  point  at  once,  without  preju- 
dice or  sectarian  influence  ;  and  laying 
aside  all  traditionary  superstition,  inquire 
what  is  now  the  will  of  the  blessed  Deity, 
with  regard  to  the  conduct  of  the  children 
of  men.  What  course  of  conduct,  in  us, 
frail,  erring  human  creatures  will  now,  un- 
der all  the  present  existing  circumstances, 
be  acceptable  and  approved  by  our  divino 
Creator,  who  continually  watches  over  us, 
and  observes  our  every  act,  and  the  thoughts 
of  our  hearts  ?  We  have  so  diligently  ex- 
amined the  answer  which  we  are  now 
about  to  give  to  these  questions,  and  so 
attentively  viewed  the  subject  in  all  its 
bearings,  and  with  all  its  evidences  and 
demonstrations,  that  we  can  not  think  it 
possible  that  there  is  any  ground  to  doubt 
its  correctness.     First,  then,  let  us,  as 


rational  creatures,  be  ever  ready  to  ac- 
knowledge God  as  our  Creator  and  daily 
Preserver ;  and  that  we  are  each  of  us 
individually  dependent  on  his  special  care 
and  good  will  toward  us,  in  supporting  the 
wonderful  action  of  nature  which  consti- 
tutes our  existence  ;  and  in  preserving  us 
from  the  casualties,  to  which  our  compli- 
cated and  delicate  structure  is  liable.  Let 
us  also,  knowing  our  entire  dependence 
on  Divine  Benevolence,  as  rational  crea- 
tures, do  ourselves  the  honor  to  express 
personally  and  frequently,  our  thanks  to 
him  for  his  goodness ;  and  to  present  our 
petitions  to  Him  for  the  favors  which  we 
constantly  require.  This  course  is  ration- 
al, even  without  the  aid  of  revelation  : 
but  being  specially  invited  to  this  course, 
by  the  divine  word,  and  assured  of  the 
readiness  of  our  Creator  to  answer  our 
prayers  and  recognise  our  thanks,  it  is 
truly  surprising  that  any  rational  being 
who  has  ever  read  the  inspired  writings, 
should  willingly  forego  this  privilege,  or 
should  be  ashamed  to  be  seen  engaged  in 
this  rational  employment,  or  to  have  it 
known  that  ho  practises  it.  Next  to  the 
worship  of  God  by  thanksgiving  and  pray- 
er, we  should  repel  and  banish  all  feelings 
of  anger  and  bitterness  toward  our  fellow- 
beings,  and  cherish  love  and  kind  feelings 
toward  them.  This  course  is  also  ration- 
al, having  the  example  of  God  in  his  kind 
dealings  toward  us  ;  and  conduces  at  once, 
to  the  glory  of  God,  the  happiness  of  man- 
kind in  general,  and  to  our  own  individual 
happiness  and  prosperity  in  particular. 
It  is  a  rational  duty  to  be  ever  reconciled 
and  resigned  to  the  dispensations  of  Divine 
ProviJ'tnce  ;  and  to  trust  in  the  goodness 
and  benevolence  of  God  for  the  present 
and  future,  and  to  feel  willing  to  have  it 
known  among  our  associates,  that  we 
follow  a  rational  course.  This  is  rational 
religion. 


MEXICO. 

The  natural  resources  of  Mexico  are 
immense,  hardly  surpassed  by  any  country 
in  the  world.  With  a  low  coast,  and  al- 
luvial bottoms,  the  interior  of  the  country 
rises  into  vast  plains,  or  steppes,  at  a 
height  greater  than  that  of  the  highest 


# 


•Jti, 


.*(». 

■^^1 


JH 


984 


THE  LUXOE  OBELISK.  IN  THE  PLACE  LOUIS  XVI.,  PARIS. 


stsu^ 


«i«k 


mountains  of  our  states,  and  yet  fertile, 
temperate,  and  although  much  of  it  within 
the  tropics,  having  a  climate  capable  ot 
yielding  the  vegetable  productions  ol  Bur- 
gundy, in  France,  or  of  Devonshire,  in 
England.     One  day's  journey,  says  Hum- 
boldt, will  take  the  traveller  from  the  suf- 
focating atmosphere  of  the  coast,  to  the 
region  of  eternal  snow.     Its  greatest  in- 
convenience and  disadvantage  is  that  of 
very   shallow    harbors;    a   disadvantage 
which  extends   to  the  whole  of    fexas, 
and  is  a  great  barrier  in  the  way  of  com- 
merce. .  , .  .     •     „„„, 
The   part  of  Mexico   which   is   most 
thickly  inhabited— that  is  the  southern  ex- 
tremity—is  rich  in  soil  and  mines,  and  ca- 
pable of  supporting  as  dense  a  population 
as  any  country  in  Europe.     The  popula- 
tion is  of  a  very  mixed  character,  being, 
as  some  affirm,  three  fifths  Indian,  or  a  rnix- 
ture  of  Spanish  and  Indian  blood.      Ihe 
character  of  the  inhabitants,  even  m  the 
city  of  Mexico,  itself,  will  not  compare 
fa/orably  with  any  country  in  Europe  in 
point  of  civilization-still  there  is  some- 
thing of  the  nobleness  of  the  Indian  char- 
acter to  be  found,  but  more  of  the  treach- 
ery of  the  Spaniard.  .1 
The  following  is  a  list  of  the  principal 
cities  with  something  like  the  number  ot 
inhabitants  in  each  : — 
Mexico, 
Puebla, 
Guanaxuato, 
Guadalaxara, 
Chihuahua, 
Oaxoco, 

San  Louis  Potosi, 
Zacatecas,  — ' —  , 

The  city  of  Mexico  is  represented  as 
a  place  of  great  splendor,  and  containing 
mSre  wealth  in  gold  and  silver  than  any 
other  city  of  equal  inhabitants,  on  the 
globe.  Most  of  the  wealth,  however,  is 
under  the  control  of  catholic  pnests. 

The  seaports  are  small-Vera  Cruz 
being  the  largest,  and  that  contains  only 
about  15,000  inhabitants.  Campeachy, 
the  next  seaport  of  importance,  contains 
about  6,000.  Acapulco  and  Tampico  are 
the  remaining  seaport  towns  •■  the  lorntier 
contains  about  5,000  inhabitants,  and  the 
latter  about  3,000.  In  the  province  o 
1  California,  however,  are  several  towns  on 


the  coast,  Monterey  being  the  only  one  of 
much  importance.  The  revenues  of  the 
country  is  $15,000,000  per  annum,  and 
her  national  debt  amounts  to  $94,000,000, 
so  that  after  paying  her  annual  interest 
she  has  for  the  support  of  the  army  and 
for  the  purposes  of  government,  about 
$10,000,000  active  funds. 


185,000 
72,000 
60.000 
45,000 
45,000 
40,000 
20,000 
23,000 


THE  LUXOR  OBELISK,  IN  THE  PLACE 
LOUIS  XVI.,  PARIS. 

»  HE  smaller  of  the 
1^  two  obelisks  of  Luxor, 
is  now  erected  on  one 
of  the  most  remark- 
able sites  of  Paris— 
the  scene  of  many  of 
those  tragedies  which 
^  .         marked  that  most  ex- 

traordinary period  of  modern   history— 
the  first  French  revolution. 

The  space  called  the  Place  Louis  XVl. 
lies  between  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries 
and  the  avenue  or  road,  thickly  planted 
on  each  side  with  tall  shady  trees,  which 
is  called  the  Champs  Elysees.  or  Elysian 
Fields— a  rather  high-sounding  appella- 
tion  for  the  walks  under  these  trees  are 
far  inferior  to  the  walks  in  the  gardens 
of  the  palace,  of  which  a  partial  view  is 
given  in  our  engraving. 

A  ship,  which  was  constructed  express- 
ly for  the  conveyance  of  the  obelisk,  sail- 
ed from  Toulon  in  March,  1831,  and  ar- 
rived  at  Thebes  in  the  heat  of  summer. 
The  first  operation  of  the  French  on  their 
arrival  was  to  clear  the  lower  part  of  the 
obelisks,  which  was  buried  to  a  considera- 
ble depth.     Both  the  obelisks  are  in  a 
state  of  perfect  preservation  :  the  larger 
is  about  80  English  feet  high,  and   the 
other  about  76  feet.      To   conceal  this 
difference,  the  smaller  obelisk  had  been 
placed  on  a  higher  pedestal  than  the  other, 
and  somewhat  in  advance  of  it.      lb:ee 
vertical  rows  of  hieroglyphics  cover  the 
faces  of  both  obelisks  :  the  middle  row  is 
cut  nearly  six  inches  deep  ;  the  two  others 
are  scarcely  cut  into  the  stone.     This  dil- 
ference  in  the  sculpture  varies  the  re- 
flection and  the  shadows.    The  pedestal 


986 


MOUNTAINS. 


which  was  uncovered  by  the  French,  con-  j 
tains  on  the  northeast  and  southwest  faces 
respectively  four  cynocephali,  which  have 
on  the  chest  the  cartouche  that  is  consid-  ^ 
ercd  to  contain  t' n  name  of  Harnesses.      . 

It  is  perhaps  correctly  remarked  by  M.  | 
do  Laborde   that  the   difference  in   the  , 
size  of  the  two  obelisks  may  have  arisen  I 
from  the  difficulty  of  finding  two  blocks 
of  granite  of  the  same  dimensions  without 
a  flaw. 

The  smaller  of  the  two  obelisks  was 
selected  by  the  French  as  being  in  a  bet- 
ter state  of  preservation,  and  also  lighter 
than  the  other  :  and  yet  the  smaller  is 
calculated  to  weigh  about  246  tons.  The 
obelisk  was  lowered  by  very  simple  means, 
consisting  of  an  anchor  firmly  fixed  in  the 
ground,  a  long  beam  of  wood,  and  a  few 
ropes  and  pulleys  :  the  whole  obelisk  re- 
mained suspended  for  two  minutes,  during 
the  operation  of  lowering  it  at  an  angle  of 
32  degrees.    It  was  safely  conveyed  to 

It  was  erected  in  the  Place  Louis  AVI. 
during  the  summer  of  1836.     It  was  ex- 
posed to  some  danger  during  the  operation, 
not  from  the  want  of  care  or  skill  in  raising 
■X,  but  from  a  very  different  cause.     "  The 
Paris  archteologists,"  says  a  newspaper 
of  the  time,  "  are  so  rapacious  that  two 
guards  placed  round  the  obelisk  of  Luxor 
were  not  sufficient  to  protect  the  top,  which 
was  left  uncovered.     In  spite  of  the  penal- 
ties of  the  law,  which  are  extremely  se- 
vere, several  fragments  were  broken  off, 
and  pieces  not  the  size  of  a  hazel-nut  sold 
for  two  guineas  each.     It  was  found  ne- 
cessary to  cover  the  monument  entirely 
to  save  it  from  these  Vandals."     When 
all  the  preparations  were  completed,  the 
obelisk  was  safely  raised  on  the  25th  Oc- 
tober, the  king  and  royal  family  witnessing 
the  operation  from  the  Hdtel  de  la  Marine, 
Place  de  la  Concorde. 

French  words  are  of^en  used  where 
JSnglish  words  might  be  found  more  ex- 
pressive ;  but  in  the  present  instance  the 
Dhrase  coup  iPail  is  a  good  description  of 
iho  view  from  the  Tuileries.  The  eye 
ooks  down  the  noble  vista  where  this 
fine  remnant  of  ancient  Egyptian  art  and 
opulence  now  stands,  in  the  centre  of  that 
jpot  which  was  literally  the  "field  of 
blood"  of  an  awful  time.     Beyond  it  is 


the  road  running  through  the  Champs 
Elysees,  ascending  the  gentle  slope  which 
is  crowned  by  the  triumphal  arch  begun 
by  Napoleon,  who  died  a  prisoner  and  an 
exile,  and  finished  by  Louis  Philippe, 
who  saw  the  commencement  of  that  revo- 
lution in  which  his  father  perished,  and 
which  drove  himself  to  wander  over  Eu- 
rope ;  and  who  has  now  become,  by  a 
;  second  revolution,  king  of  France. 


MOUNTAINS. 

HERE  is  a  charm 
connected  with  moun- 
tains so  powerful  that 
the  merest  mention 
of  them,  the  merest 
sketch  of  their  mag- 
nificent features,  kin- 
dles the  imagination, 
and  carries  the  spirit  at  once  into  the 
bosom  of  their  enchanted  regions.  Hov/ 
the  mind  is  filled  with  their  vast  solitude  ! 
how  the  inward  eye  is  fixed  on  their  si- 
lent, their  sublime,  their  everlasting  peaks ! 
How  our  heart  bounds  to  the  music  of  their 
solitary  cries— to  the  tinkle  of  their  gush- 
ing rills  !  to  the  sound  of  their  cataracts- 
how  inspiriting  are  the  odors  that  breaths 
from  the  upland  turf,  from  the  rock-hung 
flower,  from  the  hoary  and  solemn  pine ! 
how  beautiful  are  those  lights  and  shadows 
thrown  abroad,  and  that  fine  transparent 
haze  which  is  diffused  over  the  valleys 
and  lower  slopes,  as  over  a  vast,  inimitable 

picture !  ,  .   ,  i. 

The  heat  of  summer  has  dried  up  the 
moisture  with  which  winter  rains  saturate 
the  spongy  turf  of  the  hollows  ;  and  the 
atmosphere,  clear  and  settled,  admits  of 
the  most  extensive  prospects.  Whoever 
has  not  climbed  the  long  and  heathy  as- 
cents, and  seen  the  trembling  mountain 
flowers,  the  glowing  moss,  the  richly- 
tinted  lichens  at  his  feet;  and  scented 
the  fresh  aroma  of  the  uncultivated  sod, 
and  of  the  spicy  shrubs  ;  and  heard  the 
bleat  of  the  flock  across  their  solitary  ex- 
panses, and  the  wild  cry  of  the  mountain 
birds,  the  raven,  or  the  eagle  ;  and  seen 
the  rich  and  russet  hues  of  distant  slopes 


irough  ihc  Champs 
le  gentle  slope  which 
;riumphal  arch  begun 
ed  a  prisoner  and  an 
by  Louis  Philippe, 
ncement  of  that  revo- 

fatber  perished,  and 
■  lo  wander  over  Eu- 

now  become,  by  a 
ng  of  Franco. 


:tains. 

HERE  is  a  charm 
connected  with  moun- 
tains so  powerful  that 
the  merest  mention 
of  them,  the  merest 
sketch  of  their  mag- 
nificent features,  kin- 
dles the  imagination, 
)irit  at  once  into  the 
lanted  regions.  Hov/ 
ith  their  vast  solitude  ! 
9  is  fixed  on  their  si- 
heir  everlasting  peaks ! 
ds  to  the  music  of  their 
te  tinkle  of  their  gush- 
nd  of  their  cataracts— 
the  odors  that  breaths 
irf,  from  the  rock-hung 
ary  and  solemn  pine ! 
ose  lights  and  shadows 
I  that  fine  transparent 
fused  over  the  valleys 
3  over  a  vast,  inimitable 

imer  has  dried  up  the 
;h  winter  rains  saturate 
the  hollows  ;  and  the 
and  settled,  admits  of 
prospects.  Whoever 
e  long  and  heathy  as- 
le  trembling  mountain 
ing  moss,  the  richly- 
his  feet;  and  scented 
f  the  uncultivated  sod, 
shrubs ;  and  heard  the 
icross  their  solitary  cx- 
ild  cry  of  the  mountain 
r  the  eagle  ;  and  seen 
t  hues  of  distant  slopes 


MOUNTAINS. 


987 


and  eminences,  the  livid  gashes  of  ravines 
and  precipices,  the  while  glittering  line 
of  falling  waters,  and  the  cloud  tumultu- 
ously  whirling  round  the  lofty  summit; 
and  then  stood  panting  on  that  summit, 
and  beheld  the  clouds  alternately  gather 
and  break  over  a  thousand  giant  peaks 
and  ridges  of  every  varied  hue — but  all 
silent  as  images  of  eternity  ;  and  cast  his 
gaze  over  lakes  and  forests,  and  smoking 
towns,  and  wide  lands  to  the  very  ocean, 
in  all  their  gleaming  and  reposing  beauty, 
knows  nothing  of  the  trerisurcs  of  pictorial 
wealth  wliich  mountains  possess. 

But  when  we  let  loose  the  imagination 
from  even  these  splendid  scenes,  and  give 
it  free  charter  to  range  through  the  glorious 
Alps,  Apennines,  or  Andes,  how  is  it  pos- 
sessed and  absorbed  by  all  the  awful 
magnificence  of  their  scenery  and  charac- 
ter !  The  sky-ward  and  inaccessible  pin- 
nacles, the — 

"  Palncet  where  notnre  thrones 
Bublimity  in  icy  Imlls  I" 

the  dark  Alpine  forests,  the  savage  rocks 
and  precipices,  the  fearful  and  unfathom- 
able chasms  filled  with  the  sound  of  ever- 
precipitating  waters ;  the  cloud,  the  si- 
lence, the  avalanche,  the  cavernous  gloom, 
the  terrible  visitations  of  heaven's  con- 
centrated lightning,  darkness,  and  thun- 
der ;  or  the  sweeter  features  of  living, 
rushing  streams,  spicy  odors  of  flower  and 
shrub,  fresh  spirit-elating  breezes  sound- 
ing through  the  dark  pine  grove  ;  the  ever- 
varying  lights  and  shadows  and  aerial  hues ; 
the  wide  prospects,  and,  above  all,  the 
simple  inhabitants. 

We  delight  to  think  of  the  people  of 
mountainous  regions  ;  we  please  our  im- 
aginations with  their  picturesque  and  quiet 
abodes ;  with  their  peaceful,  secluded  lives, 
striking  and  unvarying  costumes, and  prim- 
itive manner--  We  involuntariy  give  to 
the  mountaineer  heroic  and  elevated  quali- 
ties. He  lives  among  noble  objects,  and 
must  imbibe  some  of  theiv  nobility  ;  he 
hves  among  the  elements  of  poetry,  and 
must  be  poetical ;  ho  lives  where  his  fel- 
low-beings are  far,  far  separated  from  their 
kind,  and  surrounded  by  the  sternness  and 
the  perils  of  savage  nature  ;  his  social  af- 
fections must,  therefore,  be  proportionately 
concentrated,  his  home  feelings  lively  and 
strong  ;  but,  more  than  all,  he  lives  with- 


in the   barriers,  the  strongholds,  the  very 
last  refuge  which  Nature  herself  has  rear- 
ed to  preseive  alive  liberty  in  the  earth, 
to  preserve  to  man  his  highest  hopey,  his 
noblest  emotions,  his  dearest  treasures — 
his    faith,  his    freedom,  his   hearth,  and 
home.     How  glorious  do  those  mount nin- 
ridges  appear  when  we  look  upon  them 
as  the  unconquerable  abodes  of  free  hearts ; 
as  the  stern  heaven-built  walls  from  which 
the  few,  the  feeble,  the  persecuted,  the 
despised,  the  helpless  child,  the  delicate 
woman,  have  from  age  to  age,  in  their  last 
perils,  in  all  their  weaknesses  and  emer- 
gencies,  when  power  and  cruelty  were 
ready  to  swallow  them  up,  looked  down, 
and  beheld  the  million  waves  of  despotism 
break  at  their  feei — have  seen  the  rage 
of   murderous   armies,   and   tyrants,    the 
blasting  spirit  of  ambition,  fanaticism,  and 
crushing   domination,   recoil    from    their 
bases  in  despair.      "  Thanks  be  to  God 
for  mountains !"  is  often  the  exclamation 
of  our  heart,  as  wo  trace  the  history  of 
the  world.     From  age  to  age,  they  have 
been  the  last  friends  of  man.     In  a  thou- 
sand  extremities   they   have  saved  him. 
What  great  hearts  throbbed  in  their  defiles 
from  the  days  of  Leonidas  to   those  of 
Andreas  Hofer  !     What  lofty  souls,  what 
tender  hearts,  what  poor  and  persecuted 
creatures  have  they  sheltered  in  their  stony 
bosoms  from  the  weapons  and  tortures  of 
their  fel!ow-men ! — 

"Avenge,  O  Lord,  thy  slaughtered  saintp.  whoso  bones 
Lie  scattered  ou  the  Alpiuo  nioautaiua  cold  I" 

was  the  burning  exclamation  of  Milton's 
agonizeJ  'tnd  indignant  spirit,  as  he  beheld 
those  sacred  bulwarks  of  freedom  for  once 
violated  by  the  disturbing  demons  of  the 
earth  ;  and  the  sound  of  his  fiery  and  la- 
menting appeal  to  heaven  will  be  echoed 
in  every  generous  soul  to  the  end  of  time. 
Thanks  be  to  God  for  mountains  !  The 
variety  which  they  impart  to  the  glorious 
bosom  of  our  planet  were  no  small  ad- 
vantage ;  the  beauty  which  they  spread 
out  to  our  vision  in  their  woods  and  wa- 
ters, their  crags  and  slopes,  their  clouds 
and  atmospheric  hues,  were  a  splendid 
gift ;  the  sublimity  which  they  pour  into 
our  deepest  souls  from  their  majestic  as- 
pects ;  the  poetry  which  breathes  from  their 
streams,  and  dells,  and  airy  heights,  from 
the  sweet  abodes,  the  garbs  and  manners 


m 


03 


988 


METAI'IIYSTCS  OF  BUSINE83. 


Urn* 


of  the  inhabitants,  the  songs  and  legends 
which  haro  awoke  in  them,  were  a  proud 
heritage  to  imaginative  minds  ;  but  what 
are  all  those  when  the  thought  comes,  that 
without  mountains  the  spirit  of  man  must 
have  bowed  to  the  brutal  and  the  base,  or 
sunk  to  the  monotonous  level  of  the  plam. 
When  we  turn  our  eyes  upon  the  map 
of  the  world,  and  behold  how  wonderfully 
the  countries  where  our  faith  was  nurtur- 
ed   where  our  liberties  were  generated, 
where  our  philosophy  and  literature,  the 
fountains  of  our   intellectual    grace    and 
beauty  sprang  up,  were  as  distmctly  wall- 
ed out  by  God's  hand  with  mountain  ram- 
parts from  the  eruptions  and  interruptions 
of  barbarism,  as  if  at  the  especial  prayer 
of  the  early  fathers  of  man's  destinies,  we 
are  lost  in  an  exulting  admiration.     Look 
at  the  bold  barriers  of  Palestine  !  see  how 
the  infant  liberties  of  Greece  were  shelter- 
ed from  the  vast  tribes  of  the  uncivilized 
north  by  the  heights  of  Hffimus  and  Rho- 
dope '  behold  how  the  Alps  describe  their 
magnificent  crescent,  inclining  their  op- 
posite extremities  to  the  Adriatic  and  fyr- 
rhine  seas,  locking  up  Italy  from  the  Gallic 
and  Teutonic  hordes  till  the  power  and 
spirit  of  Rome  had  reached  their  maturity, 
and   she  had  opened  the  wide  forest  of 
Europe  to  the  light,  spread  far  her    aws 
and  language,  and  planted  the  seeds  oJ 
many  mighty  nations  !  .     .   m^  ■ 

Thanks  be  to  God  for  mountains !   Their 
colossal  firmness  seems  almost  to  break 
the  current  of  time  itself;   the  geologist 
in  them  searches  for  traces  of  the  earlier 
world  ;  and  it  is  there  too  that  man,  resist- 
ing the  revolutions  of  lower  regions,  re- 
tains, through  innumerable  years,  his  habits 
and   his   rights.     While   a   multitude   of 
changes   has   remoulded    the  people   o 
Europe,  while  languages,  and  laws,  and 
dynasties,  and  creeds,  have  passed  over 
it  like  shadows  over  the  landscape,  the 
children  of  the  Celt  and  the  Goth,  who 
fled  to  the  mountains  a  thousand  years 
ago,  are  found  there  now,  and  show  us  m 
face  and  figure,   in  language  and   garb, 
what  their  fathers  were  ;  show  us  a  fine 
contrast  with  the  modern  tribes  dwelling 
below  and  around   them ;   and  show  us, 
moreover,  how  adverse  is  the  spirit  of  the 
mountain  to  mutability,  and  that  there  the 
fiery  heart  of  freedom  is  found  for  ever. 


METAPHYSICS  OF  BUSINESS. 

E  hear  much  of  va- 
rious circumstances 
aflTecting  business  in 
this  busy  country, 
but  few  ever  dream 
of  its  being  liable 
to  one  inrtuence, 
greater  perhaps  than 
all  the  rest  put  to- 
gether—the workings  of  human  nature. 

In  the  opening  of  the  year,  there  is  an 
excitement  of  the  hopeful  and  cheerful 
sentiments,  under  which  we  are  more  dis- 
posed to  speculation  and  adventure.     The 
decline  of  the  year,  on  the  contrary,  raises 
melancholy  and  timorous  sentiments  ;  we 
then  feel  inclined  to  draw  into  our  shells 
and  wait  for  brighter  days  :   speculation 
has  no  charms  for  us.     In  the  one  case 
we  are  under  the  influence  of  hope  ;  in 
the  other,  of  cautiousness.     It  would  al- 
most, indeed,  appear  as  if  we  were,  in  this 
respect,  subject  to  laws  similar  to  those 
which  aff'ect  birds  and  other  lower  animals, 
causing  them  to  exhibit  no  active  industry 
except  in  apring.     It   is    only  when  we 
have  a  future  bright   before  us,  that  our 
energies  are  fully  roused. 

These  feelings  are  seen  exercising  a 
most  potent  control  over  the  sta'e  of  mar- 
kets, and  in  all  adventurous  kinds  of  busi- 
ness.    These  things  are  notedly  oscilla- 
tory ;  and  this  is  simply  because  hope  and 
cautiousness  take  command  over  us  in  an 
alternating  manner.     The  natural  proce- 
dure of  the  two  feelings  is  this  ;   for  a 
time  after  an  experience  of  evil  or  a  threat 
tt'  danger,  cautiousness  is   predominant. 
Gradually,  after  a  cessation  of  these  ex- 
periences, we  forget  them.     Cautiousness 
is  lulled  ;  hope  and  confidence  again  awa- 
ken ;  and  these  go  in  increasing  activity, 
till  danger  and  evil  once  more  supervene, 
and  then  they  give  way  in  a  moment  to 
revived  cautiousness.     Thus  it  is  that  for 
some  time  after  such  a  "  crash"  as  that  of 
1837,  speculations  are  held  in  universal 
dread  ;   so  that  even  a  really  promising 
one  would  be  shunned.     But  by-and-by 
the   sufferings   and  losses  are  forgotten. 
Men  begin  to  touch  and  taste,  aivd  finding 
no  immediate  harm,  they  at  length  take 
whole  mouthfuls.    Hope    gets  into  lull 


"''»■« 


BUSINESS. 

!!nr  much  of  va- 
I  circumstances 
ting  business  in 

busy  country, 
ew  ever  dream 
Is  being  liable 
one  influence, 
ter  perhaps  than 
;he  rest  put  to- 
liuman  nature, 
ear,  there  is  an 
ul  and  cheerful 
vo  are  more  ilis- 
idvenlure.  The 
)  contrary,  raises 
sentiments  ;  we 

into  our  shells 
ya  :  speculation 
In  the  one  case 
ice  of  hope  ;  in 
s.  It  would  al- 
wo  were,  in  this 
similar  to  those 
er  lower  animals, 
10  active  industry 

only  when  we 
fore  us,  that  our 


sen  exercising  a 
the  sta'e  of  mar- 
jus  kinds  of  busi- 
)  notedly  oscilla- 
because  hope  and 
ind  over  us  in  an 
lie  natural  proce- 
ss is  this  ;   for  a 
"of  evil  or  a  threat 
1  is   predominant, 
ition  of  these  ex- 
m.     Cautiousness 
fidence  again  awa- 
icreasing  activity, 
!  more  supervene, 
y  in  a  moment  to 
Thus  it  is  that  for 
"  crash"  as  that  of 
held  in  universal 
I  really  promising 
.     But   by-and-by 
ises  are  forgotten. 
I  taste,  and  finding 
ley  at  length  take 
pe    gets   into  full 


METAPHYSICS  OF  BUSINESS 


989 


counnission,  vice  cautiousness  retired,  and 
then  we  see  the  most  visionary  schemes 
eagerly  eaibr;iced,  where  rt'cently  the  most 
plausible  and  prudent  would  have  been 
repudiated.  A  "  crash,"  with  its  distres- 
sing consequences  in  ilie  ruin  of  individ- 
uals, and  emburassment  of  general  busi- 
ness, (Inally  lays  hope  once  more  so  com- 
pletely prostrate,  that  for  years  men  can 
not  bo  induced  to  venture  even  on  the  fair- 
est chances.  The  rise  or  fall  of  prices  in 
all  alluirs  admitting  of  the  least  spocula- 
lion,  is  governed  by  the  same  principle. 
;V  little  ri^e  from  just  causes  excites  hope, 
under  whose  influence  a  further  and  un- 


warranted  rise   takes  placi 
progress    in   this    direction 


Whik 


the 
remains  un- 
checked by  any  external  cause,  all  is  san- 
j;uiuo  expectation  in  the  mercantile  mind. 
No  one  seems  to  have  the  least  concep- 
tion of  a  possible  reverse.  Everybody 
wishes  to  buy  from  everybody.  Reason 
has  nothing  to  do  with  it:  it  is  a  mere 
sentiment  which  is  at  work.  But  let  the 
slightest  prognostic  of  a  turn  cjihc  into 
view,  and  in  an  instant  the  hopilul  feeling 
sinks  like  a  punctured  wind-bag.  A  pan- 
ic supervenes,  and  things  never  rest  till 
they  are  as  much  below  the  fair  a',.d  rea- 
sonable point  as  they  were  formerly  above 
it.     Have  we  not  here,  also,  nearly  the 


workmen  arc  tempted  by  high  wages  to 
exceed  the  proper  hours  of  labor,  in  order 
to  produce  a  gooiJ  deal  n.jre  cloth  than 
the  public  has  immediate  use  for,  while  at 
another,  the  whole  system  is  laid  utterly 
idle  because  men  somehow  feel  a  heavy 
market  as  an  indication  that  the  world  is 
at  an  end.  Hence  arise  most  important 
results  in  our  social  economy. 

How  absurd  to  supposo  business  men 
to  be  prosaic  and  over-sober  of  mind ! 
They  are  tire  greatest  sentimentalists  that 
breathe. 

Wo  must  now  consider  another  portion 
cf  our  subject. 

Accustomed  as  we  are  in  this  country 
to  see  almost  every  person  engaged  in 
some  kind  of  business  or  craft,  we  are  apt 
to  suppose  it  the  natural  and  ordinary 
state  of  mankind.  But  some  nations  that 
are  by  no  means  uncivilized  work  ex- 
tremely little.  The  Turks,  for  example, 
are  an  indolent  people.  Powerless,  hand- 
less,  thev  spend  the  whole  day  in  perfect 
vacuity,  apparently  never  giving  them- 
selves the  least  concern  about  tiie  means 
of  subsistence.  And  yet,  somehow,  the 
Turks  live.  All  the  people  along  the 
south  of  Europe  are  comparatively  inert. 
The  Dolce  Far  Nicnte  is  the  prevalent 
taste  of  the  Mediterranean  nations.     The 


whole  philosophy  of  what  are  called  "  bad!  striking   distinction   of    ihe    Englishman 


times  V     Manufacturers  go  on  for  a  while 
producing   a   particular   article    with  the 
greatest    diligence,    as   if    they    believed 
that  mankind  were  in  danger  of  some  tre- 
mendous  inconvenience    for    want  of  it. 
This  enthusiasm  in  (we  shall  say)  cotton 
finds  at  length  a  slight  check.     In  an  in- 
stant the  manufacture  ceases,  the  works 
are  stopped,  the  workmen  are  thrown  idle. 
For  months  there  seems  to  reign  over  the 
country  a  dreary  conviction  that  mankind 
are  never  to  require  cloth  any  more.     Now 
it  was  neither  true  at  first  that  mankind 
were  in  any  pressing  need  of  particular 
goods,  nor  that  now  they  have  abjured 
.ill  further  use  of  them.     They  use  them 
in  a  regular  monotonous  manner,  and  will 
evermore  do  so.     The  irregularity  is  in 
the    mental   impulses   of  the    producers. 
These  men  hapjien  to  regard  their  wares 


and  American  in  this  respect  seems  to  be 
in  a  certain  anxiety  about  the  welfare  of 
himself  and  his  family.  He  starts  in  life 
with  an  awful  sense  of  the  necessity  of 
getting  on  in  the  world.  He  will,  with 
the  greatest  coolness,  commence  a  busi- 
ness which  he  knows  will  require  his 
being  a  daily  and  nightly  slave  for  thirty 
years,  undreaming  that  he  is  making  any 
extraordinary  sacrifice.  He  sees  tiges  of 
bill-troubles  before  him,  but  looks  upon  it 
all  as  a  matter  of  releallcss  destiny. 
Even  when  the  first  claims  of  his  sense 
of  duty  have  been  fulfilled,  end  he  knows 
he  is  safe  from  poverty  for  life,  he  works 
on  for  the  love  of  working,  rather  than 
walk  into  a  system  of  idleness  which 
would  present  to  him  no  enjoyable  advan- 
tages. Now,  who  ever  heard,  in  the  lit- 
erature or  history  of  any  nations    away 


I 


with  alternative  paroxysms  of  hope  and  ■  from  central  Europe  and  the  United  Slates, 
despair.  The  consequence  is  that  at  one  of  such  a  thought  predominating  among 
time  a  factory  is  put  to  top  speed,  and  the  '  them  as  the  necessity  of  getting  on  in  the 


mm 


'mk 


090 


METAPHYSICS  OF  BUSINESS. 


world  1   They  are  not,  in  generEl,  altogeth- 
er idle.     They  till,  and  weave,  and  fabri- 
cate in  a  way  which  seems  to  be  sufficient 
lir  their  wants  ;  but  they  are  totally  unac- 
quainted with  that   system  of  close  and 
incessant  toiling  after  increase  of  goods, 
which  appears  to  be  the  first  law  of  exis- 
tence among  us.     It  must  also  be  remem- 
bered  that  we  know  of  the  world  having 
existed  for  centuries  upon  centuries  be- 
fore it  exhibited  antjtchcre  an  example  ol 
this  passionate  attachment  to   workshop, 
counter,  and  desk.     There  was  no  shop- 
keeping   worth    speaking   of    m    ancient 
Greece  or  Rome.     Factories  existed  not 
among   the   Ptolemies.     While    the  cru- 
sades swept  across    Europe,  there  were 
few  men  calling  themselves  merchants  in 
London.  Paris,  or  Venice.     It  is  smce  the 
close  of  the  middle  ages  that  men  have 
raised  into  vogue  the  idea  that  business  is 
the  sheet-anchor  of  individuals  and  of  na- 
tions.    There  is  thus  a  great  difference 
from  past  time  to  present,  as  well  as  from 
other  nations  to  us.     This  shows  fully,  we 
think,  that  business  is  not  a  thing  neces- 
'  sary  or  unavoidable  to  our  human  nattare. 
It  can  be  no  special  result  of  certain  fac- 
ulties  which   have  no  other   purpose  or 
mode   of  action.     Yet  this  is  what   we 
might  suppose,  if  we  were  to  see  nothing 
in  business  but  the   gratification  of  the 
working  or  fabricating  faculty,  and  of  the 
love  of  gain.     It  therefore   appears  that 
the  love  of  action  and  excitement,  is  what 
chiefly  animates  the  hard-working  nations, 
being  the  same  impulse  which  once  grati- 
fied men  in  war  and  in  the  chase,  and  still 
leads  the  born  wealthy  to  the  turf  and  the 
gaming-club.     It  is  but  the  phase  m  which 
The  mass  of  manly  power  and  endowment 
appears  in  modern  civilized  nations.     And 
accordingly  trade  has  its  heroes  and  con- 
querots  as  well  as  history. 

The  view  which  we  are  disposed  to 
take  respecting  the  benevolence  of  busi- 
ness, accords  with  this  idea  as  to  their 
main  ends  being,  after  all,  but  the  gratifi- 
cation of  certain  mental  faculties,  lo  ap- 
pearance there  is  nothing  but  selfishness 
regarded  in  business,  and  if  the  pursuit  oi 
his  own  end  by  each  individual  conduces, 
as  Adam  Smith  endeavors  to  show,  to  the 
general  weal,  it  is  no  praise  to  the  motives 
of  particular  parties.     But  the  worship  of 


fortune  in  reality  involves  no  necessary 
subjection   of    the    heart   to    selfishness. 
The  fact  is,  that  where  business  exists  on 
a  considerable  scale,  its  votaries  act  under 
two  opposite  and  apparently  irreconcilea- 
ble  principles:  in  purely  business  matters 
they  are  keen  and  inflexible,  ever  dispose.! 
to  exact  the  whole  of  their  rights ;  in  do- 
mestic and  social  matters,  they  may  be  at 
the  same  time  bountiful  and  conceding  to 
a  surprising  degree.     Meet  them  upon  a 
bargain,  and  you  would  think  them  stern, 
and  wrapped  up  in  views  of  their  own  in-  y 
icresi.     See  them  next  day  in  private,  and  i\ 
you  discover  that  they  use  their  wealth    j 
with  a  generosity  that  shows  they  are  far    j 
from  loving  it  for  its  own  sake.     We  have  I 
here  a  consideration  which  seems  to  take  i 
much  from  the   force  of  those   writings    , 
which  hold  up  the  present  as  an  age  of  ,^ 
Mammon-worship.       The    following    of  ,. 
Mammon  is  a  fact  in  itself;  but  it  ought 
to  be  taken  in  connexion  with  other  cir- 
cumstances, by  which  its  effects  are  much 
modified.     Our  ruling  competitive  princi- 
ple unquestionably  calls  out  emulation  and 
worse  passions;   but  these  are  softened 
by  the    humanity  and  largeness  of  soul 
which   are    conspicuous    features  of  the 
mercantile  mind  in  all  above  the  strug- 
gling classes.     We  are  not,  let  it  be  fully 
understood,  inclined  to  believe  that  the 
present  plan  is  the  best  conceivable  for  the 
subsistence  of  nations.     We   thoroughly 
believe  that,  in  time,  such  great  bodies  ol 
people  will  feel  and  act  more  as  only  a 
large  kind  of  families,  and  enjoy  almost, 
if  not  altogether,  in  common  the  fruits  ot 
the  general  industry,  finding  that  thereby 
they  realize  greater  enjoyments  than  are 
to  be  obtained  by  each  standing  upon  his 
individual  acquisitiveness.     All  this  may 
bo  unhesitatingly  admitted,  and  yet  we  will 
say  that  the  present  system  is  far  less  sel- 
1  fish   than  is  generally  supposed,  seeing 
that  selfishness  is  the  rule  only  m  a  cer- 
tain routine  of  transactions  so  monotonous 
as   almost  to  be  a  complete  abstraction, 
while  the  kindly  social  affections  in  re- 
ality  prevail  over,  and  give  character  to 
the  ordinary  demonstrations  of  the  mUi 

"^  We  hare  here  merely  broken  ground  in 
a  subject  which  appears  to  us  to  possess 
great  interest.     We  willingly  leave  to  oih- 


% 


THE  LAMMEIIGEYEU.  OH  BEAUDED  VULTUIlE. 


901 


)lves  no  necrssary 
;art  to  sclfisliTicss. 
c  business  exists  on 
;s  votaries  act  umlor 
arenliy  irrecoiicilea- 
;ly  Imsiness  matters, 
Bxible,  ever  disposetl 

their  rif;hls  ;  in  do- 
tcrs,  they  may  be  at 
111  and  conceding  to 

Meet  them  upon  a 
Id  think  them  stern, 
ews  of  their  own  in- 
xt  day  in  private,  and 
cy  use  their  wcaUh 
t  shows  they  are  far 
;)wnsake.  We  have 
which  seems  to  talio  j 
D  of  those  writings  j 
present  as  an  age  of  | 

The  following  of  | 
1  itself;  but  it  onght 
■xion  with  other  cir- 
h  its  effects  are  much 
ig  competitive  princi- 
lUs  out  emulation  and 
It  these  arc  softened 
id  largeness  of  soul 
aous    features  of  the 

all  above  the  strug- 
are  not,  let  it  be  fully 
1  to  believe  that  the 
est  conceivable  for  the 
3ns.  We  thoroughly  j 
,  such  great  bodies  of 
d  act  more  as  only  a 
ies,  and  enjoy  almost, 

common  tho  fruits  of 
r,  finding  that  thereby 
r  enjoyments  than  are 
ach  standing  upon  his 
reness.  All  this  may 
Imitted,  and  yet  we  will 
<.  system  is  far  less  sel- 
■ally  supposed,  seeing 

the  rule  only  in  a  cer- 
sactions  so  monotonous 

complete  abstraction, 
social  affections  in  re- 

and  give  character  to 
mstrations  of  the  indi 

lerely  broken  ground  in 
ippears  to  us  to  possess 
e  willingly  leave  to  oih- 


it  nwro  deeply,  and  |  'fHE  LAMMEROEYER,  OR  BEARDED 

all  the  various  liy'its  VLLTURE. 


crs   to   investigate 

place  the  iwalter  in 

in  which  it  may  be  contemplated.     Mean 

while,  some  of  these  spoculatiuiis  may  be 

brought   lionie    to    men's   bosoms.     It  is 


HIS  fine  bird,  which 
,  ^  ecjuals  or  exceeds  the 
'\  largest  eagle  in  size, 
is    found    throtgliout 
the  whole  of  the  great 
uiouiit'iinchuinsof  the 
Old  World,  being  in 
fact,  though  not  any- 
where numerous,  very  widely  dispersed 


very  obvious  that  the  interests  oi  a  vast 
body  of  p<M)ple— of  that  class  generally 
who  live  by  labor— are  involved  to  a  seri- 
ous extent  in  a  briskness  and  dulness  of 
business.  It  is  of  importance  for  them  lo 
be  aware  that,  so  long  as  the  competUive 

mode  endures,  the  amouiitof  their  incomes,    wuero  uum^.w"-.  — ^  -         • 

^nd  even  the  question  whether  they  shall  u  occurs  in  the  Pyrenees  and  m  tho  Alps 
have  Inincon  e  at  all  or  not,  depend  upon  1  of  Germany,  and  Switzerland,  where  U  is 
the  ex^L  t  J,  which  the  faculty  l>f  hopL  is  1  notorious  (or  its  destrucliveness  among  the 
acti  e  n  th^brains  of  the  employing  class.  |  lambs  and  kids  which  are  fed  on  the  green 


So  long  as  employers  are  sanguine  as  lo 
markets  and  results  of  mercantile  combi- 
nations, the  horde  of  the  industrious  are 
safe  ;  let  the  tide  turn— and  its  ebb  is  as 


•lopes  of  the  lower  ranges. 

The  intermediate  situation  assigned  to 
the  liimmergeyer.  and  which  is  aptly  ex- 
pressed in  the  generic  appellation  fryi„wtus 


sure  as  its  (low-and  a  large  proportion  of   L  Greek  compound  deMgnalmg  a  vulture 
sure  as  "s»i,^^^__f ''_,_.  ±_l  ,_    .      ,^,    \,  .„.  ,.^^\  ;.  .learlv  indicated  in  its 


and  an  eagle),  is  clearly  indicated  in  its 
form  and  general  habits.  Of  a  powerlii 
and  robust  make,  it  has  neither  the  bill 
nor  the  talons  of  the  eagle,  tho  former  be- 
ing elongated,  and  hooked  only  at  the  top, 
ai.d  tho  laiter  comparatively  small  and 
feeble  ;  nor  has  it  an  exclusive  appetite 
for  blood,  carrion  and  putrid  animals  being 


this  huge  mullituJo  must  cease  to  be  cm 
ployed.  The  fact  of  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  people  being  thus  withheld  at 
any  time  from  a  penury  verging  upon  and 
often  trenching  upon  pauperism,  only  by 
the  afflatus  of  an  accidental  seniimeiit  in 
the  minds  of  another  portion  of  the  com- 

mS  lur^^S  S::£t\^  I  ^;:il^d;;;^red  by  L     The  eagle  b.u^ 

mo  t  apt  to  stand  aghast.     It  is  surely  by    off  his  prey-the  l-""f  g^r^^^  '^"J  ,^ 

no  means  creditable  to  our  national  sa- ,  te.npls  to  re.uove  it.  but  devours  it  on  the 

Lcitv    that   we    should    conte«tedly  see    spot;  indeed,   his  grasp  is  too  feeble  to 

imi^'of  ilperity  thus  go  ou  to  tlafinev-  \  permU  him  u.  "^^^^^^^  ^^ ^ 

iuble  breakdown,  when   thousands  upon  i  a  trifling  weight.     Attracted  by    he  car 

tho  ^anL  are  sure  U,  he  thrown  into  mi.-  i  .ase  of  some  unfortunate  an.nu    ul.    1 

ery,  and  yet  believe  it  all  to  be  in  the  fair,  has    perished    among  ^''^  "  '^^  °^^^^^^^^ 

a,.d  proper  course  of  things.     No  provis-  \  mountains,  a  ""j^f "  "/^/^^'^c  bcK.tv^  a.ul 

i.m  by  the  industrious  themselves  for  the    ually  congregate    o  share  "^''  f '^''> '  -i^^^ 

ay  o'f  certain  evil;    no  arrangement  by    gorge  like  ^^ ^^^'^^^l^^;,,^ 

the- sage  and  politic  for  softening  the  blow  ,  lammergeyer    ^j'^'^^.f '.  ff^  ,  r/S^^^ 

when  it  comes;  no  lesson  for  the  future  I  himsell  '«  l'"^^'"^  "'^'*,  \' ^"^""JnL^^^^^^^^ 

taken  from  the  past;  and.  above  all,  "«  ,  k'J^.  *"<i  ^ '«  ^^^^'^^^^^^  ^''^'^'y  "^^  ;'!i^^  J^ 

whispered  alarm  iuto  any  mind  as  to  the    with   great    ferocity  ;    'l'^  t^'^^'-g;    "^^^^^ 


soundness  of  the  social  plans  which  in 
volve  such  tremendous  calamities.  Ver- 
ily, we  are  yet  children  acting  upon  our 
first  instincts,  and  the  manhood  of  man — 
the  Uine  of  reason  and  true  brotherly  kind- 
ness— seems  yet  far  ofl. 

The  greatest  and  the  most  amiable  priv- 
ilege which  tlie  rich  enjoy  over  the  poor, 


chamois  is  not  secure,  nor  when  rendered 
desperate  by  hunger  will  the  ravenous  bird 
forbear  an  attack  on  man.  Children,  in- 
deed, are  said  to  have  often  fallen  sacri- 
fices to  its  rapacity.  Young  or  small  ani- 
mals are  easily  destroyed,  for  though 
elougaied,  the  beak  is  hard  and  strong, 
and  well  adapted  for  lacerating  tho  vic- 
tim ;  but  larger  animals,  instead  ot  being 


ilcge  which  Uie  ricU  enjoy  over  lue  fMiot,    mu  .  " o-  "-  -  --  .  _  ,- 

is  that  which  thev  exercise  theleast-ihe    at  once  g-^-l'l^^^*^,^":',  ^le  uooa  the  Xe 
privilege  of  making  them  happy.  I  insidiously  assaulted  while  upon  the  edge 


:ii 


'in 


NOVKMUEB. 


9'J3 


of  somo  {irpcipice  or  Bte*  '  declivity,  the  , 
bird   unexpeclo.Uy   swcepmir  upon  them 
with  furv,  and  hurling  them  into  the  abyss 
Jown  which  itplunRoH  to  glut  its  appoute. 
Art  illustriitivo  of  the  boldness  of  the  lam- 
merKcyer,  IJruce  relates  that,  attracted  by 
Uio   preparations  for   dinner,   which   his 
servants  wore  making  on  the  sumLiit  ol  a 
lofty  mountain,  a  bearded  vulture  slowly 
made  his  advances  to  the  party,   afld  at , 
IcML'th  fairly  seated   himself  within    the 
ring   they   had   formed.     The   alVrighted 
natives  ran  for  their  lances  and  shields, 
and  the  bird,  after  an  ineffectual  attempt 
to  abstract  a  portion  of  their  meal  from 
tho  boiling  water,  seized  a  largo  piece  ir 
each  of  his  talons  from  a  platter  that  stood 
by,   and   carried   them  off  slowly  ahing 
the  ground  as  ho  came.     Returning  in  a 
few  minutes  for  a  second  freight  he  was 

ihot.  . 

There  is  little  in  the  general  aspect  o 
this  bird  to  remind  one  ot  the  vulture,  and 
yet  the  character  of  the  head,   and  the 
general  contour  of  the  body,  are  strikingly 
dillerent  from  those  of  the  eagle  ;  there  is 
a  want  of  dignity  and  quiet  grandeur  in 
its  attitude,  and  the  glance  of  its  red  eye, 
though  keen  and  cruel,  is  deficient  "»  that 
expression  of  daring  and  resolution  which 
we  admire  in  the  feathered  monarch.     1  he 
bristly   beard    which   depends    from    the 
lower  mandible,  tends  also  to  give  a  pe- 
culiar character  to  its  physiognomy.     0« 
the  nidification  of  the  liimmergeyer  little 
is  ascertained,  except  that  it  selects  the 
most  inaccessible  pinnacles  as  the  site  ot 
its  eyry    Pallas  states  that  it  is  known  to 
breed  on  the  high  rocks  of  the  great  Altaic 
chain,  and  beyond  the  lake  Baikal. 

In  length  this  extraordinary  bird  meas- 
ures about  four  feet  from  the  bill  to  the 
end  of  the  tail,  and  tram  nine  to  ten  in 
the  expanse  of  its  wings.  Larger  ad- 
measurements have  been  given  by  various 
writers,  which  are  probably  exaggerated 
—none  of  the  numerous  specimens  which 
we  have  seen  exceeding  our  statement. 

The  tarsi  are  short  and  almost  hidden 
by  the  feathers  of  the  thighs  ;  the  iris  is 
bright  red;  the  wings  are  ample,  the 
second  and  third  quill  feathers  being  the 
longest ;  the  tail  is  graduated ;  the  head 
is  clothed  with  feathers,  and  from  the 
sides  of  the   under  mandible  proceeds  a 


row  of  black  bristles,  which  form  a  beard 
or  pencil  at  its  angle,  and  a  layer  of  simi- 
lar bristles,  beginning  at  the  eye,  covers 
the    nostrils.     The    general    color  ol  the 
upper  surface  is  dark  grayish  brown,  the 
centre  of  each  feather  having  a  longitudi- 
nal dash  of  white.     The  neck   and   the 
whole  of  the  uiuh^r  surface  are  white,  tinted 
with  reddish  brown.     The    ycniiig   I'lrds 
are   darker  in  the   general  hue  of  theit 
plumage   than  the  adult,  and    the    while 
spots  are  larger  and  less  defined  ;  in  this 
stage  it  has  been  mistaken  for  a  distinct 
species. 


NOVEMBER. 

OVEMRER.  like 
the  two  preceding 
months,  is  derived 
from  two  Latin 
words,  when  its  sta- 
tion in  the  Roman 
calendar  rendered  its 
derivation  more  ap- 
propriate :  by  the 
Saxons  it  was  termed  Wint-mumit,  in  al- 
lusion to  the  winds  that  frequently  prevail 

at  this  season.  ,    i  u 

As  the  preceding  month  was  marked  by 
the  change,  so  this  is  dislinj^uishe.i  by  the 
;dl  of  the  leaf.     This  last  is  so  striking  a 
circumstance,   that   the    whole   declining 
season  of  the  year  is  often    in  common 
language,  named  the  fall.     There  ,s  some- 
thing extremely  melancholy  lu  this  gradual 
process,  by  which  the  trees  are  stripped 
Lf  all  their  beauty,  and  loft  so  many  monu- 
ments of  decay  and  desolation.      1  he  first 
of  poets  has  deduced  from  this  quick  suc- 
cession of  springing  and  falling  leaves,  an 
apt  comi  orison  for  the  fugitive  races  of 

men: —  . 

.<  T  ikn  leaves  on  trees  the  race  of  man  w  fonnd. 

Now  g?eea  "n  youth,  now  witheriog  on  the  ground. 

Another  race  tflo  followiog  spring  supplioB  ; 

Thov  fall  «ucce88ivc,  and  successive  nae  ; 

Bo  cenerations  in  their  course  decay  ; 

t,  fiuuri^  t^so,  when  those  are  I--^,X^meh. 

\  his  loss  of  verdure,  together  with  the 
shortened  days,  the  diminished  warmth, 
and  frequent  rains,  justify  the  title  of  the 
gloomy  month  of  November  :  and  other 
animals  seem  to  sympathize  with  man  in 
feeling  it  as  such. 


■4-'i 


'V 

i 


JS^a 


994 


DKATHS  OF  LITTLE  CHILDREN. 


liMii 


DEATHS  OF  LITTLE  CHILDREN. 

GRECIAN  phi- 
losopher being 
asked  why  ho 
wcplfor  the  death 
of  his  son,  since 
ihr  -sorrow  was 
vain,  11  'ilied,  "  I 
weep  on  that  very 
account."  And 
his  answer  became  his  wisdom.  It  is 
only  for  sophists  to  pretend  that  wo  whose 
eyes  contain  the  fountains  of  tears  need 
never  give  way  to  them.  It  would  be  un- 
wise not  to  do  so  on  some  occasions. 
Sorrow  unlocks  them  in  her  balmy  moods. 
The  first  bursts  may  be  bitter  and  over- 
wholining  ;  but  the  soil  on  which  they 
pour,  would  be  worse  without  them.  They 
refresh  the  fever  of  the  soul— the  dry  tnis- 
ery  which  parches  the  countenance  into 
furrows,  and  renders  us  liable  to  our  most 
terrible  "  flesh-quakes." 

There  are  sorrows,  it  is  true,  so  great, 
that  to  give  them  some  of  the  ordinary 
vents  is  to  run  a  hazard  of  being  over- 
thrown.    These  we  must  rather  strength- 
en ourselves  to  resist,  or  bow  quietly  and 
drily  down  in  order  to  let  them  pass  over 
us,  as  the  traveller  does  the  winds  of  the 
desert.     But   where  wo   feel   that  tears 
would  relieve  us,  it  is  false  philosophy  to 
deny  ourselves  at  least  that  first  refresh- 
ment ;  and  it  is  always  false  consolation 
to  tell  people  that  because  they  can  not 
help  a  thing,  they  are  not  to  mind  it.    The 
true  way  is  to  let  them  grapple  with  the 
unavoidable  sorrow,  and  try  to  win  it  into 
gentleness  by  areasonablo  yielding.  There 
are  griefs  so  gentle  in  their  very  nature, 
that  it  would  be  worse  than  false  heroism 
to  refuse  them  a  tear.     Of  this  kind  are 
the  deaths  of  infants.     Particular  circtim- 
stances  may  rejHer  it  more  or  less  advisa- 
ble to  indulge  iu*|;rief  for  the  loss  of  a 
little  child  ;  but,  in  general,  parents  should 
be  no  more  advised  to  repress  their  first 
tears  on  such  an  occasion,  than  to  repress 
their  smiles  toward  a  child  surviving,  or 
to  indulge  in  any  other  sympathy,     it  is 
an  appeal  to  the  same  gentleness  ;   and 
such   appeals    are   never   made  in  vain. 
The  end  of  them  is  an  acquittal  from  the 

I .== 


harsher  bcr.ds  of  affliction — from  the  ty- 
ing down  of  the  spirit  to  one  melancholy 
idea. 

It  is  the  nature  of  tears  of  this  kind, 
however  strongly  they  may  gush  forth,  to 
run  into  quiet  waters  at  last.     We  can  not 
easily,  for  the  whole  course  of  our  lives, 
think  with  pain  of  any  good  and  kind 
person   whom  wo  have   lost.     It   is  the 
divine  nauin!  of  their  qualities  to  conquer 
pain  and  doath  itself ;  to  turn  the  memory 
of  them  into  pleasnre  ;  to  survive  with  a 
placid  aspect  in  our  imaginations.     We 
are  writing  at  this  moment  just  opposite 
a  spot  which  contains  the  grave  of  one 
inexpressibly  dear  to  us.     Wo  see  from 
our  window  the   trees  about  it,  and  the 
church  spire.    The  green  fields  lie  around. 
The  clouds  are  travelling  over  head,  alter- 
nately taking  away  thn  sunshine  and  re- 
storing it.     The  vorn  '   winds,  piping  of 
the  flowery  summer-time,  are  ncv«'rlheless 
calling  to  mind  the  far-distant  and  danger- 
ous ocean,  which  the  heart  that  lies  in 
that  grave  had  many  reasons  to  think  of. 
And  yet  the  sight  of  this  spot  does  not 
give  us  pain.     So  far  from  it,  it  is  the 
existence  of  that    grave    which   doubles 
every  charm  of  the  spot;  which  links  the 
pleasures  of  our  childhood  and  manhood 
together;  which  puts  a  hushing  tcndrrncss 
in  the  winds,  and  a  patient  joy  upon  the 
landscape  ;  which  seems  to  unite  hoiucn 
and  earth,  mortality  and  immorlaliiy,  the 
grass  of  the  tomb  and  the    grass  ol  llio 
green  field,  and  gives  a  more   maternal 
aspect  to  the  whole  kindness  of  nature. 
Itdocs  not  hinder  gayety  itself.   IIap|)iiiess 
was    what    its    tenant,   through    all    her 
troubles,  would  have  diffused.     To  diff"use 
happiness,  and  to  enjoy  it,  is  not  only 
carrying  on  her  wishes,  but  reahzing  her 
hopes  ;    and  gayety,  freed  from  its  only 
pollutions,  malignity  and  want  of  sympathy, 
is  but  a  child  playing  about  the  knees  of 
its  mother. 

The  remembered  innocence  and  endear- 
ments of  a  child  stand  us  instead  of  virtues 
that  have  died  older.  Children  have  not 
exercised  the  voluntary  offices  of  friend- 
ship ;  they  have  not  chosen  to  be  kind 
and  good  to  us,  nor  stood  by  us  from 
conscious  will  in  the  hour  of  adversity. 
But  they  have  shared  their  pleasures  and 
pains  with  us  as  well  as  they  could  ;  the 


1 


iciion — from  llio  ty- 
t  to  one  melancholy 

r  tears  of  tluH  kind, 
yr  may  gush  forth,  to 
at  last.     Wo  can  not 

course  of  our  livus, 
any  good  and  kind 
avo  lo8t.     It   is  tho 
r  qualities  to  conquer 
;  to  turn  tho  memory 
3 ;  to  survive  with  a 
:  imaginations.     We 
nomenl  just  opposite 
ns  tho   grave  of  one 
3  us.     Wo  see  from 
es  about  it,  and  the 
reen  fields  lie  around, 
lling  over  head,  alter- 
thc  sunshine  and  re- 
nal  winds,  piping  of 
lime,  are  nev-rtheless 
ar-distanl  and  danger- 
he  heart  that  lies  in 
'  reasons  to  think  of. 
)f  this  spot  does  not 
far  from  it,  it  is  the 
[rave    which   douliles 
ipot ;  which  links  tho 
ildhnod  and  manhood 
I  a  hushing  tendfrness 
patient  joy  upon  tho 
eems  to  unite  heaven 

and  immortality,  the 
and  tho  grass  of  tho 
ves  a  more  maternal 
3  kindness  of  nuture. 
jrety  itself.  IIapj)iness 
ant,  through  all  her 
!  diffused.  To  diffu.so 
enjoy  it,  is  not  only 
hes,  but  reahzing  her 
r,  freed  from  its  only 
and  want  of  sympathy, 
ig  about  the  knees  of 

innocence  and  endear- 
id  us  instead  of  virtues 
ir.  Children  have  not 
itary  offices  of  friend- 
ot  chosen  to  be  kind 
lor  stood  by  us  from 
;he  hour  of  adversity. 
•ed  their  pleasures  and 
dU  as  they  could  ;  the 


DEATHS  OP  LITTLE  CUILDllEN. 


995 


interchan^;o  of  good  offices  between  us 
has,  of  necessity,  been  loss  mingled  with 
the   troubles  of  the   world;   tho   sorrow 
arising  fn.m  their  death  is  the  only  one 
which  w<  (an  associate  with  their  memo- 
ries.    TIkso  are  happy  thoughts,  that  can 
not  die.     Our  loss   may    always    render 
them  pensive,  but  they  will  not  always  be 
painful.     It  is  a  part  of  the  bonignity  of 
nature,  that  pain  docs  not   survive  like 
pleasure,  at  any  time,  much  less  where 
the  cau.so  of  it  is  an  innocent  one.     Tho 
smile  will  remain  reflected  by  memory, 
as  tho  moon  reflects  the  light  upon  us, 
when  the  sun  has  gone  into  heaven. 

When  writers  like  oursolf  quarrel  with 
earthly  pain  (wo  mean  writers  of  tho  same 
intentions,  without   implying,  of  course, 
anything  about  abilities  or  otherwise),  .in.^ 
are  misunderstood  it  they  are  supi  ostd  to  j 
quarrel  with  pains  of  every  soi  .      This  | 
would  be  idle  and  efl'eminato,      Tbr    do  | 
not  pretend,  indeed,  that  humanity   Mu;ht  ^ 
not  wish,  if  it  could,  to  bo  enlirelj      ■^^ 
from  pain  ;  for  it  endeavors  at  all  uuies 
to  turn  pain  into  pleasure,  or  at  least  to 
set  off  tho  one  with  tho  other ;  to  make 
the  fornv  r  a  zest,  and  tho  latter  a  refresh- 
ment.    The  most   unaffected    dignity   of 
suffering   docs    this ;    and,   if   wise,    ac- 
knowledges it.     The  greatest  benevolence 
toward  others,  the  most  unselfish  relish  of 
their  pleasures,  even  at  its  own  expense, 
does  but  look  to  increasing  tho  general 
stock  of  happiness,  though  content,  if  it 
could,  to  have  its  identity  swallowed  up 
in  that  splendid  contemplation.     We  are 
far  from  meaning  that  this  is  to  bo  called 
selfishness.      We    are   far    indeed    from 
thinking  so,  or  of  confounding  words.     But 
neither  is  it  to  bo  called  pain,  when  most 
unselfish ;    if  disinterestedness   be   truly 
understood.     The  pain  that  is  in  it  softens 
into  plea^^ure,  as  the  darker  hue  of  the 
rainbow  melts  into  the  brighter.     Yet  even 
if  a  harsher  line  is  to  be  drawn  between 
the  pain  and  pleasure  of  tho  most  unselfish 
mind   (and  ill  health,  for  distance,  may 
draw  it),  we  should  not  i^uarrel  with  it, 
if  it  contributed  to  the  general  mass  of 
comfort,  and  were  of  a  nature  which  gen- 
eral kindliness  could  not  avoid.     Made  as 
we   are,  there  are  certain  pains  without 
which  it  would  bo  difficult  to  conceive 
certain  great  and  overbalancing  pleasures. 


We  may  conceive  it  possible  for  beings 
h)  be  mado  entirely  iiapj)y  ;  but  in  our 
composition,  something  of  pain  scorns  to 
bo  a  necessary  ingredient,  in  onltr  that 
tho  materials  I'lay  turn  to  as  fine  account 
as  possible ;  though  our  clay,  in  ll'o  course 
of  ages  and  experience,  may  bo  refined 
more  and  more.  We  may  gel  rid  of  the 
worst  earth,  though  not  of  earth  ilself. 

Now  the  liability  to  iho  lo^s  of  children 
— or  rather  what  renders  us  sensible  of  it, 
tho  occasional  loss  itself— seems  to  be  one 
of  those  necessary  bitters  thrown  into  tho 
cup  of  humanity.     We  do  not  mean  that 
every  one  must  lose  one  of  his  children, 
in  order  to  enjoy  the  rest;  or  that  every 
individual  loss  afllicts  us  in  tho  same  pro- 
portion.    Wo  allude  to  tho  deaths  of  in- 
fants in  general.     These  miglu  bo  as  few 
ni  wo  could  render  ihetii.     Hut  if  none  at 
«'■.  ever  took  place,  wo  should  regard  ov- 
V.:   little  child  a  i  a  man  or  woman  secured  ; 
<ni  i  it    will  easily  bo  conceived  what  a 
..orld  of  endearing  cares  and  hopc.i  this 
security  would  endanger.     Tho  very  idea 
of  infancy  ^  niM  lose  its  conlinimy  witii 
us.     Girls  and  boys  would  be  future  rnen 
and  women,  not  present  children.     They 
would  have  attained  their  full  growth  in 
our  imaginations,  and  might  as  W(dl  have 
been  men  and  women  at  once.     On  tho 
other  hand,  those  who  have  lost  an  infant. 


are  never,  as 


it  were,  without  an  infant 
child.  They  are  the  only  persons  who, 
in  one  sense,  retain  it  always  ;  and  they 
furnish  their  neighbors  with  tho  same 
idea.  Tho  other  children  grow  up  to 
manhood  and  womanhood,  and  suffer  all 
the  changtis  of  mortality.  This  one  alone 
is  rendered  an  immortal  child.  Dca'h 
has  arrested  it  with  his  kindly  harshness, 
and  blessed  it  into  an  eternal  image  of 
youth  and  innocence. 

Of  such  as  these  are  the  plcasantest 
shapes  that  visit  our  fancy  and  our  hopes. 
They  are  the  ever-smiling  embloiii  ot 
joy  ;  the  prettiest  pages  that  wait  u^on 
imagination.  Lastly,  "  of  these  are  tho 
kingdom  of  heaven."  Wherever  there  is 
a  province  of  that  benevolent  and  all — ac- 
cessible empire,  whether  on  earth  or  else- 
where, such  are  the  gentle  spirits  that 
must  inhabit  it.  To  such  simplicity,  or 
the  resemblance  of  it,  must  they  come. 
Such  must   be  the  ready  confidence  of 


m 


•%*l 


K»Bteag!ESiS«SaSS35: 


ii^ 


. ..  .'* 


t! 


''*»!■'?. 
^1« 


996 


PETRIFIED  CASCADE  OF  PAMBOUK  KALESI. 


their  hearts,  and  creativeness  of  their 
fancy.  And  so  ignorant  must  they  be  ot 
the  "  knowledge  of  good  and  evil ;  losing 
their  discernment  of  that  self-created  trou- 
ble, by  enjoying  the  garden  before  them, 
and  not  being  ashamed  of  what  is  kindly 
and  innocent. 


PETRIFIED   CASCADE  OF  PAMBOUK 
KALESI. 


HE  petrified  cascade 
\^of  Fambouk  Kalesi, 
'^^  as  it  is  called  by  the 
Turks,  is  situated  in 
Hierapolis,  Asia  Mi- 
nor.     The    country 
around  exhibits  deci- 
ded marks  of  violent 
volcanic  action.     Nearly  the  whole  dis- 
trict  of  the  Mccander  is  hablo  to  earth- 
quakes,  and  is  burrowed  under  by  chan- 
nels  full  of  fire  and  water  as  far  as  the 
interior  of  the  country.     The  ^YlZ!; 
ern  part  of  Asia  Minor  is  full  of  thermal 
springs  ;   they  are  found  also  at  Brusa 
near   the   range  of  the  Olympus.     The 
rivprs  also   are   loaded   with   calcareous 
sediment,  and,  like  the  streams  of  other 
countries  where  limestone  prevails,  are 
found  unfit  for  drinking.     The   singular 
eflect  of  this  cascade  is  produced  by  the 
rapid  deposition  of  calcareous  matter.    Ur. 
Chandler  has  given  the  folio wmg  descrip- 

tiou  of  it : —  , 

"  The  view  of  the  petrified  cascade  was 
so  marvellous,  that  the  description  of  it, 
to  bear  even  a  faint  resemblance,  ought 
to  appear  romantic.    The  vast  slope,  which 
at  a  distance  we  had  taken  for  rhalk,  was 
now  beheld  with  wonder,  it  seeming  an 
immense  frozen  cascade,  the  surface  wavy, 
as  of  water  at  once  fixed,  or  in  Us  head- 
long coursa   s"  Meidy   petrified.     Round 
about   us   were  many  high,  bare,  stony 
ridges  ;  and  close  by  our  tent  one  with  a 
wide  basis,  ard  a  slender  rill  of  water, 
clear,  soft,  anu  warm,  running  in  a  small 
channel  on  the  top.     A  woman  was  wash- 
ing linen  in  it,  with  a    hild  at  her  back  ; 
and  beyond  were  cabins  of  the  Turco- 
mans, standing  distinct,  much  neater  than 


any  we  had  seen  ;  each  with  pouhry  feed- 
ing, and  a  fence  of  reeds  in  front. 

"It  is  an  old  observation  that  the  coun- 
try about  the  Mseander,  the  soil  being  light 
and  friable,  and  full  of  salts  generating  in- 
flammable matter,  was  undermined  by  fire 
and  water.  Hence  it  abounded  in  hot 
springs,  which,  after  passing  under  ground 
from  the  reservoirs,  appeared  on  the  moun- 
tains, or  were  found  bubbling  up  in  the 
plain,  or  in  the  mud  of  •he  river. 

"  The  hot  waters  of  Hierapolis  have 
produced  that   most   extraordinary  phe- 
nomenon, the  cliflF,  which  is  one  entire 
incrustation.     They   were   anciently   re- 
nowned for  this  species  of  transformation. 
It  is  related  they  changed  so  easily,  that 
being  conducted  about  the  vineyards  and 
gardens  the  channels  became  long  fences, 
each  a  single  stone.     They  produced  the 
ridges  by  our  tent.     The  road  up  to  the 
ruins,  which  appears  as  a  wide  and  high 
causeway,  is  a  petrifaction ;  and  overlooks 
many  green   spots,  once  vineyards   and 
gardens,   separated  by  partitions  of  the 
same  material.     The  surface  of  the  flat 
above  the  cUflf  is  rough  with  stone  and 
with  channels,  branching  out  in  various 
directions  ;  a  large  pool  overflowing  and 
feeding  the  numerous  rills,  some  of  which 
spread  over  the  slope,  as  they  descend, 
and  give  to  the  white  stony  bed  a  humid 
look  resembling  salt  or  driven  snow  when 
melting.     This  crust,  which  has  no  taste 
or  smell,  being  an  alkaline,  will  ferment 
with  acids  ;  and  Picenini  relates  that  trial 
of  it  had  been  made  with  spirit  of  vitriol. 
The  waters,  though  hot,  were  used   in 
agriculture." 

That  the  inhabitants  of  Hierapolis  were 
proud  of  their  city  is  indicated  by  one  of 
the  inscriptions  copied  by  Chandler  from 
the  walls  of  the  ruined  theatre,  and  which 
he  thus  translates:  "Hail,  Hierapolis, 
golden  city,  the  spot  to  be  preferred  be- 
fore any  in  wide  Asia;  revered  for  the 
rills  of  the  nymphs  ;  adorned  with  splen- 
dor."—" The  nymphs,"  adds  Dr.  Chandler, 
"presided  over  springs  and  fountains." 
Hierapolis  is  described  by  Laborde  as 
"  situated  on  a  plateau  (platform,  or  table- 
land) detached  from  the  chain  of  mount- 
ains which  separates  the  valley  of  the 
Gallus  from  the  chain  of  the  Mseander, 
and  which  rises  to  a  great  height  toward 


[.ESI. 

;  each  with  poultry  feed- 
if  reeds  in  front, 
jservation  that  the  coun- 
mder,  the  soil  being  light 
ill  of  salts  generating  in- 
was  undermined  by  fire 
ice  it  abounded  in   hot 
ter  passing  under  ground 
:s,  appeared  on  the  moun- 
und  bubbling  up  in  the 
lud  of  the  river, 
ters  of  Hierapolis  have 
lost  extraordinary  phe- 
iff,  which  is  one  entire 
ley  were   anciently   re- 
species  of  transformation, 
y  changed  so  easily,  that 
about  the  vineyards  and 
inels  became  long  fences, 
ine.    They  produced  the 
at.    The  road  up  to  the 
aears  as  a  wide  and  high 
strifaction ;  and  overlooks 
ots,  once  vineyards    and 
ted  by  partitions  of  the 
The  surface  of  the  flat 
is  rough  with  stone  and 
branching  out  in  various 
rge  pool  overflowing  and 
erous  rills,  some  of  which 
5  slope,  as  they  descend, 
white  stony  bed  a  hmnid 
salt  or  driven  snow  when 
crust,  which  has  no  taste 
an  alkaline,  will  ferment 
[  Picenini  relates  that  trial 
made  with  spirit  of  vitriol. 
lOUgh  hot,  were  used   in 

ibitants  of  Hierapolis  were 
nty  is  indicated  by  one  of 
copied  by  Chandler  from 
I  ruined  theatre,  and  which 
ates  :  "  Hail,  Hierapolis, 
e  spot  to  be  preferred  be- 
ide  Asia;  revered  for  the 
[iphs  ;  adorned  with  splen- 
ymph8,"adds  Dr.  Chandler, 
r  springs  and  fountains." 
described  by  Laborde  as 
plateau  (platform,  or  table- 
i  from  the  chain  of  mount- 
sparates  the  valley  of  the 
tie  chain  of  the  Maaander, 
!S  to  a  great  height  toward 


998 


STttAY  THOUGHTS  ON  THE  BEAUTIFUL. 


the  rrnfro  of  the  country.  A  copious 
sprinjr  tlnws  in  tho  middle  of  the  plateau 
and,  (liroctcd  by  little  canals  which  still 
rctii'in  thi^ir  ancient  use,  is  lost  in  tho 
plain,  after  hr'ng  traversed  the  town, 
and  formed  tho  cascades  upon  tho  side  o 
iho  rocks.  The  cascades  are  represented 
with  their  character  of  petrifaction  or 
stalactite."  The  name  of  Pambouk  Kalesi 
(the  fortress  or  castle  of  cotton)  has  been 
.riven  from  tho  white  aspect  of  tho  cas- 
cades. 


STRAY  THOUGHTS  ON  THE  BEAU- 
TIFUL. 


T  is  a  much  more  easily 
performed  task  to  d'aw 
a  correct  picture,  in  all 
its  details,  of  a   land- 
scape   in   nature   or    a 
scene    in    human    life, 
embodying  a  beauty  or  a 
defect,  than,  separating 
them   from   tho   frame- 
work in  which  thev  are  set,  to  give  an 
abstract  and  general  definition  of  either. 
However  cognizable  at  first  sight  a  quality 
or  a  power  may  be,  when  displayed  in 
esse,   so  inextricably   blended   is    matter 
with  \li  our  habitudes  of  thought,  that  it 
seems  as  necessary  to  the  formation  of  a 
mental  conception  as  to  tho  cxcircise  of 
our  corporeal  functions.    Mental  and  physi- 
cal are  coupled  in  oar  nature,  strangely 
but  strongly  ;  and  etherialists  on  the  one 
hand,  and  materialists  on  the  other,  grum- 
bling as  they  list,  on  they  must  jog  together, 
mingling   here,  diverging   there,  till  the 
final  separation  come.     The  most  eflicicnt 
handmaid  of  pure  intellect  is  a  irequent 
reference  to  things  external ;  and  puzzled 
though  it  may  be  in  its  unaided  sell,  to 
form  a  conception  of  a  something  it  knows 
to  exist,  but  can  not  anatomize,  a  glance 
at  tho  difficulty,  as  developed  passively  or 
actively,  will    afford  all  that  is  needed, 
better  iuid  in  a  more  tangible  form,  than 
after  tho  expenditure  of  the  labors  of  a 
schoolman.     Thus,  in  the  endless  attempts 
at  a  definition  of  the   abstract  beautitul, 
how  var.ousthe  theories  propounded, how 


absurd  tho  ingenuities  uttered  !     One  phi- 
losopher seeks   its   mystical   home  in  a 
certain  dcfmite  combination  of  lines  and 
curves,  which  he  gravely  lays  down  wiili 
mathematical  precision;  a  second  dillVrs  j 
from  the  former  in  some  of  his  conforma- 
tions, and  proceeds  as  gravely  to  defend 
his  doctrine  ;   while  a  third,  disagreeing 
with  both,  is  inclined  to  place  it  in  an  in- 
definable harmony  or  adaptation  between 
the  spectator  and  the  spectacle — tho  ob- 
jective and  the  subjective.     Whether,  ac- 
cording to  tho  last  theory,  distortion  is  to 
be  viewed  as  beauty  in  the  abstract,  be- 
cause it  appears  perfection  to  the  individual 
eye,  or  whether  tho  opinion  of  thn  majority 
is  to  decide  this  point,  wo  bhall  leave  to 
others  to  determine,  and  proceed  to  make 
two  or  three  rambling  remarks  on  some 
of  the  objects  in   which,  we  opine,  the 
mass  of  our  unmystified  readers  will  dis- 
cover beauty,  albeit  they  dissect  not  their 
lines  and  curves. 

The  first  and  most  natural   quarter  in 
which  we  would  seek  for  an  illustration 
of  the  beautiful  is  in  the  inanimate  world  ; 
and  the  search  will  not  be  in  vain.     All 
praise  be  to  Him  who  created  th's  glorious 
universe — the  green  earih,  the  blue  heav- 
ens, and  the  silvery  stars  !     On  the  inouni- 
ain's   summit,  or  in   the  still   valley— on 
the  ocean's  shore,  or  on  the  richly  culli- 
vated  plain— the  manifestations  of  besvuiy 
are  apparent,  and  confront  the  beholder  at 
every  turn.     In  casting  tho  eye  over  a 
scene  such  as  poets  love— where  "  water- 
fails  leap  amid  wild  islands  green,"  and 
sunshine  mingles  with  leafy  shade— whore 
tho  air  is  ringing  with  a  thousand  songs, 
inarticulate  bii*  eloquent— where  the  em- 
erald slope  melts  gradually  'nto  the  dim 
blue  of  the  distant  hill— wo  become  in- 
stantaneously impressed  with  a  sensation 


of  dolig'u. 


heedlass  in  which  of  the 


elements  of  the  picture  the  charm  lies,  or 
whether,  if  one  were  removed,  our  admi- 
ration would  be  diminished,  wo  acknowl- 
I  edge  that  herein  is  loveliness — herein  we 
I  have  a  definition  of  beauty  from  nature's 
I  own  vocabulary.     Who  can  measure  the 
'  humanizing  iiilhience  of  the  contemplation 
of  such  scenes  ?     Yet  it  is  not  in  the  ag- 
gregate alone  that  this  quality  is  found  ; 
for  the  wing  of  the  bulterdy  or  the  petal 
of  the  tiniest  flower  displays  its  oxisiouce 


■lllg^WwiW* 


uttered !     One  plii- 
lystieal    home  in   a 
inalion  of  lines  nw\  | 
voly  lays  clown  wiili  j 
n ;  a  aecoml  dilVi'i's  j 
mo  of  his  conronna- 
is  gravely  to  ilffeiid 
a  third,  disagrecini; 

to  place  it  in  an  iii- 

adaptatioii  between 
5  spectacle — the  ob- 
jtive.  Whether,  ac- 
leory,  distortion  is  to 

in  the  abstract,  be- 
ction  to  the  individual 
pinion  of  the  majority 
t,  wo  bhall  leave  to 
and  proceed  to  make 
ig  remarks  on  some 
hich,  we  opine,  the 
fied  readers  will  dis- 
ihey  dissect  not  their 

St  natural   quarter  in 
ak  for  an  illustration 

the  inanimate  world  ; 
not  be  in  vain.  All 
3  created  this  glorious 

earth,  the  blue  heav- 
ilars  !     On  the  mouni- 
tho  still   valley— on 
r  on  the  richly  culii- 
ii\ifestation3  of  bc;vuiy 
mfront  the  beholder  at 
sting  tho  eye  over  a 
I  love — where  "  water- 
x\  islands  green,"  and 
ith  leafy  shade — where 
ilh  a  thousand  songs, 
quent — where  the  em- 
aradually  'nto  the  dim 
,  hill — we  become  in- 
issed  with  a  sensation 
jd'ass  in  which  of  the 
;ture  the  charm  lies,  or 
3re  removed,  our  admi- 
minished,  wo  acknov/1- 

loveliness — herein  we 
if  beauty  from  nature's 

Who  can  measure  the 
ice  of  the  contemplation 
Yet  it  is  not  in  the  ag- 
t  this  quality  is  found  ; 
e  butterfly  or  the  petal 
iV  displays  its  existence 


STRAY  THOUGHTS  ON  THE  BEAUTIFUL. 


909 


as  the  wide-spread  and  complicated  pros-    "cao  w       chant  or        el  j  ^^^^ 

pect.  Storm.s  have  their  I'f"'^;/'^^';!  f^.^^TtrslndC^  P^^^  the  tombs  of 
'gramleur.  their  sublimity  ;  and  could  tha  ;  2  ^V^  t  fa  elmecture  i.  magnifi- 
strong  antagonistic  feeling  wliu     wo  ^»  ,  »J>"^  ""^^  (5^^^^  „  ^j,,^,  ^f  preservation 

possess,  in  the  tear  of  personal  danger  be  ,  cen  ,  ^  "^  .      ^^^^^^J^^  eharm  of 

'subdued,   doubtless    their    f ""'^''"Pl'^  \""    "'.    ,  r,f      o  exp' ^  "l"  i'« 

would  be  as   grateful  as  ^ f^//,  ""^''^   I  S^^'.^^^^^^ 

scenes.     ^'l-J-^^  ^  j-,^,J;r-wh  n.    n    sTSi'ere  or  there  marking  their  last  re.t- 
well  as  sound;  and  at  tunes     wucn.  '"  ,  ..m        .  (^  ,„,Hm  is  throwing 

U,„  sk...p., (.«.««., .1.0  woria  »■■■'»•";«••      '^-fc"^  liJi     1  o,,8l.  .1.0  .n-»ivc  .u.J 


poured  upon  the  Sybarite.  H'^t  the 
mmlity  of  which  we  speak  exists  in  all  the 
works  of  God,  can  not  for  a  moment  be 
doubted  ;  but  it  is  to  be  found  in  varying 
diM-ree  in  difleront  objects ;  and  thus,  by 
contrast,  tho  eflecl  of  its  abundant  presence 
is  heightened— sunshine  for  cloud— llie 
oasis  for  the  desert—"  L>.'auty  for  ashes. 

There  is  a  beauty  general  and  a  beauty 
individual,  or  particular.  Certain  scenes 
are  of  audi  a  d.-scripiion  as  at  once  to 
excite  in  the  bosoms  of  spectators,  con- 
stituted as  ordinary  mortals,  emotions  ol 
delight— they   overpower,    they   silence, 

1       1         i__!^~*:,..»     <^>ii-\ii I'll  I  (\    tilG 


impressed  with  delightful  awe,  and  pro- 
nounce it  beautiful.  In  what  does  it  con- 
sist ^  Not  in  association  alone  ;  lor  were 
tho  process  of  decay  somewhat  further  ad- 
vanced, the  inflnence^sf  association,  though 

still  as  powerful,  woi  .Id  not  sullice  to  call 
up  the  same  pleasurable  feeling.     Not  in 
tho  naked  aspect  of  the  scene  alone  ;  for 
that,  without  something  more,  would  give 
but  a  soulless  delight,  while,  in  advenliiious  l| 
circumstances,  no  innate  charm  can  lie. 
Search,  ve   wi       .  en,  and  tell  wbere>n 
consists  the  eleu  ^n.    o\'  beauty  !      1  hanks 
in«..u«,    be  to  God,  the  peasant  can  feel  its  power, 
„...o--      -    .     .      .       „,„,,•...       To  the    though  unaided  by  philosophy, 
they   lead   admiration    captn  e.       1  o      o  beauty  in  all  the  living  works 

Englishman  and  to  tho  native  of  somo  |       \^^"l^^  ^         ^  ^ird,  and  beast,  and 
foreign  clime,  they,  upon  the  ^^^'^-^^'f^JZ^^^^^^^^ 

prindples  of  human  nature,  appear  equa  ly    ^^^^r  ^  ^'^    =^  ^^j  ,„„i,,,t  to  which 

leautilul-the  vale  of  Tempe  wo  dd  pre-  Ay.^"  '^"^  '^^  P  ^^^jj  ,  „,„,,  ,1, 
sent  tho  same  attractions  to  the  visiter  of  ««]»'  °  "  j  .  5  ^-^^^  J-  y^j,  Ughi  re- 
to-dayasitdidtohimofgeneratious  go  ismo^^^^^^^^  an  agonic™  of  shade,  there  is 
AnotLr  scene,  again  has  a  locaUpm.de  q«  re  he  an^g^^^  ^  ^^^  ^_^ 
to  tho  individual  beholder  ;  ''"'^  *^"  f/M  ?',"  hers  tell  us  that  we  have  the  perfec- 
iuferior  to  many  m  charms  or  i«=^""'f  "^'"SnWsical  beauty  in  his  intellectual 
of  charms  altogether,  yet  m  his  eyeath   tmn      pljy   ^^^^,^  ^J^.,^^^^  ,„,,„,,,,„, 

holds  in  her  bosom  no  spot  halt  so  loveiy.  i  ihin<r  which  is  not  matter  ; 

Some  little  incident  if  his  isolated  history  ^J  ^^^'/^^^j^Ji'  ,„„,,i  eonstitution,  are 

investing  with  a  s(ml  each  fea  ure  0    the  ^h^'^'  ^J^J    ,  ^f  sunshine-fitful,  in- 

landscape.  changes  his  estimate,  and  en-  to  be  ,omut  g  ^^^^^^^  ^^^^  ^^^^^ 

dears  it  all.     The  favored  inhabitant  of  the  ^«"^J;y^\^7   There  is  a  beauty  in  the 

sunny  south  sees  not  more  beau  y  in  his  to  be  prized,     ine  7  . ,   . 


blossomy  land,  than  does  the  Norseman 
in  his  steril  shores  and  pine-clad  mount- 
It  con- 


march  of  the  man  who,  returning  amid  the 
glad  welcomings  of  thousands  from  elfect- 
ing  his  country's  deliverance,  and  crown- 
ed with  the  garlands  of  victory,  is  content 


"'There  is  a  beauty  '^^'VP^f  °„„/J,  "J^;  1  ^"tr'thrtribul^^^ra  naUon's  gratitude, 
sists  not  in  association  alono-not    n  the   wim  .^  ^^^^  ^^^^^ 


(.#*? 


...*•<■»» 


^^m 


m 

m 


1000 


THOUGHTS  ON  WINTER. 


trmntations  of  want,  which  bcGCt  him  at 
every  step.     There  is  a   beauty  m  the 
character  of  the  moralist,  who  enunciates 
hi.rh  problems  pregnant  with  interest  to 
society,  and  who  casts  generously  upon 
iho  world  the  products  of  his  great  mind, 
replete  with  instruction  and  refinement  to 
mankind— legacies  inexhaustible,  univer- 
sal.    And  there  is  a  beauty,  too,  in  the 
walk  of  the  simple  peasant,  who,  with  his 
Bible  in  his  hand,  strives  in  all  things  to 
conform  in  his  conduct  to  the  will  ot  the 
Supreme,  and,  unlearned  though   he  be, 
yet  knows  enough  to  make  hun  love  lus 
neighbor  as  himself.     There  is  u  beauty 
in  the  merry  laugh  of  light-heaited  youth, 
as  vet  untainted  by  guile,  and  fresh  as  a 
I^Iay  m.;rning.     There  is  a  beauty  also  in 
the    holy    tear  of  the  stricken    penitent 
which  tells  of  the  casting  out  of  the  evil 

spirit.  ., 

There  is  a  beauty  in  woman,     bmile 
not,  most  galant  reader,  at  this  sapient 
truism.     The  rank  heresy  of  even  lor  a 
moment  imagining  that  a  fact,  indubitable 
as  the  nersonal  charm  of  woman  is,  can 
re.uure'ainrmation,  we    mean  not  to  bo 
jruilty  of— it  is  of  her  moral  attractions 
we  now  speak.     The  power  of  the  female 
character  for  good  who  can  estimate  !  the 
mim!  .r  of  woman's  melting  chanties,  in 
the  palace  and  in  the  cottage,  who  can 
count!     Truly  was  she  formed  an  help 
meet    unto    Adam— smoothing    asper-'.y, 
liffhtening  sorrow,  gladdening  joy— a  per- 
sonification of  the  beautiful,  the  contem- 
plation  of  which  corrects,  elevates,  re- 
fines     Whether   it  be   the   ivory   brow 
circled  with  sparkling  diadem,  or  the  sun- 
burnt forehead  wreathed  with  rushes  from 
the  brook,  the  impress  of  beauty  is  there, 
rt.iecting  the  moral  loveliness  that  uwells 

within.  ,    T?     „ 

G  aze  we  upon  the  works  of  man  ?    1:.  ven 
there  is  to  be  found  ample  food  for  ad- 
miration.    Not   alone  in  the  stupendous 
pyramids,   seemingly   the    memorials    ot 
coniaint  power  and  folly— not  alone  m  the 
most  finished  edifices  of  stateliest  archi- 
tecture— nor  in  the  classic  productions  oi 
master  pencils— nor  in  the  bright   com- 
positions of  inspired  minds,  is  beauty  to 
be  discovered  ;  but  in  every  raossgrown 
ruin  and  tenantless  hall  are  gems  to  bo 
met  with— flowers  with  fruits,  the  admira- 


'  ble  with  the  admonitivo.  Wo  might  pro- 
ceed to  enumerate  beauty  in  a  thousand 
shapes  in  nature,  in  art,  in  man's  moral 
bein<',  but  we  retrain.  Ml  the  glory  of 
ihis^arlh,  and  of  what  it  contains,  is  but 
a  mirrored  reflection,  not  an  innate  (piality. 
J  In  the  sunshine  of  its  Creator's  smile,  it 
I  uoars  a  pleasing  aspect,  and,  in  the  words 
of  old  Spenser,  let  it  be:— 


That,  with  the  ^-lory  of  so  goodly  sight, 

The  lienrw  of  men.  llint  fonillv  hero  ndniiro 

Fnir  seemiiis;  shows,  niul  feed  on  vaiii  doliglit. 

Transported  with  celestial  desiro 

or  those  fair  forms,  may  lift  ihei.isclvos  in)  Inglier, 

And  learn  to  love,  with  patient,  Imnihle  duty,    _^ 

Tlic  ICternal  Fountain  of  that  heavenly  beauty. 


THOUGHTS  ON  AVINTER. 

GETS  have  number- 
ed among  the  felicities 
of  the  golden  age   ar. 
exemption     from    the 
change  of  seasons,  and 
a  perpetuity  of  spring ; 
but  wo  think  that  they 
have   not  made   sufli- 
cient  provision  for  that 
insatiable  demand  for  new  gratifications 
which  seems  particularly  to  characterize 
the  nature  of  man.     Our  sense  of  dcligh 
is  in  a  great  meas.ro   comparative,  and 
'arises  at  once  from  the  sensations  winch 
we  feel,  and  those  which  we  remeinber. 
Thus  ease  after  torment  is  pleasure  for  a 
time,  and  we  are  very  agreeably  recreated 
when  the  body,  chilled  with  ihe  weather, 
is  gradually  recovering  its  natural  tepidity , 
but  the  joy  ceases  when  we  have  forgotten 
the  cold  :  we  must  fall  below  ease  again, 
if  we  desire  to  rise  above  it,  and  purchase 
new   felicity   by  voluntary  pam.      It   is 
therefore  not  unlikely,  that  however  the 
fancy  may  be  amused  with  the  description 
of  regions  iu  which  no  wind  is  heard  but 
the  gentle  zephyr,  and  no  scenes  are  dis- 
played but   valleys  enamelled  with   un- 
fading flowers,  and  woods  waving  their 
perennial  verdure,  we  should  soon  grow 
weary  of  uniformity,  find  our   thoughts 
languish  for  want  of  other  subjects,  call 
on  heaven  for  our  wonted  round  of  seasons, 
and  think  ourselves  liberally  recompensetl 
for  the  inconveniencies  of  summer  and 


1 


J 


THOUGHTS  ON  WINTER. 


1001 


vo.  Wr  might  pro-  ' 
cauty  in  a  tlioiis;iiul 
art,  in  man's  moral 
1.  All  tho  glory  of 
at  it  contains,  is  but 
not  an  innate  (luality. 
s  Creator's  smile,  it 
ect,  and,  in  the  words 
be:— 

io  goodly  sit'lit, 
fondly  lici-o  ndniirn 
rt  fccil  on  vain  dollglit. 
ial  desire 

f  lift  ilR'insidvo3  np  liigher, 
pationt,  luiniMc  duty, 
)f  ihat  heavenly  beauty." 


ON  WINTER. 

DETS  have  number- 
ed among  the  felicities 
jf  tho  golden  age   ar. 
exemption     from    tho 
change  of  seasons,  and 
a  perpetuity  of  spring; 
but  wo  think  that  they 
have   not   made   suffi- 
cient provision  for  that 
for  new   gratifications 
cularly  to  characterize 
Our  sense  of  delight 
j^ro   comparative,  and 
I  vhe  sensations  which 
3  which  we  remember, 
rmenr  is  pleasure  for  a 
ery  agreeably  recreated 
illed  with  ihe  weather, 
ring  its  natural  tepidity , 
when  we  have  forgotten 
t  fall  below  ease  again, 
)  above  it,  and  purchase 
voluntary  pain.      It   is 
kely,  that  however  the 
scd  with  the  description 
:h  no  wind  is  heard  but 
and  no  scenes  are  dis- 
^s  enamelled  with  un- 
nd  woods  waving  their 
1,  we  should  soon  grow 
nity,  find   our   thoughts 
t  of  other  subjects,  call 
wonted  round  of  seasons, 
es  liberally  recompensed 
liencios  of  summer  and 


winter,  by  new  perceptions  of  the  calnr.- 
^ess   and   .nildniss   of  the    intermediate 

^T;:?'se-n  has  its  particular  po.c: 
of.tnkmgthemind.  The  nakedness  and 
iispeviiy  of  the  wintry  world  hll  tho  be 
ho  derli.h  pensive  and  1-  """'^  ^  "^^ 
i.hment;.sthe  vanely  of  the  scene  s 
lessened,  its  grandeur  is  increased  ,  anU 
lire  muKl  is  swelled  at  once  by  .he  m.nged 

idea.  .>f  the  present  and  the  pasl-o  c 
beauties  which  have  vanished  Irom  he 
eyes,  and  tho  waste  and  desolation  tliat 
are  now  before  them. 

Yet  let  us  refiect  on  the  blessings  Heaven 
cranls  ue  :tt  this  season,  which  appears  to 
Leo  severe.     The  frost  and  cold  prevent 
ma-iy  hurtful  vapors  in  the  higher  regions 
of  iho  afnosphere  from  falling  upon  us, 
and  eveti  purify  the  air.     Far  from  being  , 
always  bad  ior  our  health,  it  o  ten  strength- 1 
ens   It,  and  preserves   the   humors  Iron, 
putrefaction,  which  a  constant  heal  wou  j  | 
cu-lainiy  occasion.     It  the  vapors  which  , 
collect  lu  the  atntosphere  were  '^l^' ays  to 
f«)l   m   r.in,  the  earth  would  be  too     oft 
and  wet,  our  bodies  would  be  too  full  ol 
humor,  and  too  much  relaxed ;  whereas 
tho  cold  braces  and  promotes  tho  circula- 
tion of  the  blood.     In  very  hot  countries 
and  where  the  winters  are  rainy  and  we  , 
serious    and    mortal    disease,    are    much 
more  frcpicnt  than  elsewhere.     \Vc  are 
told  by  travellers,  that  in  Greenland,  where 
the  ground  is  covered  with  mountains  ol 
ice,  aitd  where,  in  winter,  the  days  are 
only   four  or  five  hours  long,  the  air  is 
very  wholesome,   clear,  and   light;   and 
except  a  few  complaints  in  the  chest  and 
eyes  (occasioned  partly  by  the  quality  o   , 
the  food),   they   have   seldom  there  the  , 
disorders  so  common  in  Europe.     Us 
also  certain  that  the  constitution  of  tl it 
human  body  varies  according  to  ll.e  .1  - 
ferent  climates;  consequently  the  inhabit-  , 
ants  of  the  northern  countries  have  co.i- 
stitutions  adapted  to  exlremocold  and  are 
generally    strong   and   robust      As    man, 
though  active  by  choice,  and  though  labor 
iru'cessary  to  him,  is  still  glad  to  inter- 
rupthisenqdoyments  to  taste  the  sweets 
of  sleep;  so    also   nature   yields    to   the 
charo     .f  seasons,  and  takes  a  pleastare 
in  i-:  because,   in  reality    it   contributes 
toward  our  wellaro  and  happiness.     Al- 


though our  fields  and  gardens  be  buried 
in  snow,  this  is  necessary,  in    order   to 
preserve  them  from  tho  cold,  as  well  as 
L  prevent  the  grain  from  corrupting,      riio 
ground  req.dres  rest  after  having  yieWed 
in  the  summer  -aX  that  we  want  lor  the 
winter.     If  our   present   wants   had   not 
been  provided  for  ;  if  in  this  severe  season 
we  were  obliged  lo  cviUivato  the   earth, 
there  might  be   some   foundation  for  our 
complaints.     I3ut  provision   is    made  lor 
these  ;  they  are  all  stiiu'lied,  and  we  enjoy 
a  repose  suitable  to  the  season. 

To  these  advantages  let  us   add  what 
has  frequently  been  remarked,  and  is  al- 
ways very  pleasatUly  felt,  that  winter  Ikis 
becMi  celebrated  as  the  proper  season  for 
n'erriment  and  gayety.     VVe  are  seldom 
invited  by  tho  votaries  of  pleasure  to  ook 
abroad  for  any  other  purpose  than  that  we 
may  shrink  back  with  more  satisfaction  to 
!  our  coverts,  and,  when  we  have  heard  the 
Ihowl  of  the  tempest  and  !elt  the  gnpe  of 
I  tho  frost,  congratulate    each   other   with 
1  more  gladness  upon  a  close  room,  an  easy 
'  chair,  a  large  fire,  and  a  smoking  dinner,  j 
Winter  brings  natural  inducements  to  jol-  i 
lity    and   conversation.     Diflerences    we 
now,  are  never  so  elVectually  laid  asleep, 
I:"  by  some  common  calamity.     An  enemy 
unites  all  to  whom  ho  threatens  danger. 
Tie  rigor  of  winter  brings  generally  to 
the  satne  fireside  those  who    by  the  o> 

nosition  of  inclinations,  or  dUlereuce  ot 
^mryn>«"t.  moved  in  various  directions 
5nrin<r  the  other  parts  of  tho  year ;  and 
wSthey  have  met,  and  find  it  t^heir 
mti  nferest  to  remain  together,  they 
Lecomc  endeared  to  each  other  by  mutual 
"omlances,  and  often  wish  »or  the  co,  - 

Snce  of  the  social  season,  with  all  Us 

bleakness  and  all  its  severities. 
Id    Johnson  has  remarked  an  advantage 

of  v4iter,  whichmenofhisstampw.il 

?eclwh  peculiar  energy,  and  it  is  cer- 

i  :•;,;  fout^ed  on   truth.     ^^XT"^^  .t 
'siudv   and   imag.nation,"  says  he,      tne 
winter  s  genrr-;ily  the  chief  time  ol  labor 
gIo.:;!^  a.^  silence  produce  comp.^re^ 

•  mind  and  concentration  ot  ideas,  ano  >  • 
'Nation  of  external  pleasure  naturu.y 
Luses  an  efi-ort  to  find  enterta.nrn  t  w.  h- 
i„  This  is  tho  season  in  «hich  those 
whom  literature  enables  to  find  amuse- 
ment for  themselves  have  more  than  com- 


esHftaw^siaiy^ 


1002 


THE  COMMONPLACE. 


mon  convictions  of  their  own  happiness. 
Wlien  they  arc  condemned  by  the  c'.e- 
ments  to  retirement,  and  debarred  from 
most  of  the  diversions  which  are  tailed  in 
to  assist  the  (light  of  time,  they  can  find 
new  subjects  of  inquiry,  and  preserve 
themselves  from  that  wearines-t  which 
hangs  always  flagging  upon  the  vacant 
mind." 

The  winter,  however,  diflers  vnry  es- 
sentially in  some   countries.     If  w  feel 
ourselves   disposed    to   compUiin,    Kl   us 
consider  the  following  facts,  which  rtlato 
to    a  great  part  of  those  nations,  which 
•lave  neither   spring   nor   autumn.     Tlv 
i:oi't  is  as  intolerable  in  .summer  as  the 
cold  Ui  in  w'f!'  f      The  severity  of  the 
latter  is  su^b  Miu  the  spints  of  wine  in 
the  thermome',(  i   fressv.     When 'i'.e  door 
of  a  warni  room  u  c^oaed,  tho  outward 
a.r  which  comej    i  t  irnw  rd!  the  vapors 
into  snow,  «rsd  tl.i)i>  mj  oar  like  thick  white 
clouds.     li  .'.ny  iok'  goes  out  ol'  the  house, 
he  is  almost  siitrccatdd,  and  ihe  air  seems 
to  pierce  through  him.     Everything  ap- 
pears dead,  as  nobody  dares  to  venture 
abroa(1      Sometimes  the  cold  becomes  so 
inttnbc  all  of  a  sudden  that,  if  they  are 
not  saved  in  time,  people  are  in  danger  of 
losing  an  arm,  a  leg,  or  even  their  life. 
The  fall  of  snow  is  still  more  dangerous ; 
the  wind  drives  it  with  such  violence  that 
nobody  can  find  their  way  ;  the  trees  and 
bushes  are  covered  with  it,  the  sight  is 
blinded  by  it,  and  people  sink  into  preci- 
pices at  every  step.     In  summer  it  is  con- 
stantly light  for  three  months,  and  in  win- 
ter it  is  perpetual  night  during  the  same 
space  of  time.     Those  who  complain  of 
the  coM  in  our  countries,  seem  not  to  know 
our  advantages.  ^ 

Yet  we  are  mistaken  if  we  suppose  that 
the  inhabitants  of  the  pole  are  unhappy 
from  the  severity  ard  length  of  their  win- 
ter. Poor,  yet  exempt,  through  simplicity, 
from  all  desires  difficult  to  gratify,  those 
people  live  content  in  the  midst  of  the 
Tocks  of  ice  which  surround  them,  with- 
out knowing  the  blessings  which  the  south- 
ern nations  consider  as  an  essential  part 
of  their  happiness.  If  the  barrenness  of 
their  soil  prevents  th  .1  from  having  such 
variety  of  production,  i  the  earth  as  we 
have,  the  sea  is  so  mucu  the  more  bounti- 
ful in  her  gifts  to  them.     Their  way  of 


living  inures  them  to  cold,  and  enables 
them  to  defy  storms.  As  to  p.irticuhir 
resources,  without  which  thuy  could  not 
bear  the  rigor  of  the  c!)!ii«t.\  n-iture  pro- 
vides  them  with  abundanco.  Thoir  deserts 
are  full  of  wild  beasts,  whi..^9  fur  proiects 
them  from  cold.  The  .■eitKU<ir  furnishes 
them  with  fovl,  drink  ^  joJj,  r.'')lho:v  and 
tents.  These  are  most  of  their  wants, 
and  it  costs  litlif  trouble  \  >  get  thtMn  sup- 
plied. When  the  sun  does  not  rise  with 
then),  thtiv  are  surrounded  with  darkness, 
but  i.;»tuio  itself  lights  a  torch  lor  thorn— 
the  auroia  bore  vlis  bri>;htens  their  night. 
Perhaps  ^bese  people  coiDiider  their  coui 


try  as"  the  g.oattsi  and  happi-s'  upon 
earth,  and  may  pity  ui  as  mnrh  as  wo  pity 
them. 

Winter,  too,  has  its  moral  and  religious 
uses  and  lessons.  There  are  the  winter 
of  adversity,  the  winter  of  age,  and  the 
winter  of  the  tomb,  of  all  which  it  speaks 
and  is  the  emblem.  And  there  is  no 
season  in  which  there  are  more  pressing 
calls  for  charity,  an'l  none  in  which  the 
rich  ought  to  feel  th;  ir  own  comforts  with 
a  gratitude  more  liveiy,  and  be  conse(iucnt- 
ly  more  disposed  to  exertions  in  favor  of 
the  poor : — 

"  Soro  pierced  by  wintry  winds, 

How  many  slirinli  into  the  eonlid  hut 

Of  checrlesg  poverty !     .    . 

.    .    .    Thought  fond  mnn 

Of  these 

The  conscious  heart  of  charity  would  warm 

And  lier  wide  wish  benevolence  dilate." 


THE  COMMONPLACE. 


is  most  likely  his  1 
any  charicteristi- 
distinguis'^  him  ' 
His  counter  •-'': 
a  short  wai". 


NY  person  who 
looks  around  the 
circle  of  his  ac- 
quaintance,   will 
find  at  least  one 
individual      who 
passed     through 
the  world  almost 
unheeded ;  for  it 
i.,'.)'tune  not  to  jiossess 
uiviininent   enough  to 
.rt  the  rest  of  mankind, 
is  so  commonplace,  lliat 
ly  much  frequented  street 


will  show  UH  i.    'yast  a  half-dozen  sets  of 


1  to  colJ,  and  enables 
rms.  As  to  piirticuhr 
,  whicli  il(..y  cov.iil  not 
the  cliiiiiitr,  n-iiuro  pi'i- 
undanco,  Thoir  dewerts 
asts,  whosa  fur  proi.octs 
The  iciiKUt!'  furnishes 
Irink,  )'jd-t,  t-'thc;.,  and 
9  moat  of  iheir  wants, 
trouble  ■.  i  get  them  sup- 
!  Sim  does  not  rise  with 
rrounded  with  diukness, 
ights  a  torch  for  ihem — 
s  bri'^htens  their  niylii. 
op'e  consider  their  coun- 
;tav  and  h,!pj)i'-'  upon 
lym  as  mncli  as  wo  pity 

LS  its  moral  and  religious 

1.     There  are  the  winter 

winter  of  age,  and  the 

h:  of  all  which  it  speaHs 

iloin.     And   there   is  no 

there  are  more  pressing 

and  none  in  which  the 

i  their  own  comforts  with 

iveiy,  and  be  conseqnent- 

l  to  exertions  in  favor  of 


•reed  by  wintry  winds, 
ik  into  the  sordid  liut 
'orty !    .    . 
I  fond  maa 

cart  of  charity  would  warm 
riah  benevolence  dilate." 


THE  COMMONPLACE. 


1003 


COMMONPLACE. 

NY  person  who 
looks  around  the 
circle  of  his  ac- 
quaintance,   will 
find  at  least  one 
individual      who 
passed     through 
the  world  almost 
unheeded ;  for  it 
I'tune  not  to  possess 
^  uuiinent   enough  to 
fff  un  the  rest  of  mankind. 
;c  \9  80  commonplace,  that 
tuiy  much  frequented  street 
:  least  a  half-dozen  sets  of 


features  of  a  similar  cast.  His  height  is  | 
80  very  ordinary,  thut  at  least  thirty  per 
cent,  of  his  fello-  .--men  measure  the  same 
number  of  feet  and  inches.  His  shape  is 
neither  handsome  nor  disproportioncd. 
Had.  indeed,  he  been  blessed  with  a  de- 
formity, it  would  have  set  a  mark  upon  him 
by  which  he  might  have  been  known  from 
oihor  persons  of  his  own  age  and  status 

Nor  is  it  his  outward  aspect  only  which 
herds   an    individual  of   this    class   with 
the  multitude.     There  is  as  little  to  dis- 
tinguish him  from  the  mass  in  his  mmd 
as  in  his  person.     He  has  neither  ambition 
nor  energy  to  dart  ahead  of  the  crowd 
He  does  exactly  as  other  people  do,  and 
would  not  do  anything  which  other  people 
do  not  do  for  the  world.      He  is  timid, 
reserved,  and  apparently  grave.     Of  con- 
versation he  has  liule,  and  it  requires   a 
strong  stimulant  to  set  his  tongue  in  mo- 
tion:  argument  is  of  course  quite  out  ot 
the  question  with  a  man  who  seldom  has 
courage  to  differ  aloud  with  the  most  ex- 
travagant  opinions.      Though  he   never 
asks  questions,  he  will  answer  them  ;  but 
when  he  does,  he  is  sure  to  tell  you  some- 
thing you  know  already.     As  the  snail 
comes  out  when  it  is  touched,  and  again 
retires  into  its  shell,  so  do  the  common- 
place  require  to  be  stimulated  by  a  ques- 
lion  ere  they  will  "  come  out."     Having 
spoken,  they  shrink  back  under  the  crust 
of  conscious  insignificance. 

Despite  all  these  defects,  however,  the 
commonplace  are  among  the  most  useful 
members  of  society,  only  their  usefubess 
begins  where  that  of  more  brilliant  spirits 
ends.     Feeling  their  general  deficiencies, 
they  court  favor  by  doing  what  a   great 
many  other  people  decline.     In  fact  it  is 
only  their  readiness  to  oblige— their  un- 
failing good-nature,  which  prevents  them 
from  being  utterly  overlooked  and  neg- 
lected.    When,  for   instance,  a  party  is 
being  made  up,  Mr.  Nobody  is  added  to  , 
the  list  of  guests  because  vaere  is  some 
old  lady   to  see  home.      He  is  always 
ready  to  carve,  so  is  asked  out  to  dinner 
now  and  then.     When  three  persons  are 
inclined  to  have  a  game  at  whist,  ho  is 
preferred  to  "dummy;"  or  when  seven 
want  to  dance  a  quadrille,  he  is  asked  to 
join  merely  because  he  makes  the  eighth. 
He  is  invited  to  pic-nics  for  the  sole  reason 


64 


that  his  contributions  will   increase  the 
stock  of  champagne,  and  reduce  to  each 
paying  member  of  the  party  a  proportion 
of   ..te    general   expenses.     Besides    his 
uses  in  these  respects,  the  commonplace 
man  is  of  signal  service  at  the  social  board 
and  in  the  midst  of  conversation,  for  this 
seemingly  paradoxical  reason  ;  he  seldom 
talks  himself.     If  every  convive  were  a 
wit,  a   genius,   or   a  philosopher,  there 
would  be  no  contrast,  no   relief;  like  a 
play,  all  of  whose  characters  are  kings, 
or  a  picture,  with  all  lights  and  no  shadows. 
Hence  the  commonplace  perform  an  im- 
portant  part   in    a   social   tableau;    they 
harmonize  contrasts  ;  they  are  the  neutral 
tints  which  blend  the  high  lights  of  intel- 
lect with  the  deep  shadows  of  stupidity. 
Where  there  are  voluble  talk^^rs,  they  are 
invaluable ;  they  listen  well,  and  relieve  the 
monotony  of  a  long  story  by  exclamations 
which  encourage  the  narrator,  and  which 
no  one  else   will  condescend  to  make  ; 
such   as   ..  indeed  !"—"  really  !"-"  how 
strange  !"—"  remarkable  !"  with  a   care- 
fully nursed  and  very  impressive  "  extra- 
ordinary !"  for   the   catastrophe.     Again, 
the  commonplace  man  never    winces  at 
a  sly  jest  whicli  may  be  aimed  at  him. 
Indeed  he  rather  likes  it— he  is  delighted 
to  be  tanen  notice  of  on  any  terms. 

To  all  rules  there  are  exceptions  ;  and 
a  few  of  the  commonplace  make  desperate 
struggles  to  be  known  and  distinguished 
from   the   general   herd.     Some  adopt  a 
conspicuous  style  of  dress  ;  others  eccen- 
tricity of  manners.      They  often  try  to 
disgnise  the  hopeless  commonnoss  of  their 
figures  by  means  of  odd-shaped  hats,  many 
hued   waistcoats,   and    curiously-colored 
gloves.     It  has  often  been  a  matter  of  sur- 
prise  what  becomes  of  certain  extraordi- 
nary cravats  and  stocks  one  sees  display- 
ed  in  hosiers'  shops  :  some  of  an  ultra 
cerulean  blue,  spangled  all  over  wjih  gilt 
stars.     Observation,  however,  will  show 
that  they  are  manufactured  for  the  com- 
monplace, who  alone  are  seen  to  wear 
them.     Even  these  expedients  are  often 
found  to  fail,  and  the  victims  of  Nature  s 
impartiality  occasionally  call  m  her  aid  to 
help  them  out  of  the  crowd  into  which 
they   feel    themselves   to    be    so   firmly 
I  wedged.     They  let  their  hair  grow  to  in- 
ordinate  lengths,  coax  their  whiskers  into 


S4**^ 


mm 


1004 


IIFB  WITHOUT  AN  AIM. 


•trange  shape.,  while  those  who  are  very 
bold  indeed  mount  mustaches.  In  nine 
cases  out  of  ton,  however,  not  one  of  these 
exnedicnts  succeed,  and  even  in  the  tithe 
of  instances  in  which  the  object  is  gained, 
the  notice  attracted  is  seldom  of  a  flatter- 

*"  Another  extrinsic  expedient  resorted  to 
bv  the  commonplace  is  that  of  taking  unto 
ihemselveshigh-soundingChristiannames. 
Whether  the  extreme  prevalence  ol    the 
name  of  "  Smith"  gives  rise  to  the  nolu.n, 
or  whether  it  be  a  fact,  can  not  be  decided  , 
but  ceriain  it  is.  that  this  popular  cognomen 
and   commonplace   peo|)le  are  very  gen- 
erally associated.     At  a  random,  but  mod- 
erate  compulation,  at  least  a  moiety  of  the 
commonplace  are  called  "  Smith."     Out 
of  this  legion  a  few  of  the  bolder  spirits, 
scorning  the  shackles  of  non-individuality  j 
.which  this  name  fastens  to  them,  put  a 
.p^face  of  prenomes  to  that  «hich  they  | 
inherit  from  their  ancestors.     This,  then, 
accounts  for  the  frequent  occurrence  of 
»  Constantine  Agrippa."  "  Mackenzie  Mac- 
kintosh,"  "Pelham   de    Crespigny,     and 
a  hundred  equally  euphonious  prefixes, 
which  end  like  the  bathos  of  an  extrav- 
agant poem,   in   the   surname      Smith 
Upon  paper,  this  expedient  answers.     So 
loSg   as  the  writer  of  the   classical    or 
aristocratic  signature  keeps  out  of  sight, 
yorimagination  is  very  likely  to  picture 
lim   as  something  more   »han  common 
His   high-sounding  names  make  a  grea 
effect   in  advertisements,   p  ay-bills,  and 
the  prospectuses  of  joinl-stock  companies  ; 
but  once   get  introduced   to   bim-once 
sund  face  fo  face  with  him.  and  the  ^rand 
associations   called   up  by  his  Christ  a„ 
names    whea   in   print,   vanish   l^e   the 
.'baseless  fabric  of  a  vision.      His  ap- 
pearance, manners,  and  co«versation.  are 
Jerhaps  so  intensely  commonj^ace    that 

have  described  are  useless.  The  real  y 
commonplace  will  be  commonplace  m 
spite  of  the  most  persevering  f  "'gf «' «« 
long  as  the^e  efforts  are  directed  to  mere 
externals.  It  is  only  by  me«>«\«"X^; 
and  the  cultivation  of  mtellect.  that  their 
emancipation  is  to  be  worked  out. 


LIFE  WITHOUT  AN  AIM. 

Those  of  us  who  are  familiar  with  the 
shore,  may  have   seen,  attached   to   the 
inundated  reef,  a  creature,  whether  a  plan 
or  animal  you  could  scarcely  tell,  rooted 
to  the  rock  as  a  plant  might  be,  and  twirl- 
ins  its  long  lentacula  as  an  animal  would 
do      This  plant-animal's  life  is  somewhat 
monotonous,  for  it  has  nothing  to  do  but 
erow  and  twirl  its  feelers,  float  m  the  tide, 
or  fold  itself  up  on  its  foot-stalk  when  that 
tide  has  receded,  for  months  and  years 
together.     Now,  would  it  not  be  very  dis- 
mal to  be  transformed  into  a  zoophyte  T 
Would  it  not  be  an  awful   punishment, 
with  the  human  soul  still  in  us,  to   be 
anchored  to  a  rock,  able  to  do  nothing  but 
spin  about  our  arms  or  fold  thom  up  again, 
,  and  knowing  no  variety,  except  when  the 
receding  ocean  left  us  in  the  daylight,  or 
the  returning  waters  plunged  us  into  iJie 
I  green  depths  again,  or  the  sweeping  tide 
I  brought  us  the  prize  of  a  young  periwinkle 
or  an  invisible  star-fish?     But  what  better 
is  the  life  we  are  spontaneously  leading  • 
What  greater  variety  marks  our  existence, 
than  chequers  the  life  of  the  sea-ane,mone? 
Does  not  one  day  float  over  us  after  an- 
other, just  as  the  tide  floats  over  it,  and 
find  us  much  the  same,  and  1««:\7»  ^;;&";^ 
tating  still?     Arewemoreusefu  ?      What 
real  service  to  others  did  wo  render  yester- 
day ?     What  tangible  amount  of  occupa- 
tion  did  we  overtake  in  the  one  hundred  1 
and  sixty-eight  hour,  o:  which  last  week 
consisted?      And   what    higher   end    in 
living  have  we  than  that  polypus?     We 
eo  through  certain  mechanical   routines 
of  rising,  and  dressing,  and  visiting,  and 
dining,  and  going  to  sleep  again  ;  and  are 
a  little  roused  from  our  usual  lethargy  by 
the  arrival  of  a  friend,  or  the  effort  needed 
to  write  some  note  of  ceremony.     But  as 
it  courtesies  in  the  waves,  and  vibrates  its 
exploring  arms,  and  gorges  so^e  dainty 
medusa,  the   sea-anemone   goes  through 
nearly  the  same   round  of  pursuits  and 
enioyments  with  our  intelligent  and  im- 
mSl  self.     Is  this  a  life  for  a  rational 
and  responsible  creature  to  lead  1 

If  we  had  no  faults  ourselves  we  should 
not  take  pleasure  in  observing  those  ol 
others. 


I 


'*«•« 


PHOUT  AN  AIM. 

vho  are  familiar  with  the 
)   seen,   attached    to   the 
creature,  whether  a  plant 
juUl  scarcely  tell,  rooted 
plant  might  be,  and  twirl- 
iciila  as  an  animal  would 
animal's  life  is  somewhat 
it  has  nothing  to  do  but 
18  feelers,  float  in  the  tide, 
on  its  foot-stalk  when  that 
sd,  for  months  and  years 
,  would  it  not  be  very  dis- 
iformed  into  a  zoophyte  ? 
be  an  awful   punishment, 
n   soul   still  in  us,   to   be 
ack,  able  to  do  nothing  but 
jrms  or  fold  thom  up  again, 
)  variety,  except  when  the 
left  us  in  the  daylight,  or 
waters  plunged  us  into  the 
»ain,  or  the  sweeping  tide 
prize  of  a  young  periwinkle 
star-fish?     But  what  better 
ire  spontaneously  leading? 
■ariety  marks  our  existence, 
the  life  of  the  sea-aneinone? 

day  float  over  us  after  an- 
the  tide  floats  over  it,  and 
he  same,  and  leave  us  vti^e- 
\re  we  more  useful  ?      What 
others  did  wo  render  yester- 
tangible  amount  of  occupa- 
>vertak«  in  the  one  hundred 
It  hourf  o"  which  last  week 
And   what    higher   «nd    in 
re  than  that  polypus?     We 
certain  mechanical   routines 
i  dressing,  and  visiting,  and 
oing  to  sleep  again  ;  and  are 
I  from  our  usual  lethargy  by 
a  friend,  or  the  effort  needed 
5  note  of  ceremony.     But  as 
in  the  waves,  and  vibrates  its 
,ns,  and  gorges  some  dainty 

sea-anemone  goes  through 
iame  round  of  pursuits  and 
with  our  intelligent  and  im- 

Is  this  a  life  for  a  rational 
ble  creature  to  lead  t 

no  faults  ourselves  we  should 
easure  in  observing  those  of 


DECEMBEH. 


ions 


DECEMBEH. 

B>5^  HIS  month  still  re- 
|*\  tains  itsoriginal  name, 
derived  from  the  Latin 
words  decim  and  «ot- 
ber,  although  its  place 
in  the  calendar  is  dif- 
ferent from  that  ori- 
ginally assigned  to  it. 
Bv  our  Saxon  ancestors  it  was  styled 
Wintcr-monat,  i.  e.  winter-month  :  upon 
their  conversion  toChristianity,they  named 

it  Heligh-monat,  or  holy-month. 


>v 


the  mole,  keep  close  in  their  winter-quar- 
ters in  the  northern  regions,  and  sleep 
away  great  part  of  the  season. 

"  Hedgehogs,"  says  Mr.  Kiiapp,"  were 
formerly  an  article  of  food  ;  but  this  diet 
was  pronounced  to  be  dry,  and  not  nutri- 
tive, '  because  ho  puttclh  fortli  so  m;iny 
prickles.'  This  liillo  quadruped,  upon 
suspicion  of  harm,  rolls  itself  up  in  a 
ball,  hiding  his  nose  and  eyes  in  the 
hollow  of  his  sliimach,  and  thus  the  com- 
mon organs  of  perception— hearing,  si'C 
ing,  and  smelling— are  precluded  from 
action  ;  but  by  the  sensibility  of  the  spin*'*, 
he  seems  fully  acciuainled  with  every  dan 


Jhe  changes  which  take  P^^ce   m    he  ^at  may  threaten  him,  and  upon  any 

face  of  nature  during  this  «'«".l»'."«  '     »«    ^i^^mpt  to  uncoil  himself,  if  these  spines 

V  advances  in  the  prog-    l\  .'.,.„,    .  „  ;...„...,ii,.,..|„  r.uracts.  as- 


more  than  so  many  advances  in  the  prog 
ress  toward  universal  gloom  and  desola- 
tion : — 
"  No  mark  of  vegetable  life  \r  seen, 

No  bird  to  bird  repeaU  liw  tuneful  caU. 
Bavii  Uie  dark  leaves  of  somo  rudo  Lwergreen. 

Save  the  lone  rcdbreaat<».tl.c  "O"  B^^^g^^JJ^ 

The  day  now  rapidly  decreases;  the 
weather  becomes  foul  and  cold  ;  and,  as 
Shakspere  expresses  it— 

"  Tlic  rain  and  wind  beat  dark  December." 

Several  of  the  wild  quadrupeds  now 
take  to  their  winter  concealments,  which 
they  seldom  or  never  quit  during  the  win- 
ter  Of  these,  some  are  in  an  absolutely 
torpid  or  sleeping  state,  taking  no  food  for 
a  considerable  time ;  others  are  only 
drowsy  and  inactive,  and  continue  to  feed 
on  provisions  which  they  have  hoarded 
up  In  our  climate  few  become  en- 
tirely torpid.     Bats  do  so,  and  retire  early 


be  touched,  he  inmiediately  retracts,  as 
suming  his  globular  form  again,  awaiting 
a  more  secure  period  for  retreat." 

Little  was  known  of  tlie  habits  of  rhe 
mole,  until  M.  St-  Hilaire,  the  eminent 
French  naturalist,  brought  to  light  some 
interesting  particulars  concerning  this  little 
animal :  the  manner  in  which  she  forms  a 
receptacle  for  her  young  is  very  curious  : 
in  order  to  render  the  receptacle  which 
she  and  her  young  occupy,  not  liable  to 
be  injured  by  the  rain,  she  makes  it  al- 
most even  with  the  ground,  and  higher  up 
than  the  runs,  which  servo  as  channels  to 
carry  oflf  the  water. 

The  place  of  her  abode  is  chosen  with 
the  greatest  care,  generally  constructed  at 
the  foot  of  a  wall,  or  near  a  hedge  or  tree, 
where  it  has  no  chance  of  being  broken 
in.  The  nest  for  the  young  is  composed 
of  blades  of  wheat,  with  which  the  mole 


dy  torpid      Bats  "X'r'thev  remain    forms  a  sort  of  mattrass.     The  power  o 
to  caves  and  holes,  ^^"^/W^'Jf 'J  Smelling  in  the   mole  is  very  acute,  and 
the  whole  winter,  suspended  ^X  .^'»« '""*   ^ "e.f.e  in  all  probability  directs  her  it. 

feet,  and  closely  -"Pf^^  "P  ^    '^J^;  !  the  sTrc  i  of  food.     Her  Larch  for  prey 
branes  of  the  fore  feet.     As  ^beir  food  is   '"  ^        ,        ■     ^,,^  „,„,„i„g  a„d 


starved,  did  not  nature  thus  render  food, 
uimecessary  for  them.  Dor-mice  also  he 
torpid  the  greater  partof  the  winter,  though 
they  lay  up  sUires  of  provision.  A  warm 
day  sometimes  revives  them,  when  they 
cat  a  little,  but  soon  relapse  into  their 
former  condition.  ,  ^  ,  i 

Squirrels,   and  various   kinds  of  field 


usually  feeding,  and  whose  means  of  sub 
sistencc  must  be  greatly  increased  by  this 
little  animal  driving  worms  to  the  surlace 
of  the  earth. 

The  early  vegetables  which  now  flour- 
ish are  the  numerous  tribes  of  mosses,  and 
the  lichens  or  liverworts.  The  mosses 
nut  forth  their  singular  and   minute  part 


i 


lOOG 


THE  CHETAH.  Ott  HUNTING  LEOPARD. 


,■>«? 


nature  is  J.  ad  to  him.  Lichens  cover  the 
ditch  banks,  and  other  neglected  spots, 
with  a  lealher-like  siibst  u.cc,  which  in 
some  countries  serve  as  lood  both  to  men 
and  cattle.  The  rein-derr  U.-.lieu  is  the 
erratest  treasure  of  the  .,.oa,-  '-apknc.  is 
who  dejend  upon  r-  m  the  »  in  ort  of 
their  oily  species  oi  domeBiic  cattle,  du- 
ring th  lir  tedious  win  ers. 

On  the  twenty-^ijcond  of  December  hap- 
pens the  wintur  soWtice,  or  shortest  day  ; 
when  the  sun  is  iiardly  ten  hours  above 
the  horizon. 

The  farmer  has  little  to  do  out  of  door< 
in  the  course  of  this  month.  His  chief 
attention  is  bestowed  upon  the  feeding 
and  n'nnnjjement  of  his  cattle,  and  various 
matters  <!'  household  economy. 

The  festival  of  Christmas  occurs  very 
seasonably,  to  cheer  this  comfortless  pe- 
riod of  the  year.  Great  preparations  are 
made  for  it  in  the  country,  and  plenty  of 
rustic  dainties  arc  provided  for  its  celebra- 
tion according  to  the  rights  of  ancient  hos- 
pitality. Thu'?  the  old  year  steals  away 
scarcely  marked  and  unlamented  ;  and  a 
new  one  begins,  with  lengthening  flays 
and  brighter  skies,  inspiring  fresh  1  jpes  j 
and  pleasing  expectations  ; — 

"  MysteriouB  round  !  what  skill,  wiiat  force  divine, 
tleep  felt,  in  the  no  appear;  a  simple  train; 
Yet  »o  delightful,  mixed  with  such  kind  art, 
Such  beauty  and  bonoficence  combined! 
Shade,  unperccived,  bo  softtM.ing  intoBhade; 
And  all  io  forrainR  an  har  ionious  whole. 
Th»i,  aa  they  still  8ucc<;ed,  they  ravish  still  I 


THE 


a  distil;  »  stripe  of  this  color  passes  from 
the  inner  angle  of  the  eye  to  the  mouth. 
A  thin  hog-lik-  mane  runs  down  the  back 
of  the  neck.  The  forehead  and  outline 
of  the  profile  are  onvpx  ;  the  eye  is  very 
fine,  largf,  lod  expressive. 

The  mode  of  coursing  with  the  chetah 
is  thus  described:    they   are   led   out   in 
chains  with  blinds  over  their  eyes,  and 
sometimes  carried  out  in  carts  ;  and  when 
antelopes  or  other   deer  are   seen  on    a 
plain,  shonld  any  of  them  be  separated  from 
the  res»   'he  chelah's  head  is  brouglu  to 
ittcj   it,  t..<'  blinds  are  removed,  and  the 
chain  taken  off.    He  immediately  crouches 
and   creeps   along  with   his  belly  almost 
touching  the  ground,  until  lie  gels  within 
a  short  distance  of  the  deer,  who,  although 
seeing  him  approach,  appears  so  fascina- 
ted, that  he  seldom  attempts  to  run  away. 
The  chetah  then  makes  a  iew  surprising 
springs,  and  seizes  him  by  the  neck.     If 
many  deer  are  near  each  other,  hey  often 
escape    by    flight;    their   number    giving 
them  confidence,  and  preventing  their  feel- 
ing the  full  force  of  that  fascination  which 
to  a  single  deer  produces  a  sort  of  panic, 
and  appears  to  divest  him  of  the  power, 
1  or  even  inclination,  to  n  i   .  ■■  ly  or  make 
resistance.      It   is  clear  that   they  must 
always  catch  thetn  by  stealth,  or  in  the 
iPftnner  we  have  des(   ibed,  for  the       'e 
»  80  swift  even  af^  ';ommon  deer. 
To  this  account  we  may  add  that,  ■  hould 
the  chetah  n        his  aim,  he  desists  from 
further  pursuit,  and  slinks      ack  to   his 
master,  who  replaces  the  hood,  and  re- 
serves him  for  another  chance.     When  he 
is  successfal,  the  ferocity  of  his  nature  at 
once  i\H\>  .ys  itself,  so  that,  to  reniver  the 
prey,  the  keeper  is  obliged  to  be  ex      me- 
ly  cautious,  enticing  him  with  meat  c  .  ried 
HF  c;:.  .tah  is  a  na-    for  that  purpose. 

tivo  of  India,  where  i  The  chetai:  (felisjnhata)  belonirs  to  the 
it  is  trained  for  the  I  typic.--l  genus  (Jelis)  of  the  "can  -osiers 
chase  ;  and  also  of  j  of  Onvier,  though  in  one  point  it  ffers  a 
'.;ght  departure  of  form  nom  t!  ffr'>">P 
'  vh  which  it  is  associate  ,  we  all  sde  to 
!  semi-retractih'  mdition  of  the  tlons. 
we  exaoiine  th  talons  of  the  ''on  or 
I,  er,  we  find  thet'  -apable  f  b>  ug  with- 
drawn into  a  sheai  so  that  unless  when 
brought  into  action  mey  are  comple'ely 
hidden.  This  retractabil  'y  results  from 
the  mechanism  of  the  joint  uniting  the 


CHETAH,  ..U  HINTING 
LEOPARD. 


Africa.  It  is  as  large, , 
or  nearly  so,  the  ' 
leopard,  but  is  le 
rior  in  height,  m 
to  the  length  of  its  limbs,  whiou  ar« 
slender  and  tapering  ;  its  body  also  is  less 
robust.  The  fur  is  more  than  moderately 
full,  and  of  n  yellowish  fawn-color,  beauti- 
fully coveref^  with  round  black  spots  ;  and 


ibis  color  passes  from 
the  eye  to  the  mouth, 
lie  runs  down  the  back 
)  forehead  and  outliii'i 
nnvpx  ;  the  eye  is  very 
pressive. 

ursing  with  the  chetah 
:  ihoy  are  led  out  in 
8  over  their  eyes,  and 
out  in  carts  ;  and  when 
r  deer   are   seen  on    a 

■  them  be  separated  from 
h's  head  is  brought  to 
<  are  removed,  and  the 
le  immediately  crouches 

with    his  belly  almost 
id,  until  he  gets  within 

■  the  deer,  who,  although 
ach,  appears  so  fascina- 
m  attempts  to  run  away, 
makes  a    -  w   surprising 
IS  him  by  th<    neck.     If 
ar  each  other,  hey  ofien 
;    their   number    giving 
»nd  preventing  their  feel- 
of  that  fascination  which 
iToducea  a  sort  of  panic, 
ivest  him  of  the  power, 
in,  to  n   I   ..■  ly  or  make 
IS  clear  that   they  must 
)in  by  stealth,  or  in  the 
I  desc  ibed,  for  thi-       'e 

as  common  deer, 
t  we  may  add  that,  •  houlil 
hia  aim,  he  desists  from 
and  slinks  ark  to  his 
ilaces  the  hood,  and  re- 
oiher  chance.  When  he 
5  ferocity  of  his  nature  at 
elf,  so  that,  to  recover  the 

is  obliged  to  be  ex      mo- 
ing  him  with  meat  c  ,  ried 

felisjiihata)  belonffs  to  the 
~elis)  of  the  "  can    ssiers" 
gh  in  one  point  it    ffers  a 
!  of  form   irom  t' 
I  associate    ,  we  al 
i!       iiidition  of  thti 

tl      talons  of  th<' 
leii    -apable    f  bt  .  _ 
heat     so  that  unless  when 
nion    uiey  are  compie'ely 

retractabii  'y  results  from 
I  of  the  joint  uniting  the 


lo  to 
Jons, 
on  or 

with- 


^ 


» 


*m 


1008 


THE  8CIBNCE  OF  THR  8CRin'JKK9. 


I  isl  phnlHngHl  l.one  to  ih«  one  which  l>re- 
c,.Je«  it.  so  that  ih«  former  Imno  which 
is  ....rtially  enc.nedin  the  talon  or  hooked 

nH.l,  is  u1Iow.m1  to  pn«  hy  the  inner  side 
..I  its  prech-ccHsor.     The  retraction  is  in- 


observation  or  erroneous  views  of  inan, 
not  from  any  miHsintoinent  or  inaccuTacy 
in  the  sacred  record. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  scriptttres  con- 
tain the  germ  of  all  true  phiUwophy. 
Most  certain  it  is  that  science  has  grown 


ul    113    iiii.tii  «  -  ■■■' ,.  Mn«t  certain  U  is  nm*  oticiivu    ••i."    n 

voluntarily  effected  by  a  ''»'«'"»'' ^""''^M  ™X  flourished     almost    exclusively 
which  acts  as  a  sort  of  spring,  and  by  tt^e  ^.^^^^^^      ^^.^^^  ^^  mankind  to 


naiural  action  of  the  extensor  muscles  of 
the  fore-arm  operating  by  -  ms  of  tendons 
„„  ihe  bone,  to  which  u.cso  formulab  e 
engines  are  attached.  Now,  in  the  cholah, 
the  lal.ms  are  al  best  but  pariinlly  retractile 
from  the  laxity  of  the  li|,™"'^  ""i^"": 


among  thai  favored  portion  of  mankind  o 
whom  the  sacred  writings  have  been  made 
known.  These  ennobling  truths  have  ex- 
punded  the  mind,  sub-lucd  the  crude  and 
roaming  intellect,  nnd  directed  the  judg- 
ment  to  views  both  of  physical  and  moral 


,ru...  io«  .u-v -  -  n  .  ,,„  .'   1  at    nature,  which  have  been  conducive  in  tho 

scquenily,  are  more  worn  and  bU  "tea  at  ^  ^^  ^^^  progress  of  civihza- 

Ihe  pointH    ban  is  the  case  in  the   lion,  |     h  s 


tiger,  or  p.aiher ;  besides  this,  the  paw  is 
less  rounded  and  cat-like,  and,  in  fact, 
more  approaching  that  of  the  dog  m  its 
ceneral  lorm  than  is  to  be  found  in  any 
other  of  the  genus.  In  anatomical  con- 
formation, however,  as  well  as  in  disposi- 
tion, the  chelah  is  strictly  feline. 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  THE  SCRIPTURES. 


tion. 

Though  the  sacred  writers  on  no  occa- 
sion professedly  treat  of  natural  science, 
yet  we  find  many  allusions  to  the  opera- 
tions of  nature  scattered  through  their 
pages.  Much  of  the  beautiful  imagery  .| 
scripture,  loo,  is  drawn  from  natural  ob- 
ieclB— the  flowers  of  the  field,  the  birds 
of  the  air,  and  the  beasts  of  the  forest,  are 
all  employed  to  illustrate  and  exalt  the 
ways  of  Providence  with  man.  What  a 
treasure  would  be  found  could  we  recover 
this  day  the  lost  treatises  of  Solomon 


HRN  we  consider  I  on  all  these  subjects  ! 


that  the  sacred  wri 
tings  are   specially 
devoted  to  the  mor- 
al and  spiritual  con- 
cerns  of   mankind, 
we  are  not  to  look 
into  them  for  scien- 
tific     disquisitions, 
much  less  for  the  explanation  of  many  of 
those  deep  mysteries— those  ultimate  cau- 
ses,  which  8«-.em  beyond  the  grasp  of  the 
human    intellect,  and  were  evidently  iti- 
tended  to  be  for  ever  hid  from  man  in  his 
sublunary  condition.     At  the  sarne  time, 
considering  the  highauthority  of  the  scrip- 
tures, when   they  do  casually  allude   to 
physical  phenomena,  we  naturally  expect 
that  no  statements  at  variance  with  phys- 
ical science  shall  be  given.     Accordingly, 
we 


Many  illustrations  might  be  given  of  the 
accuracy  of  scientific  allusions  found  in 
scripture  ;  we  shall  select  a  few. 

Solomon  says  (Ecclesia?    s,  i.  7),  "  All 
the  rivers  run  into  the  sea  i  yet  the  sea  is 
not  full :  into  the  place  from  whence  the 
rivers  come,  thither  they  return  again. 
This  is  just  the  modern  explanation  of  atmo- 
spheric evaporation.     Clouds  of  moisture 
rise  from  the  ocean,  float  about  in  the  at- 
mosphere, descend  in  rain,  and,  collecting 
into  rivers,  this  moisture,  after  ministering 
to  plants  and  animals,  flows  again  into  the 
I  sea.     From  the  expression,  "  there  ariseth 
a  little  cloud  out  of  the  sea"  (1  Kings, 
xviii.  43),  and  various  other  similar  allu- 
sions, it  is  perfectly  evidtiil  that  tho  sa- 
cred writers  were  familiar  with  atmospher- 
ic evaporation.     Yet,  at  a  comparatively 


science  shall  be  given.  A««™"  87.  '^  V'y;;^^  u  was  a  favorite  theory  ot 
we  find  that  the  language  of  «c"pture  is  |  «^°J«^"  PJj^^";-  ^J^^  ^^e  waters  of  the  ocean 
extremely  guarded-we  might  almos  say   «^f  ^^^'^ ''^^^^  ^he  sea  through 

most  wonderfully  precise  in  tins  parucur     ™^d« '^^^^^^^^  Pj  ^^^^^  .  ,„d  .^us  Al- 


and moreover,  where  there  may  appear  a 
discrepancy  between  its  statements  and 
the  phenomena  of  nature,  that  discrepan- 


the  porous  sand  and  rocks  ;  and  thus  fil 
tered,  lost  their  saline  particles,  and  then 
issued  as  springs  of  fresh  water  from  the 


:%lrrsr::rrr.hrsd.=»i^ ^..^ .lae,.  A„d .>.. ... 


oneoui  Titwi  of  man, 
aioment  or  inacturacy 

rd. 

ibat  the  scriptures  con- 
■  all  true  philosophy, 
that  science  has  grown 
sil  almost  exclusively 
(1  portion  of  mankind  to 
writin);s  have  been  made 
nnobling  truths  have  ex- 
suhiluod  tht  crude  and 
,  and  directed  the  judg- 
ih  of  physical  and  mural 
re  been  conducive  in  tho 

the  progress  of  civiliza- 

cred  writers  on  no  occa- 
ireat  of  natural  Hcience, 
y  allusions  to  the  opera- 
scattered    through    their 
r  the  beautiful  imagerv   .1 
drawn  from  natural  ob- 
rs  of   the  field,  the  binh 
le  beasts  of  the  forest,  are 
illuiiraie  and  exalt  the 
nee  with  man.     What  a 
)e  found  could  we  recover 
lost  treatises  of  Solomon 
jects ! 

lions  might  be  given  of  the 
lentific  allusions  found  in 
ihuU  select  a  few. 
I  (Ecclesiasi  s,  i.  7),  "AH 
iilo  the  sea  ;  yet  the  sea  is 
le  place  from  whence  the 
lither  they  return  again." 
nodern  explanation  of  atmo- 
iiion.     Clouds  of  moisture 
cean,  float  about  in  the  atr 
iend  in  rain,  and,  collecting 
I  moisture,  after  ministering 
nimals,  flows  again  into  the 
s expression,  "there  ariseih 
out  of   the  sea"  (1   Kings, 
various  other  similar  allu- 
rfeclly  evid«jiit  that  the  sa- 
ere  familiar  with  atmospher- 
,.     Yet,  at  a  cc  .iparaiively 
,  it  was  a  favorite  theory  of 
,  that  the  waters  of  the  ocean 
ly  up  from  the  sea  through 
id  and  rocks ;  and  thus  fil- 
ir  saline  particles,  and  then 
ngs  of  fresh  water  from  the 
a  and  sides.     And  this  eX' 


THK  «JCIKNCE  OF  TIIK  SCIUI'TURKS. 


1 00'.) 


:J 


nlanalion  was  made  to  harmoniie  with  lh« 
words  of  Solomon  just  quoted.     Nothing 
could  be  more  incorrect  than  ihi.explana- 
,i„„,  both  in  a  chymical  and  mechanical 
acceptation.     Unchymical.    ecau.e  no  fiU 
tration  will  deprive  watei     .f  salts  dis- 
solved  in  it  by  a  chymical  ao.  Jtion-unme- 
chanicul,  because  no  fluids,  even  suppo- 
sing  a  capillary  attraction,   will    rise   in 
such  quantities,  or  to  such  heights,  con- 
trary to  the  known  laws  of  hydrostatics. 
When  clearer  views  of  tho  laws  of  evapo- 
lion  revealed  the  falsity  of  this  theory,  the 
error  was  extended  to  Solomon  also,  al- 
though  it    is    evident  that   his  statement 
i  acr*  "»  both  with  the  actual  process  of  na- 
tiire,  as  well  as  with  the  latest  and  more 
correct  exposition  of  this  process. 

It  is  not  a  little  remarkable  to  observe, 
that  Moses,  in  his  detail  of  the  animal  cre- 
ation, follows  exactly  the  modem  zoologi- 
cal arrangement— that  is,  he  begins  with 
the  formation  of  the  simplest  animals,  and 
ascends  in  the  scale  according  to  the  com- 
nlexity  of  the  higher  structures.     Now,  it 
is  evident  that  Moses  did  not  in  this  in- 
stance   adopt    any   cotemporary   systmn 
of  zoology,  because   the   system  of  the 
Egvpiian  priests,  as  far  as  we  learn  from 
Pythagoras    and    Aristotle,  who    gleaned 
part  of  their  information  from  them,  was 
by  no  means  so  scientific.     From  Aristotle 
downward,  a  very  incomplete  arrangement 
of  tho  animal  kingdom  prevailed ;  and,  in 
fact,  it  was  not  rill  the  time  of  Cuvier,  in 
the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  that 
anything  like  a  correct  arrangement  ol  an- 
imal   beings    was    accomplished.       Alter 
lone  and  laborious   researches   made  by 
this  great  naturalist  and  his  coadjutors  in- 
to the  minute  structure  and   comparative 
anatomy  of  animals,  a  system  was  Iramed, 
beginning   with  the  simplest  and  lowest 
forms  of  creeping  things,  and  ascending 
by  a  progressive  scale  to  the  most  perit    t 

animals.  .       .     ,       j  „„ 

Now,  supposing  an  uninspired  and  un- 
scientific person  in  the  time  of  Moses  to 
have  set  about  constructing  an  account  ot 
the  creation,  it  is  most  likely  that  he  would 
have  commenced  with  man  and  she  high- 
er animals,  and  gone  on  in  the  ■soending 
scale— a  system  which  was,  indeed,  fol 


The  spontaneous  production  ol  animals 
from  the  earth  or  soil  without  a  parent, 
and  the  equivocal  production  of  new  spe- 
cies from  the  bodicn  of  other  larger  ani- 
mals, were  also  drer  ms  of  the  pliilosoph.rs 
of  former  days,  and  are  indeed  to  some 
extent    prevalent  in    the    present    time. 
Yet   tho    distinct    succession    of   species 
from  parent  species,  is  an  express  state- 
ment of   the    scriptural    narrative—"  Lot 
every  plant  and  every  animal  brin<;  forth 
seed  after  its  kind."     The  minute  obser- 
vations of  tho  microscope  have,  by  pro- 
digiously   enlarging    the    field  of   vinion, 
shown  that  the  habits  of  even  tho  smallest 
animal  are  perfectly  in  accordance  with 
this  scriptural  statement. 

The    distinction    between    matter    and 
spirit    is    repeatedly    alluded    to    in   the 
sacred  writings.     The  organization  of  tho 
human  body  and    its  subsequent  endow- 
ment  with  life  is  also  unequivocally  slated. 
"  Tho  Lord  God  formed  man  of  ihe  dust 
of  the  ground,  and  breathed  into  his  nostrils 
the  breath  of  life,  and  man  became  a  living 
soul."     Theories  of  materialism  have  in 
all  ages   been  prevalent  in  opposition  to 
this  view  ;  yet  the  phenomena  of  life  can 
never  be  satisfactorily  explain  d  on  the 
supposition  that  it  is  the  result  of  matter 
alone.     Tho  physiologist  must  assume  a 
vital  force,  or  power,  or  principle  ;    the 
moralist  a  thinking  principle  or  mind. 
We  can  not  look  at  the  intelligent  eye 

we   can   not  contemplate    the   motions 

and  actions  of  even  the  simplest  animal 

without  being  conscious  ihat  there  is 

something  here  more  than  in  the  rocks 
and  stones,  and  the  inert  and  lilcless 
matter  around  us.  "  Who  knoweth  the 
spirit  of  man  that  goeth  upward,  and  the 
spirit  of  the  beasl  that  goeth  downward  to 
the  earth?"  (Ecclosiastes  iii.  21.)  "Or 
ever  the  silver  cord  be  loosed,  or  the 
golden  bowl  be  broken,  or  the  pitcher  be 
broken  at  the  fountain,  or  tho  wheel  broken 
at  the  cistern  :  then  shall  the  dust  return 
to  the  earth  as  it  was ;  and  the  spirit  shall 
return  mito  God  who  gave  it."  (Ecclesi- 
astes  xii.  6,  7.) 

When  a  seed  of  any  plant,  as  wheat  or 
barley,  is  put  into  the  ground  and  sub- 
jected to  the  action  of  heat,  moisture,  and 


;em  which  was,  indeed,  lol-  'Jf;^"="  I" '"Vi„be  or  cotyledon  immedi- 
lowedby  all  the  writers  on  animaU  pre-  , -J  tgtS:  to  atume  a  nJw  action.  The 
vious  to  the  discoveries  of  Luvier.  i »«'/      b 


mtrnm 


k&Mi 


1010 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  THE  SCRIPTURES. 


^f:B% 


Starchy  matter  of  which  the  great  bulk  of 
it   is   composed    undergoes   a    chymical 
change,  and  is  speedily  converted  into  a 
half-liquid  sugar ;  in  this  state  it  affords 
nourishment  to  the  young  and  minute  germ 
in  the  centre,  until  this  germ  pushes  out 
roots  into  the  surrounding  soil.     In  this 
respect  the  seed  may  be  said  to  die,  as  Us 
greater  part  passes    from   the  oiganized 
state  under  which  it  had  hitherto  resisted 
decay,  to  the  condition  of  inorganic  or 
dead  matter.     Any  one  may  satisfy  him- 
self of  this  by  pulling  up  a  plant  of  wheat 
or  barley  when  it  is  about  an  inch  above 
ground  ;  the  slough  of  the  seed  will  then 
be  found  attached  with  its  centre  collapsed, 
and  in  a  state  of  rottenness.     Hence  St. 
Paul's  comparison  of  the  resurrection  of 
the  body  to  the  germination  of  a  seed  is, 
in  all  that  is  necessary  for  such  analogies, 
scientifically  correct :  "  That  which  thou 
sowest  is  not  quickened  except  it  die 
(1   Corinthians  xv.  36.)      We  have  tne 
same  comparison  made  by  Christ  himself: 
"  Verily,  1  say  unto  you,  except  a  corn  of 
wheat   fall   into   the  ground   and  die,  it 
abidelh  alono  ;  but  if  it  die,  it  bnngeth 
forth  much  fruit."     (John  xii.  24.) 

By  some  flimsy  and  superficial  cavillers, 
these  have  been  instanced  as  cases  of  the 
little  dependence  to  be  placed  in  the  sci- 
entific accuracy  of  the  Scriptures.     Yet 
(he  speakers  on  these  occasions  were  al- 
luding  to  a  fact  which   was  within  the 
sphere   of  the   least  observant  of  their 
hearers ;    for  if  they  examined  a  young 
plant, "  it  may  chance  of  wheat  or  of  some 
other  grain,"  they  could  not  fail  to  see 
attached  to  the  green  budding  germ  the 
remnants  of  the  seed  in  a  state  of  rotten- 
ness and  decay.  ,.,,.. 
The  iacred  writers  frequently  illustrate 
their  precepts  by  allusions  to  the  scenery 
and  operations  of  nature.     None  are  more 
.    frequent  than  references  to  the  revolving 
I    seasons.      "Spring   time    and    harvest, 
breathe  of  cheering  hope  and  of  promises 
fulfilled.     Iw  "Palestine,  and  indeed  m  all 
the  warmer  regions  of  the  globe,  the  sea- 
sons differ  somewhat  in  their  sequences 
from   what   takes  place  in  this  country. 
Along  the  whole  southern  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean,  and   in   the    most   fertile 
parts  of  Asia,  including  Palestine,  in  con- 
sequence  of  the  early  spi.  ig,  the  grain 


crops,  as  well  as  other  fruits  of  the  earth, 
come  early  to  maturity,  so  that  harvest 
comes  on  and  is  finished  before  midsum- 
mer. Hence  that  scriptural  simile,  "  the 
harvest  is  past,  the  summer  is  ended,  and 
we  are  not  saved,"  is  strictly  correct  as  to 
the  sequence  of  the  respective  seasons, 
although  it  would  appear  an  inaccurate 
allocation  of  terms  as  applied  to  our  north- 
ern climates. 

The  scripture  language  is  very  guarded 
with  respect  to  all  physical  allusions  be- 
yond the  sphere  of  our  earth.     The  heaven- 
ly bodies — the  sun,  moon,  and  stars — are 
casually  alluded  to  as  objects  displaying 
the  majesty  of  the  Creator ;  but  astroni)my 
was  a  field  too  wide  and  too  remote  fiom 
tho  moral  wants  of  man  to  be  entered  into. 
Any  actual   information  regarding  these 
bodies,  would  perhaps  have  proved  of  too 
distracting  a  nature  for  his  present  limited 
sphere  to  be  of  any  use.     Wo  accordingly 
find,  that  when  any  allusion  is  made  to 
them,  it  is  simply  as  they  are  seen  by  us. 
Hence  the  sun  is  said  to  rise  and  set,  just 
in  such  language  as  is  used  at  the  present 
day  by  the  vulgar,  as  well  as  by  the  best 
informed   astronomers.     And   hence   the 
famed  persecution  of  Galileo  arose  from 
the  bigotry  of  the  age,  and  the  supremacy 
of  the  religion  to  which  he  belonged  ;  not 
to  anything  in  Scripture  in  the  slightest 
degree  opposed  to  astronomical  science. 

This  very  reserve  of  the  Scriptures  on 
all  delicate  points  is  an  internal  evidence, 
among  many  others,  of  their  authenticity 
and  high  authority.     They  are  as  remark- 
able for  what  they  withhold  as  ior  what 
they  i    part.     What  mere  mortal,  in  wri- 
ting even  on  the  most  sacred  subjects,  is 
not  fond  of  a  somewhat  over  display  of 
knowledge?     Perhaps  this  accurate  and 
guarded  language  of  scripture  in  all  that 
respects  secular  science,  can  not  bo  more 
forcibly  brought  out  than  by  contrasting  it 
with  the  writings  of  uninspired  theologians. 
We  need  only  allude  here  to  the  books 
called  Apocryphal  for  examples  of  what 
we  mean  ;  and  if  we  turn  to  the  pages  of 
the  early  fatliers  who  wrote  aficv  the  in- 
troduction of  Christianity,  we  s  .  11  fii»d 
that  whenever  these  uninspired  me.)  touch 
upon  science,  it  is  but  the  science  of  their 
own  day,  and  consequently  full  of  all  sorts 
of  errors  and  crudities. 


other  fruits  of  the  earth, 
naturity,  so  that  harvest 
iinishod  before  midsum- 
it  scriptural  simile,  "  the 
ihe  summer  is  ended,  and 
I,"  is  strictly  correct  as  to 
'  the  respective  seasons, 
lid  appear  an  inaccurate 
[)8  as  applied  to  our  north- 
language  is  very  guarded 
all  physical  allusions  be- 
sf  our  earth.  Theheaven- 
iun,  moon,  and  stars — are 
to  as  objects  displaying 
le  Creator ;  but  astronomy 
wide  and  too  remote  fiom 
I  of  man  to  be  entered  into, 
brmation  regarding  these 
lerhaps  have  proved  of  too 
ture  for  his  present  limited 
any  use.  Wo  accordingly 
n  any  allusion  is  made  to 
)ly  as  they  are  seen  by  us. 
is  said  to  rise  and  set,  just 
je  as  is  used  at  the  present 
>ar,  as  well  as  by  the  best 
inomers.  And  hence  the 
lion  of  Galileo  arose  from 
he  age,  and  the  supremacy 
to  which  he  belonged  ;  not 
Scripture  in  the  slightest 
1  to  astronomical  science, 
jserve  of  the  Scriptures  on 
ints  is  an  internal  evidence, 
)lhers,  of  their  authenticity 
)rity.  They  are  as  remark- 
they  withhold  as  for  what 
What  mere  mortal,  in  wri- 
he  most  sacred  subjects,  is 
somewhat  over  display  of 
Perhaps  this  accurate  and 
lage  of  scripture  in  all  that 
ar  science,  can  not  bo  more 
ht  out  than  by  contrasting  it 
gs  of  uninspired  theologians. 
y  allude  here  to  the  books 
rphal  for  examples  of  what ,, 
d  if  we  turn  to  the  pages  of  I 
Brs  who  wrote  aftcv  the  in-  J 
Christianity,  we  s  'H  find 
r  these  uninspired  me.i  touch 
it  is  but  the  scionca  of  their 
consequently  full  of  all  sorts 
crudities. 


FREEDOM  OF  THE  MIND.-BORDEAUX. 


101 


1 


After  these  examples  of  scriptural  ac- 
curacy, we  ought  surely  to  hesitate  ere 
we  give  way  to  skeptical  doubts  on  any 
adverse  propositions.     Such   is  the   im- 
perfection of  human  science,  that  every 
new  step  we  make  in  it  is  but  the  correc- 
tion of  an  old  error.     We  build  up  fabrics 
of  speculation  to-day,  which  the  facts  of 
to-morrow  level  with  the  dust ;  whereas, 
the  dicta  of  scripture  are  the  results  of 
infinite  wisdom,  and  are  founded  on  the 
adamantine  rock  of  ages. 

Far  be  it  from  us,  however,  to  seem  to 
damp  the  energies  of  scientific  pursuit,  or 
to  cast  the  slig'^test  shade  on  the  beauty 
and  utility  of  true  science.  The  more 
perfect  that  it  becomes,  the  nearer  will  it 
resemble  that  Divine  Wisdom  which  at 
first  framed  and  continually  upholds  the 
material  universe. 


FREEDOM  OF  THE  MIND. 


When  the  mind  once  tries  its  strength, 
it  can  no  longer  be  restrained.     The  at- 
tempts to  keep  it  down  have  served  only 
to  render  it,  in  most  cases,  from  its  native 
elasticitv,  the   more   impatient  of  these 
restrictions.     The  civil  arm  has  often  been 
exerted  to  establish  the  supremacy  of  some 
one   sect,  which,   in   the   struggles   atid 
revolutions  of  society,  has  happened  to  be 
uppermost.     It  has  put  forth  the  power  of 
the  laws.     It  has  tested  the  efficacy  of 
pecuniary  penalties.     It  has  seen  what  im- 
prisonment and  torture  would  do.     It  has 
kindled  the  flames  of  persecution;  and  has 
tried  the  effect  of  fire  upon  the  flesh,  by  way 
of  correcting  the  irregularities  of  the  mind. 
Every  method  which  human  ingenuity  or 
refined   cruelty   could   devise,   has   been 
attempted  to  restrain  the  inquiry  of  men  ; 
or  rather  to  bring  them  to  a  conformity  to 
the  predominant  standard  of  religious  doc- 
trine. .        .        _^,.  ,    ., 

But  it  has  all  been  in  vain.  With  the 
attempt  to  produce  uniformity  or  conform- 
ity of  faith  or  worship,  dissent  and  diver- 
sity of  opinion  have  increased.  Some- 
times such  attempts  have  pp-'ially  suc- 
ceeded for  a  time,  but  the  reaction  in  the 
eud  has  always  been  proportioned  to  such 


success.    The  human  mind  naturally  re- 
sists compulsion. 

Men  in  general  prefer  to  go  wrong  of 
their  own  accord,  rather  than  be  compelled 
to  go  any  way  at  the  will  of  another,  who 
they  know  has  no  rightful  authority  over 
them.     When  you  attempt  to  fcrce  men 
to  believe  a  doctrine  or  rite,  which  does 
not  approve  itself  to  their  own  jiidgment 
or  knowledge,  you  immediately  invito  them 
to  inquire  into  the  authority  of  the  one,  or 
the  reasonableness  of  the  other  ;  and  in- 
quiry under  such  circumstances  commonly 
leads  to  doubt,  and  doubt  often  leads  to 
dissent.     If  encroachment  and  intolerance 
have  led  to  dissent,  these  in  their  turn  have 
often  prompted  to  further  encroachments 
and  multiplied  restraints  on  the  freedom 
of  inquiry. 

But  all  would  not  do.  The  thoughts 
of  men  will  be  free.  You  can  place  no 
restrictions  on  their  inquiries,  which  the 
mind  will  not  sooner  or  later  break  through 
or  transcend.  As  it  is  said  of  an  eminent 
artisan,  that  as  yet  he  nac  found  no  vessel 
strong  enough  to  contain  the  powerful 
steam  which  his  ingenuity  has  taught  him 
the  means  of  generating,  still  more  may 
it  be  said  of  the  action  of  the  human  mind, 
that  it  possesses  in  itself  an  expansive 
force,  which,  when  excited,  will  surmount 
every  artificial  barrier. 


BORDEAUX. 

ORDEAUX  is  one 
of    the   largest    and 
most  beauliiul  cities 
of  France.    Many  of 
the  streets,  squares, 
quays,  public  build- 
ings,    and      private 
%  houses,  of  Bordeaux, 
are  remarkably  fine, 
and  even  magnificent,  while  they  derive 
additional  splendor  from  the  striking  view 
which  they  present  from  the  river.     The 
stone  bridge  over  the  Garon..e  is  one  of 
the  finest  works  of  the  kind  on  the  conti- 
nent, and  is  531  yards  in  length,  or  one 
third  longer  than  London  bridge.     It  has 
seventeen  arches,  the  seven  central  arches 


TIAHGAIN-HUNTERS. 


1013 


having  each  a  span  of  ..c-hiy-seven  fee  . 
the  l>rea.liU  belweu  the  parupels  is  ht  y 
fe..t  anil  iho  roadway  is  nearly  level.  1  rie 
ditnoullies  attending  the  «^«f "'!  "  ,  |^\'^ 
hrid.^e  was  very  great,  owing  to  the  depth 
of  the  river,  which  in  one  part  is  tweniy- 
1  feet  at  low.water.  with  a  nsu,g  «de 

of  from  twelve   to  eighieen  feet,  and  a 
curre,.t  which  often  Hows  with  the  velocity  , 
of  seven  miles  an  hour;  a.iu  to  add  t 
these   obstacles,  there  .8   a   shifting   at^d 
sandy  bottom.     The  bridge  v^as  begun  in 
18U,  and  finished  in  1824. 

Several  of  the  finest  streets  are  lined 
with  trees,  and  form  a  fine  P^me'.ado 
Thus  the  Cours  d'Albret  is  nearly  half  a 
mile  long,  and  the  Cours  du  'IN.urny  and 
1  Jardin  Public  for.n  together  a  line 
three  quarters  of  a  tnile  m  length  lie 
principal  square  is  the  Place  Louis  Phil- 
llpe  Premier,  formerly  Place  Louis  Seize 
each  side  of  which  is  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
long.     At  one  end  it  is  open  to  the  river  , 

on^the  other  it  is  "«TW^'i  J  is 
Douze  Mars,  beyond  which  the  place    s 
enclosed  by  a  range  of  houses  in  the  torm 
of  a  crescent.     On  the  sides  plots  of  con- 
siderable size  are  planted  wUh  trees,  form- 
ing  the  Alices  Angouleme  and  de  Berri 
There  are   several  other  fine  8q""««  ^-^ 
..  places."  and  a  public  garden.      I  he  ex- 
change  and   the  <=»«»«7house.  both    fine 
edifices,   form   two   sides   of    t^e   Pbc« , 
Uovale      The  quays   stretch  to  a  great 
Eh  along  the  river,  and  have  an  ap- 

nearance  at  once  interesting  and  imposing 
Thepublicbondiug-warehousesforcolonial 

and  other  merchandise  and  produce  are 
Remarkable  for  their  extent  and  beauty. 
The  principal  theatre  for  size  and  mag- 
nificeSce  isScarcely  exceeded  by  any  m 
Europe.  Neither  the  cathedral  nor  the 
ri6  el  de  ViUe  are  marked  by  any  very 
sinking  features.  Bordeaux  ?0Bfe^^^^\ 
the  public  establishments  of  a  city  of  tke 

^''%tT.re  a  mint,  an  observatory,  an! 
acadcmie  universiUiire,  a  ^oll^ge  royal 
schools  of  "chit^oture.  hydrography  and 
navigation,  botany  and  natural  history, 
drawinyr  and  painting,  medicine  and  sur- 
g"r  severaUearned  societies  a  public 
library.museumof  antiquities.and  a  gallery 

"'Ce'aKu  the  chief  ouaet  of  the  south- 


western and  even  of  the  southern  and  mid- 
land  parts   of    France,     lis   silualion  on 
the  Garonne,  not  far  from  the  estuary  ot 
the   Gironde.  which  receives  the   waters 
both  of  the  Garonne  and  the  Uor.logne, 
gives  to  Bordeaux  the  advjuitag?.  of  nearly 
one   thousand  miles  of  river   naviaaiion 
The  Canal  du  Midi,  154  miles  long,  con- 
nects the  Garonne  with  the  Mediterranean. 
Bordeaux  has  always  been  celebrated  for 
its  wines,  which  forms  '.he  staple  article 
of  commerce. 


BARGAIN-HUNTERS. 

HERF  is  a  large 
class  v\  persons  who 
are  so  inveterately 
prone  tobargain-hunt- 
ing.  that  they  jldorn 
or  never  purchase 
anything  of  an  abale- 
,  ^  able     natme     which 

ihev  do  not  cheapen  as  much  as  possible. 
Thfs  h"bit  is  not  so  much  attributable  to 
any  lack  of  means  in  the  buyers,  as  to  a 
childish   love   of   obtaining    a    maximum 
nuan  ity  at  a  minimum  va'ne.  which  af- 
?ord    them  the  additional  gi-ification  o 
boastinK  afterward  of  their  bargains,  and 
comSenting  themselves  on  their  own 
'  Swdness.  Vithsuch  persons  the  pur- 
Sasc  of  .ixpennyworth  of  oranges  is  a 
oagcily   seized   to   gratify    their    av  ntt 
p  Spensity  as  the  order  for  a  set  of  pi       , 
and  wo  have   known   instances  of  u.di- 
vi'n,  possessed  of  ample  pecuniary  re- 
1   ou"c«.  so  confirmed  in  this  habu^as  to 
wander  In  anxious  uncertainty  from  stall 
'  To  ital    before  they  could  decide  the  mo-  , 
mentous  question  as   to  which  was  the 
most  eligible  per-nyworlh  of  apples. 

This  habit^f  bargain-huiUitig,  while 
W9  laugh  at  it  for  its  folly,  d^erves  to  be 
renounced  for  its  mischief.  It  holds  out 
ia  Jremium  to  unfair  trading,  to  trickeiy 
I  and  lying  :  it  is  a  cruel  oppression  of  him 
who  buys  upon  him  who  sells,  and  power- 
1  Tuny  as^sists'n  lowering  the  hard-earned 
'  wages  of  the  poor  mechanic.  The  manu- 
iFacfurer  s  compelled,  ii.  order  to  gra  i  y 
I  the  morbid  love  of  cheapness,  to  produce 


MiLiiti '  niriiMMiinnmiiwr- 


1014 


BARGAIN-HUNTERS. 


goods   of  the   most   trashy   and   useless 
description,  and  to  reduce  the  wages  of 
those  whom  he  employs  to  the  lowest  frac- 
tion.    The  shopkeeper,  in  order  to  secure 
this  description  of  customers,  is  forced  to 
adulterate  his  articles  ;  to  profess  them  to 
be  what  he  knows  they  are  not ;    to  exert 
himself,  by  short  weight,  lying  puffs,  in- 
ferior substitutions,  and  a  thousand  un- 
worthy artifices,  to  keep  on  a  fair  equality 
with  his   neighbors.     No  sooner  does  a 
new  shop  open,  the  owner  of  which  pro- 
fesses to  sell  cheaper  than  usual,  than  he 
is  patronised  by  the   bargain-hunters,  to 
the  great  injury  and  often  ruin  of  his  more 
conscientious,  competitors.     Whether   he 
himself  ever  intend  to  pay  for  his  stock  is 
not  inquired  into ;  whether  he  intend  to 
pursue  an  honest  and  honorable  'lourse  is 
held  to  be  no  business  of  the  customers  : 
he    sells    cheapest,  and    this  supersedes 
every  other  consideration.     The    conse- 
quence   too   often    is,   that   the    bargain- 
offering  tradesman,  after  having  injured 
many  a  respectable    shopkeeper   aroiind 
him,  suddenly  decamps  at  the  expiration 
of  a  lew  moiuhs,  and  the  secret  of  his 
bargains  is  at  length  apparent;   namely, 
that  never  having  intended  to  pay  for  the 
goods  himself,  any  receipt  must  be  a  clear 
gain  to  him,  and  he  could  thus  afford  to 
sell  at  prices  which  must  be  ruinous  to 
the  upright  dealer. 

This  cheapening  mania  exercises  also, 
a  most  pernicious  influence  in  producing 
distrust,   duphcity,  and     nmanly  feeling, 
between  seller  and  buyer.     The    seller, , 
sharpened  by  past  experience,  is  m  sell-  ^ 
defence  compelled,  in  order  to  obtain  a  j 
remunerating  profit,  tr  ask  more  than  the 
real  value  of  the  art:  "■  .  in  order  to  leave 
room  for  the  abate...  .>..  which  he  expects 
as  a  matter  of  course   to   follow.     The 
offer  by  the  buyer  of  less  than  is  asked  is 
really  an  insult,  for   it   virtually  implies 
that  the  seller  is  either  a  fool  or  a  rogue  , 
_a  fool  to  take  so  little,  or  a  rogue  to  ask 
so  much  ;  and  thus  the  straight-forward 
honesty  and  integrity  which  should  char- 
acterize  dei.:ing8   in  the  market  or  the 
shop,  as  much  as  anywhere  else,  is  set 
aside,  and  seller  and  buyer  meet  together 
with  a  feeling  that  confidence  and  honor 
are  out  of  place  there,  and  that  cunning 
and  overreaching  are  among  the  recognised 


moralities  of  trade.     The  seller,  while  he 
introduces  the  article  tohis  customer,  fuels 
a  conviction  that  unless  he  adds  an  untruth 
to  the  specification  of  tho  price,  unless  an 
assertion  is  made  or   a   warranty   given 
which  it  would  be  absurd  to  believe,  die 
article  will  be  rejected,  and  the  hesitaiint; 
customer  will  not  purchase  it,  but  p;itroiiise 
some   other   less    scrupulous    tradesman. 
The  bargain-hunter,  on  his  side,  turns  the 
article  over  in  a  contemptuous   manner, 
exerts  his  ingenuity  to  find  some  fault  in 
it  which  shall  afford  a  pretext  for  a  lower 
offer,  and  having  found  a  real  or  an  im- 
aginary one,  bids  something  below  what 
he  often  must  know  is  its  real  value.     The 
poor  tradesman  wants  ready  money,  the 
article  really  cost  him  more,  he  knows  of 
other  shops  where  it  may  be  had  at  that 
price,  and,  with  a  sickening  heart  and  an 
inward  condemnation  of  the  selfishness 
of  man,   he  accepts   the   offer,  and    the 
purchaser  departs  with  his  bargain.     But, 
strange  metamorphosis,  the  article  so  re- 
cently pronounced  almost  worthless,  the 
purchaser   now    boasts    oi    as    excellent, 
worth  double  the  money,  and  delights  to 
hear  his  friends  innocently  express  their 
surprise  how  it  could  possibly  have  been 
made    for   the  price.      Such  a  mode  of 
dealing  is  unmanly,  unKenerous,  and  un- 
just, and  requireT  but  to  be  candidly  con- 
sid'^red  to  be  denounced  by  all  who  think 
and  feel  rightly. 

The  influence  of  this  pernicious  system 
upon  the  laboring  part  of  the  community 
is  cruel  and  disastrous.     We   sec  eviuy 
few  days  deplorable  accounts  of  women 
who  are  compelled  to  sew  for  the  merest 
pittance,  and  the  shopkeepers  are  denoun- 
ced for  their  cruelty.     But  the  blame,  we 
are  persuaded,  lies  less  with  the  imme- 
diate than  the  remc'tf  employers.     The 
public,  which  vents  its  anger  on  the  sliop- 
keeper,  is  the  real  transgressor ;   for  the 
dealer  merely  obeys  the  popular  demand. 
Pressed  upon  by  the  insane  cry  for  low- 
priced  articles,  as  well  as  by  a  general 
competition,  the  manufacturer  and  shop- 
keeper, if  they  would  do  business  at  all, 
must  reduce  their  expenses  to  the  lowest 
point  in  order  to  obtain  auy  profit,  and  to 
this  end  a.e  compelled  to  wring  from  theii 
workpeople  the  utmost  amount  of  wtrk 
for  the  least  possible  remuneration.     U'l- 


'MX 


e.     The  seller,  wliiie  lie 
licletohis  customer,  feels 
unless  he  adds  an  uniruih 
m  of  tho  price,  unless  an 
le  or   a    warranty   given 
3e  absurd  to  believe,  ihe 
jected,  and  the  hesii;itint: 
,  purchase  it,  but  p-.itronise 
i    scrupulous    tradesman, 
ler,  on  his  side,  turns  the 
a  contemptuous   manner, 
iiity  to  find  some  fault  in 
lord  a  pretext  for  a  lower 
y  found  a  real  or  an  im- 
s  something  below  what 
ow  is  its  real  value.     The 
wants  ready  money,  the 
St  him  more,  he  knows  of 
(re  it  may  be  had  at  that 
a  sickening  heart  and  an 
nation  of  the  selfishness 
cepls   the   offer,  and    the 
ts  with  his  bargain.     But, 
rphosia,  the  article  so  rc- 
;ed   almost  worthless,  the 
boasts    01    as   excellent, 
le  money,  and  delights  to 
s  innocently  express  their 
could  possibly  have  been 
price.      Such  a   mode  of 
lanly,  unj^enerous,  and  un- 
PT  but  to  l)e  candidly  con- 
anounced  by  all  who  think 


I 


6  of  this  pernicious  system 
ng  part  of  the  community 
isasirous.     We   see  eviuy 
orable  accounts  of  women 
slled  to  sew  for  the  merest 
le  shopkriepers  are  ilenoun- 
•ueity.     But  the  blame,  we 
lies  less  with  the  inune- 
I  remc'd  employers.     The 
^ents  its  anger  on  the  shop- 
real  travnsgressor ;   for  the 
obeys  the  popular  demand, 
by  the  insane  cry  for  low- 
,  as  well  as  by  a  general 
tie  manufacturer  and  shop- 
V  would  do  business  at  all, 
iieir  expenses  to  the  lowest 
lo  obtain  auy  profit,  and  to 
)mpelled  to  wring  from  iheii 
le  utmost  amount  of  wtrk 
lossible  remuneration.     Uti- 


A  HABIT  OF  OBSEKVATION. 


1015 


reasonably  protracted  hours  are  resorted 
to,  toil  is  not  allowed  to  cease  with  tho 
day,  the  labor  of  the  woman  is  introduced 
to  supersede  that  of  the  man,  and  that  of 
the  child  to  supersede  both,  education  is 
necessarily  neglected,  deformity  produced, 
stimulants  resorted  to,  vicious  habits  form- 
ed, and  squalor  and  disease  are  induced  ; 
and  all  this  too  often  that  the  purchaser 
may    procure  an    article    at   a    fractional 
abatement.     The  occasional  subscription 
and  the  cold  donation  of  charily  are  but 
a  poor  reparation  for  depriving  the  work- 
man of  his  honest  earnings,  and  the  manly 
independence  of  pocket  and  of  characte' 
which  it  is  so  desirable  he  should  possess. 
It  is  true  that  the  payment  of  lair  prices 
by  the  buyer  will  not  always  secure  fair 
remuneration    to   the   operative,    but   the 
habit  of  cheapening  must  have  a  tendency 
to  lower  wages  and  itulict  misery  on  the 
producers.  I 

The    pernicious    practice   of    bargain-  ; 
hunting  is  by  no  means  confined  to  the  I 
rougher  sex.     It  is  lo   be  lamented  that 
the  practice  is  far  too  common  among  that 
sex  whose  kindness  of  heart  and  sensibility 
need  no  eulogy,  and  whose   propensity  in 
this  respect  we  can  attribute  to  no  other 
source  than  thoughtlessness.     It  is  per- 
haps also  partly  to  be  accounted  for  by  the 
fact,    that    females    generally   have    less 
money  at  command  than  men,  and  there- 
fore when  they  spend  it  are  perhaps  some- 
what more  unreasonable  in  their  exchan- 
ging expectations.     A  little  thought  as  to 
the  amount  of  misery  to  others  which  must 
result  from  the  gratification  of  this  pro- 
pensity, would  surely  be  sufficient  to  con- 
vince them  of  its  unreasonableness  and 
inhumanity.     Little  do  ladies  think,  while 
they  aiB  cheapening  the  thread  and  the 
tape,  or  the  shavls,  or  the  linens,  they 
purchase,  how  much  poverty  and  misery 
they  are  assisting  to  entail  on  the  sickly 
operative  who  makes  them,  and  how  much 
of  the  ignorance  and  V;M<uiion  and  vice, 
the  bare  mention  o!  Hi;-.',  shocks  their 
sensibilities,  is  traceable   to  this  baneful 
practice. 

The  habit  we  have  denounced  is  also 
very  fallaciouj  in  a  pecuniary  point  of 
view.  The  roost  shrewd  and  practised 
cheapener  is  often  deceived,  and  finds, 
after  he  has  secured  the  bargain,  that,  to 


use  the  common  phrase,  "  it  is  too  cheap 
to  be  good,"  or  that  he  did  not  really  want 
it,  and  therefore  it  was  dear  at  any  price. 
He   discovers  too  late  that  what  he  has 
bought  was  made  to  be  looked  at  rather 
than  used,  to  deceive  rather  than  satisfy, 
and  that  the  little  he  gave  for  it  was  far 
too  much  for  such  an  article,  as  it  was 
really  worth  nothing.    The  cheapest  things 
may  be  very  dear,  and  the  dearest  very 
cheap,  and  good  articles  can  not  reason- 
ably be  expected  at  any  other  than  fair 
prices.     Independently   therefore   of  the 
injury  which  the  habit  of  cheapening  in- 
flicts upon  ihe  workman,  it  is  deceptive 
and  unprofitable  even    to    the   purchaser. 
The  prices  of  shopkeepers  are  certainly 
not  p.lways  to  be  paid  without  demur,  for 
this  would  be  to  hold  out  a  premium  to 
imposition  and  extortion,  but  there  should 
be    considerateness   on    the   part  of  tho 
purchaser  as  to  what  ought  to  be  the  fair 
price  of  such  an  article.     To  deal  as  much 
as  possible  with  tradesmen  who  are  known 
for  their  integrity  and  uprightness,  with- 
out being  seduced   by  every  unprincipled 
adventurer  who  professes  to  be  "  selling 
ofl"  under  prime  cost,"  and  closing  business 
at  a  "tremendous  sacrifice,"  will  be  found 
in  the  long-run  not  only  the  truest  econo- 
my, and  the  most  satisfactory  to  the  pur- 
chaser, but  also  the  most  advantageous  to 
the  wellbeing  of  society  and  the  general 
interests  of  honesty  and  honor. 


A  HABIT   OF  OBSERVATION. 

The  means  of  exciting  thought  and  re- 
flection are  not  confined  to  books.     Nor 
is  intellectual   progress    confined   to  the 
study  of  books.     The  whole  world,  both 
of  nature  and  of  man,  is  full  of  instruction, 
and  if  studied,  it  will  not  oidy  ^ill  the  mind 
with  knowledge,  but  will  afford  that  in- 
tellectual  exercise    which    will   promote 
I  intellectual    development.      If   then    you 
have  formed  the  habit  of  observation,  you 
will  never  be  at  a  loss  for  employment  for 
youi'  thoughts.     Every  person  you  meet 
will,  in  the  peculiarity  of  character  pr«i- 
sented,   aflbrd    food    for   thought  ;    every 
event  of  providence,  and  every  object  of 
nature,  will  thus  be  the  means  of  intellec- 
tual development.     Bui  what  is  the  habit 


^% 


lOlG 


MARSEILLES. 


of  observation  ?     It  is  not  morely  the  look- 
inir  ai  thinuB.  but  the  habit  of  thinking  and 
reflocting  upon  what  you  see.     The  inan 
of  observation   is  not  the  man  who  has 
actually  seen    the    greatest  number   and 
erentesi  variety  of  objects  ;  he  is  the  man 
who  has  reflected  the  most  carefully  upon 
v.hat  he  has  seen,  and  in  this  way,  de- 
rived the  most  valuable  instruction  from 
them      What  we  would  have  you  seek  is 
the  habit  of  inquiry,  and  thought,  and  re- 
flection,  in  regard  to  every  object  that  may 
be  presented  to  your  notice,  seeking  the 
peculiarities,  inquiring  the  causes,  learmng 
the  efl'ects,  and  tracing  the  relations  and 
connexions    of  one  circumstance,  event, 
or  object,  with  another.     In  this  way  you 
will  be  constantly  making  improvement— 
your  it)lellectual  powers  will  be  constantly 
acquiring  new  strength  and  greater  free- 
dom  and  more  full  development.     Form, 
then,  the  habit  of  close,  accurate  observa- 
lion,  and  you  ^ill  bo  possessed  of  a  pow- 
erful instrument  for  intellectual  unprove- 

'"*Nay  more,  this  habit  will  have  a  further 
and  more  extensive  influence.     If  you  can 
employ  your  mind  in  thinking  about  the 
objects  you  have  seen,  you  can  also,  under 
the  influence  of  the  same  habit,  employ  it 
in  thinking  about  the  lectures  and  dis- 
courses which  you  have  heard.     And  who 
is  it  that  derives  the  greatest  profit  from 
what  he  hears  ?     Not  the  one  who  hears 
the  most  or  listens  with  the  deepest  in- 
terest at  the  time.     But  ho  who  thinks 
most  ca>    ully  of  what  he  has  heard  after 
he  has  I     le  hearing.     And  here  is  the 
point  where  many  fail,  and  the  reason  that 
they  do  not  derive  so  much  improvement 
as  they  might  otherwise  from  the  lectures 
and  discourses  which  they  hear.      They 
hear  with  interest  and  with  pleasure,  but 
when  they  have  done  '.tearing,  they  turn 
their  thoughts  to  other  things.     What  they 
have  heard  is  soon  gone  from  their  minds, 
and  no  distinct  and  lasting  impression  is 
left      But  if  they  would  think  over  what 
ihev  have  heard,  or  talk  it  over  with  their 
cornpanions,  or  write  out  an  abstract,  they 
would  make  it  more  entirely  their  own, 
they  would  gain  much  valuable  knowledge, 
which  they  now  let  slip,  and  they  would 
acquire  by  the  means   great  intellectual 
strength  and  development. 


MAllSEILLES. 

ARSEILLKS. 
the    great   sea- 
port of  France 
on    the    .Medi- 
terranean,  was 
founded         six 
centuries  bufore 
the      Chrisiinn 
era,  by  the  pi'ii- 
ple  of  Phocea,  a  Greek  colony  of  Asi-i 
Minor.     It   soon    flourished,  and   its   in- 
habitants formed  minor  settlements  on  the 
coasts  of  Gaul,  Spain,  and  Italy.     From 
its  earliest  infancy  Marseilles  has  been  an 
important  place  of  maritime  commerce. 
The  soil   in  its  neighborhood  is  sterile, 
and  does  not  bountifully  repay  the  labors 
of  the  cultivator.     This  circumstance,  and 
the  advantageous  position  of  Marseilles, 
naturally  diverted  the  energies  of  its  popu- 
lation  to   trade.     At  the  present  time  a 
fifth  of  the  customs'   duties  collected  in 
France,  or  nearly  $5,000,000,  is  contri- 
buted by  Marseilles  ;  and  its  commerce  is 
increasing,  the  occupation  of  Algiers  by 
the  French  having  brought  the  trade  with 
that  pan  of  Africa  into  thv    hands  of  the 
Marseillaise.    There  are  many  soap  manu- 
factories  and  tan-yards  at  Marseilles.    The 
refining  of  sugar  is  an  important  branch 
of  industry.     The  trade  in  perfumery  and 
olive-oil  is  also  considerable.     The  ex- 
ports of  Marseilles  consist  of  colonial  prod- 
uce, brandy,  wine,  liqueurs,  syrups,  pre- 
served fruits,  capers,  anchovies,  oil,  soap, 
verdigris,  perfumery,  madder  ;   manufac- 
tured goods,  consisting  of  light  woollens, 
silks,  shawls,  ribands,  gloves,  hardware, 
&c. :  and  the  chief  articles  of  import  are 
sugar,  coffee,  cotton,  indigo,  pepper,  iron, 
dye-woods,  hides  ;  and,  when  the  trade 
in  grain  is  active,  wheat  from  the  Black 
sea,  Sicily,  Italy,  and  Africa.     The  har- 
bor is  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  capacious 
and  sheltered,  but  it  does  not  admit  vessels 
of  the  larger  class  ;  and  as  the  accumula- 
tion of  refuse  from   the  shipping  is  not 
carried  away  by  tides  (the  Mediterranean 
tides  being  scarcely  perceptible)  the  port 
is  frequently  offensive.     The  form  of  the 
harbor    resembles   an    elongated    horse- 
shoe :  tho  entrance  is  defended  t/  forts 


^M^'^^'-:'^'- 


ARSEILLES.  | 
the    great   sea- 
port of  France 
on    ihe    Medi- 
terranenn,    was 
founded         six 
centuries  before 
the      Chrisiiiiii 
era,  by  the  pt-o- 
a  Greek  colony  of  Asia 
1    flourished,  and  its   in- 
minor  settlements  on  the 
Spain,  and  Italy.     From 
cy  Marseilles  has  been  an 
of  maritime  commerce, 
neighborhood  is  sterile, 
luntifully  repay  the  labors 
Tiiis  circumstance,  and 
IS  position  of  Marseilles, 
)d  the  energies  of  its  popu- 
At  the  present  time  a 
stoms'  duties  collected  in 
rly  $5,000,000,  is  contri- 
illes  ;  and  its  commerce  is 
occupation  of  Algiers  by 
ing  brought  the  trade  with 
rica  into  thv    hands  of  the 
There  are  many  soap  manu- 
i-yards  at  Marseilles.    The 
at  is  au  important  branch 
Phe  trade  in  perfumery  and 
(O  considerable.     The  ex- 
iles consist  of  colonial  prod- 
rino,  liqueurs,  syrups,  pre- 
sapers,  anchovies,  oil,  soap, 
umery,  madder  ;   manufac- 
jnsisting  of  light  woollens, 
ribands,  gloves,  hardware, 
chief  articles  of  import  are 
cotton,  indigo,  pepper,  iron, 
ides;  and,  when  the  trade 
:tive,  wheat  from  the  Black 
aly,  and  Africa.     The  har- 
heart  of  the  city,  capacious 
but  it  does  not  admit  vessels 
and  as  the  accumula- 
from   the  shipping  is  not 
by  tides  (the  Mediterranean 
larcely  perceptible)  the  povt 
offensive.     The  form  of  the 
nbles   an    elongated    horse- 
trance  is  defended  t/  forts 


SgVj.l!UJHHIMWJ»«HU>J'>-».  IIIIUHIII 


1018 


CONCISE  HISTORY  OF  THE  ENGLISH  BIBLE. 


placed  opposite  each  other.  The  lazaretto 
occupies  an  arci  of  above  278,000  square 
yards,  and  is  considered  the  finest  estab- 
lislimenl  of  the  kind  in  Europe  :  the  quar- 
antine regulations  are  severe,  but  a  gen- 
eral revision  of  these  laws  for  the  coun- 
tries on  the  Mediterranean  is  likely  to 
take  place. 


CONCISE  HISTORY  OF  THE  ENGLISH 
BIBLE. 


HE  history  of  the 
^S,  English  Bible  compre- 
hends a  period  of  nine 
hundred  years.  The 
venerable  Bede  trans- 
lated the  Psalter  and 
the  gospel  into  the 
Anglo-Saxon,  by  or- 
der of  King  Alfred.  The  price  of  a  Bible 
in  1274,  fairly  written,  with  a  commenta- 
ry, was  from  $150  to  $250,  though  m 
1840,  two  arches  of  the  London  bridge 
were  built  for  $123. 

Richard  Rolles  was  one  of  the  first  to 
attempt  a  translation  of  the  Bible  into  the 
English  language,  as  it  was  spoken  after 
the  conquest.  He  wrote  a  paraphrase  in 
verse  on  the  book  of  Job,  and  a  gloss  upon 
the  psalter,  but  the  whole  Bible,  by  Wick- 
liffe,  appeared  between  1360  and  1380. 

A  bill,  in  the  year  1490,  was  brought 
into  the  house  of  lords,  to  forbid  the  use 
of  English  Bibles ;  but  it  did  not  pass. 
A  decree  of  Arundel,  archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury, in  1403,  forbade  unauthorized 
persons  to  translate  any  text  of  Holy  Scrip- 
ture into  English,  as  well  as  prohibited 
the  reading  of  any  translation  till  approved 
of  by  the  bishops,  or  a  council.  Several , 
persons  were  burned  for  reading  the  word 
of  God. 

In  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Fifth,  a  law 
was  passed,  that  "  whoever  should  read 
the  Scriptures  in  their  mother-tongue, 
should  forfeit  land,  cattle,  body,  life,  and 
goods,  from  I  heir  heirs  for  ever,  and  be 
condemned  tor  heretics  to  God,  enemies 
to  the  crown,  and  most  arrant  traitors  to 
the  land."  And  between  1461  and  1493, 
Faust,  or  Faustus,  who  undertook  the 
sale  of  Bibles  at  Paris,  where  printing 


was  then  unknown,  narrowly  escaped 
punishment.  He  was  taken  for  a  miigi- 
cian,  because  he  produced  them  so  rapid- 
ly, and  because  one  copy  was  so  much 
like  another. 

The  Latin  Vulgate,  printed  at  Mayntz, 
in  1462,  was  the  very  first  printed  edition 
of  the  whole  Bible  in  any  language,  bear- 
ing the  date  and   plate  of  its  execution, 
and  the  name  of  the  primer.     The  first 
pinted  edition  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  in 
any  modern  language,  was  in  German,  in 
the  year  1467.     The  New  Testament  by 
Luther,  revised  by  Melancthon,  appeared 
in  1521 .     William  Tyndal,  in  1520,  print- 
ed his   English  Testament  at  Antwerp  ; 
but  those  who  sold  it  in  England,  were 
condemned   by    Sir  Thomas    Moore,  the 
lord  chancellor,  to  ride  with  their  faces 
to  the  horses'  tails,  with  papers  on  their 
heads,  and  to  throw  their  booKS  and  them- 
selves into  the  fire  at  Cheapside.     Tyndal 
himself  was  strangled  and  burned.     His 
dying  prayer  was,  "  Lord,  open  the  king 
of  England's  eyes."     John  Fry,  or  Fryih, 
and  William  Koye,  who  assisted  Tyndal 
in  his  Bible,  were  both  burned  for  heresy. 
Cranmer  obtained  a  commission  from 
the  king  to  prepare,  with  the  assistance  of 
learned  men,  a  translation  of  the  Bible. 
It  was  to  be  printed  at  Paris ;  but  the  in- 
quisition interfered,  and  2,500  copies  were 
seized,    and   condemned    to   the    flames. 
Some  of  these,  however,  being,  through 
avarice,  sold  for  waste  paper,  by  the  officer 
who  superintended  the  burning,  were  re- 
covered, and  brought  to  England,  to  the 
great  delight  of  Cranmer,  who,  on  receiv- 
ing some  copies,  said  that  it  gave  liim 
more  ioy  than  if  he  had  received    two 
thousa'id  pounds.     It  was  commanded  that 
a  Bible  should  be  deposited  in  every  piirish 
church,  to  be  read  by  all  who  pleased,  and 
1  permission  at  last  was  obtained  to  ail  sub- 
Ijects   to  purchase  the  English  Bible  for 
I  themselves  and  families 
I      In  thb  year  1535,  Coveruale's  folio  Bi- 
I  ble  was  published.     In  the  reign  of  Ed- 
'  ward  the   Sixth,  new  editions  appeared. 
In  Mary's  reign,  the  gospellers,  or  reform- 
ers, fled  abroad,  but  a  new  translation  of 
the  New  Testament,  in  English,  appeared 
at  Geneva,  in  1587,  the  first  which  had 
the  distinction  of  verses,  with  figures  at- 
i  tached  to  them. 


ble:. 


wii,    narrowly   escaped 

was  taken  lor  a  iiuij^i- 

proJuced  ihein  so  rapid- 

ono  copy  wa8  so  much 

gale,  printed  at  Mayntz, 
very  first  printed  edition 
o  in  any  liinj»uage,  bear- 
place  of  its  execution, 
the  primer.     The   first 
the  Holy  Scriptures  in 
jage,  was  in  German,  in 
The  New  Testament  by 
jy  Melanclhon,  appeared 
mTyndal,  in  1 520,  print- 
Testament  at  Antwerp  ; 
old  it  in   England,  were 
Sir  Thomas    Moore,  the 
to  ride  with  their  laces 
ils,  with  papers  on  their 
Dw  iheir  booKS  and  them- 
re  at  Cheapside.     Tyndal 
uigled  and  burned.     His 
IS,  "  Lord,  open  the  king 
59."     John  Fry,  or  Fryth, 
lye,  who  assisted  Tyndal 
e  both  burned  for  heresy, 
lined  a  commission  from 
are,  with  the  assistance  of 
translation  of  the  Bible, 
nted  at  Paris ;  but  the  in- 
red,  and  2,500  copies  were 
ndemned    to   the    flames, 
however,  being,  through  j 
waste  paper,  by  the  officer 
led  the  burning,  were  re- 
ought  to  England,  to  the 
Cranmer,  who,  on  receiv- 
es, said  that  it  gave  him 
if  he  had  received    two 
g.     It  was  commanded  that 
le  deposited  in  every  parish 
sad  by  all  who  pleased,  and 
i8t  was  obtained  to  all  sub- 
ise  the  English  Bible  for 

families 
15.35,  Coveriiale's  folio  Bi- 
hed.  In  the  reign  of  Ed- 
h,  new  editions  appeared, 
n,  the  gospellers,  or  reform- 
d,  but  a  new  translation  of 
meni,  in  English,  appeared 
1587,  the  lirst  which  had 
of  verses,  with  figures  at- 


DUTIE8  TO  SOCIETY  AND  OUHflKLVES. 


10i9 


A  quarto  edition  of  the  whole  Bible 
was  printed  at  Geneva,  1560.  by  Rowland 
Harte.     A  New  Testament  in  Welsh,  ap- 
peared  in  1569 ;  the  whole  Bible  m  1588, 
and  the  English  translation       ailed   the 
Bishop's  Bible,  by  Alexand^     arkcr,  in 
1568      It  was  1582  that  the  Roman  Cath- 
olic Rhemish  Testament  appeared,  and  in 
1609  and    1610.  that   their  Doway  Old 
Testament  was  printed.     In   1607.  was 
began,  and  in  1311  was  completed,  a  new 
and  more  correct  translation,   being   the 
present  authorized  version  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures,  by  forty-seven  learned  persons 
(fifty-four  were  appointed),  chosen  Irom 
Ihe   two   universities.     This  edition  has 
been  truly  styled,  "  not  only  the  glory  of 
the  rich,  and  the  inheritance  of  the  poor, 
but  the  guide  of  the  wayworn  pilgrim,  the 
messenger  of  grace,  and  the   means  of 
knowledge,  holiness,  and  joy  to  millions. 


DUTIES  TO  SOCIETY  AND  OUR- 
SELVES. 


HE  truly  polite  must 
beanhabituallycheer- 
ful  person.  But  cheer- 
fulness, it  will  be  said, 
is  a  matlerof  tempera- 
ment and  of  circum- 
stance. Then  if  we 
possess  it  not,  we 
should  cultivate  it  as  a  duty. 

There  is  no  word  in  our  language  more 
commonly  used,  nor  any  one  less  defined 
or  less  understood  than  "  happiness.       it 
is  sometimes  taken  to  mean  pleasurable 
sensations  derived   through   the  senses; 
sometimes  it  means  a  peculiar   state  of 
mind.     Perhaps  it  is  easier  to  tell  what 
happiness  is  not,  than  what  it  is.     The 
most  perfect  health  is  not  happiness  un- 
less one   has   something  to  do.     Health 
and  riches  do  not  make  one  happy.    These 
accidents  of  being  rather  excite  cravings 
for  enjoyment.    They  are  means,  not  ends. 
A  rich  man  can  ride  but  one  horse,  or  sit 
but  in  one  coach,  or  eat  but  one  dinner, 
or  wear  but  one  suit  of  garments,  or  live 
but  in  one  house  at  a  time.     Persons  m 
moderate  circumstances  can  do  the  same. 


Health,  riches,  power,  and  distinction, 
do  not  make   happiness.     Distinction  is 
troublesome  :  it  has  more  pains  than  pleas- 
ures :  it  is  jealous,  envious,  and  distrust- 
ful.    Power  does  not  make  one  happy  ; 
it  demands  the  most  busy  watchfulness  to 
keep  it.     If  lost,  its  absence  is  often  fol- 
lowed by  painful  suffering,  and  the  pos- 
session of  it  is  always  accompanied  by 
the  fear  of  losing  it.     Riches  are  some- 
times regarded  as  means  of  enabling  one 
to  live   in   elegant   luxury,  and  even   in 
voluptuous  enjoyment.     This  is  no  way 
to  be  happy  ;  the  appetites  soon  become 
satiated  ;    the    stomach    wears    out ;    the 
senses   are   palled;  diseases   come;    the 
body  may  be  racked  on  a  velvet  couch  as 
well  as  on  a  straw  bed. 

Is  there,  then,  any  such  thing  as  happi- 
ness? There  must  be  such  a  thing,  or 
the  laws  of  nature,  which  provide  for 
physical,  intellectual,  and  moral  being,  are 
false  and  deceitful,  and  the  gift  of  revela- 
tion is  a  fable. 

If  there  be  such  a  thing  as  happiness, 
it  will  be  found  in  that  knowledge  of  and 
obedience  to  the  laws  of  nature  which 
make  health,  physical  and  spiritual.  It 
will  be  for  .id  in  obeying  the  propensity 
to  action,  w-  some  continu.,us,  useful  end ; 
that  is,  in  pursuing  reasonably  some  one 
of  the  many  vocations  in  society  which 
tend  to  secure  one's  self  respect  and  peace 
of  mind,  and  which  tead  also  to  the  com- 
'  mon  good. 

But  there  may  be  disappointments,  ill 
luck,  and  causes  of  mortification  and  sor- 
row.    These,  we  apprehend,  do  not  se- 
riously  disturb  any  well-regulated  mind 
when  there  is  a  consciousness   that  no 
reasonable   foresight  or   prudence  would 
have  discovered  and  prevented  the  cause. 
Perfect  happiness  in  this  world,  it  must 
ever  be  remembered,  is  not  to  be  expect- 
ed:  the  only  happiness  that  we  can  really 
attain  consists  in  a  certain  contented  tran- 
quillity of  mind  under  all  the  shocks  and 
changes  of  this  mortal  life.     There  is  a 
point  called  the  happy  medium ;  and  this 
should  be  an  aim  in  all  human  arrange- 
ments.    Be  moderate  in  all  things. 

For  example,  to  take  no  amusement  is 
bad,  for  it  deprives  the  mind  of  needful 
rest  and  recreation  ;  so  likewise  it  is  bad 
to  be  altogether  given  up  to  amusement, 


'"  ^  4 


1020 


THE  NATIONAI,  QALLEllY  OF  ENGLAND. 


for  .hon  L'l  serious  objods  are  lost  sight 
of     The  true  plan  ..  lo  take  amusement 

iu  modoration.  i  .„  „ 

Some  minds  have  never  awakened  to  a 
tasle  for  poetry,  fiction,  th.'  imitative  arts, 
and  music,  .nd  they  thus  U-so  much  pleas- 
ure, which  others  enjov  ;  again  there  are 
Bome  in  whom  nature  has  implanted  and 
use  cuUivated  so  strong  a  prodileclion  lor 
these  things,  that  it  becomes  a  vice. 

To  be  too  much  in  society,  is  sure  to 
deteriorate  the  human  character    making 
it  frivolous,  and  incapacitating  it  for  taking 
abstract  and  elevated  views  :  on  the  other 
hand  a  perfectly  solitary  hie  weakens  the 
mind,  lays  it  open  to  odd  fancies  and  ec- , 
Sntricities,  if  not  to  lOTOchondrm    and  | 
ends    in    some    instances    by    aliogether 
throwing  it  from  its  balance.     1  he  me- 
dium is  here  also  found  selutary. 

To  be  extravagantly  gay,  in  a  worm 
where  so  many  evils  lurk  around  our  ev- 
ery step,  and  so  many  onerous  things  claim 
our  attention,  is  wrong  ;  so  is  it  to  be  al- 
ways serious,  seeing  that  the  world  also 
contulns  the  materials  of  much  happiness. 
What  is  proner  is,  that  we  should  be  uni- 
formly chr  .vA  without  letting  our  cheer- 
ulness  n:,.     •  <'  frivolity,  or,  if  we  have 
causoto.uv.,  that  wc  should  grieve  in 
modem^un,   b.Ueving  that   a   benignant 
Providen-.^  will  make  all  right  in  the  end. 


\ 


THE  NATIONAL  GALLERl 
ENGLAND. 


OF 


HE  British  National 
Gallery,  like  the  mu- 
seum, arose  out  of  the 
collection  of  a  private 
individual.  The  only 
difference  is,  that  Sir 
Hans  Sloane  directed 
^  ,  his  museum  to  be  of- 

fered after  his  death,  to  the  nation  on  pay- 
ment'of  a  specified  sum  ;  but  Mr.  Anger- 
stein  merely  ordered  his  pictures  to  be 
sold  for  the  benefit  of  his  heirs,  not  con- 
Iplating,  perhaps,,  that  they  might  form 
the  nucleus  of  a  national  collection. 

John  .Tulius  Angerstem  was  born  at  bt. 
Petersburgh,  in  1735,  and  came  to  Eng- 


land when  he  was  about  fourteen  years 
of  a«e,  under  the  .are  and  prMronane  of 
an  eminent   Engliv.   R'-sian    meTch»n  , 
Andrew  Thompsor    Ef ..      He  rose  ulti- 
mately  to  be  one  oi  the  n.    ^  conspicuous 
„K.rchants  of  London.     In  his  c    -racter 
he    united    pTon,pl   and    ri.tive    bu.ness 
habits  to  an  urbane     nd  a  checrf.-l  d.s- 
JLition.   having     he    ability    to   acquire 
wealth,  and  a  heart  to  use  it.     In  rally- 
ing his  taste,  by  collecting  ra-    and  valu^ 
able  pictures,  he  was  gr  ally  -ided  by  the 
advice  of  th.  late  Sir  Thomis  La^vrence, 
with   whom  he   was  i^    mate.     Mr    An- 
gerstein  died  on  the  22d ...  I:  iuary,  18-2 , 
and  in  the  following  year  his  gallerv  ol 
pictures   was  bought  by  government  for 
1  the  sum  of  57,000i. 

'      There  appears  to  hu -e  be.  •   a  common 
opinion  entertained  that  the  g.ilery  about 
to  be  formed  was  to  be  ph.r.  1    -n  con- 
nexion with  the   British   Museun,      A 
parently  acting  on  this  supposition     a    ae 

?ear  1823,  the  late  Sir  George  Beam    mt 
{.resented  to  the  trustees  of  the  m«s,  urn 
a  collection  of  pictures  ;  and  an      .  '     'i- 
lection  of  ancient  pictures  came  into  laeir 
hands  in  1831,  in  pursuance  of  the  wil 
of  the  Rev.  Holwell  Carr,  who  directed 
that  they  should  be  placed  in  the  same 
building  with  those  of  Mr.  Angerstein  and 
s"r  George  Beaumont.     As  the  National 
1  Gallery  has  been  made  a  separate  insiitu- 
'  tion  from  that  of  the  British  Museum     t 
so  happens   that  the   pictures   are   thus 
vested  in  two  different  sets  of  trustees,  on 
behalf  of  the  public. 

The  pictures  forming  the  National  Gal- 
lery had  been  kept  in  Pall  Mall :  but 
different  proposals  were  made  at  various 
times  for^he  purpose  of  obtaining  an 
eligible  building  to  receive  them.  At 
if  when  the  King's  Mews  at  Charing 

Cross  was  about  to  be  pu»ed  down  and 
Uie  site  built  upon  for  shops,  Mr.  W.lkins 
suggested  the  propriety  of  appropriating 
thrspace  for  a  national  gallery  if  one 
was  intended  to  be  built.  The  idea  v^as 
approved;  and  in  1832  parliament  voted 
50000L  for  the  erection,  and  in  IBJa, 
UfiOOl.  more.  Mr.  WUkins  was  appointed 
architect,  and  the  building  was  rapidly  com- 

^''if 'the  view  given,  the  engraver  has 
I  introduced  a  design  for  ornamenting  the 


iNO. 


was  abo'it  foi.rleen  yean 
tie  (ire  and  pi'tronago  of 
igli- i    R"ssiaii    merchant, 
)8or     Ei        Tie  r^^e  uUi- 
e  01  the  I      1  conspicuoui 
.ondon.     li.  his*  r'  iracter 
ntpt    and    native    bus  ncss 
irbane  and  a  checrf"!   Jis- 
ig     he   ability   to   accjuire 
leart  to  use  .t.     In  fralify- 
)y  collecting  tar    and  vftlu- 
16  was  gr  ally  aided  by  the 
ato  Sir  'Ihomas  Lawr.  nee, 
e  was  ii    matt'.     Mr.  An- 
n  the  22d  of  Jnauary,  1822 ; 
lowing  your  his  gallerv  of 
bought  by  government  ior 

ars  to  ha  e  bef  n  a  common 
Bincd  that  the  guilery  about 

was  to  be  plac  d  in  con- 
ihe  British  Museum  A 
g  on  this  supposition  >  le 
e  late  Sir  George  Beu..  mt 
the  trustees  of  the  museum 
f  pictures  ;  and  an.  nf  ol- 
ient  pictures  came  into  vaeir 
Jl,  in  pursuance  of  the  will 
Holwell  Carr,  who  directed 
lould  be  placed  in  the  same 
I  those  of  Mr.  Angerstein  and 
Beaumont.  As  the  National 
been  made  a  separate  mslUu- 
it  of  the  British  Museum,  it 

that   the   pictures   are   thus 

0  different  sets  of  trustees,  on 

1  public. 

res  forming  the  National  C,al- 
,en  kept  in  Pall   Mall :    but 
iposals  were  made  at  various 
he   purpose   of  obtaining  an 
tiding   to   receive   them.      At 
the  King's  Mews  at  Charmg 
ibout  to  be  pulled  down,  and 
It  upon  for  shops,  Mr.  Wilkins 
Ihe  propriety  of  appropriating 
for  a  national  gallery,  if  one 
.d  to  be  built.     The  idea  was 
and  in  1832  parliament  voted 
r  the  erection,  and  in   1835, 
,re.    Mr.  Wilkins  was  appointed 
[id  the  building  was  rapidly  com- 


I 


_J 


..#^" 


1023 


ANIMAI.  HUMANITY. 


centre  of  Trafalgar  Square.  But  we  are 
not  aware  that  anything  has  yet  been  de- 
cided upon  with  respect  to  it. 

The  number  of  pictures  at  present  in 
the  Gallery  is  over  two  hundred.  Such 
a  collection,  it  is  obvious,  can  only  be  but 
the  commencement  of  a  national  gallery. 
Though  the  collection  be  small  and  con- 
fined, it  contains  some  pictures  of  the  very 
hitthest  order;  and,  as  a  whole,  it  is  a 
superior  one,  and  quite  worthy  of  forming 
a  bcginninf(  to  a  collodion  intended  for  a 
nation  auch  as  Great  Britain. 

Of  the  more  remarkable  of  the  pictures 
may  bo  mentioned,  the  "  Raising  of  Laza- 
rus "  by  Sebastian   del   Piombo,  painted 
by  'him  in  1518-'l9,  in  competition  with 
Kaffaelle,  then  employed  on  his  picture 
of  the  "  Transfigurauon."     This  vmy  re- 
markable picture  is  declared  to  be   the 
second  in  the  world.     For  the  purchase 
of  the   two   large  Correggios,  in    18.^4, 
parliament  granted  the  sum  of  11,550/. 
The  first  of  these  pictures  is  the  original 
"  Ecce  Homo"  of  Correggio.     The  sub- 
ject maybe  understood  by  the  title—"  Ecce 
Homo"—"  Behold  the  Man !"  (John  xix. 
5  )     It  is  difficult  to  say  anything  about 
this  wonderful  production  of  art,  so  as  to 
convey  a  rig^it  idea  of  it  to  those  who  have 
not  seen  it.     The  other  picture  is  also  an 
admirable  one;  the  subject  is-"  Mercury 
teaching  Cupid  to  read." 

It  is  unnecessary,  at  present,  to  specily 
other  pictures  in  the  Gallery   by  Rem- 
brandt; Rubens,  Claude,  &c.     Of  remark- 
able productions  by  English  painters,  there 
are  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  picture  of  Lord 
Heaihfield,  with  the  keys  of  the  fortress 
of  Gibraltar;    Gainsborough's   "Market 
Cart  •"  Wilson's  "  Land-storm,  with  the 
story'of  Niobe ;"  and  the  well-known  pro- 
ductions  of    the   two   Anglo-Americans, 
Benjamin  West  and  Copley,  the  father 
of  the  present  Lord  Lyndhurst,  namely, 
«  Clvist    healing    the    Sick,"    and    the 
"  Death  of  the  Earl  of  Chatham."     To 
these  may  be  added  the  series  of  ^Mar- 
riage a  la  Mode,"  and  Wilkie's  "Blind 
Fiddler."     There  is  rather  a  pleasing  cir- 
cumstance  to   be    mentioned,   connected 
with  the  gift  of  this  last  picture  to  the 
National  Gallery.     Sir  George  Beaumi>nt, 
presented,  in  1823,  to  the  trustees  of  the 
British  Museum  a  collection  of  pictures, 


but  requested  permission,  in  1826,  to  with- 
draw two,  which  he  deemed  unworthy  of 
being  placed  in  a  national  gallery,  and  to 
substitute  two  others  for  them,  one  of 
them  bein^  this  picture  of  Wilkie's 

The  National  Galleiy  is  open  the  first 
four  days  of  the  week  to  the  public,  and 
the  other  two  to  artists. 


ANIMAL  HUMANITY. 

T  is  extremely  curious 
to  observe   in    animals 
ways   and    doings    like 
those  of  human  beings, 
It    is    a   department  of 
natural    history    which 
has  never  been  honored 
with     any     systematic 
study  ;    perhaps    it    is 
thought  too  trifling  for  grave  philosophers. 
We  must  confess,  however,  that  there  is 
some  value  in  the  inquiry,  as  tending  to 
give  us  sympathies  with  the  lower  am- 
mals,  and  to  dispose  us  to  treat  them  more 
kindly  than  we  generally  do. 

The    sports  of  animals   are  peculiarly 
.fTecting.     It  is  reported  by  all  who  have 
the  charge  of  flocks,  that  the  lambs  resem- 
ble children  very  much  in  their  sports.     In 
the  mellowed   glory  of  a  July   evening, 
while  the  ewes  are  quietly  resting  in  prep- 
aration for  their  night's  sleep,  the  lambs 
got  together  at  a  little  distance,  perhaps 
in  the  neighborhood  of  a  broomy  knoll, 
and  there  begin  a  set  of  pranksome  frolics 
of  their  own,  dancing  fantastically  about, 
or  butting,  as  in  jest,  against  each  other. 
The  whole  affair  is   a   regular  game  at 
romps,  such  as  a  merry  group  of  human 
y  junkers  will  occasionally  be  allowed  to 
enjoy  just  before  going   to  bed.     It  is 
highly  amusing  to  witness  it,  and  to  trace 
the  resemblance  it  bears  as  to  human  do- 
ings ;  which  is  carried  sometimes  so  far, 
that  a  single  mamma  will  be  seen  looking 
on  close  by,  apparently  rather  happy  at  ^^ 
the  idea  of  the  young  folks  being  so  merv;  |,vj 
but  anxious  also  that  they  should  not  bo-  m 
have   too  roughly ;   otherwise,  she  must  | 
certainly  interfere.  t     .i,»  i^ 

Monneys  have  similar  habits.    In  the 
countries  of  the  Eastern  Peninsula  and 


■  AgS-'W" 


■!>    I       <  ' 


permiwion,  in  1826,  to  with- 
ich  he  deemed  unworthy  of 
n  a  national  gallery,  and  to 
)  others  for  them,  one  of 
is  picture  of  Wilkie's 
al  Galleiy  is  open  the  first 
ihe  week  to  the  public,  and 
to  artists. 


MAL  HUMANITY. 


T  is  extremely  curious 

to   observe   in    animals 

1         ways  and    doings    like 

those  of  human  beings. 

^>       It    is    a   department  of 

^       natural    history    which 

^ has  never  been  honored 

'^  with     any     Bystematic 
^       study  ;    perhaps    it    is 
rifling  for  grave  philosophers, 
nfess,  however,  that  there  is 
in  the  inquiry,  as  tending  to 
ipathies  with  the  lower  ani- 
dispose  us  to  treat  them  more 
we  generally  do. 
is  of  animals  are  peculiarly 
[t  is  reported  by  all  who  have 
,f  flocks,  that  the  lambs  resem- 
very  much  in  their  sports.     In 
3d   glory  of  a  July   evening, 
ves  are  quietly  resting  in  prep- 
their  night's  sleep,  the  lambs 
r  at  a  little  distance,  perhaps 
rhborhood  of  a  broomy  knoll, 
egin  a  set  of  pranksome  frolics 
n,  dancing  fantastically  about, 
as  in  jest,  against  each  other, 
atfair  is   a   regular  game  at 
li  as  a  merry  group  of  human 
fill  occasionally  be  allowed  to 
before  going   to  bed.     It  is 
ising  to  witness  it,  and  to  trace 
lance  it  bears  as  to  human  do- 
;h  is  carried  sometimes  so  far, 
ie  mamma  will  be  seen  looking 
by,  apparently  rather  happy  at 
the  young  folks  being  so  men; 
s  also  that  they  should  not  be- 
roughly ;   otherwise,  she  must 
nterfere. 

8  have  similar  babtU.     In  Itie 
of  the  Eastern  Peninsula  and 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  historiques 


.JT 


SCRAPS  OF  CURIOUS  INFORMATION. 


1023 


Archipelago,  where  thoy  abound,  the  ma- 
trons are  often  observed,  in  the  cool  of  the 
evening,  sitting  in  a  circle  round  their 
Utile  ones,  which  amuse  themselves  in 
various  gambols.  There  is  a  regard,  how- 
ever, to  discipline  :  and  whenever  any 
foolish  babe  behaves  decidedly  ill,  the 
mamma  will  be  seen  to  jump  into  the 
throng,  seize  the  offender  by  the  tail,  and 
administer  exactly  that  extreme  kind  of 
chastisement  which  has  so  long  been  in 
vogue  among  human  parents  and  human 
teachers. 

That  there  is  merriment — genuine  hu- 
man-like merriment— in  many  of  the  lower 
animals,  no  one  can  doubt  who  has  ever 
watched  the  gambols  of  the  kid,  the  lamb, 
the  kinen,  or  the  dogs,  which— 
"  Scour  away  in  long  excursion, 
And  worry  other  iu  diver»ion." 

But  there  is  something  to  be  observed  in 
these  sports  still  more  human-like  than 
mere  sport.  The  principle  oi mahe-helieve, 
or  jest  as  opposed  to  earnest,  can  be  dis- 
cerned in  many  of  their  merry-makings. 

The  kindly  social  acts  of  anitnals,  among 
themselves  and  toward  mankind,  is  alsr. 
an  interesting  subject  of  observation.     A 
few  months  since  some  workmen,  engaged 
in  repairing  the  cathedral  of  Glasgow,  ob- 
served an  unusual  concourse  of  sparrows 
coming  regularly  to  a  hole  in  one  of  the 
slanting  walls,  and  there  making  a  great 
ado,  as  if  feeding  some  birds  within.    Curi- 
osity being  at  length  excited,  the  men  pro- 
ceeded to  examine  the  place,  and  found 
that  a  mother-bird,  after  the  flight  of  her 
brood,  had  got  her  log  enUngled  in  some 
of  the  tlireads  composing  her  nest,  so  that 
she  was  kept  a  prisoner.     The  leg  was 
visibly  swollen  by  the  chafing  produced 
by  her   efforts   to  escape.      In  this  dis- 
tressing situation  the  poor  bird  had  been 
condoled  with  and  fed  by  hei  fellows,  ex- 
actly as  a  human  being  might  have  been 
in  similar  circumstances. 


SCRAPS  OF  CURIOUS  INFORMATION. 

The  atmospheric  pressure  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  earth  is  near  15lbs.  per  square 
inch.  The  weight  or  pressure  of  vrater, 
is  about  seven  ounces  per  square  inch  for 
every  foot  of  its  depth— 845  cubic  feet  of 


atmospheric  air,  are  as  heavy  as  one  cubic 
foot  of  water.     The  bones  of  birds  are 
hollow,    and    filled    with   air   instead   of 
marrow.     The  flea  jumps  200  times  its 
own  length,  equal  to  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
for  a  man.     The  Romans  lay  on  couches 
at  their  dining  tables  on  their  left  arms, 
eating   with   their   right.      The  walls  of 
Nineveh  were  100   feet  high,  and  thick 
enough  for  three  chariots  abreast.     Baby- 
lon was  60  miles  within  the  walls,  which 
were   76  feel  thick  and  300   feet  high. 
The  earth  is  7,916  miles  in  diameter,  and 
24,880  miles  round.     Forests  of  standing 
trees  have  been  discovered  in  Yorkshire, 
England,  and  Ireland,  imbedded  in  stone. 
A  man  is  taller  in  the  morning  by  half  an 
inch  than  he  is  at  night.     The  atoms  com- 
posing a  man  are  supposed  to  be  changed 
every  forty  days,  and  the  bones  in  a  few 
months.      Fossil   remains   on    the    Ohio 
proves  that  it  was  once  covered  by  the 
sea.     When  the  sea  is  of  a  blue  color,  it  is 
deep  water  ;  when  green,  shallow.    Book- 
keeping,  by   double   entry    and   decimal 
arithmetic,  was  invented  in  1501.    Pocket 
watches  were  first  introduced  into  Eng- 
land, from  Germany,  in  1501.     The  color 
of  the  mourning  dress  among  the  Chinese 
and  Siamese,  is  white  ;  with  the  Turks 
blue  and  violet ;   Ethiopians  gray ;  Peru- 
vians mouee-color  ;  Japanese  white  ;  Per- 
sians brown,  and  Egyptians  yellow.     The 
human  body  can  be  brought  to  endure  a 
heat  of  280  degrees  of  Fahrenheit.     The 
experiment  has  been  tried  successfully  in 
this  country.    -In  the  year  1510  a  shower 
of  stones  fell  at   Padua,  Italy.     One  of 
these  stones  weighed  120  pounds. 

A  box  24  inches  by  16  inches  square, 
and  22  inches  deep,  will  contain  a  barrel, 
or  10,752  cubic  inches. — A  box  16  inches 
by  16  8-10  inches  deep,  will  contain  a 
bushel,  or  2,150  4-10  inches.— A  box  12 
by  II  2-10  inches  square  and  8  inches 
deep,  will  contain  a  half  a  bushel,  or 
1,075  cubic  inches.— A  box  8  inches  by 
8  4-10  inches  square  and  8  inches  deep, 
will  contain  I  peck,  or  237  8-10  cubic 
inches.— A  box  8  by  8  inches  square, 
and  4  2-10  inches  deep,  will  contain  one 
half  peck  or  268  8-10  cubic  inches.— 
A  box  4  inches  by  4  inches  square,  and 
4  2-10  inches  deep,  will  contain  one  quart, 
or  67  2-10  cubic  inches. 


Y^- 


X 


,.r>t'n  OHFAT  MEN— HOROLOGY 
THE  END  or  FOUR  GRBAl  Mr.i 


1024 

"^^J^I^TfouiTgiieat  men. 

The  four  creat  personages  who  occupy 

h  r  emu  es  bound  with  chaplcts  d.pp.^d 
'  •     1,  T.o,l  of  countless  millions,  looked 

™ieS  Ihe  miniess  of  ihc  «0lld,  and 

0„n  t»d,  .mtaenua  and  »uwep>, ."  « 
'°'ci«»"''aftcr  having  c«n,,u.,.d  eight 

rh,=h  l.d  bYJh'i.  g.ea...t  »»«.«"• 

Bo»»PABt«,  »h08C  m.nJalos  ting,  and 
p„peTr;ed;.r»hav,ngm,e    .a-b 

aa  s  in  lonely  banishment  a  mosmral- 

Iv   exiled  from  the  world,  yet  w'^"®  " 
l,lLomeumesseehiscou,U«,sba^^ 

waving  over  ihe  deep,  but  wnicn 
nor  could  not  bring  him  aid. 

Thus  these   four   men,  who   seem    lu 
siandu'e  rquesentatives  of  all  those  whom 

fr.ends-aud  one  a  lonely  ex.le.        How 
are  the  mighty  fallen  . 


HOROLOGY. 


OROLOGY,   or 
the  art  of  meas- 
uring    time     by 
hours,     minutes, 
and  seconds,  was 
known  and  prac- 
tised     in     very 
early  times  ;  but 
for  its  connexion 
with  correct  mo- 
i,on;p,  we  are  indebted  to  the  monks  of 

tZm.  Z,.  The  -d  l-'Xh 

was  in  use  among  the  ancients,  whitt^ 
ra  has  led  manylo  infer  that  mechanica 
contrivances  similar  to  our  clocks,  were 
S  in  use.  This  inference  is  doubtless 
Itneous,  since  no  ancient  wr.ter  e^•e 
!  alludes  to  an  instrument  of  that  kin.l.  l  ne 
I  pE  the  engraved  dial,  the  clcps!,dr^-^<^^^ 
'{Chour-ghls,  were  the  only  horolog.i 
known  pfior  t'o  the  sixth  or  seventh  cen- 

'"'piUars,  the  length,  inclination  and  re- 
turn of  whose  shadows,  indicate^  the  prog- 
less  of  time  upon  the  level  surface  ar.mnd 
;SUs.^re^^Ue.tV.b.t.^ 

j::^^^ositlt;:vSnceof\hefacOt^t 
the  obelisks  of  Egypt  were  iised  fo    t  u 
purpose  1   and  some   have   hazarded  the 

Tplnionihat  the  Py--'.'l%;;rsit  i 
to  the  same  use,  as  their  f^"""  f  ^^^f  ^  '^^^^ 
respond  precisely  with  the  cardinal  po  nts 
of  K  composs.'  It  is  certain  that  pillars 
wee   used^ Greece  for  this  purpose. 
XsTugustus  thus  used  the  E.yin- 
obelisks  which  he  carried  to  1  o  no,  .1.^ 
fict  may  be  taken  &s  circumstanUa    eM 
dencrthat  for  this  purpose  they  had  been 
devoted  when  first  reared. 
'  Vhese  huge  d^als  -re  succer^ed  b 
those  of  a  more  portable  kmd.     Ih"  >' 
vemion  of  the  dial  proper,  is  conceded  U 
^6  bylonians,  although  the  tirst  men 
tiono    ineon  record,  refers  to  a    anvu 
irtUt   belonged    to   Ah.,  the     .■w. 
ik.ne   who   reigned   about  seven  hundrt 
Ue.r's  1     C.     ''And    Isaiah   the  proplu 
SitheLord     and  he  brought 

shadow  ten  degrees  backward  wh 

1  it   luid  gone  down  in  the  dial  ot  Alu/. 
i2KVxx.U.     As  the  Jews  were 
1  no  rne^ns  an  inventive  people,  it  is  su 


■mmKm>^ 


X 


HOROLOGY. 

OROLOGY,   or 
the  arl  of  meas- 
uring    time     by 
hours,     minutes, 
and  seconds,  was 
known  and  prac 
lised      in     very 
early  limes  ;  hut 
for  its  connexion 
with  correct  mo- 
are  indebted  to  the  monks  of 
aees      The  word  horologium 
among  the    ancients,    which 
many  W  infer  that  mechanical 
3  similar  to  our  clocks,  were 
This  inference  is  doubtless 
since  no  ancient  writer    ever 
n  instrument  of  that  kind.    1  he 
ngraved  dial,  the  ckpswlra-.^nA 
a,s,   were  the  only    horologu 
or  10  the  sixth  or  seventh  cen- 

the  length,  inclination  and  re- 
ose  shadows,  indicated  the  prog- 

,e  upon  the  level  surface  an.und 
5  were  doubtless  the  first  lime- 

'  li  is  believed  (although  we  ^, 
ositive  evidence  of  the  fact)  that  , I 
ks  of  Egypt  were  used    or  this  , 

and  some    have   hazarded  ihe  j 
lat  the  pyramids  were  also  put  j 
me  use,  as  their  four  sides  cor-, 
necisely  with  the  cardinal  points 
,mD0»8.     It  is  certain  that  pillars 
edw  Greece  for  this  purpose; 
.ugiistus  thus  used  the   Lgypuan 
which  he  carried  to   Home   ihis 
r  be  taken  v^s  circumstanUa    evi- 
m  for  this  purpose  ihey  liad  been 
when  first  reared. 
8  huge  dials  were  succeeded  by 
■amore  portable  kind.      Ihe  "", 
of  the  dial  proper,  is  conceded  to 
3ylon.ans,  although  the   hrst  men- 
L  on  record,  refers  to  a  faniou 
U   belonged    to   Aha.   the    Jew  .. 
,ho  reigned   about  seven  hundred 
I     C      ''  And    Isaiah   the   pr..phel 

;„  the  Lord  :  and  he  hrouglu  the 
,  ten  degrees  backward    by  whu.h 

goue  down  in  ihe  dial  ol  Aha/., 
as  XX.  U.     As  the  Jews  were  by 
^MS  an  invenlive  people,  U  is  sup- 


HOaOLOY 


posed  that  Ahaz  procured  this  horologi^um 
at  Damascus,  where  he  obtained  an  altar 
and  other  curious  things. 

Of  the  construction  of  this  dial  we  have 
no   certain  means  of  determining,  but  it 
is  probable  that  it  was  similar  to  that  in- 
troduced to  the  knowledge  of  the  western 
nations   by   Berosus  the  Chaldee      Ihe 
Rabbins  says  that  it  was  a  concave  hemis- 
phere, in  the  middle  of  which  was  a  g  obe, 
whose  shadow  fell  upon  iwenly-eight  lines 
engraved  upon  the  cavity.      This  descrip- 
tion accords  with  that  of  one  attributed  to 
Moses  and  Apion.     He  says  that  Moses 
made  a  cavity  and  near  it  set  a  piUar,  the 
shadow  of  whose  top  fell  into  the  cavity 
and  passed  round  it  with  the  sun,  thus 
marking  the  hours.     Josephus  pronounces 
this  relation  of  Apion,  false      Anaximan- 
der    who  first  introduced   the  dial   into 
Greece,  obtained    a  knowledge  of  it   m 
Chaldea,  about  the  time  of  the   Jewish 
captivity.     The  dia'  of  this  traveller  not 
only  marked  the    ...;s,but  the  equinoxes, 
the  solstices,   and   by  their   means,    he 
seasons.     Such  dials  were  used  by  the 
Egyptians,  and  though  chiefly  employed 
as  equinoctial  dials  in  astronomical  calcu- 
lations, yet  they  were  used  for  horary  in- 
dications'.    All  '  f  theso  were  hoUow  or 
hemispherical,  as  represe-^'       m  hg   i  oi 


speaking  of  the  dial  of  the  Chaldean,  calls 
it  a  hemicyclium  or  half-circle),  believe 
that  either  of  the  two  following  figures 
belter  represents,  the  dial  of  Berosus. 


Fig.  3. 

Figure  3  is  copied  from  the  "  Antiquities 
de  Herculaneum"  and  represents  a  dial 
formed  of  white  marble,  supposed  to  be  of 
Etruscan  construction.  It  was  found  at 
Civita  in  1762.  It  is  one  of  the  most 
primitive  class,  and  hko  fig.  4  so  nearly 
resembles  those  of  Chaldea,  that  most  an- 
tiquarians  agree  that  these,  the  dial  of 
Berosus,  and  the  dial  of  Ahaz,  are  all  the 
same  in  form. 


Fig.  1. 

our  engravings.  This  dial  was  found  at 
Ravenna,  about  one  hundred  years  since, 
and  appeared  mounted  on  the  shoulders 

of  a  Hercules.  ■  i        „ 

Figure  2  represents  a  large  marb  e  sun- 
dial once  upon  the  point  of  a  rock  near 
the  monument  of  Thrasyllus  at  Athens. 
It  is  supposed  by  some  to  represent  the 
one  whose  invention  is  attributed  to  Be- 
rosus,  bblj.enamed.  who  lived  in  the  time 
of  Alexander  ;  while  others,  guided  by 
the  meager  remarks  of  Vitruvius  (who,  m 


Fig.  ■». 


! 


J 


■="*iSBIi|B^ 


1 


1026 


HOHOLOGY. 


Fig.  5. 


Our  fifth  illustration  represents  a  singu- 
lar kind  of  dial  which  was  used  by  both 
the  Greeks  and  Romans.     How  antique 
its  origin  is,  we  can  not  determine.     This 
was  found  at  Herculaneum,  in  1754,  and 
in  1755,  a   similar  one  was  dug  up   at 
Portici.     The  one  represented  in  our  en- 
graviiig,  is  in  the  form  of  a  ham,  the  tail 
serving  as  a  gnomon  or  object  for  casting 
a  shadow,  and  having  at  the  extremity  a 
hook  or  ring  for  suspending  it.     The  dial 
is  on  the  back  of  the  ham,  where  seven 
vertical  lines  are  engraven,  under  which, 
in   abbreviation,   are   the   names   of  the 
t.velve  months,  commencing  with  January. 
Six  horizontal  lines  intersect  the  vertical 
ones  and  show  the  extent  of  the  shadows 
cast  by  the  gnomon  on  the  sun's  entering 
each  sign  of  the  zodiac.     The  hours  of 


the  day  are  also  pointed  out  by  these  in- 
tersections, the  shadow  descending  with 
the  rising  and  ascending  with  the  setting 

sun. 

Our  next  illustration  represents  a  com- 
pound dial,  which  exhibits  djals  on  four 
different  faces  of  the  stone.  It  was  found 
at  one  of  the  ancient  cross-ways  of  Athens, 
where  it  is  supposed  to  have  been  erected 
for  the  public  good.  It  is  now  in  the 
British  Museum  among  the  collection  of 
antiquities  known  as  the  Elgin  marbles. 

We  have  space  only  to  give  the  general 
rules  to  be  observed  in  the  construction  of 
dials,  which  are  applicable  to  them  all. 
Suppose   12   planes,  making   with   each 
other,  angles  of  fifteen  degrees,  passing 
through  the  axis  of  the  earth  and  dividing 
the  sphere  into  24  equal  parts,   one  of 
these  planes  being   the  meridial   of  the 
place  of  the  observer;   commence  from 
the  meridian  and  moving  toward  the  west, 
number  these  planes  I,  2,  3,  4,  <S[c.,  up  to 
twelve,  which  will  be  the  lower  meridian 
of  the  place  ;  commencing  from  this  point, 
number  as  before,  1,  2,  3,  &c.,  t'.  12,  which 
will    now    fall    on   the   upper    meridian. 
These  will  form  a  series  of  hor.iry  circles, 
in  passing  from  one  of  which  to  the  next, 
the  sun  will  occupy  one  hour.     At  noon 
it  will  be  on  the  meridial  numbered  12  ; 
an  hour  previous  it  was  on  the  last  horary 
circle  preceding,  and  it  was  1 1  o'clock  ; 
an  hour  after,  it  will  be  on  another  circle 
representing  1   o'clock  and  thus  it   pro- 
ceeds till  the  lime  of  setting,  and  com- 
mences again  at  its  rising.     Suppose  now 
an    opaque    plane,    passing    through    the 
centre  of  the  earth,  and  intersected  by  the 


Compoand  dial  of  Atheng. 


oinled  out  by  these  in- 
fjadow  descending  with 
ending  with  the  setting 

ation  represents  a  com- 
1  exhibits  djals  on  four 
ihe  stone.     It  was  found 
nt  cross-ways  of  Athens, 
sed  to  have  been  erected 
3od.     It  is  now  in  the 
among  the  collection  of 
I  as  the  Elgin  marbles, 
i  only  to  give  the  general 
'ed  in  the  construction  of 
applicable  to  them  all. 
nes,  making   with   each 
fifteen  degrees,  passing 
of  the  earth  and  dividing 
24  equal  parts,   one  of 
ng  the  ineridiai  of  the 
server ;   commence  from 
moving  towawl  the  west, 
ines  1,  2,  3,  4,  &c.,  up  to 
ill  be  the  lower  meridian 
nmencing  from  this  point, 
,  1,2,  3,  &c.,t')12,which 
on  the    upper   meridian, 
a  series  of  horary  circles, 
one  of  which  to  the  next, 
upy  one  hour.     At  noon 
i  meridial  numbered  12 ; 
1  it  was  on  the  last  horary 
,  and  it  was  11  o'clock  ; 
will  be  on  another  circle 
o'clock  and  thus  it   pro- 
ime  of  setting,  and  corn- 
its  rising.     Suppose  now 
ie,   passing    through    the 
:th,  and  intersected  by  the 


HOROLOGY. 


1027 


twelve  planes  in  as  many  diverging  straight 
lines,  and  mark  these  lines  with  the  num- 
hers  belonging  to  their  respective  planes. 
This  opaque  plane  will  represent  the  face 
of  a  dial,  the  straight  lines  will  form  the 
horary  lines  marked  on  its  surface,  and 
the  style,  or  gnomon,  will  represent  the 
axis  of  the   eariii,  and    will    project   its 
shadows  successively  on  each  of  the  hour 
lines,  the  number  affixed  to  which  will 
show  the  hour  of  the  day.     This  is  the 
theory  of  dials  ;    and  one  calculated  for 
any  given  place,  will  serve  for  any  other 
place  under  the  same  meridian,  provided  its 
position  in  the  latter  place  be  parallel  to 
its  position  in  the  former  place. 

The  most  simple  method  for  measuring 
time,  next  to  the  dial  is  the  hour-glass, 
which  was  doubtless  used  prior  to  the 
more  complicated  clepsydrse. 

Hour-glasses  are  made  of  various  forms 
for  the  purposes  of  ornament,  but  the  in- 
terior  construction  of  all  is  necessarily  the 
same.  It  represents  two  cylindrical  cones 
of  glass,  joined  at  the  apex.  At  the  point 
of  conjunction  there  is  a  small  aper.ure, 
just  large  enough  for  a  certain  sized  sand 
in  a  given  quantity  to  pass  through  within 
the  space  of  an  hour.  This  sand  is  put 
into  one  of  the  cones,  and  when  it  has  all 
run  out  into  the  other,  completing  the 
measurement  of  the  hour,  the  glass  is  re- 
versed, and  the  sand  again  commences  its 

descent.  .         u. 

The  Clepsydra  or  water-clock  was  brought 
into  use  by  the  Greeks  at  an  early  period, 
probably  about  the  time  of  Pythagoras. 
They  were  first  constructed  by  the  phi- 
losophers for  the  purpose  of  determining, 
by   measuring   time   precisely,   some   ot 
their  problems  ;  such  as  the  time  required 
for  a  certain  body  of  a  given  weight  to 
pass  through  a  medium  of  given  distance 
and  density.     Their  correctness   caused 
them  to  be  used  afterward  for  the  measui;e- 
ment  of  time.     Ctesibius  of  Alexandria, 
who  flourished  about  two  hundred  years 
prior  to  the  Christian   era,  spent  much 
time  in  bringing  this  instrument  to  per- 
fection, yet  he  did  not  advance  it  to  that 
point  of  usefulness  to  which  the  Greeks 
afterward  carried  it.  . 

The  utile  portion  of  the  clepsydrae  is 
simple,  but  the  ornamental  parts  were 
often  made  in  a  complicated  and  expeusivo 


style.     In  the  earliest  water-clocks,  which 
were  in  principle  of  action  similar  to  the 
hour-glass,   the   indication   of  time   was 
eflected  by  marks  corresponding  to  either 
the  diminution  of  the  fluid  in  the  contain- 
ing vessel,  during  the  time  of  emptying, 
or  to  the  increase  of  the  fluid  in  the  re- 
ceiving vessel  during  its  time  of  filling ; 
but  it  was  found  that  the  water  escaped 
much  more  rapidly  out  of  the  vessel  when 
it  was  full,  than  when  it  was  nearly  empty, 
owing  to  the  difference  in  the  pressure  of 
the  atmosphere,  and  it  required  great  in- 
genuity in  adjusting  the  marks  upon  the 
index,  so  as  to  correspond  with  thft  varia- 
tion. 


Clepaydrge. 


The   construction  of  a   clepsydrte  for 
the  most  correct  measurement  of  tinie  is 
shown  in  our  engraving.     The  cylinder 
A  on  which  twelve  hours  are  marked,  is 
hollow,  and  serves  for  a  reservoir  to  con- 
tain the  water.     At  the  bottom  is  an  aper- 
ture through  which  the  water  passes  into 
the  pipe  B  ;  this  pipe  has  a  very  small 
orifice  whence  the  water  escapes  with  a 
certain  rapidity,  and  falls  into  the  cup  be- 
low, having   an   opening  at   the   bottom 
similar  to  the  reservoir.     From  this  cup 
the  water  flows  into  the  receiving  cylin- 
der G  in  which  it  rises  to  a  given  height 
each  hour.     A  piece  of  cork  with  a  wire 
D  attached  is  placed  in  this  cylinder,  and 
floats  on  the  surface  of  the  water,     lo 


1028 


HOROLOOY 


the  wire  an  index-hand  is  fixed    which, 
as  the   corii  rises,  points  out  the  hours 
upon  the  larKe  cylinder.     A  siphon  E,s 
atiach.d,  which  exhausts  the  water  m  the 
cylinder  C  as  soon  as  it  rises  to  a  certain 
height,  and  tlie  indicator  falls  to  figure  I, 
to  commence  its  daily  labor  again.     By  ^ 
increasing  the  length  of  the  two  cyhnders 
twenty-four   hours   may  bo    marked   and 
measured,  before  the  clock  needs  mndin^l 
up  hy  the  siphon.     When  Julms  C(Esar 
invaded  Britain  he  found  a  kind  of  c^ep- 
8ydr.x  in  use  among  the  inhabitants  of  the  | 
southern   part  of  the  island,     'hey  were  , 
in  common  use  at  th.u  time  in  Rome,  and 
continued  so  in  Italy,  as  late  as  the  sixth  , 
century  of  our  era. 

At  what  precise  time  clocks  or  machines  | 
for  horological  purposes,  combining  wheels 
and   springs,  were  invented,  can  not   be 
determined.     Vitruvius  mentions  incident- , 
ally  an  Alexandrian  artist  who  combined 
springs  and  wheels  with  the   clepsydrae 
about  41  B.  C.     It  is  mentioned  in  an  o  d  | 
chronicle,  that  Haroun  al  Raschid,  caM, 
of  Bagdad,  sent  a  clock  as  a  present  to 
Charlemagne,  hut   from   a    more   minute  , 
detail  elsewhere  given,  it  seems  to  have  I 
been  an  ingenious  clepsydra,  vihich  had 
the  addition  of  belU.  to  record  by  sounds 
the  termination  of  each  hour. 

It  is  related  that  an  artist  named  Dondi, 
constructed  a  clock  for  the  city  of  Padua 
in  the  fourth  century,  and  that  a  short 
time  afterward  one  Zelaiider  made  one  for 
the  same  city,  still  more  complex,  which 
was  repaired  in  the  sixteenth  century  by 
Janellin  Turrianus,  the  mechanic  of  Charles 
V.     These,  two,  were  doubtless  improved 

^  Tve  have  no  positive  proof  that  clocks, 
similar  to  those  now  in  use,  were  made 
previous  to,  or  about  the  commencement 
of   the  twelfth  century.     Near  the  close 
of  the  eleventh  century,  William,  abbot  of 
Heischan  in  Saxony  "  invented,"  accord- 
ing   to    his   biographer,   "a   horologium 
similar  to  the  celestial  hemisphere  ;    and 
from  corroborative  testimony,  it  appears 
clear  that  this  monk  was   either  the  in- 
ventor of  the  modern  clock,  or  was  the 
first  to  introduce  it  into  Europe. 

In  the  thirteenth  century.  Sultan  Saladm 
gave  a  clock  to  the  emperor  Frederic  11., 
which  was  put  in  motion  by  weights  and 


wheels.     It  marked  the  hour,  the  course 
of  the  sun  and  moon,  and  the  planets  in 
the   zodiac.     On  this  fact,  many  authors 
found  a  reasonable  belief,  that  clocks  were 
invented  by  the  Saracens  and  made  known 
to  Europeans  in  the  time  of  the  crusades^ 
During  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
centuries,  great  improvements  were  made 
in   the   construction  of  clocks,  many  ot 
which  exhibited  a   complication   of   ma- 
chinevy  for   the   exhibition   of  automatic 
fiuures,  as  well  as  sidereal  and  lunar  ob- 
seivations,  truly  wonderful.     Of  these,  the 
clocks  of  Strasburg  and  Lyons  were  the 
most  remarkable.     The  invention  of  the 
pendulum,  and  its  great  improvements  by 
a  combination  of  metals,  advanced  the  art 
of  clock-making  rapidly  from  the  seven- 
teenth  to    the    eighteenth    century,    and 
brought  it  to  that  perfection  and  accuracy 
which  it  now  exhibits. 
I      Watches,  or  as  they  may  be  properly 
I  called,  portable  clocks,  came  into  use  in 
1  England  a  short  time  prior  to  the  reign  of 
Queen  Elizabeth.     The  first  watches  were 
not  intended  to  be  worn  about  the  person, 
1  but  were  constructed  for  the  convenience 
!  of  transmission  from  place  to  place.     A 
watch  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  was  abou 
the  oize  of  a  dessert-plate  of  the  present 
day.     This  applies  more   pariicularly  to 
one  owned  by  the  queen    herself.     But 
Shakspere,  who  lived  during   her  reign, 
alludes  in  his  Twelfth  Night  to  a  watch 
evidently    worn    in   the  pocket.     In  the 
reign  of  Charles  I.  their  dimensions  were 
considerably  reduced  ;  but^it  was  not  till 
the  reign  of  James,  near  the  close  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  that  pocket-watches 
came  into  general  use. 

Watches  were  quite  common  m  trance 
and  Germany  about  the  middle  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  but  they  were  too  unwield- 
ly  for  pocket  service.  A  Germaii  named 
Huygens  and  Dr.  Hooke.  an  Englishman 
!  for  a  long  time  disputed  for  the  honor  of 
the  invention  of  the  watch  proper;  the 
majority  give  the  palm  to  Dr.  Hooke. 

Our  space  will  not  permit  us  to  give  a 

detailed  description  of  the  mechanism  of 

modern  time-keepers,  included  under  the 

several  names  of  clock,  watch,  and  chro- 

I  nometer.     We  introduce  an  engraving  rep- 

i  resenting  the   machinery   of  a   common 

'  watch,  and  this  will  serve  to  illustrate  the 


1  the  hour,  tne  course 
)n,  and  the  planets  in 
lis  fact,  many  authors 
beUcf,  that  clocks  were 
icons  and  made  known 
D  time  of  the  crusades, 
eenlh  and   seventeenth 
provements  were  made 
n  of  clocks,  many  of 
I   complication  of  ma- 
ixhibilion   of  automatic 
sidereal  and  lunar  ob- 
)nderful.     Of  these,  the 
g  and  Lyons  were  the 
The  invention  of  the 
great  improvements  by 
netals,  advanced  the  art 
rapidly  from  the  seven- 
ghteenth    century,    and 
perfection  and  accuracy 

ibiis. 

s  they  may  be  properly 
locks,  came  into  use  in 
ime  prior  to  the  reign  of 
The  first  watches  were 
3  worn  about  the  person, 
cled  for  the  convenience 
Prom  place  to  place.     A 
n  of  Elizabeth  was  about 
ssert-plate  of  the  present 
ies  more   particularly  to 
the  queen    herself.     But 
lived  during   her  reign, 
welfth  Night  to  a  watch 
in  the  pocket.     In  the 
I.  their  dimensions  were 
luced;  but  it  was  not  till 
[les,  near  the  close  of  the 
tury,  that  pocket-watches 
al  use. 

B  quite  common  in  France 
bout  the  middle  of  the  six- 
but  they  were  too  unwield- 
rvice.     A  German  named 
Ir.  Hooke,  an  Englishman, 
disputed  for  the  honor  of 
uf  the  watch  proper;  the 
\e  palm  to  Dr.  Hooke. 
ill  not  permit  us  to  give  a 
plion  of  the  mechanism  of 
jepers,  included  under  the 
of  clock,  watch,  and  chro- 
introduce  an  engraving  rep- 
machinery   of  a  common 
3  will  serve  to  illustrate  the 


=■=     M 


1030 


HoaoLoaY. 


principle  of  all  other  horological  machines 
of  tho  present  day. 

Figure  1  repiesents  the  dial-plate  with 
the  hour  and  minute  wheels  and  indices. 
X  is  the  minute  wheel,  Z  the  hour  wheel, 
and  Y  the  cannon  pinion,  or  a  hollow 
piece  of  steel  which  adheres  by  friction 
to  the  arbor  of  the  centre  wheel  of  the 
watch,  and  passes  through  a  socket  in  the 
hour  wheel.  At  the  lower  end  are  leaves 
or  teeth  that  turn  the  minute  wheel.  To 
the  upper  square  end  the  minute  hand  is 
attached,  while  the  hour  hand  is  fastened 
to  the  socket  of  the  hour  wheel. 

Figure  2  and  figure  6  present  two  views 
of  the  machinery  of  a  watch  ;  the  first,  of 
all  between  the  plates,  the  second,  of  the 
whole  complete.  Figure  2  gives  the  forms 
of  the  wheels,  and  figure  6  their  action. 
In  the  former,  A  is  the  box  containing  the 
mainspring  ;  G  is  the  main  wheel  with 
the  fusee  attached  ;  H  is  the  centre  or 
sectmd  wheel ;  I  the  third  wheel ;  K  the 
conirate  wheel  turning  horizontally  with 
perpendicular  teeth  ;  L  the  balance-wheel ; 
FEE  the  pillars  which  connect  the  plates  ; 
d  the  chain  attached  to  the  fusee  and 
mainspring  box  ;  e  a  small  piece  of  steel 
borne  down  by  a  delicate  spring  /,  to 
prevent  the  chain  from  running  off  the 
fusee  at  the  top. 

Figure  6  represents  the  action  thus  : 
A  the  cylindrical  box  containing  the  main- 
spring round  which  the  chain  is  wound 
connecting   it  with   the    fusee.     To    the 
fusee  the  main  wheel  G  is  attached,  hav- 
ing  fortv-eight  teeth  on  its  circumference, 
which  lifrns  a  pinion  of  twelve  teeth,  fixed 
on  the  arbor  of  the  centre  wheel  H,  so 
called  from  its  being  in  the  centre  of  the 
watch ;  it  has  fifty-four  teeth  which  turn 
a  pinion  of  six  teeth,  on  the  arbor  of  the 
third  wheel  I,  which  has  forty-eight  teeth  ; 
it  is  sunk  in  a  cavity  formed  in  the  pillar 
plate,  and  turns  a  pinion  of  six,  on  the 
arbor  of  the  contrale  wheel  K  which  has 
forty-eight  teeth,  by  which  it  turns  a  pinion 
of  six,  attached  to  the  balance-wheel  L, 
which  has  fifteen  teeth.     One  of  the  pivots 
of  the  balance-wheel  turns  in  a  frame  M, 
called  pottance,  and  the  other  pivot  runs 
in  a  smaller  piece  called  counter-poltance. 
The  teeth  of  the  balance-wheel  impel  the 
balance.     The  arbor  of  the  balance,  called 
the  verge,  has  two  small  pallets  or  leaves 


L 


projecting  from  it  at  nearly  right  angifs  ; 
these  are  acted  upon  in  such  a  inaiintT  by 
the   teeth  of  the  balance-wheel,  that,   at 
every  vibration  of  the  biilanco,  aided  by  a 
fine  spring,  a  tooth  of  the  wheel  is  allow- 
ed to  escape  or  pas^i  by,  at  the  same  time 
giving  an  impulse  to  the  balance.     This 
part  of  the   watch  is   called  the  escape- 
ment from  this  fact,  and  is  clearly  shown 
in  figure  7.     0,  p,  s,  r,  indicate  the  bal- 
ance, g  the    hairspring,   k  the    balance- 
wheel,  A  the  pinion  in  which  the  conirate 
wheel  acts,  and  m,  n,lhe  two  pallets  upon 
the  verge.     The  arrow  I  denotes  the  di- 
rection in  which  the  balance-wheel  moves. 
A,  figure  5,  is  the  box  with  the  main- 
spring coiled  up  within  it.     a  is  a  small 
square   hole   in   which  a  thick   piece  of 
steel,  attached    to  the    mainspring  is  in- 
serted, which  holds  that  end  of  the  spring 
fast,  while  by  the  other  end  attached  to 
the  arbor  B,  it  is  coiled  up.     F,  shows 
the  bottom  of  the  main  wheel  with  the 
ratchet  /,  and  F,  g,  the  fusee  on  which 
the  chain  is  wound,  and  which  is  attached 
to  the  main  wheel.     Fij,ir,o  4,  shows  the 
form  of  the  pottance.     V,  is  the  place  for 
the  slide  containing  the  hole  for  the  bal- 
ance-wheel pivot,  and  I   the    bottom   on 
which  the  verge  pivot  rests.     Figure  8, 
shows  the  top  plate  with  the  balance  o, 
the  hairspring  v,  the  regulator  z,  and  the 
index  to  the  regulator  marked  R,  A. 

When  it  was  ascertained  by  navigators 
that  good  time-keepers  were  highly  useful 
in  determining  correctly  the  longitude  at 
sea,  the   attention  of  the  mechanics  and 
even  of  the  government  itself  of  England, 
was  turned  to  the  subject  of  so  improving 
spring  clocks,  or  watches,  as  to  make  them 
capable  of  enduring  the  vicissitudes  of  heat 
and  cold  without  variation.     In  the  reign 
of  Queen  Anne,  the  parliament  offered  a 
rewardof  twenty  thousand  pounds  sterling, 
for  a  method  of  determining  the  longitude 
with  the  accuracy  of  thirty  miles,  or  half 
a  degree  of  a  great  circle.     Harrison,  a 
watchmaker,  after  great  labor  and  industry, 
produced  a  time-keeper  which  he  called 
a  chronometer,  that  procured  him  the  o»- 
fered  reward.     He  effected  his  object  in 
equalizing  the  contraction  and  expansion 
of  the  spiral  spring  and  balance,  by  a  com- 
bination of  two  metals,  of  opposite   ex- 
Ipansions,   by   which  he   formed  a   self- 


NO  I'EHBON  UNIMPORTANT. 


arly  njjht  anulns  ; 
such  a  iniiiincr  liy 
ce-whcel,  thai,  at 
iilanoo,  aiileil  hy  a 
10  wheel  is  alh>w- 
,  at  the  same  tiino 
le  balance.     This 
called   the  escape- 
is  clearly  shown 
,  indicate  the  bul- 
{,   k  the    balance- 
which  the  contrato 
e  two  pallets  upon 
2  denotes  the  di- 
ance-wheel  moves, 
ox  with  the  main- 
I  it.     a  is  a  small 
a  thick    piece  of 
mainspring  is  in- 
Lt  end  of  the  spring 
3X  end  attached  to 
ed  up.     F,  shows 
in  wheel  with  the 
10  fusee  on  which 
1  which  is  attached 
'i4,ii;e  4,  shows  the 
V,  is  the  place  for 
le  hole  for  the  bal- 
1  I   the    bottom  on 
I  rests.     Figure  8, 
with  the  balance  o, 
regulator  z,  and  the 
marked  K,  A. 
ained  by  navigators 
1  were  highly  useful 
lly  the  longitude  at 
the  mechanics  and 
It  itself  of  England, 
ect  of  so  improving 
les,  as  to  make  them 
e  vicissitudes  of  heat 
ition.     In  the  reign 
mrliament  offered  a 
land  pounds  sterling, 
raining  the  longitude 
thirty  aiiles,  or  half 
circle.     Harrison,  a 
at  labor  and  industry, 
per  which  he  called 
procured  him  the  ol- 
iTected  his  object  in 
iction  and  expansion 
id  balance,  by  a  com- 
als,  of  opposite   ex- 
he   formed  a  self- 


roKulating  curb.     This  principle  is  now 
applied  to  pendulum  clocks,  with  the  ad- 
al'ion  of  mercury,  placed  in  a  jar  wh.ch 
forms  the  ball  of  the  pendulum.      Fheso 
are  the  only  clocks  that  will   keep   time 
during  a  whole  year,  exposed  to  the  vi- 
cisMtudcs  of  the  seasons,  without  change.  ] 
The  chronometer  has  now  become  an 
indispensable  instrument  on  board  of  every 
vessel.      When    properly    rejjulatod    and 
rated,  it    is    astonishing    to    witness    the 
accuracy  with  which  they  measure  lime^ 
About  five  years  since,  we  had  charge  ol 
one  for  several  months,  and  from  Novem- 
ber till  the  following  May,  it  did  not  vary 
quite  five  seconds  from  its  rale. 


NO   PERSON   UNIMPOIITANT. 


HE  pride  of  wealth 
and  individual  state 
tend  to  make  many 
members  of  the  social 
scene  appear  extreme- 
ly unimportant.  And, 
in  our  ordinary  moods, 
,  we    are    accordingly 

very  apt  to  feel  toward  such  persons  as  if 
S  w^ero  scarcely  entitled  to  be  reckoned 
as    existing.     We  here  commit    a   great 
mistake      It  would  be  of  little  use  in  this 
place  to  show  its  inconsistency  with  high 
Soclrines  as  to  the  nature  and  destiny  of 
man,  but  the  same  end  may  be  served  if 
it  can  be  shown  as  fallacious  iipon  the 
simplest  worldly  considerations.    No  mem- 
ber then,  of  any  body  of  men  can  be  un- 
important, so  long  as  men  live  in  society 
for  in  that  state-such  are  the  relations 
arising  from  the  fact  of  our  all  partaking 
of  the  same  nature-the  highest  are  liable 
to   be  affected  in  some   degree   in  their 
fortune  and   happiness   by   the   meanest. 
So  bound  up  are  wo  together  in  interests, 
that  what  hurts  one  hurls  all,  and  we  really 
thrive  as  much  in  things  favorable  to  our 
neighbor,  as  in  those  bearing  immediately 
upon  ourselves.  ,. 

First,  as  to  a  community  of  bodily  quali- 
ties. Here  the  pride  of  natural  endow- 
ment, as  well  as  that  of  conventional  dig- 
nity, is  sadly  humbled;  for,  as  is  well 
known,  there  is  not  the  slightest  difference 


between  the  physical  conslUuiion  of  the 
greatest   man   and   that  of  the  humblest. 
IJolh,  accordingly,  are  liable  alike  to  in- 
fluences calculated  to  operate  injuriously 
on  the  bodily  frame.     When  any  one  asks, 
therefore,  of  what  earthly  consequflnco  to 
the  proud  and  great  is   the  exuicnce  of 
any  particular  specimen  of  the  humble,  it 
may  be  sufficient  to  point  out  that  an  in- 
1  feclioim   disease  affecting  the  latter  may 
be  communicaled  to  the  former,  and  in- 
volve both  in  common  ruin.     How  ollen 
has  it  happened  th;il  a  beggar  has  brought 
to  a  city  a  malady  which   has  swept  off 
multitudes  ot  the  higher  as  well  as  interior 
classes'     "'.'he  rising  of  disease  among 
the  miserable   classes,  and  its  spreading 
upward  among  the  affluent,  is  unfortunately 
a  phenomenon  not  confined  to  past  periods 
of  history.     It  is  on  such  occasions  that 
the  importance  we  are  all  of  to  each  other 
is  brought  most  affectingly  before  us.     We 
then  see  how  it  might  have  been  of  con- 
sequence   to  some  family  living  m  easy 
and  elegant  circumstances,  that  some  other 
particular  family  living  in  wretchedness,  1 
in  a  distant  part  of  the  same  town,  had 
been  in  time  succored  with  a  brotherly 
help,  and  so  redeemed  from  the  danger 
they  were  in  of   proving    a   bane  to    all 
around    them.     It    is  a  terrible   .orm  of 
admonition,  but  is  it  not  a  just  one,  con- 
sidering that  wo  really  arc  one  family,  and 
therefore  ought  to  love  and  cherish  one 
another  ?     The  care  of  the  disease  which 
has  been  allowed  to  arise,  the  charge  of 
the    helpless   dependants    of  those    who 
have  perished— these  being  exactions  so 
much  greater  than  what  would  have  pre- 
vented the  evil  at  first— may  well  be  re- 
garded as  penalties  incurred   by  society 
for  its  omissions  of  duly.     Man,   in  his 
hardness  of  heart,  or  under  the  guidance 
of    lalse    principles,    may    rebel    "gamsl 
these  ordinations  of  Providence  ;  but,  till 
he  can  change  the  arrangements  by  which 
we  all  move  and  breathe,  he  must  choose 
between  the  two  courses,  either  to  regard 
all  his  fellow-creatures  as  brothers,  and  to 
act  by  them  accordingly,  or  to  remain  ex- 
posed  to  the   many  dangers   by  wliich, 
through   his   neglect  of  this  maxim,  he 
must  ever  be  surrounded. 

We  may  now  inquire  how  the  humble 
become  of  importance  to  the  rest  from  a 


\ 


NO  PKIISON  UNIMPOllTANT. 


loaa  

T       'e        „,   „„-,,i,iitlon      This  I  »ro  hrought  into  coi.t.irt ;  .md  wlnr..  this 

community  of  moral  coniUtu  Ion  »»    "  »         ,         ^j,,  i,p  „  mud.  mnro 

>^^uu^y^r'^''^^"^:^:^^:T':T:^!:i'z  p«w:;f:i  .;';..i..n.-y  to  lonow ....  1....,  or 

conduct  ox.Mnplir.-.l.  Who  <ui.  l-ll  w  .!,t 
lascir.iiiioi.  1..)  .niiy,  every  moment  ol  lll^. 
life,  bo  cxerr'  ing  over  m.mo  l....).Me, 
tl.ouph  m.known  worshippers,  .•udi..;,' 
them  riyht  or  wronK  ac(  orchi.f,'  iis  he  may 
chance  to  act  ?  There  are  no  .lo.ihl  very 
various  degrees  of  personal  inlhieiK-r;  yet 
it  is  e.iually  indubitable  that  hardly  any 
person  is  so  extremely  hu.nblo  as  not  to 
bo  surrounded  by  some  who,  either  from 


the  same  hiw  as  physical,  and  that  we 
arc  thus,  as  in  the  former  case,  enabl.ul 
to  affict  each  other  for  ^""'1  "'  «^'''  [" 
the  classes  culled  miserable,  who  are  the 
humblest  of  all,  there  must  needs  bo,  as  a 
ueneral  result,  very  low  moral  conditions. 
Hero,  indeed,  we  usually  find  a  concontra- 
tion  of  almost  all  tho  vices  of  which  our 
nature  is  capable.  Tho  corruptions  spread 
outward  and  upward,  exactly  like  a  pesti- 
Inice,  and  inevitablyjend  '» ,c"';|'';^'^'_;;^^*;^ 
tlif  bettor  classes.     "  """" 


■J  lonil  to  contaminate  i  oo  Biiri>Miiiu<.-    ■}  -• —         -  .     „ 


which  they  occasion  for  a  delensive  vigi 
lance  on  the  part  of  their  sup.'r.ors  they 
do  a  great  injury,  for  thus  are  ...en  s  hearts 
shut  up,  and  mutual  love  and  conf.dcnco 
extinguished.     Still  worse  are  the  resu  ts 
of  tho  penal  severities   which   they  call 
for,  for  every  blow  of  tho  sword  ol  Justice 
tends  in  some  degree  to  harden  the  fee  - 
inus  of  the    community.      Ihus  are   the 
mean  made  important  to  the  exalted ;  thus 
does  the  moral  situation  of  the  poorest  and 
vilest  of  mankind  become  a  matter  of  some 
interest  to  tho  very  highest,  wide  as  is 
the  social  gulf  which  appears  to  lie  be- 
tween them.  .  1       -.u  ,„ 
Let  us  now  see  how  it  stands  with  re- 
gard to  an  individual  against  the  whole 
mass  of  society.     There  is  a  tendency  in 
„,any    persons  to  suppose  that   they  are 
unimportant  to  their  fellow-creaturer,  and 
that  their  conduct  also  is  unimportant,  be- 
cause they  form  respectively  but  one  out  o 
a  mighty  number.     There  could  not  well 
be  a  greater  mistake  than  this    for  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  a  thoroughly  detached 
and   isolated  individual:   we   are  all  in- 
extricably tied  up  and  interlaced  with  each 
other ;  so  that  no   man  can  live  or  act 
without  affecting  others  in  some  degree, 
and,  to  some    purpose,  concerning  their 
weal  or  wo.     Look  alone  to  the  principle 
of  imi.a.ion.    Through  this  principle  every 
one  is, consciously  or  unconsciously,  modi- 
fving  the  tendencies  of  all  who  have  op- 
portuuiiies  of  seeing  or  judging  ot  him. 
That  disposition  which  more  or  ^^^^J^'^ 
s 


of  both,  will  be  affected  to  good  or  evil  by 
his  example. 

Iksides  this,  it  is  in  the  very  nnt.iro  ot 
every  moral  phenomenon  to  be  dillustve. 
A  gm.d  or  bad  act  is  like  a  slono  dropped 
in  a  pool,  which  sends  out  a  successu.n 
of  waves  all  around,  until  tho  impulse  l.rst 
given  is  exhausted.     The  good  act  goes 
forth  smiling  in  the  face  of  mankind,  and 
makes  all  smile  delightedly  who  see  or 
hear  of  it ;  tho  bad  act  bursts  out  with  a 
frown,  which  darkens  all  around  it.     That 
is  to  say,  when  we   witness  or  are   in- 
formed of  an  act  comprising   conscuMi- 
tiousness,   kindness,    self-sacrifice,    mag- 
nanimity, or  any  other  noble  principle,  we 
naturally  are  warmed  by  it  into  a  love  ol 
the  same  good  principle,  and  are  sireniiih- 
cned  in  a  wish  to  do  likewise.     And  when 
we  see  or  hear  of  an  act  comp/ising  ui- 
humanity,  base  deception,  or  injustice,  we  ^j 
are  at  the  best  roused  into  the  exercise  ot  || 
a  resentful  principle,  which,  though  we 
may    call   it  honest  indisnalion,  does  in 
reality  give  us   no  pos.ive    advance   as 
moral  beings-possibly  we  are  only  sullied 
by  the  passing  of  a  wave  of  the  muddy 
waters  of  error  over  our  minds.     Accord- 
ingly, that  there  should  ever  be  a  bad  deed  j 
done,  or  a  foid  or  harsh  word  spoken   is  | 
a  misfortune  and  an  evil  to  all  around—  | 
no  saying  to  how  remote  a  shore  ot  soue-  | 
ty's  mighty  ocean.     A  moment  sees  the  ; 
deed  done  or  the  word  issued,  a..d  years 
may  not  see  its  waves  spent  on  those  dis- 
tant beaches.     Little.aud  apparently  trivial 


n.at  disposition  which  more  or  l^.^f'"" '  "'^^J^/'       «„  act  and  react  in  t^ 
;pires  tis  to  walk  l^y  ^^  "^'^hbon  f  ,  a 

example,  tells  power  ully,  eve n  b>  Use  .  ""'^J^'^  ^  ^^^  ^^j  devouring  n.isch.ef. 
iu  u.aking  everybody's  conduct  impo  tan. ,  j'!^^  ^^^  ,,,  ^f  families  daily  broken ; 
'^^-'''''Z:^^::ii!:S^^  \  ^^  poo!  -ta..  by  momentary  slips. 


in  many  to ' 


|L- 


I 


art  i  unci  wIhta  thin 
ill  hn  a  tniu'li  miiri' 
J  Ibllow  l\w  lino  of 
Willi  nm  li'll  what 
Dvery  iii'inicnl  nl  IiIh 
over  81)1110  liiiml>lo, 
•orHhippors,  l«'!i(liii« 
acconliiiff  as  ho  may 
iro  nro  ii«  (li>ul)l  very 
rsonul  inniiciici';  yt'l 
able  ihai  hardly  any 
■ly  hunihlo  »>*  '"<»'  '*' 
nnc  who,  eiihur  from 
on,  or  from  a  inixiurf 
led  to  K*""!  or  evil  hy 


in  the  very  naturo  of 
nenon  to  be  tlitl'iisive. 
I  like  a  Htono  dropped 
mds  out  a  siKU'ession 
until  iho  impulse  first 

The  good  act  goes 
face  of  mankind,  and 
jlightedly  who  see  or 

act  bursts  out  with  a 
IS  all  around  it.     That 
re   witness  or  are   in- 
comprising   conscien- 
i,   self-sacrifice,   mag- 
ler  noble  principle,  we 
ed  by  it  into  a  love  of 
ciple,  and  are  sirennih- 
3  likewise.     And  when 
an  act  comp^rising  iri- 
cption,  or  injustice,  we 
ied  into  the  exercise  of 
)le,  which,  though  we 
Bt  indiijnation,  does  in 
0  posiive    advance    as 
3ibly  we  are  only  sullied 

a  wave  of  the  muddy  j 
er  our  minds.     Accord-  | 
lould  ever  be  a  bad  deed  j 
■  harsh  word  spoken,  is  j 
in  evil  to  all  around- 
remote  a  shore  of  socie-  j 
1.     A  moment  sees  the  | 
word  issued,  and  years  | 
aves  spent  on  those  dis- 
tle,andapi.arenllylrivial 
ct  and  react  in  the  sf  here 
tial  at  length  it  comes  to 
and  devouring  mischief, 
of  families  daily  broken; 
als,  by  momentary  slips, 


BPECTACLK8. 


1033 


lay  up  Hlores  of  calamity  for  them-ielves 
lh\m  arise  wars  and  desolations  «t  k  ng- 
doms,  retarding  the  coming  of  «"•<"»  '» 
,na  n.lofmnely.  If  lhi«  i«  ™  »rue  view 
of  the  matter,  it  follows  that  no  mans 
con.luct  is  unimportant  to  «".';'«  y-'" 
.lividually.  we  reap  the  beneht  ot  ovt  y 
good  emotion  that  rises  m  the  bosom 
another-  collectively,  wo  are  punisnul 
for  the  errors  of  every  individual. 

If  the  humblest  be  thus  morally  im- 
portant to  the  rest,  how  m  eh  more  so 
Src  those  whose  position  gives  them  more 

than  the  average  proportion  ot   inlluence 
AH  conducts  bears  an  immense  increasi 
of  consequence  when  it  is  connected  in 
the  popular  mind  with  rank,  wealth,  talent, 
„od   d.st.nction-usually  held  m  estee„K 

Great,  accordingly,  is  the  responsibility  o 
those  so  endowed  lor  their  every  word 
and  deed.  Here  there  can,  indeed  bo  no 
pretence  of  the  unimportance  ol  individual 
conduct,  for  the  eflVcts  are  open,  palpable, 
and  uniier^ally  acUnowl.d«ed.  It  would 
be  too  much  to  expert  that  the  claim  upon 

«uch    |.ers<n.s    should    be    in   every  case 
curefullv  regarded,  but  lei  its  importance 

„l  least  be  as  generally  impressed  as  possi- 
ble      'I'he  responsibility  seems  particular- 
ly obligatory   where  the  superiority  con- 
l!,rred  is  that  of  superior  intellect.     We 
,her.,  look  more  exp.eungly  tor  every  form 
of  good,  and  are  the  iuor.^  rejoiced  or  sad- 
dened as  our  expectation   '\g^,fj'f  "J 
disappointed.     Pitiable,  too,  h  it  for    he 
erring  spirit  himself,  for  how  thoroughly 
does  he' thereby   balk  the  design   wWu 
Providence  had  formed  in  his  tavor!     Men 
of  superior  intellect  are  the  natural  lead- 
ers ot'  their  species.    'p«y  l'^^'"  ^J^"^ 
placed  before  them,  to  be  secured  by  the 
i.ht  use  of  their  abilities.     Their  abusmg 
that   gift   is    as  thoroughly  a  cuslmg  ot 
precious   fortune   at  their  feet,  as  is  the 
prodigal  spending  of  a  miser's  hoard  by 
L  impatient  heir.     They  mignt  go  crown- 
ed   ailiidst   their  fellows,  with  Ine  palm- 
,ree«  of  triumph  waving  around  them,  ad 
they  consent  to  wallow  m  the  mire,  to  the 
disgrace  of  themselves  and  the  pollution 

of  their  neighbors. 

Let  no  one,  then,  ever  say  to  himself  or 

others,  I  am  of  no  consequer.ee ;  1  am , 
poor  and  despised,  and  of  no  accoun;! 
or,  I  am  only  one  among  many,  and  have 


„o  inrtuonco.  The  poorest  class  tolls 
powerl.dly  on  the  highest.  I  ho  despised 
is  a  subject  of  very  fair  anxiety  to  the 
most  exaltedi  and  every  person,  however 
limited  his  gifts  !>•  continually  operating 
for  good  or  evil  on  all  around  hun. 


Sl'l'CTACLES. 

CCOIIDING  to 
the  best  authori- 
ties, spectacles 
consist  of  two 
lenses  so  arrang- 
ed in  frames  as 
to  aid  defective 
vision.  To  this 
,  .  ,  end,  and  to  suit 

every  sort  of  visual  deficiency,  great  varie- 
ties of  the  article  have  been    invented. 
There  are  magnifying  glasses  and  dimin- 
ishing glasses,  and  glasses  through  which 
objects  appear  of  their  actual  s..e.     I  here 
are  spectacles  for  daylight,  spectacles  fo 
candlelight,  and  spectacles  tinted  with  all 
sons  of  hues,  from  pleasing   pmk  to  a 
sombre  slate-color.     Some  are  constructed 
to  enable  the  wearer  to  perceive  things 
which  are  at  a  distance ;  others  to  increase 
the  distinctness  of  things  which  are  near  ; 
Dr.  Wollaston's  periscopic  spectac  es  al- 
low  of  looking   sidewise;   and    Do    La 
Court's  retlecting  glasses  make  up  lor  the 
want  of  eyes  in  the  back  of  the  head,  fo 

they  reveal  what  is  going  on  behind  backs . 
Again,  viewing  spectacles  m  rderence  o 
quality,  and  as  articles  ot  manufacture  and 

i  trade,  there  arc  good,  inditVerent,  ana  do- 
cldedly    bad    spectacles,    the    last    being 

'  made  not  so  much  to  be  seen  through,  as 
—like  the  razorf'  described  by  Peter 
Pindar-to  sell.  These  generally  give 
distorted  appeara.  .3  to  objects,  lor  the 
clearer  viewingof  wmch  they  were  brought 

to  assist.  .  , 

It  is  our  purpose  in  this  article  to 
abandon  the  literal  signification  of  the 
word  spectacles,  and  to  treat  the  term  ab- 
stractedly from  the  actual  article  which  is 
seen  in  the  shops,  in  pedlars'  packs,  and 
on  the  noses  of  our  elderly  friends.  We 
seek  to  give  greater  currency  to  the  more 
enlarged,   though   metaphorical  sense  in 


J 


*^^q 


1034 


SPECTACLES. 


which  the  word  is  used  by  many  authors 
of  high  repute,  both  ancient  and  modern. 
Thus,  Chaucer  sailh,  that  :— 
'<  Poverte  a  ipectaed  is,  as  thinketh  rac, 
Through  which  he  may  his  very  friends  see. 
And  Dryden,  in  commenting  on  the  genius 
of  Shakspere,  truly  observes,  that  the  great 
dramatist    "was    naturally    learned— he 
needed  not  the  spectacles  of  books  to  read 
nature."     Thus,  as  a  man  is  sometimes 
said  to  "see"  that  which  is  invisible,  suca 
as  a  fine  thought,  the  point  of  a  joke,  or 
the  force  of  an  argument,  so  would  we 
draw  attention,  not  to  mechanical,  but  to 
psychological    spectacles— not    to   those 
which  aid  or  derange  the  actual  organs 
of  sight,  but  to  those  which  assist  or  falsi- 
fy the  mental  vision.  . 

These   metaphorical   spectacles   being 
worn  by  a  large  majority  of  mankind,  are 
in  quite  as  great  variety  as  the  spectacles 
we  have  described,  and  suit  themselves  to 
every  age  and  condition.     Ardent  and  im- 
aginative youth,  for  example,  on  first  enter- 
ing active  life,  wears  spectacles  which  ex- 
hibit everything  in  the  brightest  colors. 
Itf  keen  sense  of  enjoyment,  which  makes 
it  feel  the  mere  act  of  existence  to  be  a 
pleasure,  extracts  gratification  out  of  what- 
ever  is  presented  to  the  senses.     Painful 
feelings,  when  excited  in  the  young,  are 
transient,  and  serve  rather  to  heighten  the 
effect  of  general  enjoyment  than  to  lessen 
it.     Worldly  experience  has  yet  to  darken 
the  glowing  picture— to  give  more  truth- 
ful,  and,  alas !   less   favorable   views  of 
mankind,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  to  ex- 
change  for  restless   and   fevered,   more 
permanent  end  assured  sources  of  happi- 
ness.    Hence,  to  the  glowing  imagination 
of  such  natures  it  is  always  summer  ;  and 
they  do  not,  as   in   after-life,  enjoy  the 
coming  of  the  spring,  because  they  know 
no  winter.     To  them  all  men  appear  good, 
all  nature    seems  beautiful.     Sucli  tem- 
peraments see  everything  coleur  de  rose — 
they  wear  pinh  spectacles. 

These  spectacles  are  by  far  the  most 
dangerous  to  the  real  as  well  as  to  the 
mental  perception.  "The  habitual  use 
of  tinted  spectacles,"  remarks  an  expe- 
rienced optician,  "  gives  rise  to  a  succes- 
sion of  violent  changes  of  color,  which  are 
painful  to  the  unpractised,  and  must  bo  in- 
jurious to  those  who  have  become  inured 


to  them."     This  is  exactly  the  case  with 
the  false  medium  through  which  the  world 
is   often   seen   by    youthful   enthusiasm. 
Many  a  young  man,  viewing  mankind  in 
too  glowing  a  light,  has  had  some  act  of 
human  frailty  (by  which,  perhaps,  he  is 
made  to  8ufl"er)  unexpectedly  revealed  to 
him— has  had  the  pink  spectacles  sudden- 
ly dashed  from  his  vision !     Then,  in  pro- 
portion as  all  was  before  unduly  brilliant 
and  beautiful,  all  appears  now  as  falsely 
dark.     He   is   what   is   called  a  "disap- 
pointed man."     His  imagination,   which 
at  first  exaggerated  the  goodness  of  man- 
kind,  now   exaggerates    its    wickedness. 
The  darkened  spectacles  which  are  sub- 
stituted as   much   incapacitate  him  from 
enjoying  the   brightness  of  the  sun,  as 
those  he  previously  wore   increased  it ; 
and  he  who  before  saw  universal  good- 
ness, ceases   to  believe  in  benevolence  ; 
and  the  character  of  every  human  being 
appears  to  be  shaded  with  self-interest  or 
other  faultiness.     By  constantly  regarding 
the  shadows  of  the   picture,  and   those 
only,  he  grows  old  in  his  fatal  uncharita- 
bleness,  and  is  reduced  to  the  ur.amiable 
condition  of  a  cynic— a  Diogenes  ;  but  a 
Diogenes  who  looks  for  honest  men— not 
with  a  lamp,  but  with  a  dark  lantern— 
for  his  vision  is  obscured  with  "  clouded" 
spectacles.     Of  a  similar  stamp  arc  those 
desponding  spirits  who  have  a  taste  for 
the  dismals  of  this  life  ;  who  take  delight 
in  sighs  and   sadness,  pathetic  emotions, 
and  heart-rending  wo,  and  view  human 
nature  "  through  the  lens  of  a  tear." 

Other  varieties  of  spectacles  are  very 
generally  worn,  which  are  neither  pink  nor 
clouded,  but  work   in  matters  of  lesser 
importance   the   effects   of    both.      The 
wearers  of  them  are  never  contented  with 
truth  and  nature  simply  as  they  see  her. 
If  they  have  to  describe  a  hill,  for  exam- 
ple, they  will  tell  you  the  ascejit  is  almost 
perpendicular,  and  make  reference  to  the 
Alps.    A  slight  drizzle  they  exaggerate 
to  a  perfect  torrent :  for  with  them  ii  never 
rains  but  it  pours.     In  picturing  a  female 
acquaintance,  with  however  moderate  pre- 
tensions to  beauty,   they  constantly    ap- 
ply the  well-worn   similitude  ccmcerning 
angels.     Their  particular  friends  are  pat- 
terns of  virtue,  their  enemies  monsters  of 
wickedness.    They  see  everything  in  ex- 


is  exactly  tlie  case  with 
thr^yugh  which  the  world 
y    youthful   enihusiasm. 
lan,  viewing  inankind  in 
ht,  has  had  some  act  of 
y  which,  perhaps,  he  is 
mexpeclediy  revealed  to 
5  pink  spectacles  sudden- 
is  vision  !     Then,  in  pro- 
is  before  unduly  brilliant 
I  appears  now  as  falsely 
hat  is   called  a  "  disap- 
His  imagination,  which 
ed  the  goodness  of  man- 
rgerates    its    wickedness, 
pectacles  which  are  sub- 
h   incapacitate  him  from 
rightness  of  the  sun,  as 
usly  wore   increased  it ; 
fore  saw  universal  good- 
believe  in  benevolence  ; 
ter  of  every  human  being 
baded  with  self-interest  or 
By  constantly  regarding 
f  the   picture,  and    those 
old  in  his  fatal  uncharita- 
reduced  to  the  unamiable 
cynic — a  Diogenes  ;  but  a 
looks  for  honest  men — not 
ut  with  a  dprk  lantern — 
1  obscured  with  "  clouded"  ^ 
a  similar  stamp  arc  those  I 
rits  who  have  a  taste  for   | 
this  life  ;  who  take  delight 
adness,  pathetic  emotions, 
ling  wo,  and  view  human 
h  the  lens  of  a  tear." 
ies  of  spectacles  are  very 
,  which  are  neither  pink  nor 
vork   in   matters  of  lesser 
B   effects   of    both.      The 
m  are  never  contented  with 
re  simply  as  they  see  her. 
0  describe  a  hill,  for  exam- 
ell  you  the  ascejit  is  almost 
and  make  reference  to  the 
ht  drizzle  they  exaggerate 
rrent :  for  with  them  ii  never 
lurs.     In  picturing  a  female 
with  however  moderate  pre- 
jauty,   they   constantly    ap- 
Bvorn   similitude  concerning 
ir  particular  friends  are  pat- 
;,  their  enemies  monsters  of 
They  see  everything  in  ex- 


tremes, anl  are  themselves  subject  by 
turns,  the  met  delightful  happiness  a.ul 
"oL direst  misery.  When  a  hu  e  p^ea^^- 
ed  they  declare  they  are  enchanted ,  vvhc 
a  Hi.  c  paine J, » the  agonv  is  excruciaUng 
Nothing  that  passes  before,  y-nd  anJ 
witlnnthem,seemstopvesenl   t.elfa    U^ 

does  to  other  eyes  ;  lor  the  lact  is,  they 
wear  mognijying  glasses.  „„  •„„„„bs 

Other  persons  want  comprehensiveness 
of  .en  a   vision.     Prop..und  to  them  a-.y 
gu        scheme   of  benevolence  or  utih ly 
?nd  they  try  to  scare  you  away  from  ;.t  by 
sum  mnlr  up  the  petty  difficulties  which 
tie       the  way.     Praise  the  character  ot  a 
m;  a      Id  Uiey  peck  away  the  value  ol 
Hu     commendations   by  hinting  certain 
minor  fauhs  and  immaterial  p.ccad.Uoes. 
T  e  .pect        s  they  wear  contract  the. 
range  of  v. ..on  to  a  small  circle;   they 
ca.hu>t  see  beyond  a  cevtair  distance  a,. 

have  :u,i  an  idea  beyond  to-day.  Thi  igs 
or  thoughts  of  large  dimensions  are  ou  ol 
their  ken,  but  they  have  a  wonderful  d  s- 
cr  minaii^n  for  small  ones.  They  make 
excellent  anatomists  and  entomologist, 
tv'nle  they  appear  unable  to  umlerstaud  , 
the  genera'  principles  of  natural  his  tiy. 
Shosv  them  the  boundless  ocean,  and  they 

will  discourse   of   pebbles-a  laiidscap 
and   they  talk  of  plants.     Speak  of   the 
eSs  of  war,  and  they  will  try  to  remem- 
ber whether  any  of  their  acquaintance  has 
swelled  the  list  of  killed  a.id  wotrnded- 
if  ,hey  can  recollect  none,  then  thtp,'  can 
not  see  why  war  should  be  so  much  con- 
demned, more  particularly  since  they  hap- 
pen to  have  a  friend  who  made  a  fortune 
as  an  army  contractor,  and  gives  capital 
dinners.     Such  men,  it  will  be  obser^ved. 
never  see  things  through  the  same  .ued.uni 
which  the  rest  of  the  v/orld  does  ;  there 
is  always  a  diminishing  power  which  con- 
tracts li.dr  vision,  and  though  aiming  a 
principles,  they  fasten  on  a  mean  set  ol 
details.     Many  of   this   class   are   to    be 
|-,,„ud  in  the  critical  world.     A  swarm  ot 
Ihem  fastened  on  the  old  English  drama- 
tists at  the  end  of  the  last  century,  wrote 
voluminous  commentaries  on   the   mean- 
ing of  single  words,  and   indued   portly 
pamphlets  to  discuss  whether  we  shot,  d 
write  Shakspcar  or  Shakspere.     In  modern 
times,  these  minute  observers  discover,  m 
a  new  book,  where  the  co-nwis  have  bjcn 


66 


left  out,  or  misplaced  ;  or.  like  Sergeant 
Circuit  in  Foote's  farce,  m.n-su.t  an  i.s,nr- 
i.ur  author  in  the  courts  of  cnt.c.sni  lor 
leaving  out  an  s.  These  geniuses  wear 
diminishing  glasses. 

■l-h.'u  co.ne  your  shy  people,  who  can 
I  not  look  you  straight  in  the  face  and  on  y 
'  see  out  of  sid,:-spectacles ;  next,  those  who 
never  see  what  is  before  ihe.n  m  Us  true 
phasis,  and  who,  do  what  you  will  lor 
[hem,  torture  the  inolivo  of  your  acts  to 
so.ne  impulse  .p.ite  diflerent  to  that  whi-.h 
dictated  it.  This  is  the  consequence  ot 
wearing  distorting  spectacles. 

Above    all,  we    must  not   forget  those 
psychological  curiosities  who  pr.dc  them- 
selves on  being  extremely  sharp  observers. 
They  are  generally  gifted  w.lh  piercu.g 
eyes  and  busy  tongues,  and  are  consta.itly 
trvin.r  to  look  round  cor.iers— to  penetrate 
i.,'to  places  where  there  is  nothing  to  see, 
and  to  make  discoveries  where  there  is 
nothing  to    find  out.     These  are  amo.ig 
the  "clever"  of  the   human   race,    who 
boast  of  never  being  deceived,  for  their 
eyes  are  everywhere ;  though,  unfortuiiaic- 
Iv.  it  mostly  happens  they  are  everywhere 
but  where  they  ouglit  to  be  ;  a.id  i.v  P'^-r- 
forming  their  indefatigable  periscope,  are 
so  often  lookh.g  oehind,  that  a  slutiib  e  is 
now  and  then  the  consequence.      1  liese 
wotdd  appear  to  apply  to  their  mental  per- 
ception tkeperiscopical  reflecling  spectacles. 
There    is,    besides,  a    vast   variety   of 
spectacles  .nounted  by  certai.i  ind.f  .duals 
before    their    mental    perceptions,   which 
have  no  at.alogy  to  those  to  be  found  in 
llie  opticiati's  catalogue.     The  most  gen- 
erally worn   are  professional  spectacles 
Physicians,  for  instan.e,  often  see  through 
.nedical   spectacles.     An   esteemed  vale- 
tudit.arian,  who  has  retired  from  medical 
practice,  invariably  answers  our  ordt.nir> 
innuiryof'Howdoyoudoto-dayt    with 
a  dia<xnosis  of  his  complaints  ;  and   when 
you  succeed  in  drawing  him  out  concer.i- 
1  .ng  the  lloath.g  news  of  the  day  he  makos 
especial  inquiries  after  the  "p-tbhcheahh 

in  your  neighborhood  "  He  d.sangu.shes 
!  his  friends  not  by  their  outward  appoai- 
I  ance  or  general  disposii.ons,  but  by  the 
I  state  ot  -heir  health;  ^^n^  instead  of  ca- 
!  ing  people  by  their  names,  he  talks  of  he 

1  lady  with  the  l.vor-complainl,  the  gentle- 
Tpan  alliicled  with  b.v.:.chiti3,  or  that  niece 


1036 


8PECTACLE3. 


of  his  who  is  troubled  with  syncope.  He 
will  point  out  Mr.  So-and-so  as  an  ex- 
cellent person  in  some  respects,  but  blames 
him  severely  for  not  wearing  thick  shoes 
in  wet  weather,  and  talks  of  the  poor 
man's  catarrh  as  if  the  complaint  were  a 
moral  crime.  When  he  travels,  he  ob- 
serves nothing  but  the  climate  and  the 
diseases  of  the  population  :  when  he  makes 
a  call,  he  takes  away  the  compliment  of 
the  visit  by  declaring  he  came  out  for  a 
little  exercise-i-in  short,  all  liis  actions 
are  regulated  by  medical  principles,  and 
all  he  sees  is  presented  through  a  medi- 
cated medium.  In  a  similar  manner  one 
class  of  men  wear  statistical,  another  geo- 
logical, and  a  third  gastronomical  specta- 
cles, the  last  judging  of  every  object  in 
!,  nature  by  its  eatableness  or  drinkableness. 
Lastly,  "the  man  of  fashion— sees  the 
world  through  an  opera-glass. 

It  is  on  account  of  the  number  and 
variety  of  mental  spectacles  which  differ- 
ent people  wear,  artd  the  pertinacity  with 
which  they  keep  them  on,  that  truth  is  so 
difficult  to  be  met  with.     Thus,  a  dozen 
men  shall  look  at   the  same  object,  yet 
their  account  of  it  will  differ  in    some 
material  particulars ;  for  the  impressions 
it  makes  upon  their  minds  depend  entirely 
upon  the  kind  of  spectacles  they  happen 
to  wear,  which,  fixing  their  attention  upon 
especial  characteristics,  and  on  them  only, 
blind   them  to  other  important  features. 
As  an  illustration  of  this,  let  us  suppose  a 
number  of  individuals  looking  at  some  or- 
dinary object— something  plain,  palpable, 
and  about  which  it  would  appear  to  be  im- 
possible to  differ  either  in  description  or 
otiinion ;  say,  for  example,  a  flock  of  sheep 
in  a  field.     The  young  observer,  with  his 
pink  spectacles,  paints  to  you  their  pic- 
turesque  grouping,  the  innocent  playful- 
ness of  their  gambols,  and  the  pleasing 
animation  they  give  to   the  surrounding 
scenery  :  his  account  of  them  would  be, 
that  they  are  "  beautiful  sheep."     He  wilh 
the  clouded  spectacles,  on  the  contrary, 
instinctively  fastens  his  observai;  "i  on  the 
black  sheep  ;  he  picks  out  the  lean  ones, 
and  builds  a  theory  thereon,  by  which  he 
would  endeavor  to  prove  the  deterioration 
of  stock  in  this  country  j  describing  this 
particular  ^ock   as   a  "  wretched   one. 
The  •:.dn  with  magnifying  glasses  insists 


that  there  must  be  at  least  twenty  score  ; 
but  his  friend  with  the  diminishers  pins 
him  down  to  units  ,  while  the  statistician 
with  cruel  pertinacity  counts  the  whole 
flock,  triumphantly  certifying  that    there 
are  exactly  one  hundred  and  thirty-eight 
sheep  and  nineteen  lambs.     He  also  reck- 
ons, that,   supposing   there  be  so  iniiny 
poirads  of  wool  upon  each  sheep,  the  whole 
produce  of  the  flock  would  be  so  much  at 
the  then  market  price  of  wool ;  thai  this 
wool  would  be  capable  of  making  so  many 
yards  of  cloth,  which  cloth  would,  if  cut 
to  advantage,  furnish  so  many  hundred 
garments.     Let  iis  now  suppose  the  gas- 
tronomer to  make  a  characteristic  remark 
on  the  fineness  of  the  mutton,  and  the  rich 
order  it  is  in  for  the  spit,  the  statist  would 
launch  into  another  branch  of  nuiiieration, 
by  setting  down  the  number  of  joints  the 
whole  flock  would  cut  up  into  :  so  many 
haunches,  or.  if  separated,  so  many  legs 
and  so  many  loins  ;  or,  if  the  loins  should 
be  destined  for  broiling,  so  many  mutton 
chops.     Take  the  statements  of  either  of 
these  observers  separately,  and  a  false,  or 
at  most  a  limited  idea  of  the  actual  objects 
would  be  derived  ;  but  put  them  together, 
and  we  are  in  possession  of  every  fact 
concerning   sheep  which  it   is  useful  or 
necessary  to   know.     Thus,  the  specific 
views   afforded   by  the  various   sorts  of 
spectacles  which  mankind  put  on,  are  of 
the  utmost  value,  when   assembled   and 
properly  weighed  by  persons  who  do  not 
habitually  wear  any  spectacles. 

Few   are,   however,    entirely   without 
mental  spectacles  at  some  time  of  their 
lives — and   how  constantly   are   circum- 
stances changing  them !     How  apt  are  we 
to  allow  health  or  sickness,  prosperity  or 
misfortune,  to  place  spectacles  before  our 
vision,  which  tinge  everything  around  us 
with  the  prevailing  feeling  !     In  ill  health, 
how  "  weary,  flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable" 
are  the  same  objects  from  which,  when  in 
the  full  enjoyment  of  health,  we  derived 
pleasure  and    happiness.     On  the   other 
hand,  how  many  by  no  means  romantic  or 
picturesque  scenes  are  hallowed  in  the  rec- 
ollection, when  viewed  through  the  specta- 
cles created  during  some  moment  of  de- 
light enjoyed  there— the  society  of  a  mend 
we  have  esteemed,  or  the  amile  of  one  we 
have  loved ! 


=THI   END. 


^\)\- 


^X'^ 


'.clu3 


f 


It  least  twenty  score  ; 
,  the  (liminishcrs  pins 
,  while  the  statistician 
3ity  counts   tlie  whole 

certifying  that   ihero 
ndred  and  ihirty-eijjlit 

lambs.  He  also  reeli- 
ng there  be  so  niiiny 
\  each  sheep,  the  whole 
k  would  be  so  much  at 
■ice  of  wool ;  that  this 
able  of  making  so  many 
ich  cloth  would,  if  cut 
lish  80  many  hundred 
I  now  suppose  the  gas- 
a  characteristic  remark 
the  mutton,  and  the  rich 
16  spit,  the  statist  would 
r  branch  of  numeration, 
le  number  of  joints  the 

cut  up  into :  so  many 
jparated,  so  many  legs 

;  or,  if  the  loins  should 
oiling,  so  many  mutton 
I  statements  of  either  of 
iparately,  and  a  false,  or 
dea  of  the  actual  objects 
;  but  put  them  together, 
ossession  of  every  fact 
i  which  it  is  useful  or 
•w.  Thus,  the  specific 
»y  the  various  sorts  of 
mankind  put  on,  are  of 
,  when  assembled  and 
by  persons  who  do  not 
ny  spectacles, 
irever,  entirely  without 
a  at  some  time  of  their 

constantly    are   circum- 

them  !  How  apt  are  we 
r  sickness,  prosperity  or 
ice  spectacles  before  our 
ge  everything  around  us 
ig  feeling  !  In  ill  health, 
I,  stale,  and  unprofitable" 
Bcts  from  which,  when  in 
mt  of  health,  we  derived 
ippiness.     On  the   other 

by  no  means  romantic  or 
Bs  are  hallowed  in  the  rec- 
iewed  through  the  specta- 
ing  some  moment  of  de- 
re— the  society  of  a  iriend 
jd,  or  the  Bmile  of  one  w« 


